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l^meritait 'f itcratitrt, Stmtt, aiti ^xt 








Entkrzd according to Act of Congress, in the yew 1854^ by 


In the aerk*8 Office of the District Court fbr the Sonthem District of New York. 

41 AnaStrMt. 



Adyentara on the Plains, 94 

▲nnim Potabile, 4S 

Aigolis— Three Days In <IS 

Austrian BaltMine^ 181 

Annexation, 188 

At Best, 194 

Amazon, Valley oi^ 8T9 

A Biography— Part L 669 

A Day in the Great Cemetery, 615 

American Epica, 689 

Boarding-Schoola, French and other, 164 

Borodino, 279 

Big Back, (The) 488 

ConfesfdoDB of a Yonng Arttot, 89 

Catastrophe at Versaillea, 71 

Conqnerar*8 Orave, (The) 94 

Cocked-hat Ckntry, 961 

Connecticut Georgica, 866 

Chataheat Planta, 497 

Czar and the Saltan, 609 

CniiM of the North Star, 546 

Cosasde EopaAa, 489^688 

Corate's Philosophy, 691 

Cock of the Walk, 679 

Dick Pasters Story, 689 

Encantadaa, or Enchanted lalea, 811, 840^ 460 

Eoiitern Qacsiion— What have we to do with itt 514 
Eilitorial Note— Special— To the People Soath of 

Mason and Dixon's Line, 848 

EnrroRiix Nans, 
L American LUeratwre, 

New MS. Correettoni of ShakeqMsr*— Memoir of William 
Cnwwall by his Father— EUiot'i and Clark's LectorM 
to Yooug M«n, Ae.— FmmIoo and Mndamo Gaiao— B«^ 
Homenta of aa IdU Woman— Iliatoiy of a WaaUd UU 
—Thm Blood Stooa— 8b«ltao*s Lattora flnom 19 tha 
Rivai^Holiday Book»-W«bat«r«a Wild Seeaaa, *«.— 
Hom«« of Amarieaa StateamMi— TBekormaa** Ifoath in 
Eof land— ValMitiiMtt Hiatory of tha Cltj of Now-YoA— 
Roamar'a Dictionary of English sad French MIob m • 
Bond's IfimMsotap-IttTalid's Own Book— Flower of tha 
Family— Simms's Yomaasao— Mias Chaaabro's litUa 
Cnss-B«ar«ra-Mn. Laa's Pierra Toossaittt-SpUtaal 
Yintora-Orlmma' Honachold Stotiaa-Hiekoek'a Monl 
Sdanca-Briliat^Tarin's Phyalolocia da OoAt-Khi(s- 
l«y*h Hypatia-6ir Hodaoa Lowa's Lattan, Aa^Rali. 
gioBS of tha World, Ae.— BfaeUwaia's Mamoir of Abar- 
nathy-Laigh Hnat'a Raligion of tha Haari-Land«r*a ' 
*«LaatFfmt"— Aliaon's Enropa, Tohima aaoand-Hofb. 
land's Alt of PioloncincLils—Tttmbiill'sCaiiiat la Hla. 
««7. 101 

Mrs. Mowatt** *• Antobiography of An Aetr«« "-Poola'M 
Indes-Oraaa Gratawood's •« Hapa and Miahapa *«-Tay. 
lor*B «* Jaaoary and Jnno, Ae."-Old Bightawllk Now 
Eyaa-Paarioa Flowars— Morris's Poaaa-Mavtinaaa*B 
Tranalalka of Oomta no 

Chaaa's «*bffUih Sarfdom and Amarien Shnrary**— 
Inga's ** Tha Amarieaa Plantar"— Jamaa'a ** Tha Ouuch 
ofChriatnot an leclsaiaatieiam "-Brown's Philaaeph7 
ofPhysica-Baasaatt'sOaUfaiaaof a Maehaaisal Thaorj 
of Stonaa-CampbaU's Woifca-Hitehcoak«» OeUtaM af 
Gaology— Hampal'kMamialaofHoaaopathy. . m 

Tha Baitlays of Boakm-Harris's Epfe of tha Blany 
HaaTana-Maorlca's Thadogteal Essays— OuBfcniaa 
Monthly Magaaiaa-Fralal^'s HomoMpathy-Slarao- 
typaaof Bryant's Poama-Hampsl's Komasopalhy-Bo- 
gat** Thasaana of bgikh Wotds-Harberi^ TVnala- 

lioB af Waim's History of tha rraaoh rr sl Mla B t ftafb- 
gaaa. 4U 

Antl-Unela Tom Novala-Mia. CaroUna Laa HantB>h PUd- 
tar's Northern Brida— Gorowdki'k Rnaaia Aa It la— 
Oidaot's History of OUvar CnnwaU-Types of Maakind 
— Agassis and Oliddon. MO 

RaprinU of English Oaaslea— Bartlatt's Parsonal Nar- 
ratiTa— Dod's Eleetro-Psyeludogy^Profnaor Kayaer^ 
Raligiott of tha Noxthmen— Hoamar's Poama-Mala 
of an American Honaekevper— Wier's Winter Lodga— 
R. F. Greeley's •< Violet "—Meyer's United Btatac 
inaatrated~OBlifoniia Academy of Science— JaakaoB 
vs. Gibbona-Sbeltoa'sCiystaUine- KaTergaB'MHiatoiy 
of ««Oid Hondrwl "-American NoTela-Uada lam^ 
Farm— Dorham Vilhiga— Goontary Merehant^TlMvasI 
and Sunshine— Wandey— Martin Mcrivala. . tit 

JZ<|mM(«.— My Schoola and Schoolmates, by Hogh Mil- 
lar — Smyth's Year with the Turks — Caaiwhutf 
Church' befbre tha Flood— Phaality of Worida. 
TL Englitk LU^rabirs, 

Porbea's ** Norway and ita Glaeleta "— Bartlett^ "PU. 
grim Fathers '*— Cherry and Violet — Mrs. Brsjr^ 
** Paap at tha Pixies "—Tha Chu«h of Bnglaad. ISS 

Rowland's WoA on the Hnman Hair^Tha Afhan— in 
Diekena'Raadhiga-Naw&igHsh Magaafaiaa. . 118 

Books OB tha BaatemQaestion- Colonel ChesBa7% Qmi- 
paignaofinS-l^-O'Brien'sDaaabian Piindpailtiaa la 
ISSS-Canningham's Boddhist Monnmanta of Csnlna 
Asia-rAinold's Poema-Bladda on Mr. RasUa and 
Greek arehitaetnrs. ...... dM 

F. Tenayaon'a Days and ' Hawa— Lady Balwav% Ba- 
hhid tha Soanea-Mim MItfctd's Athertanp-Chortay'h 
Modem German Mnaie— Mibaaa's History of LsUa 
Christianity-CoL Markman's BhootlBg in tha Hliaa. 
layaa. fit 

UL Frmch UUrature. 

Coehet's " La Normaadia Soaiemine "—French Copyri|^ 
UUgation-Edgar Qafatet's •* Lea Esdarcs "— VioUal la 
Doe's «*Dietioanaii« Raisonn« "-Da Baiaata'a **Oni> 
▼ention"— Gaatare Planehe in the " Revna dea Danx 
Mondea"-Zando's *<Raasie en 18M "— TegoboikDi 
** Eindea sor les Forces PiodoetiTes de la Rossto **-Tiel-' 
let U Dnc'a " Jeone Homme en 1191 "-Tkllaadlar'h Ea* 
aaya— R«gniar*s (Earres eompMtea— Aragols PMUm* 
moos Works— VOlemain's Antobiogi^y— FrsashTMW. 
lathmofDaata t9l 

Tronssse's Meteorology— The Rame daa Dsoa Msadaa 
Ballegarrigaa'a Fammes d'Ameriqae— Mireeowils Oani> 
tempondas Hoawies des Lettres, fto— Lamartiaa% Hb. 
tory of the Coaatitncat Afsembly— Keimoaaa'a N^olaea 
— Catalaa'a Mannel des Honnetes Gena— Tha Athsawnm 
Fraaffaiae on Laeretia Maria Davidson— Killamab^ Sao- 
v«aiia-NobU Action of Mranger-Abba FaOar^ l*Br 
liae dana I'Ameriqne da Nord— Saglieia Olyiiiffia Iba 
Academy of Scieaoe m Paris and Dr. Brainaid. . lit 

VDlemafai's Bowrenirs Coatemporains— Utamry Trsaly 
between Fraaee aad Spain-Cooaia's Histoij of Iha ia- 
loons of the SoTenteenth Ceotary— Oemies'a BsHiad' 
Hktoire LittAraire-SoaTeetre's Ganseries Histoiiqaaa •! 
LitUiairs— Fremy** Jooraal d'ima Jenaa FUla— T%iaiw 
eeiia da Mariage CivO et da Mariaga Raligiaoa-IIa. 
qaefs History of Madame de Bfabtenoa— Baaooa' 
Etndea Litt^ralrea— Tha Atheavam Fraaeaia aa Ha«r> 
thane's Blithedale Romanee— The OonpU Rsada «r 
tha Academy of Sdenea on Alomfaiam-Safait Boaaat 
Da l^kfEiibliaaement de la Ralsoc-Tezier's Coalsa a% 
Voyagca-Garaeaa's Histoixa da Osaada— Way^ Lsa 
Aaglala Chas eox. 4n 

Natteaiaat-Histoira da la Utterataor Boas la Raalaa- 
ratfoa — Le Deeert at le Boodan — Una Aai b apa d t 
Fraasaiaa aa Ghiae— Amooreoaea at Graads Homaiai 
-!)• llafloaaaa da Lather ear I'Edoealiaa— Yayaf* 
Plttoreoqaa aa Rnssia— BeoTaain da Voyaiw •! 
d'Etadaai Ml 

lY. Omtnan LU^aim^ 

Taehodl'k "Thlailabaa dar Alpaawalt "-Kaaslaar*S Ae- 
atraleltDaff-Haio ea Raiaii« Fish— Yea BMmft 


ContenU of Vol. III. 

HutMfkekM TaMhadMch—PKt Ua*t PfempUtt— 
M«7«r*a Astronoiny— Klippcl** ** L«b«ii«-aad CluuseUr« 
bildw** — TMiekaita* •ditim of KimlMdl«» St. L*. 

fftr. tn 

TIm Dni MMrelMii-AlUdirisUieha BM<Unkin«l«~Sclil»- 
Mr^ Rii«i«n Gnunmar — VeMdey^ 0«Mkidit« dM 
DMtMhra VolkM— AD«rtiMli*t SebwunwMiMB Dorfjr*- 
MhUktoo— a««tlM*sCorrMpood«iie*— ZaoM'a Gramnui- 
iea Caltiea. MS 

ariflUB^ Dvatadi* Woriarboeh— Bocmtr*! CbrUUiehmi 
LtlMM-Vi«hoff's Ootth*— K«ppl»r'a SmIm Y«hn la 
Suiaaoi— KisoM^h KirelianMituif — BnnMuiter's Ga- 
idUchte d«r Seli«Bpftm(— 0«ni»n TraoaUtion of Theo- 
dora Parkar— Oonther'a TnaaUtkm of Horaca— Ebrra- 
Wif^ MOcnwkoplaehe Oaolofie-PortraiU of tha Pa- 
NBto of Lathai^Noaek'a Friadaaker in dar Rali- 
gioii • .... 456 

DU Moriakoa in Spaiaan— Wandanmgoo swbeliaa Had- 
^ and MkaiMippI— Eiaa WalUUmaagaloay-Tba AU 
fiiitu, 6lt 

Y. JflMlO. 

La PrapUla— Tha Pint PbUhaiaooIe— SladamoiaaUa Oa. 
baL • . . Hi 

Tha PUlhanaooia Conaarta— Tha Naw Opam Hooaa— 
NatiMialTk«to~FT7'a Mwie-WiUia-Bmtow— Dwifhfa 
Joonal— National Ari— ProlMaor Dagfan — MaytAaar 
— Rahhii— Soudo— Dwighfk Jovmal of Moaie— TIm Mn- 
alcal World and runaa. MS 

yr. jnn§ Aru, 

PowaU*a Painting of Da Soto HT 

Tha Kational Aeadany-Hiffh Ari-Portfait Paiataia- 

Htalorieal Pieturaa - Elliot'a Portrait of Ez-Mayor 

UBgalmd— nick»-Ma7*a Cardinal Maaarin-Chnivh'a 

Laadao^wa— Dafaeta of Annual Ezhibitlona, Ac. Ae. M« 

Mr. Uwraaea'a Portraita-Oor Valhalla. . SSS 

Books Booelved..... 844, 689 

Death of Kit North 668 

FtaMtdaTnyelt 879, 478 

fltMSinOratocy, 417 

Owtt Cttnatory, (The) 849, 615 

QunbUsg Houses of Paris, 808 

Ottdea Walk, (The) 683 

Glliiipae of Mankh, 649 

H^^ttandtiieHajtlans, 68 

HdirIUTe,andwithWhomr 820 

Heny Glaj as an Orator, 498 

Utanry Pira<7, 96 

IML HiBtorieDonbt, 808 

iMtPrlnoa, Problem oi; 808 

Ltllsr to the Editor, 888 

LUtar on an Important Subject By 

Blown, Bsq., 441 

LnMuiais,An Hour with, 466 

Xodsn Prophets, 88 

Xodam Greek Cnstoms, 185 

Hameln of Dr. y eron, 158 

Mi^ FIoww, (The) 195 

MsB of Character 867 

SQMnri Iron Mlnesn 896 

Xanaars, with a Squint at Ghesteifleld, 609 

Xudch, Glimpse of, 649 

VewToik—PnbUc Buildings, 10 

lLU»rmATinn.-Ead Viaw of aty HaU-Ctty HaD, fVoBt 
Ylaw— City Priaon— Lower Aneaal— Croton Baaanroir, 
dSd Slnat-High Bridga. 

— Plaoes of Amusement {IttutkraUd^ 141 

PriTSte Beeidenoes, 888 

lueanutioBa.— Collag* Plaea aad Mnnay-alraat— Wa- 
Taitoy Plaea— Lafayatta Plaea— Ooner of naivenity 
FkMe aad Vwelflb-atreai-Oomer of Fifth Avanae and 
Tna-alraei-Fifth Aveane, eemar of Tirelfkh.«tree»~ 
■mi Pearleenth-atreat from Fifth ATemw-Flfth Ava- 
rof FifteeBth-atreat-Coraer of Fiflh Avaaoa 

Avmme— Eaat SIzteeath-etraet, oppodta St. Oeetga'k 
Chnrch— St Georga*a Rectory, Siztaaath-atreei— Block 
in Twaatietk-atreat, eoner of Sixth ATaooa— Weat 
' Twenty-flrat-atraat fton Fifth ATonae— Loadoa Terraee, 
Weat Twenty-tliird-atreet— Bowery SaTinga* Bank— 
Coraarof Fifth ATenne and Thiity-aerenth-atreet. 

National Inventory, 16 

Notes from My Knapsack, No. 1, 170 

•» " " - No.2, 858 

Battle of the Praaidio— CoaUune— Hezieaa Diei-Climate 
—A Duel— Law— Military Blander— Review— Colonel 
Ilamey— Head Qnartera in Mntion— CeatroTille— The 
Ladiea— Night aad Mornings— Snakea. 

Notes from My Knapsack, No. 8, 865 

Namea— Soap Plant— Jonetion with the AdTanee— Mid- 
night Cry— Military Engineering— Owle— Camp on the 
Nueeea — Perilona Paaaaga Prickly Pear— Vegetabla 
Monatara— Oar Flag— Tarantula— Reat— Race— The Rio 
Grande— While Flag — The Preeidio— Women aad 
Childrea— Problem in Political Economy -Military Fa. 
aeral— Fording— Mexican Embaaay- The Alcalde— The 
Padre — Naw Ounp—TrafBe — Population— Administra- 
tioo of Joatioe— Falaa Alarm. 

NoteBfromMyKnap8sok,No.4^ 660 

March Reaewed—Naaa— Senorita— Norther— San Feman- 
da-Arholedo de loe^^Cngeloe-Friento del T^}»-A 
Cbaae— Dialogue— Piteige of the Alaraoa aad SaUnoa— 
CapitalHtlon o^^&nU Roaa—Trophiea—BIining— Dra- 
matic and JMfflomatic. 

Nebraska,.... 457 

New England Spring Flowers, 686 

Our Exodus from Jericho, 484 

Paris CafS, Sketches in.. 47 

Pot Pourri of Poetry and Parody, 196 

Paris CafSs, 886 

Plants, A Chat about 427 

Peschiera, 628 

Pons and Punsters, 108 

Palankeen, 654 

Beview of Beiiews, 408 

Bketchesin a ParisCaiS, 47 

Stage-CkMtch Stories, 80, 81 8 

Shakespesre, text oi; 880 

Sorrento, 855 

Behnsucht, 864\ 

Shakesperian Notes and Queries, 448 

Stage-Coach Stories, No. 8, 505,695 

Shakspeare «. Perkins, 668 

Sonnets on the Death of a Friend, 671 

Three Days in Argolls, 71 

Toss-up foraHnsband, 896 

Two Angela, 416 

Valley of the Amaion, 878 

Vanderlyn,. 698 

Veron^ Memoirs, 158 

Visit to Iron Mountains of Missouri, 896 

Vision of Hasheesh, 408 

Washington'k Early Days, 1, 181 

IixcsTBATtoM. — Site of Waahingtoa*! Birthplace — 
Waahiagton with hla Father ia the Gardea— Waahing- 
ton aa Peaeamaker-Waahington DrUUag hU Sehool- 
fbOowa-Readenoa of the WaahingtoB Family-Primary 
Leaaona— Waahington** Sarrayiag Xzpeditifln — Tha 
Sarreyor*a Camp. 

-WhoIsHer—ABeplytoQueTedo, 608 

Who was Jnliefk Buaaway t 880 

Without and Within, 486 

Without and Within, IL The Bestaurant, 669 

Winter Eyening Hymn to my Fire, 888 

Zay-nis of Yaa-kl, Translated from the Oblneso 
«f Tay-Un, 68S 


% MhW^ trf l^it^ratttR, ^tlmt, anil ^rt. 



THERE may, perhaps, be among our 
readers, especially the younger por- 
tion of them, some who are not as con- 
versant as they would desire, with every 
particular of the early life and character 
of him whom it is our pride and happiness 
to call the Father of our Country. For 
the benefit of such we propose to give one 
or two papers about his boyhood, think- 
ing that the little that is kiMwn of a life 
so interestmg and important to us and to 
the world, can never be brought before the 
public in too many forms. With no am- 
bitious but rather a patriotic aim we do 
this. It is a character we love to contem- 
plate, to dwell upon ; one that we think 
Americans of the rising race might profit- 
ably study more closely than they do. 
We find many intelligent persons who 
have only a very vague notion of the 
Washingtor, they admire ; they take for 
granted his perfections, but put off* the 
examination into him to some other time, 
or perhaps lack courage to attack the 
large volumes in which authentic lives of 
him are mostly shrouded. But our 
Monthly travels as on the wings of the 
wind ; and modest and unassuming as it 
is, wins easy way into parlors and work- 
shops, ships and factories, wherever oub 
tongue is spoken. Let it then be the 
bearer of a few words about our country's 
hero, words so few that every body will 
find time to read them, just to give a zest 
to real, full, satisfactory histories now ex- 
isting or soon to be. We shall make use 
of all the authorities within our reach, 
not even rejecting tradition, which is often 
the vehicle of important truth where cha- 
racter is to be estimated. We dare not 
promise any thing new, but we shall try 
VOL. in. — 1 

to omit nothing that is interesting oi 
illustrative ; and if, on this modest plan^ ta 
may well happen, we fail to be " graphic,*^ 
we shall be provided with what will more 
than supply the deficiency, in the aid of Mr. 
Darley's unfailing pencil, which is to ac- 
company our sketches with such lifelike 
presentation of striking points and incidents 
as our readers will know how to value. 

Fortunately for as, Washington needs 
no embellishment from his biographer, 
nor invention in his illustrator. A simple 
recital of facts best shows the distinction 
between him and common men. It may 
be said that this difTerenoc is not discern* 
iblc in his youth; that he was a boy 
among boys, and that an idea of his early 
excellence is merely a romantic deduction 
from the eminence of his virtue in after 
life. But even the few simple records 
that remain, plainly show that he was 
marked from the beginning; and the 
theory that his youth gave no promise of 
his future, seems to us as little sustained 
by vrisdom and experience as the wildest 
notions of a precocious virtue would be. 
It is only to hJj regretted that the discern- 
ment of those about him should not have 
suffice<l to make them treasure up every 
fact of his conduct and every particular of 
his conversation, that we might at least 
have tried to train up other boys to be 
the Washingtons of our days of peace and 

Washington was bom in the State of 
Virginia, county of Westmoreland, at a 
place called Pope's Creek, near the banks 
of the Potomac, that happy river, whose 
every tree and wave seems now to be 
glorified by close association with his 
memory. The dwelling was humble- 

Georgt Waxh ing ton. 


lookin^r. no doubt, on that 2*2d of Febru- 
hT\\ 173*2. for it was a very onlinary 
Virjrinia fanii-housc of that time; so 
ordinary that the family, who 8oon re- 
moved from it. did not think it worth 
preserving, but allowed it to perish j and 

at the pre.scnt day only a slab of freestone, 
placed there by the i)ious care of Mr. 
Custis, shows the site of an event whose 
importance can hanlly Ix? fully appreci- 
ated. The fonn of the dwelling is, how- 
ever, known by Mr. Custis and others. 

biM ni n asaiiiifu-n ■ mrin|i 

who describe it as a j)lain, four-roomed 
farm-house, with a rhiiiuu'V at facli I'ud. 
which chimney was ciuriod all the way 
up on the outside, as is the case with 
many a buildinjr of the siime date still 
standing. The surrounding huulscape has 
few featUR's of interest, lieiiig grace*! with 
little natural variety or caivful cultivation. 
its trees ai-e very ordinary trees — wild 
figs, J lines and hemlocks ; — the land has 
no extraordinary fertility, but .«;hows 
plainly enough the eHW't «)f imiH'rfect till- 
age and laisaez alter habits in the i)eople. 
who make one susjiect that the energy 
and determiuatitm which might have serv- 
ed the entire region was absorU'd by 
George Washington. nuKlel as he was of 
promptness and thoroughness in all things, 
from the greatest to the least. Hut what 
a charm hovers over the whole ! What 
other spot on earth makes the s»oul thrill 
i:ke this ? \ vine-lcaf^a sjjrig of cedar — 
a IKjbble. from that hallowiMl ground, is a 
fiossession. not only to the American but 
to every noble heart. The jKiet^s words, 
so true to nature, rise unbidden to the 
memory as we ])acc tliosc silent fields and 

woods. We do not wrest them fivm tlu'ir 
highest meaning when we apjily them to 
the place consecrated by the memory of 

("jilI it not vain— Uu-y do n« » 'Tr 

W>io ^ny mXwu the IIk. <■ i11c\ 
Miitf Niiiim! inourii.s ia-r w-oro>i)| j>cr 

An<l ivli-brato> lii< i>b*oiiuii':!< ; 
Wlio Niy that hill uinl furc'-t hnic 
K«ir tho ili-iartr«l Chii-f make iMi»an; 
Tlinuidi \\\f, loxtnl crovi-5 th:it l»ri-o/i-.s *\^\\ 
AikI ouk- in (K-i'Iht i*ninn reply : 
Ami rivrn* ti-at-h llnir nishlni; wiivr 
To niunnur ilir^ri.'s ronnd his irra\i.'. 

One ni*e<ls little stretrh of Fan<T to 
hear the name of Washington whispered 
in every brwze that rullles the bosom of 
the Potomac he loved so dearly. 

He always livwl near it when he could. 
It was ever in his eye at home and in his 
heart when he was absent. All his dreams 
of cpiiet happiness — and he cherished such 
thn)ugh life — were c<»nni-cte<l with ii> 
bank.s. It doubtless influenced his charac- 
ter, as every gn-at feature of nature must 
influence those who study and deliglit in 
her as Wa.shington did. His father re- 


Otorge Washington. 


moved soon after his birth to another plain 
farm-house, sitaatcd on the Rapmuian- 
nock River, not far from Fredericksburgh, 
and not very far from the attractive Poto- 
mac. ITiis house, too, has been destroyed, 
but a drawing of it exists, showine it to 
have been not exactly what a gentleman 
farmer of the present day would be satis- 
fied with ; plain even to homeliness, and 
scarcely affording what we think decent 
accommodation for a large family. Mr. 
AugusUno Washington was twice married ; 
lie had by the first marriage four children, 
and by the second six, of which last 
George was the eldest. Two of the first 
family died in infancy, and two sons, 
Lawrence and Augustine, remained. Of 
the brothers and sisters of George Wash- 
ington, "Betty" became Mrs. Fielding 
Lewis ; Samuel was five times married ; 
John Augustine married the daughter of 
Colonel John Bushrod ; Charles married 
Mildred Thornton, daughter of Colonel 
Francis Thornton, of Spotsylvania County ; 
and all left families, which intermarried 
in every direction, and spread the connec- 
tion all over the country, so that one 
would think Virginia must be well inocu- 
lated from this excellent stock. 

The ancestors of the Washington family 
came from Northamptonshire, in England, 
about 1657, during Cromwell's time. The 
name of Washington appears as early as 
the twelfth centur}'. The family name 
was originally Ilertbum, but William de 
FTertbum, about the latter part of the 
thirteenth century, assumed the name of 
his property, the manor of Wessyngton, 
afterwards ^^Titten Washington. Deeds 
and monumental inscriptions still extant 
show the wealth and importance of the 
original stock at that early day. In 1G92, 
Joseph Washington, an eminent lawyer, 
translated from the Latin one of Milton's 
p(.»litical works, a fact which must be ac- 
cepted as an indication of his political senti- 
ments. Another of the family. Sir Henry 
Washinprton, Is renowned in English an- 
nals, as having defended the city of Wor- 
cester against the Parliamentary forces, 
in 1646. so there seems to have been at 
least a balance of conservatism among 
them. The mother of this gentleman 
was half-sister to George Villiers, Duke 
of Buckingham. 

In 1539, the manor of Sulgrave, near 
Northampton, was granted to Laurence 
\N'ashington, to whose memory and that 
of his wife, is found in the parish church 
there, a monument with an inscription, 
and "effigies in brass of four sons and 
seven daughters." The manor of Sul- 
grave continued long in the family, and 

came to be called Washington's Manor. 
If the first proprietor of the manor had 
eleven children, his eldest son was yet 
more fortunate, having been blest wiU) 
sixteen, and his eldest son, again, was the 
father of fourteen, — seven sons and seven 
daughters. The second and fourth of 
these sons were John and Laurence 
Washington, who came to Virginia about 
1057. This John Washington was the 
great-grandfather of the greatest of the 
family. He was employed as general 
against the Indians in Maryland, and the 
parish in which he lived was called after 

General Washinp^on himself took but 
little interest in his pedigree. When he 
had become famous, Sir Isaac Heard, then 
Garter King at Arms in London, took 
some pains to trace back his ancestry, and 
wrote to him for such particulars as might 
be in his possession. In the answer, 
Washington observes. " This is a subject 
to which I confess I nave paid very little 
attention. My time has been so much 
occupied in the busy and active scenes of 
life from an early period of it, that but a 
small portion could have been devoted to 
researches of this nature, even if my 
inclination or particular circumstances 
should have prompted to the inquiry." 
When family affection and kindness were 
in question, ho seems to have been active 
in tracing relationships ; but we can discover 
no research inspired by pride or ambition. 
Perhaps the occupations and services 
which make every little item of his histor)' 
so important to us, preserved him against 
unbecoming solicitude about reflected 
honors. He had neither time nor inclina- 
tion to turn aside to visit the tomb of any 
superfluous Jupiter Ammou of the old 
world. We should have been surprised 
to find him opening a correspondence with 
the King of the Heralds. 

The first wife of Augustine Washington 
was Jane Butler, the second, Mary Ball, 
characterized on her tomb and known to 
history as " Mary, the mother of Washing- 
ton." a sufficient distinction. She seems to 
have been a woman of strong understanding: 
and decided will ; kind and gentle through 
principle rather than fcmmine instinct; 
and noted for judgment and self-command. 
Her husband, a man of large landed 
estate, dying at forty-nine, left her in full 
control of his property, which she man- 
aged for her children till they successively 
came of ago. All that is known of her. 
including Washington's life-long respect 
and duty towards her, pjKjaks well of her, 
but that all is little to what we could desire 
to be told. She declined in her latter 

Oearge Washington. 


days becoming a resident of her son 
George's family, saying that her wants 
were few and that she preferred being in- 
dependent ; and when her son-in-law, Mr. 
Lewis, offered to take charge of her busi- 
ness, as she was failing in health, she 
told him he might keep her accounts, be- 
cause his eyes were better than hers, but 
she chose to manage her own affairs. 
Tradition says she used to be consulted 
by the neighbors on the management of 
their farms and other business, and also 
that she mingled but little in society, 
finding her pleasures as well as her occu- 
pations within her own doors. 

Mr. Weems says, she was a beauty in 
her youth; and, making due allowance for 
his somewhat luxuriant imagination, we 
find little difficulty in supposing the re- 
port to be correct, since her eldest son, at 
least, was a symmetrical being, in all 
respects ; having a face full of expression, 
a rich complexion, a clear blue eye, a 
winning smile, and a fine, erect, athletic 
figure. His sister, Mrs. Lewis, can hardly 
have been as handsome, for a woman ; for 
wc are told that she was so like her 
brother, that, with his military hat and 
cloak on, she might have claimed the 
usual honors, from the sentinels in his 
stead. Yet there was in Washington's 
face, especially as he grew older, an ex- 
pression of modesty and even of tender- 
ness, which mieht well become that of a 
woman, though wo can never know 
whether that was derived from his mother. 
He honored her, however, and perhaps 
the formality which appears in what we 
know of their intercourse may be due, in 
part, at least to the manners of the time. 
It is rccordea that at their last parting he 
wept and trembled, while his mother main- 
tained, so far as we are told, her usual self- 

Besides the inestimable blessing of a 
good and reasonable mother, we have 
vark)us reasons for believing that Wash- 
ington had a man of sense and virtue for 
his father. So deep-laid and well-built a 
foundation of right-mindedness as was 
evinced in the life we are considering could 
hardly be accounted for else -, so we may 
accept the result as in some measure con- 
firming the tradition, even though the tra- 
dition be suspected of having been modi- 
fied bv the result. Tradition loves the 
marvellous, and therefore might as easily 
have presented Washington as the mira- 
culously excellent product of bad antece- 
dents, like Eugene Sue's heroes and he- 
roines. As good authority as we have for 
the famous story of the hatchet which 
brought to light a love of truth well 

known to have characterized Washington 
in every conjuncture, gives us one or 
two anecdotes, not quite so threadbare, 
which go to show that Augustine Wash- 
ington, the worthy descendant of a long 
line or English country gentlemen, was 
not one of those parents who leave to 
chance the prompting of good thoughts 
in the mmds of their children. An oc- 
currence mentioned by good Mr. Weems, - 
— " formerly Rector of Mount Vernon 
parish," — ^who professes to have gathered 
nis materials from the lips of people 
familiar with the Washington family, 
we shall quote here, since it seems charac- 
teristic and is certainly picturesque : 

" On a fine morning in the fall of 1737, 
Mr. Washington, having little George by 
the hand, came to the door " — (an old 
lady is tne narrator) — "and asked my 
cousin Washington and myself to walk 
with him into the orchard, promising he 
would show us a fine sight. On arriving 
at the orchard, we were presented with a 
fine sight indeed. The whole earth, as 
far as we could see, was strewed with 
fruit, and yet the trees were bending 
under the weight of apples, which hung 
in clusters like grapes. . . . 'Now George,' 
said his fiither, 4ook here, my son ! 
Don't you remember, when that good 
cousin of yours brought you that fine 
largo apple last spring, how hardly T 
could prevail on you to divide with your 
l^rothers and sisters, though I promised 
you that if you would but do it, God 
would give you plenty of apples this 
fall ? ' Poor (Jeorge couldn't say a word, 
but hanging down his head, looked quite 
confused, while with his little naked toes 
he scratched in the sofl ground. * Now 
look up, my son,' continued the father. 
*look up, George I and sec there how 
richly the blessed God has made good my 
promise to you. Wherever you turn 
your eyes, you see the trees loaded with 
fine fruit, many of them, indeed, breaking 
down, while the ground is covered with 
mellow apples, more than you could eat 
in all your lifetime.' George looked in 
silence on the wide wilderness of fruit, 
and lifting his eyes, filled with shining 
moisture, to his father, he softly said — 

* Well, Pa, only forgive me this time, and 
sec if I ever be so stingy any more ! ' " 

We must allow Mr. Weems the praise of 
a good narrator, and his generous enthusi- 
asm makes him an inspiring one. As to 
his facts, we must accept them as honestly 
believed by a gentleman and a clergyman ; 
and many of them can claim the benefit 
of internal evidence. If not literally true, 

* lis mirUent bieii de V^tre? T Jce an- 


Gwrgt Waahinffion, 





WMluo«too with hit Fttlhar ia Um Qwdei*, 

Other, which might have been written by 
Jean Paul or a Flemish painter : it de- 
scribes a little scheme of the father to sug- 
gest to the future guide of millions the 
first and most important of all truths. 

*• One day he went into the garden and 
prepared a little bed of finely pulverized 
earth, on which ho wrote George's name 
in full. Then strewing in plenty of cab- 
bage seed, he covered them up and smooth- 
ed all over nicely with the roller. This 
bed he purposely prepared close along- 
side of a gooseberry walk, which, happen- 
ing at this time to be well hung with ripe 
fruit, he knew would be honored with 
George's visits pretty regularly every 
day. Not many mornings passed away 
before in came George, with eyes wild 
rolling, and bis little cheeks ready to 

burst with great news — ' Pa ! come 
here — come here ! ' 

" * What's the matter, my son, what's 
the matter ? ' 

" * come here, I tell you, Pa ! come 
here, and Pll show you such a sight as 
you never saw in all your lifetime.' 

" The old gentleman suspecting what 
George would be at, gave him his hand, 
which he seized with great eagerness, and 
tugcing him along through the garden, 
led him point blank to the bed whereon 
was inscribed, in large letters, and in all 
the freshness of newly sprung plants, the 
full name of 


" ' There, Pa ! ' said George, quite in an 
ecstasy of astonishment; 'did you ever 
see such a sight in all your lifetime ? ' 

Qtarge Washington^ 


^ ^ Why, it seems like a curious affair, 
sure enough, George.' 

** * But, Pa, who did make it there — 
who did make it ? ' 

" *It grew there by chance, I suppose, 
my son.* 

" * By chance, Pa! no, no ! it never 
did grow there by chance. Indeed, that 
it never did ! ' 

" ' Heigh ! why not, my son ? ' 

« » Why, Pa, did you ever see any body's 
name in a plant bed before ? ' 

" ' Well but, George, such a thing might 
happen, though you never saw it before.' 

" ' Yes, Pa, but I did never see the little 

eants grow up so as to make one single 
tter 5f my name before; now, how 
could they grow up so as to make all the 
letters of my name, so exactly ! and all 
60 neat and even too, at top and bottom. 

Pa ! you must not say that chance did 
this ! Indeed somcbodv did it, and I dare 
say, now, Pa. you did it, just to scare 
mo, because I am your little boy.' 

" His father smiled and said, * Well, 
George, you have guessed right. I in- 
deed did it, but not to " scare " you, my 
son, but to learn you a great thing whkh 

1 wish you to understand.' 

« « * * * 

'• * But, Pa, where is God Almighty ? I 
did never see him yet,' 

" * True, my son, but though you never 
saw him, he is always with you. You 
did not see me when ten days ago I made 
this little plant bed, where you see your 
name in such beautiful green letters ; but 
though you did not see me here, yet you 
know that I was here.' 

" ' Yes, Pa ; that I do know, that you 
was here.' 

•Well, and as my son could not be- 
lieve that chance had made and put to- 
gether so exactly the letters of h^ name 
(though only sixteen), then how can he 
believe that chance could have made and 
put together all those millions and mil- 
lions of things that are now so exactly 
fitted to his good? That my son may 
look at every thing around him, see what 
fine eyes he has got ! and a little pug nose 
to smell the sweet flowers, and pretty 
ears to hear sweet sounds, and a lovely 
mouth for liis bread and butter, and the 
little ivory teeth to cut it for bim ! And 
precious little hands and fingers to hold 
his playthings, and beautiful little feet 
for him to run about upon. And when 
my little rogue of a son is tired with 
running about, then the still night comes 
for him to lie down, and his mother sings, 
and the little crickets chirp him to sleep ; 
and as soon as he has slept enough, and 

jumps up as fresh and strong as a little 
buck, there the sweet, golden light is 
ready for him I When ne looks down in 
the water, there he sees the beautiful, 
silver fishes for him, and up in the trees, 
there are the apples and peaches, ana 
thousands of sweet fruits for him ; and all 
around him, wherever my dear boy looks, 
he sees every thing just to his wants ana 
wishes ; the bubbling springs, with cool, 
sweet water for him to drinK; and the 
wood to make him sparkling fires when 
he is cold ; and beautiful horses for him 
to ride, and strong oxen to work for him, 
and good cows to give him milk, and bees 
to make sweet honey for his sweeter 
mouth, and the little lambs, with snowy 
wool, for beautiful clothes for him ! Now 
these and all the ten thousand other good 
things more than my son can even think 
of, and all so exactly fitted for his use and 
delight, how could chance ever have done 
all this for my little son ? ' " 

We need not carry our extract further, 
since George's full assent to the conclu- 
sion his father wished him to draw from 
this beautiful picture of God's doings may 
easily be taken for granted. It is not 
difficult to recognize the warm poetic fkncy 
of the narrator in this sketch, but we are 
quite willing to accept it, even as an ^ ^ Ima- 
ginary Conversation'* of old times, wish- 
ing it were modernized, in some shape, in 
every family of intelligent children. 

This good father was cut off* by a sudden 
illness, before he had reached his fiftieth 
year, and George, with a large family of 
brothers and sisters, was left to the care 
of his mother, who was his father's second 
wife. Each child had an estate, for the 
father was rich in lands ; but the proceeds 
of all were placed wholly within the 
widow's control during the minority of 
the children — a circumstance which speaks 
plainly enough the husband's confidence 
in her judgment and kindness. Two sons 
of the first marriage were young men at 
the time of the father's decease, but Mrs. 
Washington had five children of her own, 
of whom George, at that time about eleven, 
was the oldest. He was absent, Mr. Weems 
iSays, when his father was so suddenly 
summoned, and arrived at home only to 
find him speechless, and to witness his 
final departure. The family seems to 
have been very much united, and George 
and his half-brothers were ever firm 
friends. After his father's death he lived 
for a while with the younger of them, 
Augustine, in AVestmoreland, the place of 
his nativity, which had been bequeathed 
to the second son. Here he went to 
school, to a Mr. Williams, who, Mr. 


George WaehingUm, 

Weems says, ^knew as little of Latin, 
perhaps, as Balaam's ass," but who was 
able to give him the elements of coounon 
school knowledge, which were happily 
enough in this case. We need not doubt 
the report that he was very soon the 
natural head of the school, not so par- 
ticularly by means of scholarship as 
through certain other qualities, so amply 
exhibited in after life. He was the um- 
pire in all little school quarrels, the bovs 
having implicit faith in his justice ; he 
was easily the leader in all athletic sports, 
through life his delight; and by some 
strange, prophetic instinct — prophecy 
often works its own fulfilment — it was 
his pride to form his schoolmates into 
military companies, with corn-stalks for 
muskets and calabashes for drums, and 
these he drilled and exercised, as well as 
commanded, and led to mimic battle. He 
is said to have been famous for hindering 
quarrels however, and perhaps liis early 
developed taste for military manceuvres 
was only an accidental form of that love 
of mathematical combination, and extreme 
regularity and order of every kind, which 
characterized him through life. But 
there was a political bias, too ; for the 
boy-army was arrayed in two bands, one 
of them personating the French, always 
an antagonistic idea to the English, and 
at tliat time obnoxious in the colonics, — 
and the other the English; the former 
commanded by a lad named William 
Bustle, the latter always by George 
Washington. It is rather remarkable, 
that so exciting a sport did not end in 
quarrels, if not in lasting enmity ; for the 
temperament of Washington was impetu- 
ous, and his passions were fiery, though 
we are little accustomed to think so, from 
our habit of contemplating only his after 
life, so marked by self-control. He was, 
nevertheless, known as a peacemaker, 
even thus iarly, and we have every reason 
to believe that peace continued to be his 
darling idea, through all the struggles 
which duty led him to engage in. 

He was also noted for running and 
wrestling, pitching the bar, and leaping 
with a pole. Whatever stirred his blood 
and brought into exercise the stalwart 
limbs and muscles with which nature had 
endowed him, was his delight. His young 
lady cousins comj)lained that George cared 
nothinj5 for their company, but would 
always be out of doors. And an old 
gentleman, a neighbor, is quoteKl as say- 
mg— "Egad! he ran wonderfully! We 
had nob^y, hereabouts, that could come 
near him. There was young Langhorno 
Dade, of Westmoreland, a confounded 

clean made, tight young fellow, and a 
mighty swift runner too, but he was no 
match for George." 

Colonel Lewis Willis, his pla^inate and 
kinsman, had "often seen him throw a 
stone across the Rappahannock, at the 
lower ferry of Fredericksburg," — a feat, it 
seems, not very likely to be equalled in our 
degenerate days. This great strength was 
inherited from his father, whose fowlhig- 
piece-^still extant, it is believed, — is of ex- 
traordinary weight, confirming the tradi- 
tion of the old planter's muscular powers. 

But there are proofs of another kind 
of interest felt by the schoolboy in those 
early days; — books, dating from his 
thirteenth year, in which his lessons in 
arithmetic and geometry are written, 
treasured by hLs mother no doubt, as 
sho^-ing her boy's application and neat- 
ness ; and of an earlier period still we have 
one, into which the driest business-forms 
were copied, under the title '' Fonns of 
writing" — ^^ bills of exchange, receipts, 
bonds, indentures, bills of sale, land-war- 
rants, leases, deeds and wills, all written 
carefully and in imitation of lawyers' 
sUle. This is doubtless a monument of 
Air. Williams's teaching, for we have mfsn 
similar books written as exercises in boys' 
schools long since that day. But in 
George Washington's book there are also 
copies of verses, "more remarkable" 
says Mr. Sparks, " for the sentiments they 
contain and the religious tone that per- 
vades them, than for their poetical beau- 

Still more valuable, as showing that 
" the child is father of the man," is an- 
other portion of this precious volume, 
thirty pages in which are maxims, regu- 
larly numbered, to the extent of a hundred 
and ten, under the title of ^'* Rules of 
Behaviour in Company and Conversa- 
tion." The import and value of these 
rules are various, ranging from a caution 
against drumming on the table, to a recom- 
mendation of reverence when the Highest 
Name is mentioned. It is evident from liis 
after history that these very rules, copied 
and conned at thirteen, were hiwoven into 
Washington's habits of thought and ac- 
tion ; and that, having once secured the 
assent of his taste, reason, and conscience, 
they continued effective throughout his 
life, and seemed to guard him against 
instinctive selfishness and the assaults of 
his own passions, as well as against any 
encroachment on the rights or feelings of 
others. When we reflect how striking 
was ever the courtesy and appropriate- 
ness of his behavior under the most diflB- 
cult circumstaijces, it becomes most inters 

Oeorge WaMngUm, 



WmUbi^ m PneamMn 

esting to read, in the stiff, boyish hand of 
that early time, such rules as these : 

" Let your discourse with men of busi- 
ness be short and comprehensive. 1 1 is good 
manners to prefer them to whom we 
speak before ourselves, csi)ocially if they 
be above us, with whom in no sort we 
ought to begin. Let your countenance bo 
pleasant, but in serious matters some- 
what grave. In writinir or speaking, 
give to every person his due title, accord- 
mg to his degree and the custom of the 
place. Being to ad\*iso or reprehend 
any one, consider whether it ought to 
be in public or in private, presently 
or at some other time, in what terms to 
do it ; and in reproving show no signs of 
choler, but do it with sweetness and mild- 
Take all admonitions thankfully, 

in what time or place soever given ; but 
afterwards, not bemg culpable^ke a time 
and place convenient to let nRn know it 
that gave them. Mock not nor jest at 
any thing of importance ; break no jests 
that are sharp-biting, and if you deliver 
any thing witty and pleasant, abstain 
from laughing thereat yourself. Wherein 
you reprove another, be unblamable 
yourself, for example is more prevalent 
than precepts. Let your conversation be 
without malice or envy, for it is a sign of 
a tractable and commendable nature ; and 
in all cases of passion, admit reason to 
govern. Be not angry at table, whatever 
happens, and if you have reason to be so, 
show it not ; put on a cheerful counte- 
nance, esi)ecially if there be strangers, 
for good humor maketh one dish of meat 


Gtorg€ WaMngUm. 

It a feast. When yon speak of God or 
his attribntes, let it be seriously, in rever- 
enoe. Honor and obey your natural 
parents though they be poor. Let your 
recreations be mannil, not sinful. Labor 
to keep alire in your breast that little 
spark of oelestial nre, called Conscience." 

From what repertory these and all the 
other maxims in the collection were drawn, 
we know not ; they wear the air of hay- 
ing been culled from yarious sources. 
Their haying been copied fidrly into a 
book would not of itself be woi Jiy of re- 
mark, since such things are often dictated 
to children by their teachers; but the 
striking correspondence between these 
precepts and the after life of the writer, 
makes them interesting as proying him. 

WiUi sanctity uf rcaaon 

to keep unbroken that connection between 
convictions and conduct, the seyering of 
which causes half the crime and wretched- 
ness of the world. 

That his efforts to live up to his own 
notions of right began very early, we 
must conclude from the interest that 
he inspired in his half-brothers, — not 
the most likely persons, as the world 
goes, to overrate him, — and they seem to 
have been ever his warmest friends. The 
eldest brother had been an officer in the 
war against the French, and served at the 
siese of Carthagena, and in the West 
Indies, under General Wentworth and 
Admiral Vernon. Ho was residing on the 
property lefl him by his father, — that 


Public Buildings of New-Torh. 


farm for ever famous, which he had called 
Mount Vernon, in compliment to the 
gallant Admiral ; and here George went 
to live with him, soon after leaving school. 
This was in his sixteenth year. Before 
this time he had shown a decided predi- 
lection for geometry, trigonometry, and 
surveying, which, as the profession of a 
surveyor was at that time particularly 
profitable, his friends had encouraged, and 
he had pursued the requisite studies with 
characteristic earnestness. The last two 
years of his school-life were chiefly given 
to the theory and practice of the art 
which laid the foundation of his fortune, 
not only b^ the opportunity it gave him 
of purchasing new lands advantageously, 
but by the habits he then acquired of 
calculation, accuracy, and neatness, so 
conspicuously useful to him through all 
the important affairs which devolved upon 
him in after life. When by way of prac- 
tice he surveyed the little domain around 
the school-house, the plots and measure- 
ments were entered in his book with all 
the care and predsion of the most impor- 
tant business ; and if an erasion was re- 
quired, it was done with a pen-knife, and 

with such care that scarce a trace 
error can bo perceived. 

" Nor was his skill," says Mr. S 
"confined to the more simple pre 
of the art. He used logarithm} 
proved the accuracy of his work 
ferent methods. The manuscrip 
several quires of paper, and are re 
able for the care with which thej 
kept the neatness and uniformity 
handwriting, the beauty of the dia] 
and a precise method and arrangem 
copying out tables and columns of fi 
These particulars will not be thoug 
trivial to be mentioned, when it is 1 
that he retained similar habits tt 
life. His business papers, day- 
ledgers, and letter-books, in which, 
the Revolution, no one wrote but h 
exhibit specimens of the same st 
care and exactness. Every fact 0( 
a clear and distinct place. * * * 
The constructing of tables, diagrair 
other figures relating to numb€ 
classification was an exercise in wl 
seems at all times to have taken 

(To be conUnacxI.) 


End Vi«wofatyH*ll. 

MEW- YORK has not much to boast of 
i^ in the splendor of its public build- 
ings, numerous and extensive as they are, 
with the exception of the City Hall, which 
is an architectural wonder; not intrinsi- 

calljr, but relatively, standing as 
until within a few years past, a i 
oasis surrounded by a desert of 
and mortar. The marvel of it i 
such a building could have been b 
all in the infancy and poverty of tl 
and that it should have stood nearl 
years without exerting the slightest 
enco upon the tastes of our peop! 
were continually building and rebu 
It was only another proof that edt 
in taste, as in morals and science 
be progressive, and that a comr 
must learn their alphabet in art, 8 
as in letters, before they can learn t 
and understand the productions 
lightened minds. We know wh« 
City Hall was built, and by whor 
how it was, why there should hav< 
such an outbreak of taste and public 
ality just then, so disproportioned 
exigencies of the times, without an tec 
or followers, has always been to us 
ject of especial marvel. Even i 
present day, when the wealth and p 


Public Buildings of New-York. 


City Hon. 

tkm of the city have increased ten-fold, 
the new puhlic buildings are comparatively 
mean and barbarous. There stands the 
b^tutiful City Hall, with an offspring of 
hideous Egyptian, Qreck, and Gothic 
structures, without a lineament of the 
graceful features or elegant form of their 
progenitor. It is marvellous that the city 
nthers should have passed in and out of 
the City Hall day by day for half a cen- 
tury, and never have been imbued with a 
feeling of love for the beautiful edifice 
which was their official home, nor have 
imparted something of its grace and ele- 
gance to the new structures which they 
erected for municipal uses. But such, un- 
fortunately, is the fact ; and the City Hall 
remains a splendid exception to the taste- 
less and uninformed character of the other 
dvic buildings of the metropolis of the 
New World. But, something of the won- 
der which the existence of such a building 
18 the City Hall excites, subsides when 

we find that it was during the mayoralty 
of such enlightened men as Edward Liv- 
ingston and De Witt Clinton, that the 
building was planned and completed. The 
comer stone was laid in September 1803, 
and it was nearly ten years in building. 
The front and two ends are of white 
marble, but the rear is of a very fine dark 
brown sandstone, not used, as has been 
ignorantly supposed, because its back was 
to the then rural districts, for the builders 
of the City Hall were not so cramped in 
their ideas as to imagine that New- York 
would never extend it^lf higher up than the 
Park ; but for the same reason that Cologne 
Cathedral is unornamented on its northern 
side, because it lies always in shadow, and 
the warm tint of the stene is more suitable 
to its aspect than the cold glitter of white 
marble would be. Let any one look at the 
City Hall with this thought in his mind, 
and the brown stone of the rear will no 
longer look incongruous or improper. 


Public Buildinga of N'ew-Ycfrk, 


Though we can make this apology for 
the rear of the City Ilall, which is as beau- 
tiful as the southern front, we have none 
to offer for its rusticated, brown stone 
basement nor for its awkward wooden 
belfry, which has been recently added. 
The names of the architects were Macomb 
and Mangin. and as they left no other 
evidences of their genius, the City Hall 
must be repanle<l as an inspiration. 

But, the City Hall of New- York is an 
exceptional institution in more respects 
than its architectural exterior, and as re- 
spects all other public buildings in the 
Union. It is in this Hall that has been 
commenced a permanent gallery of 'his- 
torical art, which, even at the present time 
is of great value ; but, to our ijosterity, it 
will prove a precious treasure ; in it are 
pre<served the portraits of all the governors 
of the State, and of the mayors of the 
city ; they are hung in the noble suite of 
apartments known as the Governor's 
lloom, and in other parts of the building 
are the portraits of many of our eminent 
men and military heroes. This plan of 
preserving the portraits of the chief magis- 
trates of the State and city, is one which 
should be imitated, not only by the nation, 
but by each of the States and cities ; it 
would be a cheap way of encouraging art, 

and establishing galleries of incalculable 
value in a historical point of view. 

In the Governor's Room are full length 
portraits of the twelve governors of the 
State, from Lewis down to Fish, including 
Tompkins. Clinton, Van Burcm, Marcy. 
Seward and Young ; two of them are by 
Trumbull, and the rest by Catlin, Vander- 
lyn, Inman, Weir, Page, Elliott, Gray, 
and Hicks ; there are, also, the portraits, 
en huste. of twenty-two mayors, and full 
lengths of Presidents Washington, Monroe, 
Jackson, and Taylor; Lafayette by S. Fl 
B. Morse, General Monckton by the same 
artist; and Generals McComb, Brown, 
Scott, and Swift; Commodores Perry, 
Decatur, and Bainbridgc ; there are also 
original portraits of Columbus, Governor 
Stuyvesant, Bolivar. Hendrick Hudson, 
and Pacz, General Williams, and of Mr. 
Valentine, who has been many years clerk 
of the Common Council. In the Cham- 
ber of the Board of Aldermen, a very 
beautiful apartment, are full length por- 
traits of Washington and George Clinton, 
painted by Trumbull, and of John Jay 
and Alexander Hamilton, by Weimar ; in 
the chamber of the Assistant Aldermen, a 
department of the city govermnent which 
has been abolished by the new Charter, 
are full lengths of Commodores Hull and 



PtMie Buildinpt of New-Tcrh, 


McDonough by Janris ; in room No. 8 is 
a half-length portniit of the renowned 
High-Constable, Jacob Hays, and, in the 
Mayor's Office is a half-length portrait, 
painted by Mooney, of Achmet Ben 
Ahmed, the captain of the Imaum of 
Mascat's frigate, which visited New- York 
about ten years since. In the Governor's 
Room there are marble busts of De Witt 
Clinton and Henry Clay, in the chamber 
of the Board of Aldermen there are busts 
of John Jay and Chief Justice Marshall, 
and in other parts of the Hall there are 
busts of Thomas Addis Emmet, and 
Chancellor Kent, and marble tablets in 
honor of several distinguished members 
of the New- York bar. Lentil within a few 
years past there was a noble banqueting 
room in the City Hall, where the city 
feasts used to be held on occasions of high 
public festivals, such as the Fourth of 
July, when the Mayor presided at the 
leasts surrounded by the Aldermen and 
their distmguishod guests, and mighty 
bowls of punch were quaffed, and enormous 
tureens of turtle soup eaten for the good 
of the city. But these civic feasts have 
fallen into disuse, and the magnificent 
apartment with its crimson curtains, has 
been made into two mean-looking court 
rooms, by a dingy partition. In one of 
the rooms is kept the City Library, the 
mere existence of which is hardly known 

to the majority of our citizens. But it 
contains many valuable books, and a very 
choice collection of rare engravings and 
interesting works of art, which were pre- 
sented to the city through the agency of 
Mons. Vattemare by I-ouis Philippe of 
France, and other foreign rulers. The 
Law Library of the New-York bar is in 
one of the lower apartments of the Ilall 
but it is only accessible to members. The 
famous " tea-room," where the Aldermen 
used to feast at the public cost is a rather 
dingy apartment in the occupancy of 
the Keeper of the Hall, the tea-room ex- 
penses having been denierl by law. The 
tea-room was so called on the lucus a non 
lucendo principle, for the potations most 
indulged in, in that convivial apartment, 
were mostly champagne and brandy. The 
City Hall was sufficiently spacious to af- 
ford offices for all the municipal business 
of the city, besides rooms for the United 
States Courts, but it is now insufficient for 
the accommodation of the municipal offices 
alone, and, besides appropriating the entire 
extent of the old Alms House in the rear, a 
spacious Hall has been erected in which 
the newly organized Council under the 
reformed charter will hold its sessions ; 
at the east end of the Hall is the Hall of 
Records, the old debtor's prison modern- 
ized with porches and columns. The build- 
ings used for municipal offices, which are 


PvhUe Buildings of New-York, 


clustered together in the rear of the City 
Hall, are of a very miscellaneous charac- 
ter, and appear to have been dropped 
down by accident, or to have been placed 
there temporarily with a view to some 
future arrangement. One of them, as we 
have mentioned, was, originally, an alms 
house, erected before external ornaments 
were considered as essentials to that class 
of public buildings ; another is a circular 
house, which was originally put up for the 
exhibition of a panorama ; another was a 
rough stone building, in which poor 
debtors used to be incarcerated for the 
crime of poverty, but it has been stuccoed, 
and pedimeutcd, and pillared in the style 
of a Greek temple, while there are two 
new edifices, both constructed of brown 
freestone, but, to keep up the general 

confusion, made of unequal dimensions, 
and as little in harmony as possible. Not 
far above the public buildings in the Park, 
is the City Prison, commonly called the 
Tombs, from the sepulchral style of its 
architecture. It occupies an entire square, 
with its principal front on Centre-street, 
as represented in the engraving. The 
ponderous and gloomy character of Egyp- 
tian architecture harmonizes estheticalr^ 
with the purposes of a prison, but it is 
both barbarous and costly, and there is 
no good reason fer erecting in the midst 
of a city an object which has such a night- 
marish influence on its neighborhood. 
The ground on which the City Prison 
stands was once a swamp, its cells are 
damp and unwholesome, and the whole 
interior is dark and dismal; it is con- 

Ci^Litj flflMTir.j-ir, 4!fd ^utitl. 

structcd of huge blocks of granite, wliich 
are oppressive to look upon, and must have 
a chilling eftcct upon the nervous system 
of passengers through Centre-street, who 
have within them undivulgcd crimes j in 
it is held the Court of Sessions, and all 
public executions take place in one of its 

In the immediate neighborhood of the 
Egyptian Tombs is another building 
equally gloomy in appearance, but of a 
different style of architecture, if such a 
word can be applied to a building that is 
devoid of style. 

The New Armory, or down-town Arse- 
nal, stands on the comer of AYhite and 
Elm streets, with a frontage of one hun- 
dred and thirtjr-onc feet, by eighty-four 
ieet It 13 built of a dark blue granite, 

with square-headed, narrow windows, a 
battlementcd parapet, and flanked by 
square towers. It is employed as a re- 
ceptacle for the ordnance of the first divi- 
sion of the State Artillery, the lower story 
being appropriated for a gun room, and 
the second floor for a drill room. It is 
wholly devoid of ornament, but is sub- 
stantial, and, if it should ever be needed 
as a place of refuge it could resist a very 
strong force. But, we imagine that its 
capacity as a fortress will never be te.sted 
by a siege. On the roof is a telegraph 
pole intended to communicate by signals 
with the State arsenal further up town. 

But the greater number of the buildings 
belonging to tlie city are not to be found 
in the streets and avenues ; the hospitals, 
prisons, alms-houses, and nurseries, are 

Public Buildings of New-York 


Km the beautiful little islands in 
i River, whose green slopes rise 
e rapid current, near Hell Gate, 
kwell's Island, the largest of the 
ut! the Penitentiary, the Lunatic 

and the City Alms Houses ; on 
Island are the extensive hospitals 
scd immigrants ; and on RandalPs 
he nurseries for the city orphans. 
f the most prominent of the struc- 
longing to the city is the Croton 
ir, between 40th and 42d streets, 
5 .Milfifiently familiar to all the 
to the Crystal Palace. This im- 
;Taiiite structure, built as solidly 
Iv to endure as lonjr as the j»yra- 
tThe beaker out of wliich a popula- 

rouch below a million drink their 
aughts; it is the great fountjiin 
th and comfort to the entire 
on of our mighty metropolis, 
their fountains and hydrants are 
ipplied. It seems scarcely ])0S- 
At .««uch a reservoir, vast as it is, 
contain a sufficient quantity of 
o feed the aImo.'«t innumerable 
.hat are constantly running from 
this Egyptian reservoir on ^lurray 

Hill, which looks so vast, holds but twenty 
millions of gallons of water ; a mere punch 
bowl, compared with the receiving reser- 
voir lying between 70th and 80th streets, 
covering an area of thirty-five acres, ana 
containing one hundred and fifty millions 
of gallons, while this, again, is but a wine 
cooler in comparison with the first reser- 
voir at the Croton River, forty miles dis- 
tant, among the breezy hills of "Westches- 
ter, which is five miles long. These im- 
mense reservoirs are trifling when com- 
pared with the whole aqueduct, which is 
forty miles in length, and, by the side of 
which all aquwhu^ts of ancient and modem 
times are dwarfed. The most impressive 
and majestic of the visible parts of this 
splendid work is the High Bridge across 
the Harlem River. This aqueduct bridge 
is tlie most magnificent structure wliich 
New- York can boast of; it is 1450 feet 
in length, and 114 fwt al)Ove the level of 
hi^rh water; through tliis lofty artery 
flows the daily life of nearly a million of 
inhabitants, and it is apiwilling to think 
of the consequences of an accident to so 
imi>ortant an agent in supplying the daily 
needs of so vast a population. 

lljCh Iln.!K«. 




A COLUMN of figures is said to be, and 
undoubtedly is, dry, — as dry as an 
old logarithm — and yet, there are cir- 
cumstances in which one may get from it 
a deal of succulent nutriment. The mer- 
chant, no doubt, who finds his long array 
of numerals with a balance on the right 
side of his ledger, thinks these more in- 
teresting than the best romance of Dick- 
ens or a poem by Longfellow. He relishes 
them, revels in them, rubs his hands over 
them, reads them several times, and is a 
happy man. A political candidate, too, the 
morning aflcr an election peruses the end- 
less lines of decimals, in his daily paper, with 
the intcnsest zest, forgetting the startling 
news on the next page, and quite uncon- 
scious, shame upon him. of the fine moral 
disquisitions of the editor in the verr next 
paragraph. On the sum of these figures, 
perhaps, hangs his life or death, the suc- 
cess of his long-cherished and splendid 
schemes of ambition, or the extinction of 
his hopes for ever. 

J'igures, therefore, are not always as 
fleshless as skeletons. They have a very 
present life in them, and may carry with 
them a fascination beyond figures of 
speech. It is a simple work, perhaps, the 
putting them together, but once rightly 
arranged, they hold the most significant 

Our census, it must bo confessed, has 
been a long while coming. It was taken 
in the year 1850, and has just, at the 
opening'of 1854, come from the printer's 
hands. Doubtless it has been a severe 
and laborious task to bring it into order, 
to compute and collate the separate re- 
turns of the marshals who were deputed 
to gather the facts ; but severe and labo- 
rious as it must have l>een, we are forced 
to believe that there has been no adequate 
occasion for the delay. We ought to 
have been in possession of it, at least one 
year ago ; and we would have been, if 
the business of the bureaus at Washing- 
ton were conducted ^nth the economy of 
time and the rapidity of action, which 
' characterize the business of individuals. 
Alas! public employments are the re- 
wards of serviceable partisans, and not the 
duties of competent men ; every kind of 
official service is turned into a job ; and 
the interest of the functionary in main- 
taining his place soon supersedes his in- 
terest in public business. Mr. De Bow, the 
superintendent of the department, we sup- 
pose, and his predecessor before him, Mr. 

Kennedy, have been as industrio 
they couid be, under the circumst 
we say nothing against them ; but, 
ever the cause of this protracted 
tion, we complain of it, with the ]< 

The United States is the last cc 
in the world, where such dilatory 
ment ought to be allowed ; becaust 
precisely the country where change 
advances of all kinds are effect^ 
such celerity, that a census four yea 
would be almost as much out of d 
a four years old almanac. A story i 
of a gentleman of Chicago, who spci 
years in travelling in Europe ; that 
he returned, he was compelled to 
porter to conduct him to the stre 
lived in, and the next day he confesse 
he knew less of his own town thai 
he had seen in the whole course 
travels. Thus, our cities and their 
lations. and industries, grow o\ 
our remembrance in the course of 
circles of the sun, and unless the i 
tories of them are published as so 
they are ascertained, they lose half 
value, and pretty nearly all their 
We expect, consequently, to hear t' 
presentatives of the West declaim 
nantly, in (ingress, during the pi 
session, against the injustice that hai 
done by the false and inadequate 
ment put forth in regard to their dii 
and the numbers of their constituen 

Let the reader, then, bear in mim 
in all the facts we shall present 
from the census, we refer to the 
1850. — a long while ago, if we r 
by the speed with which we mov€ 
not to the present year, when we m 
considerably ahead of the conditio 
that remote period. 

We must, however, now that w« 
vented our feelings of disappoin 
as to the delay which has taken pi 
its preparation, do Mr. De Bow, c 
persons concerned with him, the j 
to say, that they have presented 
most valuable statistical work, — th< 
clearly that has yet been prepared 
the auspices of the Government. 1 
tains some twelve hundred crowded 
ever}' one of which has some table < 
culation that supplies indispensab 
formation to that jwirt of the publi 
would know the real facts of ourni 
condition and prospects. The o 
plan, as it was sent to the marshal 

1854.] The National Inventory. 11 

bnoed inqniries on the fbHowing heads : in another year, and to furnish the pnb- 

1. The population in all its relations of lie with the results. He has already, in 

wealth, age, sex, nativity, color, and em- his remarks on the various tables, and in 

ployments ; 2. Industry, in all its rela- the several appendices, entered upon many 

tkms to produce, implements, machinery, important and useful generalizations, and 

capital vested^ and persons employed ; 3. gathered from remote sources instructive 

Social statistics, embracing property, real illustrations and comparisons. Statistics, 

and personal, colleges and schools, libraries, though perfectly correct in themselves, 

newspapers, paupers, criminals, religious are often of little use for the want of these 

worsnip ; 4. Vital statistics, such as the comparisons and remarks, and Mr. De 

rate and number of deaths in each locality. Bow is therefore entitled to our special 

diseases, births, marriages, longevity, &c. ; thanks for his laborious services in these 

and, 5. Miscellaneous statistics relating to respects. We should like to lay be- 

tazes. wages, valuations of estates, Soc, fore our readers copious extracts from his 

It will be seen, therefore, that the inquiries deductions, but as we have a thought or 

covered suflScient ground ; but in the re- two of our own to present, we must oon- 

toms made, there appear to have been tent ourselves with simply referring to the 

many deficiencies. Whatever relates to seventh, Which, we presume, will be within 

popmation, agricultural industry, and cer- reach of our readers almost as soon as this 

tam social statistics, is tolerably complete ; number of our Magazine, 
bat the exhibition of our manufacturing In spite of the delay we have spoken of 

industry was so imperfect, that Congress above, of one thing we may be quite oer- 

would not authorize it to be includ^ in tain, viz., that the United States have 

the printed syllabus, while the greater not increased materially in extent, since 

mrt of the vital statistics, though pub- 1850, unless the Sandwich Islands should 

Dshed, is either so carelessly or so inade- have been annexed while this paper is 

qaateiy rendered, that it is comparatively going through the press. Colonel Abert 

worthless. Mr. De Bow, however, pro- of the topo^phical engineers, has statea 

mises to rectify the manufacturing returns, the territorial extent, in this wise : 


Are* of the Paciflo slope of tho region waterod by rivers fSiIIlnfir Into the Padflo . 778,866 

Aim of the Missbalppi valley, or of the region watered by the MiasLBBippl, Miaaoxirl, and 

their tributaries 1,38731V 

Area ofthe Atlantic slope proper 687,100 

Area of the Atlantio slope, including only the waters filling into the Gulf of Mexico umH of 

the MlsBiaBippi 188,646 

Area of the Atlantic slope. Including only the waters falling into the Onlf of Mexico ea€i of 

the Mississippi 145,880 

Total of the Atlantic slope of the regions whose waters &11 into the Atlantio . . 967,576 

Total area of the United States and thehr Territories in 1858 3,971,158 

But aa examination of the various official Now, size is not a quality of much im- 
leports of the General Land Office, Con- portance in itself, as every body knows, 
greas, and the State Department, shows who has read Dr. Watts^ verses which 
that this calculation is behind the truth, end with declaring " the mind the stand- 
lod the aggr^ate statement of the census ard of the man," and a fortiori of nations, 
is 3,220,572 square miles. The territorial The little states of Greece might have 
extent ofthe republic, then, as Mr. De Bow been rolled up in one comer of some of 
remarks, is nearly ten times as large as our own States, yet their immortal arts 
that of Great Britain and France com- illuminate the entire track of the last 
bined; three tunes as largo as France, two thousand years. Rome was not 
Great Britain, Austria, Prussia, Spain, bigger, in her early and more vigorous 
Portugal, Belgium, Holland, and Denmark days, than an average Virginia corn- 
together ; one and a half times as large as field, — yet Rome arrested the course 
the Russian empire in Europe ; one sixth of the world by her arms, and impressed 
ksB only than the area covered by the her laws so deeply upon human civiliza- 
ftfty-nine or sixty empires, states, and tion, that at this hour, at this distance of 
Tepublics of Europe ; and of equal extent tim^ they are still operative in all the 
with the Roman empire, or that of Alex- leadmg nations. The island of Great 
ander, neither of which is said to have Britain may be walked over in less than 
exoeeded 3,000,000 square miles; while it a month, but Great Britain has made all 
OQ^t to gratify the propensities of the most other nations tributaries to her wealth, up- 
rapadons JUibuster, to know, that more borne by a magnificent practical cner^, 
than one million miles of this territory and adorned by a glorious literature. Sae. 
have been acquired within the last ten then, is not an indispensable condition or 
y«ar8, i.e., since 1840. greatness; on the oUierhand, it may bea 
VOL. Uh — 2 


The National Inventory. 


sooroe of weakness to a nation, as it un- 
questionably was to the later Rome, or is 
now to some of the South American states. 
It is, doubtless, pleasant for an Ameri- 
can to feel that he has room to turn round 
in, that he possesses space enough to ex- 
patiate oyer, in the indefinite future, but 
the character of his territorial dominions 
which ought to excite his hopes or his 
pride, is not its extent, — not the fact that 
it reaches without a barrier from the 
northern snows to the tropics, and from 
the tempestuous Atlantic to the golden 
sates of the Pacific, — ^but the other fact 
Siat it is so peculuirly adapted by its 
physical features^ to the residence and 
growth of a united people. The vast 
chains of the Himalayas in Asia separate 
its inhabitants into hostile tribes, who 
stagnate in their isolation — unconquerable 
and unconquering, alike they leave no 
history. The Alps or Pyrenees inter- 
posed in Europe, ^'make enemies of na- 
tions," or if not enemies, divided races 
without true community of life or a general 
mutual intercourse. But in this new 
world, the physical structure of the entire 
continent is tfifferent Vast fertile plains, 
numberless navigable rivers, great chains 
of lakes extending fit>m the ocean &r into 
the interior, afford prodigious facilities of 
communication unimpeded by obstacles, 
and evidently designed for the seat of a 
homogeneous civilization. Add to these a 
climate not rigorous, like that of the poles, 
where man engages in a hopeless struggle 
against a niggardly nature; nor luxurious, 
like that of the tropics, where the energy 
of the body relaxes, and the very soul 
festers with over-ripeness, but temperate 
and bracing, the true golden mean, de- 
manding and admitting a healthful activity, 
inciting to constant exertion, but seldom 
to desperate battle, and encouraging free 
life, but never despondency or a fatal 
leisure, — add, we say, climate to the 
physical arrangement, — if you would ac- 
quire a just conception of the real grounds 
of our territorial eminence. Politicians 
may rant about the dangers of disunion, 
but we think that nature has wisely pro- 
vided against any possible failures on that 

WelL it is into this simply-organized, 
permeaole, and ocean-wasned inclosure 
that a motley mass from the Old World, 
representing eveir variety and degree of 
civilization, has been pouring for some 
two hundred years, and one of the most 
interesting studies that can be imagined, 
relates to the laws of its increase ana 
interfusion, the methods of its industry, 
its modes of life, its systems of physicai 

refinement and its means of intellectual 
and moral culture. It is our signal fortune 
that we are permitted to see the progress 
of human growth in its beginnings as 
well as in its results, — to be present at 
the birth of nations, to rock the cradle of 
their infancy, and to see them well put 
forward in the career of life. Every day 
almost we may see some little germ of a 
future manhood deposited in its sustaining 
bed, where it gathers accretions of nutri- 
ment from all sides, unfolds gradually 
into an organized vitality, and finally ex- 
pands into full-blown strength and bloom. 
The older nations were begun in the far- 
off ages, they grew by a scarcely appre- 
ciable increase, and all their habits and 
life-methods having been formed for them, 
they are now quite unconscious of chance. 

The whole number of inhabitants in the 
United States, on the 1st of June, 1850, 
was 23,263,488jWhich may be classified 
in this wise. Whites, 19,630,738; free- 
colored, 428,661 ; slaves, 3,204,089. But 
of the free inhabitants, 17,737,505 are 
natives, and 2.210,828 were bom abroad, 
viz. : 961,719 m Ireland, 573,225 in Ger- 
many, 278,675 in England, 147,700 in 
British America, 70,550 in Scotland, 
54,069 in France, 29,868 in Wales, and 
95,022 in all other countries. It is notice- 
able, too, in respect to the distribution of 
foreigners, that 1,965.518 reside in what 
are termed the free States, and only 
245,310 in the slaveholding States. Of 
the entire population, 2,728,106 are in the 
New England States, which are six in 
number; 8,553,713 are in the middle 
States, also six in number ; 3,557,872 are 
in the six slave States on the coast; 
5,167,276 are in the six central slave 
States; and 2,734,945 are in the five 
northwestern States. 

As to the ratio of increase, which is an 
important point between these several 
classes and localities, we deduce the fol- 
lowing results. The greatest increase in 
our total population has been in the decade 
since 1840, when 6,194,035 people have 
been added to us, or an increase of 36*28 
per cent. Of this gain, the whites were 
5,434,933, showing an increase of 38-28 
per cent The free-colored have increased 
42,360, or only 10-96 per cent The slave 
have mcreased 697 J33, or 28-05 per cent. 
In respect to foreigners, the rate of in- 
crease is not satisfactorily made out ; but 
it appears that the proportion in which 
the several countries contribute to the 
total foreign immigration is this : Ireland, 
43-04 per cent; Germany, 25-09; Eng- 
land, 12-06; British Amenca, 6-68; Scot- 
land, 3-17; France, 2-44; Wales, 1-34; 


The National Inventory. 


and others, 4-47. Bat, during the iMt 
two or three years, according to the Cus- 
tom-Hoose returns at New-York, the 
Germans have been rapidly increasing 

upon the Irish, and will soon oonstitiite 
the largest class of immigrants. 

The following table exhibits the aboye 
results at a glance : — 









Free Colored, 

















ToUl colored. 







It may be interesting now to compare 
with these* results the similar results ob- 
tained in Great Britain by the census of 
1851. The number of people in Great 
Britain and the small adjacent islands, in 
1851, was 20,959,477 ; and the men in the 
army, navy, and merchant service, and 
East India Company's service, abroad, on 
the passage out, or round the coasts, be- 
longing to Great Britain, amounted, on the 
same day, to 162,490. The population 
of Great Britain may, therefore, be set 
down at twenty-one millions, one hun- 
dred and twenty-one thousand, nine hun- 
dred and sixty-seven (21,121,967.) 

The annexed table exhibits the distri- 
bution of the people : — 







Army, Navy, and' 
merchaot sea- 
men, at sea or ' 









1 ill! 





The population of Ireland, as enumer- 
ated by another department was 6,533,357. 
The following table gives the population 
of Great Britain and the Islands of the 
British seas, exclusive of Ireland, and in- 
cluding the army, navy, and merchant 
seamen, as enumerated at each census 
from 1801 :— 









It will be seen by the foregoing table, 
that the population of Great Britain has 
nearly doubled since the commencement 

of the present century, notwithstanding the 
great number that have annually left the 
country, and settled in the United States, 
in the colonies of North America, Austra- 
lia, ana South Africa. The mcrease in 
the last fifty years has been 93*47 per 
cent., or at the rate of 1*329 per cent an- 
nually, the increase of each sex being 
about equal. 

The annual rate of increase has varied 
in each decennial period ; thus, in 1841- 
51, the population has increased, but the 
rate of increase has declined, chiefly from 
accelerated emigration. 

The emigration from the United King- 
dom in the ten years 1821-^1 was 
274,317; in the ten years 1831-41 it 
amounted to 717.913; and m the ten 
years 1841-51 it had increased to 

What a roving set we are ! In the older 
countries it is not uncommon to meet 
with many persons who have never been 
beyond the town or commune in which 
they were bom ; Londoners, for instance, 
who never saw the green fields, except of 
the parks; Parisians, who never saw 
Versailles ; rural people every where, who 
think the hill which bounds their little 
village homes the nUima thule of space ; 
but of our 17,736,792 free inhabiUnts, 
4,112,433 are settled in SUtes in which 
they were not bom. About 26 per cent, 
of the whole population of Virginia has 
migrated ; South Carolina has sent fortii 
36 per cent. ; and North Carolina, 31 per 
cent ; yet the New Englanders, particu- 
larly of Vermont and Connecticut, are the 
most discursive. They are in fact every 
where — at the south, the west, in the ter- 
ritories, on the Pacific — wherever there is 
space for a blade of grass to grow, or 
a spindle to turn, or a ^op to be opened, 
or a railroad to be built — ^in short, where- 
ever an honest penny is to be picked up, 
by any kind of industiy or ingenuity. 
There are, for mstance, 18,763 Massachu- 
setts men in Ohio, 9,230 in Missouri, 
55,773 in New-York, 4,760 in California, 


The National Inventory. 


and 350 in Utah. There are 133,756 
New-Yorkers in Michigan, 67,180 in IlJi- 
noig, 58,835 in Pennsylrania, and 101 in 
New Mexico. Virginia has sent 85,762 
of her people to Ohio, 41,819 to Indiana, 
and 10,387 to Alabama. Thus, a perpet- 
ual interchange of inhabitants is maintain- 
ed between the different States, which has 
a grand moral effect in fusing their sepa- 
eate prejudices, in producing a common 
sentiment, in interweaving bonds of affec- 

tion and amity, and in rendenng the im- 
prorements and advances of each locality 
a stimulus to the exertions of all the rest. 
A common language, and common politi- 
cal institutions, are incitements to unity ; 
but the reciprocal influences of trade and 
intercourse are the life-blood of our na- 

Striking results are given by the table 
below, which shows the increase per cent, 
of each class of inhabitants for the last sixty 













Fwe Colored, 














years. We see by it that the white inha- 
bitants are growing nearly 10 per cent 
faster than the slaves, and that the free 
colored are dwindling out. The increase 
of the whites, per cent., in the slave States, 
we should add, is 34*56, and in the free 
States, 37*67. Thus, the total increase in 
the United States is about 3^ per cent, per 
annum, while in the most favored countries 
of Eon^ it is only 11, and in the less 
ftvored, a fraction of 1, per cent No 
wonder that those old monarchies make 
big eyes when they read of the prolific 
domes of the young republican giant : no 
wonder that they get so apprehensive 
abont the future, and the least whisper of 
a possible descent some of these days upon 
their shore from this side the Atlantic. 

We are rather used to these enormous 
strides; but when we take a look into 
the future, we confess ourselres a little 
awe-struck at the prospect of what the 
thing 18 coming to. We discover the rea- 
son, too, why Providence has provided 
sucn a magnificent domain for us before- 
hand, and why the instincts of the people, 
always in the lon^ run wiser than the 
deductions of philosophers, begin to 
inquire whether there be any room out- 
sioe — whether Mexico, the Sandwich Isl- 
ands, Australia, and perhaps Japan, are 
likely to furnish the necessary accommo- 

Old John Adams was not, so far as we 
know, a prophet nor the son of a prephet, 
but simply a sagacious and discerning 
statesman, and yet he wrote, on the 12th 
October 1755, that **our people will, in 
another century, become more numerous 
than England itself," — it wants but two 
years of the time, and we now know his 
prediction will be fulfilled. We have 

now 2,000,000 more white people than 
England and Wales, and as many as Eng- 
land, Wales, and Scotland together, whue 
before the two years of John Adams's 
century are expu^, we shall nearly equal 
them, with Ireland thrown in. According 
to our past progress, too, it will only take 
forty years to enable us to surpass Eng- 
land. France, Spain, Portugal, Sweden, 
and Switzerland combined. The dose of 
the existing century will swell our num- 
bers to one hundred millions — ^not, how- 
ever, of such miserable, degraded wretch- 
es as are crowded together in China, or 
as were packed down in some of the an- 
cient cities, but, as we shall prore in the 
sequel, of free, educated, industrious, re- 
fined, man-loving, and Crod-fearing men. 
If it were not so, the contemplation of our 
future would be terrible ; as it is, under 
the agencies and instrumentalities at work, 
in the heart of our society, we have every 
reason to look forward with confidence 
and deep joy. 

One curious study suggested by the 
census is, that relating to the relative rank 
of the several States, as determined by 
their total population. In 1770 for in- 
stance, the order in which they stood was 
this: 1. Virginia; 2. Massachusetts; 3. 
Pennsylvania; 4. North Carolina; 5. New- 
York ; 6. Maryland ; 7. South Carolina ; 
8. Connecticut ; 9. New Jersey ; 10. New 
Hampshire, &c But twenty years after- 
wards, 1810, the following was the order : 
l.Yirginia; 2. New-York ; 3 Pennsylvania ; 
4. Massachusetts ; 5. North Carolina ; 6 
South Carolina; 7. Kentncky, (the J 3th 
in 1790) ; 8. Maryland ; 9. Connecticut -, 
10. Tennessee (not formed in 1770). 
Twenty years afterwards again, 1830, the 
relative position was still more changed, 


The National Imveniory, 


luid stood thus:—!. Ncw-Tork ; 2. Penn- 
sjlyania ; 3. Virginia ; 4 Indiana ( which 
WM the 20th in 1810) ; 5. North Carolina ; 
6. Kentucky ; 7. Tennessee ; 8. Massachu- 
setts ; 9. South Carolina ; 10. Georgia. Fi- 
nally, at the time the census was taken, 
1850, the arrangement was this :~1. New- 
York; 2, PennsyWania ; 3. Ohio (which 
was the 17th in 1800) ; 4. Virginia ; 5. Ten- 
nessee; 6. Massachusetts ; 7. Indiana : 8. 
Kentucky ; 9. Georgia ; 10. North Carolina. 
U will be seen then, that the States which 
hiTe grown the most rapidly in rank are 
New- York. Ohio, Georgia, and Tennessee. 
In respect to the absolute increase of the 
whites of the different States during the 
last ten years, it appears to have been in 
the following order and percentage: Wis- 
consin. 8911; Iowa, 347*02; Arkansas, 
110-16 ; Michigan, 86*74 ; Missouri, 82-78 ; 
Florida, 68-92 ; Mississippi, 05-13 ; Louisiar 
na, 61'23, Sec ; while the increase of some of 
the older States has been only : New- York, 
28-14 ; Pennsylvania, 34-72 ; South Caroli- 
na, 5-97 ; Vermont, 7-61; Connecticut, 0-28. 
At the same time the slave population has 
increased, for the last ten years, in Arkan- 
sas, 136-26 percent; Mississippi, 58*74; 
Florida, 52-85 ; Missouri, 50-01; Louisiana, 
45-32; South Carolina, 17-71; Virginia, 5*21; 
Maryland, 0-7 : while in Delaware it has 
decreased 12-09, percent ; in the District of 
Columbia, 21-45, and in New Jersey, 64-98. 
The slowest increase appears to be in 
those States bordering on the northern 
middle States, or Maryland, Virginia and 

It would seem that the people of this 
country are variously occupied, although 
agriculture is thus far their chief employ- 
ment At the time the census was taken, 
there were some 4,000.000 en^gcd in 
coltivating the land ; 1,050,000 m manu- 
factures ; 400,000 in commerce ; 100,000 
in mining; 60,000 in fisheries; and 50,000 
in the forests. The total annual product 
arising from agriculture is set down by 
Mr. Andrews, in his report on the Lake 
Trade, at $1,752,583,042; that from manu- 
factures, in the census, is $1,020,300,000 ; 
that from commerce may be estimated at 
8226,000,000; that from the forest at 
850,000 ; and that from the fisheries at 
810,000,000. The grand totel of produc- 
tion in the United States is therefore im- 

We possess 118,457,622 acres of im- 
proved farms, and 184,621,348 of unim- 
proved, the cash value of which is 
3,270.733.092 dollars. The farming im- 
plements and machinery on these lands 
are worth 151.569,675 dollars. We raise 
from them 100.503.899 bushels of wheat. 

592,326,612 bushels of Indian com, 
146,567,879 bushels of oats, 14,188,639 
bushels of rye, 215,312,710 bushels of 
rice, 199,752,646 pounds of tobacco, 
2,468,624 bales of cotton at 400 pounds 
each, 65,796.793 bushels of Irish potatoes, 
38.259,190 bushels of sweet poUtoes, 
5,167,016 bushels of barley, 9,219,975 
bushels of peas and beans, 8,956,916 
bushels of buckwheat, 313,266,962 pounds 
of butter, 105,535,219 pounds of cheese, 
221,240 gallons of wine, $5,269,930 in 
garden stufis, and $7,723,362 in orchard 
products, to say nothing of the hay, 
hemp, flax, hops, clover, silk, and grasses, 
and nothing of the cattle, sheep, and 
horses they feed. Our real and personal 
estate is worth $7,135,780,228. 

We possess also over 100,000 manufac- 
turing establishments, over the annual 
value of $500, consuming raw material to 
the value of $550,000,000, paying out for 
labor $240,000,000, and using a vested 
capiul of $530,000,000. Including, in 
that statement, all varieties of labor lead- 
ing to valuable results, the aggregate pro- 
duction of this species of industry would 
amount to $2,932,762,642. This amount 
divided by the number of inhabitants, 
free and slave, gives $126 as the averase 
annual production of each person, or, tak- 
ing the proportion of adult males as one 
to four, the annual production of each is 
shown to be $504. 

For the circulation of these products 
we have 1390 steamboats, measuring 
417,226 tons; some 3000 miles of canals, 
of which those in New- York State alone 
carry annually 3,582,733 tons; 13,315 miles 
of railway completea. whose commerce is 
valued at 81,081,500,000, besides 12^681 
miles in progress. Our total lake, nver, 
coasting, canal, and railroad trade is val- 
ued, for 1852, at $5,588,539,372. Add to 
this the value of products and manu- 
factures exported, $154,930,947, and 
that of foreign merchandise imported, 
$252,613,282, and we shall get some idea 
of the enormous internal and foreign com- 
merce of the United States. Our whole 
inward and outward tonnage is 10,591,045 
tons, of which 4.200,000 tons is owned at 
home — the largest tonnage owned by any 
nation of the globe except Great Britain, 
whose marine supremacy, at the present 
rates of increase, we shall soon surpass. 

It might be inferred — ^as not a few for- 
eign tourists in America, indeed, have in- 
ferred, from the exhibition of the immense 
industrial activity of our people, that they 
are wholly absorbed in the process of 
creating wealth. Yet such an inference 
would do them considerable in^uatioa. 


The National Inventory, 


They are devoted to the dollar, it is true, 
but they are apt also to spend the dollar 
in a liberal manner. Their activity in 
the various spheres of intellectual and 
benevolent enterprise is not a whit less 
remarkable than their physical activity. 
They take care of their unfortunate bro- 
thers, of the insane, the idiotic, the mute, 
the criminal, and the poor (of the latter of 
whom they nave happily fewer than any 
other nation) with as sedulous a care, and 
as generous a provision, as the most ad- 
vanced people in Christendom ; they print 
and read an incredible number of books, 
and fifty-fold more journals and maga- 
zines than any other people; while in 
respect to education and religion, their 
efforts, because they are voluntary, put 
to shame those of other people. Tiuce a 
few statistics in r^ard to the latter points. 
They show that a large proportion of the 
children of the United States of a suitable 
age are in attendance upon schools. The 
whde number is 4.089,607 — of which 
4j063,046 are whites— 26,461 free colored 
—3,942,681 are natives— 147,426 are for- 
eigners. The number of males is 2, 146,432, 
and of females 1,916,614. Of the whole, 
New-York is set down for 692,321. Ohio 
comes next with 514,309. Pennsylvania 
follows with 509,610. 

The total number of Colleges in the 
Um'ted SUtes is 234. Number of teachers 
1,651; pupils, 27,159. Annual income 
91,916,628. The total number of Acad- 
emies and Seminaries in the United States 
is 6.032. Number of teachers 12,207 ; 
pupils 261,362. Annual income $4,663,842. 
Beodes these, there are 80,991 Public 
Schools, which are attended by 3,354.173 

The whole number of periodicals in the 
world are distributed in this proportion. 
Asia 34. Africa 14, Europe 1094, America 
3000, ot which 2800 are printed in the 
United States, and have an annual circu- 
lation of 422,600,000 copies, or, taking the 
account of the leading states and empires 
only, the numbers stand: Austria 10, 
Spain 24, Portugal 20, Belgium 65, France 
269, Switzerland 39, Denmark 85, Russia 
and Poland 90, the German States 320, 
Great Britain and Ireland 519, the New 
England SUtes 424, Middle SUtes 876, 
Southern States 716, and the Western 
States 784. It will thus be seen that the 
newspapers are a pretty good comparative 
index of civilization, for just in the degree 
in which we average from the more des- 
potic and stationary conditions of society, 
we find these means of intellectual inter- 
course and entertainment increasing in 
zinmber, — the United States and Great 

Britain standing first on the list^ and 
Austria and Russia the last. 

Then, again, as to churches, it appears 
that there are 36,221, exclusive of the 
territories and California, or one church 
for every 557 free inhabitants, or one for 
every 646 of the entire population, with a 
total value of Church property to the 
amount of $86,416,639. We might ap- 
pend as appropriate here, the returns of 
the libraries, the lyceums, the scientific 
associations, and the various charitable 
and religious societies, but that we feel 
that our readers have had a sufficiency 
of figures. 

Now, all these results are highly grati- 
fying; but why are they so? Is it be- 
cause we Americans have a silly schoolboy 
vanity, as it is sometimes churged, in the 
magnitude of our wealth and power? 
Not at all, — ^if we understand the spirit of 
those who rejoice with us, — not at all ! 
We have other and better motives ; we 
exult, because these facts confirm, by an 
irrefragable and resistless demonstration, 
the political theories to which we are de- 
voted ; because they prove the great and 
vital truth of the necessary connection 
between a democratic constitution of soci- 
ety and the welfare of the whole people. 
A controversy is now going forward, 
among the nations of Christendom, as to 
the respective merits of a liberal and des- 
potic system of government, and we throw 
our experience, with all its grand re- 
sults, into the liberal scale. We say to 
the absolutist who distrusts the people, 
who fitncies that governments were made 
to rule one class of men with a rod of iron, 
and to support another in luxurious au- 
thority, ^'come and see I " Behold a people 
who govern themselves, midung Justice 
and Freedom the ends of their institutions) 
allowing to all the choice of what they 
shall do and think ; and behold, too, the 
beneficent effects ! The facts are before 
you, and judge for yourselves; but do 
not suppose that in making the exhibit 
we are moved by an inordinate and fool- 
ish pride." 

The secret of the prosperity and growth 
of the United States, it cannot be too often 
repeated, is in its social and political con- 
stitution. By ordaining justice as the 
single object of its government, and se- 
curing to the masses the most unlimited 
freedom of action, they have unsealed the 
fountains of human progress, they have 
solved that problem of social destiny, 
which has puzzled philosophers so long, 
and revealed to mankind, the momentous 
but simple truth, that just in the degree 
in which you reduce to practical applica- 


7!!^ NaUcnal Inventory, 


'tdon, the golden role of Christian equity, 
^* Do unto others as you would be done 
^Jj" 7^^ ^^ ^°^ Heaven all its richest 
'C^poral and spiritual blessings. 

The operation of the law is this ; that, 
in restricting the political power to its 
legitimate function of maintaining justice 
among men, you generate in each indivi- 
dual, a perfect sense of the security of 
bis person and property ; he is made cer- 
tain of the reward of his labor, and he ap- 
plies himself in the most effective manner 
to multiply his necessaries and comforts ; 
he enriches the community by enriching 
himself; his accumulations become the 
seed of future accumulations ; while, being 
thrown upon his own resources, not only 
for his maintenance, but his position in 
life, he exerts his every faculty to the 
highest d^ree, to improve his state. He 
tas^ his ingenuity to increase production ; 
— to invent machines, to facilitate processes 
to economize time, in short, to make the 
most, both of himself and his opportuni- 
ties. An English gentleman, one of the 
Commissioners to the Crystal Palace, ob- 
served to a friend of ours, that the fact 
which had impressed him most strongly, 
in reference to the industry of the Ameri- 
cans, was not its activity so much as its 
indescribable knowingncss, its ability to 
meet all emergencies, its readiness under 
difficulties, its quick facility in applying 
means to ends. " You have a thousand lit- 
tle convenient contrivances, in all depart- 
ments of arts, and even in all the appliances 
of living, that we know nothing about, 
and should never have devised." In other 
words, we may say that the quality of 
our labor is better than that of the people 
with whom government or society per- 
petually interferes, and consequently more 
effective. It realizes more than any other 
labor from the same expenditure of 
means. The Greeks and Romans wo are 
told valued the labor of a slave at half that 
of a freeman, and we know the reason of 
it; for as Homer himself sings, 

That makes man Blave, takes half bla worth away."* 

But there is another effect of that se- 
curity and freedom of labor, that springs 
from just government, — pointed out by 
Mr. Carey, — which, in our opinion, is the 
most important truth contributed to 
Political Economy since the days of Adam 
Smith. It is this, that where the industry 
of society is left to its own development, 
while the gross product of it is increased, 
a larger proportion of it goes to the laborer, 
and a diminished proportion to the capi- 
talist ; whereby the value of the laborer 
constantly rises, the number of the unpro- 

ductive classes ^ws smaller, a greater 
equality of conditions is produced, and all 
men are stimulated through hope, to the 
improvement of their intellectual and so- 
cial condition. The misery of the older 
nations is that the earnings of industry 
are distributed, by means of the innumer- 
able interferences of laws and institutionS| 
with the most flagrant want of justice. 
The working class, which is the most effec- 
tive of all the agencies concerned in the 
production of it gets the least part, while 
the capitalist, and the official functionaries 
take the rest. Thus, the stimulus to 
active industry is so far forth withdrawn, 
overgrown fortunes concentrate in parti- 
cular families, and an excessive expendi- 
ture, going to support large classes in 
idleness or sinecureships, debauches the 
action of government. 

In the United States, on the contrary, 
the share of the laborer in every joint pro- 
ductj increases relatively ; he is enabled to 
rise m his condition, to take one step up- 
ward, and, with every generation, to de- 
vote a larger portion of his time and 
means to the improvement of his mind, 
and the refinement of his tastes. The 
consequence is, that society, as a whole, is 
levelled upwards; the few are not pulled 
down, but the many are elevated ; the 
circle of intelligence and culture widens, 
and the disposition as well as the means, 
for patronizing art and promoting charity, 
become the common privileges of larger 
and larger numbers, instead of being the 
prerogatives of a favored minority. Mor- 
alists, therefore, arc short-sighted, who 
lament what they esteem to be tne ex- 
cessive devotion of our people to prac- 
tical life ; for, it is a precursor of their gen- 
eral enlightenment and elevation. It is 
preparing the masses, in spite of all the 
apparent materialism and worldliness of 
the process, for a higher civilization. It is 
multiplying their wants and their methods 
of satisfying them, which are both ele- 
ments of a larger and better life. Con- 
sider the demand for books, and generally 
the best books, — for music, and the best 
music, — for lectures, and the best lectures. 
— ^in short, for all kinds of intellectual 
and moral incitation, — ^how it is diffusing 
itself through all classes of our people, in 
the midst of the tremendous bustle of work 
and trade ! AVhere is there a nation in 
which the masses of the community have 
a more living and growing interest in 
whatever gives dignity and grace to 
human relations? Have the towns of 
New England a parallel, for intellectual 
activity and moral integrity, in Europe ? 
Yet me towns in New England are 


An Adventure on the Plains. 


more and more imitated in the Middle 
States, at the West, and even under a 
different social system of the South. 
Cherish no feans, then, oh apprehensive 
friends! for you may rest assured, that 
democracy is spreading the noblest influx 
mces of art, knowledge, and religion along 
with an unprecedcnt^ material develop- 
ment *' The house that is a building," 
quoth Carlyle, '* is not the house that is 
baUt^" and a wise man beholds through 
the smut and rubbish that encumber the 
Bcaflblding the fair proportions of the fin- 
ished edifice. 

But the most striking fact of our growth 
is its tendency to a more beneficent and 
harmonious social union. The physical as- 
pects of the Continent, as wc have already 
seen, point the way to this end, — the 
mobile and enterprising character of our 
people looks in the same direction; the 
prodigious multiplication of the mere 
medianical means of intercourse promote 
it ; the common legislation of the central 

gov^nment cherishes a common national 
spirit, while the general sentiment of the 
popular heart, in spite of political preju- 
dices or local estrangements, which are 
few and temporary, is melting the entire 
nation into a close and fraternal unity. 
Every day, in the face of that powerful 
expansive movement which carries us 
over the broad territories of the West, and 
to the unoccupied or misused lands of the 
South, we are getting nearer to each other 
in space, and drawing nearer to each other 
in mutual respect and afibction. We are 
thus exemplifying that process which is- 
the distinguishing mark of the highest 
civilization, viz., the growth of a more and 
more complex association among men ; and 
we are also reaching forward towards the 
ideal of a true Christian life, according to 
that beautiful image of the Scriptures 
drawn from the harmonious workings of 
the natural body, which represents man- 
kind as ** members one of another," in a 
spirit of universal fellowship and peace. 


** For be thtt once h«th mifla6d the right wav, 
The ftirther he doth go^ the ftirther he doth stny." 

Spek8kb*b FaUy Quetm^ 

ON the 20th of May, a. d., 1852, 1 was 
pursuing my slow and somewhat 
devious course across the unbroken wil- 
derness which lies between our Western 
frontier and California. Who I am is of 
no particular consequence, as this / is a 
very vague, commonplace, generic sort of 
chmcter, in the commencement of a story. 
that ma^ even feel flattered if he has suo^ 
ceeded m throwing around himself any 
individual interest at its conclusion. As 
the motives, however, which impel a man 
to such a journey, and the objects he has 
in view, seem to come more within the 
range of a natural curiosity, and may serve 
to give a coloring to the incidents of his 
story, it will perhaps be expected that I 
admit the reader to my confidence in this 

First, then, negatively, I was on no 
tour of exploration or scientific discovery. 
I had not sold, or — what is the same thing 
— mortgaged a good farm in the settled 
States to purchase a square rod of claim 
in the El Dorado. I had not set out with 
the " sink or swim, live or die " determi- 
iiatk>n of making a fortune. I can only 

plead guilty, in this particular, to the in- 
distinct vision of a " pile," which every 
one who turns his face towards the land 
of golden hills and auriferous streams has 
floating before his imagination. In the 
second place, positively, if I can bring out 
of the haze of memory what was then not 
very distinct in my consciousness, the onl^ 
motives which I can specify — though it is 
not a very satisfactory account to give of 
myself— were curiosity and the love of 
adventure. I should, perhaps, add an un- 
settled state of mind caused oy domestic 
circumstances, with which you, dear 
reader, have no concern, and which I now 
wonder had then such power to move 

I had already, in my short life, twice 
been to Caliiomia— once by the way of 
the Isthmus, and, years before its golden 
mines were discovered, I had visited the 
then unimportant town of San Francisco 
— but I had never travelled in the deep 
solitude of vast prairies and rugged moun- 
tains, thousands of miles from the haunts 
of civilization. I had never been in the 
lodge of the Pawnee, the Sioux, the Oma- 


Jn AdvefUure an the Plaint, 


litir, the Gbeyeniie, the *< Digger," and 
the Lord only knows how many more 
tribes of Indians, nor held a pow-wow 
with these unsophisticated aboriginals; 
aod my long cherished purpose to do this 
must be gratified. Besides, I wished to 
shiLke hands with my friend Brigham 
Young, and get a peep into his Harem — 
Bot knowing but the sight of the sacred 
pUtes, or of some Mormon beauty, might 
ooQvert me to the latter revelations, and 
$aU me down on the borders of the great 
lake of that name. 

But, whatever brought me there — there 
I was, on the aforesaid 20th, in the desert, 
ibout a day's journey from New Fort 
Kearney, on the military route to Oregon, 
aod about three hundr^ miles from my 
starting point on the Missouri River. X 
WIS weQ equipped for such a journey. 
A light carriage, drawn by two thorough- 
braflb, which as yet had shown no diminu- 
tion of mettle or bottom, led the way. 
This was a regular mtdtum in parvo, 
constructed after a plan of my own, at 
considerable expense, and wtLS provided 
with appliances of comfort, means of de- 
fence, and sources of amusement, that 
would make the uninitiated wonder. Not 
a square inch of its interior but was hung 
with munitions of war, fishins tackle, 
books, ^ &C., not omitting all the essen- 
tials to a dear lover of the weed — alas i 
all destined, with the exception of my 
splendid meerschaum, — ^now hanging in 
triumph over the mantel, — vehicle, and all, 
to lie scattered in fragmentary confusion 
along the route. A large, four horse 
caravan-looking wagon, filled with pro- 
vender for man and beast, cooking uten- 
sils, bedding, &a, followed. Besides these 
I had some spare animals for the saddle, 
aod to supply the places of any which 
might give out My companions were 
three active and hardy sons of the West, 
whom I had engaged to go with me for 
"aid and comfort'' 

The day had been cold and disagreeable ; 
and warned by the black and lowering 
sky, and the gathering clouds, which por- 
tended a coming storm, I concluded to 
stop some time before the approach of even- 
ing. My tent was therefore pitched, and 
every tkung made secure for the night, the 
horses turned out, and our hearty meal 
of bacon and hard bread concluded. It 
was not yet dark, when an infatuated 
desire of ^' passing an evening out " began 
to possess me. The monotony of the 
journey had become somewhat oppres- 
sive ; my internal resources had begun to 
fail ; Shakespeare did not seem quite so 
orif^nal as usual ; and no one, who has 

any more impressibility than a Turk, can 
smoke all the time. My restlessness was 
undoubtedly increased by the knowledge 
of the fact that there were other encamp- 
ments, in my immediate vicinity, of fellow- 
travellers wending their way California- 
ward, on the same graceless errand with 
myself, who had also been admonished to 
secure quarters for the night before the 
storm broke upon them. I had formed 
the acquaintance of some of them, in the 
exciu*sion8 which I was accustomed to 
make from my own party, on horseback, 
in search of amusement^ and of the 
"variety which is the spice of life," espe- 
cially on such a journey.. The previous 

day I had thus fallen in with a Dr. C e, 

of St Louis, and his amiable and accom- 
plished lady, who were braving the fa- 
tigues of a journey " across lots " to San 
Francisco, where I trust ho is now reap- 
ing a rich harvest of professional success. 
His tent I supposed to be about a mile 
fit)m my own, and I pined for the society 
I had found so congenial. So, encasing 
myself in an India iSibber suit, and pay- 
ing no heed to the warnings of my com- 
panions, or the still, small voice of pre- 
sentiment in my own breast, I set out on 
foot for the Doctor's. The ground over 
which I had to pass was undulating and 
broken, and meeting several ravines filled 
with stagnant water, I was compelled to 
make quite a detour in order to reach his 
camp. I found my friends "at home," 
and was received with a most cordial 
welcome and graceful hospitality. 

The evening passed away rapidly, in 
familiar and pleasant talk about home and 
friends, our mutual adventures and future 
prospects, and afforded a social enjoyment 
of which civilized balls, routs and ro- 
unions can give but a faint idea. The in- 
creasing storm, however, which made 
itself heard above our cheerful voices, and 
which shook with violence our frail can- 
opy, admonished me that it was time to 
return to my own camp, if I designed to 
go at all that night My friends urged me 
to stay ; but, as a person occupies more 
space lying down than sitting up, I doubt- 
ed the feasibility of the project, as there was 
no peg to hang on, or post to lean against. 
So I said, " no, I thank you, " with a most 
determined tone, though not without 
some little faintncss of heart, and sallied 
forth upon the invisible expanse. Oh, 
and such a night! It was darker than 
Erebus and Egypt together. The wind was 
blowing in fierce and fitful gusts, the rain 
pouring down in torrents. Altogether, it 
was as fearful a storm and as uncomfort- 
able a night as had ever fallen within the 


An Adventure on the Plaine. 


range of my experience in different quar- 
ters of the globe. Few pedestrians would 
willingly encounter the fury of such a 
storm even in the streets of a great city. 

On first emerging from the shelter of 
a ^ood tent, I was saluted by a blast of 
wmd and rain that actually staggered me, 
and drove me temporarily back. My hos- 
pitable ftiends then absolutely insisted 
upon it that I should pass the night with 
them. It would be a suicidal tempting 
of Providence, they said, to think of reach- 
ing my camp, and I would certainly lose 
my way. But a foolish feeling of pride 
would not aUow me to listen to their press- 
ing entreaties or warning remonstrances. 
I was an old sailor, I told them, and my 
nautical experience would enable me to 
find my way, especially as I had carefully 
noted the direction of the wind as I came 
along. Besides, I thought it was not alto- 
gether improbable that a stampede of my 
own animals might take place on so tem- 
pestuous a night — ^in which case I should 
be sorry to be absent. Alas ! how little I 
dreamed of the suffering and anguish 
which my reckless self-confidence and 
foolish conceit of my own skill were to 

cause me 

** Let him who wanders by a devious waj, 
Look to his reckoning— or wide astnj 
Hit barque maj Teer on peril's iktal track. ** 

The Doctor, finding that I would not be 
persuaded, held a lantern for me at the 
entrance of his tent, that I might occasion- 
ally look back and take my ^^departure " 
from it So I wrapped yet closer my 
poncho about me, and set forth on my 
perilous journey with a stout heart and a 
cheerful *^ good night. " I designed to 
keep the wind about ^* two points on the 
starboard quarter " of my nose, but I 
was obliged to deviate from a straight 
line to avoid the gtdchee of which I have 
before spoken, which soon caused me to 
lose sight of the cheering and guiding 
light behind, and I had no other resource 
than to keep on to the best of my jud^ 
ment, though I could not help the grow- 
ing feeling that I was decidedly *' in for 
it." As I was walking along at as rapid 
a gait as was consistent with proper cau- 
tion, I suddenly felt the earth crumbling 
beneath my feet, and, before I could re- 
cover myself, was precipitated some fif- 
teen feet down a ravine, and landed in a 
ditch, the water of which was nearly to 
my waist when standing up, which was 
not exactly my position when I touched 
bottom. I came down with a perfect 
facility — ^but to scramble up the st^pand 
slippery bank, like the ascent firom a more 
classic region — hie labor, hoc opus Juit. 

After several ineffectual attempts, 
resulted in a mortifying fiulure, ana 
considerably damped my courage 
pantaloons, I at length succeeded ini 
ing terra fir ma; and there I was- 
consciously, as I had been before ii 
ity— my pride all gone — and my co 
oozing, with the water, out of my dri 
garments. Need I be ashamed to 
it? I bellowed most lustily fori 
ance; ringing reiterated changes 
help! fire! murder! and all the si 
exclamations which have been cano 
in the use of respectable distressed 
sons since the invention of our m 

I knew that there were camps no< 
far distant, and had a slight hope 
the occupants of some one of them t 
hear me. But the hope was vain. Tb 
I called — nay, even howled — " thej 
swered not again." At length, to n 
expressible relief I heard, as I supf 
the whining of a dog. Was it ii 
this ? or did my ears deceive me ? \ 
in the lull of the storm, I heard it yet 
distinctly. In such a place, on 8t 
night, the bark of ^^ mine enemy's 
though he had bit me," would 
seemed friendly, and I foUowed the a 
As I advanced, however, it appeare 
recede, until a growl that I well lu 
stood filled me with consternation, 
audible ignis fiUwie that I had been 
suing was a prairie wolf. I knew 
that this animal seldom, if ever, mac 
attack upon a man, except when 
dered desperate by hunger ; but sti 
a lost traveller, in the midst of £gy] 
darkness, and in such a lonely and str 
spot, wolf-tones are calculated to c: 
any thing but agreeable sensations, < 
dally when he is familiar with venu 
accounts of their chasing Russian sic 
drivers and tasting their quality. 

There was no hope of rescue foi 
night, and the only thing that remi 
to me was to make myself as comfort 
as I could, where I was, until mon 
I sat down, made a sort of marquee 
of my poncho, by drawing it over 
head and putting my arms a-kii 
pulled out from the capacious pocke 
my large vest, made expressly for 
journey, the inseparable companion < 
my excursions, mine incomparable i 
sdhaum (I had it " jui^-rigged " at 
times, as the long, neichsel stem wi 
convenient to carry), some tobacco, t 
bunch of matches which were well 
tected from the water, and soon 
rounded myself with the comforts < 
Irish cabin, the nleasant volume n 


An Adventure on the Plaine. 


op^ as if mtimtting the speechless grati- 
tade of the smoker. 

Fiti-Boodle in ennmenttiDg the yarious 
tioes when % good cigar is most consoling 
—"after a hard day's sport, or a day 
ipeot indoors, or after a good dinner, or 
i Ud one. or at night when yon are tired, 
or in the morning when you are fresh, or 
oT a cdd winter's day, or of a scorching 
flommer's afternoon, or — at any other 
moment you choose to fix upon " — never 
passed such a night as I did, amid the 
wfld waste of such a wilderness, or his 
'^eimfessioiis" on this subject would have 
been more specific 

After mtting till my limbs were chilled 
and stiff^ I would get up and walk about 
in as near a geometrical circle as I could 
describe, bo as not to wander fkr from my 
position, and then sit down ag^, light 
my pipe afresh, and with the aid of the 
ame match (for a prophetic economy was 
stealing over me) look to my watch, in 
otter astonishment that the long hours I 
supposed had passed were hardly a short 
hiJf one. Sages are supposed to see 
diarms in the face of solitude; but 
they would have found it very difficult to 
lee any if they had been in my place, 
and they certainly would have preferred 
'^the alarms " of any habitable part of the 

BDbe to the " rain in that horrible place." 
en have been known tb moralize under 
the gallows — my peril, though without 
diame, was little less — and I moralized. 
I thooght to myself what a devout char- 
latan in eeniiment Oowper was, and won- 
dered whether he would have been willing 
to be ''shut out from all noise and 
romors of the world, " in the same man- 
ner that I was. 

The wearisome night at length wore 
away. The violence of the storm had 
abated, bat there was a drizzling rain and 
a thick fog, and I dared not move from 
mytradkS. I waited as patiently as I could 
kr several hours, but as the fog did not 
fight np any, I again attempted to find 
the camp, though without success. 

I must have wandered far from my 
right course during the night, in my per- 
ambulations to keep warm, as I could dis- 
cover no trace of the road or the cama 
and no answer came back to my repeated 
shouts. I then began to feel seriously 
uneasy. I knew my own men would not 
wait for me. My positive instructions to 
them were always to harness up in the 
morning and ^^ noove on, " if I did not 
make my appearance at breakfast, as I 
was sometimes absent from the camp over 
night, and I knew that the dififerent com- 
panies must have all passed on. I then 

endeavored to find the road by pursuing 
a zigzag, Virginia rail-fbnce sort of a 
course ; going two or three miles in one 
direction, and then striking off from it, at 
a greater or less angle, in another. I 
walked in this way several hours, but all 
to no purpose. During the whole time I 
had been observing carefully the ground, 
if perchance I might discover the imprint 
of a hoof, a broken twig, or any sign of 
the grass having been fed — but not a soli- 
tary" vestige could I perceive of living 

Then it was, for the very first time, 
that the thought flashed like lightning 
across my mind, in all its terrible distinct- 
ness and significance, that I might fail to 
find the road, and perish from hunger. 
Great God ! what mental agony this 
caused me ! I had a full sense of the dan- 
ger of my situation, and felt that I must 
summon all my energies for a desperate 
effort to save myself. My clothes were 
heavy ; so I took off my coat, trowsers, 
boots, which were very thick, and stock- 
ings, and threw them away. I could not 
anord to be encumbered and have my pro- 
gress impeded by superfluous weight, ibr 
was I not running a race against time, and 
was not dear life the stake i 

I would have thrown away my money 
belt, containing a few hundred dollars in 
gold, merely to be relieved of its weight ; 
but my experience, even among New Zea- 
land cannibals, had taught me that gold 
has a magic charm for the savage as well 
as the whjte man, and that it is awkward 
to find one's self minus, not onlv in the 
heart of a great city, but even in the midst 
of the desert of Sahara. I accelerated my 
pace almost to a run, and giving up as 
futile all attempts to find the road, I 
started anew, with the determination to 
proceed to the Platte River, and follow up 
its vrindings to the Fort The sun all 
this time ^* disdained to shine," and my 
only guide was the wind, which I judged 
from its keenness to be blowing from the 
North — though I learned by subsequent 
inquiry, from the Surgeon of the Fort, 
who kept meteorological tables, that the 
vrind had been East, which at that season 
of the year is colder than one coming from 
the North. I had a general idea of the 
geography of the country, and of the rela- 
tive course of the river and the road, and 
hoped — though it was but n hope — that I 
mig:ht be able to reach the former. 

I had not gone far before I came to a deep 
valley, a most wild and sequestered spot-- 
probably never before trodden by the foot 
of a white man. It was, as near as I could 
judge, about five miles in diameter, and 


An Adventure en the Plains. 


environed by high bluffs. This was liter- 
ally covered with buffalo bones through 
its whole extent and was evidently a spot 
where these animals were in the habit of 
gathering in the fall^ before theu* usual 
period for migrating to the South, and 
where, tempt^ by the late grass and 
sheltering hills which shut out the bleak 
winds, they had been hemmed in by thou- 
sands, until the severity of the winter 
warned them to leave; when the deep 
snows in the passes prevented their egress, 
and they must have perished from hunger 
and cold — leaving their bones to whiten 
there in the sim and rain. 

" A ghastlr place of sepulchre— where yet no hanum 

Perehance had pillowed.*^ 

No language can give any idea of the 
fearful desolation of the place. It filled 
ray heart with a nameless dread. I could 
think of nothing but the valley seen in 
prophetic vision, and I almost expected to 
hear the awful voice breaking upon the 
solitude— »*^ Can these dry bones live?" 
My course lay directly across the valley, 
and hardly looking around me, I ran at 
full speed, without stopping, till I had 
passed it, which I must have done in an 
almost incredibly short space of time. I 
continued my way, walking and running, 
as &st as I could, guided only by the 
wind, which must have actually veered 
all round the compass ; for, after travelling 
what seemed to me about twenty miles, 
to my inexpressible horror, there lay be- 
fore me the valley of bones, and what 
was worse. I found that I had come back 
again to within a hundred yards of the 
spot whence I had started, which I readily 
identified by a singular collection of bones 
I had stopped to examine when speculat- 
ing upon the anatomy of the buffalo in 
the morning. 

My fatiguing journey of hours had been 
lost. My heart now fairly sank within 
me, despair stared me in the face, and I 
threw myself upon the ground in a bitter- 
ness of soul too deep for tears. Here, 
then, thought I, is to be my final resting- 
place ! In this great chamel house of the 
wilderness, my bones are destined to 
moulder without sepulture ! Oh, if I 
could but perish in some fierce encounter 
with man or beast, or in some desperate 
struggle with the elements, it would be 
some relief! If a savage Indian would rise 
up before me, tomahawk in hand and 
yelling his startling war-whoop, how 
grateful would be the sight, and how 
gladly would I grapple with him in the 
death struggle ! But to die like a dog — 
a lingering death of exhaustion and stor- 

vation — alone, without the presei 
of an enemy to connect me with m; 
the thought was insupportable ! 
to banish it, but in vain! Th 
which my excited fancy had conj 
would not down at my bidding 
paroxysm of despair, without i 
without settled purpose, hardly 1 
what I did, I grasped my pistol 
it, put the muzzle to my head anc 
the trigger; but it had beei 
with water, and I was saved firom 
abhorrent to my principles and : 
and upon which — though almost i 
tary — I cannot look back without 
der of remorse. I could not but 
it as an interposition of Provideno 
behalf and feelings of gratitude ai 
mission filled my heart. Thouj 
loved ones at home came stealii 
me, and I br^thed an earnest pn 
their happiness. The bitterness of i 
was gone, and a delicious feeling 
and resignation succeeded. The i 
monody of the poet kept vibrating 
memory and even rismg to my li( 

** I could lie down like a tlrod child. 
And weep away the life of care 

Which I have borne, and yet most beti 
Till death, like sleep, might steal on i 

And I might feel in the warm air 
My dieek grow cold, and bear the sei 

Breathe o'er my dying brain its last moi 

But the ground was very damp, tl 
was pelting, and the air quite cole 
soon awoke again to the full consci< 
of the fearful dangers which en' 
me, and the necessity and duty of] 
one last, resolute effort for self-pr 
tion. So I arose, took out my ivory i 
pencilled a few lines of kind remem 
and farewell to my family, in th 
hope that if exhausted nature shoi 
and I should perish on the way, pei 
some stranger might find my mou 
remains; and then addressed my sel 
if not with hope yet with a stem o 
to my toilsome journey. I found i 
however, exceedingly lame — my fe< 
blistered, and full of briers and the 
of the prickly pear over which I ha 
walking all day, and I could nol 
great progress. Night soon overtc 
but it was of no use to stop, and 
on— on— on — like the Wandering 
through the long and dreary ho 
that memorable night watchio 
heavens, with the utmost intentn 
a single star to send a ray of light t 
the gloomy and funeral pall tha 
hung me, to guide me on my way. 
I have kept some wearisome i 
in my life — one of four hours at m 
off the pitch of Cape Horn, on the I< 


An Adventure on the Plains, 


tiTing to fiirl 9k frozen and refractory 
with the driving sleet cutting my 
ind hands till the blood came — and 
er, I well remember^ of a long day 
battered boat on the desolate coast of 

J our ship hull down to lee- 
, when three of my companions per- 
, one after another, of cold and ez- 
ioii, before we were picked up— but 
m watch like that of this fearful 
! Eternities of thought seemed to 
1 into the space of its few brief 

ffujng, though long delayed, at length 
; and still rain, rain, fog, n>g — there 
10 ^ lodge in this vast wilderness," 
irfaat "a boundless contiguity of 
kl" enough to have satisfied the 
ardent aspirations of any poet of 
do. Every thing was dreary and 
ite, and gave no hope of better 
NT. Still the light of day, though 
was pleasant and my courage sorae- 
levived. As I trudged along I tried 
lere the tedium by calling to mind 
ges from my favorite authors, especi- 
kboae applicable to my condition. 
«r say die," was often on my lips. 
lUected, too, that " while there's life 
"a hope," and I blessed the memory 
pe fi>r the sentiment, "hope springs 
il hi the human breast " — but then 
nkmg passage " hope deferred mak- 
w heart sick," would obtrude itself 
J thoughts. However, I consoled 
u with the reflection that the quota- 
were throe to one in my favor, and 
tad it as an omen of my chances. 
id not, as yet, eaten any thing except 
nmshrooms, and a sort of w()d pea- 
bad gathered as I walked along, 
beae not to satisfy my hunger ; for, 
ga to say, I felt no craving for food ; 
lacause I knew that nature needed 
aanoe^ and that my strength could 
old oat without it. I did not know 
ler the pea-pods were poisonous or 
and to tell the truth, at first I did 
Mich care, and rather hoped they 
]veferring a death by poison to one 
inration. I afterwards ascertained 
iwy were perfecUv harmless and not 
lot nutriment The water I greedily 
: finom stagnant pools was sweeter 
r taste than the clearest spring, or 
MMt delkuous drinks, which the in- 
t¥ of man has concocted, ever were 
) before. During this day I saw an 
i fow antelopes, some score of wolves, 
f nothing of plover and small game ; 
f the antelopes came within half a 
shot of me, but I had no weapon to 
it him. The timid animal 

aware of the fact, for he gazed at me with 
an air of wonder, and, on my nearer ap- 
proach, snuffed the air quite unconcern- 
edly, and moved off very much at lus 

The agitation of my mind and the ex- 
citement of my situation not only rendered 
me insensible to hunger, but also to pain 
and almost to fatigue. I felt the stren^h 
of a giant, and longed for some occasion 
to exercise it. At one time, in my reck- 
less and defiant mood, I gave chase to a 
gaunt wolf which crossed my path, and 
K>llowed him to his hole, at the entrance 
of which I waited for some time, in the 
hope that he would come forth, and that 
I might grapple him with my naked 
hands. I could have torn him limb from 
limb, and drank up his warm life-blood 
with a savage joy. With the fear of 
starvation and the prospect of a lingering 
death before me, I should have been en- 
dowed with superhuman strength for the 
conflict. Tlic instinct of the brute, per- 
haps, taught him that I was an enemy 
not to be trifled with, and acting on the 
principle that discretion is the better part 
of valor, he refused to come out; after 
giving him a reasonable opportunity to 
do so, I " moved on." 

The day passed without any incident 
worthy of mention. The face of the 
countnr through which I passed was 
very striking, and exceedingly lonesome. 
It somewhat resembled a vast rolling 
prairie, though the elevations were more 
distinct and irregular — rising in fact in- 
to high bluffs, bleak and bare, which 
seemed to hom me in on every side. 
There were no wooded spots, and not even 
a solitary tree appeared to relievo the eye 
or break the monotony of the scene. 
When I had toiled up one ascent in the 
hope of gaining a more extended prospect 
from the summit, perhaps of seeing the 
termination of the prairie, still another 
blufl', seemingly higher than the one I 
stood upon, rose up before me, and so on 
in an apparently endless succession. I 
walked with great rapidity, making only 
the short delays I have mentioned, alter- 
nating between hope and anxiety, though 
on the whole I kept up as stout a heart 
as could be expected under the circum- 
stances, and this enabled me to make a 
progress which, doubtless, was the means 
of my ultimate salvation. 

As the day declined, the heavy clouds 
began to roll away and the sky became 
lighter. At length the disc of the sun 
faintly showed itself, for a moment, 
through the intervening cloud and mistj 
just above the edge of the horizon, and 


An Adventure on ths Plains. 


never did Persian devotee gaze npon it 
with a more fond idolatry, or shipwrecked 
mariner look up to it from amid the 
surging waves of ocean, vrith a more ex- 
ultant heart, than did I at this time. It 
was to me an omen of safety — the pledge 
of a providential guidance — the benignant 
&ce of love — ^for the casual dimpse I 
caught of it assured me that I was not 
mistaken in my course, and that I was 
travelling in the right direction to come 
to the river. ^ Now came still evening 
on," and the sober shades of ni^t slowly 
gathered o'er earth and sky. The cloud 
had mostly passed away, and Venus, 
bright evening " star of hope," shone out, 
with its cheering and animated ray, from 
the tranquil heavens. 
-A beam of comfort, ♦♦♦♦•♦• 
OUds the bUok horror, and direotB my waj." 

And surely never was its guiding light 
more grateful to the benight^ lost trav- 
eller, than it was to me on this third night 
of my wretched wanderings. I travelled 
with hardly a moment's rest, till morning, 
and when the sun rose, which it did in 
all its refulgence, my straining and de- 
lighted vision caught the reflection of its 
beams in the placid waters of the majestic 
Platte. I had been quite hopeful all 
night — had hummed snatches from famil- 
iar opras, and repeated all the passages 
I could remember from favorite authors, 
and even enjoyed, in anticipation, the com- 
forts and pleasures which awaited me 
when I again should reach the haunts of 
men — ^but when the ^lad sight met my 
eve, and the conviction burst upon me 
that I was saved — saved from perils name- 
less and fearful, which had almost frozen 
my life's blood with terror — saved from 
a death of agony, unsoothed, unpitied, un- 
wept, my remains uncoffined and unbles- 
sed, and no stone to tell where, in the 
pathless wilderness, they should lie — no 
one, unless he has passed through a simi- 
lar scene, can conceive of the strange 
tumult of my feelings, in which an over- 
powering joy was predominant 

I was Tnld with exultation and excite- 
ment The excess of happiness actually 
bordered on pain, and I could And no way 
to give vent to my struggling and pent up 
sensibUities. I laugh^ and cned by 
turns, shouted, danced, and committed aU 
sorts of extravagances. After a while, 
becoming more collected, I started on a 
full run for the river, at a rate that would 
have done credit to an Indian, and did 
not slacken speed till I found myself near 
its banks. I have looked on many scenes 
of surpassing beauty and wild magnifi- 
ooooe in our own and other lands, but not 

one of them ever swelled my heai 
half the rapture I felt as I gazed up 
clear and placid waters of that 
stream, and cast my eye along its 
ing and wooded banks. It was n 
tance, but association, which lent en 
ment to that view. I was disapp 
in not having crossed the old Fort 
ney road, and was about to plung 
the river and swim to the opposite 
where I knew there was another n 
the Fort, when I discovered the roa> 
ning along the very edge of the 
within a row feet of me, and, wha 
more, there wore the fresh imjMi 
hoofs and human feet upon it, ai 
prospect of rescue was changed to i 
tainty. I was near to^I should no 
again my fellow-men! The exciti 
the revulsion of my feelings, perha 
unconscious fatigue I had endured, 
too much for me, and I sank famtin^ 
the ground. How long I lay there, 
out consciousness, I know not — ^pro 
not a great length of time, so fii 
could judge by the height of th( 
When I recovered and found the i 
my limbs, I commenced to drag i 
along -the road, wearily and wit) 
sense of exhaustion, in the direction 
Fort I had gone but a little di 
before I caught sight of a camp al 
mile ahead. I (quickened my pac 
soon was in its midst My first th 
was food. The pangs of hunger, 
I had hardly felt before, became no' 
fectly uncontrollable. I rushed n] 
man who was cooking something i 
fire kindled on the ground, kicked < 
hot cover of a baker with my nakec 
and snatching the half-baked In* 
contained, began to devour it wit 
eagerness of a famished wolf. The 
upon recovering from his surprise, r 
actly comprehending, in my case, i 
oessity which knows no law, and p< 
thinlong the loss of his meal a rathe 
ous joke, attempted to interfere ; bi 
hausted as I was by abstinence and fi 
I threw him from me as easily as 
had been a child, and kept on oatin| 
ine to intimate to him, between the n 
fu&, that I might prove an ugly cos 
if molested — that I had been \os\ 
^ that my funds (pointing to my i 
belt) were at his service. The wh< 
campment men, women and chi 
were soon around me. with wondei 
pidon, amusement ana alarm, depio 
their fiices; and well might my s 
apparition have startled them, ai 
afterwards confessed it did not a 
My wan and haggard looks — ^m; 


An AdvetUure on the Plains. 


Jeempt and disheTelled hair— my apparel, 
ipproaching the simplicity of primitive 
tunea, if not in character yet certainly in 
quantity, consisting only of my vest and 
a town and dirty shirt — ^my limbs lacerat- 
ed br briers and coyered with blood, and 
my iset swollen to an unusual size from 
treading on thorns and sharp stones — 
most have made them hesitate whether 
to set me down as flesh and blood or 
"goblin damned " — I certainly had come 
to them in a most " questionable shape." 
However, when I was able to tell my 
story, I experienced from them the most 
kind and nospitablo treatment. They 
were a company of Oregon emigrants, 
who were ''laying over'' the Sabbath, to 
ncmit themselves and animals. My feet 
were carefully dressed, my hunger was 
tUayed — it could not be satisfied — though 
I wonder I did not kill myself with gor- 
iBUidizing ; but thanks to a good diges- 
tion, and the absence of any of the faculty, 
I experienced no inconvenience from the 
quantities of bread and bacon which I had 
eaten. I was provided with a pair of 
nether integuments, somewhat the worse 
ht wear, it is true, but affording, at any 
ate, a relief to my distressed modesty. 

After luxuriating awhile in the comfort 
of hekag found, and answering an inde- 
finite number of questions about my sen- 
sataons while I was lost I fell into a train 
of sleepy reflections, of which I only re- 
collect thinlring how many more charms 
there were in the human face divine, 
whether clean or dirty, handsome or ugly, 
old or young, than in the face of solitude 
-«iid that there were more things in 
keaven and earth than Zimmerman had 
erer dreamed of in his philosophy ; from 
wfaidi reflections I was roused by an in- 
ntation to retire for the night, or day 
iilher, and soon found oblivion of all my 
troables in a good feather bed — taking 
"mine ease." if not "in mine own inn," 
ft/t in my nost's wagon. If ever I en- 
joyed the privileges of that " blessed insti- 
tabon" of sleep, it was then and there, 
and the way I paid " attention to it," for 
the next twenty hours, or so, would have 
astonished old Morpheus himself, if he 
were living in these days. I was at 
kogth awakened by the arrival of a party, 
headed by one of my own men, who, be- 
ooming alarmed at my long absence, had 
been out searching for me in every direc- 
tion, and had finally struck upon the 

I found, upon inquiry, that the distance, 
in a straight line, from the point where I 
drrerged from the Fort Leavenworth 
military road, to the place I reached on 

the old Fort Kearney road, was not more 
than thirty-five miles ; but the circuitous 
route I took could not have been less 
than one hundred and fifty miles— judg- 
ing by the time I was out and the spe^ 
with which I travelled. At any rate it 
was a comfortable stretch, and I can only 
recommend any one who is disposed to 
regard it as a trifle, to make a like excur- 
sion under the same circumstances. 

Dulci8 est menioria pr<Bteritorum 
mcUorum, says the adage ; but with the 
exception of a slight sketch of the adven- 
ture I wrote at the time, I have felt little 
inclination to indulge in the sweets of its 

Upon reaching the Fort, I found that 
the news of my having been lost had pre- 
ceded me, and had excited a general 
alarm. I was greeted with a most hearty 
welcome, and foimd myself an object of 
no little curiosity and interest Every one 
congratulated me upon what was con- 
sidered an almost miraculous escape from 
a frightful death. The commandant at 
the post, Captain Wharton, of the Cth 
Infantiy, as idso his estimable lady, were 
most kind and friendly to me ; and. their 
warm sympathies and hearty hospitalities, 
as they were most grateful in the recep- 
tion, so they have lost none of their value 
in the remembrance. They invited me to 
their house, and in the enjoyment of every 
comfort — of every luxury I might say — 
of graceful attention and of most delight- 
ful society, 1 soon almost forgot the perils 
and sufferings through which I had passed, 
or learned to look back upon them as a 
disturbed dream. 

I desire here to make grateful mention 
of the attentions I received from the sur- 
geon and chaplain of the Fort, with whose 
families I formed a most agreeable ac- 
quaintance. Their kindness will not be 

My health was not in the slightest de- 
gree affected by my toils and privations, 
and after the rest of a few days I was 
as hearty again as a buck. I should not 
in gratitude forget to add, that Captain 
Wharton had a detachment of soldiers 
and a party of friendly Indians ready to 
go in (juest of me, in case the various 
compames of emigrants who were seeking 
me had not succeeded in finding me on 
the very day they did. I here learned 
that two other emigrants who had strayed 
from the road a fortnight before, in pur- 
suit of game, had been lost, and tneir life- 
less remains — they having been starved 
to death — had been disoovored by the 
Indians. The Pawnees and Cheyennes 
had also been quite troublesome, and had 


An AdvenHire on the Plain». 

committod sondiy depiredations upon the 
cmii^witB— steidmff their stodc and kai- 
ing one man — whi^ so rooent oocurrenoes 
did not serve to allay the apprehensions 
on my account. Indeed Captain W. had 
hecn obliged to send a detachment of 
troops to the principal village of the 
Pawnees, with orders to lay it waste in 
case the fullest reparation was not ac- 
corded and the offenders brought to jus- . 
tioe. I afterward learned that the Indians, 
when they saw the preparations made 
against them, were most willing to accede 
to the terms imposed upon them. 

There are hundreds of persons now 
living in California and Oregon, and num- 
bers who have returned iVom thence, to 
whom the adventure I have narrated so 
imp^octly, and which excited some little 
interest at the time, will be familiar, and 
who will readily identify the writer as 
the ^ great lost," if these pages should 
ever meet their eye. 

I have often been asked the questions, 
why I did not do this, and why I did not 
do that ; why I did not go back to the 
Doctor 8 camp, why I did not fire off my 
pistol to give the alarm. &c., &c To all 
of which 1 reply that it is very easy to do 
this or that, sitting down coolly at home, 
and quite another thing to meet the actual 
difficulties which present themselves in 
such a case. I did tnr, of course, to find 
my way back to the Doctor's — I did 
think of my pistol, but I doubt if it could 
have been heard beyond the reach of a 
clear and manly voice; and^ as the 
event afterwards proved, the pistol was 
useless. All I can say is. I did the best 
I could, and I do not oelieve any one 
would oe willing to put himself in a 
similar condition m the confidence that he 
could do better. Place any man in an 
open field, blindfold hun, lead him off a 
few hundred yards, turn him about three 
or four times to settle his recollections 
uid fix the points of compass in his mind, 
and then let him try to return to his 
starting place, and see how far he will 
diverge from the right direction. lILj 
situation was precisely the same as t^ 


when I was first lost^ added to which I 
was not ftilly aware of my danger, and 
did not take the precautions I ouierwise 

I make no pretensions to be a Fremont 
or a Kit Carson, but I very much doubt 
if their skill and experience would have 
been of any avail, if they had been lost 
as I was, in such a country as I have de- 
scribed, without sun, moon or stars, shrub 
or tree to guide them. In one respect 
they would have doubtless been more 
sensible than I was — ^they would not have 
f^t lost at all. At any rate, I succeeded 
m getting out at last, for which I live to 
be thankfiil, and— "that's something." 

I have recently related this adventure, 
with more of detail than would be suit- 
able to the pages of a magazine, to a highly 
esteemed friend. Captain Marcy, of tM 
U. S. Army, who has been lost and found 
so often — so often killed and brought to 
life again, by the newspapers, during his 
last tour of exploration on the plains (an 
interesting and valuable report of which 
is, by order of Congress, in the course ai 
publication), and who is im>bably one (^ 
the best frontier men in the country ; and 
I have his testimony to the exceedmg dtf- 
ficulty and peril of my situation, and to 
the perseverance and courage wnich re- 
sulted in my deliverance. 

In concluding the narradye of this 
personal adventure, let me give the reader, 
who has been interested enough to follow 
it to its termination, two words of adyice. 
The first is, that if he should ever have 
the hardihood to undertake the toilsome 
and perilous journey to California over- 
land, he should beware of ever leaving 
his camp or the road, without first pretty 
well understanding how he is to get bads, 
and without having a compass in hu pocket 
The second is, not to go by the oyerlaad 
route at all. It will not pay. TImto is 
nothing to compensate for the fatigue, ex- 
posure, and expense. It is much better 
to cross the Isthmus, to go by way of 
Nicaragua, to make the voyage round the 
Horn — ^and better than all. to go— tn a 
horn — i. «., Stay at Home ! 





THIS ftge of ours does not seem to be 
1 exactly ftilfilling the promise of the 
^fiUfaers who sto^ foremost at its bap- 
tni. The promise was. that the old 
fiuths and enthusiasms were to be done 
entirely away, and all things were to be 
made new in the clear light of exact sd- 
«ooe, and by the strong hand of mechani- 
tti art. The French Encyclopedists sup- 
posed that they were exhausting human 
wisdom in their cart-load of quartos, and 
thai after them no sane man would pro- 
some to assert any conviction which the 
fife senses could not verify, or the calcu- 
his ooold not prove. The whole problem 
ef tbe nniverse was solved into the simple 
fbcts of matter and motion ; thought was 
evidently one of the secretions of tbe 
hniuj fancy a gambol of the blood, and 
fdigion a device of priestcraft, in conspi- 
lacy with the morbid humors of a dyspep- 
tic 8tomAch« The men of letters in France, 
who were too sagacious to fall into such 
bold atheism, were not much above the 
atheists in their interpretation of the reli- 
nous history of the race. Voltaire, the 
Keenest of them all, saw nothing but im- 
posture in the leaders of every popular 
fiuth ; and he who scoffed at the Divine 
Naiarene could make nothing but a mag- 
nificent cheat of Mahomet, and nothing 
bot a crack-brained driveller of Joan 

No men of any intellectual mark read 
the history of the world in this frivolous 
nirit now. Even the writers more dis- 
Inwnbhed for their rhetorical brilliancy 
wui keen insight than for any devout en- 
thusiasm, treat religion as one of the 
great &cts of humanity ; and when they 
undertake to expose a superstition, they 
cuelully separate the pernicious error in 
its composition from the great sentiment 
of fkith with which it has been combined. 
To say nothing of historians as free as 
Michelet and Macaulay, we might show 
that even the most cold and analytical 
idKwl of art has learned reverence under 
tbe guidance of Nature, after the manner 
of its august master, Gioethe, who, in his 
" Confessions of a Fair Saint," exhibited 
the devout affections as tenderly as if he 
had learned them at the feet of Theresa 
or Zinzendorf. Does not the best thought 
in recent literature prepare us to accept 
the position, so well illustrated by all the 
creative ages and creative minds of the 
world, that the highest of all power 

TOL. IIL— 3 

known by man is that which moves him 
rather than that which he himself moves? 
In distinguishing between genius and 
talent, that sagacious thinker, De Quin- 
cey, has defined the former as the state 
of mind in which the will is passive, under 
the influence of ideas, whilst talent is de- 
fined as the state of mind in which the 
will deliberately does its work. No hon- 
ored authority is needed, however, to 
prove, that he who is possessed by his 
subject is above him who boasts of pos- 
sessing it; fbr any child can tell the difier- 
ence at once, as soon as he compares the 
speaker or writer who is all on fire with 
his subject, with him who deliberately 
sets it forth as a substance quite foreign 
to his own soul, however much under his 
mastery. This fact gives us the key to 
many a strange problem in history, and 
must be kept in sight in interpreting our 
own times. The leading question to be 
asked concerning a man is not so much 
^^ what plans does he set in motion ? " as 
" what are the powers that possess and 
move him ? " If not by genius, certainly 
by a power practically more eflScient, the 
world has been governed, and is likely 
still to be governed, through the influence 
of men who are mastered by commanding 
ideas, and capable of possessing other 
men with the enthusiasm which possesses 
themselves. We believe, that the most 
noted leaders of mankind have been moved 
by a power that seemed to them more 
like a visitation from above than an inven- 
tion of their own, and that even the his- 
tory of conspicuous delusions, if correctly 
written, would serve to illustrate emotion- 
al capacities, that were created for benign 
uses. The prophet, whether true or false, 
is he who speaks as he is moved — an 
out'teller^ as well as claiming to be a 
foreteller; and the history of false pro- 
phets should lead us to interpret reveren- 
tially the faculty which they pervert, a^ 
the function which they desecrate. 

We arc going on somewhat quietly now, 
and our civilization seems to rest upon a 
basis of scientific fact. We build houses 
and ships, we plant fields and orchards, 
we plan roads and canals, we think that 
we have almost reduced social science to 
an exact law^ and the age of passion and 
enthusiasm is at an end. Yet who will 
presume to say that there are no deeps 
yet to be opened in human nature, and 
that no new fiusts are to transpin ia 


Modem PropheU. 


baffle the plans of the political economist? 
Calculation docs great things, but not the 
greatest It helped Columbus in the dis- 
ooyery of America, but did not give him 
his commanding motive, nor fill the New 
World with its master spirits. States- 
moo have wished to break down the bar- 
rier that has shut China against Christen- 
dom ; but no diplomacy kindled the fire 
that 18 now consuming the Mantchou 
throne, and bringing religious enthusiasm 
into combination with the old Chinese 
nationality, to throw open the gates of 
that mysterious country to the commerce 
of the world. The greatest events in hu- 
man history bring their own letter of 
introduction, and do not ask men leave to 
come before they appear. Great follies 
aeem to follow something of the same 
law. Thirty years ago, who would have 
supposed it possible that a system so 
monstrous as Mormonism could prosper 
in a country whose boast is in its freedom 
and light, and that it would bring a State 
into our tlnion under its own sway 1 In 
the view of most persons, mesmerism of 
idl kinds belongs to the same cat^ory, 
and the old school of thinkers stand aghast 
at the claims of judges and senators to 
hold communication with disembodied 

Our thoughts have been drawn into 
this channel by reading a charming and 
instructive little volume, from the pen 
of the learned and accomplished Karl 

Bof the University of Jena. It is en- 
" Modem Prophet^" * and is made 
a few graphic historical papers, 
read at reunions of ladies and gentlemen 
at Jena and Weimar. The fascinating 
narrative in the text, with the rich learn- 
ing in the accompanying notes, gives the 
book great value, alike for what it teaches 
and for what it suggests. Without being 
trammelled by his pages, we will take 
from them some hints that may throw 
light on certain of the illusions of our own 
day. It needs no great sagacity to draw 
from the researches of this profound church 
historian, proofs that our AmericiL in this 
nineteenth century, is not wholly difiercnt 
from France, Italy, and Germany in the 
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 

Let our first illustration be from France, 
and from the career of that singular being 
who is usually portrayed more as a crea- 
ture of romance than as a historical per- 
sonage — Joan d'Arc Fascinating, how- 
ever, as is the garb in which poetry has 
arrayed the heroic maiden, in the plain 

guise of sober history, she wins fiff 
upon our pity and admiration. The 
of her condemnation and of her postht 
acquittal, with all the legal docu 
and historical memorials connected 
her career, recently published, £b 
first time, by Jules Quicherat, in 
gives Joanna a far higher moral and 
Bophical interest, even^ than the sp! 
drama by which Schiller so powe 
vindicated her name from the ribald 
Voltaire and his school of scofiera. 

To find the home of the heroint 
was to rescue the nationality of i 
from the rapacity of England, in tl 
teenth century, we look to the little i 
of Domremy, on the borders of Loi 
She was bom. in 1412, of respe< 
parents, who won a frugal livelihoo 
their own labor, upon a little land i 
few cattle. The child was broug] 
with the other children of the hous 
the village, and when of sufficien 
she worked in the field in summex 
in winter stie sewed and spun. Her 
mates often joked her upon her coi 
sionate and devout sensibility; v 
spite of their jokes, she would oft 
apart by herself in the posture, as 
talk with God. Her passion for 
giving was so great that she 8om< 
gave away her father's property, ai 
casionally she resigned her own bed 
poor, and slept upon the hearth, 
was her stock of learning, for she 
neither read nor write, and her n 
taught her the Lord's prayer, the an 
and the creed. Nevertheless, she ' 
most resolute devotee, went every : 
ing to mass, knelt reverently at th( 
per bell, and every Saturday she w 
up the woody hill above Domremy 
chapel of the holy virgin of Vermo 
whom she lighted a taper, and, wh< 
season allowed, she offered a bun 
fiowers. She was thirteen years old 
the strange appearances came to her 
shaped her destiny. She was walki 
her father's garden on a fast day, 
she heard a voice coming in the air 
of the church, and attended by a 
brightness. She was at first alarmei 
afterwards became assured that i 
the voice of the archangel Michael, 
nounced by him, St Catherine ai 
Margaret also appeared, and often r 
ed. These saints told her very i 
things, quite in the manner of a < 
fancies ; she was to go from time t 
to confession, and was to be a gom 

Heae Proi^eten; Drei hlttorlfobfr-poUtiiobe KlrohfloMlder. 

Yon Dr. Xad Haae, PMfeiMr an dtr 


Modem Prophets. 


The little devotee dung rapturously to 
this stolen communion with neaven. She 
leodTed her celestial euests upon her 
knees, with clasped hands; she kissed the 

Sound which they touch^ ; she wept at 
eir departure, and crowned their statues 
in the church. Before, she had taken 
pleasure in dancing with the villagers, 
every spring-time, about the old beech 
tree — the fSury beech near the chapel of 
the Lady of Vermont ; but, after that visi- 
tatiozL she fbrsook tiie old sports, and 
woold not sanction an amusement Uiat 
had grown out of a heathen superstition. 
No girlish love affair appears ever to have 
toooied her heart, although a subject so 
much talk^ of by the village maidens 
was no stranger to her thoughts, and she 
kept her virgin freedom only by the most 
deaded refusal of all overtures, maintain- 
ing that the two saints hiul received her 
vow of virginity, and had promised to lead 
her to Paradise if she Kept the vow. 
Schiller has departed from the truth of 
history in ascribing a romantic passion to 
his heroine, and the Duke of Weimar 
pleasantly defended this fiction on the 
eround that those gentlemen, the poets, 
ted a right, like the Creator, to make 
something out of nothing. Ilase well re- 
plies that the Creator, who made all 
things from the beginning, understands 
also what poetry is, and that the real 
Maid of Orleans has fought a much 
severer battle in her own heart than the 
maiden of the romantic tragedy, and her 
fiite is still more tragic. 

Turn from this picture of rural inno- 
cence, and look at the fearful stiifes that 
were rending France. The storm that 
swept over the nation was at last to reach 
the gentle lily that bloomed unseen in 
tiiat quiet vale. A constant quarrel be- 
tween France and England had been kept 
alive by the fact that the Kings of Eng- 
land, as Dukes of Normandy, were vassals 
of the French crown, and were constantly 
tempted to solve the problem of sovereign- 
ty by the sword. Driven from the very 
field of their noted victories, and crowded 
into a few strongholds on the sea-coast 
by the rising spint of French nationality, 
tne English were led to revive all their 
old hopes, at the beginning of the 15th 
eentury, by the incapacity of the king, 
and the discord of the royal family, of 
France. At last Paris was occupied by 
English troops ; and before the judgment- 
seat of the feeble old king the Dauphin 
was arraigned for the murder of the Duke 
of Burgundy, and excluded from the 
throne, which was made over to the King 
of England, as the rightftd heir. The end 

of the Empire of the Lilies seemed near, 
and France to be destined to become 
English, without any native sovereign. 
Soon after, the feeble old king died, Hen- 
ry V. of England was also ^en away, 
and his son, Uenry YI., an infant of nine 
months, was proclaimed Sovereign of 
France and England, under the regen<^ 
of his uncle. The north of France; with 
Paris, the bourgeoisie, and the Burgundi- 
an nobility, saw in the dominion of the 
English the end of strife ; but the south, 
the country people, and a part of the no- 
bility, stood by the lineal heir, Charles 
YIl., and by the old nationality. It was 
a dark day for France. A single fact is 
enough to state. The people of Paris 
broke into the prisons, murdered all the 
prisoners, to the number of three thou- 
sand, ana in one winter night the wolves 
came into the streets of the city and de- 
voured the canfasses. 

At this time Joan d'Arc grew up, and 
shared all the loyalty so characteristic of 
her village. There was only one villager 
there who favored the Burgundian fac- 
tion ; and the Maid confessed afterwards 
that she would have liked to break his 
head, if it had pleased God. It is not 
clear at precisely what time she received 
the call to devote herself to the nation ; 
but there can be no doubt of the remark- 
able character of the alleged communica- 
tions which came to her. The archangel 
told her, she thought, in the most explicit 
way, that God has great compassion for 
the French people — that she was to be a 
good child, and to go to the aid of their 
king. Her saints also offered to open the 
way. Weeping, she said : " I am but a 
poor maiden, and know nothing of riding 
or of war." The saints replied that she 
was to go to Vaucouleurs, where she 
would find a captain of the royal army, 
who would lead her to the king. She 
afterwards said that she did not speak of 
these voices to any one in Domremy, al- 
though it was not forbidden her. Enough 
of what was going on in her mind, how- 
ever, escaped her lips to alarm her &ther, 
and probably to make him dream about 
her going away with soldiers — an idea 
which struck the old man with such hor- 
ror, that he declared to his son, that he 
would sooner have her drowned. By 
stratagem she at last succeeded in escap- 
ing to Vaucouleurs with her uncle, under 
the pretence of taking care of his sick 
wife. The uncle first, however, named 
her project to the king's captain ther^ 
who told him to give the jade a couple or 
eood boxen ears, and send her home to 
her father. But she was not to be d»- 


Modem Prophets, 


terred; and, following her uncle to the 
place, in the plain red dress of a peasant 
rirl, she formally demanded of the captain 
his escort to the king, since the Lord 
would secure to him the throne. Still 
repulsed, she remained with a citizen's 
wife, with whom she went daily to mass. 
Her devout life and enthusiastic confidence 
gpwiually won believers within her little 
circle. She said — " I must to the Dau- 
phin, although I would much rather sit 
with my poor mother and spin — for the 
King of heaven has intrusted me with 
this mission, and by Mid-Lent I must be 
with the Dauphin, even if I creep along 
on my knees." Old legends of the salva- 
tion of France by a woman of Lorraine 
came to strengthen her conviction, and to 
add to the excitement, which went so far 
that, somewhat to her amusement, she 
was thought by some of the people to be 
a witch. Joanna, however, did not pre- 
vail upon the captain to attend her to the 
Dauphin ; and she returned to her uncle, 
but found no peace. Again she came to 
Yaucouleurs, and again in vain. She in- 
duced her uncle to go with her on foot to 
the royal camp ; but it occurred to her on 
the way, that she could not be received 
at court without a letter of recommenda- 
tion irom home, and she went back to 
Vaucouleurs. The faith in her divine 
mission so grew, that the Duke of Lorraine 
sought her aid in a mortal sickness, when 
she said that nothing was revealed to her 
upon that point — yet she would pray for 
his recovery ; and she demanded his son 
and troops to lead her to France. Finally, 
two noblemen volunteered to conduct her 
to the king, and the captain consented. 
*' Gome what may ! " he said as he took 
his departure. He had given her a sword, 
and her adherents had provided her with 
a horse and with the dress of a knight. 
She kept her calm confidence during the 
dangerous journey, through a hostile re- 
gion ; wished to stop to hear mass ; and on 
file eleventh day, shortly before reaching the 
camp, she heard three masses before the 
image of her saints, and sent word to the 
king, at Chinon, of her approach. It was. 
doubted whether his Majesty could with 
propriety receive an adventurer like this 
girl ; but his despair of human help forced 
him to rely upon preternatural aid ; and 
Joanna, as soon as she reached the Loire, 
and entered the public street, was pre- 
ceded by the cry that a young shepherd- 
ess, sent by God, had come to free Orleans, 
and to lead the king to Rheims. After 
three days' oonsultatk>n and examina- 
tion, she was admitted to the castle of 
Olmion, and knelt before the king. He 

had stood aside to test her prophetic gift 
and when she knelt before him he pointea 
to one of the lords in the great hall of 
audience, and said — " That is the king." 
She replied — " By my God, noble prince, 
you are he, and none other." Upon this, 
the king asked her name. '^ Noble Dau- 
phin, I am called Joanna the Maiden, and 
the Lord of heaven bids you, through me^ 
to be crowned in the city of Rheims, and 
be a lieutenant of the King of heaven, 
who is the true King of France. God has 
pity upon you and your people, because 
Saint Ix)uis and Charles the Great are 
upon their knees before Him, and pray 
for you." 

Joanna stood bravely, and often an- 
swered very smartly the questions of the 
University, and Parliament of Poictiera, 
to whom the king referred her claims, 
and the very dignitaries who had pro- 
nounced the whole afikir the merest fan- 
tasy, said after the interview that she was 
surely a marvellous creature of God. 
One eye-witness testifies that she appear- 
ed at Court as if born there, whilst an- 
other asserts that she seemed as humble 
as a shepherd girl. Both witnesses agree 
in the opmion that, respecting her mission, 
her speech was grand and noble ; but 
otherwise it was that of a poor child of 
the people. She was eighteen years old at 
this time, and if we may venture to com- 
plete the traits drawn from authentks 
sources by the less authenticated testimony 
of an ancient statue, she was rather large 
for her sex, very strong, yet slender and 
delicate in shape, countenance pleasant, 
complexion uniform and very pale, eyea 
large and almond-shaped, the apple of the 
eye, light brown, with a greenish tinge, in 
expression somewhat melancholy, but un- 
speakably lovely, the forehead of mode- 
rate height, the nose straight and a little 
thin, the lips finely cut and red, the hol- 
low between the lower lip and chin strong 
ly marked, rich chestnut brown hair, put 
back over the temples, fell upon the white 
neck, but was cut rounding in the knight- 
ly fashion. 

Such was the fair creature who went 
forth in mailed armor to fight the battles 
of France against an enemy whose hate 
had grown with centuries, and whose in- 
vading force was now strengthened by 
French factions. At Blois she unfiiriea 
her banner, and the great host there as- 
sembled were inflamed with new enthusi- 
asm, as they saw upon its pure white 
folds the figure of the Saviour, two angels 
kneeling with lilies on each side, and un- 
derneath, the inscription, Jesus Maria. 
The way towards Orleans lay by the 


Modem Prophets. 


btnks of the Loire, through that garden 
of France, in the very hloom of spring 5 
ind preceded by chanting priests, and 
escorting large herds of cattle for victual- 
ling the city, the army had the appear- 
aoce of a peaceful pilgrimage. What poet 
eould create a scene more expressive of 
whatever was noblest and fairest in those 
old ages of chivalry and devotion ! It was 
but the &ith of the times incarnated in 
one whose sex and purity every Ave 
Maria had taught the people to adore ; it 
was the spirit of the prevalent Mary-wor- 
Bhip carried from the sanctuary into the 
camp, and stirring the fiercest of passions 
by the gentlest of affections. Need we 
say that this vision of light must go out 
in darkness, and that nothing but a per- 
petual miracle could keep a human crea- 
ture upon the ethereal height where Joan- 
na stood 1 The story of her destiny is 
too familiar to repeat. Soon Orleans 
called her its deliverer, and there, and in 
other cities in quick succession, the lilies 
of France wav^ loyally from towers so 
lately insulted by the invader's flag. In 
spite of all opposition, the Maid insisted 
upon pushing to Rheims ; she stood with 
her banner by the altar at the coronation 
of the Dauphin, and was first to kneel at 
his feet after he received the crown. This 
was the meridian of her glory. This 
simple girl of Domremy was now the 
foremost personage of France, and history 
itself plays the artist in telling us that 
her father, and brother, and uncle were 
witnesses of her honors, contrasting thus 
by their presence the splendors of the 
Court with the simplicity of her native 

As rap 

idly as her success her downfall 
7ho does not know of her rash 
attack upon Paris, the misgivings that 
began to question her inspiration, and the 
teries of disasters, ending in her capture 
at Compiegne, and her execution in 1431. 
Never did grim inquisitors doom to death 
a fiurer victim by baser arts ; and never 
did a holier light shine out from the 
crackling fires of a martyr's pile, than 
when this lily of France was cast into the 
flames. The attendant priest heard her, 
as the fire was doing its deadly work, in- 
rciod her saints — and her last word was 
her Saviour's name. The cross afterwards 
planted upon the place of execution at 
Rouen was a fitting memorial of her 
self-sacrifice, and of the penitence of her 

Never more interest was attached to 
the character of Joan d'Arc, as a phi- 
ksophical study, than now. It is very 
easy to call her a halfcnssv enthusiast 

and set down her story in the vulear 
annals of superstition. But the canaor 
and good sense of our age seeks a worthi- 
er solution, and no fair-minded student of 
history is willing to allow so interesting a 
chapter to pass by without connecting its 
lessons with some traits of our common 
nature. The Maid of Orleans was a hu- 
man creature like ourselves, and the mind 
which in her was so strangely moved was 
essentially the same or^n that we pos- 
sess. That she was an impostor no sane 
thinker will now assert, for it would be 
far more remarkable for an ignorant, sen- 
sitive girl to carry out such an imposture 
in the camp and Court, at the altar, and 
even at the stake, than to have received 
the supernatural commission which she 
claimed. Nor do we explain the chief 
fact in her career when we ascribe her in- 
fluence over France to the force of reli- 
gious and martial enthusiasm, so inflamed 
by her pretensions or her faith. She her- 
self is the great problem, and we cannot 
settle it without some due recognition of 
the emotional powers of our nature in 
connection with religious influences. No- 
thing can be clearer than that she thought 
she saw visions and heard voices which 
moved her to her most conspicuous acts. 
We do not mean to say that there were 
external objects corresponding with those 
vows and visions ; but that such impres- 
sions as she insisted upon declaring were 
actually made upon her perceptive organs. 
Befbre her inquisitors, when severely 
threatened, she sometimes wavered in as- 
serting this; but her misgiving at last 
wholly ceased, and in prison and at the 
stake she maintained the reality of the 
communications. Now we do not feel 
bound to explain all the strange experi- 
ences of the soul any more than the strange 
phenomena of Nature, and we are ready to 
allow that there are many dark nooks 
and comers in the human mind, in spite 
of the doctors and metaphysicians. We 
may nevertheless connect Joanna's visita- 
tions with those of a large class of minds 
similarly constituted, and who are still to 
be found. The old devotees thought little 
of hearing voices and of seeing visions in 
the open day, and a man of exact science 
like Swedenborg could be as familiar with 
the people of his day-dream land as with 
his acquaintance in the street or social 
circle, noting down the words of Plato or 
Luther as readily as his own table-talk. 
It is very clear that if, in the ordinary 
state of the system, external objects are 
needed to act upon tne nerves of sight and 
hearing, there may be an extraordinary 
state of the system in which internal 


Modem Prophets. 


oonyictions or emotions convey external 
impressions, or affect the organs of sense 
precisely like external objects. There is 
no more decided illustration of this fact 
fhan the case of the English artist, Blake, 
who died in 1812. In youth liis powers 
had been severely tasked, and through 
life his days were given to the most en- 
grossing labor. His ideal faculty, so little 
exercised by the drudgery of engraving 
and ordinary painting, would revel in a 
world of its own, and when the day's 
work was done, he hurried to the inter- 
Tiew with his phantasmal guests, by the 
aea-shore, as eagerly as a ban vivant goes 
to his boon companions. He met the 
shades of Pindar, Virgil, Dante^ and Mil- 
ton, and so distinct was the impression 
upon his senses, that he frequent!]^ made 
sketches of their features. — and in one 
case he wrote down a poem dictated to 
him by Milton — a poem not extant in 
Milton s lifetime, and apparently bearing 
the same relation to his muse that would 
be expected by all who are familiar with 
the recent issue of poetry and prose from 
the mighty spirits that wait upon the 
rapping conclave. In another instance he 
saw the form of the hero Wallace, and 
while sketching him, he was interrupted 
by the shade of Edward I., who disap- 
peared too soon to admit or a complete 
sketch, and allowed him to go on with 
the Scotch hero's portrait This artist's 
experience certainly illustrates a law of 
the human constitution, of which every 
day-dreamer has some slight knowledge, 
and it enables us to explain without mir- 
acle Joanna's voices and visions of angels 
and saints. The thought that so haunted 
her mind may have projected itself before 
her senses in the form of the saint nearest 
her affections. Bred up in one of the 
strongholds of ancient loyalty, her devo- 
tion may have been influenced by the fa- 
miliar legend that a woman of Lorraine 
was to be the deliverer of France ; and 
her nerves, so delicate from her habits of 
fiisting, may have readily lent their service 
to her fancy, like the chemist's silvered 
plate presented to the play of the solar light. 
She did not claim preternatural guidance 
upon all subjects ; but only in what con- 
cerned her main duty to France, and the 
salvation of her soul. If in many points 
her alleged visitants lefl her in darkness, 
it must be allowed that some of their pre- 
dictions and promises were remarkably 
fulfilled. Let us bear in mind, however, 
the fact that their communications turned 
upon one commanding idea, and all the 

Swer of her contagious enthusiasm would 
erefore tend to turn promise into pro- 

phecy by securing the result indi 
Hase sagaciously remarks that this 
— this Saint Catherine — is her own 
soul unconscious of itself, like the cU 
of Socrates ; hence she was led b; 
counsels, and she said very naively I 
saints — " I am always of their oph 
We are not disposed to deny the ; 
instances of wonderful presentiment ^ 
history and biography record. Wit 
our explanation of Joanna's mission 
the ground of known principles, si 
mains still a wonderAil creature of 
and an aureola of mystical light stil 
gers about her head. We under 
enough of her to claim a place fo 
among the daughters of men, and U 
cem in her, traits that are acting 
upon the destinies of our race, 
career proves how much strongei 
emotions are than the calculating n 
standing, and that still, as of old, ''e 
the heart are the issues of life." Sh 
not a perfect saint without human U 
and foibles. She had her little fi 
pettishness. and could * sometimes 
like others of her sex, railing at the 
lish as a set of God-dams, as she ue 
called them, and threatening to ki! 
Hussites in a bunch if they did not r 
to the true faith. It is precisely th 
tural impulvsivencss — this minglini 
childish naivete with heroic inspirat 
that gives her the chief hold upoi 
wonder and admiration. 

Our idea would be fitly carried o 
adding to this sketch of the Mai 
Orleans some description of two chan 
unlike her, and unlike each other e 
in the point of their reputation as proj 
leaders. Wo mean Savonarola, i 
majestic presence so long saved Flo 
from aristocratic oppression and d 
cratic license, and who under his mo: 
garb bore to the scaffold in 1498 the 
of religious liberty which Luther i 
wards planted broadcast among th 
tions ; and to step forward nearly a 
century in time and to descend infii 
in the moral scale, we mean also Jol 
Leyden, the tailor prophet and kii 
the Anabaptists of Munster, who, 
his seraglio of sixteen wives, minglea 
cere fanaticism with the most mons 
self-indulgence, and like the Apostl 
Mormonism, sent out disciples to sui 
the world to allegiance from a court 
ling the Turk's in licentiousness. B 
cannot enter into these subjects now 
out going beyond our limit, and we 
said enough to indicate our purpos) 
illustrate its main idea. 

When we read these and the like 


Cmf€S9UmB pf a Toimg Artkt. 


Biges of history, we are very apt to oon- 

Sfttulate ourselyes upon living in these 
ys of oommon sense, when the rule of 
reason has set all such hallucinations 
aside. Let us not he too sure of our ex- 
emption ; we may have a madness of our 
own, eyen in the absorbing passion with 
which our shrewd schemers pursue what 
to them is the one thing needful, and we 
doubt yery much if one of our keenest 
money kings could, when tried by the 
standard of true wisdom, make out a 
clearer proof of sanity than any of the 
m3r8tical dreamers of the old days of 
saperstition. He, certainly, who is so 
bosy with gettinz a living as never 
to have time to live, whose imagina- 
tion is haunted with visions of gold 
and merchandise whith exist merely in 
his fancy, whose soul is shut out finom the 
great realities that sages have loved, has 
uttle right to make merry at his fellow- 
madmen who have made the noble mis- 
take of losing sight of thmgs present in 
their dreams of the worlds imseen. If 
we could catch a good specimen of the 
Wall-street type of worldly wisdom, who 
lives among fimcies of the financial kind, 
and have &s claims to sanity tried before 
Rhadamanthus, in comparison with one of 
the old monks who entertained angels 
or exorcised devils, we should be little 
disposed to bet on the Wall-street side. 
Surely we have our own madness, and 
Mammon is the god who gives the afflatus 
to the new divination. We have not seen 
the end of it yet, nor can any man tell 
bow far the hallucination of the dominant 
miterialism may go until the reaction 
begins, and perhaps some new age of 
nthosiasm leads off the future of our 

One thing is very certain, and with 
iUting it^ we end our prosing. He is a 

happy man whose mind at the oatset of 
his career is so possessed by a true, brave 
purpose that it moves him to the last^ and 
beneath all his thoughts and plans, shapes 
and exalts his whole future. That is the 
best education which most duly recognizes 
this truth, and aims to train you^ not 
merely to act truly but to be (ruly acted 
upon, by looking as well to the uncon- 
scious motive springs as to the conscious 
and deliberate plans of conduct A far 
higher place must be given to the emo- 
tions and imagination, those powers that 
have an almost prophetic function in our 
destiny, and which can lift us to the 
heavens or drag us to the dust Prepos- 
sessed by true ideals, the chamber of im- 
agery filled with forms of beauty and 
wisdom, the affections pervaded by a noble 
love, and the whole soul trained in true 
relations with the divine kingdom, our 
rising youth may unite the fervor of those 
old centuries with the keen science and 
the mighty art of our time. Sagacious 
men may have Savonarola's prophet-like 
fire without any surrender of their reason- 
able hope for humanity to wild dreams of 
the fiflh monarchy on earth, and fkur 
women may keep all the sobriety of their 
judgment and the propriety of their sex 
without falling short of the high hearted 
enthusiasm and spiritual receptivity that 
gave such fascination and power to Joanna 
of Arc. If the guides of education who 
hold the future of Christendom in their 
hands, do not make more account of the 
ministry of the emotions and the imagina- 
tion, it may be that the power of these 
faculties will be illustrated upon a grand 
scale in a much baser form, and some 
John of Leyden catching the passions of 
the age, may mingle war, lust, and avarice 
into a new fanaticism, of which the Mor- 
mon prophet is but the tame precursor. 


IN my childhood I was very intimate 
with a portrait of a gentleman — my 
onde John — which hung in our parlor. 
This parlor was not often used, for we 
always sat in the kitchen, unless we had 
company ; but I stole in there every day 
to gaase upon that interesting countenance. 
What particularly gratified me was the 
blueness of the eyes, the very long eye- 
lashes, each one separately painted— just 
like life — and the way in which the dimple 
hi Hkd chin was shaded; so that it seemed 

as if I could put my finger into it. I 
tried to do so several times, and ran some 
risk of making a serious hole in the can- 

In this portrait art first dawned upon 
me; but to my boyish eyes it seemed 
to shine in its full glory, when I went 
one afternoon with my mother to take 
tea with her firiend, Mrs. Brown, and I 
could scarcely pay any attention to the 
cakes and preserves placed before me, so 
bewildered with delight was I by a pio- 


Cfonfssnotu €f a Toung AtHH, 


tore of Jepbthah meeting; his daugh- 
ter, which hung opposite. Jephthah, in a 
Teiy plumy helmet, starting back on Teiy 
strong legs, I thought very expressive of 
a fiither's feelings. His tall daughter, 
arrayed in a lilac mantle, and pink dress 
with a long train, immediately became my 
ideal of unattainable female beauty. The 
attendant damsel, with her willowy figure 
and white dress, I thought extremely 
pretty also ; I knew a slender little girl 
who wore a white dress and blue sash to 
<^nrch, whom she looked very much 

The next day I made a fine drawing of 
this picture on our bam door. Jepbthah 
was drawn in a black tunic, with red 
dialk 1^. The daughter's mantle was 
stained lilac with iris-petals, her train pink 
with rose ditto. The maiden was ditiwn 
in white chalk with bewitching grace. I 
oould not make Jepbthah stand very firm- 
ly on his legs, and start back at the same 
time ; but Miss Jephthah's train gave great 
steadiness and composure to her figure. 
This spirited sketch was the admiration 
of all the neighboring boys, and they 
came every day for me to draw them in 
warlike positions, to represent Jephthah's 
army standing around him. One day I 
made a hasty sketch of my dog, Skyblue, 
in his favorite attitude, and, stepping back 
to mark the effect, found he was biting 
the heels of Jepbthah. How the bovs 
laughed I I made a new drawing of the 
anguished father, and greatly improved 
upon the hands, spreading them out like 
Mr. Flamdown's, when he was giving the 
parting blessing to his congregation, only 
opening the fingers wider to express con- 

One day one of the boys brought an 
artist, who was boardingat his house, to 
look at my frescoes. He laughed, and 
told me if I would come to his room, he 
would paint Jepbthah for me. With a 
feeling approaching awe I watohed him 
conjuring into life the well-known forms. 
Yet I was not wholly satisfied with the 
result I thought Jephthah's figure was 
not thrown back enough to express his 
emotion with sufficient force, and that 
the daughter had lost much of her queen- 
liness with her train. The damsel who 
followed was no longer white, and did not 
look in the least like Fanny Ann. 

Mr. Ochre went away the next day, 
but left mo a few paints and brushes, and 
told me if I would come to New-York in 
the winter, he would teach me something. 
This now became the height of my ambi- 
tion; and I tried to devise schemes by 
whidi I could earn a little money to pay 

I my drawings.'' 

my board there. ^I could live out at 
some farmer's, and earn good wages by 
my labor," I told my mother, — I was just 
twelve years old. 

She smiled, and told me they would 
onlv give me my clothes. 

*^I can draw, and sell n 

She smiled again. 

" Well, then, after I have improved a 
little, I can take portraits, and be paid 
for them." 

She smiled approvingly this time, and 
I felt that my way lay open before me. 

I wished to run directly to Fanny Ann's 
house— into which I had never yet enter- 
ed — and ask her to sit to me ; but I felt 
a little timid about it. I might not take 
a good likeness, and she would laugh at 
me — girls did laugh so! I had better 
take private sketohes of her at church in 
the hymn-books, I thought, and practise 
upon my mother first, who immediately 
proposed putting on her black silk dress, 
which she had worn for the last ten 
years on state occasions ; but her every- 
day short-gown would be more pictur- 
esque, I thought She could not be quite 
reconciled to this. The villagers were 
accustomed to the black silk, and she 
thought it due to them and to me that 
she should be taken in it. However, the 

Portrait was painted in the short-gown ; 
ut the villagers never saw much of it. 
It was not considered a very good like- 
ness, for somehow I got a dark fh>wn 
about the eyes, and a very dejected ex- 
pression about the mouth. My mother 
never frowned, and looked particularly 
smiling while I was painting her. 

I hi^ a hard time of it that winter : so 
many brave designs launched forth upon 
the tide of hope, and run aground upon 
unknown bars. In the summer Mr. 
Ochre came again and taught me how t6 
steer my way better. He told me that 
faces should not appear to be pasted flat 
to the canvas, and that a dark outline all 
round them was not perfectly true to nar 
ture ; that lips were not exactly vermil- 
ion, nor cheeks pure lake ; and eyes were 
not made of stone; that shadows were 
not a distinct feature of the face ; and 
lights did not consist entirely of white 
paint. I learned a wonderful deal from 
him in a few weeks ; and having painted 
many portraits of the worthy people about 
me, which sold- for two dollars a piece, 
and scraped togetiier a little money, 1 
went to New- York in the winter with a 
bounding heart — ^perfectly conscious that 
I was the great American genius. 

The first thing I did m New-Yoric, 
after settling myself in the little attio 


OonfigsioM cf a Young Artist 


room Mr. Ochre had engaged for me, was 
to find my way to a picture gallery. I 
neither shouted nor jumped when I enter- 
ed ; but was certainly very much dazzled. 
It was partly the picture frames, I thought 
— they were so very bright. I immedi- 
ately saw the importance of gilt frames, 
and that without one no painting coula 
be of any value. I wondered how much 
they cost, and whether I could afford to 
buy one for my portrait of Fanny Ann, 
which I had brought to the city with me. 
I knew at once there was no pamting in 
the gallery equal to that; and walked 
akmg with the proud consciousness that 
I was the creator of that gem, which only 
needed a fine frame to be instantly brought 
down from my attic, into the public gaze, 
for the delight of every one. However, I 
did pause a moment before one little head 
— ^he head of a child with a smile in her 
eyes, and life upon her lips. I looked 
mto the catalogue to be sure that it was 
good. It was by Copley. **An old- 
fashioned painter," I thought "I shall do 
better things soon.*' 

Then I came to a young lady in a green 
dress and black waist, turning her head 
towards the spectator, and stepping into 
a brook. "Excellent!" I exclaimed. 
'^ That looks a little like Jephthah's daugh- 
ter, only she is not quite so tall." Then 
came a very puzzling head : I could not 
tell to what race it belonged — " Indian, I 
8Qm)ose." It was nam^, "Portrait of 
Judge G." He could not have been an 
Indian ; it must be the shadows. What 
infatuated young artist could have sent 
that here ? " Then came two little girls 
holding a kitten between them. Sweet 
little innocents! TTuzi looked like one 
of my own pictures, and I looked for the 
name: "Infancy, by P. Pinkall." "I 
shall certainly make Mr. Pinkall's ac- 
quaintance," I thought Then came a 
young lady looking over her shoulder in 
the loveliest manner. Such golden hair — 
such blue veins — such a rose-tint on the 
dieek — such heavenly eyes! Such a 
transparent creature altogether ! I stood 
enraptured : that was better than Fanny 
Ann. "Fancy head, by T. Sully," I 
found it to be. " Oh, what a fancy ! " I 
exclaimed, in boyish enthusiasm, " 7%cU 
I can never surpass." 

A young man was copying it, and I 
immediately resolved that I would do the 
same. Mr. Ochre came into the gallery 
at that moment, and I hastened to meet 
him. " I have found the most exquisite 
painting r' I exclaimed, leading him eager- 
ly towards it, " and I know you will ap- 
prove of my copying it" 

"What,— that waxy little thing," he 
said. " My dear child, do you not know 
better than that, after all my instruc- 
tions ? " and he took me back to the head 
by Copley, and told me I might copy that 
if I could. " But you had better not 
copy any thing," he added—" draw from 
nature, my boy. Go on as you have be- 
gun, only do not make your faces pink 
and white, and get Fanny Ann out of 
your mind as fast as you can." I won- 
dered how he knew that I thought about 
Fanny Ann ; I had never mentioned her 
name but twice in his presence, and then 
almost in a whisper. 

So I went to Mr. Ochre's studio every 
day : and Irish boys were hired from the 
street to sit for me and the other pupils. 
Very unfit subjects for my brush I 
thought them, until I chanced to see a 
picture of a beggar boy by Murillo, and 
then they rose in my esteem. I had heard 
that Murillo was a very great genius, 
and if he painted beggar boys, why shoula 
not I? 

Well, I painted Irish boys and German 
boys, until I knew I had learned all I 
could from Mr. Ochre, and that it was 
time for me to set up my own studio, and 
patronize American ladies — immortalize 
them as only a genius can. " R. Gumbo, 
Portrait Painter," was the golden name 
upon the sign that decked one corner of a 
doorway, which led to a flight of stairs, 
which led to another flight of stairs, and 
so on to the fourth story, where I sat in 
state, awaiting my unknown visitors. My 
studio was furnished with a skylight, an 
easel, an old shawl with a very effective 
border, covering a table on which stood a 
torso, a small Venus, a chair for the sit- 
ter, and two for friends, a lay figure, six 
new, suggestive canvases, and my paint 
brushes. "Now, I am ready!" I ex- 
claimed, wielding my maul-stick and mak- 
ing a tnrust at the portrait of an Irish 
boy eating an apple. "My dear little 
fellow, you will soon see what beauty and 
grace will appear." I had gone to my 
studio at nine o'clock — I stayed until 
dark : I ate two crackers for dinner, and 
an apple, like the Irish boy, and nobody 
came. I wondered at it very much. 
Two of my best portraits were in the 
Exhibition, and I thought the public were 
dying to be token. "But they cannot 
know I am here," I mediteted. "One 
little sign in a city full of signs attracts 
no attention. I ought to advertise my 
number ; but advertising is so expensive. 
I wish some one would buy my pictures 
in the Exhibition ; but there is no love for 
art in this country. Eosewood and buhl 


Oimfi$don$ cf a Yowi^ ArtUi, 


are more yalued than genlns. Oh Italy ! " 
I sighed, and locked my door, and went 
home to my attic. 

I thought my pictures might have sold 
if the subjects had been of more general 
interest " No one wants portraits except 
relations, and the relations of these cannot 
afford to purchase such luxuries," I said. 
''If I paint a composition, it will find a 
ready sale, — what shall it be?" My 
imagination was filled with the remem- 
brance of Jephthah and his daughter ; but 
I did not care to attempt the warrior, and 
the daughter alone would hardly suffice ; 
80 I determined to paint Iphiigenia as 
priestess at Aulis. 

I draped my lay figure with a sheet, 
and commenced. The treatment was 
purely classical. The garment fell in dig- 
nified folds to the feet, broken only by an 
invisible girdle at the waist : it was fast- 
ened on each shoulder by a burmng gem, 
— ^I painted them from two brass brooch- 
es, set with crimson glass, which I bought 
for the occasion. One hand rested lightly 
tipon an altar, repre^nted by my table 
and the bordered shawl — ^the other was 
pressed upon her breast The arms were 
▼ery white, and one of them quite round. 
The face was raised, and the expression 
of pious resignation was very well given. 
The hair was beautifully dishevelled. The 
blue Mediterranean in the distance led the 
eye to the horizon, and the mind to reve- 
ry. The figure was half-size, and I was 
a whole week painting it. I worked quite 
steadily, fearing visitors might come if I 
went out Occasionally, exhausted by the 
inspffation of my subject, I took a short 
walk ; but always pinned up a paper to 
say that I should return immediately, 
and placed a chair outside my door, think* 
ing ladies would be out of breath coming 
np so many stairs, and would wait longer 
if they found a resting-place. When I 
returned, I always felt quite sure that 
some one had called during my absence, 
and I regretted that I had been out 

When my painting was finished. I 
doubted whether I Imd better ask Mr. 
Ochre to come and look at it, or not I 
knew there was great jealousy amone 
artists, and feared he might not be pleased 
to find his pupil had become his rival ; 
but I told him in an off-hand way, one 
day, that I had a picture on my easel he 
might like to step in and look at some 
time when he was passing ; and he came. 

I saw a smile quivering upon his lips 
as he stood before it He walked about 
my studio, looked at the torso, praised my 
Venus, asked me where I bought my 
p«nt8, approached the priestess, and 

burst into a loud laugh. "I can't stand 
it. Gumbo," he exclaimed: "It is too 

I knew it was good myself^ but its 
merits had a very different effect upon 
me. .1 was astonished at his laughing; I 
had intended that the painting should 
produce exalted emotions, mingled with 
sorrow. " How did you make the folds 
of that drapery so straight?" he said, 
''you must have ruled them, and there 
are no limbs under them. The arms 
are like chop-sticks ; they are not 
half so good as those of little Patrick 
Mahone, vou painted six months ago. 
The head is stuck on with a skewer, is it 
not? Nothing else could keep it up so. 
And the figure does not stand — a breath 
of air would puff it all away. No. no ; 
this will never do. Ton must keep to 
real life; vour hncy pictures are abso- 
lutely good for nothing." And he turned 
to me with what he intended for a good- 
natured smile, I suppose ; but I saw that 
jealous look in the comer of his eye. 

" The public shall judge between us," 
I said, qmte grandly. 

He looked at me as if he would laugh 
again ; but lading his hand on my shoul- 
der, said — " Come, my boy, I see how it 
is. You think you have done something 
very good, and that I am envious of you. 
I assure you by all I know of art that 
the whole thing is ridiculous. Place it in 
the exhibition, and you will see that it is 
80 considered ; but send it anonymously, 
I beg of you. I should not like to have 
your name laughed at" 

" Yes," thought I ; "he wishes to have 
the credit of it himself; and it is a little 
in his style, certainly." 

" And now I will tell you what I will 
do for you," he continued. "A little 
cousin of mine wishes me to paint her be- 
fore her fother's birth-day; but I have 
too much on my hands just at present 
You shall do it You can sometimes hit 
upon a likeness, — and if you do not satis- 
fy her, why, I will paint her afterwards. 
She is rich, and can afford to pay for two 
pictures, and ought to encourage young 
artists. — she has a fancy for these things 
herselL She has some beauty, and if you 
treat the subject artistically, you can 
make a pretty picture of it. I will make 
the proposal to her this evening, and let 
you know her answer, if you will call 
upon me to-morrow." And taking my 
half-reluctant hand, he bade me good 

" Very patronizing ! " I thought " He 
will paint her himself if I do not succeed ! 
I will have nothmg to do with it But, 


Oonfntkns of a Young Artist. 


joong, and beaatifhl, and fbnd of these 
things — ^it IB a temptation. I will make 
up my mind what to do in the morning." 
Meantime I considered the style in which 
I dionld paint her. ^' I succeed so well in 
heads looking np," I thought, glancing at 
Iphigenia. ^ But I should not like to haye 
two pictures alike even if they were both 
itrj good. I might have the face looking 
down, and a blue mantle on the head, and 
the hands folded. Ochre would certainly 
call that treating the subject artistically, 
80 many old pictures are painted in that 
style. She probably has pretty hands, — 
if not, I can make them so." 

The next day, while I was yet hesitat- 
ing whether to go to Ochre's or not, I 
kMkrd ladies' voices and a gentle knock at 
my door. I flew round to arrange my 
studio ; threw a doth over the Priestess, 
to give her a mysterious effect — only a 
few folds of her robe and a sandalled foot 
were visible ; placed a sketch on my easel, 
tnd opening the door made a low bow to 
the ladies, with my palette and stick in 
my hand. I flattered myself that effect 
was artistic. 

The elder lady introduced herself as 
Mrs. Beljay, who had brought her daughter 
to sit to me. Actually there — my first 
sitter ! She was soon seated in the chair 
with a blue mantle thrown over her. I 
asked her to incline her head slightly and 
to fold her hands — they were very pretty 
ones. '^Do I not look like a wounded 
dove?" she asked her mother, and they 
began to laugh. 

I begged her to keep her face still, and 
eomg across the room for something, care- 
wssly brushed the cloth from Iphigenia, 
hoping the sight of that sorrowful coun- 
tenance would give a more subdued cx- 
preasion to hers, but they both laughed 
verr much, although evidently trying not 
to do so. They made little jokes and pre- 
tended thev were laughing at those. Miss 
Beljay said she thought she could main- 
tain the expression I wished if she had 
knitting with her, and other silly things ; 
but a wild fear shot through mo that 
they were laughing at Iphigenia, and I sud- 
denly took it away. Then they became 
very quiet, and I made an excellent sketch. 
They wished to see it, but I could not 
permit them to, so soon. Mrs. Beljay 
said she did not think it could be like, for 
Fanny had never been so still in her life 
before. I started at the name. ^^She 
also is Fanny !" I thought, "but not my 
Fanny Ann." 

When they were going away Mrs. Bel- 
jay told me they were to have a little 
ptfty in the evening, and she hoped I 

would oome with her nej^ew, Mr. 

There was an opening into society I I 
had a nice dress coat and light vest that 
had belonged to my fkther, and had been 
made over for me by my mother, two 
years before. I bought a new cravat, and 
spent two hours trying to brush the curia 
out of my hair and make it look as smooth 
as that of the young gentlemen I had seen 
in Broadway. I went to call for Mr. 
Ochre, very well pleased with myself; I 
certainly looked much better than he did. 

Upon entering the room I was at first 
dazzled, as I had been by the gilt frames 
at the Exhibition. There was a great 
crowd of people, a great deal of noise, and 
light, and bewilderment. I withdrew 
into a comer to regain my composure; 
taking care, however, to stand where I 
could observe Miss Beljay, for even in the 
confusion of making my bow, I had seen 
at a glance that she greatly resembled 
Jephthah's daughter. I had thought so a 
little in the morning, but now I was sure 
of it ; she was so tall and dignified when 
she was standing, and had on a pink dress 
too, very long and flowing, — nothing was 
wanting but the blue mantle. 

While I was thus gazing in silence she 
brought her father and introduced me to 
him. They conversed with me some time, 
and were evidently much pleased with 
me, for they invited me to dine \vith them 
the next day. 

I was invited there very often during 
the three weeks Miss Beljay was sitting, 
much to my own satisfaction. On my 
way thither one evening with Ochre, he 
said to me, " It is a good thing to visit in 
the family of a sitter, you have so many 
chances of studying your subject. It was 
on this account that I advised Mrs. Beljay 
to invite you to her house." 

To him, then, I owed all my invitations 
and not to my own attractions. I had a 
great mind not to accept any more, but 
such opportunities of seeing Miss Beljay 
were not to be resisted. 

At length I announced that the portrait 
was finished, and Mr. Ochre came with 
the ladies to see it. lie looked from the 
painting to Miss Beljay and back again to 
the painting, smiling a little because she 
smiled, as young ladies often will when 
looked at. ** The mantle is pretty good," 
he said, at length, " and the mouth is a 
little like." 

I believe I should have made some very 
fierce reply if the ladies had not been there. 
As it was I turned with great calmness to 
Mrs. Beljay. and asked her what she 
thought of it <'It is a little like her," 


ConfeBsUnu of a Young Artist 


she answered, "only much more pen- 

" Fanny, will jou please to sit in the 
chair and hold your head down,^' said 
Ochre. "Now let me see. You have 
made the nose too straight ; Fanny's, al- 
though a very good one, is not Grecian." 
There she fairly laughed. '-You must 
have heen thinking of some ideal of yours. 
Neither do her lids droop so heavily ; you 
should have opened the eyes with a more 
sunny expression. The mouth is a little 
like, as I told you before, and so is the 
outline of the face. The mantle hides the 
fine turn of the head and the beautiful 
hair. The hands are well enough, only 
they have not the usual allowance of joints. 
As for the coloring — it is like plaster 
of Paris, but that is because you wished 
to paint her pale, a la Magdalen, perhaps. 
You must have chosen this style before 
you had seen her, I think." (I felt a 
guilty consciousness that I had aone so.) 
" Let me show you how I think she should 
be drawn." 

He sketched in a head, lightly set on the 
throat, and turning with an arch expres- 
sion as the figure moved away. The 
hair, softly waving on the forehead was 
knotted behind, and a flower fell grace- 
fully on one side. The whole figure was 
airy and elegant 

" There, that is my cousin Fanny as I 
know her. What do you say. Aunt 

" It is Fanny herself— nothing could be 

I could not but admire the sketch, so 
free, so characteristic, so lovely, so like 
the beautiful form which had been before 
me day after day, and had been hidden 
from mo beneath the mantle of my own 
misconception. After they had gone away 
I looked at my poor head, so weak, so 
^iritless, and turned it with its face to 
the wall. " All, all wrong ! " I exclaimed, 
and hiding my face in my hands t should 
have wept if I had been a boy — but I 
was eighteen years old, and could not in- 
dulge in that. I remembered all the 
happy, hopeful days I had passed in paint- 
ing it, all the apparent kindness that had 
been bestowed upon me, and now they had 
gone and would never think of me again, 
or only laugh at my foolish endeavor. I 
almost vowed that I would never touch a 
brush again, and going out wandered 
about the streets all the evening, with the 
saddest heart 

The next day I could not return to my 
studio. I walked down Broadway and 
round about the Battery. The waves 
were breaking against the stones, and I 

thought I would go to sea. I walked op 
Broadway and went into the Exhibitions 
I saw my two portraits and wished 1 could 
shoot them. I looked at every picture 
in the room, to see if there were any as 
bad as mine, and found there were many, 
but was not encouraged by them. Idjr 
eyes seemed opened by magic. I saw 
how poor most of them were even in pro- 
mise, and appreciated the good ones as I 
had never done before, remembering many 
things Ochre had said about them, whida 
I had scarcely noticed at the time. I saw 
that difficulties had been conquered of 
which I had never dreamed, and that all 
I had hitherto done was mere child's play. 
I went toward Ochre's studio, and thought 
I would go in and ask him to take me as 
a pupil again, but feared he would not 
think it worth while. While I paced to 
and fro on the side-walk, Miss Beljay and 
her mother came down the steps. I knew 
she had been sitting to Ochre, but they 
did not tell me so. They shook hands 
with me. and Mrs. Beljay said I must send 
home the picture as soon as it was ready ; 
remarked that it was a pleasant day, &c. ; 
hoped I would be at her reception in the 
evening; I must eome every Thursday, 
she said, when I was not otherwise en- 

low the sun shone — how very pleasant 
the day had become! I ran up into 
Ochre's room and asked him to take me 
back. " Gumbo," he said, " you know I 
would not for the world extinguish the 
least spark of genius in you or in any 
one, but think for yourself. You have been 
painting three or four years, and what 
does it amount to ? You cannot paint a 
picture that begins to be good. I know 
you have some talent, but many have as 
much who do not think of painting as a 
profession, because they know not to ex- 
cel in it is to fail. I know I am not a 
good painter myself," and he looked sadly 
round his studio, " but will you ever be 
even so good a one? If not, to devote 
yourself to Art vnll be to throw yourself 
mto a sea in which you cannot swim. 
Would it not be wiser to choose an occu- 
pation in which you will be master of 
your faculties, than one in which you will 
be the victim of endless hopes, delusions, 
and disappointments. Think of your 
mother, too, who can ill spare the money 
she sends you. For her sake, as well as 
for your own, I advise you to accept an 
offer which Mr. Beljay is about to make 
you. He has occasion, he says, to employ 
an honest, intelligent young man in his 
business, and thinks you are such a one 
as he wants. You will still have some 


Anrum PotabUe. 

tinie for drawing, and if you keep your 
hand in practice and have much genius, it 
win burst out at some future day." 

Here I saw that smile again, but wag 
not hnrt by it now ; I smiled also, and 
UAd him I knew he was right and I should 
accept the ofiEer. 

With melancholy determination I took 
down my sign, its gilt letters still untar- 
nished. I carriea my easel, my lay 
figure, and all my valuable possessions to 
my attic, and took a last fond look of the 
d^-hght which had been the confident 
of 80 many aspirations. 

My new business was one that was 
Ttluable and interesting in itself^ as well 
IS profitable, so that I felt I was doing 
something besides merely making money, 
and I could not but confess that I was 
happier while actively employed among 
other mcai, than when waiting, and waii- 
ingin vain, in my lonely studio. 

let I sometimes loolced back with re- 
gret to those days of sweet delusion, and 
retain such an afiection for Iphigenia 
that I carried it home with me when I 
went to visit my mother. She regarded 
it with maternal pride, and gave it an 
honorable place in her parlor, opposite 
Unde John. I laughed very much when 
I saw that delight of my childhood, so 
meek and cadaverous it now appeared to 
me, but I turned to my own picture, and 
thought it almost as absurd. There 

seemed to be a fiunily resemblance be- 
tween the two— Iphigenia and my Uncle 

I went with my mother to see Mrs. 
Brown for the first time since that event- 
ful day on which I was so enraptured by 
Jephthah's daughter. I sat in the same 
place at table, and had the same quince, I 
believe, but could eat it now with perfect 
composure. I was highly amused to see 
how flimsy the daughter was in her lilac 
mantle and pink train, and how very 
thick Jephthah's sandalled legs had bo- 
come. The whito damsel also was no 
longer a phantom of delight. 

The next morning I called upon Fanny 
Ann. She was playing a singular tune 
on a rickety piano. She welcomed me 
with sweet timidity, and had many pretty 
little airs and graces ; but her hair was 
in curling-papers, and I did not stay 
long. I presented her portrait — that gem 
of art — to her grandmother, whose sight 
was almost gone, and the good lady was 
very much delighted with it. 

But the river, the hills, and the wide- 
stretohing fields were as beautiful as ever, 
and I told my mother I should build a 
pleasanter house on the old place, in a few 
years, and that she should come and live 
with me, and — some one else. " Fanny 
Ann ! " said my mother ; but I thought 
of another Fanny. 


BROTHER Bards of every region— 
Brother Bards, (your name is Legion !) 
Were you with me, while the twilight 
Darkens up my pine-tree skylight — 
Were you gathered, representing 

Every land beneath the sun, 
Oh what songs would be indited, 
Ere the earliest star is lighted, 
To the praise of vino d'oro, 

.On the hills of Lebanon ! 


Yes, while all alone I quaff its 
Lucid gold, and brightly laugh its 
Topaz waves and amber bubbles, 
Stul the thought my pleasure troubles, 
That I quaff it all alone. 

46 Aurum Poiabik. [Jiuiuvy 

Oh for Hafiz ! glorious Persian I 
Keatfl^ with buoyant, gay diversion 
Mocking Schiller's graye immersion ; 

Oh for wreaUied Anacreon ! 
Yet enough to have the living — 
They, the few, the rapture-giving 1 

4 Blessed more than in receiving,) 
'ate, that frowns when laurels wreathe theiii| 
Once the solace might bequeathe them, 
Onoe to taste of vino d'oro 

On the Hills of Lebanon I 

Lebanon, thou mount of story. 
Well we know thy sturdy glory, 

Since the days of Solomon ; 
Well we know the Five old Cedars, 
Scarred by ages — silent pleaders, 
Preaching, in their gray sedatencss, 
Of thy forest's fiUlen greatness — 
Of the vessels of the T^rian, 
And the palaces Assyrian. 
And the temple on Morian 

To the High and Holy One ! 
Know the wealth of thy appointments- 
Myrrh and aloes, gum and ointment ; 
But we knew not, till we clomb thee, 
Of the nectar dropping from thee — 
Of the pure, pellucid Ophir 
In the cups of vino d'oro, 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 


We have drunk, and we have eaten. 
Where Mizraim's sheaves are beaten , 
Tasted Judah's milk and honey, 
On his mountains, bare and sunny ; 
Drained ambrosial bowls, that ask us 
Never more to leave Damascus ; 
And have sung a vintage psean, 
To the grapes of isles Egsean, 
And the flasks of Orvieto, 

Ripened in the Roman sun : 
But the liquor here surpasses 
All that beams in earthly glasses. 
'Tis of this that Paracelsus 
niis elixir vitas) tells us, 
That to happier shores can float us 
Than Lethean stems of lotus, 

Straight restores when day is dona. 
Then, before the sunset waneth, 
While the rosy tide, that staineth 
Earth, and sky, and sea, remaineth, 
We will take the fortune profier'd, 
Ne'er again to be reK)ffer'd — 
We will drink of vino d'oro 

On the Hills of Lebanon ! 
Vino d'oro ! vino d'oro I 

Golden blood of Lebanon ! 




" A ND besides, Monsieur, all the talents 
-Oi. dine there ! " 

" I will certainly come. Where shall we 
meet? What say you to the Galerie 
d'Orleans, for there one's sheltered from 
the vicissitudes of this fickle season, 
and, in its winter's throng, the faithless 
watches are never execrated. But what 
hour shall we meet ? which is the best hour 
for seeing •* all the talents" at your res- 

" Six o'clock. God protect you ! '* 

" Until our next meeting." ♦ 

Some two winters ago, chance placed 
me at the right comer end of the large 
half-circle the orchestra makes in its mid- 
dle, in the Grand Opera. The musicum 
Dearest to me was a young violinist 
about twenty years old. The opera given 
that night was M. Auber's failure (Homer 
himself sometimes sleeps) U Enfant Pro- 
diffue. It had then reached its thirtieth 
night. The orchestra were long since 
tired of it. It is the custom of the artists 
of the orchestra when they feel little or no 
interest in the evening's piece to pass 
away as much time as they can by read- 
ing some book or another. They have 
heard the piece so often (for before it ap- 
pears to the public it has been rehearsed 
many hundreds of times), that some of 
the older musicians never think of taking 
their eyes off their book during the whole 
evening, but when they have to play, they 
install the work they are reading on the 
stand by the side of the score, and play 
away with all their might while they are 
devouring some pictured page of Sir Wal- 
ter Scott or Fenimore Cooper, or some 
animated and brilliant story of M. Alex- 
andre Dumas. There are some ennuyis 
in the orchestra these authors no longer 
divert. An old bass-violinist has been 
pointed out to mo as having mastered 
the Hebrew language while thus whiling 
away his time. A kettle-drummer (^tho 
one on the extreme right of the stage) is 
noted for his knowledge of the Russian. 
The cymbal-beater has made a consider- 
able progress in the Sanscrit, and the 
triangle man is a proficient in the Coptic 
language and hieroglyphics. 

I observed that my neighbor, notwith- 
standing his youth, was one of the en- 
rmyea; although I several times wiped mv 
eye-glasses I could not see what book 
formed the solace of his hours as he so 
oo?ered it with his music, that neither its 
page-top nor its back was visible ; besides, 

the type was of a very small character. 
Our arms touched several times during the 
evening: the interchange of civilities these 
accidents produced was more than enough 
to afibrd facility to engage in a sustained 
conversation. After remarking upon the 
weariness he must feel by hearing the 
same music every day and night for 
months, I soon had an opportunity to in- 
quire the name of the book he was read- 
ing, and having been long accustomed to 
the ruthless murders the Frenchmen com- 
mit on foreign names, I instantly recog- 
nized in " Weelyam Shaaspee" the groat 
dramatic bard of England. The young 
violinist had exhausted his matemid 
literature, and he had (so he said) made 
sufficient progress in the English language 
to dare to swim through Shakespeare's 
pages uncorked with a translation. He, 
of course, thought Shakespeare sublime — 
every body does. I did not take the 
trouble to inquire if he understood him ; 
I have abandoned for many years making 
those inquiries of Frenchmen as being a 
mere waste of time. I have since had 
reason to think that his knowledge of Eng- 
lish extended a very little ways beyond 
** Yes," and " How do you do." 

Our conversation lasted, with short in- 
tervals, some hours ; he talked with the 
freedom of youth, of artist's youth, glad 
to find a patient ear to listen to its story ; 
while I, talking enough to draw him out. 
listened and talked with the interest I 
feel in every thing in this world, except 
the Multiplication Table and the Rule of 
Three. Before the curtain fell, we ex- 
changed cards, and I went the next day 
to see him. Our acquaintance ripened 
soon into something like intimacy. One 
day happening to have rather more money 
than I usually can boast, I determined to 
dine at the Trois Freres Provencaux, 
partly because I was tired of the fixed- 
price restaurants and desired a change, and 
partly, I suspect, from a lurking hope that 
money, finding how cordial a reception I 
gave it, would visit my purse more fre- 
quently than it did. As a dinner for one 
person costs at the Trois Frdres exactly 
the same sum of money as a dinner for 
two (the single portion being more than 
enough for two persons), I determined 
to invite my friend the violinist to dine 
with me. What a merry time we had of 
it ! Was it not worth all the money it 
cost ! To finish the evening gayly, we 
took our gloria at the Cafg de Paris, and 

•AdUmtl Aurtwfir, 


Sketcha m a Parit CqfS. 


about midnight we separated, feeling at 
peace with the world and full of eood will 
to all men. There's nothing like your 
Burgundy for enduing men's breasts with 
the milk of human kindness. As he held 
out his hand to me : " Come next week and 
dine with me." he said, " it will be some- 
thing new to you ; and besides, Monsieur, 
all the talents dine there." 

As I have said I accepted his invitation, 
and punctual as a king I was pacing the 
animated Galerie d'Orleans while the 
Palais Royal clock was striking six 
o'clock. There is always a throng in the 
Palais Royal, and especially during the 
winter ; its long arcades afford an agree- 
able walk in the inclement weather, the 
miniature shops with aU their contents 
&ncifully and tastily arranged in the im- 
mense and perfect plate of glass which, 
barely leaving the space sufficient for a 
door, covers the whole front of the shop : 
the unnumbered variety of the shops, the 
motley complexion of the promenaders, 
the pretty shop girls, the mirrored and 
gilded eating-houses with their displays 
of all the costly luxuries of the season, 
or rather of the wealthy, for they 
know no season, give a constantly novel 
and agreeable scene to foreigners and to 
Parisians. They are both, too, attracted 
thither by its offering within its vast paral- 
lelogram, restaurants, suited to every 
variety of purse, from the fixed-price res- 
taurant at twenty-two cents, to the bill 
restaurant with an octavo volume of seve- 
ral hundred pag&s ; and four theatres ; 
and two musical caf§s. The Galerie 
d'Orleans is the microcosm of the Palais 
Royal. It is an arcade running across the 
end of the garden of the Palais Royal, and 
separating the Palais Royal proper from 
the shops which line the garden; built 
entirely of glass and iron, lined on both 
sides with brilliant shops constructed of the 
same materials ; entirely protected from the 
weather, it is so favorite a promenade, be- 
tween six and eight o'clock in the eve- 
ning, it is almost impossible to move in it 
except in the cadenccd march of the crowd 
which fills it. The Place Saint Marc in 
Venice, (the only sight m the world which 
can be compared with this) is far inferior 
in brilliancy and gayety to the Palais 

Even if my friend had been less punc- 
tual than he was (the fines inflicted bv 
the Grand Opera for tardiness, are aa- 
mirable correctives of artists' negligence of 
time), I could readily have amused my- 
self in the Galerie d'Orleans, although I 
have been for a good many years a daily fre- 
quenter of its marble pavement <^ Come," 

said he, putting his arm in mine, ^ a 

ready for my artist-dinner ; you o 

plate it without trembling." " 

done ! " said I, " know, my dear fello 

when one has eaten his A. B. at — 

lege commons, where, as Weelyam 

pee would say — 

Rats and mice and snch small de^, 
Have been Tom's fwHl for many a yet 

he cannot be alarmed by any thing 
in a kitchen." 

We strolled by one of the exter 
cades of the Galerie d'Orleans, 
down to some of the numerous ent 
of the Palace, and plunged into one 
narrow streets imprisoned betwee 
giant lines of eight-story houses, ur 
reached a brilliantly lighted door, 
ed gorgeously, its decorations her 
the presents the earth, air, and wat 
to the kitchen. Coming suddenly 
the dimly lighted street to the gas 1 
gilded, and mirrored restaurant, if 
almost blinded by the light, I was 
pletely stunned by the clatter, 
ground-floor was as full as it oou 
every body was talking as fast ai 
loud as they could talk ; the sei 
(who had a large number of guc 
wait on) shrieked out their questioi 
answers ; the master of the house i 
in tones which would not have tl 
discredit on Boanerges, the whole 
fare, which was interlarded with 
whenever he caught the eye of some i 
habitui^ who was never guilty < 
" indelicacy" of asking for credit ;- 
which were received with loud ap] 
of laughter, which I attributed (f 
jokes can only be called jokes bi 
charitable courtesy which takes ti 
for the deed, it was evident from hi 
he intended them for jokes.) partly 
masculine proneness to flatter autl 
and partly because his absurdities 
their colossal exaggeration, seemed 
catures of absurdity. Add to all thj 
fusion confounded, the distant th 
of the cooks' bons ; and the sum tc 
each guest's dinner, bawled interroga 
by the woman at the counter, to the 
ers, and that for eighteen cents, yoi 
soup, two plates of meat, a dessert, 
bottle of wine and bread at discrei 
you will admit that this was decid 
cheap restaurant Wonder that F 
men should despise life, when life < 
maintained so cneaply I 

According to the bill of fare, I e 
lienne soup, a beef-steak and petal 
mutton cutlet and potatoes, and 
and almonds — what I really eat, I 
much less knowledge of than I pos 


Sk$i(^ in a Parit OafL 


fieosinian Mysteries. After fleeing the 
ooarishment of French literary men, I 
hare loftt the surprise I felt at reading 
their works. I am only astonished they 
are not worse. 

It was ouite a masquerade of poverty. 
I TOW if I had met any of those kabituis 
on the street, I should have taken them 
for men of property. Eyery body had 
handsome kid gloves, and gold watches 
ind chains, and the majority wore patent 
leather boots. If regard was had to the 
narrowness of their incomes, their very 
wardrobe demanded the exertion of con- 
summate genius. The larger number of 
the guests were young men. These were 
'^all the talents," who were persuaded 
(and generally with reason) that fortune 
was a mere question of time to them. 
There were young musical composers 
among the frequenters of the restaurant, 
and 3'oung actors, young painters, young 
scribblers, young musicians, and some 
shop-boys — and of both sexes of all of 
these stations of life. Most of the persons 
present were husbands or wives by bre- 
vet The pro hoc vice wives bore the 
names of their '* husbands" with as much 
ease as if the mayor and the priest had 
taken their parts in the transmutation* 
The waiters, who were quite young, were 
on a footing of equality with the guests, 
and joked and laughed and patted them on 
the backs ; they never thought of saying 
Monsieur : in many cases the waiters were 
richer than the guests. There were no 
disputes, no quarrelling, no impertinencics 
tf any kind, the " ladies" were treated with 
a marked courtesy ; every one was gay, 
every one was merry, — how could it be 
otherwise when all were so young. 

I had scarcely exchanged the ordinary 
drilities with my friend's "Madame" 
(who was waiting for us when we came 
io) when I heard the notes of a guitar : 
taming to the door, I saw standing under 
the clock, and between the door and the 
window, a tall scrawny woman ; she was 
dressed shabbily genteel, and every thing 
about her gave evident indications that 
she had long and still painfully struggled 
with poverty: she must have suffered 
acutely, during the conflict, for besides 
the lines rising on both sides of her nose, 
and running around her mouth, and the 
ftuTOws on both cheeks, from the cheek- 
bone to a level with the mouth, she was 
one of those constitutions which suffer 
the most from the ills of life, as they can 
bear more of them before breaking, than 
any other temperament She was tail 
thm, nervous; her limbs and her head 
were small, her hair was blade and ill 

vou in.--4 

dressed — not from carelessness, but as If 
her hands had many a time in the coarse 
of the day pressed it back to give more air 
to her fired brain ; she kept her eyes fixed 
on the floor, and sang three or four of 
the merrier popular songs of the day. No 
attention was paid to her, unless I except 
the impertinent way the waiters snubbed 
her, and the rude jests the landlord made 
with her. After her songs were ended, 
she went around from table to table, 
holding out a small tin box for some ra- 
compnse for her labors. I suppose she 
received in all some fifteen cents. In a 
short time after she left us, two mere lada^ 
violinists, came in, and gave us something 
as much like music as they could make it 
They handed around a cup, which re- 
ceived as liberal a donation as the poor 
woman's box. Then wo had a harpw. 

With the music, the strange sights 
around me. the queer exclamations which 
met my ears, the beauty of " Madame,** 
the youthful and artist's gayety of my 
friend, and the two bottles of extra wine 
he ordered ^and a glass of which the 
waiter expected as of course), our dinner 
went off merrily enough — so merrily I 
have dined there" several times since — and 
at my suggestion we all went to my room, 
(after my friend had paid the bill, fifly- 
four cents, and given three cents to the 
waiter), wnere his "Madame" made coffee, 
while he and I arranged some cakes I had 
bought, on some plates, and blew up the 
fire, and we felt as happy as lords, for all 
we were up so many flights of the stairs 
of the spiral staircase. 

" Don't think," said he, " that our res- 
taurant is the lowest in Paris. There are 
some where you have soup, two plates, a 
dessert, wine, and bread at diacreiionAoT 
twelve cents ; indeed, outside of the Bar- 
rierc du Mont Rouge, there is one where 
you may get all of that for ten cents — 
though I would not engage you to try it 
for one of my friends, the * serpent,' told 
me that ho eat there before he entered 
our orchestra, and after the Italian opera 
season closed, one day he asked for fri- 
casseed chicken, and he found the bones 
of it were those of an ox's tail. Du reste 
one may live at those places — I mean, one 
may keep starvation at arm's length at 
one of those places and without danger, 
— so the * serpent' says, — if he eats only 
vermicelli soup and vegetables, for the 
bread there, as every where in Paris, is ex- 
cellent. But it is a droll place though ! 
The " serpent" says they have all of oar 
musical entertainment and a great deal 
more noise than wo have (for in Paris the- 
noise made in the restaurants, mcreases 


Shetchet m a Paris Ctffe. 


as the prices dimmish), and spouters of 
Racine, and Corneille, and Victor Hugo ; 
scarcely a dayelapses, says he, that they 
do not have Th^ramdne's lecity Augus- 
tus's soliloquy, Athalie's dream, or the so- 
hloquy of Charles V. Then the names of 
the dishes are, or rather were, hefore the 
coujp (Pctat, very odd ; there was soup k 
la Robespierre ; beef ^ la Marat ; mutton 
ragout ^ la fraternity ; chicken k la Re- 
publique, and heaven knows what other 
democratical names. You had but to ask 
one of the frequenters for his favorite 
dishes to divine his politics : tell me your 
dinner, I tell you who you are. You saw 
there, as you see at places like it in Paris, 
all the stone-masons and plasterers of the 
neighborhood ; one would think their 
trades indurated their bellies as hard as 
their hands, for the ' serpent' says they 
partake freely of all the dishes of the 
place, without giving immediate symptoms 
of discomfort." 

" The restaurant you and Louis dined at 
the other day." said Madame, " was a very 
different sort of place from the gargotte 
of the Barridre de Mont Rouge, wasn't it 7 " 
"Yes, indeed ! And you must some day 
dine at the Trois Freres with us. It is 
more than worth the vulgar money you 
pay for the dinner, large as is the amount 
of the bill. The Trois Prdres is un- 
questionably the best eating-place in the 
world ; it occupies the rank the Rocher 
de Cancale, Very 's, and Vfefour's held some 
twenty years ago. You remember the ac- 
count Tom Moore gives of them in the 
book from which I read to you the other 
night — and De Balzac's description of the 
Rocher de Cancale, may be justly applied 
to a dinner party in the salon up stairs ' 
of the Trois Frdres : at * half-past seven, 
a magnificent service of plate, made ex- 
pressly for the dinners, where vanity 
pays the bill with bank notes, shone upon 
the table of the handsomest salon of the 
establishment where all £urope has dined. 
Torrents of light made cascades on the 
edges of the carvings of the silver and the^ 
glue. Waiters — a stranger would have 
taken for diplomatists, but for their 
age — behaved themselves with all the 
seriousness of people who know them- 
selves to be extra paid.' We will all dine 
there together New Year's Day. I will 
go there in the morning and order a soup 
parie du gibier (the only thing we need 
order beforehand), and retain one of those 
cosy little rooms on the entresol so well 
sofaed, and cushioned, and lighted^ and 
at night I'll introduce you to all their de- 
licate luxuries, from the soup to the 
gnpeg. without omitting a bechamel de 

turbot, their famous fricandeau^ their 
cocks' combs, their truffles, their wonder- 
ful salmis of game, and those thoiisand 
other made dishes the genius of Vatel and 
Careme have given to their successors. 
You may judge then for yourself of the 
splendor of the service, and the excellence 
of the viands, and the ^nius of the cooks, 
and the polished obseqwousness of the care- 
fully dressed waiters. But — for the privacy 
of the cabinet de socieli has some draw- 
backs — you must consent to lose the splen- 
dor of the ground- floor room, and the bril- 
liant company generally assembled there.*' 

" I unll pay for the dinner on condition 
^ou tell me all the news about the fash- 
ions — I want to hear all the news, and I 
shall be exactii^. for Louis has told me 
that you live witn the best mantuamaker 
of Paris." 

" Ah ! most vnllingly. The return of 
necklaces is spoken of as certain this 
winter in the fashionable circles, and 
hair ornaments are much sought after 
for necklaces, ear-rings and bracelets. 
The workmanship is beautiful, and the 
effect extremely good. Fichus, worn 
with redingotes, and high dresses, have 
almost invariably the (^ mousquetaire 
trimmed vnth Mechlin or Valendennea 
lace. Small tucks are much in favor for 
tulle or muslin chemisettes ; but whilst 
there can be nothing prettier when new, 
they are generally spoilt in the washing ; 
to obviate this, narrow flat braid is run 
into each tuck, which gives firmness, and 
keeps them in their straight lines. Lace 
berthes are much in favor ; application, 
guipure, or Alen^on, are most in deman^ 
they are fastened with narrow ribbons or 
ends of lace, called bons hommes: the 
trimmings to the sleeves and flounces 
match the lace, of which the berthe 
is composed. Brooches are much worn, 
to fiisten the berthe on the front of the 
body. Winter-pardessus are occupying 
the attention of our most skilful artists^ 
but nothing very definite has been as 
yet decided on. It may, however, be 
mentioned, that velvet trimmed with 
deep laoe will be worn for full dress, 
the pelisse for morning dress, the Talma 
cut on the bias, and the manteau Bari- 
dant, in doth and trimmed with velvet 
braids for promenades. The sorties de 
bal are very elegant; the most di^ 
tinguies are made of white poult de 
soie, lined with pink or blue satin. A 
lar^ hood lined with plush to match the 
satin, with a full bow and long ends, is 
indispensable, and Illyrian sleeves com- 
plete this useful and beautiful manteau. 
Taffetas glacis dressesi with three skirti 


Shetehes tn a Paris QofL 


or three deep flounces, are much in favor. 
Bows of nbbon are placed upon the 
floonces. Small beautiful coins de feu of 
Telvet and satin, with deep basques, and 
back like the paletot, richly embroidered 
with braid mixed with jet, are very popu- 
lar. Feuiile morte colors are the favorite 
shades for dresses. Bonnets for ncglig6 
or promenade, are composed of velvet 
either green, violet, blue, or soft brown 
drab trimmed with black Venetian lace, 
mixed with flowers and foliage, or feathers 
the same color as the velvet. Visiting 
bonnets are the demi-capotes composed 
of bands of pmk or blue terry velvet, 
separated by rows of white blonde frills. 
The trimmings of these capotes are often 
a single flower, the shade of the terry 
Telvet with long foliage in blonde or 
crape ; or small white feathers tipped 
with the ook)r of the velvet. Have I 
earned my dinner at the Trois Frdres ? 
Tiem ! it is twelve o'clock." 

" Yes, indeed, you have ! But stay — 
don't go yet ; the porter expects his fee, 
and as you have to pay him, you shoula 
get the worth of your money. Come, pour 
out some coffee ; I want to read you the 
impressions Paris made upon an Arab of 
the Sahara. Don't you like to hear how 
they regard a civilization, which is so 
different to theirs? and to remark how 
singular many of our luxuries and cus- 
toms appear, when seen by eyes whose 
observation has not been blunted by long 
and daily familiarity with them ? 

" ' You do not pray — you do not fast — 
you do not perform ablutions — ^you do 
not shave your heads — ^you are not cir- 
cumcised — you do not bleed the animals 
which you eat — you eat hog's meat — ^you 
drink fermented liquors, which transform 
you to beasts — you are guilty of the infa- 
my of wearing a hat different from that 
worn by Sidna-A'issa (our Lord Jesus 
Christ); these are the vices for which 
you have to reproach yourselves. But 
then, you make excellent powder ; your 
aman is sacred ; you are guilty of no 
exactions ; you are polite ; you do not 
lie a great deal ; you like cleanliness. If, 
with all that, you could once say with 
sincerity, *• There is no other God but 
God, and our Lord, Mahomet, is God's 
angel (messenger)," none would enter Pa- 
radise sooner than you. What I espe- 
cially admire in France, is that there is a 
severe government established. One may 
travel there by day and by night without 
fear. Your buildings are beautiful ; your 
lighting is admirable ; your carriages are 
comfortable; your smoking boats and 
your iron rcMuls are unsurpassed by any 

thing in the world. One finds there food 
and pleasures for all ages, and for every 
purse. You have an army organized like 
steps, this man above that. All of your 
cities have foot-soldiers: your foot-sol- 
diers are the ramparts of your country. 
Your cavalry is badly mounted, but won- 
derfully armed and equipped. Your sol- 
diers' iron shines like silver. You have 
water and bridges in abundance. You 
understand agriculture: you have crops 
for every season. The eye is as little fa- 
tigued looking at your vegetables and 
your fruits, as your soil is tired producing 
them. We have found, in your Garden 
of the Baylic (the Garden of Plants), 
animals, and plants, and trees, which even 
our old men have never heard of. You 
have enough to satisfy all the world in 
silks, in velvets, in precious stuffs, and in 
precious stones. And what the most 
astonishes us is the promptness with 
which you know what takes place in the 
most distant places. . . .' " 

" Mais there's one o'clock ! Good 
night ! good night ! " 

After my lively guests had gone, I re- 
turned to a book which I have been read- 
ing, M. Roederer's Memoirs, and in the 
course of the evening I remarked several 
reports of his conversations with Napo- 
leon, which appear so interesting to me 
that I will transcribe a passage or two. 
During the first days of Brumairc, and 
while the confidential circle were discuss- 
ing with detail the Revolution which was 
to be made the Eighteenth, Bonaparte 
said to Roederer : " No man is more pusil- 
lanimous than I am when I am framing a 
military plan: I exaggerate to myself 
all the dangers, and all the possible evils 
which may arise under the circumstances. 
I am in a painful agitation. This does 
not prevent my appearing serene before 
the persons around me. lam like a girl 
on the eve of child-Mrth. And when 
my resolution is taken, all is forgotten 
except that which can make it succeed." 
In 1804, on the eve of the establishment 
of the Empire, Bonaparte^ talking with 
him in the Tuileries, thinking aloud, and 
expressing his impatience of the injustice 
of Parisian opinion at that moment, and 
his annoyance of the obstacles thrown in 
his way, even by some of his nearest re- 
lations, said: "Besides moi, I have no 
ambition (and then correcting himself ) — 
or, if I have some, it is so natural to me, 
it is so innate in me, it is so intimately 
attached to my existence, that it is like 
the very blood in my veins, like the air I 
breathe. It does not make me go more 
quickly or differently than the natural 


Skittles m a Paris Caft. 


^ I in me. I have never had to com- 
bat, ^ther for or against it ; it does not 
go fiister than I do ; it only goes with the 
circumstances and the ensemble of my 
ideas." At another time, led to speak 
about war, of " that immense art which 
includes all the others." of the innumer- 
able talents it requires, and which are 
very different from personal courage, and 
which cannot be given at will: "A/i7i- 
totre, je le suis maij I am a soldier," ex- 
claimed Bonaparte, "because it is the 
particular ^fl I received at my birth ; it 
IS my existence — it is my habitude. 
Wherever I have been, I have command- 
ed ; I commanded, when I was twenty- 
three years old, the siege of Toulon — ^I 
commanded in Paris, in Vend6maire; I 
carried away the soldiers in Italy, as soon 
as I appeared to them. I was bom for 
that. I always know how I stand. I 
have my accounts always present to my 
mind. I cannot get by heart a single 
Alexandrine line ; but I never forget a 
syllable of the accounts of my situation. 
I like tragedies ; but if every tragedy in 
the world were there, on one side, and 
the accounts of my situation on the other, 
I would not even glance at a single tra- 
gedy, and I would not omit a single line 
of the accounts of my situation, without 
having read it attentively. To-night, I 
shall find (hem in my chamber, and I 
shan't go to bed until I have read them. 
{It was then nearly midnight.) Per- 
haps it is a mi«fortune that I command in 
person ; but it is my essence, my privi- 
lege. ... I have more mind. . . What do 
I care about talents ! What I want is 
the hprit of the thing. TTiere is no fool 
who IS not good for something — there is 
no mind which can do every thing. The 
love of kings is not a nursed tenderness. 
They should make themselves feared and 
respected. The love of nations is onlj 
esteem. I love power, moi; but it is 
en artiste that I love it. . . I love it as a 
musician loves his violin, to draw from it 
sounds, accords, harmony. The military 
art is a freemasonry ; there is among aU 
of them a certain intelligence which en- 
ables thorn, without misUke, to recognise 

each other, seek each other's company, 
and understand each other ; and I am the 
grand-master of all their lodges. There 
is nothing about war that I cannot do 
myself. If there is nobody to make gun- 
powder, I know how to make it; if can- 
nons are wanted, I know how to cast 
them ; I can teach all the details of tac- 
tics, if there is nobody else to teach 
them. In administration, I alone ar- 
ranged the finances, as you know 

There are principles, rules which should 
be known. I work always; I meditate a 
great deal. If I appear always ready to 
guarantee every thing, to meet every 
thing, it is because, before undertaking 
any thing, I have long meditated. I have 
foreseen what might happen. It is not a 
genitis which suddenly reveals me secret- 
ly what I have to say or to do in circum- 
stances which, toothers, are unexpected; 
it is my reflection, my meditation. I 
am always working, at dinner, at the 
theatre ; I got up during the night and 
work. Last night I got up at two o'clock. 
I sat in my long chair before the fire, to 
examine the accounts of the situation the 
Minister of War gave me last night. I 
found out and noted twenty faults, and I 
have sent my notes to the Minister, who 
is now busy in his oflBoe correcting them." 
I am persuaded you will read with inters 
est Napoleon's opinion on the contested 
question of the unities. Benjamin Con- 
stant had just published his tragedy, 
Walstein, ^* Benjamin Constant has writ- 
ten a tragedy and some poetry. Those 
people try to write when they have not 
even made their first literary studies. 
Let him read Aristotle's Poetics. Trage- 
dy does not limit the action to twenty- 
four hours arbitrarily ; but it is because 
it takes the passions at their maximum, 
at their t^tj highest degree of intensity, 
when they can neither bear any distrac- 
tion, nor support a long time. He makes 
them eat during the action : eat, indeed ! 
when the action commences, the actors 
should be agitated ; at the third act, they 
should sweat; at the last, every body 
should be bathed in perspiration." 



MY first view of Hayti was from off the 
'' Mole St Nicholas," the northwest 
point of the island. Wo were perhaps 
twenty miles east of the point to be 
doubled in order to enter the bay of Port 
au Prince. A bold, mountainous shore 
presented itself as far as the eye could 
reach, and far in the interior we could see 
Uie cloud-capt summit of '* Monte aa 
Diable," towering more than five thou- 
sand feet above us. Being awakened 
suddenly from sound sleep it was as if 
the island had sprung in an instant, by 
magic, from the depths of the wide waste 
of waters by which we had been for many 
days surrounded. 

The scenes of that early morning hour 
are engraved indelibly upon my memoiy, 
and are among the most pleasing reminis- 
cences of my life. Daylight had but 
just dawned, and the bold shore towered 
before me draped in the gray morning 
mist, and covered with a wealth of vei^ 
dure such as I had never seen before. 
There is a luxuriance, we can almost say a 
prodigality in the robes with which nature 
here decks herself, that amazes and be- 
wilders one who, for the first time, opens 
his eyes upon a tropical scene. The air 
was more delightful than I had ever im- 
agined that of the most genial climes to 
be. I stood hatless, near the stem of the 
ship, gazing spellbound upon the scene 
before me ; and as we were borne along 
by a gentle breeze, the mild soft winds 
played with my, as yet, uncombed locks, 
and fanned me with a gentle dalliance, 
even the memory of which is delicious. 

Doubling the *'Mole" we sailed in a 
southeasterly direction down the bay, 
about a hundred miles, to the city of Port 
au Prince. A range of bold highlands 
skirts the shore, now with bald and jag- 
ged summits, burning and glowing under 
a tropical sun, and now retreating farther 
into the interior, and covered with the 
Dkost rank and luxuriant vegetation. 

In going down the bay we pass a beau-. 
tiful little island about twenty miles in 
length, called Gonare. Nature has lav- 
ished upon it her bounties with the same 
rich profusion that characterizes all her 
works here. Mahogany, logifV'ood. tropi- 
cal fruits, and other productions abound, 
and it seems a fit residence for fiuries ; yet 
no human bcin^ is allowed to dwell upon 
it Passing this island we were in full 
view of both shores of the bay, which pre- 
sent the same magnificent appearance. 
Near the city of Port au Prince the bay 

is dotted with several little islands, which, 
however, add more to its beauty as a 
scene for a pauiter, than to its convenience 
or safety for purposes of navigation. The 
mountain ranges terminate nearly with 
the bay, and a level country opens up be- 
yond the city whKh lies at its head. 

Thus much for Haitian scenery ; now 
for an introduction to the people. As we 
near the city a boat approaches, rowed by 
two blacks, hatless and with a scanty 
allowance of clothing, bringing a more 
respectably attired personage not less 
black. It is the pilot As soon as a 
pilot touches the deck of a vessel, he is in 
full command; the responsibility of the 
captain is at an end, and he is only as a 
passenger. It was very amusing to watch 
the queer and comical expressions upon 
the faces of our sailors when then' new 
superior came on board, took his statkm. 
and gave his orders, " Port," " Steady," 
"Starboard," &c It was evidently not 
easy for them to yield him all the respect 
due to his station ; but certain significant 
looks fh>m the captain kept all in order, 
and we were taken safely to the harbor. 
Soon another boat came alongside, and we 
were boarded by three other officials. 
These were the captain of the port, rather 
a short stout man (a thorough black), in 
military dress, composed of a fiat crescent- 
shaped cap, epaulet, blue broadcloth coat 
with figured gilt buttons, &c Next came 
the ci^ptain of the pilots, a tall well formed 
man, in official dress. lie had spent some 
time in the United States and now acts as 
interpreter, the French being the language 
of the country. And last, the clerk of 
the port, a young man several shades 
lighter, in citizen's dress of the latest 
Parisian style. Broadway does not often 
furnish a more perfect " exquisite." These 
received the ship's papers, went through 
the forms of entry to the custom-house, 
and placed a black soldier on board as a 
guard against smuggling. The captain 
and myself (the only passenger) were 
then conducted ashore to ** La Place," the 
office of the governor of the city, where 
after registering our names, and going 
through a brief fonn, we were dismissed 
and at liberty to go on shore when and 
where we pleased. 

The first few hours spent upon any 
foreign shore will not easily bo forgotten. 
When after an hour or two I was again 
on board of the vessel for the night, my 
mind seemed to have been moved and ex- 
cited by more new and strange emotions, 


JBatfti and the Haitians, 


than in whole years before. Every thing, 
animate and inanimate, was new and 
strange — the people and their habits, the 
animals and their equipage, the style of 
the buildings, the trees, plants, vegetation, 
firuits, and various productions of the 
earth. All were new and consequently 
sources of mental excitement and pleasure. 
T had travelled many, many months and 
miles in our own southern climes, in the 
precarious search for health, until wearied 
with my wanderings by land, I had gone 
on board this vessel simply for the benefit 
of a voyage at sea ; not knowing, or car- 
ing for what particular island or port we 
were bound. I was glad that night that 
the monotony of my life had thus been 
broken, and that I had fetched up just 
where I had ; a place so rarely visited * 
by travellers, and afibrding, though so 
near home, so fresh a field for observation 
and study. 

I have described our entrance to Port au 
Prince. This city contains from twenty to 
twenty-five thousand inhabitants. These, 
with the exception of a few foreigners, 
are natives of the island, and are always 
distmguished as "blacks" — those of un- 
mixed blood — and "colored" — those of 
every tinge from " snowy white to sooty." 
To one accustomed to the state of things 
in our own country, and especially to one 
who has spent a good deal of time in the 
southern States, it seemed singular, to say 
the least, to see only black senators, judges, 
generals, and all the various grades of civil 
and military officers, necessary to conduct 
the affairs of government, and these all 
presided over by a black emperor. This 
remarkable personage is the great object 
of curiosity, for which sailors, captains, 
and all others inquire, and however much 
there may be to interest the stranger 
passing before his eyes, all are on the qui 
vive until he is seen. I have gathered 
the following facts in r^ard to his pre- 
vious history. 

The present Emperor of Hayti, Faustin 
Soulouque, or as he is officially known, 
"His Majesty, Faustin the Fh^t," had, 
previously to his election as president, 
been unknown to fame save as a military 
chieftain. His first connection with the 
army was in the capacity of a servant to 
a distinguished general. He has ever 
been regarded by those who have known 
him as a man of moderate abilities and 
acquirements, but of undoubted bravery. 

My first view of him was as he was 
riding through the city of Port au Prince, 

as his custom is on every Sunday morn- 
ing. His color is the dingiest coal black ; 
he has not the thick lips and other char 
racteristic features that usually accompany 
this color. He rode a fine gray horse 
imported from the United States, and 
was accompanied by a hundred or more 
of his lifeguards on horseback, pre- 
ceded by cavalry music, and passed 
through the principal streets of the city, 
uncovering his head and dispensing his 
bows and his smiles to the crowds as 
he rode rapidly past them. He was 
dressed, as he has always been when I 
have seen him, far more richly than I 
have ever seen any of om* military officers 
dressed. He wore the common crescent- 
shaped military cap, with rich plumes 
and heavy golden trimmings. His coat was 
blue broadcloth with standing collar ; and 
the entire front, the collar, the seams of 
the sleeves and the back, the edges of the 
skirts, &c., were overlaid with heavy 
golden trimmings. Besides this, various 
figures were wrought in gold upon the 
back and other parts of the coat, so that 
a large part of the cloth was covered. 
But a part of his vest could be seen, as his 
coat was buttoned with one button near 
his neck ; but all that did appear showed 
nothing but gold. His trowsers were 
white, trinmied on each side of the seams 
with gold lace. He was not, however, in full 
dress, as he had on conmion boots, instead 
of a pair most richly trimmed witn velvet 
and gold that he sometimes wears. His 
age is a little above fifty, his form erect, 
near six feet in height, and well propoi^ 
tioned. His horsemanship is of the most 
accomplished character. This attracts the 
attention of all foreigners, and their uni- 
versal remark is that in this respect he is 
rarely equalled. He usually rides to the 
Bureau of the Port, the custom-house, and 
through several of the principal streets of 
the city, attended by a few of his guards, 
twice during the week. As I had seen 
him thus riding rapidly through the city. 
I was perplexed to reconcile his facel 
which seemed amiable and benignant, with 
what I knew of his character ; but sub- 
sequently, as I stood near him, when he 
dismounted at church, and then sat within 
a few feet of him during a long service, I 
have been relieved of this difficulty, for I 
could see in his face when in repose an 
index of his stern and merciless heart 
Those familiar with the circumstances of 
his election as president of the republic 
(the present Emperor of France, be it re- 

* More thui fifty vesaels IW>in tho United States arrired at Port aa Prince daring mj stay upon the Island, 
In which there were but two paasengera,— one a yonng lawyer sent br an Insurance comply to look after a 
TMMl thti had been wrecked ; and the other an agent for a oomnMndal housou 


JBayti and t> JSlattians, 


membered, has most doselj followed the 
black Emperor in the method he has 
taken to reach his present position) will 
remember that the honor came upon him 
most miexpcctedlj. Parties were so 
nearly balanced that neither of them was 
able to succeed, and after several unavail- 
ing ballots he was taken up as an avail* 
able military candidate, and moreover as 
one that the leaders thought could easily 
be managed. But they soon found out 
their mistake. The very men who had 
procured his election were the first to 
soffer. In a very short time he dismissed 
them from the ministry and chose a cab- 
inet to his own liking, and from that day 
onward he has sacnficed whoever has 
dared to oppose him, or been suspected of 
plotting his overthrow, with apparently 
as little feeling as he would have taken 
the life of a centipede. It is a very difficult 
matter to judge of the future in regard to 
the Haitian government and people, but 
to all appearances he bids fair to be their 
ruler for many years to come. At least 
if he be not it will not be because he 
would hesitate to sacrifice hecatombs of 
opposing subjects to secure this end. 

It 18 not easy to give a truthful impres- 
sion of the real state of things upon this 
island. A gentleman who, for many 
years, occupied the chair of history in one 
of our distinguished institutions, and 
whose knowledge of the past history and 
present state of the world is equalled by 
very few of any land, remarked to me 
that he found it more difficult to get satis- 
factory views of the state of things in 
Hayti, than of any other part of the 
world. Probably every one who has 
given any attention to what has been 
passing here for the last half ccntuiy has 
experienced the same difficulty. I will 
therefore make this general remark in re- 
gard to the island, which will serve to 
explain the confficting statements that are 
made by those who visit it. In Hayti 
ycu have every thing from extreme 
Parisian refinement and civilization 
down to the lowest African superstition 
and degradation! You may therefore 
believe any statement that would be true 
of any state of society between these wide 

From all that I had known of them, of 
their revolutions and their almost constant 
sanguinary conflicts, I had not supposed 
that any portion of them were as far ad- 
vanced in civilization as I found some of 
them to be. Those who transact the 
commercial and mercantile business of the 
city have an air of intelligence quite simi- 
lar to the same class in our own cities. 

Their style of dress is so remarkably neat 
and tasteful that it attracts your atten- 
tion at once. The climate being warm, 
their clothing is generally light, and most 
of it the most pure and beautifUl white I 
have ev«r seen worn. This is the result 
of much bleaching in a tropical sun, and 
of great painstaking and skill in washing. 
The dress of the common working people, 
however, what little they wear, is of the 
very opposite extreme. These, howeveri 
dress differently on certain occasions, whioh 
I shall hereafter describe. 

Another characteristic oi the people 
that at once arrests your attention, is their 
remarkable politeness. A foreigner who 
has resided among them for some years 
told me that this was the great matter in 
their education ; that the better class oC 
Haitian mothers flogged their children 
oflener for delinquencies in this mattar 
than for any thing else. In walking witl\ 
them in the streets, or whenever they an- 
meeting others, they are constantly dis 
ciplining them to make a handsome bo^ 
and salutation. To a foreigner the peopk 
are especially polite. In passing through 
the streets and meeting those of the highei 
class, they lift their hats to you, and with 
a graceful bow, give you a respecful " Boi 
jour," or " Bon soir. Monsieur." I have 
seen an entire family who were sitting 
upon an outer gallery, in the cool of the 
evening, rise to their feet and bow most 
gracefully to a foreigner and his wife who 
were passing. A gentleman from Ala- 
bama, who spent some weeks on the 
island, remarked as he was about leaving, 
that he should have to be very careful 
when he reached home, or he should find 
himself tipping his hat to every negro he 
met on his plantation. A waggish down- 
east captain broke out, one day as I met 
him ; ^' Don't these people make most 
beautiful bows? I've been practising 
since I've been here; and I believe I've 
got so I can lift my hat up about as 
handsome as they do, but somehow it 
won't come down right." To explain 
these things I need only remind the reader 
that there is not a little French blood 
coursing in the veins of these people, and 
that their education and habits are derived 
from that nation. From speaking their 
language, their intercourse and assoda 
tions have been mainly with them, and 
those of them who have been educated 
abroad, have almost invariably been edu- 
cated in France. These facts, and the re- 
markable powers of imitation inherent in 
the negro character, will, I think, prepare 
the reader for the statement (which 
I should not dare to make without 


HdffH and the Haitians. 


these preliminaries) that I have never 
seen in any city of the Union ladies of 
more cultivated and accomplished manr- 
nerSj than some I have seen in Port au 
Prince. For reasons that I need not here 
stote, T am excused for being entirely 
ignorant in regard to balls and dancing- 
^urties. But a lady, whose opinion and 
judgment would not be called in question 
if I might name her, assured roc that she 
had never seen in New- York or New Eng- 
land more elegant dancers than in Port 
an Prince. 

I had not been long upon the island 
before I had an opportunity of witnessing 
one of their religious ffite days, when the 
oostom-house and public offices were 
closed ; there was a general cessation from 
bnsiness, and the entire people gave them- 
selves up to the enjoyment of the holiday. 
These days are venr numerous with the 
Haitians, as in addition to the regular 
Catholic festivals, they have a large num- 
ber of a national character, commemorat- 
ing important events in their history. 
These are great occasions for dress and 
display with all classes. I have never on a 
pablic occasion, that called out the great 
mate of our people, seen them as a whole 
80 neatly dressed. You wonder as you 
pass among the throng, where can bo the 
miserably clad objects that you have been 
accustomed to see in the markets, on the 
wharves, and about the streets of the 
city. I was told in explanation of this 
that these people resort to every possible 
expedient, even to sadly wronging their 
poor stomachs, in order to acquire the 
means to make a handsome appearance on 
these public days, and that the most 
wretchedly clad beings I saw upon the 
street were almost sure to have one hand- 
some dress for these occasions. 

The following incident will give an idea 
ef the transformations often effected by 
these changes of dress for public occasions. 
The ordinary dress for the mass of the 
laboring women, — washwomen, &c., — is a 
single garment banging loosely upon the 
body like a chemise, with perhaps an old 
pair of shoes on, slipshod. With these 
two articles they are very satisfactorily 
dressed. An American gentleman was 
sitting in his door upon one of their ffite 
days, when a lady approached dressed in 
the highest ton of the country — a rich 
Madras handkerchief about her head, 
earrings and other jewelry, a dress of the 
purest white, white satm slippers, and 
other things in corresponding keeping. 
He rose, and with his salutation, "Bon 
jour, Madame," bade her enter and be 
seated. She gracefully returned his salu- 

tations, entered with a manner and bear- 
ing in keeping with her dress, Myinc^ 
" and so you do not recognize me ! " hS 
looked — it was his washwoman ! 

The fdte day to which I have alluded 
as the first that I witnessed, was " All 
Saints' Day." I went in the morning 
to the Catholic church, where some two 
or three thousand were assembled. All 
here were neatly, and many were richly 
dressed ; and I was not a little sur- 
prised at their entirely decorous, respect- 
ful, and intelligent appearance. In the 
afternoon I witnessed one of those im- 
mense processions, which have such a 
peculiar charm to the people of all Catholic 
countries. Thousands upon thousands, 
" the whole city " assembled at the 
church, and from thence, prece<led bv a 
company of soldiers, the pncsts with their 
crosses, candles, ic, they moved on, 
without any order, a promiscuous mass, 
nearly filling the streets through which 
they passed. In company with an Ame- 
rican friend I followed on, and entered 
their cemeterj'. This is situate<l some dis- 
tance from the city, is inclosed by a high 
wall, and, being ornamented with rich 
tropical trees and lying under the shadow 
of the mountain range on the south of the 
city, it presented, at that hour, a most 
beautiful appearance. In passing through 
this ancient and densely crowded ** city of 
the dead," — while as a Protestant I had 
no sympathy with these thousands in the 
religious sentiments that prompted their 
services, or in their estimate of their value, 
— I could but be moved by many of the 
touching and truly beautiful scenes that 
were around me. Here young bereaved 
mothers, aged smitten parents, sad and 
solitary widows, sorrowing orphans, and 
all the variety of stricken hearts were 
gathered around the graves that contained 
the objects of their cherished affections, 
and having strewed them with flowers, 
and lighted their wax tapers over them, 
were devoutly kneeling and oflbring their 
orisons in their behalf. Even the graves 
of numbers that had been shot for politi- 
cal offences, and, in consequence, were 
buried without the wall, were not neglect- 
ed. They had been visited at some less 
public hour of the day, by stealth perhaps, 
and the hand and heart of affection had 
left upon them the burning taper and rich 
bouquet. I leave others to imagine with 
what reflections I retired from the scenes 
of the day ! 

The Sabbath in Ilayti is not only the 
busiest day in the week, but presents 
more scenes characteristic of the people 
than any other day. You are awaked at 


S€^U and ike ffaitiani. 


the earliest dawn bj boomine of cannon 
on the fort This is the call for the vari- 
OQS military companies to collect at their 
several stations, and prepare for a general 
parade and review by the Emperor. Soon 
the streets are all alive with bustle and 
confusion. The various companies are 
dashing by on horseback or marching to 
the music of a band. They assemble at 
first in the large yard in front and around 
the government house, the residence of 
Sonlouque, where, amid the strains of 
martial music, various evolutions and ex- 
ercises are gone through with, the signifi- 
ctnce of which I could never understand, 
as the Emperor never makes his appear- 
ance. After an hour or more spent here, 
they march to a large beautiful plain, 
lying back of the government house, 
irhere they prepare for a review by the 
Emperor. Ilis majesty, Faustin the First, 
with not more than half a million of sub- 
jects, has a standing army of not far from 
20,000, about twice the number of our 
own. I think I have seen half of this 
number at a Sunday morning review. 
They are formed into a hollow square, 
and after the proper officers have made 
the circuit of the lines, to see that all is 
in order, a company of officers is dis- 
patched to inform the Emperor; whose 
approach is announced and greeted with 
an almost deafening salute of martial 
mibtic, the roar and din of which is con- 
tinued, while he, accompanied by his 
ministers of state, officers, and guards, 
rides rapidly around the entire line to the 
point of starting, where he makes a halt 
and the entire army passes in review be- 
fore him. This done he makes the circuit 
of the city, as I have already described. 

But while all this is passm^ the city is 
by no means forsaken or quiet. Every 
store and shop is open, and the goods 
displayed more attractively than on any 
other day of the week. Sunday is the 
greatest market day of all the weuk. 
antl the streets of the city are full 
of people coming and going, some with 
mules loaded with vegetables, wood, grass, 
c«)al, Slc. ; some with bananas, plantains, 
.sugar cane, &c., on their heads, some with 
a few chickens, some with one thing and 
some with another. Thus they crowd 
on, bartering:, disputing, shouting, singing, 
lau;jhing, all in the boLsteroas tones pecu- 
liar to such a state of civilization, making 
altogether a scene of confusion such as is 
rarely to be found. But the great scene 
and centre of confusion is the market. 
Tliis is a large open square in the centre 
of the city, where perhaps two thousand 
persons, some of them fh)m great dis- 

tances in the country, are eager in driyuD^ 
their bargains and disposing of their vari- 
ous articles. This market-place has no 
building except a few open sheds or booths 
at the ends or sides of the square, where 
meat and such articles are sold as need to 
be protected from the sun. The entire 
area of the square is filled with people 
who, without any reference to regularity 
or order, have laid upon the ground, or a 
mat, their mule-load, or head-load of 
oranges, potatoes, beans, corn, plantains, 
yams, pine-apples, chickens, pigs, fish, 
charcoal, or whatever animate or inani- 
mate articles they may have for sale. 
The noise, confusion, and picturesqueness 
of this scene entirely baffle my powers of 
description. Strangely enough to an un- 
travelled American, the Catholic church 
is hard by. upon a slight elevation over- 
looking one of these large markets, crowd- 
ed with worshippers. Old women from 
the country come along to the church, 
lay their baskets or bundles upon the 
steps, go in, cross themselves with holy 
water, kneel, count their beads, and go 
through with their devotions, and then 
come out and go on with their trading. 
Thus multitudes come and go, and those 
who are able to stay and engage in the 
services for a longer time, seem not to be 
at all disturbed by them. 

Thus with noise and excitement the 
day passes on. By two or three o'clock 
business begins to subside, and sports of 
various kinds begin. The country people 
having made their sales, and got through 
with their "shopping," are leaving for 
home in groups. The boys of the city 
fly their kites, spin their tops, and run, 
and laugh, and shout in their various 
sports. The young men walk, or ride, 
or visit, as they may prefer. The more 
wealthy having finished a late dinner, 
amuse themselves with dancing or cards, 
and all according to their taste seek their 
pleasure. As the evening approaches new 
and still stranger scenes begin. The more 
common and ignorant portion of the people 
assemble in largo companies in the open 
air and engage in dancing, which is their 
great and almost sole amusement. These 
dances are unlike any thing that we are 
accustomed to call by that name. There 
are several things characteristic of them 
all; though there is said to bo a great 
variety of names and kinds of dances. 
Large numbers of them are reg^ularly or- 
ganized societies, with their mysterious 
rites of initiation, and their cabalistic cere- 
monies, which are said to be truthful re- 
presentations of the heathen dances of 
central Africa, which have been handed 


Mayti and the JSaitians. 


down here from generation to generation. 
Others are entirely informal, the dancing 
of any promiscuous company that chance 
may bring together. These 'dances are 
uniformly in the open air, though many 
of them are under the cover of a tent or 
awning belonging to the "soci6t6." Their 
music is made by pounding with the palm 
of the hands upon a drum, which is made 
by stretching a skin over the head of a 
small barrel, like a drum-head. To this 
they have various accompaniments, such 
as pounding with two sticks upon an old 
herring or soap box, the clicking of pieces 
of iron, singing, clapping of hands, &c. 
Though to the uninitiated the music thus 
made seems a monotonous, unintelligible 
jargon, there is said to be a great variety 
of tunes which they seem perfectly to 
understand. I procured from a Haitian 
musician some of this dancing music. 
These tunes are like the real plantation 
songs of the South, the productions of 
excited ignorant minds, having no know- 
ledge of the science of music whatever. 
This music, executed in the manner al- 
ready described, has an electrical effect, 
and immediately collects large groups, 
who will stand for hours in a charmed 
drclo surrounding the dancers. Sometimes 
there will be quite a number engaged in 
dancing, sometimes half a dozen, and 
sometimes one or two will enchain the 
attention of the spectators with their 
movements. These are the most gro- 
tesque imaginable ; now a shaking move- 
ment somewhat like those of our shakers, 
— now a peculiar balancing of the body, — 
now dashing off suddenly in a whirling, 
sailing motion around the entire circle, — 
now with feet fixed upon the ground, 
moving the body up and down — as the 
Aztecs uniformly did when told to dance 
— and continuing this motion more and 
more vigorously, until it would seem that 
they must dislocate every bone in the 
body, — and now leaping with great ra- 
pidity to a remarkable height in the air, 
like the bounding of a India-rubber ball. 
These are among the more common feats. 
As these dances form the almost sole 
amusement for the numerous holidays of 
the Haitians. I have very often witnessed 
them. They have a very ingenious 
method of making a foreigner pay for his 
amusement, after this manner. As soon 
as he is seen in the crowd some one of the 
dancing women begins to move toward 
him holding out her hands for a gift ; and 
continues to dance back and forth, before 
and around him, her hands still extended, 
until he is " the observed of all observers." 
Alter this was understood, I generally had 

some change ready so as to pay my tri- 
bute in the quickest time possible. One 
night as I was going through the 8treet| 
I passed an open yard where a company 
was dancing that seemed more merry 
and excited than usual, and without any 
forethought I turned m. I had hardly 
reached the group before one of the dan- 
cing women was before me with open 
palm. I thrust my hand into my pocket, 
found I had no change, and the first thin^ 
I could get hold of was a two-dollar Hai- 
tian bill, which T handed over as soon as 
possible. It was the best investment in 
this line that I ever made. She just 
glanced to see what it was, and then 
waving it in the air went whirling and 
sailing around the circle, and among other 
demonstrations giving me an opportunibr 
to see some almost incredible feats that I 
had often heard described but had never 
witnessed. Placing a small crockery cua 
about the size of a teacup, upon the topoi 
her head, she danced, whirled, and sprung 
suddenly several feet, and back at the 
same bound, making apparently the most 
convulsive jerks possible, the cup mean- 
while remaining untouched upon the top 
of the head. This jumping and jerking 
was gone through with several times, and 
far surpassed any feat of jugglery that I 
had ever witnessed. A colored woman, 
a member of the Baptist Mission Church 
in Port au Prince, told me she had often 
seen her mother go through the same 
feats with a wineglass upon her head. 
So universal is this custom of dancing 
among the Haitians upon their f^te days 
and Sunday, that I have often thought, 
that including the various grades from the 
regular balls m the city down to the lowest 
field dances, two thirds, or even a greater 
proportion of the people of Hayti must be 
engaged in dancing. The influence of this 
habit is all pervading. Children catdi 
the spirit, and will sway their bodies to 
and fro, keeping time to the music, 
when they can scarcely go alone ; and as 
soon as they have strength to spring clear 
from the ground, without the hazard of a 
fall, they are ready on any occasion to 
exhibit their dexterity to a stranger. 
The music of a drum and fife, especially 
on a public day, is almost certain to set 
all the children in a street to hopping, 
and I have been greatly aroused to see 
boys with no other dress on than a 
shirt who were going along the streets, 
step, and balance, and whirl, and sail 
on, keeping time to the music. By sun- 
down upon Sabbath evening the music 
of these dancing companies is heard in 
all directbns, and the noise and dance 


JETayH and the JBaitians. 


oontiniie until midnight and often till the 
bnak of day. Thus the Sabbath ends 
with confusion as it began. 

Were I to stop here, after what I have 
nid in regard to the politeness, taste in 
dress, skill in dancing, Ac., &c., that I 
found in Port au Prince, I am sure that a 
rery wrong estimate of the character and 
condition of the people would be formed 
firom what I have written. I have already 
alluded to the fact that there is here a 
itrange blending of Parisian refinement 
ind dvilization, with native African bar- 
barism and morals. Having said what I 
have of the first, my account would not 
be truthful were I to pass over the last. 

I witnessed one large fire in Port au 
Prince. As soon as it began to spread, 
the merchants who had foreign vessels in 
port consigned to them, ran immediately 
to their stores, and tumbling their money 
into trunks and bags, ran with them to 
the wharf^ in the quickest time possible, 
and sent them on board these vessels. 
Many of the captains were unwilling to 
take the bags and trunks in that way. 
without knowing their contents, and 
bagged their consignees, if they would 
have it so. to send some one on board in 
whose care the property might be left; 
bat they invariably prc^rred to leave it 
in that way. A fire is the signal for uni- 
Toval theft and dishonesty. Scarcely an 
article that is thrown into the streets can 
be secured, and a man does not know 
whom to trust One man intrusted a 
bag of money to one of his neighbors in 
the midst of the confusion of the fire, and 
when he called for it the next day, the 
man denied having received it, and as 
there was no proof the owner could not 
recover it When I heard this and simi- 
lar lacts, 1 was not surprised at their 
readiness to trust foreign captains. The 
best stores here have a small building ad- 
joining, which is without windows and 
fire-proof; on purpose to have a place 
where they can store their money and 
valuables in times of fire. Thieving seems 
the great bane of the island. Those who 
ire disposed to be industrious have no 
certainty that they will reap the rewards 
of their industry. While they are labor- 
ing, others are sleeping, who in the dead 
of the night will prowl around and seize 
upon the fruits of their toils. Com, vege- 
tables, fruits, &c., are stolen from the 
fields where they are growing; pigs, 
fowls, Jtc., are stolen from their inclosures. 
An American negro, who was disposed to 
be industrious, told me that often while 
he was at work at one end of his garden, 
thieves would be watching him and steal- 

ing his vegetables and fruits from the 
other end. This practice is so universal 
that the law allows any man to shoot 
down a thief in the act of plundering. I 
was told of a case where a young man, 
hearing some one in the act of stealing his 
bananas, went out in the dark and fired 
at him, and on going to the spot was 
startled to find that he had killed one of 
his most intimate friends. In 1842 the 
city of Cape Haitien was shaken down by 
a most terrific earthquake, and probably 
one half or two thirds of its population 
were instantly killed. Of those who 
escaped in the general ruin, multitudes 
from the city and surrounding country 
rushed to the terrible scene, and engaged 
in plundering the bodies of the dead and 
the dying! And yet, paradoxical as it 
seems, money may be transmitted from 
Port au Prince to any other part of the 
island with the utmost safety. Packages 
of bills containing thousands of dollars, 
may be intrusted to a native, who will 
carry it, unmolested, across the country, 
sleeping with it under his head at night, 
and deliver every dollar with unfailing 
certainty. But after it is once delivered 
and counted the same man would not 
hesitate to appropriate a package if an 
opportunity were offered. 

Another central African characteristic 
of the Haitians, is their almost universal 
licentiousness. I have taken no pains to 
obtain statistics, but think I cannot err in 
saying that a majority of the births upon 
the island are illegitimate. To live to- 
gether as husband and wife without a civil 
or religious marriage ceremony is scarcely 
less respectable than regular marriage. 
Many men, among the first in wealth and 
social position, live in this manner ; and 
the respectability of the connection may 
be inferred from the fact that when they 
commence housekeeping they give a party, 
and subsequently appear together in 
parties, at church, and other public places, 
precisely as if they were regularly mar- 
ried. By a law of the island, marriage at 
any subsequent period, makes all the chil- 
dren bom in this state legitimate. When 
the present Emperor was elected presi- 
dent he was living in this state of concubin- 
age, but his subsequent marriage makes 
the present princess a legitimate successor 
to the throne. Such a state of things 
being tolerated among the more respect- 
able of the people, it can readily be under- 
stood that among the lower classes the 
state of morals in this respect is most 
deplorable, and such as to forbid descrip- 

It is well known that in severing them- 


ffayU and the SaUians. 


selyes from all oonnection with the whites, 
Che Haitians renounced their allegiance to 
the Pope, and therefore the Emperor is 
the spiritual as well as temporal head of 
the nation. The Pope having no power or 
voice in the management of affairs amonp; 
them, priests of the most desperate and 
disreputable character have swarmed to 
the island, who instead of laboring to re- 
form and improve the morals of the people 
are largely responsible for the prevailing 
corruption. The government has to keep 
a sharp and constant look-out for them, 
and pass laws to keep them from the 
most scandalous outrages upon luorality. 
The following document, issued by one of 
Soulou(iue's ministers, a zealous Catholic, 
the judicial officer highest in authority 
upon the island. I translate from '^ Le 
Moniteur Haitian^^^ the government paper 
which circulates throughout the island. 


" T*he Grand Judga, to the Members 
of the Councils of Notables^ in the Com- 
munes of the Republic : 

'•Notable Citizens, — Certain grave 
abuseti, introduced into the country by the 
clergy, have awakened my attention, and 
for the interest of religion it was necessary 
that I should adopt some measures to 
bring them to an end. 

" You know that religion is an object 
most venerable in the eyes of the people, 
and that it exerts a salutary influence 
upon men and upon societies, by lending 
its support to the laws. Every stigma 
which Ls brought upon it is dangerous, 
and the more so when it is brought upon 
it by its ministers. 

*' Many, regardless of the character with 
which they are clothed, of their proper 
dignity, and even of common propriety, 
openly give themselves to acts of trade, 
to commercial operations, which often 
engage them in litigation, so that they 
frequently appear before the bar of the 
courts contending with their opponents. 

'^ And as if this spectacle, which strikes 
religion at the heart were not sufficiently 
afflicting, many of them keep at the par- 
sonages in their dwellings, in the derisory 
capacity of hoiLSokeepers (^soits la qualifi- 
cation (ierisoire de gouvcrnantes), young 
females, and by a course of conduct op- 
posed to good morals, of which they ought 
to be the living examples, give occasion 
for public scandals which tend to their 
disgrace in the eyes of their flocks, and 
destroys the sublime moral of the gospel 
which they are charged to preach in all 
its authority. 

^'This state of things, gentlemen and 

citizens, is inconsistent with a sodet 
perly constituted. That it may coi 
no longer, / charge you to hdee c 
continually upon the curates ofyo 
spective panshes^ and to report (d 
cer) to me every violation of this e 
which they may commit, that it mi 
be unpunished. 

•• They are forbidden hereafler to c 
in commercial affairs of any kind^ a 
retain at the parsonages or in their ' 
ings, in any capacity whatever, ; 
females, unless they are of an age i 
be suspected. 

"You will give earnest attenti 
these instructions and acquaint'meo: 

" I salute you with consideration. 
'• J. B. Francisqi 

With such priests to mould the i 
of the people, it is easy to judgo 
those morals must be ! 

The island of Hayti is occupied l 
distinct people, descendants of tl 
Spanish and French colonies. Its p 
tion is estimated at about 600,0 
1 00,000. The Haitians, with aboc 
thirds of the population, possess 
about one third of the territory* 
greatest length from east to west m 
400 miles. Its breadth varies frc 
miles near its eastern extremity to 
150 near its centre, and it embrac 
cording to Mr. Lindenau, an area of i 
29,500 square miles. Columbus 
the island Hispaniola. and it hasalsi 
called St. Domingo from the city o 
name on its southeastern coast 
Hayti or Haiti {the mountainous cm 
was its original Carrib name. The i 
bestowed upon it the deserved nai 
la Reine dea Antilles, All descri 
of its magnificence and beauty, even 
of Washington Irving in his hist 
Columbus, fall far short of the p 
It seems beyond the power of Ian 
to exaggerate its beauties, its prodi 
ness, the loveliness of its climate, a 
desirableness as an abode for man. 
luinbus labored hard to prove to Is 
that ho had found here the original % 
of Eden ; and any one who has wai 
over these mountains and plains, bn 
this delicious air, and feasted his soi 
his eyes upon the scenes every 
spread out before him, is quite rei 
excuse the apparent extravagance 
great discoverer. To a large exte 
resources of this island are at prese 
developed, and it presents a wide og 
to its former wealth and producti\ 
In 1789, it contained a populati 


ffayti and thi Maiiiam. 


40^000 whites, 500,000 slaves, and 24,000 
five colored. Not only its nch plains, but 
in many parts its mountains were culti- 
Titod to their summits. The cultivated 
knda amounted to 2,289,480 acres ; which 
were divided into 793 plantations of sugar, 
3117 plantations of coffee. 31G0 of indigo, 
H of chocolate, and 623 smaller ones for 
nising grain, yams, and other vegetable 
food. Its exports, as stated by the intend- 
ant of the colony, were £4,765,229 ster- 
ling. An active commerce united it with 
Europe, and twenty ports of trade were 
filled with 1500 vessels, waiting to freight 
home its rich productions. In riding over 
the island the mementos of this prosperity 
ire every where to be seen. Large broken 
kettles, the remains of immense sugar 
bouses, are scattered along the roads and 
over the fields. The remains of massive 
•nd magnificent gateways, and the ruins 
of princely dwellings, scattered over the 
island are evidences of the highest state 
of wealth and luxury. But these rich 
plains and mountains, arc now almost an 
uncultivated waste. A few coffee planta- 
tions are to be found, which are kept up 
with the greatest difficulty on account of 
the impossibility of securing among the 
natives the necessary laborers. The most 
of the people out of the towns live in 
rudely constructed houses, unfurnished 
with the usual comforts of life, and but a 
few degrees above the huts upon the 
shores of their native Africa. The soil is 
80 exoeedin^y productive, and there is so 
much that grows spontaneously, that very 
Httle labor indeed is necessary to secure 
the food necessary to sustain life; and 
the climate is such that, if so disposed, 
they need spend very little for clothing. 
Bemg thus under no compulsory necessity 
to labor, industry is the exception, indo- 
lence and idleness the rule. 

They generally inclose around or near 
their dwellings a small patch of ground, 
which is cultivated mostly by the females, 
and where, with very little labor, they raise 
coffee, bananas, com, and other vegetables 
for their own consumption, and a small 
surplus for sale, from the proceeds of 
which they procure their clothing and 
sndi other articles of convenience as they 
are able or disposed to purchase. I should 
Ji^ge that far the largest part of all the 
coffee that is exported from the island is 
raised in these small quantities, and 
brooght to market in small lots upon the 
backs of mules. The logwood, mahogany, 
and other exports are mostly procured m 
mudl quantities in much the same way, — 
the men of course doing most of this heavy 

Bountiful as are the provisions for sup- 
plying the wants of man here, there is, in- 
credible as it may seem, a vast deal of 
suffering for want of the very necessaries 
of life. The government being in: reality 
an irresponsible despotism, every male 
citizen is liable to be seized at any mo- 
ment and forced into the army ; so that 
if he raises a crop there is no certainty 
but that in the yery act of securing it, he 
may be torn away from his family, and 
the fruits of his labor be left to perish 
while he is marched away to the frontier, 
to return he kno\v8 not when. In addi- 
tion to this, multitudes arc so thriftless 
and improvident that they will not make 
any provision for the future — they will 
not even gather those productions that are 
every where so bountifully spread around 
them. I have rode through wild unculti- 
vated woods, and seen on every hand 
groves of orange trees groaning under 
their delicious golden loads, as I have 
seen the orchards of western New- York 
weighed down with their heavy burdens. 
A little farther on, I have come ujwn 
thickets of coffee bushes matted over with 
their rich purple berries. Besides these, 
tobacco, ginger, and other valuable pro- 
ducts grow wild in the same profusion 
over these mountains, and year after year 
there waste away and perish like the 
rank grass of our own prairies. I have 
wandered over the rich rice and cotton 
fields of the South, and the prairie and 
bottom lands of the West, but their boun- 
tiful products are meagre compared with 
those to be seen here. 

But bountiful and Eden-like as Is this 
island, the contemplation both of its past 
history and present state excites only the 
saddest emotions. The history of Ilayti 
from its discovery to the present day is a 
most melancholy history. When dis- 
covered by Columbus it is supposed to 
have contained more than 1,000,000 of the 
Carrib tribe of Indians, but, incredible as 
it may appear, in consequence of their 
wholesale butchery by the Spaniards, and 
the severe drudgery they were compelled 
to undergo in the mines,"in the short space 
of sixteen years they were re<iuced to 
60,000. These outrages upon humanity, 
entailing such a lasting stigma upon the 
Spanish naukC. were followed by the well- 
known introduction of slavery into the 
island, with all its indescribable cruelties 
and horrors, and its subsequent fearful 
end. But the gloomy chapter of its woes 
does not terminate with the tragic, well- 
known *• horrors of St. Domingo." From 
that day to the present it has been an 
almost uninterrupted scene of conllict and 


Three Days in Ar^is. 


bloodshed. Internal dissensions and de- 
solating civil wars have continued to mark 
its history ; and recently three great and 
powerful nations have intervened in vain 
to secure for this ill-starred island the 
blessings of peace. No soil has so long 
and so constantly been ensanguined with 
human blood. Blood marks every page 
of her history, from the time her beauti- 
ful shores first greeted the delighted vision 
of Columbus until the present day;— the 
blood of the peaceful inoffensive Carribs, — • 
the blood of the wronged and outraged 

children of Africa, — the blood of their 
butchered masters, — the blood of Le Glere 
and his noble, but ill-fated army, — the 
blood of Dessalines, Christophe, and of 
thousands more who have perished in the 
insurrections and revolutions that haTe 
desolated this fair island. Sad, sad indeed 
has been the fate of the " Queen of the 
Antilles." I leave it to others to deduce 
the lessons that her history suggests, and 
will not attempt to penetrate the daric 
vail that hides her future. 


TheM masstye walla, 
Whose date overawes tradition, gird the home 
Of a great race of kings, along whoae line 
The eager mind lives aching, through tbo darkneaa 
Of ages else unstoried, Ull its shapes 
Of anned soTereigns spread to godlike port, 
And, fh>wning in the uncertain dawn of Ume, 
8trlko awe, as powers who ruled an older world. 
In mute ohedience. Talfoubd^i Iom. 

IT was between six and seven in the 
evening of the first of April, before I 
oould make the necessary arrangements 
for a tour with a party who intended 
setting out on the morrow from Athens 
for Nauplia. Mr. N , late an anti- 
quarian attached to the British Museum, 
and now appointed Vice Consul for the 

Island of Mitylene, and C , son of a 

London publisher, were to be my com- 
panions ; and we had engaged Demetrius, 
or Demetri, for our guide. By the time 
we had fully made up our minds to leave, 
it was well nigh dark, and yet neither 
Demetri nor I had procured our passes, 
without which we were liable at any time 
to be stopped on our way, and might be 
subjected to considerable trouble in clear- 
ing ourselves from the suspicion of being 
either robbers or vagrants. The passport 
office was closed, but the timely expendi- 
ture of two or three drachms readily 
opened it for us. A new difficulty pre- 
sented itself; for not a blank pass was to 
be found high or low. The ingenuity of 
the clerk easily surmounted this obstacle. 
An old pass which had seen service was 
discovered ; the name was transmuted to 
what might reasonably be supposed to 
bear a slight resemblance to mine; and 
the words ''with his man, Demetrius" 
were added. So we were permitted to 
visit Argolis. 

We rose early the next morning ; and by 
five o'clock were in a carriage, and on our 
way to Piraeus, about five nules east from 

Athens, by the macadamized road, which 
for three fourths of the distance nms in a 
perfectly straight line across the meadows. 
The northern of the groat walls of Themis- 
tocles occupied exactly the same ground ; 
or rather I should say that the German 
surveyors employed its ruins for the sab- 
struction of the road, and every violent 
rain uncovers for a time the upper course 
of stones. Our driver did himself credit 
and we reached the harbor in three quai^ 
ters of an hour, and in plenty of time for 
the little Austrian steamer, Archidaca 
Ludovico, in which we took passage for 
Nauplia. The weather was cloudy and 
dull when we started, but as we advanced, 
the atmosphere became clearer, and w« 
saw with great distinctness the shores of 
the Sarouic Gulf) upon which we entered. 
We were soon out of the small hu'bor 
of Piraeus, passing through its narrow 
mouth, which is still further contracted 
by the remains of the old walls. They 
abutted in two piers, about two hundred 
feet apart When a heavy cham was 
drawn across this narrow opening, as was 
done by the old Athenians, the harbor 
was considered well protected. Just be- 
yond them, our attention was called to 
the simple monument of Miaulis, and only 
a few feet further were the ruined frag^ 
ments of what has been by popular tradi- 
tion dignified with the name of Themia- 
tocles' tomb. Whether it be his sepvl* 
chre or not, the bones of the great eeneral 
of ancient times, and the most nunoiiB 


Three Daye in ArgoUe. 


idminl of modem Qreeoe, lie mouldering 
00 the shores of the ^gean, within a few 
jirds of each other. Themistocles, it is 
well known, was buried bj the sea side, 
in full yiew of the Straits of Salamis, the 
soeoe of his most splendid victory oyer 
Uie Persian fleet. 

We varied our course as soon as we 
had cleared the promontory of Munychia^ 
and leaving on our right the island oi 
Salamis, took a southerly direction to- 
wards the eastern headland of Argolis. 
This brought us within a very short dis- 
tance of the temple of uE^a, dedicated 
of old to Jupiter Panhellenius. Through 
the Captain's glass we could distinguish 
the different columns without difficulty in 
this clear atmosphere. It is one of the 
most perfect ruins out of Athens itself; 
bat we saw it to little advantage, and I 
reserved a visit for a future occasion. 

There are quite a number of passengers 
on bo(ard our little steamer, and as the 
day was fair and mild, every body congre- 
gated on deck. Indeed, most of them 
were deck passengers, the trip being a 
short one. The Greeks are talkative and 
easy of access, so that it is not at all diffi- 
cult to form a number of acquaintances in 
a short time. Our company was a lively 
one, too ; and, as they had nothing else to 
do, most of them amused themselves with 
cards. One party of eight or ten were 
seated in Turkish fashion on the deck near 
the helm, forming a circle around a cloth, 
on which figured a large piece of cold 
mutton and several bottles of wine. The 
men helped themselves plentifully, and 
disdaining forks, made use of their jack- 
knives to cut the meat, or else tore it in 
pieces with thdr fingers. These evidently 
were all from the same neighborhood, and 
members of the same clan. Some of them 
had that firee and easy look, mingled with 
a considerable share of fierceness, which 
distioguish the old KUfts; others who 
were younger, evidently belonged to the 
DO less energetic but more tractable class, 
whidi is now springing up to take the 
place of the others. I fell into conversa- 
tion with some students of the University. 
who were returning from Athens to spend 
the Easter week vacation at home. Like 
all the rest of Greek students they were 
poor, and evidently were self-made men. 
Another set were gathered around a musi- 
cian, who diverted them by playing on an 
mstrument much resembling the banjo, 
and Bulging their country songs. 

There were but two cabin passengers 
besides ourselves ; and they were members 
of the house of representatives. One of 
theoD, M. A., I found disposed to be very 

communicative. He informed me that an 
election was to take place at Argos, the 
next day or the day after, and that he 
was going there to see about it Being a 
partisan of the king, he was oommissioi^ 
to procure as favorable a result for the 
ministry as be could. The officer to be 
chosen on the occasion was the demarche 
or mayor of the town, the most important 
municipal authority. The mode of elec- 
tion is certainly a most curious one. The 
people choose twelve men as electors, with 
twelve more for substitutes. These twelve 
choose from their own number four men, 
with their substitutes ; and finally these 
four select three candidates for the office 
of mayor. Their names are presented to 
the king or ministry, and they designate 
the one who shall be mayor. Out of the 
three candidates, I presume, the monarch 
may safely depend on one who will advo- 
cate the ministerial measures for the pur- 
pose of gaining office. Of course in so 
complicated a procedure the government 
will find plenty of opportunity for wield- 
ing an influence over the election. My 

friend A had undoubtedly some part 

to take in the election of a mayor in the 
important town of Argos, as he was 
furnished by the ministry with an order 
for an escort of soldiers through the dan- 
gerous passes from Argos to Corinth, of 
which he invited me to avail myself in 
returning to Athens. 

By eleven o'clock we had crossed the 
Saronic Gulf^ passing close to the island 
of Poros, remarkable of late years for the 
burning of the Greek fleet in its little 
harbor; but much more famous under 
the name of Calauria, as the scene of the 
death of Demosthenes. It is a bleak,, 
barren rock, without the sign of a habita- 
tion on this side. We kept on close to the 
mainland, and inside of the island of 
Hydra, which rises high and rocky from 
the sea. The town of Hydra itself is 
picturesquely situated on the side of the 
hilL rising in the shape of a theatre. A 
ridge, however, divides it into two parts, 
which running out into the water, forms 
two harbors, the smaller of which, as 
usual, serves for quarantine. The house of 
Gonduriotti, the famous Hydriote, stands 
on the narrow tongue of land between the 
two harbors, and was pointed out to me. 
Hydra, I am told, has declined very much 
of late years. Its losses were immense 
during the revolutionary war. All its 
commerce was, of course, ruined, and as, to- 
gether with Spezzia, it sustained the whole 
burden of the war by sea, the prizes ob- 
tained never compensated for the expendi- 
tures it incurred. Since the revolution 


Three Days in Argdu. 


Spezzia has regained some of its former 
importance, but the fleet of Hydra on the 
Black Sea has diminished exceedingly. 
The privileges which Hydra used to enjoy 
under the Turks were such, that the in- 
habitants had little reason to complain of 
tyranny. The island was almost free 
from the government of the Porte, govern- 
ing itself, allowing no Turk to set foot on 
land, and paying only a small annual 
tribute. Commerce has usually the cQect 
of diminishing national prejudices, and 
making men more tolerant of each others' 
customs ; but at Hydra it seems to have 
had a directly opposite effect. A Smyr- 
niote lady at Athens told me that her 
father once entered Hydra in Frank dress, 
and came very near losing his life by 
doing so. So inveterate was the dislike 
of the inhabitants for the foreign costume, 
that the gentleman was pursued and hoot- 
ed at in the streets and compelled to take 
refuge in a house. It vi^s a characteristic 
feeling of patriotism, that lf»d their admi- 
ral Tombazi to reply to one who exclaimed, 
** What a spot you have chosen for your 
country ; " '• It was liberty that chose the 
spot, not we." But along with this noble 
sentiment, and vinth others distinguishing 
them above even the rest of their country- 
men, the Uydriotes possess a good deal of 
sordid love of gain. It is said that there 
actually existed in the city at the time of 
the revolution three mints for the manu- 
facture of counterfeit Turkish coin, which 
was taken into Turkey and there put into 

Our steamboat stopped but a few mo- 
ments oir Hydra, to land some passengers, 
and then continued its course until com- 
ing between Spezzia and the mainland, we 
entered the Gulf of Argos. The town of 
Spezzia is less picturesquely situated on a 
less rocky island ; and has a long and nar- 
row harbor similar to that of Hydra. The 
remainder of the aflemoon was spent in 
steaming up the bay, with the bare rocks 
of Argolis on the right and the equally 
precipitous hills of Laconia on the other 
side, coming down to the very margin of 
the water. We approached Nauplia, and 
after turning a promontory, our steamer 
anchored directly between the town and 
the small fort of St. Nicolas or Bourtzi. 

Nauplia is finely situated, and appears 
to great advantage from the water. The 
houses are usually built of white lime- 
stone, and have for the most part, roofs not 
very much inclined. They rise one above 
another on the side of a hill, forming the 
end of the promontory, which is crowned 

by the fort of Itch-kali.- But the* 
fications are slight compared wit 
Palamede, a hill 740 feet in lieight, 
commands the town to the southea 
renders Nauplia one of the three str 
places in the Morea, — the Acrocor 
and Monembasia being the others, 
singular that so remarkable a sitaal 
this should not have been occupied 
times of the ancient Greeks by a po] 
town. But Nauplia is scarcely men 
by historians or geographers. To 
the bay the town is protected by i 
wall, which rises directly from the v 
edge, and allows people to land in a 
place. It is said, too, that a double 
used to be stretched from the litt 
of Bourtzi to the mainland. It is IK 
der that the Turks were foiled i 
attempt to take this place by stom 
the hands of the Greeks. 

When we arrived oflf Nauplia, tl 
it was not late in the afternoon, wo 
it raining violently, and therefore 
mined to remain on our steamboat I 
night, and have the next morning 
excursion. The sun rose the next ; 
ing in a clear sky. revealing to us a 
features of the surrounding land 
To the northward we saw the Ic 
level plain of Argos, with the mow 
beyond, and on the east, before the 
hills that ran southward as far a 
eye could distinguish them, was th< 
marshy ground, where now stand tl 
houses of Myli. That was the m 
Leme, the haunt of the famous Li 
Hydra, whose slaughter was one < 
great achievements of Hercules. ] 
Hydra, as German critics pretend 
only symbolical of the pestilential i 
from the marsh, which Hercules ren 
by effectually draining it, the mona 
as active as ever; for the neighbo 
of Leme, like all other low uid 1 
grounds in this warm country, is in 
with fever and ague during nearly 
thirds of the year. 

After waiting a long time impAt 
for our guide, who had gone olT t 
shore, Demetri at last appeared, a: 
repaired in a boat to the small li 
place, where we found the horses whk 
been procured for us. We set off al 
without stopping to look about Ni 
for the curious old ruined cities of M3 
Tiryns, and Argos. We rode thro 
number of narrow streets, brushinj 
the little open shops, and now aik 
drawing our beasts near to the 
in order to avoid a train of mules 

* Howe'k enek Sevolation p. 106v Note M /ha 


Three Daye in Jrgolie. 


with sftoks or baskets, or a row of donkeja 
euTjing huge bundles ' of brushwood, 
aader which thej were almost hidden. 
As for the foot passengers they shifted for 
tliemselvcs ; in cases where the street was 
too narrow to allow of more than a couple 
of horses passing each other, they took 
nfoge in some open doorway or shop. 
We left Nauplia through the only land 
gate, over which we turned to see the old 
winged lion of St Mark, still existing as 
•n indication of the former supremacy of 
the Venetian republic over this city. In- 
deed we saw the same emblem more or 
kss entire on various portions of the walL 
The Turks when they gained possession 
of the place, after carefully destroying the 
bead at the lion, which they supposed, 
donbUess. to be one of the idols of the 
infidel, seem to have cared very little 
whether the remainder of the monument 
was still there or not. Passing the nar- 
row strip of ground, use<l as a promenade, 
at the foot of the Palamede, we came to 
the suburb of Pronia, which, when 
Nauplia was the capital of the government, 
as it was for many years after the revolu- 
tion, was crowded with country scats of 
all the principal families. Pronia has 
aeea some stormy scenes. The congress 
that assembled there was broken up by 
force of arms, and its deputies dispersed. 
On the rock, which forms the boundary 
of the sort of recess in which Pronia is 
situated, we noticed as wo passed a lion 
cat oat of the solid stone, afbcr the fashion 
of the famous lion of Lucerne. It com- 
memorated the Bavarians who died in 

Wo turned now to the north and entered 
the plain of Argon. A remarkable plain 
it is, indeed, and the scene of interesting 
historical events from the time of Hercules, 
the Pelasgians, and the heroes of the 
Trojan war. The names of its celebrated 
cities Mycenae, Tiryns, and Argos, are 
mentioned as the seats of potent monarchs. 
when proud Athens itself was spoken of 
by Homer as only a *' rfemtftf," or town, 
when, perhaps, no city had been erected. 
The fertility of the soil and its advantar 
geous situation for commerce, led to its 
being early selected for the principal king- 
dom of Greece, and it still enjoys the re- 
putation of being superior in productive- 
ness to any other part of the country, 
except Messcnia. We certainly could not 
foil to be struck with the vast difference 
between it and the plain of Athens, than 
which a more rocky and arid district can 
scarcely be imagined. The valley mea- 
sured perhaps a dozen miles in length 
from Nauplia to MycensB, and its greatest 

TOL. III. — 5 

breadth could not be lees than seyen or 
eight in the southern part, gradually di- 
minishing as we rode on further, until 
above Mycenae it contracted into a narrow 
defile. Fields of wheat and vineyards of 
the Corinthian currant occupied both sides 
of the road, and the products of both are 
said to bo excellent. But there are none 
of those fine old olive groves which give 
such a light green tinge to the landsoipe 
in Attica. No one who travels across it, 
as we were doing to-day, after a heavy 
rain, and is obliged to wade through the 
pools of water that cover the whole road, 
or stem the current of the Inachus, would 
be disposed to call the plain of Argos, as 
both ancients and moderns do, "' a thirsty 
land." But such it is gcnenUly, on ac- 
count of the meagreness of the only torrent 
it possesses, the famous Inachus. 
• We rode on about a half an hour before 
we reached the ruined walls of Tiryns. The 
long and narrow eminence is a prominent 
object ; indeed, it rises quite alone in the 
midst of a perfectly level country, like a 
large ship in the middle of the sea. We 
had noted it some time before. The road 
nms parallel with its western side ; and 
we turned into the fields on our right, 
and rode up what was the principal en- 
trance to this acropolis. Alighting just 
at the walls, our guide led our horses 
around the hill to the road, while we ex- 
plored the remains of Greek masonry. 
Fraying our way through the mass of 
tangled vinos and more annoying nettles, 
wliich had grown luxuriantly during the 
rains of spring, we reached the entrance 
of a passage running in the tliickness of 
the wall om tho eastern side of the place. 
It was formed, like the rest of the vrall, of 
large, rough, and apparently unworked 
stones, heaped toother, one upon the 
other, with smaller ones often filling the 
interstices. Some of the stones measured 
five or six, and others up to ten feet The 
passage way was vaulted, not according to 
the principle of the arch, but with liurge 
stones which projected over the passage, un- 
til the highest courses met entirely, their 
balance being preserved by their being 
proportionately longer ; and so the centre 
of gravity fell within the wall. The same 
eilect might have been obtained by cutting 
tho gallery out of a solid wall. Wo en- 
tered this curious gallery, and found it 
some eight or nine feet high, and stretch- 
ing about one hundred feet in depth, when 
we came to its sudden termination. A 
single stone just at the end has fallen in. 
and lets in a stream of light, which shows 
that the gallery never extended any far- 
ther; and we could distinguish by the 


I%ree Dai^n in ArgoUi. 


dim light some five or six old openings or 
doors on the right, which served at some 
time or other as doors leading to the out- 
side of the city. They were all walled up 
some time posterior to the building of the 
wall. What could they have served for ? 
Perhaps as secret openings through which 
sallies might be made upon the enemies 
who might besiege the town. 

We found another similar passage on 
the opposite or western side of the great 
entrance ; but it was less interesting. The 
▼ault was perfect for a short distance only, 
and the rest was quite destroyed. We 
passed on and ascended to the top of the 
city, which seemed to mo to be elevated 
some thirty to fifty feet above the plain, 
one part being much lower than the other, 
which formed a sort of interior fortress. 
The top is about seven or eight hundred 
feet long from north to south, and usually 
about one fourth as wide, though it varies 
considerably. On these three or four 
acres of ground stood the famous city of 
Tiryns, one of the oldest cities in Greece, 
and famous for the most part only for its 
wars with its neighbors. It is curious to 
see that in the time of that most invalu- 
able of writers, Pausanias, sixteen or 
seventeen hundred years ago, it was in 
pretty nearly the same ruinous condition 
as now. " The waiy he tells us^ " the 
only part of the nuns that remains, is 
the work of the Cyclops; and built of 
onwTOught stones, each of which is so 
large that a yoke of mules could scarcely 
move at all, even the smallest of them. 
Small stones have been of old fitted in 
with them, so as to form each of them a 
connection between the large stones." 
Nothing but earthquakes, I think, could 
make much unpression on these gigantic 
masses;. and so the wall remains pretty 
perfect in most of its circuit. The view 
over the vicinity is beautiful and quite ex- 
tensive, and there is a neat-looking build- 
ine near the southern end, an agricultural 
college, which has not flourished very 
well so far, I believe. The Greek mind 
does not, I imi^ine, incline much to agri- 

Demetri came to us before we had satis- 
fied ourselves with examining these ruins, 
and reminded us that we had a long ride 
before us, promising that if there should 
be time we should have the opportunity 
of spending half an hour more at the place 
on our return. So we were compelled to 
mount, and we pursueil a northerly direc- 
tion, over a level plain abounding in vil- 
lages and well cultivated, leaving the city 
of Argos far on our left Near Myc6n» 
the soil became thinner and the countxy 

less po{>ulou8. At the little khan of 
Kharvati we turned from the main road, 
on our right, and followed a path which 
led us through the village of the same 
name. Our arrival was greeted by some 
dozens of boys who came to beg, and as 
many dogs who came to bark at us ; but 
we set both at defiance, and pursued our 
way. We were struck with the miser- 
able condition of the inhabitants, who 
lived in common low stone or mud hovels, 
thatched with the brushwood and herbs 
gathered in the vicinity. A short dis- 
tance on we reached the neighborhood of 
Mycensa, and before entering the inclosure 
of the walls, we came to the far-famed 
" Treasury of Atreus.'^ An inclined plane 
lined on either side by massive stone walls 
led us down to the building, which is ex- 
cavated in the bowels of the hill. We 
rode down, and, entering by the wide 
portal, found ourselves in a great circular 
chamber, about fifty feet in diameter, and 
about forty in height. It can neither be 
said to be vaulted, nor to be conical, but 
the sides are somewhat circular. The 
whole consists of a series of regular courses 
of squared stone, gradually narrowins 
until the summit was formerly covered 
with a single stone. The most remark- 
able thing about the architecture is the 
circumstance that the dome is not con- 
structed with an arch, but that the suc- 
cessive circles of stones by their very 
weight are held firmly together. The 
eateway through which we had entered, 
however, struck us more than any thing 
else. Tne passage is scarcely more than 
eight feet in diameter ; but it is spanned 
by an enormous soffit twenty-eight feet 
long, while it is nineteen broad, and three 
feet and nine inches in thickness ! How 
that mass weighing several tons was 
raised to a height of twenty feet above 
the soil, and that too without the aid of 
modem improvements in machinery, is a 
mystery difficult to solve. Certainly the 
architects of Agamemnon^s time were no 
mean ones. Above this door is a triangu- 
lar opening or window, which serves to 
let a faint light into the building. Leav- 
ing our horses here, we groped our way 
through a similar but more narrow door, 
now much obstructed with rubbish, into 
a smaller chamber. Demetri brought in 
a few armfuls of brush, and soon kindled 
a fire, which revealed to us its form. It 
was a damp room some twenty feet 
square, by our measurement, and four- 
t^n high ; cut out of the hard rock, and 
left rough as at first. Its use is unco^ 
tain. Uur guide persisted in calling this 
the Tomb of Agamemnon, while the xt§k 


Three Day$ m Arpolis. 


alone is the Treasarj of Atreus, and this 
way of getting over the difficulty about 
its nomenclature is certainly ingenious, 
ind not unreasonable. As it is outside of 
the walls of the dty — the most ancient 
ones at any rate — it is not impossible that 
this may have been a tomb, but others 
endeavor to show, and with plausibility, 
too, that it was in some way connected 
with the worship of those early races that 
inhabited Greece before authentic history, 
and about whom the amount of knowledge 
we possess, notwithstanding the ponder- 
ous tomes of some modem writers, might 
be summed up in a page or two of writing. 
Very likely the walls of this inner cham- 
ber were coated with marble, as those of 
the great one undoubtedly were with 
copper plates, as is evident from the 
abundant remains of small copper nails 
studding the entire ceiling and walls. 
After satisfying our curiosity with this 
remarkable monument of antiquity, as 
far as we could satisfy oui-selves with 
such a short visit, we proceeded to visit the 
remaining portions of the city of Mycenae. 
Riding along the coast of the hill, upon 
whose summit ran the more recent walls 
of the city, we came unexpectedly upon a 
hole, where we foimd a monument similar 
to tnat we had just been visiting. — an- 
other ^UreasuryJ" which seems to be the 
name now appropriated to that sort of 
building. The whole upper part of the 
dome had fallen in, and disclos^ the lower 
courses of masonry. Most of the struc- 
ture, however, is buried below the mass 
of rubbish. There are a couple more out- 
side of the walls. We dismounted on 
coming to the acropolis, and made a great 
part of the circuit on root, observing the 
number of dificrent kinds of construction 
which is thus exhibited. Sometimes as at 
Tiryns there were great masses of stone 
heaped together, seemingly without an^ 
attempt at giving them a more symmetri- 
cal shape luiving been made. At others, 
the masses, though scarcely smaller, were 
hewn into large and almost regular 
courses, very small stones being thrust 
into the small crevices. In walls of a yet 
more recent date, the stones were much 
smaller, of a polygonal shape, and gene- 
rally very closely fitted one to the other, 
not leaving space enough to crowd the 
blade of a penknife into the joints. We 
entered the ancient acropolis through an 
ancient little gate, formed in the most 
simple manner of three stones, two form- 

ing the sides, and the third the top of the 
doorway. On either side there was the 
projection against which the door rested, 
and before it the two holes in which was 
placed the bar, which invariably served 
to fasten it. We found ourselves on an 
elevated platform, where we could look 
far and wide over the plain, where reigned 
" Agamemnon, king of men. " This was 
the capital of the kingdom, while Tiryns 
to the south, and Argos at the foot of that 
high hill almost as far towards the south- 
west, were the older and later capitals of 
the AtridsB. The ground we stand on, 
was perhaps occupied of old by that pa- 
lace celebrated for the misdeeds of Cly- 
taemnestra and ^gisthus, and where the 
victorious monarch Agamemnon was as- 
sassinated with the laurel still fresh on 
his brow.* The summit of the hill was 
the station of that watchman, whom one 
of the Tragic poets represents as watching 
for ten long years, wet with the dews of 
every night, for the signal fires that were 
to announce • the taking of Troy by the 
Grecian troops. We descended from the 
top of the hill to the most celebrated ob- 
ject of interest in the place, the Gate of 
Lions, Two enormous stones standing 
on end support a slab equally ponderous ; 
and on the top of this is a triangular piece 
of gray limestone, ten feet long and nine 
high, upholding the remains of the only 
statuary about the entire place. Two 
lions are represented on it facing each 
other, and standing on their hind legs, 
while the front ones rest on a low pedes- 
tal between them. This pedestal sup- 
ports in turn a short colunm, very similar 
m shape to the Doric, except that it 
diminishes downwards instead of upwards. 
Unfortunately the heads of the lions are 
entirely destroyed, and if there was any 
object on the top of the colunm, that )ma 
likewise disappeared; so that it is im- 
possible to tell what this curious monu- 
ment signified, or whether it was con- 
nected with the religion of the mysterious 
builders of the city. The artist who ex- 
ecuted this work of art, was certainly not 
devoid of skill in portraying nature. 
Every muscle of the lion's body is express- 
ed, and even exaggerated, though there 
is a certain stiffness about the whole which 
marks an early period of art. The merest 
spectator is struck by the resemblance of 
the figures with Egyptian works, and no 
one. who has seen the Assyrian monu- 
ments in the Ix>ndon and Parisian Muse- 

* AguaemMD wai •omettoMf ealled king of Argos ; bat under tbts name was intend^ not the cltv of that 
MUM, this b«1iu( the capital of I>kmiede*s domlnlona bat a large portion of the Poloponneaaa, incladinir par> 


Three Days in ArgdU, 


ums can fail to notice an equal likeness 
to thdr rigid outlines, it is a well 
authenticated tradition that the Egyp- 
tians sent colonies to this part of Greece ; 
but it seems very doubtful whether these 
nM)numents resemble each other any fur- 
ther than in the mere cliunsiness which 
characterizes all works of remote anti- 
quity. What makes this and the other 
ruins of Mycenae the more interesting, is, 
that in the time of Pausanias, two cen- 
turies after the Christian era, they were 
nearly in the same state as now. " The 
inhabitants of Argos," sa3rs that historian, 
"destroyed Mycenas out of envy; for 
whilst the Argives remained at rest dur- 
ing the invasion of the Modes, the Myce- 
nians sent eight men to Thermopylss, 
who shared the work with the Lacedae- 
monians. This brought destruction upon 
them, as it excited the emulation of the 
Argives. There remains, however, be- 
sides other parts of the inclosure, the 
gate with the lions standing over it. 
They say that these are the works of the 
Cjrclopes, who constructed the wall at 
Tuyns for Proetus." The great topo- 
grapher also mentions the subterranean 
treasuries of Atreus and his children, 
his tomb, and those of Agamemnon and 

We lingered for an hour or two among 
these ruins, and then hurried back to the 
little village of Kharvati, to take our 
lunch at the khan. While we were par- 
taking of such food as our guide had pro- 
vided, a few peasants brought in some 
ancient coins of the Byzantine Empire. 
They set an enormous price on them — and 
indeeed these persons value an early 
Christian coin far above much more an- 
cient ones. If they get hold of a medal 
of Constantine, they keep it as an heir- 
loom, and scarcely any thing can tempt 
them to part with it We left our worthy 
friends in possession of their treasures, 
and set off on our return, following, how- 
ever, a somewhat longer road, which led 
through Argos. This took us more than 
two hours, for our horses were miserable 
creatures; and the road, though pretty 
good, and in dry weather even passable 
for a carriage, led us directly acrovss the 
swollen stream of the Inachus, which, in- 
deed, forms quite a respectable creek at 
this season of the year. 

We found Argos quite a different look- 
ing place from Nauplia. The houses are 
much newer and lower, and many of them 

are scattered about in the gardens and 
vineyards, forming a populous, but not at 
all a closely-inhabited town. Nauplia is 
its rival, and for a long time overshadowed 
it ; but now Argos contains about ten or 
twelve thousand souls, while Nauplia has 
only eight Our object here was to sec 
the remains of a Greek theatre. To reach 
it we had to go the greater part of the 
town, and a crowd of boys, seeing the 
" milordi " coming, quitted their games to 
follow our steps. We had seen enough 
of their character to know that there was 
nothing to be gained by commanding 
them to be gone. Every one who had 
been loudest in his play but a moment 
ago, pressed us in piteous tones to give 
him a penny ; and when we alighted, half 
a dozen called us in different directions to 
show us the ruins. If we followed, or 
walked behind, any one of them, he was 
satisfied that we had engaged him as 
guide ; so that, by the time we got 
through, we found ourselves indebted to 
them, by their own calculation, in quite a 
little sum. The theatre, itself, however, 
we found interesting enough, notwith- 
standing our clamorous attendants. The 
seats are cut into the solid rock, rising 
one above the other on its face, and divid- 
ed by alleys into three divisions. Though 
the lower part of the theatre is covered 
over with soil, and a flourishing wheat- 
field occupies the arena — some sixty- 
seven seats are visible. In one or two 
places, there are on the neighboring rocks 
some small bas-reliefs, which we could 
make little of. A friend of mine told me, 
that in this theatre was held one of the 
chief congresses during the Greek revolu- 
tion, in which, if I remember right, he 
himself sat.* From the theatre we re- 
turned to Nauplia. Our way led ns 
through the agora^ or market-place of 
Argos. This name is not here always 
applied to a building, or an open square ; 
but to the portion of the town where pro- 
visions and other commodities are sold. 
Here there were few or no shops, every 
thing being exposed on cloths or boards 
stretched on the ground, on either side of 
the street. Like the .Turkish bazars, 
these places are noisy and crowded ; every 
seller screams in your ear the excellence 
of his goods, and you are heartily glad 
when you find yourself fairly out of the 
place. There were few houses between 
Argos and Nauplia, a distance of seven or 
eight miles ; but the trafBc and intercom- 

♦ Behind the thcAtre, which It is calculated conld Beat abont 20,000 pereons, according to the calculatlona of 
•ntiqaarians, rises the high and strong Larissa, tlie castle of modern, and the acropolis of old Argiw ; whoM 
▼cry name is soflicleot evidence of the Pelaegian origin of tlie places It is crownad \>j Venetian furOflfli^ 


Thrm Day9 in ArgcUt. 


municaiioii between was evidently oonsid- 
tfable. We reached the harbor near the 
time for the leaving of the steamer on its 
return to Athens, and my comixanions, 
who were in haste to return, hurried on 
board. As for mvself, I had rcHoWcd to 
vary my return, by crossing to Corinth, 
and taking the steamer thenoe to PirsBUS. 
As Demctri was to return with the rest 
of the party, and I trusted to my know- 
ledge of the language to make my way, 
I had a new pass made out, and soon do- 
miciled myself in the small old hotel of 
" Peaoe,'^ opposite the public square. 

Mine host, who rejoiced in the name of 
Elias Giannopoulos, or Joannopoulos, 
finding I could speak the modem Greek, 
was disposed to show me every, attention. 
It was too late in the afternoon to procure 
permission of the mayor to visit the Pala- 
mede; but he volunteered to show me 
the other curiosities of the place. He 
took me to the church of St Spiridon, a 
little building in a narrow lane, remark- 
able for nothing in its exterior, or interior 
either. ^* This,'' said he, " was the spot 
where Capo d'lstria, the first president 
of Greece, was slain by the sons of Petron 
Bey. The two Mavromichalis, the assas- 
sins, stood down here in this alloy, and 
when the president came from the church 
into the doorway, they wounded him 
mortally." My friend Elias, though he 
disapproved of the action, and saw how 
utterly useless such an assassination must 
be, yet, I must confess, did not appear 
very sorry for the murdered man, who 
was the head of the Russian party. He 
grew very animated in describing the 
abuses of the government here, and the 
corruption introduced, even into the mu- 
nicipal authority. My window at the 
hotel looked out upon the monument 
erected to the memory of Ypsilanti, and 
mine host is much interested in learning 
that a township in America had been 
named after the favorite modem hero of 
this part of Orecce. 

I had to be up early the next morning. 
I had engaged an agogatea to fumish me 
with a horse, and to come along with me. 
As Elias wanted to get travellers from 
Corinth to come to his hotel, it was easy 
for me to find a guide. Sideri was ready 
early the next morning, and as soon as I 
could get prepared, we started. During 
the night the weather had imdergone a 
sudden change, and instead of a clear, 
bright day, such as we had enjoyed, the 
clouds hung threateningly along the sides 
of the hills, offering but a poor prospect 
for our long day's journey.. Again we 
had to traverse the plains of Argos along 

the same road which we had crossed the 
day before. We lunched again at the khan 
of Kharvati, near the ruins of Mycenae. 
Here the plain ended, or rather contracted 
into a valley, and that shortly ended in a 
narrow ravine. This was the entrance 
into the Pass of Troetus, a pass known in 
antiquity for its difiiculty. It was here 
that, in 1822, 8000 Turks, under Drami 
Ali Pasha, after having ravaged the whole 
plain of Argos, and utterly destroyed the 
town, attempted to cross the mountains 
into Corinthia. The Greeks, under Nice- 
tas, were posted at the most difficult 
point in the passes, while 1600 more oc- 
cupied' the heights about the entrance. 
When the Turks had fairly entered, they 
were assailed by these latter, consisting 
principally of Mainiotes, who fired upon 
them from behind the rocks and bushe& 
without offering them any opportunity of 
defence. Drami Ali hoped, by pushing 
onward, to free himself from his perilous 
position. But after two hours' march, 
with the enemy continually killing num- 
bers of his men, he came to the narrowest 
place, where Nicetas had been awaiting 
him. Out of the whole army of the 
Turks, only two thousand succeeded in 
dashing by the opposing force. About as 
many more retreated to Nauplia; but 
between three and four thousand perished 
in the awful conflict. Quarter was asked 
by many, but the Greeks massacred, to 
the last of their enemies. The plunder 
was very great How changed is the 
scene now! The passes were the very 
picture of loneliness, and not a sound was 
to be heard. The pass is noted for no- 
thing but robbers, who till lately infested 
it. It is considered now the most likely 
place for them to reappear in, though the 
Peloponnesus is, at present, entirely free 
from brigands. 

The rain, which had been threatening 
at any time to descend upon us, now be- 
gan to fall in torrents. In addition to 
this, the cold was excessive for the season 
of the year, and I found an overcoat 
and an umbrella poor protection. My 
guide, Sideri, wrapped up in his great 
^^ capote ^^ of camel's hair, fared much 
better. The Pass of Troetus is a long 
one, and we wished to find shelter, hop- 
ing that the rain would cease, or at least 
diminish. Wo reached at length a hut; 
but upon opening the door, we found it 
dark, and crowded by a set of Greek 
peasants, who were consoling themselves 
with the bottle for the unpromising aspect 
of the weather without So we resolved 
to go on. Pretty soon we turned from 
the direct road to Corinth, and took a 


Three Days in ArgolU, 


path on the left, leading to the little valley 
of Hagios Georgios — the ancient Nemea. 
I was determined to see the ruins, what- 
ever chances of rain there were. Some 
caves were to be seen as we approached 
Nemea, which the poets of old fancied to 
have been the haunts of the Nemcan lion, 
destroyed by Hercules. At length, from 
the top of a small elevation, we came in 
sight of the small retired valley of Ne- 
mea. It seemed to be about three miles 
long, and one mile wide. A few minutes 
more brought us to the Temple of Jupi- 
ter. It was raining as hard as ever ; but 
I dijnnounted, and tramped through the 
high grass, to examine this famous tem- 
ple. There are only three columns stand- 
ing — two of them belonging to the *' pro- 
naos," or chief entrance, and the third to 
the ruined colonnade before it. But the 
shape of the edifice dan be made out with 
distinctness. All the columns of the co- 
lonnade which surrounded the temple lie 
strown about the surface of the ground. 
The numerous earthquakes with which 
this portion of the globe is visited, have 
thrown down one stone or one pillar after 
another ; and where a whole column has 
fallen at once, its pieces lie one beside an- 
other, in regular succession, on the ground. 
The capital of one of those which are yet 
standing has been, by the same convulsion 
of nature, curiously moved from its place, 
and a few more movements of the same 
kind will cause its fall. The inferiority 
of the material of which the temple was 
constructed — a coarse g^y limestone or 
marble — ^but especially the distance of the 
place from any modem Greek city, have 
saved it from spoliation. It seems very 
probable that there remain stones enough 
on the spot to rear the temple over again. 
I sat down upon the wet stones, and under 
the shelter of an umbrella, succeeded in 
transferring to paper a sketch of the ruins. 
Sideri, my man, althou^ well covered 
up, showed some impatience to leave, as 
the road before us was a long one — so we 
pushed forward. A couple of hours 
brought us to the end of the difficult 
pass, when we* fell in again with the di- 
rect road through the pass of the Derven- 
achia. There was a khan here, at which 
we rested, and dried ourselves by the 
fire kindled upon the stone hearth, built 
in the middle of the room. The smoke 
found its way out through the chinks of 
the thatched roof. Our host made us 
some coffee — about the only thing which 
can be obtained any where in Greece. 
The mountain stream, by whose sandy 
bed we rode next, was swollen, and caus- 
ed us some difficulty in wading. But the 

rain had ceased, and we should have co- 
joyed a fine view of the Gulf of Corinth 
as we descended, had it not been for the 
heavy clouds which shut out the view of 
almost every thing in the distance. When 
we got to the smaJl hotel at Corinth, the 
day was too near its close to allow or my 
going up to the top of the Acrocorinthus; 
besides, I hoped that the weather might 
change, and allow of some distant view. 

I found that my friend, the deputy, 
who had so kindly offered that I should 
go under the protection of his escort from 
Nauplia. had arrived before me, and oc- 
cupied tne only decent room in the esta- 
blishment. My own room was bad 
enough. Mine host, a red-faced Ionian, 
who spoke Italian better than Greek, 
came to know what I wanted to cat. 
" What would you like," said he, " lamK 
beef, or eggs and bread and butter ?*' 
I expressed myself perfectly satisfied if I 
could procure some of either of the former. 
" I am really most sorry," replied he ; " but 
there is not a particle of meat in the 
house." " Can you not procure some in 
the village ? " I asked, quite alarmed at 
the idea, that after solacing myself all 
day with the prospect of a good dinner, I 
stood a good chance of bein^ starved. ^ It 
is quite impossible ; there is not a bit in 
town." " What, then, have you got ?" I 
demanded, with some repressed indigna- 
tion. " Why, please your honor, there is 
nothing but some bread and ^gs." So I 
dined on a piece of bread and one or two 
eggs, which, in the absence of spoons, 
were dispatched as best could be. After 
which feast, I threw myself on my bed to 
await the morrow ; and soliloquized — 

*" Non cnivls bomini oontlnglt adire Corinthiuii.* 

In the morning, the weather, I found, 
had not changed. But having an hour or 
two to spare, I resolved not to fail at least 
to ascend the fortress. It is on the top 
of a hill about 1750 feet high, and covers 
an area of several acres. We found seve- 
ral soldiers within this impregnable fort- 
ress, one of whom accompanied us about ; 
but the fog was so dense that we could 
see nothing but the valley immediately 
beneath us, and a very small arm of the 
Bay of Cenchrsea, which St. Paul is re- 
corded to have passed through on his way 
to Corinth. In our return to Corinth^ 
we passed by the ruins of the only tem- 
ple remaining at Corinth. It is remark- 
able that not a fragment of the Corinthian 
architecture has survived in this city, for 
this building consists of seven heavy 
Doric columns of rather degenerate stylo. 
The yiUage whkdi we now passed through 


The Catastrophe ai VereaUUs. 


k gmall and dirty. Its houses are low 
and poorly built; and Corinth, famous 
of old for its luxury and its pleasures, 
now presents the aspect of a miserable 
hamlet, with nothing but its ancient name 
to uphold its reputaution. 

Kalamaki, the little port on the eastern 
side of the isthmus, is about six or eight 
miles distant The Lloyd's steamer was 
to leave this morning for Athens, and we 

had to huny thither over a road covered 
with water. Wo passed by the ruins of 
a small amphitheatre, just outside of the 
town, and about half waj came to Hexa- 
mili, where the old wall crossed the isth- 
mus. We reached Kalamaki just as the 
]mssengers from the Gulf of Lepanto ar- 
rived, and were embarking. At five or 
six o'clock that aflemoon, I reached 


P!W people know precisely how it was 
done. Certainly not more than three, 
by whom ; the secret having remained up 
to this date in keeping of my friend Al- 
PHONSE who, I am credibly informed, is 
now turning his length of limb to account 
in the gold region of Australia ; of a gri- 
eette, a knowledge of whose name and 
residenee among the clouds and chimney- 
tops of Paris, the above-named friend per- 
sisted in reserving to himself; and of 
your humble servant, who, for certain 
pecuniary advantages of no matter here, 
finds himself conscientiously impelled to 
state the circumstances from beginning to 
ead as they really occurred. 

The present writer had his residence in 
Paris, with a view, it was understood, to 
the completion of his studies. We young 
Americans know what that means, though 
our mammas and papas do not In short, 
I occupied number 3, on a sixth floor, 
with a view of the clouds, and 1 
know not what multitude of house-tops 
and chimney-tops — no questions asked 
and three francs a week lodging. It was 
there that I received the 6lite of my 
countrymen; for we Americans are a 
gregarious race, and setting aside the 
whalebone-caned and moustached young 
snobs who hail from the aristocratical pur- 
lieus of our chief cities, and mutually avoid 
US and each other abroad, taking up 
with rou6 counte, and very problematical 
countesses; with this exception, I say; 
whom I desire deferentially to exclude 
firom the cate^ry of which they are 
ashamed, we Yankees and demi- Yankees 
are much given to consorting together for 
the benefit of the public morals and tran- 
quillity. However, as it happened, it was 
vacation time, and dearth of society had 
brought in its train unusual reflections. 
It was high time to turn a new leaf, I 
thouglit, and prove myself less frivolous, 

in my way, than young Whippor Snapper, 
whose lemon-kids and perfumery were 
recognizajble if the wind set fair, the 
breadth of the Champs Elys^cs. My friends 
at home might be none the wiser, espe- 
cially if I chattered a little French and 
German in their hearing occasionally, in 
an ofi-hand easy sort of way ; but how to 
reconcile the waste of so many years to 
my own conscience, when these trifles 
should become gravities of yesterday on 
record, and not reversible by any amount 
of later-day penitence. Yes, I would re- 
form now while in the mood, and what 
was better, while the half-score of mau- 
vaissitjets who constituted an impromptu 
joint-stock company in the occupancy of 
my apartment on the sixth floor, when- 
ever the fancy possessed them, were on 
their travels elsewhere, and not likely to 
upset my resolution before carried into 
effect, and irrevocable. It annoyed me 
to imagine them drumming on the door 
of the chamber, imitating the French horn 
and key bugle, and giving other unmis- 
takable tokens of incredulity and persist- 
ence ; all tending to call in question the 
veracity of statement set forth on a half- 
sheet of foolscap, to be wafered to the top 
panel of said door, to wit ; that " Monsieur 
had gone for the benefit of his health, in- 
jured by too much study, to the Spas of 
Germany for a twelvemonth ; meanwhile 
begged to live in the memory of his be- 
reaved friends." 

So while I sat and smoked the pipe of 
contrition, and turned over in my mind 
the most advisable manner of bringing 
about the above-mentioned praiseworthy 
results, there came a careless tap upon 
the very panel upon which I was fasten- 
ing in thought the intimation of my sup- 
posed abscuce, and without loss of time 
the same hands made bold to turn the 
latch and usher in a face well garnished 
with beard and moustache, and adorned 


The OatastrcphB at VenailUs. 


by long locks tacked behind the ears; 
which last were surmounted by a diminu- 
tive cap such as the students of Paris and 
their confreres are fond of wearing on all 
occasions, set jauntily over the right eye, 
over which also dangled the tassel which, 
until plucked violently out by the root, is 
the usual ornament of its centre. 

The face was certainly not strange to 
me, neither the mode of its procedure. 
First, it rolled its eyes about, taking a 
solemn inventory of the contents of the 
chamber, halting with a momentary 
gleam of satisfaction on a lithograph of 
the then popular danseuse, whose likeness 
I had recently added to my collection, 
and passing over the master of the pre- 
mises on view, with a cursory glance. 
Then it introduced a body, rather lank 
and decidedly long-limbed, but not want- 
ing in muscle, which possessed itself with- 
out waste of speech, and with much dis- 
crimination, of the sole uncrippled chair ; 
tilted its back against the wall, drew out 
a short meerschaum from a side pocket, 
and while busied in igniting the former, 
for the first time broke silence. 

" May I venture to ask if Monsieur is 
at home?" 

I smoked and said nothing, looking at 
the speaker, perhaps, with some little 
acerbity, at the thought of my fine re- 
solves being thus prematurely blown 

'* Monsieur intends going to the Spas 
for the benefit of his health, I perceive," 
M. Alphonse further remarked with grav- 
ity ; and indeed, the inscription I had in- 
tended for the outer door, lay, right side 
up, upon the table where I had composed 
and. penned it an hour before. 

"I intend to turn a new leaf," I said 
in a decided tone. " From to-day, I in- 
tend to devote to study eighteen hours out 
of the twenty-four, and if necessary go to 
the Spas, yes, to the poles for the pur- 

And here I favored my friend with a 
disquisition on the ways and vagabondism 
of Young America abroad, summing up 
with a reiteration of my last resolve, to 
all of which M. Alphonse listened with 
becoming patience and attention, firing as 
it were a feii de joie of smoke from the 
port-hole of his nostrils whenever he con- 
ceived I had uttered a praiseworthy senti- 
ment When I paused, he remarked 
without removing his pipe, " Bon ! per- 
haps Monsieur would like to commence 
his studies with pyrotechnics, a very ele- 
vating science. If so. Monsieur has but 
to say the word, as the f6te of the republic 
takes place to-morrow at Versailles." 

To this sally I vouchsafed no reply. 
But M. Alphonse was not the man to be 
balked. "Monsieur will go?" he added 
presently, with an air of satisfied oonvi<>- 
tion. I pufied a strong negative : there 
is no little meaning in a whiff of tobacco 
smoke rightly observed. "May I ask 
Monsieur why not ? " 

" Because," I said, with an ill-defined 
vexation, verging on amusement, at the 
incongruity between the homely direct- 
ness of the words it suited me to employ, 
and the elaborate courtesy it equally 
pleased my complacent friend to drag into 
service — " as I have already said, I intend 
to turn over a new leaf, and devote my 
hours to study (here my friend expressed 
his general approval of the sentiment, by- 
two distinct columns of smoke from his 
nostrils); I have resolved to abandon 
pleasure, and Paris if need be, and isolate 
myself from my late disreputable associ* 
atcs" — disreputable associates^ impres- 
sively, with an eye to my audience (a 
shrug). " Finally, and once for all, I b^ 
you will in no single iastance count upon 
my countenance or assistance in any of 
your sorties by night or day." Here my 
guest, who had brought his feet to ttte 
top round of his chair, folded his ape-like 
length of arms about his knees in a com- 
fortable way, and resting his beard on the 
summit of the pyramid so formed, sat Sfr- 
dately smoking, and regarding me in 
much the manner, and with about as much 
meaning in his physiognomy, as an over- 
grown chimpanzee might have shown. 

Now, there were two peculiarities aboat 
my guest — the one conventional, the other 
personal — which have not yet been no- 
ticed. The first of these was, that although 
glorying in the cognomen of Alphonse — 
glorying, be it understood, not so much 
in the sentimentality of the name, as in 
its identity with that of the great lachry- 
mist then guiding the destinies of the re- 
public — Alphonse was no more a French- 
man than you or I, but a native New 
Englander, reared, no doubt, on baked 
beans and such like condiments, which, to 
receive the testimony of a host of wit- 
nesses, have a tendency to develope much 
length of limb, and the kind of ungainli- 
ness known with us by the epithet slab- 
sided, not less than characteristic shrewd- 
ness, and a marvellous fiu^ulty of inven- 
tion. The other peculiarity, a more 
marked and individual one, was a habit 
whidi, according to his statement, he had 
contracted when weak-chested from pre- 
mature overgrowth, of laughing inwardly 
without much outward indication of 
mirth, except such as might be conveyed 


The Catastrcphe at Versaittis. 


in the swayiDg forward of the upper por- 
tkm of his body at yery near a right angle 
to the lower, and loose dangling about of 
his large hands, as the shoulders were 
mored by the inward conyulsion. On 
such occasions his conduct, to an unin- 
formed spectator, appeared that, either of 
a man suffering from some acute disease, 
or of an imbecile — usually the latter. 

While I looked at him now, soberly, 
through the smoke of my creating, his 
features began to relax, and having pre- 
sently slipped himself out of his chair, he 
proceeded to double his ungainly person 
mto the shape of an inverted L. evidently 
moved so to do by some highly amusing 
suggestion of his brain. The paroxysm 
having subsided, he seated himself at my 
desk, and having written a line or two in 
a gigantic haud, read to me the following 
notioe to all whom it might concern — ^to 
wit: " Messieurs mes amis. The occupant 
of this apartment having been suddenly 
called away by an affliction in his family, 
regrets that he will be detained from your 
urbane society during the ensuing two 
days." "Is that well expressed?" M. 
Alphonse asked, wotting some wafers in 
his mouth preparatory to attaching them 
to the back of the slip from which he had 
just read. 

** Upon my word ! " I said. "Is it your 
intention to wafer that notice upon tho 
door of this apartment ? " 

" Assuredly." 

"May I venture to ask, with what 
motive 7 " 

"Why," said Alphonse, sitting down 
igain — for he had risen to carry liis pur- 
pose into effect — " I need a friend at the 
present juncture, and feel that I cannot 
count too strongly on your friendsliip. 
To be brief: in a room in the left wing of 
the palace at Versailles, a lady whom I 
adore is now confined — by order of my 
illustrious namesake, you understand ; 
and for state reasons. The display of 
fireworks " 

** Pray speak sensibly," I interrupted. 

" Well," said Alphonse, afler a long 

5iuse ; " as that story seems incredible to 
onsieur, there is nothing for it but to 
speak the truth, if Monsieur has faith in 
the existence of that quality in the present 
humble speaker." 

" Procoid," said I, calmly. 

** There can be no question, that although 
naturally possessing a mild and forgiving 
temper, I am prone to look upon the po- 
lice with a hostile eye, as the enemies of 
much innocent nocturnal amusement. Fur- 
tiuninore, that I regard the class o( ganir 
ina with a truly paternal affection." 

"For the police — yea," I responded, 
laughing, " especially since your fine of 
fifteen francs, for dancing the American 
war dance, of your invention, at Mdre 
Gros, number two, Rue Papel6t. But as 
for the gamins, who take occasion to 
mock your personalities whenever you 
appear in their quartier, I am not quite 
so sure of your good-will, having indeed 
heard you declare, times out of mmd, that 
you would bo the death of some of 

" Which evinces the goodness of my 
temper, as they certainly deserve death 
by flaying. However that may be, it is 
my present intention to afford them a 
treat, such as the gamins of Paris and 
Versailles have seldom if ever enjoyed. 
At the same time, I propose to confound 
the police, from Toulon downwards." 

" As how ? " I aske<l, beginning to bo 
interested ; and refilled my pipe, the bet- 
ter to listen, weigh, and pass judgment on 
whatever might follow. 

" Thus : it is my intention to give to- 
morrow evening, slightly in advance of 
the hour allotted in the programme for 
the official display, a magnificent exhibi- 
tion of fireworks ; which, it is also part 
of my intention, shall altogether eclipse 
that of my illustrious namesake and the 
Goddess of Libert}'." 

"Oh, no doubt!" was my response; 
"you have beyond question counted the 
cost, and will send the bill to your undo 
in India ; or perhaps you have unlimited 
credit with the pyrotechnists ? " 

" Not at all — you mistake," my friend 
answered. "It is my illustrious name- 
sake, or, more properly, tho provisional 
government, that furnishes the necessary 
supplies of powder, pasteboard, and tiu"- 
pentine stars. Otherwise, I am afraid the 
project would be impossible." 

" What ! " cried I, a sudden light break- 
ing in upon me; "you surely cannot 
mean to fire, or attempt to fire, the small 
mountain of rockets they pile together on 
f^te days in the Cour d'llonneur!" and 
the thought was so preposterously auda- 
cious, that I could not refrain from laugh- 
ing outright. 

" Monsieur is sagacity itselfj" Alphonse 
responded, unmoved. 

" And I, no doubt, am to lead the for- 
lorn hope — in other words, to find occa- 
sion to touch them off with my cigar ; or, 
better still, toss a bundle of ignited luci- 
fers into the midst, and take the conse- 

^'Pas si btte,^^ my friend returned, 
tranquilly smoking. "The fact is," he 
proceed to say, after a pause — " I havo 


The CaUutrophB at VeraaiUei. 


not yet matured my plans, the idea haying 
occurred to me only now, while turning 
over in my mind the hiji:hly praiseworthy 
course you have chalkcid out for >'Ourself 
in the future. But the present is yet 
oui-s — by which I mean to-morrow ; and 
as young Americans and democrat's, we 
should not forget the duty we owe to our 
country's reputation abroad, in ending 
every career with a certain eclat, even if 
that eclat he confined only to the circle 
of our friends. In short I propose," said 
my friend, who. while speaking, had busied 
himself in wafering up his placard to the 
outer panel, and now stepped Viack to as- 
certain if it were well placed, ** to celebrate 
and announce to the world your seces.sion 
from our ranks, and future adhesion to a 
better cause, by a grand pyrotechnic di.s- 
play, as already said. Also, to astonish 
the police, and thereby afford gratuitous 
entertainment and instruction to the as- 
sembled gariions and gamins. Such is 
the programme of performances which 
Monsieur will honor with his attend- 

'' As a spectator, perhaps," I put in, 
beginning to relent. 

"As a spectator," M. Alphonse, who 
had returned to his chair, answered, be- 
tween whiffs of smoke, " from the best 
available situation — assuredly." 

A spectator, from the best situation too, 
left nothing to object. 

I smoked, meditated, and resolved. 
*' Well then," said I, with a smile at the 
subject of my thoughts, "at three o'clock 
to-morrow we will set forth to astonish 
the natives." 

Now, while admitting, that with the 
guik^essness, not to say rashness, which 
belongs to my character, I entered blind- 
fold into the above compact, and with not 
the most remote idea of the means by 
whrch the proposed result was to be 
brought about ; I wish it specially under- 
stood and held in view by each and every 
reader of the present memoir — Firat^ 
That I accompanied M. Alphonse, solely 
and by verbal understanding in the capa- 
city of a spectator (" from the best avail- 
able situation "), and in none other ; and 
that my after course was the result, not 
of premeditation, but of the force of events 
to the current of which 1 had committed 
myself with too little reserve. Secondly, 
That I vow and protest, had I supposed 
the result would have been such as it 
proved— or, at, such as has been 
traced by some to the events I am about 
to record — namely, the subsequent over- 
throw of the provisional government — ^I 
would no more have lent my countenance 

to the undertaking, than to the great 
Bamum, for a wax cast for bis Mnseniii 
in Broadway. And TfitreUy, and lastlj, 
That, mentally reviewing the difficultm 
of the undertaking, and the recognized 
alertness of the French polioe individuallj- 
and as a body, it occurred to me to adSbid 
an instance in which Yankee invention 
would for instance be baffled, and in whkh 
my friend — who proposed to himself 
merely to enact the modest part of soene- 
shifler, would actually appear on the 
boards — in other words, in charge of the 
police — in the character of Harlequin un- 
masked. I confess, the thought caused 
me to smile, and in the end to accompany 
my fnend ; and to this day I am uncer- 
tain whether his observation of theaboYO- 
named smile, and a sharp guess at the 
amiable wish of which it was bom, gave 
the unexpected turn to events apparent in 
this narrative. 


Evr.RT one who has ever run down hj 
rail from Paris to Versailles, must hold m 

mind the three rooms at the station, < 
responding to three classes of carriages 
constituting the train, into which one is 
inducted by a little Frenchman in £ux7 
military costume, and left to look and 
walk about, and perhaps discover acquaint- 
ances until the opening of the first class 
passenger door of egress announces the 
speedy debouchement of your own crowd 
of expectants. In the second class saloon 
it was, that M. Alphonse and I found our- 
selves the day of the fdte in company with 
a multitude of French people and a sprink- 
ling of Italian.s, Germans, Smss, and the 
like, no doubt ; but with not one solitary 
countryman of our own, I feel firmly con- 
vinced ; in truth it was of Number One 
that the faithful representatives of our- 
selves and institutk>ns abroad, had taken 
joint possession, as is the manner of Amo- 
ricans, with a royal duke (not of France^ 
of course), three £ngli:th milords, and a 

"/fo.' bonne ange!^^ cried Alphonse 
on a sudden, with a grimace, and ki&sine 
the tips of his glove — perhaps I should 
say, of his fingers, since the latter exceed- 
ed the former by at least half a joint — 
to somebody in a distant comer; and 
forgetful of the claims of kindness and 
leaving an argument in the heat of which 
we were, unfinished, set off to present 
him.self before the " ange,^^ of whom his 
greater stature had allowed him a glimpse. 
I followed, and presently found M. Al- 
phonse, whom I had at the outset lost in 


I%B OaioiircphB at VenmUa. 


(be melte of demonstratiye Frenchmen, 
ankhig himself agreeable to a pretty little 
truette from the Kue Maxim<^le, no 
ooabt, who was laughing and saying 
*^hrata ! " with an appropriate motion of 
the hands, at something M. Alphonse had 
whl^tpered just as I approached. This 
jonng lady, who was on the way, as we 
were, to enioy the fftte, was one of the 
half butterny half bee little creatures with 
which the garrets of Paris and especially 
of the Rue Maximdle abound ; who work 
cheerily all the week and on the seventh 
day emerge from their chrysalis the light- 
est hearth and most fun-loving of the 
lex, to keep the commandment to the ex- 
tent of their instruction, perhaps, by ab- 
staining from any thing like labor. All 
grisettes who go to fetes on Sundays, are 
not pretty, however, despite all that French 
art can do for them ; and to be tied for 
the day — a fete day — to one of tlio " tret 
crdinatretj those dreadful little girls 
with swarthy complexions, noses exces- 
flvely retrousse, and a penchant for beaux 
the more violent as it is less often indulged 
— would liave been at variance with my 
nsoal policy. Therefore 1 stood aloof 
ontil time sufficient to take a mental ob- 
servation; complexion good; a red spot, 
evidently not rouge, in either cheek ^the 
8m<>ke from the chimney tops of Rue 
Maximdle has not had time to do its work 
yet) ; hair looking soft and pretty under 
that miracle of a cap ; nose, the slightest 
in the world retrousse; mouth, bon ; eyes 
-^Ah, here she is, looking full at me. 

''Introduce me," said I, touching my 
friend on tho elbow. 

^ Ma'mselle," said Alphonse, " allow mo 
to present for your delight and admira- 
tion, my amiable countryman, the heir 
apparent of New- York. 

** Monsieur makes fim of me," Ma- 
demcnselk said doubtingly ; in French of 

^ I make fun of you ! not at all," our 
friend rejoined. ^' The papa of Monsieur 
is immensely wealthy ; owns the greater 
part of North America, in fact. lie also 
votes annually lor his candidate in council 
which invests him with tho dignity and 
emoluments ^supposing him capable, which 
I hope not) or selling liis vote) of an Ame- 
rican sovereign : and Monsieur here, is in 
consequence, to be regarded as a Royal 

"* Monseigneur travels incog.," Made- 
moiselle said. 

"' Certainly. His habits are such as to 

bring him into disgrace with the Ameri- 

' can sovereign before named, who cuts 

him off with a million of francs a mouth ; 

for which reason, as you see, he goes in 
rags," M. Alphonse replied, turning me 
round by the shoulder to direct attention 
to a rent in my coat sleeve, caused by his 
too energetic greeting half an hour earlier. 

" But you have not confided Ma'mselle's 
name yet," I vcntunxl to put in. 

"Oh, Mademoiselle is a princess also, 
and travels incog. ; tlie one it at present 
pleases her to assume is Fanfan — Ma'm- 
sello Fanfan." 

" Fanfan — yes, yes, that is my name." 
Mademoiselle assented, laughing and clap- 
ping her hands. 

^* Mademoiselle's estate lies in the cele- 
brated regions of the Rue Maximdle ? " I 

^^Ah b^tc!" Mademoiselle answered, 
pretending to be moved to tears by my 
brusqucric. And M. Alphonse exclaimed 
melodramatically, " Bah 1 what is that 
to thee ? Dost conceive a princess bom 
would receive such as thou art. chez elle ! 
Go to! and spoil not the flavor of the 
present moment by too close examination 
of a single hair, as our young friend 
Smythe did." 

" A pretty metaphor," said I, "but what 
did Smythe do?" 

" lie supped off a ragout in a caf6. Rue 
Lapins certs. Have you ever supped off 
stewed rabbit, Ma'mselle?" 

" Mais^ oui,^^ said Ma'msclle. 

" Well, he found in his ragout a single 
hair, which made him sick." 

"A hair make him sick! — oh you 
Americans!" cried Mademoiselle, laugh- 

"I mistake. It was not the hair, it 
was the color of it" 

"The color of it!" said we both. 

" Yes, it was — in short it was — that is 
to say, the color of it was tortoiscshell." 

" Fi done .'" the griseite exclaimed re- 
proachfully, and she put her head out of 
the window to hide her desire to laugh. 

I flatter myself this little conversation 
will present Mademoiselle to the eye of 
the reader, better than as many formal 
words would; small in stature, rather 
pretty than otherwise, vivacious, and, as 
nine-tenths of her countrywomen are, quite 
a fair impromptu actress. But it occurred 
to me that with all these recommend- 
ations. Mademoiselle Fanfan might be a 
little in the way pending our affair ^-ith 
the police ; and hinted as much aside to 
my fellow conspirator, when we landed 
at Versailles. But M. Alphonse only 
said, "Poll, poh! wait and see!" with so 
coniident an air that I began to believe 
the meeting with Mademoiselle not so 


The Oaiaitrophe at VersaUka. 


accidental as it might hare been ; and be- 
stowed the charms of my conversation on 
Miss Fanfan's right hand, as her older 
cavalier di<l on her left, without caring to 
ar^uc tlie matter further. 

First, we promenaded through the pic- 
ture galleries in the palace, then rambled 
about tlie grounds and ate ices in com- 
pany ; it was while doing the latter that 
M. Alphonse made first allusion to the 
business of the evening, by directing at- 
tention to a covered van painted black, 
passing at no groat distance. 

•Yes, I see it." said I in a whisper, 
"with the gensdarmes for convoy. By 
Jove! it contains our rockets — had we 
not best follow it?" 

"Do you know where it is going?" 
Alphonsq ask d. 

** To th Cour d'Honneur, I suppose." 

" Precisely. A better plan than to fol- 
low it, like those gamins yonder, will be 
to follow this by-path to the Avenue 
d'Sceaux, and the avenue into the Place 
d'Armes, where there is enough room to 
walk about out of hearing of eaves- 
droppers, and in full view of the field of 

"Spoken like a gcneral-in-chief," an- 
swered I, " come. Ma'niselle." 

Mademoiselle was all alei-t. With the 
glimpse of the powder wagon, she had 
risen to go ; and we were all three pre- 
sently facing the railed space behind or in 
front of the palace, if you like, which 
every one who has been to Versailles will 
remember as the Cour d'llonneur. In 
the midst of this court the usual scaffold- 
ing had been erected, and an enormous 
quantity of fireworks of all descriptions 
lay perdu on the pavement in the midst 
surrounded hy a group of gensd'armes and 
workmen busily engaged in tumbling 
down upon the already overgrown heap, 
the contents of the van we had seen a 
little before. In atldition to this body 
guard, twelve to fifteen policemen and 
gensd'armes paced the outer circuit of the 
court, and overawed the gamine, who 
would have like^l nothing better than 
scrambling up the rails and roosting on 
their tops. Alphonse regarded these pre- 
parations with sedate satisfaction, as sub- 
ordinate and introductory to his grand 
entertainment ; the grisette was delighted. 
as grisettes always are with a promise of 
glitter and noise ; and for myself, in \new 
of the possibility of my countryman's 
scheme proving successful, I began to look 
about for a safe place coinmandhig a good 
view of the field. 

" /T," said I, with the strong emphasis 
betokening want of faith. " if you contrive 

to fire that mountain of combustiblai^ 
what is to prevent your immediate detec- 
tion ? or, to begin at the beginning^ how 
are you to fire them at all, under sanrefl- 
lance such as we see yonder? It was veiy 
well to talk over in our garret, but hen 
the thing is impossible." 

'* Bah ! " M. Alphonse made answer 
with a shrug of disgust, "Mf and 'im- 
possible ! ' Why the whole thing lies in 
a nutshell." 

"As how?" 

" Thus ; — but first, how many of the 
enemy do you count on duty yonder ? " 

" Twenty-five in all, perhaps," 

" Good — independent of the crowd who 
will presently gather about the railing; 
and with whom no one can tell how many 
of the detectives in plain clothes or blouses 
may he mixed. In short, the chances are 
desperate — this is the sum of what yoa 

I nodded ; Mademoiselle Fanfan clasped 
her hands in stage despair. 

" But what if instead of leaving them to 
exercise the functions of so many score of 
separate eyes. I find means to oonTert 
them into one great optic — a multitudi- 
nous Cyclops, to be brief, with its sole 
power of observation directed kot on my- 

" Bon ! " cried I, beginning to be ex- 
cited ; Mademoiselle made an ecstatic 
gesture of joint approval and impatience. 

M. Alphonse looked benignly upon us. 
"See here," he proceeded to say, with- 
drawing cautiously the hand with which 
he had been fumbling in the depths of his 
breast-pocket, and disclosing a packet the 
size of a cigar case, enveloped in black 
silk and with a black cord attached. 
"Tliis fiask contains a half pound of 
powder more or less, and, no doubt, will 
sufficiently assimilate in color to the 
ground after nightfall to escape easy de- 
tection. You may also observe that it is 
pierced on either side by a minute orifice 
now stop])ed by a pellet of paper, which I 
remove thus, and supply with my fore- 
finger and thumb to prevent leakage for 
the present. It follows that, if seizing an 
instant during which the ej-es of the en- 
tire public are skilfully drawn upon one 
person, not myself, I, an humble and un- 
noticed individual, succeed in shying my 
flask upon the margin of the combustibles 
in the midst, the action will both escape 
observation at the time, and remove the 
only difficulty in the way of establishing 
a train between said combustibles and the 
parapet ; leaning my elbow upon which 
last, some moments later, it appears to 
me not impossible that the ashes or end 


The Oaia8trqpke ai Venaittet. 


of my cigar may fall fVom my fingers within 
the nuls and produce a catastrophe likely 
€o Astonish our common enemy, without 
the least suspicion as to the means em- 
ployed. Of course it is part of the r61e 
to suppress all tangible prooj^ by pocket- 
ing my flask in the first of the meUe. I 
bsve only farther to remark that by re- 
peated experiments on the floor of my 
mpartmcnt, I find the contents of this flask 
drawn slowly towards me by its cord, and 
gradually discharging through whichever 
orifice may be beneath, amply sufficient 
to lay a train of twice the length here re- 
qntred. Is this explanation satisfactory ? '* 

"Brava!" we both cried in a breath, 

"But," said I, reflecting, "you have 
emitted to mention what I cannot help 
regarding, next after laying of the train, 
the chief obstacle to success. I mean the 
manner of inducing that total and abso- 
lute distraction of observation from the 
affair in hand — without which of course 
the endeavor must go for nothing." 

M. Alphonse did not immediately re- 
ply ; he rubbed the side of his prominent 
nose, looking at me all the while (us also 
did Mademoiselle), either immoacrately 
perplexed or amused. Once I imagined 
he was on the point of going off into one 
of his outlandish fits of inward laughter, 
but he straightened himself up, and ap- 
parently checked the inclination. When 
he did reply, it was in the form of a ques- 
tion, and at flrst sight not much to the 

"Let me see — ft*om the 'best practi- 
cable point of view,' were the words of our 
•greement, I believe?" 

"Certainly; as a spectator interested 
in the success of the plot, I would prefer 
. to place myself in a commanding position 
before the melee begins. Perhaps Made- 
moiselle Fanfen will accompany me ? " 

'^What do you say to perching your- 
self up there?" my friend asked, with 
his eye on the top of the railing of the 
Cour d'Honneur. 

" Are you mad ! " cried I. amazed. 

But Alphonse only shook his head, 
with his eye still directed to the top of the 
fmIs, as if he despaired of finding one more 

" In the first place," I continued, un- 
certain whether to laugh or be angry, for 
his long visage expressed absolutely no- 
thing, "if I make the attempt, I shall 
certainly be pounced upon by the police, 
ind lose the opportunity of becoming a 
spectator /rom any where. On the other 
hand, if I make good my position, there 
are ten chances to one that I am brought 

down at the first fire by a volley of 
rockets, if not actually riddled by their 
sticks; and lastly, I begin to entertain 
conscientious scruples in regard to the 
result of this flte of yours, which may 
end in maiming, or killing even, some of 
the spectators." 

" Bah !" rejoined Alphonse, coolly, " if 
vou had studied pyrotechnics, you would 
nave perceived that all firewoi-ks are tied 
in bundles, and in that condition counter- 
act the individual tendencies of each. 
Secondly, that the first rebound will throw 
every fire rocket above the parajKit, clear 
of the people's heads ; and thirdly, if a 
half dozen or so arc deflected from their 
proper course by collision with the palace 
walls, the gamins will manage lo run 
them down. Aloreover you are at liberty 
to post yourself directly opposite the 
point whence my train will start, and so 
avert all su,spicion fix)m yourself at the 
time ; and to get down as early as you 
see fit, after it is laid." 

" To be short" said I, thoroughly vexed 
by his persistence, '•! will not get up at 

"Then," said Alphonse lugubriously, 
"who is to yell?" 

" yW/.'" I echoed. 

" Ah, yell ! " Alphonse and the grisette 
sang in concert, like a chorus at the opera. 

" Yell indeed ! " repeated I in a fury, 
suddenly enlightened. 

This, then, was to be my*r6le. Par 
example, when Monsieur Alphonse thought 
fit, I was to make a rush at the bars, 
clamber to the top, rather like a chimpan- 
zee than a Christian, and create a sensation, 
partly by a free use of my lungs, partly 
by resistance to the tugs upon my legs, 
by a concentrated force of gensd'armes. 
If one or all my limbs were dislocated in 
the struggle, or if I were carried off in- 
stantly to a madhouse, as I would rich- 
ly deserve, how much would that slab- 
sided Yankee, ducking and swinging a}x)ut 
there, concern himself? " No doubt, he 
would laugh at my simplicity, as he is 
doing now," I considered, glancing indig- 
nantly at my friend, who, with his body 
bent at a right angle, was giving convul- 
sive signs of inward mirth. 

While drawing these conclusions, I had 
been pacing back and forth in a highly 
dignified manner, with my hands thrust 
under my coat-tails, and my chin haugh- 
tily elevated. I was consequently not at 
all prepared for what ensued — namely, 
that when Mademoiselle Fanfan suddenly 
presented herself upon one knee, in my 
path, in the touchingly beseeching atti- 
tude of La petite Absinthe in the vaude- 


The Catastrophe at Vergailles. 


ville of Lajille reconnue. wo both came 
to tho ground together. I am afraid I 
began to say something wicked between 
my teeth; while picking myself up; but 
looking at Ma'mselle. a great revulsion 
took place in my nature ; for my bachelor's 
heart has a soil place in it, which is this 
— if a woman shed tears before me, I am 
a mere puppet in her hands from that 

** Oh ! " whimpered Mademoiselle, with 
her handkerchief to her forehead, "you 
dreadful, cruel, cruel man ! " 

" I cruel ! " returned T, dreadfully pale, 
I have no doubt. "Why, I would not 
have hurt you for tho world — not for all 

"Then why don't you ye-e-ell, and 
make me happy again ? " said Mademoi- 
selle, between laughing and crying, hold- 
ing up her left hand beseechingly. 

I was so overjoyed to see her laughing, 
when, for any thing I knew, she might 
fall down any moment in a faint, by reason 
of the wound my clumsiness had inflicted, 
that my resolutions were gone in a moment. 
I took the little hand in both of mine, to 
the great amusement of Alphonse, and got 
a tender squeeze in return, for every pro- 
mise I made. " I will even dance a war- 
dance, if it will make you feel better," I 
added, in the abundance of my gratitude. 

" Will you climb the rails 1 " murmur- 
ed Mademoiselle Fanfan. 

"And over! if you will feel bettor." 

" And ye-e-11 1 " which was Mademoi- 
selle's mode of pronunciation. 

"Like a Pottawattami — if you will 
only " 

Indeed, Mademoiselle was already bet- 
ter. She bade mo tie her handkerchief 
behind her ear, which I did with rather 
bungling fingers, and was not sorry to be 
told it was not tight cnougli, and to do it 
all over again. Then wo arranged tho 
remaining preliminaries, and took our 
places. Mine was opposite that chosen 
by Alphonse, with my back to the palace, 
some ten yards removed from the rails on 
that ,sido of the Coiir; Alphonse under 
cover of the parapet, dividing the latter 
from the Place d'Armcs, awaite<l the pro- 
per moment to throw his pouch and with- 
draw it by the cord attached ; Ma'msello 
hovered in the vicinity of the latter, reacly 
to convey his bidding. Had I been left 
to review the scene recorded above, and 
ponder on what I was about to do, per- 
haps r might have again thrown up my 
Me ; but the chief conspirator was too 
acute for that Little Fanfan came to me 
before I had been three minutes at my 
post, to tell me I might open the perform- 

ance as soon as I thought fit; ^^and 
ye-e-ll,^^ were her last words, spoken oa 
tiptoe into my ear, with a squeeze of Um 
hand, which I returned with interest It 
was by this time late twilight, and not 
only was the space between the Cour 
d'Honneur and the palace itself thronged 
with bourgeoise, blouses, gamine^ and 
the like; but the Place d'Armes alao 
swarmed with spectators of all gradea. 
Within the Cour three or four gens- 
d'armcs only remained; the requisite 
scaffolding had been erected, and the re- 
gular bill of fare might be served up at 
any moment No time was to be lost; 
and pulling my cap well over my eyes, 
and parting (he astonished crowd before 
me with both hands, I made for my ele- 
vated perch without more ado. 

Now, it had happened to me, earlj in 
my life, to be the familiar associate of a 
certain Seminole warrior, who had left hia 
ferocity behind him, it seemed, in tho 
hammock, and beguiled the hours of 
captivity by teaching us youngsters the 
mysteries of bow-and-arrow manufactura 
and exercise, and the manly accomplish- 
ment of the war-whoop in all its savage 
atrocity of sound. I became, for one, a 
great proficient in the latter art, as pur 
immediate household, to say nothing of 
tho neighbors, had good cause to knovr. 
I now endeavored to recall this dormant 
proficiency, and assume to myself^ for the 
time being, tho character of an Ainerican 
savage in his native wilds. In three 
bounds I had cleared the intervening 
space, upset all opposition, and overtopped 
the crowd. 

"Whoop!" I uttered, at the higheit 
pitch of my lungs: "AVah! Wah! 
Wh-o-o-p ! Wh-o-o-o-p-p ! " In short, mj 
blood was up, and being in for it, I deter- 
mined to excel. 

The confusion that ensued fully equal- 
led our hopes. Assuredly, there was not 
an eye, of the many thousand pairs con- 
gregated in the Place d'Armes, nor an ear 
to the remotest bound of the great ave- 
nues of Paris, St. Cloud, and the Sceauz, 
which failed to take in the sound, and to 
transfer its utmost of attention to my 
humble self. Some laughed, some (of the 
gentle sex) screamed, and some were 
frightened, no doubt — some were angry ; 
and, to crown all, the style of the thmg 
seemed to take wonderfully with the 
gamins at large, who reproduced the 
war-whoop with indifferent success from 
all quarters of the Place. Moreover, 
from every direction, gensd'armes ana 
emissaries of the police, were rushing to 
pounce upon the conspicuous author of 

1864.] The Conqueror's Grave. H 

Bat one of tender i^irit and delicate frame. 

Gentlest, in mien and mind, 

Of gentle womankind, 
Timidlj shrinking from the breath of blame ; 
One in whose ejes the smile of kindness made 

Its hannt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, 
Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade 
Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. 

Nor deem that when the hand which moulders here 
Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear. 

And armies mustered at the sign, as when 
Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East, — 
Gray captains leading bands of veteran men 
And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. 
Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave 
The victory to her who fills this grave ; 
Alone her task was wrought, 
^^ Alone the battle fought ; 

Q^ Through that long strife her constant hope was staid 

On GM alone, nor looked for other aid. 



She met the hosts of Sorrow with a look 
That altered not beneath the frown they wore. 

And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took, 
Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more. 

Ilcr soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath, 
And calmly broke in twain 
The fiery shafts of pain, 

And rent the nets of passion from her path. 
By that victorious hand despair was slain. 

With love she vanquished hate and overcame 

Evil with good, in her (Jreat Master's name. 

Her glory is not of this shadowy state. 

Glory that with the fleeting season dies ; 
But when she entered at the sapphire gate 

What joy was radiant in celestial eyes! 
How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung. 
And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung ! 
And He who, long before. 
Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, 
The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet. 
Smiled on the timid stranger from his scat; 
He who returning, glorious, from the grave, 
Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. 

See, as I linger here, the sun grows low ; 

Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. 
Oh gentle sleeper, from thy grave I go 

Consoled though sad, in hope and yet in fear. 
Brief is the time, I know. 
The warfare scarce begun ; 
Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won. 
Still flows the fount whose waters strengthened thee ; 

The victors' names are yet too few to fill 
Heaven's mighty roll ; the glorious armory, 

That ministered to thee, is open still. 




LeUera on International Copy-right, By IL C. 
Caret, author of *• Principles of Political Econ- 
omy," Ac Philiulelpbla: A. Hart 1853. 

WE have at last a formal, if not fonui- 
dable treatise on anti-copy-right, by 
a writer who.treats the subject in a can- 
did and gentlemanly manner, and wha 
though he argues scientifically in favor or 
robbery, does it on philosophical principles, 
and in a benevolent spirit, and not in that 
sordid tone which has distinguished all 
the arguments that we have hitherto heard 
from the opponents of international copy- 
• right. The difference l)ctween Mr. Carey 
and the other gentlemen whose cause he 
espouses is, that while they seem to have 
bcijn influenced by no better motive than 
that of personaj aggrandizement, he is 
ap{)arcntly a disinterested believer in the 
benevolence and justice of the measure 
which he advocates. Ho is, therefore, all 
the more dangerous, as an opponent, and 
the more entitled to consideration. Mr. 
Carey is a retired publisher, and the 
author of some remarkable essays on 
political economy ; he is the antagonist of 
the Ricardo school of political philoso- 
phers, an advocate of high protective duties, 
and a fluent and forcible writer. "We are 
very glad to meet him as an antagonist on 
the subject of copy-right, for he can make 
the most of his subject, and we are quite ' 
sure that no other writer will present it 
in a stronger light, or more happily illus- 
trate his theory by the extent and variety 
of the facts which he has brought to bear 
upon the question. His pamphlet appears 
at a most opportune moment, too, when 
the subject of international copy-right has 
assumed an importance which it has never 
had before, from the circumstance of the 
administration having declared itself in 
favor of a total abolition of the small duty 
now imposed on printed books. Mr. Carey 
could hanlly have had such an event in 
his mind, or the anticipation of it, and 
its too probable influence upon the in- 
terests of our native literature, or he 
would never have raised his voice, we im- 
agine, on the side of the anti-copy-right 
advocates. The great buglxiar in the eyes 
of Mr. Carey is centralization, and the 
fatal facility which a reduction of duties 
on printed books, even with the counter- 
acting effect which an international copy- 
right law would exert, in making London 
the metropolis of the United States, must 

be plain enough to so shrewd a thinker as 
Mr. Carey. He endeavors to prove, and 
we think successfnlly, that the union of 
Scotland and Ireland with England has 
destroyed the national literature of those 
two countries, and transferred the produc- 
ing power in literature which once mani- 
fested itself so strongly in Dublin and 
Edinburgh, to London. 

** Seventy years after the date of the Union, Edin- 
burgh was still a great literary capital, and coald then 
oflbr to the world the names of numerous men, <A 
whose reputation any country of the world might 
have boon proud : Boms and McPhcrson ; fiobortsMi 
and Hume; Blair and Karnes; Beid, Smith, and 
Stewart ; Monboddo, Play&ir, and Boswcll ; and nn- 
merous others, whoso reputation has surrived to the 
present day. Thirty-five years later, its prosa ftir- 
nished the world with the works of JeflVey and 
Brougham ; Stewart, Brown, and Chalmers ; Scott, 
Wilson, and Joanna Baillie ; and with those of many 
others whose reputation was Ices widely spread, among 
whom were Gait, Hogg, Lockhart, and Miss Ferrler, 
the authoress of Marriage. The Edinburgh Revitw 
and BlacktooocTs MagoMine then, to a great extent, 
rcprevonted Scottish men and Scottish modes of 
thought Looking now on the same field of action, 
it is difiicnlt, from this distance, to discover m<ae than 
two Scottish authors, Alison and Sir William HamiN 
ton, the latter all ' the more conspicuous and remariL- 
able, as he now,* says the Iforth British Recievc (Feb. 
1858), * stands so nearly alone in the ebb of literary 
acti>ity in Scotland, which has been so apparent daa- 
ing this generation." McCulIoch and Macaulay were 
both, I believe, born in Scotland, but in all else they 
are English. Gla^row has recently presented the 
workl with a new poet, in the person of Alexander 
Smith, but, unlike Ramsay and Bums, there ts nothing 
Scottish about him beyond bis place of birth. *It Is 
not,' says one of his reviewers, * Scottish scenery, 
Scottish history, Scottish character, and Scottish social 
humor, that ho represents or depicts. Nor Is there,' 
it continues, * any trace in him of that feeling of in- 
tenE«e nationality so common in Scottish writers. 
London,' as it adds, * a green lane«in Kent, an English 
forest, an English manor-house, there are the scenea 
where the real business of tho drama is transacted.' * 

*^ The Edinburgh Review has become to all intents 
and purposes an English journal, and Blackwood baa 
lost all th€^«i characteristics by which it was in former 
times distinguished from the magazines published 
south of the Tweed. 

^' Seeing these TmAa^ we can scarcely fail to agree 
with the review already quoted, in the admission 
that there are * probably fewer leading Individual 
thinkers and literary guides in Scotland at present, 
than at any other period of its history since tho early 
part of the last century,' since the day when Scotland 
itself lost its individuality. The same Journal informs 
us that * there is now scarcely an instance of a Scotch- 
man holding a learned position in any other country,' 
and farther says, that *Uio small number of names of 
literary Scotchmen known throughout Europe for 
eminence in literature and science is of itself snflSdent 

• Korth Brituh Rtriaw, Aug. 16U . 


lAterary Piracy, 


liilKnr Co how great an eztoat tha praient raoa of 
SeotcliaMi baye loat tha poridon which thoir ancoB- 

lonbald In tha worid of letters.*^ 

"Tha London Leader UX\a Ita read«n that *£nc:- 
hid b a pow«r made up of oonqueata orer nation* 
iMtiea ; * and It ia rUbt The nationality of Scotland 
bia diB^)peared ; and, however maeh it maj annoy 
ear Boottiah flricndat to have the energetie Celt sank 
taithe *bIow and nnlmpreasible* Saxon, such ia the 
feadency of Eag ll#h oentraliiation, erery where dc- 
sirucCtve of that national filling which Is eeaenti&l to 
pMgreaa in civilization. 

** if we look to Ireland, we And a stoitlar state of 
MuiffL Sevang yeara rinoe, that country was able 
ta ioriat npoA and to establish its claim f«>r an inde- 
, govemmeot, and, by aid of the measares 
1 adc^ted, was rapidly advancing. From that 
[ to the cloae of th > century, the demand Ibr 
booka Ibr Ireland was so gr^at as to warrant the re- 
ynbHearion of a huge portion of those produced in 
laglaiid. The kingdom of Ireland of that day gave 
li tha world sach men as Burke and Orattan, Moore 
nd Edgeworth, Curran, Sheridan, and Wellington. 
OaotraUzatton, however, demanded that Ireland 
ihoold beeome a province of England, and from that 
tfana ikminea and peatilenoea have been of frequent 
eeeoimioe, and the whole popuUtlon is now being 
«qielled to make room for the * slow and unimprea- 
iftla* Baxon raoa. Under these drcnmstances, it b 
jMttrr of email surprise that Ireland not only pro- 
daeaa no booka, but that she Aimishes no market for 
thoae produced by others. Half a century of Intor- 
Htleoal eopy-right has almoat annihilated both the 
p i a d ii t ew and the oonramen of books. 

* Paaaing towards EngUnd, we may for a moment 
look to Wales, and then, if we desire to find the 
flllKta of oentnllzation and Ita consequent abnentee- 
iim, in negleoted schools, ignorant teachers, decaying 
and decayed ehu^che^ and drunken clergymen with 
Immoral flocka, our ofc{)ect will be accompllslicd by 
rtodying tha pages of the Edinburgh Rttiew.X In 
•Mb a atata of things as is there described there can 
be little tendency to the development of intellect, and 
littla of eithar ability or inclination to reward the 
aatbora of books. In my next, I will look to Eng- 

Precisely such an effect as has been pro- 
duced in Dublin and Edinburgh Mr. 
Carey predicts for this country, in the 
erent of the passage of an international 
copy-right law whidi shall give to English- 
men the right to control their publications 
in this country ; an opinion in which we 
wholly differ from him ; but his argument 
becomes fearfully powerful, and the state 
of things he antiapatcs, an absolute cer- 
tainty in the absence of all duties and all 
oopy-right. Nothing can save the literary 
interests of this country, and all the na- 
tional interests connected with them, from 
otter destrucdon, but the passage of an 
international omy-right law, if the duties 
are to be abolisned on foreign books, and 
there seems bnt little doubt that such will 
be the ease. We may then give ourselyes 
Qp as literary dependents, and fall into the 
nmks with Edinburgh and Dublin, and 

acknowledge Paternoster Kow to be oar 
common intellectual centre. England now 
furnishes the greater part of our mental 
food, and it will then furnish the whole, 
excepting such as can be gathered from 
the daily newspaper. 

But lilr. Carey is so entirely mastered by 
his idea of centrahzation, and sees so clearly 
the whole world whirling in a maelstrom 
with London for its centre, that he can hard- 
ly see in any of the movements of social 
policy any thing else. This idea neutral- 
izes itself by making itself self-destructiTC^ 
not only does it swallow up all its sur- 
roundings, but it swallows itself. Mr. 
Carey proves that centralization is as de- 
structive to its own centre as to the ob- 
jects within its influence. 

** Centralization enables Mr. Dickens to obtain vaat 
anms by advertising the works of the poor authora by 
whom he is surrounded, meet of whom are not only 
badly paid, but Insolently treated, while even of those 
whose names and whose works are well known abroad 
many gladly become recipients of the public charity. 
In the Eonith of her reputation, I^y Charlotte Bnry 
received, as I am informed, but £200 (I960) for tha 
absolute copy-right of works sold for €7 00. 
Lady Blemlni^n, celebrated as she was, bad bnt 
fh>m three to four hundred pounds; and neither Mar- 
ryat nor Bulwer ever received, as I believe, the sell- 
ing price of a thousand copies of their books aa oom- 
pcnmtlon for the copy-rigbL$ Such being the ihcta 
in regard to well-known authors, some idea may be 
formed In relaUon to the compensation of those who 
are obscure. The whole tendency of the 'cheap 
labor' system, fo generally approved by Engliab 
writers, Is to destroy the value of literary labor by In- 
creasing tlie number of persons who m%ut look to tin 
pen for the moans of support, and by diminishing the 
market fur its products. What has been the effect of 
the system will now be shown by placing before yoo 
a list of the names of all the exlttlng British authora 
whose reputation can be rcgardnl as of any wide ex- 
tent, as follows:— 

Tennyson, Thackeray, Orote, McCnlloeh. 
Carlylo, Bulwer, Hocaulay, Hamilton, 

Dickens Albion, J. 8. Mill. Farraday. 

" This Ibt Is very small as compared with that pre- 
sented In the same field flvo-and-thlrty years alnee, 
audits difforence In weight b still greater in sumber. 
Bcott, the novelist and poet, may ocrtulnly be regarded 
as the counterpoise of much more than any one of 
the writers of fiction in this list Byron, Moora, 
Sogers, and Campbell enjoyed a degree of repaiation 
far exceeding that of Tennyson. Wellington, the his- 
torian of his own campaigns, would much outweigh 
any of the historians. Malthus and Blcordo were 
founders of a school tliat has greutly Influenced the 
poJlcy of the world, whereas McCnIlooh and Mill are 
bntdisdpleeln that school. Dalton, Davy, and Wol- 
laston will probably occupy a larger space In the hta- 
tory of science than Sir Michael Farraday, large even 
as may be that assigned to him. 

** Extraordinary as Is the existence of such a state Ot' 
things In a country claiming so much to abound in 
wealth. It Is yet more extraordinary that we look 
around in vain to see who are to replace even theae 

• Vmlik Britiih Rtvttw, Maj. IStt. 
t JLpfO, lao, art. -TlM Chwdi fai tki 

▼OL. III. — T 

t 8«« Blackwood's Maniin^ Sopt. 18*3. art. " Sc«ilno<l ■ioM lk« Unioa." 
_.-:_. « I Ti^j^ J |y^| ^„ CkfX, .\liuTj al hiuiMlf. 


Literary Piracy. 


when ag» or doatb shall withdrew them ttcm the 
m«rai7 world. Of all here named, Mr. Thackeny is 
the only one that has risen to repntation In the last 
ten years, and he is no longer yonng ; and even he 
eeeks abroad that reward for hia efforts which is 
denied to him by the 'cheap labor' system at 
homo. Of the others, nearly, if not qaite all, have 
been for thirty years before the worUl, and, in the 
natural course of things, some of them must dis- 
appear fh)m tlio stage of authorship, if not of life. 
If we seek their successors among the writers for 
the weekly or montly journals, we shall certainly 
fail to find them. Looking to the Reviews, we find 
ourselves forced to agree with the English Journalist 
who informs bis readers that ' it is said, and with 
apparent justice, that the quarterlies are not as good as 
they were.' From year to year they have leas the 
appearance of being the production of men who 
looked to any thing beyond mere pecuniary com- 
pensation for their labor. In reading them, we find 
ourselves compelled to agree with the reviewer, 
who regrets to see that the centralization which is 
hastening the decline of the Scottish universities is 
tending to cause the mind of the whole youth of 
Scotland to be 

^ *■ Cast in the mould of English universities, insti- 
tutions which, from their very completeness, exer- 
dso on second-rate minds an influence unfavorable 
to originality and power of thought'— J^or(4 British 
JSevieto, May 1858. 

** Their pupils are, as he says, struck *with one 
mental die,' than which nothing can be le» ikvonble 
to literary or scientific development'* 

• Like most men who ride a hobby Mr. 
Carey makes his nag centralization carry 
too heavy a load, and it breaks down un- 
der the weight of argument he imposes 
upon it AVhere there is free 
between nations, centralization becomes a 
necessity, and, not only a necessity, but a 
blessing ; there is but one way to prevent 
it, and that is by non-intercourse. The 
centralizing influences of England, which 
are felt so balefully all over India, have not 
yet been perceived by the Japanese ; but 
the time is near at hand when they too 
will begin to understand that they are in 
the circle of a maelstrom of which Jeddo 
is not the centre. It remains for us 
United Statesers to determine whether 
this great absorbing centre shall be on 
this side of the Atlantic or the other, whe- 
ther it shall be London, Paris, New- York, 
St. Louis or San Francisco. At present it 
is divided between London and Paris. 
London is the intellcetual and financial 
centre, and Paris is the centre of art and 
fashion. There is no reason why New- 
York, or some other American city, should 
not become the great centre of finance, 
fashion, literature and art, but a good 
many why it shoiiW. And, in fact, such 
a destiny can only be delayed, and not 
prevented by unwise legislation. The 
superiority of mind over matter will hard- 
ly be questioned, and wherever the mind 
of the world centres itself^ there all the 
material interests are sure to follow. We 

have, thus far, in spite of oar roleDdidc 
opportunities, prevented the United Staleaa 
from becoming the intellectaal centre o^ 
the universe, oy perversely violating th^s 
great law of national and individual proe— * 
perity, which gives to eveiy producer tli^ 
right to control the productions of his owes 
labor. We deny to the foreigner the rigb^ 
of property on our own soil, in his intel~ 
lectual productions, whereby we inflict ks 
great an injury on our own literary pro- 
ducers, as we should upon our manufao- 
turers of calicoes, if we permitted an in- 
discriminate robbery of foreign manu&o- 
tured goods of the same kin<L The cases 
are precisely analogous. But, hitherto the 
full effects of this evil have not been fel^ 
because the duty on foreign books has, to 
a certain extent though a very limited 
one, acted as a protection to the native 
literary producer. But this small pro- 
tection is now about to be destroyed, and 
the ruin of the literary interests of the 
nation must inevitably follow unless we 
have the counteracting effects of copy- 
right to foreigners. 

Mr. Carey very consistently attacks the 
principle of copy-right in all its bearings : 
he not only argues against international 
copy-right, but all copy-right ; and if some 
of his arguments are not very forcible, 
we are bound to concede to them the 
merit of great originality. We must also 
give him the praise of discarding that 
mean and despicable argument against 
copy-right, which many of its opponents 
have so industriously exploited, that act- 
ing justly would prove too costly. These 
sentiments are most creditable to Mr. 
Carey, although we r^ret to notice that 
be insensibly falls into the line of argument 
which he denounces in another part of 
his book. 

" Evil may not be done that good may come of it, nor 
may we steal an author's brains that our people may be 
cheaply taught To admit that the end Jostifles the 
means, would be to adopt the line of argument to often 
used by English speakers, in and out of Parliam«it, 
when they defend the poisoning of the Chinese people 
by means of opium introduced in defiance of their 
government, because it fkimishes revenue to India ; or 
that which teaches that Canada should be retained as a 
British colony, because of the &cility It aflbrds for 
the violation of our laws ; or that which would have 
us regard smugglers, in general, as the great reform- 
ers of the age. We stand in need of no such morality 
as this. We can afford to pay for what we want ; but 
even wore It otherwise, our motto here, and every 
where, should be the old French one : ^ FaiM ee qn* 
doy^ adtienne qttspourra*' — Act Justly, and leai-o 
the result to Providence. Before acting, however, we 
should determine on which side justice Ilea UnleM 
I am greatly in error, it is not on the side of inter- 
national copy-right" 

Mr. Carey states his argument agamst 


LUtrary Pkaey. 


oopy-T^ht after tko following &shioii, 
which is not orig;iiM] with him, except in 
the manner of expressing it 

•• For vbftt then Is eopj-iigbt given ? For the 
dothinf in whicli tlie body is prodaced to the world. 
Examine Mr. Bfaeanlny^s m&tory of England^ and 
jroo win ind that the body Is composed of what is 
•ommoo property. Not only have the facts been re- 
eoided by others, but the ideas, too, are derlTod firom 
the works of men who hare labored for the world wlth- 
oat neceiTf ng, and ftwqnently without the expectation 
of rectilvin;, any peennlary compensation for their 
Isbora. Mr. MacanUy has read mach and carofally, 
•ad b« has thus been enabled to acquire great skill in 
siranging and clothing his fiicts;butthe readers of 
ys books will And in them no contribution to positive 
knowledge. The works of men who make contribu- 
tteas of tliat kind are neoessarily controversial and dts- 
tssCcM to the reader ; for which reason they find fbw 
iwden, and never pay their authors. Turn, now, to 
Mur own anthors, Prescott and Bancroft, who have 
fbrniahed as with historical woii» of so great excel- 
lence, and yon will And a state of things precisely sim- 
ilar. They have taken a large quantity of materials 
•ot of the common stock, in which you, and I, and 
an of us have an interest ; and those materials they 
have so reelothed as to render them attractive of pnr- 
ehastrs; but this Is all they have dune. Look to Mr. 
W«bater*a works, and yon will And It the same. He 
was a great reatier. He studied the Constitution caro- 
Ailly, with a view to nnderstand what where the 
views of Its authors, and those views he reproduced 
In a dlffS^rent •aA more attractive clothing, and there 
Us work ende(L He never pretended, as I think, to 
Anmlsh the world with any new ideas ; and, if he had 
done so, be could have claimc<l no property in theoL 
Few now read the heavy volumes containing the 
speeches of Fox and Pitt They did nothing but re- 
I>n)dace Ideas that were common property, in such 
elothiug as answered the purposes of the moment 
Sir Robert Peel did the same. The world would now 
be Just as wise had he never lived, for he made no 
eontribatlon to the general stock of knowledge. The 
great work of Chancellor Kent is, to use the words of 
Jadge Story, but a new com bi nation and arrange- 
ment of ohl inateriaK in whidi the skill and Judg- 
ment of tlie author in tho selection and exposition, 
snd accurate use of tlie materials, constitute the basis 
of his rrpntation, as well as of his copy-right The 
vorid at large is the owner of all tlie facts that have 
been cullecteil. and of all the Ideas that have been de- 
duced fkvm them, and Its right In them is precisely 
Ibe sarao that the planter has In the bsle of cotton 
thst has been raised on bis plantation ; and the course 
uT prooeedinx of botli has, thus far, been precisely 
limllar ; whence I am induced to infer that, in botli 
oeca, right ban been done. When the planter hands 
bis eoCton to Uie spinner and the weaver, he does not 
•ay, * Take this and convert it Into cloth, and keep 
tbo cloth 'C but he does say, * Spin and weave this 
eoUon, and ftn* so duirg you shall have such interest 
in the cloth as will give you a fair compensation for 
your labor and skill, but when that shall have been 
pal<l, the dcth will be min«: This latter is precisely 
what society, the owner of fkcts and ideas, says to the 
Mthor : ' Take these raw materials that have been 
ciilloeted, put them together, and clothe them after 
yoiir own fiu^ldon, and for a given time wo will agree 
thnt nob<)4ly else shall present tliem in the same dreas. 
Dnring that time you may exhibit them for your 
own pmAt but at the end of that period the clothing 
'vili beeome common property, as the body now K 
it Is to tho eontribntions of your predecessors to our 

common stock that yon arakidebledflb»tbe power to 
make yonr book, and we leqntav yon, la your turn, to 
eontribnte towards the aogmentatloo ef the atoek 
thatlstobensedbyyoareueoeaeonw' This la Justice, 
and to grant more than this would be ii^vatke. 

** Let OS turn now, for a moment, to the ptodneen 
of works of Action. Sir Walter Scott had careftiUy 
studied Scottish and border history, and thus had 
Ailed his mind with facts preserved, and ideas pro- 
duced by others, which he reproduoBd in a diflisrent 
form. He made no contribution to knowledge. Bo, 
too, with our own very snoceeslhl Washington Irving. 
He drew largely upon the common stock of ideas, 
and dressed them up in a now, and what has proved 
to be a most attractive fbrm. So, again, with Mr. 
Dickens. Bead his Bleak IToute^ and yon will And 
tliat he has been a most carefbl observer of men and 
tilings, and has thereby been enabled to collect a gieat 
number of Au:ts thst he has dressed up in ditferent 
forms, but that is all he has done. He Is in the con- 
dition €i a man who had entered a large garden, and 
collected a variety of the most beautiful Aowers grow- 
ing therein, of which he had made a Ane bouquet 
The owner of the garden would naturally say to him : 
*The Aowers are mine, but the arrangement is yonm 
Tou cannot keep the bouquet but yon may smell it 
or show it Ibr your own proAt, for an hour or tw«^ 
but then it must come to me. If you profer it, I cm 
willing to pay you for your services, giving you a iUr 
compensation for yonr time and taste.* This is ex- 
actly what society says to Mr. Dickens, who makes 
such beantlfhi literary bouquets. What is right in 
the indi\idual, cannot be wrong in the mass of Indi- 
viduals of which society Is composed. Nevertheless, 
the author objects to this, insisting that he !s owner 
of the bouquet itself, although he has paid no wages to 
the man who raised the Aowers. Were he asked to 
do BO, he would, as I will show in another letter, re- 
gard it as leading to great injustice. 

The error of Mr. Carey is in supposing 
that the copy-right is granted for the ideas 
and facts contained in a book, instead of 
the " clothing," as he calls it, in which 
they are embodied. No book contains 
any thing essential to the welfare of man- 
kind, which any man may not nse for his 
own benefit. Any body may collate every 
essential fact contained in '^Bancroft^ 
History " or " Kent's Commentaries," 
make a book of them, using his own style 
of expression, and obtain a copy-right for 
them. The author of a book ei]joys no 
monopoly, such as the owner of a field 
of wheat does ; every body may use it, 
profit by it, improve upon it, and repro- 
duce it in another shape in spite of him. 
But the owner of the wheat retains for 
ever and to all time, absolute control and 
monopoly over his property. Mr. Carey 
says that the authors of books do nothing 
more than make use of ideas which are 
the common property of mankind, and 
therefore they are not entitled to owner- 
ship in the form in which they present 
them to the world. But, it is the form 
only which they claim the right of pro- 
perty in, and, unless that right be grant- 
ed to them, the ideas themselves, and the 


Literary Firacy, 


facts of history will never be collected to- 
fl;ether in a manner available to the world. 
if you kill the goose, it will lay no more 
golden eegs ; and, if yon take from the 
author tl^ means of living by his labor, 
his labor must ceasu, and the tribe of 
authors must become extinct 

Aniiher of M^ Carey's arguments 
againht the right of an author to his own 
productions is, we believe, original with 
himself; at least we have never seen it 
urged in the copy-right controversy. Be- 
cause Leibnitz, Descartes, Newton, Hum- 
boldt, and Bowditch were not enriched 
by their beneficent scientific labors, ho 
would deny the right of such trifiers as 
Irving, Dickens, Scott, and Cooper to the 
remuneration for their writings which the 
world has been so happy to make them 
in return for the pleasure which they have 
afforded. Mr. Carey insists that the 
agriculturist shall not be paid for his 
pears and pomegranates, because another 
agriculturist has failed to make a fortune 
out of a potato-field. The force of this 
reasoning we have not been able to appre- 
ciate. But, Mr. Carey shall himself state 
his own case: 

**TlM whole tondencj of the existing ajstem is to 
glv* tiM latyeBt rewird to thoee whoee Isbon are 
lighteet, and the smalleBt to thoee whose labon ere 
mostserere; and every extension of It most neoes- 
•.arilj look in that direcUon. The MytUrisi qfParU 
were a fbrtane to Eugene Sue, and UneU Tom't 
Ifttbin has been one to Mrs. Stewe. Byron had 2,900 
guineas fbr a rolnme of CKUde ffarotd^ aad Moore 
8^000 Ibr his LaUa Booth ; and yet a single year 
slienld have more than suflBoed for the prodaction of 
any one of them. Under a system of intemaUonal 
eopy^right, Damns, already so largely paid, woald be 
proteoted, whereas Thierry, who sacrifloed his sight 
to the gratiflcation of his thirst for knowledge, would 
not Iloraboldt, the philosopher par §aoeM&nce of 
the •ge, woold not, beoaose he fumishea his readers 
with ihlngSi and not with words alone. Of the books 
that reoord his obserrstions on this continent, bat a 
part haa^ I be1iev^ been translated into English, and 
of these bat a small portion has been pabllshed in this 
ooontry, although to be had without olaim for copy- 
right la England their sale hss been small, and can 
hAve done litUe more than pay the cost of translation 
and pabllcaUon. Had it been required to pay for 
the prlYilege of translation, but a small part of even 
those which have been translated woald probably 
have ever seen the light in any but the language of 
tlie aathor. This great man inherited a handsome 
property, which he devoted to the advancement at 
sclenoe, and what has been his pecanUry reward 
may be seen in the following statement derived from 
an address recently delivered in New-Tork:— 

•»* There are now living In Europe two very dis- 
tinguished men, barona, both very eminent in their 
line, both known to the whole civilixed world; one 
Ih Baron Bothschild, and the other Baron Humboldt; 
one distingaished for the accumulation of wealth, the 
oUier IbrUie accumulation of knowledge. What are 
the psasesslons of the philceopberf why, sir. I heard 
a gentlemaa whom 1 have seen here tab afternoon, 
say that on areccnt i4sit to Europe, he paid his re- 

spects to that distinguished pbiloeopher, and * 
mitted to an audienoei Ue found him, at Uu 
84 years, treeh and vigorous, in a (>mall room 
Mttuled, with a large deal table uncovered 
midst of that room, containing his books and 
apparatn& Adjoining this, was a small bed-r 
which he slept Here this eminent pliilosoi 
ceived a visitor fkrum the United 8tatea 1 
versed with him ; he spoke of his works. ' My 
said be, ' you will find in the adjoining Ubrar; 
am too poor to own a copy of them. I have 
means to buy a taU copy of my own worlu.^ " 

** After having furnished to the gentlemen v 
dnoo books more of the material of which U 
composed tlian has ever been furnished by ai 
mail, this Illustrious man finds himself st the 
life, altogether dependent on the bounty of tl 
sian government which allows him, as I be 
than five hundred dullars a year. In what 
now, would Humboldt be benefited by Intel 
copy-right? I know of none ; but it is very 
see that Dumas, Victor Hugo, nn<l Goor^ 
might derive from it a large revenue. In o 
tion of this view, I would ask you to rei 
names of the persons who urge most anxio 
change of system that is now proposed, and m 
can find in it the name of a single man who ] 
any thing to extend the domain of knowledge 
you will not Next look, and see if you do ih 
it the namcH of those who Aimish the world i 
forms of old ideas, and are laigely paid for i 
The most active advocate of internmtional ec 
is Mr. Dickens, who is said to realize $5( 
annum for the sale of works whose comp< 
little more than amusement for his leisoi 
In this country, the only attempt that has ; 
made to restrict the right of translation is 
now before the courts, for compensation 
privilege of converting into German a work 
yielded the laigest compensation that the v 
yet known for the same quantity of literary 

We are constantly told that regard to the 
of science requires that we should protect an< 
the rights of authors; but does science k 
such chdm for herselfT I doubt it Men w 
additions to science know well that they h 
can have, no rights whatever. Cuvier d 
poor, and all the copy-right that could hi 
given to him or Humboldt would not have 
either of them. Lsfdace knew well that 1 
work could yield him nothing. Our own I 
transUted it as a labor of love, and left bj 
the means required for its publication. Tli 
men who ai^vocate the interests of science ar 
men, who use the Diets and ideas fhmished 
tiflc men, paying nothing for their use. No 
tare Is a most honorable profession, and the g 
engaged in it are entitled not only to the ret 
consideration of their fellow-men, but nit 
protection of the law; but in granting it tt 
tor Is bound to recollect that Justice to the 
furnish the raw materials of the books, and 
the community that owns those raw maU 
quire that protection shall not either In poin 
or tim^ be greater than is required for g 
producer of books a full and fiiir compen 
hia labor.** 

Wo may as well remark, en f 
that the absurd story about Hum 
all trash ; his works intended for 
reading have been very popular, 
has reaped great profits from th 
he is about the most independent 


LUnwry Piractf. 


in existence, so far as his peeimiary cir> 
eomstsDces are concerned. 

The argument of Mr. Carey against 
international copy-rieht is not very dear- 
ly stated, but the rear of oentndization 
18 the pervading thought in his mind 
while discussing the subject. He con- 
tends that: 

** England 18 Cut beeomlog one great shop, and 
traders bare, In general, neither tinse nor disposition 
to eoltlvate llteratare. The little proprietors dla- 
appear, and the day laborers who soooeed them eaa 
Mltber educate their children nor pnrchase bookip 
The great proprietor is an absentee, and he has little 
time tax either literature or science. From jear to 
year the population of the kingdom becomes more 
tad more dirided into two great classes ; the very 
poor, with whom food and raiment require all the 
proceeds of labor, and the rerj rich who pro^Mr by 
the cheap labor system, and therefore eschew the 
«tiidy of prindpleiL With the one class, books are 
an unattainable luxury, while with the oUier the 
abssaee of leisure proTonts the growth of desire to 
porchaae them. The sale is, therefore, small ; and 
heaee it is that authors are badly paid. In strong 
eootrast with the limited sale of English books at 
home, is the great extent of sale here, ss shown in the 
ftiOowing ikcts: Of the oeUro editton of the Modem 
British Essayista, there lutve been sold in five years 
Bo less than 80,000 Tolamesw Of MscauUy's Misoel- 
IsDiea, S ToIsL 12mo^ the sale has amounted to 60,000 
Tolnmefl. Of Miss AguiUr's writing^ the sale, in two 
yean, has been 100,000 Tolumes. Of Murray's 
Eneyelopedia of Geography, more than 50,000 vol- 
nmes have been sold, and of McCulloch*s Commercial 
Dictionary, 10,000 volumes. Of Alexander Smith's 
Poema, the sale, in a few months, has reached 10,000 
eopiesL The sales of Mr. Thackeray's works bss 
been quadruple that of England, and that of Uie works 
of Mr. Dickens counts almost by millions of volumes. 
Of Bleak House, in all its various forms— in news- 
papers, magazines, and volumes— It has already 
amounted to sevenl hundred thousands of copiea 
Of Bulwer*s last novel, since it wss completed, the 
isle has, I am told, exeeeded 8S.00a Of Thiere's 
rreneh Revolution and Consulate, there have been 
ield 8i,000, and of Montagu's edition of Lord Baoon'b 
works 4,000 copiea. 

*" If the sales of booths were as great in Enarland as 
they are here, English authors would be abundantly 
paid. In reply it will be said their works are cheap 
here because we pay no copy-right For the pay- 
ment of the aatltors, however, a very small sum 
would be required, if the whole people of EngUmd 
•onld afford, as they should be able to do, to purchase 
books. A oontribotion of a shilling per head would 
giro, aa has been shown, a sum of almost eight millions 
of dollarv sufficient to pay to fifteen hundred salaries 
aeariy equal to those of our secretaries of SUte. 
Centralization, however, destroys the market for 
booka, and the sale la, therefore, small ; and the few 
tuoceMflil writers owe their fortunes to the collection 
of large coutributions made among a small number 
of readers; while the mass of authors live on, as did 
poor Tom Hood, ftrom day to day, with scarcely a 
b<^ of improvement in their condition.*' 

And, therefore, because England does 
not suffidently reward her authors, and 
because we rwui their books more than 

their own countrymen do^ are wo absoIveJ 
from all necessity of pavmg them for the 
use of their property. This is the extent of 
Mr. Carey's argument, so &r as we have 
been able to master it 

We regret very much that he leaves 
the Prince of Denmark out of his play of 
Uanilet ; for, after all, the main question 
is untouched in his letters, and that as- 
pect of the subject which bears the mofct 
important feature for us. he does not 
present to us. What is the legitimate 
effect of the competition now winged be- 
tween our own authors, and the unpaid 
authors of Europe 1 If tho '• cheap labor " 
of England has such a deadly influence 
upon our manufacturinp: prosperity as 
Mr. Carey contends, what must be the 
effects of the unpaid labor with which our 
literary men are brought in direct com- 
petition ? They are woil known ; and 
Mr. Carey himself exhibits them in a Tcry 
startling manner in the statistics he fur- 
nishes of the republication in this country 
of foreign books, all of which might as 
well have been produced here. But, the 
gi«at evil of our being dependent, and 
mental vassals of England, is not so much 
tliat it transfers the labor market frofA 
tliis country to Europe, and confers the 
reputation upon foreigners which our own 
people might enjoy; but it places the 
whole mind of the nation at the mercy of 
foreigners, and permeates the mental con- 
stitution of our people, with thoughts, 
sentiments, ideas, and aspirations foreign 
to our true interests and detrimental to 
the growth and expansion of American 
ideas and democratic sympathies. No 
better argument could be brought forward 
to sustain the claims of international 
copy-right than the formidable display 
which Mr. Carey makes of the statistk^ 
of original publications in this country, 
intended by him to servo as a proof that 
no protection is needed by our authors. 

** Every body mutt learn to read and write, and 
every body mtut therefore have books ; and to this 
uoiversality of demand it is due that tke sale of those 
required (br early edacation la so Imniciise. Of the 
works of Peter Parley It counts by millions ; but if 
we take his three historical books (pric« 75 cents each) 
alone, we And that It amounts to lK*twocn half a mil- 
lion and a million of volumes. Of Qoodrlch*s Unite<i 
States it has been a quarter of a million. Of Morsels 
Geography and Atlas (50 centji) tlie sale It said to be 
no less tlian 70,000 i>cr annum. Of Abbot's hlstorlei^ 
the Bsle is said to have already been more thno 
400,000, while of Emerson's Arltlimetic and Reader it 
eonnta almost by millions. Of MitehelPs several 
geogrsphles it is 400,000 a year. 

** In other branches of education the same state of 
things is seen to exl.^t Of the Boston Academy^ 
Cf>lleetion of Sacre<l Mosie, the sale haa exceeded 
600,000, and the aggregate sale of flro books by the 


Literary Piracy, 


tune anthor ha probablj exceeded a million, and the 
price of tbeee Is a dollar per volame. 

** AU these make, of oourse, demand for booka, and 
banoe it i* that the sale of Anthonys series of daasics 
(averaging $1) amoant^ as I am told, to certainly not 
leas than 00,000 volumes per annum, while of the 
dawScal Diditmttry of the same anthor ($4) not 
leas than 80,000 have been sold. Of liddell and 
Sootfs Grtek I^ericon ($5,) edited by Prot Drisler. 
the sale has be<>n not less than 8ft,000, and probably 
mnch larger. Of Webster's 4to. Dictionary (|6) it 
has been, I am assured, 60,000, and perhaps even 
80,(«00 ; and of the royal 8vu. one ($8 OOX 850,00a Of 
Bolmarls French school books not lest than 150,000 
volnmes have been sold. The number of books used 
In the higher schools-^tcxt-books In philosophy, 
ohemiatry, and other branches oi sdenoe, is exceed^ 
In^y great, and it would be easy to prodnoe nnm- 
ben of which the sale is fh>m five to ten thoosand per 
annum ; but to do so would occupy too mnch space, 
and I must content myself with the few fkcts already 
given in regard to this department of Uterahxre.** . . 
**0f all American authors, those of school-books 
esceptad, there Is no one of whose books so many 
have been circulated as those of Mr. Irving; Prior to 
the publication of the edition recently issued by Mr. 
Putnam, the sale had amounted to some hundreds of 
thousands; and yet of that edition, selling at |1 25 
per volume, it has already amounted to 14i,000 vols. 
Of Vhelt Tbm, the sale has amounted to 9901,000 copies, 
s partly in one, and partly in two volumee, and the 
total number of volumes amounts probably to about 

Prtetjnr90l, VUmmu*. 

Of the two works of MIsa Warner, 

Qneechy, and the Wid^ Wide 

World, the price and sale have 

been $ 88 104,000 

Fern Leaves, by Fanny Fern, in six 

months 1 85 45,000 

Reveries ot a Bachelor, and other 

booka. by Ik Marvel ... 1 95 70,000 
Alderbrook, by Fanny Forester, 8 

volSL 00 88,000 

Northnp*s Twelve Tears a Slave . 1 00 20.000 
Novels of Mrs. Ilentz, in three years 68 98,000 

M^or Jones*s Courtship and Travela 00 81,000 

Salad for the Solitary, by a new aa- 

tbor, in five months ... 1 95 6,000 
IIeadley*s N^Mleon and his Mar- 
shals, Washington and his Oene- 

rala, and other works 1 95 200,000 

Stephens's Travels In Egypt and 

Greece 87 80,000 

Stephens's Travels In Yucatan and 

Central America ... 9 60 60,000 

Kendairs Expedition to Santa Fe . 1 25 40,000 
Lynch's Expedition to the Dead 

Sea,8vo. 8 00 16,000 

Ditto Ditto 12ma 1 95 8,000 

Western Scenes S 50 14,000 

Young's Science of Government 1 00 12,000 

Seward's Life of John Quiney 

Adams 1 00 80,000 

Frost's Pictorial Illstoiy of the 

World, 8 vols. 9 50 60,000 

Sparks's American Biography, 25 

vols. 75 100,000 

EncyolopHMlU Americana, 14 vols. 2 00 280,000 
Orlswold's Poets and Proee Writers 

of America, 8 vols. ... 8 00 21,000 
Bamea' notes on the Gospels, Epls- 

tict,J^,11vx>!8. ... 75 800,000 


1 96 
1 60 
1 OQ 



10 OQ 

16 OO 


Aiken's Christian Minstrel, in two 


Alexander on the Psalms, 8 vola. 
Bulst's Flower Garden Directory 
Cole on Fruit Trees 

** Di8ea.oes of Domestic Animals 
Downing's Fruits and Fruit Treea 
** Rural Essays 

** Landscape Gardening . 

Cottage Residences 
** Country Ilomes . 
Mahan's Civil Engineering 
Leslie's Cookery and Receipt-books 
Guyot's Lectures on Earth and Man 
Wood and Bache's Medical Dispen- 

Dunglison's Medical writings, in all 


Pancoast's Surgery, 4ta . 
Rayer, Ricord, and Moreau's Sur- 
gical Works (translations) . 
Webster's Works, 6 vo]& . 
Kent's Commentaries, 4 vols. 

'* Next to Chancellor Kent's work 
on Evidence, 8 vols., |16 60; the sale of « 
been exceedingly great, but what has been I 
I cannot say. 

**0f Blatchford's General Statutes of N«f 
local work, price $4 50, the aale has been 8,01 
to almost 80,000 of a simiUr Work tar Um 

^'IIow great is the sale of Judge Story** 1 
be judged only ttom the fkct that the copy-i 
yleldA,and for years past has yielded, n 
$8,000 per annum. Of the sale of Mr. ] 
works little is certainly known, but It cam 
derstand, have been less than 160,000 volnm 
of Mr. Bancroft's History has already rlaeii, 
to 80,000 oopi<M, and I am told it Is oonaldenl 
and yet even that is a sale, for such a wari( 

** Of the works of Hawthorne, Longfellow 
WiUis, Curtis Sedgwick, and numerooa ol 
sale is exceedingly great ; but, as not even aa 
mation to the true amount can be offered, I n 
It to you to judge of it by comparison wltl 
less popular authors above enumerated. I 
of these cases, beautifhlly illustrated editl 
been published, of which large numbMS h 
sold. Of Mr. Longfellow's volume there li 
no less than ten editiona. These various : 
probably suffice to satiaiy you that this oov 
sents a market for books of almost every d« 
unparalleled in the wiwld.'* 

If 8uch a gratifying array of ht 
be made under the present systen 
might we not ezpec^ if our natire i 
were not brought into direct com] 
with the pirat^ works of foreignc 
the mental demands of our peep 
answered by our own writers! 

To what cause must we attribi 
startling facts, that, in this country 
the taste for music is uniyersal. 
there are more pianofortes manufi 
than in any other part of the woi 
where musical artists receive the 
rewards, we cannot boast of one i 
composer of eminence ? that whei 


Puns and Punsters. 


to FVuoOi we most liberally support theat- 
rical establishments, we camiot boast of 
one dramatic author ? that where we pa^ 
xoore than any other people for artistic 
finery, we can boast of no ornamental 
artists, and import nearly eyeir thing that 
ministers to our loye of art ? To what 
cause must we, or can we, attribute these 
anomalous facts but to the want of a law 
which shall secure to the composer, the 
omamentalist, and the dramatist a right 
of property in the products of genius and 
industry? English manufacturers had 
the shrewdness to see that while they en- 
joyed the priyilege of robbing French 
artists of their designs, they could never 
have a class of designers of their own, and 
that the French manufacturers would 
always excel them in the novelty and 
el^ance of their ornamental goods. The 
English government, therefore, gave a 
copy-right to French artists in their 
designs for calico patterns, and all 
other ornamental work, and immediately 
there was a perceptible improvement in 
British ornamental manufiictures ; under 
the healthful influence of their registry 
law, their manu&cturing interests have 
continued to improve, and their ornamental 
artists to increase. Under the operation 
of the law which prevented an American 
citizen from owning a foreign built vessel, 
the art of ship building has flourished 
among us until we now stand at the head 

of all the worid in that great branch of 
manu&cturing industry. John Ruskin, 
who is good authority on such a subject, 
pronounces a ship the most beautiful and 
no blestof all the works of man's ingenuity ; 
and, if we can excel all the world in the 
greatest of all the arts, what is to prevent 
our attaining to equal excellence in the 
lesser arts of composing operas, writing 
dramas, and designing calico patterns and 
paper hangings ? If we can build our own 
ships, why cannot we write our own books? 
There is no other reason, than the absence 
of an international copy-right to protect 
our intellectual labors from the destruc- 
tive competition of— not cheap labor, but 
pirated manufactures. 

When we commenced writing this ar- 
ticle we had only the newspaper reports 
of the measure proposed by the adminis- 
tration in relation to the duty on books ; 
we find, since, that it is proposed to admit 
free of duty only editions printed previous 
to 1830, which, of course, would not have 
the disastrous effects we have anticipated 
from an entire reduction of all duties on 
books and periodicals. It is proper to 
add, too, that Mr. Carey's Letters are ad- 
dressed to Senator Cooper of Pennsyl- 
vania, in opposition to the international 
copy-right treaty with Great Britain, 
which was sent to the Senate by Presi- 
dent Fillmore. 


r) sneer down puns is quite the mode, 
nowadays. Dr. Johnson's alliterative 
antithesis between the punster and the 
pickpocket is in every one's mouth. Not 
only serious persons, but true jovial jokers 
join in the onslaught Whoever lets fall 
a pun, is bound, in good breeding, to be 
ashamed of it. Dictionary-makers, in echo 
of the popular voice, define a pun as a 
"play upon words," "a low and vulgar 
species of wit," &c 

In this single point, writers on the na- 
ture of wit and humor agree as far as 
philosophers ever can. Addison abuses 
puns roundly. Hazlitt damns them with 
faint praise. Campbell begs pardon for 
descending so low as to mention them. 
And even Sydney Smith, in some youth- 
ful lectures, must needs have his fling at 
what he was all his life making. That 

the prince of modem punsters should 
afiect to despise his subjects, should put 
weapons into the enemy's hands, and com- 
pletely falsify Swift's saying, " that they 
only deride puns who are unable to make 
them," was a blow too much. 

To tilt against such champions seems a 
little presumptuous. But to the true 
knight, what matters the odds ? The more 
desperate the better, if so be he show 

To cross spears, however, at once; 
what, as far as any exists, is the main 
charge against puns ? Under what pre- . 
text do self-appointed judges condemn 
them to transportation for life into the 
Botany Bay of false wit? "Pimning is 
the wit of words," says Sydney Smith, 
says the lexicographer, says the general 
voice. That simple remark with the quo- 


Puna and Puiuten. 


tation from Johnson, is thought to settle 
the question, though the Great Bear of 
literature, it must be remembered, did not 
condemn puns in the large, but only puns 
on men's names. 

What now is meant by the wit of 
words ? In one sense all wit, spoken or 
written, is such ; for without words it 
could not exist This, of course; but 
more is true of wit and humor. Amusing 
ideas have more or less merit create more 
or less pleasure, according as they are 
domiciled in good or bad words and 
phrases. A story which is, in one per- 
son's mouth, melancholy as a price-current, 
in another's will be provocative of infinite 
mirth. What is meant by murdering a 
good joke, missing the point, and kmdred 
expressions? Clearly the want of the 
best words in the best places. Give an 
ordinary man the facts and ideas of a 
scene of Dickens, or a hit of Sheridan, or 
Swift ; let him perceive, as far as possible, 
without the author's words, its full force, 
and see what he will make of it Who- 
ever tries the experiment will admit that 
words have something to do with all 
pleasantry ! 

With poetry the case is the same. It 
would be the easiest thing in the world to 
spoil many lines in Milton, Wordsworth, 
or Byron, by changing a word or a phrase 
for its apparent synony me. Nor is this "^e- 
licit€U " of language the least excellence 
of any good prose. And, in conversation, 
though the same thoughts arc in a dozen 
heads, the one who expresses them best 
wins the attention. " On a word," sa3's 
Landor, "turns the pivot of the intel- 
lectual world.'' Words, without doubt, 
are the great means of literary or collo- 
quial success. The difference between 
men is less in their ideas than in their 
power of bringing them out 

Nowhere is this truth more striking 
than in wit and humor. IIow much 
finish, and force, and graphic power, does 
choice language give ! It brightens and 
points the witticism. It excites a pleasing 
surprise and concentrates it into flashes. 
It raises and poises the attention, and 
brings it to bear at the precise moment, 
with the precise force required. It makes 
every form in which Protean wit shows 
itself just the type of its species, whether 
its excellence lies in delicacy, or strength, 
or grotesqueness. In wit, if any where, 
words are the *• incarnation of thought." 
Without the wit which lies in them, what 
a scurvy appearance would that of ideas 

It is not apparently intended to attribute 
this crowning grace and super-excellence 

in a high degree to pons. ^Tho wH of 
words," says Sydney Smith, " is miwrably' 
inferior to the wit of ideas." From this 
we should gather that the pun, in his 
judgment, is the wit of words as such, 
viewed simply as unmeaning characters or 

That wit should live on such chaff, at 
first blush, seems unlikely. But, while 
we ponder the subject, ragged troops of 
acrostics, anagrams, rebuses, charades, 
&c., limp and shuffle into the mind. But^ 
though these come under the newspaper 
head of Wit and Humor, they have bat 
slight claim to the name. Marianne may 
be silly enough to be gratified that tlw 
initial letters of eight lines of rhjrme 
should spell her name ; but what pleas- 
antry is there in the fact, unless, indeed, 
in the tableau which fancy creates of the 
poor poet cudgelling his brains by the 
hour? As for the tribes of anagramS| 
charades, riddles, and such small deer, we 
heartily wish they were lost tribes. The 
Sphinx and Solomon made the only good 
ones extant. Modem ones smell of the 
lamp. The humor of most of them re- 
sembles that of a mathematical problem — 
showing ingenuity and exercising one's 
wits, but not over and above amusing. 

A trifle better is the wit Of doable 
rhymes, which, by their odd soimd, tackle 
the ear hugely. We are tempted to read 
and re-read them, as we are to awaken 
and rc-a waken a lusty echo. In alliter- 
ation, too, the wit lies wholly in the 

Little more, we confess, can be said, 
for quasi-puns, quibbles, lame of a limb, 
mere word-catching, funny neither in 
themselves, nor in the circumstances un- 
der which they appear, simple proofs that 
syllables pronounced alike are sometimes 
spelt differently, lifeless entities in the 
power of any one to make, and of no one 
to laugh at On the same level stands a 
large class of puns (and other jests as 
well), which are in their dotage, their 
meaning all oozed out, but haunting cer- 
tain minds like ghosts. We have a friend 
who never fails to greet us with a pun on 
our name. We do not account him a 
marvel of humor. But why confound 
the pun proper with its poor relations t 
It is not, of necessity, a mere clashing of 
sounds. It is as legitimate a vehicle of 
wit, as any other. The difference lies, 
not in its essence, but in the means of in- 
fusing its essence into the mind ; and it is 
this means, which has thrown it into dis- 
grace. Mankind always judge a great 
deal by costume, and the dress of a pun, 
any beggar can purchase. Still it may 


Pun$ and Pwuten. 


dathe a royal aoul. A good pan cannot 
&il to oontain some wit of ideas; that 
men are only too apt to fix their minds on 
the words does not alter the fact; for that 
is their custom in all matters, nor does 
Sjdney Smith deny our position. "A 
pan," says he, '* should contain two dis- 
Uoct meanings. In the notice which the 
mind takes of these two sets of words" 
(i. e., of their meanings), " and in the 
florpriso which that excites, the pleasure 
consists." Resemhlances in words as to 
aound, apart from their meaning, neither 
sorprise nor please ; we meet with such 
erery day without the faintest smile. In 
puna, as in other facetise, the humor hangs 
on the more or less surprising resem- 
blances in ideas. 

A pun is like the old eod Janus — the 
exjHPessions on the two laces contrasting 
fery funnily. Sometimes it is even an ideid 
Cerberus, uttering a " leash of thoughts " 

It grieves us much to see puns meet 
with such shabby treatment as they do, 
when we think what rich and delicate hu- 
mor, what sharp or crushing wit — nay, 
what true pathos has spoken through 
them* Take one of Lamb's puns as an 
instance. He is chatting with a party of 
his friends over his glass. Disturbed by 
a dog howling without in the storm^ some 
one benevolently proposes to let him in, 
•' VHiy," stutters Lamb, " grudge him his 
vhine and water?" A most palpable 
pun ; but is the wit wholly in words ? 
Does the whole force of the jest lie in the 
double enUndre, between two words or 
two phrases ? Is it not rather a complete 
web of humor, strand crossing strand, 
thread twisted with thread 1 The provok- 
ing seriousness of rebuke ; the queer re- 
oondling of opposites ; the sudden sur- 
prise; we jingling together of extreme 
ideas; the transcendontly hospitable in- 
ho^itality — these and more go to make 
it irresistible. The dog were no gentle- 
man, if he was not, after that, quite con- 
lent with his positron. 

A very serious diplomatist, describing 
a picture of the animals leaving the arl^ 
spoke of the strange effect produced by 
the little ones going first, and the ele- 
phants waddling in the rear. " Ah, no 
doubt," said Canning, "the elephants, 
wise fellows, staid behind to pack up their 
trunks." Is it the expression which 
amases one here, or the thoughts express- 
ed, the picture sketched ? It is so natu- 
i-al to be delayed by trunk-packing, and 
the notion of trunk grows so readily out 
of that of elephant, that there is a mo- 
mentary confusion in the mind — now a 

forgetting of the nominatiye, now of the 
verb ; a whimak^l peiplezity as to what 
was done and how; and a surprising suc- 
cession of dissolving views of the scene 
in the ark. Puns would not seem then 
to be always mere word-wit. 

This could, however, be proved by the 
testimony of their bitterest maligners. 
They belie their own theory by inadvert- 
ently quoting puns among their examples 
of true wit Thus Sydney Smith, in this 
very lecture from which we have quoted 
so much, repeats with approbation, the 
remark of Voltaire, that "the adjective 
is the greatest enemy of the substantive, 
though it agrees with it in gender, num- 
ber, and case." The point of the anti- 
thesis is as plain a pun as ever skipped 
on two legs. So Uazlitt gives, as the 
"finest example of metaphorical wit," 
Sheridan's bon mot on Mr. Addington's 
keeping his seat after Pitt had retired 
from the cabinet : " He (Pitt) remained," 
said Sheridan. " so long on the treasury 
bench, that, like Nicias in the fable, he 
left the sitting part of the man behind 
him." Metaphorical or not, the pun is 
not to be questioned. In common minds 
the confusion of ideas on this subject is 
still more striking. We asked a man 
once who was abusing puns, what he 
thought the best joke in a collection of 
good sayings. To our surprise, he select- 
ed an old and poor pun. Into such in- 
consistencies those are apt to fall, who 
would prove the pun "vox ct pra)tcrea 
nihil." They forget that the adjectives, 
good, biid, better, and worse, apply to 
distinctions among puns as well as among 
other pieces of pleasantry. They argue, 
like those who would forbid the manufac- 
ture of paper, because it is often covered 
with worthless ideas. They commit a 
mistake, the opposite of that of the old 
painter : by supposing the curtain to be 
the picture itself. 

Thus much speculatively in answer to 
the charge against puns. But after all, 
the use of criticism is not to tell us whe- 
ther we ought to be pleased, but rather 
why we are pleased. The pleasure caused 
by a pun will, we presume, be as great, 
whether the wit be proved to lie in 
words or ideas. Theories go hang when 
a good joke comes round. Who stops to 
inquire whether what makes him laugh 
is true or false wit ? Who cares from 
what source the pleasantry flows ? The 
laugh answers all questions. 

What is the world's practical opinion of 
puns? Who, in the first place, have 
sanctioned them by their example ? 
Passing over the many wise, thoughtful^ 


Pum and Punsten, 


gentle, and h-ue souls, who live by their 
humor embodied in books or floating in 
tradition, great names are not row. 
Gsesar was the chronicler of Cicero's 
puns. Burke was a notorious punster. 
Homer's pun on '* cutis" appears to have 
heartily amused the old blind bard. 
Even Dr. Johnson, the most inveterate 
of pun-haters, was more than once guilty, 
and of very petty crimes, too. Whenever 
wisdom dismounts from her high stool, 
with a mind to have a good time, she falls 
to making puns. 

Spite of all that is said — and has been 
for 80 many years — puns still hold their 
own. Round college grates, they are al- 
ways going off, like chestnuts roasting in 
the embers: at grave college suppers, 
graduates of many years standing forget 
care and dignity in a brisk pun, and a 
quick gush of laughter. Now and then the 
pun pops up its head from the stagnant 
level of the toasts and speeches of a poli- 
tical dinner. In the best society, where 
the pickpocket rarely appears, two-edged 
words continue to cut through the con- 
ventional crust. A knack at punning is 
invaluable to a social being. Who can- 
not call to mind some pun which started 
a circle from the stupor of silence ; or 
gave a new turn to a compliment, or a 
remark on a threadbare subject; or 
turned the flank of a troublesome conver- 
sation ; or gave a keen edge to truth or 
its quietus to falsehood ; or, above all — 
there's nothing like it for that — reminded 
a dignitary that he was human? Not 
only by the domestic fireside, not only on 
gilk-and-broadcloth evenings, are puns 
frequent companions, but they even ven- 
ture into the office or the counting room. 
They seem afraid to go nowhere. As 
they came into the world with language, 
80 they seem to be as universal. And, 
we may rest assured that so long as lan- 
guage retains its present character, so 
long as fun and jollity are kind enough 
to stay on earth, puns will continue to bo 
made and punsters to run at large. Nor 
are we quite ready yet to give up pim- 
ning. Wit gives too keen a relish to life, 
for us to part easily with any species. 
We do not enjoy life any too much. 
Isaak Walton's neighbor, who was " too 
busy to laugh," lives next door to many 
Americans. Make him laugh, by hook 
or by crook, and you bless him. Well 
says Horace Smith : " The gravest bird is 
an owl, the gravest beast is an ass, and 
the gravest man is a blockhead." 

What a Godsend is laughter! The 
fountain of youth and happiness, the com- 
fort in trouble, the defence agamst coun- 

terfeits of all sorts, the great sal 
and crown of life ! To say all at o 
Lamb's words, ** a good laugh dea 

No : wo cannot dispense with th 
In every way in which wit can dc 
it does it. To impasture it is th* 
spear of Ithuriel. Gravity and sal 
make way for it ; and smiles are ii 
nue. A single pang of pain rem( 
single thought of pleasure given, 
make us slow to banish the cause, 
when we think of some puns, so 1 
sweet and kindly humor, as to hav 
to more than one in care and troub 
a glimpse of blue sky or of flowei 
weary and worn needle-woman — w 
well welcome the author of such 1 

But he who can, must not be confo 
with him who will, make puns. T 
tential is a great aeal better than 1 
finitive mood among punsters, 
shall we say of the wag proper, th 
ling, the joker of small jokes, th( 
who, feeling bound to keep up a chi 
by ill luck foisted upon him, is i 
driving his yoked syllables into n 
" It is good," says that most entert 
of writers, old Thomas Fuller, " to 
a jest, but not to make a trade of jet 
The Earl of Leicester, knowing that 
Elizabeth was much delighted to 
gentleman dance well, brought the i 
of a dancing school to dance befor 
" Pish," said the queen, " it is his i 
sion ; I will not sec him." She lil 
not where it was a master-qualit 
where it attended on other perfoi 
The same may be said of jesting, 
truth is, the mere dancer does not 
like a gentleman nor the mere p< 
pun like a vrit Who would not 
have seen Epaminondas playing c 
harp, than Dionysius, his master? 
can distinguish between accomplish 
where they serve for relaxation and 
for the main business of life. 

Keeping this distinction in min 
can see whence the notion has arise: 
any one can make puns, and that bn 
men are the most likely to make 
But we must not forget that it i 
thing to pun and quite another t 
well. By a constant perusal ol 
Miller and of those parts of the qf 
book where words of a similar soun 
gregate, by confining the attention 1 
lablcs and to the cold relations be 
ideas they suggest, one may make 
and after sufficient explanation ooi 
the ladies. Like success will folio 
derotkm in other species of wit and fa 


Puns and Punsters. 


To a certain point by care and assiduitj, 
any one, we suppose, at all quick, may rise. 
At all quick, we say ; for, it is to be ob- 
served, that if men seemingly brainless 
ire in the habit of letting puns loose, it is 
not in consequence of their want of brains. 
By no means ; nothine good, nothing de- 
cently bad ever came from that. Another 
cause must be at work ; usually, what 
brains there are club together in the busi- 
ness of jesting. This is not difficult, as 
the partners are few and weak. From 
the same reason, this class of persons are 
apt to have their wits about them, and by 
practice increase their natural agility in 
leaping from one odd thought to another. 
Besides, an out of the way manner and a 
reputation support them throueh many 
Allures. The process is similar by which 
skill in any other species of pleasantry is 
obtained ; for we cannot think that weak 
minds take to punning alone, or chiefly. 

Natural or acquired quickness of wits 
most have something to do with success in 
panning ; else why are puns so frequently 
spoiled in the repetition or so slowly 
taken ? How few ladies can at once take 
a good pun ! Even the wives of auction- 
ttn and of constant jokers, after years of 
practice, can do little more than laugh in 
the right place at the old family jests. 

Can any thing be said in favor of the 
poor punsterling who carries on his trade 
in season and out of season, in place and 
out of place 1 He is witty only now and 
then ; he is a bore ; he has no undercur- 
rent to buoy up his bubbles ; he is a mere 
air tube, and one of the most useless of 
beings. Should he not be forbidden so- 
ciety 7 What place can ho fill in talk 
which is well known to be of so high a 
character? What noble thoughts and 
fancies, what bright flashes of wit and 
humor leap from mind to mind, when 
people meet to dine or dance, who that 
goes does not know ! In the communion 
of gifted souls, vast secret stores of learn- 
ing and reflection are drawn forth. What 
an impulse and exhilaration are given to the 
whole man ! Nothing is said merely for 
the sake of saying something. No one 
feels that the pressure of tight shoes on 
the feet is trifling compared with that of 
dire necessity on the brain. Whatever is 
to be said flows from the lips willi ease 
and nature, and is the best of its kind. If 
the solid phalanxes of thought march off 
for a moment, it is to make way for such 
hght-armed repartees as darted between 
Beatrice and Benedict There is no com- 
monplaoe, or empty chat about fashions, 
or sentimental twaddle. The round, 
nmnd, round of the dance, the gushes of 

music with which it chimes in, are the 
ethereal counterpart of the rich and varied 
conversation. Here, of course, the room 
of the punster is better than his company. 
He interrupts ; he gives a vile turn to the 
subject ; he calls one down to the com- 
mon earth ; he picks one's pocket of the 
bright or sensible thing he was just pull- 
ing out Away with him ! Rich, grace- 
ful, handsome, in the fashion or not — 
away with him I 

But while we eject these intruders, we 
must not forget that there are others, who, 
in somebody's judgment, deserve, no 
doubt, little better treatment. Followers 
of the solemn nonsense, that stalks, hood- 
ed and cowled, through the world ; pur- 
veyors of dry and trivial facts ; flutterers, 
who live on moonlight and flowers ; con- 
stant riders on any hobby — let every one 
anathematize whom he will ; and who is 
safe? No ! society is a joint-stock com- 
pany, to which each one contributes his 
best Variety is its charm.. And, in this 
view of the matter, who can say more for 
himself than the puniest punsterling? 
Who feels that he has a right to cast the 
first stone? 

If our conversation is so much wiser 
and wittier than his, the merit is not ours. 
And to what purpose did nature endow 
ybs with minds whose courts are thronged 
with noble thoughts and fancies ; to what 
good end did she clothe our thoughts with 
thunder and make our fireside circle a 
council of the gods, if we are so zealous 
to hunt him down who lives, intellectu- 
ally, by puiming ? It is unworthy of a 
man to wish to extract the charm from any 
one's existence. The fruit which the tree 
of life in each man's garden bears, though 
sour and displeasing to another's taste, is 
the fruit of fruits to him. What business 
have we to destroy it? With our numer- 
ous and choice flocks and herds, why need 
we go about to kill the one ewe lamb of 
the punsterling ? 

In conclusion, as tlu least charitable 
thing that can brj said, we will say of the 
punster what Thomas Carlylc writes of 
quite another class of persons. " IIow 
knowcst thou, may the distressed novel- 
wright exclaim, that I, here where I sit, 
am the foolish est of existing mortals j that 
this my long-ear of a fictitious biography 
shall not find one and the other, into 
whose still lonpcr ears it may be the 
means, under Providence, of instilling 
somewhat? Wo answer, uuiia knows, 
none can certainly know ; therefore, write 
on, worthy brother, even as thou canst, as 
it has been given thee." Pun on, worthy 
brother, even as it has been given thee. 





Ifamucrwt eorrectiam from a copy qf 
the fourth Folio of Shakespeare' » Flays,-^ 
We have here a newly printed pamphlet 
containing some amendments of Shake- 
speare's text, edited, as we infer, from the 
initials beneath the preface, by Mr. Josiah 
P. Quincy, of Boston, an ardent admirer, 
and a dUigent and accomplished student 
of the great poet Of the amendments 
themselves, had we space to speak of them, 
we should say very much what the editor 
has said in his introduction ; regarding 
the fact, that the^ are in manuscnpt, and 
near two centunes old, is but slight evi- 
dence that Shakespeare vrrote as the anno- 
tator su^sts. Shakespeare has undoubt- 
edly suttercd, and vastly more than most 
authors, from the blunders of copyists and 
printers. We are entitled to assume that 
he never wrote absolute nonsense; and 
where by a simple and natural change, such 
nonsense may be converted into sense, and 
more especially where a slight alteration 
may be made " by whicli," to borrow the 
language of the editor, " some striking and 
characteristic felicity of expression may be 
obtained from language turgid or obscure," 
the inference is fair that the poet wrote 
as a poet and a man of sense would have 
written. But emendations like these de- 
rive little authority from the antiquity of 
their date. They may bo made as well 
now as formerly, except, perhaps, that a 
critic living nearer to the period in which 
Shakespeare wrote, may be supposed to be 
better acquainted with the forms of ex- 
pression pneculiar to that age. 

The editor thinks the trifling charac- 
ter of some of the emendations argues 
that the maker of them copied from a 
source which he supposed to be purer than 
the received text We are rather dis- 
posed to believe that the nature of these 
changes show; them to be the work of a 
man who thought too much of grammar 
and invented himself the alterations, from 
a belief that they were actual improve- 
ments, and from a supposition that Shake- 
speare paid more regard to the rules of 
grammar than he actually did. The fol- 
lowmg instances will illustrate the views 
both of the editor and ourselves in this 
respect. In the third Scene of the second 
Act of " As you like it," the common 
text has 

** When servlco Bhould in my old limbs lie I«me.^ 

Ilero is a fine metaphor — the abstract 
Doun ^* service " being used instead of the 

concrete, and yet in the aense of the oon- 
crete. It suggests the natural picture of 
an old servant lying about lame amid the 
scenes of his former activity ; but the cor- 
rection turns the passage into prose. How 
natural for a poet to use the metaphor, 
and for a narrow grammarian to correct 
him. So in the same speech the correo* 
tion has ^^hot and rebellious liquors to 
my blood," instead of "in my blood." 
Now we think the poet, not bearing in 
mind that there was any such thing aa 
grammar, but regarding only the thought^ 
wished to represent the hot andrebellioiis 
liquors as commingling with the blood, 
and thus weakening and corrupting it; 
but the critic, dwelling more on the lan- 
guage^ recollected that " apply " shouOkl 
be followed by " to " instead of " in-" 

Emendations like the ones now in 
question, derive no authority^ except from 
one or both of these twoconsideratioiis,—- 
first, that they are actually obtained from 
purer sources than the received text ; or 
secondly, that they are the original sug- 
gestions of a consummate critic, Tn the 
present case we have no evidence respect- 
mg them, save what they themselves af- 
ford, and they must therefore be judged 
upon their face. Now the sound rule of 
criticism is that they must stand or fidl 
together. We cannot reject some and ad- 
mit others. They do not show that they 
come from a purer source, unless they 
all show it They do not show that they 
are the work of a consummate critic^ xat- 
less they all show it. And on these prin- 
ciples we are disposed to think that they 
show neither. 

Still we are glad to see this collectioii. 
It is an agreeable addition to the *' Cari- 
osities of Literature." And we are also 
glad to see that the editor himself enter- 
tains the proper notion of them. He has 
not alarmed the readers of Shakespeare bj 
a boisterous '* Eureka ! " We do not de- 
sire to see these emendations swelling and 
disfiguring the volume we daily reac^ bnt 
are willing to have them in a comer of 
our library where we may recur to them 
for the sake of employing the moments of 
curious leisure. 

A Memoir of th^ late Feo. William 
Croncell^ D.D,^ by his Father. — This 
interesting memoir of the late Dr. Cros- 
well commences with this deeply touching 
and remarkable passage : ^' The reader is 
presented, in this work, with an unwont- 
ed spectacle : a bereaved and sorrowing 
parent ai^)ears before the pmUic ftsthe 


Editorial Nottt—IdUratwrt. 


biogrmpher of a dmr dmrted son ! At 
the age of threescore tna ten, this parent, 
admonished by a severe visitation of sick- 
ness, devoted as much time as his press- 
ing duties would permit to the arrange- 
ment and preparation of his own manu- 
scripts for the final inspection and revision 
of this ver J son. And now, with a trem- 
bling hand and aching heart, the parent 
reljTing on the mercy and help of God, un- 
dertakes to gather up the materials, and 
prepare a record of his Son's life." The 
meokoir thus prepared may serve as a 
model for such compositions ; for, although 
the subject furnishes little that is excit- 
ing or of absorbing interest, yet the man- 
ner in which the record of the good man's 
life is set before us, and his character 
developed with the accidents of his career, 
strikes us as being most happily and ad- 
mirably done ; and, considering the cir- 
camstances of the biographer, we won- 
der at the fidelity and beauty with which 
the sacred dutr has been fulfilled. 

— Messrs. drosby A Nichols, of Boston, 
have Just issued new editions of Rev. W. 
Q. Eliot's excellent " Lectures to Young 
Men^^ and ^toYoung Women:^ They are 
marked chiefly by judicious moderation 
m tone, and by a sympathy with the wants 
and feelings of the class to whom they 
are addre^ed which will make them 
more serviceable than any mere felicities 
of expression. Another work from the 
Boston press of a similar character is 
" Lectures to Young Men,'' by Rev. K W. 
Clark. Mr. Clark is of a different com- 
plexion, theologically, from Mr. Eliot : he 
is somewhat more vehement and rcfonn- 
atory, more of a " son of thunder^'' and 
more wide awake. His book is also likely 
to do good service in the community. J. 
P. Jewett k Co., are the publishers. 

— ^A large and increasing body of amia- 
ble mystics, who may be found nowadays 
among all religious sects, will be gratified 
by the perusal of a selection of passages 
from Fenelon and Madame Quion, which 
have been translated from the French by 
James W. Metcalf. They are publish^ 
by M. W. Dodd, of New-York, under the 
title of Spiritual Progress^ or Instruc- 
tions in the Divine Life of the Soul," 

" Busy Moments of an Idle Woman,'' 
is a pleasant collection of brief stories, 
bearing the impress of the Applctons. 
The anonymous author is a lady, and 
irrites with the customary grace and fa- 
cility of expression which belong to her 

— B. B. Mnssey and Company, of Bos- 
ton, have issued in handsome style ^^Pas- 
sages from the History of a Wasted 

Life, by a Middl^-agedMan.^^ This mid- 
dle-aged gentleman is none other than tiie 
author of ^^ Pen and Ink Sketches:" a 
cleverly written work in the manner of 
George Gilfillan, abounding in preposter- 
ous yet entertaining reminiscences of emi- 
nent English literary society. The book be- 
fore us is a series of talcs of the utilitarian 
school, in which the writer endeavors to 
show the evils of intemperance by his 
own unhappy experience, as well as that 
of others. They are characterized by a 
graphic and effective power of narrative, 
but still produce a degree of tedium in the 
reader, as is always the case where the 
writers desire fbr artistic excellence is 
neutralized by a zeal to accomplish some 
more engrossing design. 

— Mr. Scribner has published two books 
lately, by young American authors, or at 
least of the younger brood, which we no- 
tice together, not from any affinity or 
analogy that we have discovered in them, 
but because they may be taken as types 
of two very distinct phases of the literary 
character. Tlie Bl(H>d Stone, by C. Don- 
ald M^Leop, has the merit of good gram- 
mar, and very amiable and tender feeling;, 
but beyond these qualities, which we do 
not by any means under-estimate, we can 
say little in behalf of the book, which 
lacks motive and distinctness. There are 
some common incidents in the childhood 
of a feeble boy rather pleasantly narrated, 
and one or two little descriptions of an old 
country house in the suburbs of New- 
York, which have a certain degree of fidel- 
ity and thin humor to recommend them ; 
but, as they lead to nothing, and have no 
particular meaning, they amount to noth- 
ing. The boy, who narrates his childish 
reminiscences with sufficient particularity 
and clearness, when a young man goes to 
Germany to study, and then becomes very 
indistinct and misty. lie marries a young 
German girl, whose brother is murdered 
by a club of which he is a member ; he is 
the father of a child which dies, and he 
returns to New- York, and lives with his 
mother and sister. These are the chief 
incidents of the Blood Stone, which is so 
called because a blood stone is the badge 
of the society to which he belonged. It 
is a purposeless book, without any posi- 
tive quality, and fairly enough represents 
a certain phase of cultivation which results 
in nothing but harmlessness, and never 
generates a healthy or a startling thought 
A y&ry different kind of book is the vol- 
ume of Letters from up the River, by the 
Rev. F. W. Shelton, the genial and most 
Christian rector of St. Bardolph's, wher- 
ever that may be. The actual point up 


Editorial iVbltft — Literature. 


the river whence these sunshiny letters 
emanated, is that picturesque landing call- 
ed Fishkill. opposite Newburgh, on the 
Hudson. Like many of the best books 
that have been publu^hcd, the contents of 
this volume were not designed for publi- 
cation in book form ; they were what they 
profess to be, real letters from up the 
river, conveying news of no more impor- 
tant personages than Shanghai hens, and 
chronidiag no more important events than 
the domestic accidents of a country par- 
son. But these are important enough 
subjects for the embellishments of genius, 
which always loves to stoop to a humble 
theme; Dean Swift could write charm- 
ingly upon a broomstick, and the heel of 
an old shoe supplied a theme for Cowper ; 
it is only swaggering talent that seeks to 
elevate itself by getting astride the 
shoulders of a lofty subject, where it 
shows like the dwarf on the giant's back. 
Mr. Shelton has a rich vein of pure comic 
humor, without the slightest alloy of sa- 
tire or irony. His style is tender, grace- 
ful and quaint, and his humor is of that 
genial and sympathetic quality which 
sinks into the mind of tbe reader, without 
ruffling the placidity of his temper. The 
letters were originally published in the 
Knickerbocker Magazine, and they are 
prefaced with a characteristic dedication to 
the editor of that old and popular favorite. 
Mr. Shelton has not the slightest taint of 
affectation, but writes with the honest un- 
reserve of a private correspondent, and 
makes all his readers feel as if thev were 
the personal friends to whom he addressed 
himself. We are very well aware that 
advice to authors is an ill-bestowed com- 
modity, but we cannot refrain from sug- 
gesting to the author of the Blood Stone, 
that he should eschew humor, and to the 
author of Up-river Letters that he eschew 
every thing else. 

Holiday Books. — The literary gauds 
which expand their flowers in the holidays 
have almost become an extinct tribe ; but 
there are a few of the better class which 
have blossomed this season, and among 
them is Webber's IVild Scenes and 
Song" Birds, whose twenty illustrations 
are most richly and beautifully printed in 
polychrome; the birds and flowers are 
exquisitely drawn and colored after nature 
by Mrs. Webber, and the text, by her 
husband, the celebrated Hunter-naturalist, 
is full of romantic poetry, and an intelli- 
gent love of nature. It is one of the pret- 
tiest gift-books we have seen, and one of 
the most intrinsically valuable. The 
Homes of American Statesmen^ publish- 
ed as a companion volume to the Homes 

of American Authors, is a mod 
somer volume than that popular 
gant work, and is as full of interei 
American reader. The illustrmti 
more numerous, and the general 
the work more striking and beauti 
the first volume. The tinted p 
which it is printed has a very i 
beautiful effect, giving it the ap] 
of an antique work with all the 
and elegance of modem type and 
of modem illustration. 

— To a traveller who goes to ] 
with the knowledge of its literat 
tory, and people, a month is as g( 
year, for the purposes of book i 
and Mr. Henry T. Tcckermam h 
a very readable and pleasant vol 
of his observations in the *^ Mothc 
tiy" during that short periot 
Month in England^ recently pi 
by Rcdficld, may be read with 
even by Englishmen themselves, 
first impressions are every thinj 
traveller, and, let them remain as 
they will in a country, it is t 
month that furnishes the mate; 
the book. 

— Few studies or investigations J 
interesting than that of the antiqui 
place with which we are familiar, 
b. T. Valentine, the worthy clci 
common council for so many ye 
furnished us an almost inezli 
topic, in his ^^ History of the City 
Ibr^." It is not a voluminou 
and yet it traces, with much e 
the progress of the metropolis, 
earliest beginnings to its presei 
development, giving us many i 
curious items, not of external 
merely, but of the inhabitants of 
and — their names, occupations, 
circumstances, and various perse 
tunes. This narrative, which m 
great literary pretensions, is yel 
and animated, and is illustrated t 
out by old maps, engravings, ai 
views, that are exceedingly i 
Thus, we have an outline of the 
1642, when the present Maid< 
was quite in the woods ; a grou 
of the fort, which was the first pe 
structure in the island; a vieii 
New Netherlands, and the sun 
country, in 1C5G ; representations 
ral of the principal buildings, t 
the close of the same ccnlur 
again, an actual survey of the 
1755. In the letter-press we hi 
besides the more strictly historic 
biographical and local sketched, 
early grants and deeds, names of « 


Ediiorial Notes — Literature. 


phrsiciaiis, and schoolmasters, between 
L605 and the revolutionarv war, estimates 
of the value of houses and lots, and many 
other curious particulars. Mr. Valen- 
tine's long fiimiliarity with the city ro- 
oords has enabled him to bring together 
a mass of the most interesting information, 
for which he deserves the thanks of every 

— Dictionary of English and French 
Idioms^ illustrating by phrases and 
examples the peculiarittes of both 
Languages, and designed as a sup- 
plement to the ordinary Dictionaries 
nww in ttsCy is the self-explaining title of 
a valuable work for the French student, 
from Professor Roemer, of the Free 
Academy. It supplies the want which 
every one interested in acquiring the 
French language has experienced, of some 
manual to ^ow the relative force of idioms ; 
which is an absolute necessity to every one 
who would speak that most universal 
tongue with elegance and ease. The ao- 
compUshed scholarship of Professor Roe- 
mer certifies the great skill with which ho 
has done the work. His own practical 
familiarity with the languages is the best 
possible guaranty of his fitness for the 
task. We have examined his work with 
care, and have no hesitation in saying that 
there has been no more useful manual 
laid before the public. 

— It is scarcely five years since a cer- 
tam Indian territory was organized, at the 
West, and now we have before us a 
volume relating to it, called " Alin- 
nesota and Us Resources," The author, 
Mr. J. W. Bond, appears to have travelled 
over the whole region he describes, and 
to be minutely familiar with every part, 
lie assures us of the complete accuracy of 
all his facts and statement*^ so that they 
may be relied upon by emigrants who 
may be attracted to the new country by 
his glowing descriptions of its natural 
beauties and prospective wealth. After 
referring to the early history of Minnesota, 
and giving a general geographical view of 
its leading peculiarities and its agricul- 
tural advantages, ho enters into an ac- 
count of the principal towns, facilities 
of travel, Indian tribes, pli3'sical re- 
sources, &c. and concludes with a vision 
of what the territory is destined to become 
in the course of a few years. We say 
vision, and not dream, for we can discover 
DO reason for doubting his prophetic truth. 
The work closes with some lively " sketch- 
es by a camp-fire," being notes of a trip 
from St Paul to the Selkirk settlement 
on the Red Kiver of the North, with a 
description of Phnoe Rupert's Land. As 

a whole the work is one that contains a 
great deal of useful information, not to be 
had elsewhere, and brought together with 
skill and taste. 

— We have been attracted to a little 
book of receipts, called the '* Invalid's own 
Book^"^ not because we had any special 
need for such a work, but beaiuse, on 
opening it, our eyes rested on some capital 
recipes for the preparation of Sherry Gob- 
blers, Mint Juleps, Rum Punch, and other 
" emulsions and drinks of a more nutri- 
tive nature." It is none of your thin and 
sallow disciples of the Maine Law that 
could have recommended such " strength- 
ening draughts " for the invalid ; nor does 
the writer mean to stint the convalescent 
as to quantity. Uere, for instance, is the 
large outline of a milk punch : '' Steep the 
rinds of eighteen lemons in a quart of rum, 
three days, close covered. Add three 
more quarts of rum, with the juice of the 
lemons, five quarts of water and five pounds 
of sugar. To these add two quarts of 
boiling milk. Let the whole stand two 
hours, closely covered. Strain it through 
a jelly bag, and bottle it for use, add a few 
bitter almonds." It cannot be said that 
there is " an intolerable deal of sack " as in 
FalstalPs bill, but there is certainly no 
stinginess as to the rum, considering it is 
meant for the sick. 

— " The Flower of the Family^' a 
book for girls, by the author of Little 
Susie's Six Birthdays, is an excellent tale, 
well adapted to the class and purpose for 
which it is intended, reminding one of 
]Miss Sedgwick's little works of the same 
kind, truthful, gentle, and full of good 
sense and morality. It exhibits the strug- 
gles of an intelligent but poor family, in 
their attempts to get on in the world, and 
is well conceived and executed. 

— Mr. Sim MS, who has been one of the 
most prolific and brilliant of our romance 
writers, is issuing a new and revised edi- 
tion of his works. His " Yemassee," one 
of the first and among the best also of 
his romances, leads the way, with a brief 
but graceful dedication to I)r. Dickson of 
South Carolina, in which the author states 
the changes he has made in it, and justi- 
fies its general accuracy. It will be 
speedily followed by the author's romances 
of the Revolution. 

— Miss Caroline CiiESEBRo's tale, of 
the '^ IMtle Cross-Bearers," is a pictur- 
esque and touching narrative, quite in- 
genious in its plot, and well-managed in 
respect to the moral impression it seeks to 

— A picture of noble virtue and disin- 
terestedness is given in Mrs. Lee's account 


EdUorial Notu^LUetaimt. 


of the life of a well-known negro of this 
city, Pierre Ihiusaint, whose devotion 
to his former mistress, as well as to 
every good cause, makes him a worthy 
subject of biography. It is rare that we 
find so much courtesy, gentleness, be- 
nevolence, good sense and honesty mingled 
in the same character, as was exhibited 
by this humble slave, under all circum- 
stances of a trying and checkered life. 
It is a great service to his race, and a les- 
son to all men, to have recorded his simple 

— Under the title of " Spiritual Viftit- 
or8,^^ the author of " Musings of an In- 
valid, &C.," takes advantage of the current 
spiritual theories, to introduce the departed 
of all ages that they may discourse of the 
affairs of the present time. In other 
words, his book is a new " Dialogues of the 
Deadj" or a new '' Imaginary Conversa- 
tions,' not remarkably brilliant, but still 
with some lively and agreeable passages 
m it, rare contrasts and ludicrous conceits. 
If the veritable "nepers" would only 
converse with half as much good sense 
and wit as these ghosts of Whimsiculo, 
their seaiices would be far more entertain- 
ing and profitable. 

— It is really a contribution of no small 
value to English literature, this transla- 
tion of Grimms' ^^ Kinder und Hans Mar- 
cheUj^^ or Household Stories. Books for 
children are rarely written well, — legends 
and fairy tales least of all. But the Ger- 
mans appear to have a knack in address- 
ing the young, while none among them 
appear to have been more successful than 
the brothers Grimm. Their popular 
series has become the leading and standard 
publication of the kind in their own coun- 
try, read by every body young and old, 
illustrated by the best artists, adapted by 
the playwrights for dramas, and even an- 
notated by ponderous professors. In respect 
to the translation, we can say, that it is 
generally excellent preserving the sim- 
plicity and spirit of the original, and as 
much of the quiet humor of the style, as 
a difference in the idioms of the two lan- 
guages would allow. We cheerfully com- 
mend it to our young friends. 

— Dr. HicKOCK*s treatise on "A/broZ 
Science " exhibits a profound and accurate 
acquaintance with its subject, a rare clear- 
nc^ of statement, and a ready command 
of precise and cogent terms. It is com- 
prehensive in plan and liberal in tone, but 
it is not entirely satisfactory to us in its 
distribution of topics. Why are politics 
always treated as a mere subordinate 
branch of moral science ? From the time 
of Paley down to that of President Way- 

land and Dr. Hickock, we find 
disquisitions of moral science im 
politics as a part of it which is u 
sophical. Politics is a science b; 
having its own distinct and defin 
jecta, its own method, and its owi 
and sphere. It involves simply th 
tions of men to each other, as tl 
organized into a state, and the fun< 
tal idea of it is Justice or Equity ; 
moral science, as it is called, invoh 
moral qualities of actions, and hac 
fundamental idea, Duty. Politics, 
fore, relates to questions of social 
ration and civil administration, but 
science to questions of personal relAt 
life. We are firmly convinced that 
as the science of politics is not alio 
independent and substantive ezist< 
its own, there will be no correct th 
legislation, nor a really good | 
ment By complicating it with ott 
jects the minds of men are oonf 
regard to its proper means as ' 

— All lovers of good eating- 
numerous class it is ! — know of '. 
Savarin's famous book, called the 
siologie du Gout" and will be pic 
learn that an American editk)n of 
been prepared by Mr. Fayette Ro 
It was among the earliest of those 
works which treated gastronomy a 
art, and we cannot recall any that 
peared since, more alive with vivac 
more sparkling with wit. Its autl 
a member of nearly all the learned s 
of France, and served in a great 
legislative and legal capacities ; he 
man, too, of eloquence, of chars 
wide political influence ; but nothi 
he ever said or did is likely to give 
general and lasting a reputation 
brilliant 7'6iAr d? esprit on the art ol 
His personal history, by the wi 
full of adventure and vicissitude, f 
being a member of the Constitu 
sembly, President of the superic 
Court of Aix, Justice of the Court 
sation. Mayor of Bellay, &c.. 1 
driven into exile during the Reign 
ror, came to the UnitcS States, w! 
taught the languages in Boston, P 
phia. Hartford, and New- York, anc 
the first violin at the Park Theatr 
then finally returned to France to 
a distinguished politician again, m 
tary of the General-in-Chief of the 
of the Kepublic, and as Commis 
the Department of the Seine and ( 

— There are few authors of the 
day who write with more eamesi 
convbtion than the Rev. Gharlbi 


BdUoriaL NoUs-^IAUrature. 


LIT, Rector of Everslej in England, but 
better known as the author of Alton Locke. 
His mastery of language, his liberal and 
kindly spirit, his boldness in facing the most 
difficult questions of social life, his keen 
perception of character, and his occasional 
eloquence, gi^e an originality and power to 
his books that place them among the best 
of the day. Hypatia, his last, is worthy 
of his fame. It is an attempt to describe, 
by means of a story, the struggle of the 
Church of tlie fourth century, against its 
own internal temptations and the over- 
whelming corruptions of the Pagan world. 
Hypatia, the heroine, was that celebrated 
female philosopher of the Eclectic School, 
whose extensive learning, elegant manners. 
ind tragic end, have rendered her name 
memorable. She was the daughter of 
Them, a mathematician of Alexandria, 
who. di-icovering her extraordinary genius, 
had her taught in all the sciences and 
irts of the time. The reputation she soon 
ioquircd caused her to be invited as a 
preceptress to the school in which Am- 
monias, Ilicrocles, and other distinguished 
philosophers had presided. There, her 
Tast erudition and graceful address won 
her a world of admirers, so that her house 
became the intellectual centre of Alexan- 
dria. Orestes, the governor, was among 
her friends, but she was bitterly opposed 
by Cyril, the patriarch of the Church, and, 
getting involved in the disputes which 
raged between the two dignitaries, she 
was one day assaulted by the adherents of 
the latter, torn almost limb from limb, 
and committed in that mangled condition 
to the flames. 

It will be seen that the time and the 
subject allow the author a wide scope and 
an admirable opportunity for the exercise 
of his imagination, and we need scarcely 
8ay that he has made the best use of his 
learning. The life of those stormy days 
is brought vividly before us ; the charac- 
ters of the monks, the Jews, the heathen 
leaders, the philosophers, and the true 
Christians, are strongly contrasted; the 
deep religious questions involved are 
treated with masterly vigor and penetra- 
tion, while the artistic eflfects are wrought 
out with exquisite beauty. In his exhi- 
bitions of the profligacy, the cruelty, and 
the selfishness of the era, he spares neither 
the Church nor the world ; nor does he 
fail, at the same time, in showing the in- 
finite superiority of the Christian doctrine 
to all schemes of philosophy, both as a 
purifying faith and a sustaining principle. 
There is a terrible pathos in some of the 
incidents too, which imparts a thrilling in- 
terest to the book as a mere narrative, 

TOL. IIL — 8 

though its abounding merits lie, we 
thmk, in the vivid portraitures. 

— The French have had the monopoly 
of books relatmg to the captivity of 
Napoleon in St. Helena, and have given 
such sketches of the conduct of the British 
jailor, Sir Hudson Lowe, as suit their pre- 
judices. But Sir Hudson, it seems, sus- 
picious of the representations that would 
be made of him, was cautious enough to 
preserve the material for his vindication. 
His memoranda, letters, and documents 
have been published by Mr. William 
Forsyth, and put quite another face on 
the question of treatment received by the 
French Emperor at the hands of his cap- 
tors. The book is certainly a good de- 
fence of the calumniated Sir Hudson, — 
who flgures so conspicuously and ludi- 
crdusly in the melodramas of the minor 
theatres of the Boulevards, as some of our 
readers may have seen. 

— The Religions of the World and 
their Relaiions to Christianity, is the 
title of a small volume of discourses, 
preached as a part of the Boyle Lectures, 
by Fredkbick Denison Maurice, the 
distinguished Professor of Divinity in 
King's College, London, who has recently 
been removed from his post on account of 
his heretical opinions on the subject of the 
eternal duration of punishment. He had 
doubts on the subject, and as the rulers 
of the University had not, they gave him 
good reason for believing in the eternity 
of intolerance in this world, let the case 
be as it may in the next. Professor 
Maurice's work is a short, but intelligent 
and original discussion of the principles 
of Mahometanism, Hindooism, the old 
Persian, Greek, and Roman faiths, and 
Judaism, and of their bearings upon the 
establishment of a pure and uncorrupted 
form of Christianity. There is a remark- 
able liberality in the tone of these lec- 
tures, as well as an unusual clearness 
and elevation of thought. 

The author first attempts, and with 
much success, to discriminate the funda- 
mental idea of each of the great forms of 
religion, and to account for the chief fea- 
tures they have developed. He finds that 
in each of these systems, at least in its 
purest form, the religious want of the soul 
has reached some glimpse of its real ob- 
ject. In opposition, then, to most religion- 
ists, he reverences a base of reality in false 
faiths. In equally marked opposition to 
a late form of disbelief, which regards all 
religions as the mere theological drapery 
with which certain moral emotions clothe 
themselves — he discovers that the senti- 
ment towards an infinite spiritual objec- 


Editorial Notes — Literature. 


tive is precisely the elemental base and 
power of all theology, and any thing; but 
an outward form. Here, however, thouprh 
his aim is just, ho does not seem to be 
quite master of his topic, llavinji; settled 
what the false faiths are — he arrays 
them in honest collation with Christian- 
ity — thus discovering the true charac- 
ter of the revelation in Christ : and by 
fixing the amount of the element common 
to them and it, traces the way by which 
the one hijrh, pure faith may enter power- 
fully throujrli its fK>ints of contact into 
religions apiMiruntly the most alien. 

From this he derives just judgments 
not only of the excellence of Chris- 
tianity, but of the working of those cha- 
racteristics which it shares with other 
religions ; noting by their experience the 
tendency to excess or defect, and the same 
elements of ours. 

— So much has been said of the eccen- 
tricities and independence of Abemethy, 
that we are surprised no good biography 
of him has been printe<i. Mr. Gkorge 
Macilwains has trieii to supply the 
dertciency in his Memoirs of John 
Abernethy. which besides giving an ac- 
count of his life, presents a view of his 
lectuRvs and writings ; but his execution 
of tlie last is not the most successful. He 
is, in fact, strangely dull for one having 
so lively a subject in hand. Still he has 
managed to prescr\'c some of the anecdotes 
of the famous Doctor's rudeness of manner, 
a few of which we extract. Abemethy, 
it seems, would sometimes offend (not so 
much by the manner as by the matter) 
by saying what were very salutary- but 
very unpleasant truths, and of which the 
patient perhaps only felt the sting. There 
was a gentleman, an old fox-hunter, who 
abuserl Abemethy roundly ; but all that 
he could say against him was: "Why, 
sir, almost the moment I entered the 
room, he said: *! perceive you drink a 
good deal ' (which was very true). Now," 
added the patient, very iiaicely. " suppose 
1 did, what the devil was that to him I " 

Another gentlctnan of consiilemble 
literary reputation, but who, as regarded 
drinking, was not intempLTatc. had a most 
unfortunate appearance on his ex- 
actly like that which accompanies dram- 
drinking. This gentleman u.'^d to bo 
exceedingly irate against Al>crnethy, 
although all that could be gathered from 
him amountefl to nothing more than this, 
that, when ho said his stomach was out of 
order, Abemethy said: ** Aye, I see that 
by your nose," or some equivalent cxpres- 

"Mr. Abemethy," said a patient, "I 

have something the matter, sir, with this 
arm. There, oh ! (making a particular 
motion with the limb,) that, sir, gives me 
great pain." " Well, what a fool you must 
be to do it then," said Abemethy. 

Of the humorous stories with which he 
sometimes relieved the painful details cKf 
the history and treatment of disease, here 
is a characteristic specimen : — 

** Few ohl pupils will forgot th« Btory of the Va^ 
who Iiatl dislocated his Jaw. 

**Tbis accident is a very fimple one, and eaefljpat 
right ; but having once happened, is ^>t to recur on 
any unusual extension of th«> lower jaw. Abemetbj 
useii to represent tliid as a fluent oocnrrenoe with 
an hilarious M^or; but as it generally h^>peDed «t 
ine.>«. the surgeon went round to him, and immedl- 
atoly put it in a^in. One day, however, the M^Jor 
was dining about fourteen miles Ihim the reglmenk, 
and in a hearty laugh out went bis Jaw. They aent 
for the medical man, whom, Hdd Abemethy, we moat 
caII the aijothecary. Well, at tnt he thongfat thet 
tlie Juw was di!<locate<l, but bo began to poll and to 
show that he know noUiing about the proper mode 
of putting it right again. On this the M^Jtn* began to 
bo very cxcitini, and vnoiforated inarticalately In a 
Btran^o manner ; when, all at once, the doctor, as if 
he htul Just hit on the naturo of the case, auggeited 
that the Minor's complaint was on his brain, and that 
he could not bo in his right mind. On hearing thK 
the Major became furious, which was regarded as eon- 
firmatory of tho doctor's opinion ; they accordingly 
seized him, confined him in a strait-walstooat ind 
put him to btHl, and the doctor ordered that the barber 
should be sent for to shave tlio hea<l, and a blister to 
bo applied * to the ]>art affected' 

''Tho Major, fairly beaten, ceased making resist- 
ancc, but made the best signs his situation and his 
inipenect articulation allowed, for jien and paper. 
Thifs being haileil as indicative of returning ntio- 
nality, was procured ; and as boon as he wassafBdeirttf 
fh;ed tVom his bond^ he wrote—' For God's sake, lend 
for the surgeon of the regiment' This was aooord- 
iugly done, and the Jaw roa<liIy reduced, as it had 
been often before. *I hope,' ad<led Abemethy, *you 
will never forget how to reduce a dislocated Jaw.* *> 

— Leigh Hunt's Religion of the Heart 
is not well received by the orthodox 
writers in England, because it seeks to 
substitute for the established liturgy a 
new one, in which the prayers and relleo- 
tions arc said to be more sentimental than 

— Walter Savage Landor, the Tete- 
ran, now, of Enjijlish prose writers, has 
just issued what he terms, The Last 
Fruit off an Old TVee, embracing many 
of his late political disquisitions and other 
miscellanies. It will be probably repub- 
lisheii in this country by Ticknor & Co. 
of Boston. 

— The second volume of Alison's ffir- 
tory of Europe is out. It brings the 
narrative down to the tune of Louis Na- 
poleon. We may have a word to say of 
it when it gets on this side of the water. 

— HuFKLAMo's Art of Prolonging Ljft^ 


EdiUmdl Notes^Mutk. 


one of the best essajs extant on the sub- 
ject of health, — full of sound sense, pro- 
TCssional learning, and wv^ obscrTations. — 
has been retranslated, and published under 
the editorship of Erasmus Wilson. Hufe- 
land was not only an excellent physician. 
but a discerning and upright man, under- 
standing completely what ho undertook 
to write about, and writing about it with 
simplicity, directness and taste. 

— Christ in History, by Robert Turn- 
bull. I). D. Attempts to grasp and reduce 
to a (iixine scheme the wild outlines of his- 
tory are characteristic, and will be yet more 
80. of modem philosophical culture. A 
theory of the whole story of man has be- 
come one of the most legitimate and fas- 
cinating aims of thought, and promises 
(indeed has in part realized) rich results. 
br. TumbulPs book contains a Christo- 
logical Theory of Ilistory. He llnds Ohrist 
as an actual and also formal want in the 
rehgioos thinking and aspiration of the 
old world. — he finds this want partially 
radioed, and the gift broadly promised in 
and through a selected people, all the first 
stage of man's experience, thus point- 
ing to, and preparing for an incarnation of 
the Divine. He finds this accomplished 
in the advent — all need, in the grandest 
manner, met in Christ. From that |)oint, 
to which all history had converged, it now 
radiates, and the whole future will be but 
the chn)nicle of the gradual passajro, 
through all obstacles, of the spirit of the 
revealed God into the life of the nations. 
This scheme is, of course, not at all new, 
nor is it original in the manner of its 
treatment — the somewhat affected titles 
and some of the minor forms of thought 
excepted. There is, too, a want of single- 
ness of purpose — the author sometimes 
using his subject as a thread to string his 
thoughts and reading ui)on as to the history 
and proofs of religion in general. Still 
the book exhibits much learning in a very 
interesting direction, — and has much re- 
spectable thinking. Indeed, the author 
seems to have aimed at a most liberal self- 
culture, and has been willing to let in on his 
scheme all the latest and highest thought. 

Manager Maretzek has kept his pro- 
mise, lie has given us Le Prophcte with 
all the strength of his company and re- 
sources. Its production is the great ojx^r- 
atic event of the year ; and it can no long- 
er be said that our manager is of tliose 
who promise so superbly, that i)crform- 
tnce would be entirely inadequaU* to the 
expectation. It would be pleasant to 
string a necklace of handsome super- 

latives, and hang it round the managerial 
neck upon this occasion. He has deserved 
well of the public by his energy, and care, 
and unremitting diligence in getting up 
the Prophet. It was the last great music- 
al triumph in Kuropc; very nnich had 
been said about it: the fame of Viardot 
Garcia, as Fith's, had crossed the sea ; it 
was knouTi that Roger, promoted from 
the Opera Comique, had succwded at 
the Grand opera, ui)on the production 
of /*c Pronhete ; that in fact he had 
" created " the part of Jean, the Prophet 
King.' Catharine Hayes had sung Ah ! 
mon Jils ; and Jul Hen had played the 
Coronation March; in fact, we could 
all talk more or less knowingly about 
Meyerbeer's last great opera. Nay^ some 
of us had even l)een in Paris ujwn the 
night it was bought out ; had seen the 
excitement of that gay metroiwlis, the 
mounted guards, the hurrying crowds ; 
and sitting comfortably after dinner, at 
the great comer window of the Maison 
Dorie. had seen the long line of equipages 
rolling to the temple of the Muses. 

It is painfully clear that we are not sav- 
ing how Jjc Prophete was done at Niblo^s. 
But we have struck the key-note of an 
unavoidable criticism by what we have 
already sai.l. This ojKTa was the work 
of many years of a nervous care, and a 
practical sagacity, unequalled in a com- 
poser. Meyerbeer's fame in Paris, the 
scene of the triumph o{ Robert Le Diahle^ 
and Les Jlu'^nenots^ was colossal. He had 
not produced any thing for many years, 
except an opt»retta sung by Jenny Lind, 
in Vienna. As time i>as.sed, the prestige 
of hia c^c* great operas constantly in- 
crea.«;ed. The public, which is a chame- 
leon in Paris, by the rapidity of its 
changes, could not help adding their ima- 
ginations to their memorials and to their 
hoiws. The success of Robert was conced- 
ed to be the greatest ui)on record. It was 
sustained by/y.'.f Ilugitenots ; and unav(>id- 
ably, a standard of expectation almost be- 
yond possible fulfilment existed in the 
Parisian mind. Fur many months, the 
signs of preparation were discernible. 
Then came the revolution, and threau?ned 
to send the Muses after the Bourbons. 
But no sooner was jwace partly assured, 
than the attention to the opera recom- 
menced ; and linall}' it was produceii with 
all the force of the Grand ojxira, artistic, 
scenic, instrumental, Terpsichorean; and 
whatsoever other force there may be in a 

Jj€ Prophete was comjwsed with the 
magniticent resources of the Grand o|)era 
constantly in view : great importance, and 


EdiUmal Notes — Music. 


essential importance, was attached to 
them. For, whether consciously or not, 
Meyerbeer's operas do not depend solely 
upon the musical interest and develop- 
ment, but upon many accessories of the 
libretto, so to speak ; upon the opportunity 
of great scenic display ; in fact, upon an 
appeal to the eye as well as to the ear, in 
a degree not consonant with our idea of 
pure opera. 

The first and permanent impression of 
Le Prophite, at Niblo's, was therefore in- 
adequacy. It was evident fhat unusual 
care had been taken, that money had been 
spent, scenes painted, and choruses drill- 
ed. We have seen enough of Mr. Maret- 
zek's hard working in the preparation 
of an opera to infer how much he must 
have suffered and exercised during the re- 
hearsals of this work. We felt this all 
the time. We saw that he was doing his 
best ; that the company, excepting Stef- 
fanone, were ne\'er in better tune ; and 
that if success could be achieved by de- 
serving it, the opera would remunerate 
the Manager both with honor and profit. 
But success cannot be achieved upon that 
condition. The performance was only a 
good attempt. It was a faint reminiscence 
of the original thing in Paris. It is 
perfectly true that we had no right to 
expect a rival of the Grand opera at 
Ni bio's ; but it is also perfectly true 
that when you know the best, you 
cannot devote much enthusiasm to the 
pretty good. If it is praise to say that it 
was very good for New- York, or for Nib- 
lo's, or for the capital at command, then 
we say all that, for it is true. But with a 
stage not half large enough, with an or- 
chestra ditto, and chorus ditto, with a bal- 
let that is no ballet, and scenery which 
attempts all that it could not perform, 
with every thing, except the singing, taken 
with great reservation, how can there be 
much praise of that, which, to be perfect, 
requires stage, orchestra, chorus, ballet 
and scenery of the finest kind ? 

For instance, the fourth act is the cor- 
onation in the Cathedral of Munstcr. The 
coronation march peals through the open- 
ing of the act, while the procession enters 
and occupies the edifice. This effect must 
be complete or it is ludicrous. Nothing is 
so difficult as a decent procession or crowd 
upon the stage. Now at Niblo's the low 
columns suggest a vault, there is no sense 
of loftiness ; and the space is entirely de- 
stroyed by the rising series of railings 
directly across the Cathedral, from column 
to column, so that there is no more of the 
plane of the stage exposed, and suitable 
for the proper action, than when the tent 

curtains are drawn in the previous act 
We have all an idea of a cathedral, whe- 
ther we have seen one or not, and part of 
that idea is the conviction that the whole 
fioor of such a building is not occupied by 
transverse railings or partitions of some 
kind. And we know farther when pro- 
cessions enter such edifices they do not 
countermarch across what is intended to 
represent the great nave. " They manage 
these things better in France." An 
immense stage-area; a high springing 
series of columns ; a thronging procession 
enters (and entered when we saw it) at 
the front and moved back into the 
church ; the whole resulting in an impres- 
sion of a vast cathedral crowded with a 
glittering multitude, — these were the 
peculiarities of this act there. What shall 
we say of our procession ? When Shake- 
speare, says, "alarum, enter an army," the 
action and interest of the play depend 
very little upon the fact, and three men in 
buckram answer the purpose of suggestion. 
But Meyerbeer's alarum and army- is a 
distinct part of the play. It is an essential 
effect ; and is fairly to be judged as such. 
The same objection lies against this set, 
which is true of the whole ; — it was inad- 
equate. We do not use a harsher word, 
because the evidence of good intention 
was so plain. And yet to say that one of 
Meyerbeer's operas was inadequately 
done, is to go near condemning it 

Or consider the skating ballet with the 
beautiful music ; and the dancing in the 
last act. Or had we better not consider 
it but pass on 7 

It is pleasant to turn to the singmg; 
Salvi was never so resolutely good. To 
witness his energy, his care, his conscience, 
tended much to weaken our remembrance 
of his infamous murder of Do7i Ottavio 
upon the same boards. He conceives his 
character admirably, and in his great 
scene, in the fourth act, where he makes 
his mother disown him. ho was at the 
height of his power. So when he sings 
his romanza in the second act there was 
a purity, pathos, and breadth in his voice 
and style which justly charmed the audi- 
ence, and drew down as hearty applause 
as we have ever heard in the theatre. 
The exquisite morceau of the last act, the 
half-frenzied lyric, was rendered with a 
grace and melody that assured us of the 
artist's great power. There is a strain in 
the air which recalls the conclusion of La 
ci darem from Don Giovanni. Altogether, 
we must consider Salvi's Jean as his 
finest part. Our only quarrel would be 
with his co.slunic, which is unnecessarily 
unhandsome when he is the inn-kccper. 

Editorial NoUs-^Fine Art$. 


hree Anabaptists, Marini, Rok!, 
tti, were admirable. Their tall 
figures gliding in, always at the 
Mnent, black messengers of fate, 
>hetic of tragedy, are. of them- 
•M of those Rombi*e effects which 
he meloflramatic imagination of 
loscr. It was well suggested in 
NCfitf, that there is sometliing akin 
ree witches in Macbeth, in these 
imritions. They moved and sang 
at unanimity ; and although there 
y taking nmsic attached to their 
y are closely listened to and ap- 

ladies we would rather not speak, 
^ therefore, delayed so long, put- 
Q in the rear of the gentlemen. 
b is, that the musical rdle o{ Fides 
iiich of the opera, in the very 
Tt of StefTanone's voice. It sounds 
id uncertain, and what is much 
t was shockingly out of tune, 
r we heard her in the opera. 
Dg in the great scene is very fine, 
I the situation is much too pro- 

Bertucca as Bertha was only 
w This lady is rarely forgetful 
»f herself, and yet we will ascribe 
;unl nervousness and sympathy 

husband's effort, the evident un- 
• and inadequacy of her jKirfonn- 

et she, too, did well in the duet 
ruses were very good and exe- 
id. At one point we .feared the 
tation must pause, they were so 
astray. Each one was singing 

tune in his ovn\ key. But the 
chorus was done firmly and with 

the music itself, we feel as we al- 
1 about Meyerbeer. It is learned 
orate, and quaint, and grave, and 
nd imposing, but it is destitute 
ly and passion. The Coronation 
I glittering and martial. Jean^a 

is a tender strain. Ah ! monjils ! 
lly artificial, and the grand aria 
ndividual. It is such music as 
IS talent, unwearied industry, and 
I science can produce. But 
Sand is the only person we have 
»wn to pnifess great enthusiasm 
In her LeUres iPun Voyageur^ 
ks rapturously of the music of 
which had then rt»ccntly ap|>eared. 
»rge Sand\s world is Paris, and 
idards are Parisian. Where are 
iting melodies ; where are the 
id subtle harmonies afterward 
remembered like the palace's we 
le sunset ; where is that perma- 
» of an addition to life and human 

experience after the curtain falls upon the 
scenery and the dancing girls, — Where? 

The first Philharmonic Concert of the 
season took place in the Metn)politan Hall. 
It was, as usual, a great success. This or- 
chestra is now so well trained to the per- 
formance of the best music, that \%'e could 
\insh their concerts were more frequent and 
at lower rates. JuUien has demonstrated 
that the " many headed " have ears for Men- 
delssohn and Beethoven, as well as for the 
Prima DonnorKsi^ Yankee Doodle. The 
Philharmonic in its high prices rather per- 
petuates the tradition of the London Phil- 
harmomc, a high rate and an exclusive au- 
dience. Those are the Scylla and Charyb- 
dis upon which most of our operatic en- 
terorises have failed. 

In the foreign musical gos.sip, there is 
really nothing to notice but the new 
French singer. Mademoiselle Cabal, of 
whom Hector Berlioz speaks well. It is 
certainly time for a new singer ; but every 
fresh one is hailed in Paris with such 
stunning thunders of applause, that, at 
this distance, wo cannot hear the voice it- 
self, and when the applause has subsided, 
so, also, we sadly discover, has the voice. 
The London papers wonder, with a sneer, 
that the advertisement for the leasing of 
the New- York Acadcmpr of Music, should 
appear there, and inquire sullenly, '* Are 
there no Yankees who can manage it ? " 
Sofl, gentle sirs ! There are plenty ; but 
it docs not seem unwise when you have 
built a house for a particular purpose, to 
search the world for the very best person 
to take care of it It is our way. If a 
Frenchman, or German, or Italian, or even 
an Englishman, can do better by the in- 
terests of music in this country, than a 
native, let him manage the new opera- If you prefer to close your opera- 
houses under the auspices of bold Britons, 
rather than keep them going under the di- 
rection of foreigners, do it by all means. 
But why, as usual, expect us to suffer be- 
cause you arc sore ? 

PowelVs Painting of De Soto, We 
have received the following communica- 
tion from Mr. Powell in reference to his 
•' great national painting," which we very 
cheerfully publish, although it is giving 
rather more of our space to the subject 
than we can well afford, or we think it of 
sufficient importance to demand ; but Mr. 
Powell thinks we have not done him justice 
in our remarks on his painting, and we are 
quite willing that the public who have not 
seen his picture, and who never may, should 
hear what he has to urge in its defence. 


Editorial Note» — Fine Arts. 

The national painting of Mr. Powell Is from a rab- 
ject selected by a committee of Congreiw. Drawings 
of varlooB subjects were submitted, and the commit- 
tee com|Mi.s(Ml of Mr. Pierce of Maryland, John Y. 
Ma:ion an<l •lufferson Davis of tlie Senate, and John 
Quincy Adams Mr. Prcalon, of Virginia, and T. 
Butler King on the part of tlie Ilonse of Uopreiwnta- 
tlvoa: tlu'y nnaniniously agreed tbat the subject 
should be the I)isc<»very of the Miwiwippi by De Soto. 
Thecomini»$ion was y:iven to Mr. Powell by an slnu^t 
unaidmous vote of Con|a'c:»— unanimoui«ly, by the 
Sonate, and 11>S out of 212 votes in the House. IIo is 
not a Wf>>torn man, although cimsidered a western 
arti5t from the fnct that ho received his first encour- 
ag'ement from the citizens of Cincinnati He was 
bom ill Ncw-Yorls and has resided here since 1$40. 
He 8tu<lied with Henry Inman, and was bis favorite 
pupil. In \Mi he went to Italy, and studied under 
the best masters fur three years, when he returned to 
New- York, bringing with him several oomiH>»ition 
picture^ among which were **Salvator Rosa among 
the Brltrnnds." and "Ck)lumbus before tlie Council at 
Salamanca*'— the latter painting was very mucti ad- 
mired, so much so, that among others, Washington 
Irving having cxauiined it carefully, wrote a letter to 
the library committee of Congress, gre.-itly prrilsiiig its 
artistic merits. The exhibition of this picture in the 
library of the Cuititol, during tlio ncs^(ion of Coiigre.^ 
ft>r 1S4S-49, secured the coramiraion for the present 

The sum of forty thousand dollars was originally 
appropriated by Congress for the purixwe of pniour- 
ing fouriiistorical pictures painted by native Ameri- 
can artis^tfs to fill the four vacant panels of the 
Rot u n<lo of the Capitol Chapman, Wei r, Vamlerly n , 
and Inman received these commissions— Mr. Inman 
died before com[>leting his subject on canvas: he 
had received the sum of six thousand dollars. In the 
contract witli Mr. Powell, the sum of six tI)ou^and 
dollars was awanlcd in addition to the uncxiwnded 
portion of ttie former api>ropriation <»f ten thousand 
dollars. The artbt has already received eight thou- 
sand dollars, which sum he has expended in produ- 
cing the work Just finished The re.Hidue is to be i>aid 
on the delivering of the work. Mr. Huntington, who 
was a pupil of Professor Morse, offered to complete 
the i>icturc> of Boone's Emigration to Kentucky, begun 
by Inman, for the sum of ftMir thousand dollars. 

In roganl to the historical accuracy of the painting 
by Mr. Powell we give ipiotations fh)m Bancroft's 
UnltCfl States. Irving'* Conquest of Florida, The 
Portuguese Relation (publislied In 1557), The Account 
of Luis Ilornaiidex du Biwlma whowas present in the 
expedition of De Soto (published in 1M4), and Tlic 
History by Garcilli'«o de La Vega. 

When Do Soto returned to Siwiin tmm Pern, and 
the design wiu< published that an e\i»edition of ex- 
ploration to Florida was dellnltely li\<Ml uimmi, theu 
the m«K»t extravagant iilcus were . entertained To 
use the Inngnogo of Mr. Bancroft: "No s«Kiner was 
the di*sign of a new exi-edltion published in Spain 
than the wiMest hoiH>s were indulged How brillinnt 
nm>t be the prosiK'Ct since even the ctmqiien»r of 
IVru was willing to ha/anl his fortunes and tho 
groutness of his name! Adventurers asscmbUMl as 
voUinlecns many of them of noble birth ami g(»od 
e:%tutc>. Houses an I vineyards, laiuls for tillage and 
Hiws of olive trees in the Ajnrralfe «»f Seville, were 
Si>Ul, ns in the times of tho CriiHadvs. to obtain tho 
menus of iiillilary equipment The [M>rt of San Lncar 
of Barameda was cn»w«liMl with tlm-o who hastiwunl 
to solicit permlssiim to share in the eiitorprlse. Even 
■uldicrs of Portugal desireil to be enrolled for tlic 
•errloa. A muster was held Tbo Portugueeo ap- 

peared in tho glittering array of bnmtsboil I 
tlie Castiliana brilliant with boiMM were Ti 
with bilk u|M>n silk.** 

Mr. Irving, in Ids OKiqnost of Fk>rlf] 
same 8ulij(?ct, rcmark.s, ** As De Sot<» was c 
the gnllery of his house at Seville, bo saw : 
ban<l of cavaliers enter the court-yanl, sni 
to the foot of the stairs to receive them. 1 
Portngue-sj hidal^is led by Antlrcs des V« 
Swcral of them had served In the wars 
M'lors on the African frontiers, and they ha 
voliiiitei?r their servlcefl. De Soto Joyftillj 
their offer. A muster being called of all 1 
tlio SiMinianls ap|>eared in .«'plendid and aho 
with silken doublets and cassocks pinke<l 
b»t»idere«l The Portuguese, on tho cootr 
In R«)ldirr-likc style in complete armor. 

They arrived an the coast of Florida si 
barked in the year 15.*i9. After many inontl 
dering they rearhed the Mavllla— no4r Mob 
they hnil a d{'*afttrous battle with the Indli 
fire that oecumsl at the time, destn)yed **tl 
collections De Soto had mmle.'' In March, 
previous to the discovery of tlie Misslssipiil 
dem.indcd of the chief of the Chickasawa twi 
Indians to carry tho bnggige of tho compai 
same time taking iwisscssion of their villi 
deman<l was refused, and in the darkness oi 
night tlicy were assaulted by the infUristc 
who set fire to tho houses. The Sitanlanlsn 
completely by surprise. De Soto, ** who sli 
in his doublet and hose that he might be pr 
such emergencies, claspe<l on his casque, i 
Burcoat of quilted cotton three flngem In thfe 
best defence against the arrows of the ssi 
seizing buckler and lance, mounte<1 his 1 
charged fearlessly into tho midst of the en* 
seems to bo a iniHaiqindienshm that De Set 
fultow^ers lost all their clothing by this fire, 
quotations we have given. Some of them, 
did lose their wearing apparel, lives wcpb 
horses and swine consumed. The skins of 
mab were aftorwanls use<l by those who 
their clothing; and Irving, in bis ** Con 
Florida,** thus si>eaks of the manner in t 
*'wild ivy" hapiwned to be use<l "^Besii 
unceasingly lmnis«<5d by the enemy, the} 
biltorly from the cold, which was rlgi»runs I 
treme, i*s|»ecinlly to men who hail to jmas ev 
under anns with scarce any cli»thing. Ii 
tremity, however, they were ndievcd by the 
of one of the common stdiliiTs; he succ 
making a iii.itting, fi>ur iliigen in thickne««, 
kind of gniss or drlod ivy. one half of which 
mattre»H and the other half was turned ' 

In about ton days after the fire at Cliienza 
dirtcovcretl the Ml'^isj'ippi River. Here 
qtiote the languagt* of Mr. Bancroft **De 
tlic tlrat of Kiiroiionns to behold tho ma;nifl< 
wliich rolioil its linniense maw of waters thi 
splendid veaotntlon of a wide alluvial soil ' 
of three wnturies h.^s not changed the clia 
tho; it w.os thon described as umm 
udle bniiid. tlowing with a strong current, a' 
weight of it.s wators forcing a channel of gn 
Tlio water was always mudly, trees and tin 
continually fl«>ating down the stream. Tlio 
tho stranjrors .nwakened curiosity and fbar. 
tude «if poojile fh»m the western bank <»f ' 
painted and jrsiyly ilecorattsl with great p 
whUe feathers, tlie warriors standing in i 
b«>ws and arrows in tliclr hamla, the chl<^ 
under awnings as msgnlflocnt as their irt) 


Editorial Notes— Fine Arts. 


factnren eoulti weave, came rowing drwn the etroaip 
tr. !» f}*«t of two hnndnyl cum-vt. mviiumi: to the ad- 
Aittniu; dpanbrds Mike « (ku arniv im jj^nlleyfl:* they 
r>mni(ht gifts of fiwh ami hiftvw tniwlo of the ponlm- 
ni'fi. At fint they suowud a Jesire to offer resiet- 
atfK.-«s, hut '^Bfm. becoming oonscioos of their relative 
vcj^ne'Vs L^t'J cvaiied to defy an enemy they could 
not urerciMne, and suffered ii^ury without attempting 
cipcn retaliation." 

From thl<« quotation It is not to be inferred that De 
Soto and hi* fDlUiwera were in a forlorn condition. 
Tliej' iMW Ktained sufficient martiiU array to intimi- 
dafto tlie hostile savages by whom tliey were sur- 
loandod. They bnilt boats birge enough to convey 
seventy or elizhty men and five horses in each, 
aeru»« the river, which was dosjribed by Blcduia as 
being a league in t^idth. Mr. Irving tlius Bpe»k» << a 
nrligioa^ ceremony on the baiilcs of the MisslMlpiiL 
It seems that the cacique of the Indian tribe, accum- 
paiUed by his princliwl subjects, cauio into the pre- 
leiioe of De Soto, and said, ^ As you are suiK^rior to ns 
in iirowcsss, and snrpa-^s us in arms wo likewise be- 
bdieve that your God is better than our gotl These 
yoQ behold before you are the chief warriors of my 
duiiilniun^ Wc snpi>Iicate you to pray to your God 
to send u^ rain, for our flekb are piirche<i for i:>' 
want of water.** De Soto replied, that he would pray 
to tlie God of the universe to grant thcii request, 
humeiliately he ordered his chief carix:ntoi, ^amed 
FniicidO(\ to fell a pine tree, and construct it into a 
erase. ** Tliey Ibmied of it a perfect cross, and erected 
it ua a high hill on the bank of the river. The cacique 
»-alked beeide the governor, and uuiny of the warriors 
mingled wiih tlie Spaniards. Before tliem went a 
dioir of prieato and fdars chanting the litany, wliilst 
the soldiers rcnponded." Tlicy formed a procession, 
aud asi lli<y p:isseil thoy knelt down U'fijro It wl)Ilst 
prayers were hcin^ offered up. It was otimatc^i that 
ttom fifteen to twenty thousand Indians witnes.<ed 
the eoene. The equipment of the Spaniards must 
liave bf-on almost perfect to inspire awe to so formi- 
dable an army of hoelile savagea, 

Mr. Poweli In Ills De Sous has repreftentc<l the 
Indians <tffering their gifts of com, flsh, and game, 
while in tlie right-haad corner of tlie painting is the 
erection of the cruM as on incident connected with 
the evenL De Soto himself rides a magnificent hor»o 
—a puTtrait of the l>attle lionre of Abd-cl-Ka<ler. 
The artist was p<-nnitte<l access to the Imiierial stables 
ml Sl Cloail, by LaiuI* Naiioleon, and painted It from 
life. All Uk* principal Agures in the picture were 
fwinted fk-om living models, and the costumes, anns, 
Ac were copied from tliuee used in the middle of 
die »ixU-enth century by the Spanianli*. 

In regard to the flue hor!»es, represented in the 
picture, ttie artbt was compelIe<l to use the best 
uio(K>l« by the hlsu> account of them given in 
•■ Iri-lng'a Omquest of Floriila,'* as will be i<een by 
Che ftdlowing incident On tlie arrival of Dc Soto at 
Cuba, on his way to Florida, **he found a beautiful 
borae, richly caparbouod, waiting for him, and likewise 
Amnle for Donna Isabella,whlch were furnished by a 
gentleman of the town "* (Santiago). He was e^-ortcd 
to his lodgings by the burghers on horses and on 
fbot, and all his officers and men were h(M«pltably 
entertained by them, some being quartered in tlie 
town and others in their comitry houses. For several 
days It was one continued featlval; at night there were 
balls and Inaflqueratle^ by day tilting m:itcIieH. bull 
BghtSt conteets of skill in horsemanshiii, running at 
the Ting, and other amusements of ii chivaln>us nature. 
The young cavaliers of the camp vied with eat^h other 
and with the youth of tlie city tn the gallantry of thebr 
eqalpment^ the elegance and novelty of their devices, 

and the wit and mgennity of their mottoeSb What 
gave [K^euliar 8pi.)iidor to these entertainments was 
the beanty, n\An\ and excellence of tlie horsea. 
The great dnmnri'l for these noble animals for the 
conquests of Mexico and Peru, and other parta. ren- 
dered the raising of them one of the most profitable 
sources of spccuhition in the isLiuda The Island of 
Cuba was naturally favorable to them, and ns great 
care and attention had been given to mnltiply and 
improve the breed, there was at this time an uniTom- 
mou number, .ind of remarkably fine qualities. Many 
individuals haa from twenty to thirty horses in tlieir 
stables, and btrme of the rich had twice that nuuiber 
on their esteu>a 

The cavr..*'r' of the army had Bparod no expense in 
fhrnlshiiip 'liemsolvcs with the most ^uiMrb and gene- 
rous stee'1'4 tor tlieir Intende^l •!Xi»e<litlon. Many in- 
dividuals ^>«i«M>jtm.Mi throe or four, c.iparisonod in the 
most fft^\f manner, and tlie aovernur aided lilM^rally 
with .•!«> I urife such as had not the means of equlppiog 
the'i-.<*'VOM In suitable »>tylek Thus freshly uri.l inag- 
nl.v^-.tly mounted and arraytnl in tlieir new drc.>i»es 
i*.<' r;urni!4l)ed annor. the cavaliers ninde a brilliant 
tisplay, and carried off many of Uip prizes of lorold imd 
Silver, and silks, and brocftdes, which were a.yud;^^ 
to those who dIatUiKuislied Uieinsolvee in tho>u chiv- 
alrous games. 

In these, no one carri*^ off the prize more fVequontly 
than Nufto de Tolmr, tlie lleutenant-gonemL lie waa. 
as has been said, a cavalier of high and generous 
qualities, who had gained laurels iu the conquest of 
Peru. He appeared on these oocaAions In sumptuous 
array, mounted on a superb horse of Mlver gray, dap- 
pled, and was always noted for the grai-efuln»'>» of hia 
carriage, his noble demeanor, ami his admliatile ad- 
dress in his management of lance and (•tee<l. 

At this time there was on a visit to the governor In 
tile city of Santiago a cavalier upwards of fifty years 
of age, named Vosco Porcalo de Vegueora. lie was 
of a noble fnmlly and of a brave and galliard disposi- 
tion, having seen much hard fighting in the Indies, 
in Spain and Italy, and distinguished himself on vari- 
ous wcjislons. He now resided in the town of Trini- 
dad In Cuba, living opulently and luxuriously upon 
the wealth he had gained in the wars, honored for hia 
exploit's loved for his social qualities, and extoUed for 
his hearty hospitality. 

This magnificent cavalier had como to Santiago 
with a poinjious retinue, to pay his court to the gove> 
nor, and wiiiies.s the festivities and rejoicings. Ho 
passed ftt)mc days in the city, and when he beheld the 
array of gallant cavaliers and hardy soldiers assembled 
for the enterprise, the splendiir of tlioir equipments, 
and the martial style in which they acquitted them- 
selves in public; his mllltar/ spirit again to<ik fire, 
and fiirgettlng hb years, his |x»st t«)lls aud troubles, 
and his present ease and opulence, he volunteered his 
services to De Soto to follow him in his anticipated 
career rif concpicst He was magnificent in all his 
apiK.Intnienta— camp, equipage, armor, and equip- 
ments: having caught the gay and bniggjirt spirit of 
his youllifiil companions In arms. He carrle<l with 
him a great train of Spanish. Indian, and Necro ser- 
vantK and a stud of thlrty-sIx h<irs«>9 for his <»wn nse, 
while with the open-hamled liberality, for which ho 
wa*k notcl, he gave upwards of fifty horses as presents 
to various cavaliers of the army."* 

From these quotations we are led to .l>ellcve that 
the followers of Do Soto were the flower of Spanish 

The p.iintlnR of Mr. Powell Is In strict keeping viith 
the spirit of that age. In reganl to the anatomy of 
the figures, Kobin of Paris, and other distinguished 
anatomlata, have prononnoed the anatomy of hia 


Bdilf/nal N'tUt—FiM ArU. 


Mr. l'ow*:l\ i*. »K/t <|«jit^ tftTTi^-X in all 

ltu*'it*'. v.*", fj'/l ;fiv«:n t// h.rri wi'h f^iijtc 
fcu'li iifj;iiiiffitt/ k.\ In: htkVr-. : ih'; f'-'/I'l- 
Ij'^h tfi>.ir<i<-i.iii/ Ui« |jhf»ry ('omrnkW: to 
f/niirttrl wait liif/j I// f/iiirit b pMufi; for 
It**' \u/'»fit f/arji'l of th'j Hoturi'lo, wai 
U'I'C'l oil r1i<; /rivil and 'liplomati': appr>' 
|/M:iljoh liiii oji Ui': lant day butoii'rof the 
twenty iiiiith ('on^rrchH, uiifl \fns.-ftl aini'l 
lh<; tniMjijIf anrj ^rfxifusioii which always 
aft<'i»d ihi' I'lo <; of (*(;njfn!HS. by a vok* of 
H'.i f.o i/^. urcordiii^ t<i th<j <''>fi;^:ssioiial 
<j|oUf, aii'l not, HH Mr. TowcII states, hy 
tt voUi of h/H out of 212, On-at ojifKAsitioii 
wan niiifli* Ut it, and it <v>iild hardly have 
hi-mi pa ^^•l•d nndi-r othor nniuinsUiiKTS. 
•liid|/<* ritinphf'll of thJH <!iiy, and Mr. In- 
frrriMfll of IMiilnflidpJiia, jiroposiMl an open 
r^)iii|xtlili()n ttnit nhould j^ivc all tlu* artists 
in I hit country an opixirtunity to ronipctc 
for Iht' work, hy MMidin^ in <tart<)ons of 
fJi'Mi^ni:!, n'oin whidi a ronunittcr Khould 
rh'NiKo I ho one that was lM>st adaptixl to 
tlio purjMwr. Thin niolhod, whirh would 
havr hiM'ji hoiiorahlo to (<on);n'ss,honc'flrial 
to thr nation, and juNt touur nativo artists, 
wuH, in tho rxcitnnont of tho nionu-nt, 
tliNn'^anlod, and tho work waM hitrustod 
lo tho di.M'n^tion tif Mr. Powoll, who, hy 
(h(t toruis of tho n^Nolution, had full ]H)wor 
to his (»wn HuljcH't. Wo do not 
wondor at his nttoniptin}; to throw the 
hiaino of ho Soto on tho lahmry Tom- 
inittro ; if thoy ohoso tho 8uhjivt, so muoh 
tho worso tiirthoni; hut thon the artist 
hiuisolf .should ha\o pnUostod against it, 
1^ \w\\\^ uoithor suitahlo in itsv'lf, nor 
iMlaptod to his oai^oitios. Tho work itM.4f 
in iMTtHif that ho wnM imo()ual to it ; and 
hU his(oru*al sunnuarv ivntirms our ol>- 
jivti\»ns to his mannor of tn^atiuj:: tlio 
huhjtvt. NYo havo foxmd no n^asou lo 
vhauk^v tho opinion which wo originally 
ft»rimHl \>f (ho pio(urt\ and tho divisions 
of all uaolhj^vnt jHvplo who haw siuvv 
luvu \\ i\\\\\ jusiitios what wo !;;ud of it. 
Thvvio who \\ould torm a ivrrvvt op;nvu 
*»(otUo hi'*tori\*4l (uloht\ of Mr. IVw.irs 
ix'piVNOUUlivUi of tho AviH* which ho hiS 
a(toini>t^Nt 10 ds*'iiu*Atv\ shvHild read r!u\>- 
iK^JX* iv\u\<*> h!>tv*r\ of tho Ooiu;Uk\<c of 
WrKiA. ami thoy w:U Iv ablo lo ju•-:J^' of 
Oio jyvo.ib;li;\ of suoh a )>a^'aQt a< iV.a: 
r\Y*v«i«.*iiivx; l\\ Mr. IVwvU. hiv.v.^ Kva 
«^vu Oil tho Ndutis ox tho M:j<si^('^*i wh^. ;i 

De f^^Uj founi himscBf tbere i 
ytAn' wanfkrinz through the Sm 
.■warrip^ of the wiI<ienM3B&, Act 
his own « ho wins he h&s mtpodoc 
dd«-nt into hi? picttsre. the nisi] 
crii'.'ifix and bles.-dng it. which 
fy:*:nr UhiW «orac time after the d 
d<:.^;rilx:d touk place, and whic 
liave }yf'('n physically impossible : 
dfpiol«,d it. The picture is. in 
*:vt.'Ty T(:>\)Qct bad, and is unw 
>><,'iiig placed in the national capi 
ha/l always understood that 1 
mission was given to the artis 
tional grounds, on the supposit 
he was a AVcstcrn man ; the T 
1^)0 was introduced into the I 
Htfprcsentativcs by Mr. McDowel 
and it was carried as a Western 
As the vote was passed on tl 
March, 1847, it could not haTC 
cfrtisemioncc of the exhibition ol 
ture of Columbus in 1848-49, as 1 
As U) tho letter of Mr. Irving ft) 
by Mr. Powell, in praise of the j 
Columbus, we do not see what i 
do with the business. Mr. Inri 
a likely person to interfere in i 
this kind, unless solicited in a 
which rendered it difficult for h 
cline. Mr. Powell should be con 
having received the commission I 
ed the picture ; he shows a very i 
mentary distrust of his own per 
in endeavoring to fight his crii 
his pi«n instead of his pencil. 1 
Soto be worthy of praise^ it will 
arm censure if left to itself. ] 
Won a private work, we should 
dwmeil it entitled to our notice ; I 
a "great national painting." an 
projvrty, we could not ignore it 
wo wore com|)elled to notice it, 
not do less than speak candidly < 
wi.<h it had been l»etter. If *• the 
artists of the Old World have 
montiil him on the vigorous i 
and artistic fniish of the painting 
have to say aKnit it is. that the 
artists of the Old World an? ti 
wajis ; aii'.i if it bo true, as has be 
by S4.^:i;o of tho gentlemen who 1 
dcrtukcn tho defence of Mr. 
iui:\::iig, that the a^li:^:s of Ti 
tho:r piiptls to scu-iy the anatOB 
S-.^:o. i: muse have K>fa for the f 
sou that the Spartans permkt 
ohtl'lrvn to sire the antii&>oc tbebr 



(Gontinae<l tram page 10 ) 

lUASUINGTOX had but two teachers, 
*» one an old fellow named Hobby, 
0110 of his father's tenants, sexton as well 
•8 BchooIma««tcr of the neighborhood, who 
aied to boast, after he wa<i superannuated 
iad somewhat addicted to strong potations, 
cqwdally on the general's birthdays, that 
k was he who, l)ctween his knees, had 
Ud the foundation of George Washing- 
ton's greatness, by teaching him his letters ; 
aid the other the Mr. Williams already 
mentioned, who was, according to Mr. 
Weems, " a capital hand " at reading, 
q;teUing, English grammar, arithmetic, 
isarreymg. bookkeeping, and geography, 
nd often boasted that he had made (t oorgo 
Washington as great a scholar as himself. 
We cannot doubt that to his thorough- 
Bern in teaching what he did know, his 
great pupil owed much of his accjuireil 
power; for a good foundation in a few im- 
portant things is the best possible hegin- 
niBg for a boy of ability and enti'q)rise. 

As to grammsr, though ^Ir. Williams 
may haTe been a proficient, it is certain 
that Washington's early compositions are 
by no means perfectly grammatical, though 
by hicessant care he became an excellent 
and most lucid writer at a later perioiL 
Some minds seem to come at the philo- 
sophy of grammar more easily than they 
can master the technical, school-statement 
of it. When Washington began to have 
fanportant things to say, his great good 
sense showed him that they must l>e ex- 
pressed so as to leave no possibility of 
misunderstanding, and this we take to be 
the highest ground and object of grammar. 
The office of taste is, afterwards, to guard 
againiit jarring and tautological expres- 
sions; and the study of the standard 
writers, with the aid of conversation with 
weil-bred people, will generally suffice for 

VOL. III. — 9 

this. So that in the end, Washington, 
ever seeking improvement and alive to his 
own deficiencies, became a great writer, 
in addition to his other accomi)lishments ; 
and has left us, among other precious 
legacies, a ma<vs of wise, manly, generous 
and patriotic thoughts expressed in clear, 
dignified language, and inclu<ling so much 
practical wlsiloin and high suggestion that 
it is well worthy to be treasured as our 
national palladium. 

Laurence Washington, naturally ambi- 
tious for the tall, handsome, athletic boy, 
already, at sixteen, endowed with strength 
and discretion Iwyond his age, had pro- 
cured for his favorite half-brother, who 
was fourteen years his junior, a midship- 
man's warrant for the British nav}', then 
the most direct path to preferment ; and 
all was prepared for the dcimrture of the 
youth, when his mother's courage gave 
out, or her judgment demurred, and the 
project was abandoned, nuioh to the regret 
of every btnly else conccrneil in the trans- 
action. One gentleman writes to I^urence 
thus: "1 am afraid Mrs. Wasliington 
will not keep up to her first resolution. 
She seems to dislike George's going to 
sea, and says several persons have told 
her it was a bad scheme. She offers 
several trifling objections, such as fond, 
unthinking mothers habitually suggest; 
and 1 find that one word against his 
going has more weight than ten for it." 
" Fond, unthhiking mothers ! " George 
was his widowed mother's eldest son, a 
boy of noble promise, and by no Tneaiis 
destitute of fortune. Why sliould she 
have coiLsente<l to send him fn)m her at 
sixteen, to enter on a career which would 
for ever separate him from her and his 
family ? Truly there is a worldly wisdom 
which is sadly shortsighted, and we can- 


Wanking tofCs Early Days. 


Rf>«iii<nre of th« Wasliinstun Fminly.* 

not but think the mother's instincts de- 
served more respect than they received 
from her ad\*iscrs. The yonng man him- 
self seems to hjive shown his jcrood sense, 
by submitting, first to the advice of his 
family friends, then to the wishes of his 
mother, for we hear nothing of any re- 
pining on his part. Mr. Fairfax writes 
of liim to Laurence — " George has been 
with us, and says he will be steady, and 
thankfully follow your advice as his best 
friend." So a project which must have 
been very fascinating to a young, warm 
uuagination was quietly abandoned, and 
the youth, in the dutiful spirit which ever 
characterized him, entered at once upon 
the comparatively humble business of a 

In March, 1748, he went into the woods 
with Mr. George Fairfax, to explore lands 
among the Alleghany Mountains, in Vir- 
ginia. A diary kept by him during this 
his first tour has some interest, because it 
tells of the personal experiences, and be- 
trays something of the turn of thought of 
Washington at sixteen. 

" 15th.— Worked hard till night, and 
then returned. After supper we were 
lighted into a room, and 1, not being so 
good a woodsman as the rest, stripped 
myself very orderly and went into the 
bed. as they called it. when, to my sur- 
prise, I found it to be nothing but a little 
straw matted together, without sheet or 
any thing else but only one threadbare 

blanket. I was glad to get up and put on 
my clothes, and lie as my companions did. 
Had we not been very tired, I am sure we 
should not have slept much that night I 
made a promise to sleep so no more, choos- 
ing rather to sleep in the open air before 
a fire." 

**21st. — We went over in a canoe, and 
travelled up the Maryland side all day, in 
a continued rain, to Colonel Cresap's over 
against the South Branch, about forty 
miles from our place of starting in the 
morning, and over the worst road, I 
believe, that ever was trod by man or 

"23d.— Rained till about two o'clock, 
and then cleared up, when we were agree- 
ably surprised at the sight of more than 
thirty Indians, coming from war with only 
one scalp. We had some liquor with us, 
of which we gave them a part. This, 
elevating their spirits, put them in the 
humor of dancing. AVe then had a war- 
dance. After clearing a large space and 
making a great fire in the middle, the men 
seated themselves around it, and the 
speaker made a grand speech, telling them 
in what manner they were to dance. 
Af^er he had finished, the best dancer 
jumped up, as one awakened from sleep, 
and ran and jumped about the ring in the 
most comical mimncr. He was followed 
by the rest. Then began their music, 
which was i)crformed with a pot half ftill 
of water, and a deerskin stretched tight 

* Tho sketch of this liousu, which has long since disappeared, is copied frooi Uiat by Chapnian In Lonlof^ 
lovMiuaXAe Field Bo(^ of the Kevolution. 


WaihingUnCs Early Days. 


Prinmry LcHons. 

orer it, and a gourd with Romc shot in 
it to r»ttlc, and a piece of horsc^s tail 
tied to it, to make it look ftnc. One por- 
8on kept rattling, and another drunniiiug, 
all the while they were dancing." 

" 26th.— Travelled up to Solomon 
Hedge's, Esquire, one of his Majesty^ s 
Justices of the Peace in the county of 
Fraieric, where we cam{>ed. When we 
came to supper, there was ncitlicr a knife 
on the table nor a fork to eat with, hut 
as good luck would liavc it, we had knives 
of our own." 

" April 2d. — A blowy, rainy night 
Onr straw upon which we were l3'ing, 
took fire, but I was luckily pi-cscr\'e(l by 
one of our men awaking when it was in a 

*^ 8th.— We breakfasted at Gassey's, 

and rode down to Vanmetcr's to get our 
company together, which, when we had 
accomplished, we rode down below the 
Trough to lay off lots there. The Trough 
is a couple of ledges of mountains impas- 
sable, rimning side by side for seven or 
eight miles, and the river iKJtween them. 
You must ride round the back of the 
mountains to get l)elow them. We cam])ed 
in the wooils, and, after we had ])itched 
our tent and made a large fire, we pulled 
out our kiia{)sacks to recruit ourselves. 
Every one was his own cook. Our spits 
were forked sticks ; Our plates were large 
cliips. As for dishes, we had none." 

We have j)ickwl out only here and there 
an item from this part of the Diary as 
beuig more personal than the rest. Ilere 
is the rough copy of a letter, giving a 


WashingtmCs Early Days, 


general description of the excursion. No 

" Dear Richard, — The receipt of your 
kind favor of the 2d instant afforded me 
unspeakable pleasure, as it convinces me 
that I am still in the memory of so worthy 
a friend, — a friendship I shall ever be 
proud of increasing. Yours gave mc the 
more pleasure as I received it among bar- 
barians and an uncouth set of people. 
Since you received my letter of October 
last, I have not slept above three or four 
nights in a bed. but after walking a good 
d^ all day, I have lain down before the 
fire upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a 
bear-skin, whichever was to be had, with 
man, wife, and children, like dogs and 
cats ; and happy is he who gets the berth 
nearest the fire. Nothing would make it 
pass off tolerably but a good reward. A 
doubloon is my constant gain every day 
that the weather will permit of my going 
out, and sometimes six pistoles. The cold- 
ness of the weather will not admit of my 
making a long stay, as the lodging is 
rather too cold for the time of year. I 
have hever had my clothes off, but have 
Iain and slept in them, except the few 
nights I have been in Frederictown." 

Among the influences that conspired to 
mature the mind and refine the manners 
of Washington, we must account his 
intimacy with the Fairfax family, sen- 
sible as well as well-bred people, and 
living on a large fortune in the exer- 
cise of liberal hospitality. Lord Fairfax, 
besides the social advantages w^hich 
resulted from his rank, had had a Uni- 
versity education, when such culture was 
a distinction, and he seems, moreover, 
to have been a person of independent 
ways of thinking, and a discernment and 
practical sagacity not always found in 
high places. His nephew, William Fair- 
fax, was wealthy, and held a high position 
in the colony. The family was, altogether, 
the first in the district where they lived, 
and one such family inevitably does much 
towards raising the general standard of 
manners and ideas in its neighborhood. 
A young man must be dull indeed, if the 
society of gentlemen and elegant women 
has no inspiration for him. AVhen we 
read George Washington's " Rules of 
Civility and decent Behavior in Company 
and Conversation," we need no assurance 
that no grace of manner, refinement of 
expression, or conventional improvement, 
that came under his observation at Mr. 
Fairfax's, passed unaoted. The exquisite 
propriety of address and conduct, so often 
mentioned as having distinguished him, 
may not improbably have owed no little 

of its finish to these early opportimities; 
to suppose so much elegance the natonl 
product of innate refinement, in spite of 
plain farmer's living in earl^ youth, and 
the rough career of a practical surveyor 
afterwards, might be more complimentary 
but scarcely so rational. Lord Fairfax 
was not a courtier, any more than his 
American planter nephew ; and Washings 
ton never became one, but only in all 
circumstances a gentleman. This is as 
evident in the early journal from which 
we have just quoted a few passages, as in 
the letters written in after life to ladies 
and the most distinguished men. Self- 
respect ever regulates and limits his com- 
plimentary expressions, as it had in early 
life afforded the standard by which he 
judged so unerringly the dispositions of 
others towards himself, and decided on 
the fitness of the circmnstanoes in which 
he was placed. He had an exquisite 
sense of personal res])ect, and as he never 
forgot or was mistaken about the apiount 
of it due to others, so he never hazarded 
his own claims by requiring more than he 
knew himself entitled to and able to exact 
In reading his correspondence, so volumi- 
nous and various, as well as so remark- 
able in other respects, this propriety is 
ever most striking. 

Speaking of the attachment of Lord 
Fairfax to the young surveyor, who spent 
much time at his house, Mr. AVeems re- 
marks, — "Little did the old gentleman 
expect that he was educating a youth who 
should one day dismember the British 
empire and break his own heart — which 
truly came to pass. For dn hearing that 
Washington had captured Comwallis and 
all his army, he called out to his black 
waiter, * Come, Joe ! carry me to my bed, 
for I'm sure it is high time for me to aie ! '" 
And die he did, certainly, but not prema- 
turely, for Mr. Sparks saj'S he lived to be 
ninety-two, a much respected and very 
benevolent i)erson. though rather eccentric 

George Fairfax was the companion of 
Washington's first expedition through 
the forest. How old was the companion 
we are not informed, but the chief was 
just turned of sixteen, an age at which 
most boys are in need of tutors and guar- 
dians if ever. Mrs. Washington seems to 
have made no particular objection to this 
undertaking, the exposures of which were 
nevertheless formidable, to health at least, 
as the result proved. Lodging on the 
ground, night after night, in the month of 
April, is no agreeable variety in our cli- 
m.ite, and we can hardly doubt that in 
this and similar journeys, which occupied 
a larga portion of his time for throe years, 


WathinffUm^M Early Dayt. 


^rere laid the foandations of that liability 
to intermittents, which pursued Washing- 
Con through life. The severity of a sur- 

•▼eyor's duty, at that early period, were sary 

mvich as could hardly be encountered at 
the prefient time on this side the Missis- 
sippi, and such also as forbade a long 
persistence at any one time. The inter- 
Tals Washington spent partly at Frederics- 
burgh wiUi his mother, and partly at 

Mount Vernon, with his brother Laurence, 
always much attached to him, and to 
whom he shortly became peculiarly neces- 

Lauronce Washington had been in 
active service in the West Indies, where 
he passed about two years, as a captain 
in the British army, in the expedition 
against Carthagcna. He returned home 
in 1742, that is to say, when his brother 

WaihlntrV.B'i Sunreyinjr EvpMlitioa. 

Qeorge was about ten years old, intending 
to sail for England to join his regiment 
there ; but happening to fall in love with 
Miss Anne Fairfax, a soldier's roving life 
lost its charms for him, and he settled 
quietly down as a planter. Having a 
colonial appointment as adjutant, he de- 
clined slmring the half-pay grante^l to 
hii brother officers of the British army. 

on the ground that he could not consci- 
entiously tiike the oath required. So it 
seems that the young George had worthy 
examples near home. After the death of 
his father, Laurence purchased the estate 
on the Potomac, and named it as already 
mentioned, and here (Jeorge spent much 
of his interval time, doubtless improving 
himself in every way that offered. 


Wadiington^s Early Days. 


But the elder brother's health suddenlj 
foiled, and symptoms of consumption 
alarmed him and his friends. He tried a 
voyage to England without benefit, and 
in September, 1751, a trip to Barbadoes, 
accompanied in the latter by his brother 
George, who seems to have felt such in- 
terest and solicitude as only a tender and 
loving heart can suggest. 

His journal of this time, when he was 
in his nineteenth year, is very character- 
istic. All the voyage over he copied the 
log each day into his note-book, with his 
own comments on the weather, Ac, and 
during his short stay on the island he 
seems to have occupied himself in observ- 
ing the manners of the inhabitants, and 
especially in criticising the modes of cul- 
tivation, economy and government.* 

"The Governor of Barbadoes seems 
to keep a proper state, lives very retired 
and at little expense, and is a gentleman 

of good sense By declining much 

familiarity, he is not over-zealously 

This Is a Washingtonhm touch; it 
breathes the very spirit of the whole prac- 
tice of the writer's after life, so often 
complained of by those who would fain 
have been allowed familiarity with him. 
He felt no disapprobation of the trait he 
thus noted, but rather concluded, we may 
presume, that by living retired and not 
courting mere popularity or private ad- 
herency, the governor gained in dignity 
and saifety what be lost in momentary 
service and following. 

The journal goes on to say — " There 
are several singular risings in the island, 
one above the other, so that scarcely any 
part is deprived of a beautiful prospect, 
both of sea and land^ and, what Ls con- 
trary to observation m other countries, 
each elevation is better than the next be- 
low The earth in most parts is 

extremely rich, and as black as our richest 

marsh meadows How wonderful 

that such people should be in debt, and 
not be able to indulge themselves in all 
the luxuries as well as necessaries of life. 
Yet so it happens. Estates are often 
alienated for debts. How pei-sons com- 
ing to estates of two, three and four hun- 
dred acres, (which are the largest,) can 

want, is to me most wonderful 

There are few who can be called middling 
people. They are very rich or very poor ; 
for, by a law of the island, every gentle- 
man is obliged to keep a white person 
for every ten acres, capable of acting in 

the militia, and, consequently, the persons 
so kept cannot but be very poor. They 
are well disciplined and appomted to their 
several stations, so that in any alarm every 
man may be at his post in less than two 

These few extracts serve to show the 
unaffected and simple style in which 
Washington was thus early in the habit 
of recording his impressions — an example 
which, if well followed by all the young 
gentlemen of our day who travel the 
world over, would be better even than a 
Smithsoniim Institute '' for the advance- 
ment of knowledge among men." The 
conscientious (not constitutional) modera- 
tion of Washington's expressions has 
often been remarked ; only once in the 
course of this record of a visit to the 
tropics, by one who so loved the face of 
nature that he never remained in a city 
but at the call of duty, does a gleam of 
enthusiasm betray itself, where he says — 
" In the cool of the evening we rode out. 
.... and were perfectly enrapturei 
with the beautiful prospects which every 
side presented to our view, — the fields of 
cane, corn, fruit-trees, &<;., in a delightful 

But the most characteristic parts of the 
journal are the following entries : — 

^^ November 4th, 1751. — This morning 
received a card from Major Clarke, with 
an invitation to breakfast and dine with 
him. We went^ — myself with some re- 
luctance, as the small-pox was in his 

.... "17/^. — Was stnpngly attacked 
with the small-pox. Sent for Dr. Lana- 
han, whose attendance was very constant 
till my recovery and going out, which 
were not till Thursday the 12th of De- 

" December 12/A.— Went to town and 
called on Major Clarke's family, who had 
kindly visited me in my illness, and con- 
tributed all they could, in sending me the 
necessaries the ilisorder required." 

And this is all. The small-pox — a 
"strong" attack — is passed over as a 
small interlude, not worthy of being 
noticed in particulars, or calling for the 
slightest exprCvKsion of self-pity. Yet, 
throughout Washington's whole life he is 
rather remarkable for the interest he takes 
in the health of his friends and servants. 
We have before us, as we write, a letter 
written by him to General Greene. Jan. 
22d, 1780, from Head Quarters at Morris- 
town, remonstrating very warmly on the 

* It may be proiier to meoUon Uiat tbe extriMsts in Uiese iMgos tm taken, not fruiu tlie uiigloala, but fioin 
BparkB' •• WriUngs of Waslilngtoo," vol. I p. 4. 


WoMhinffUm^s Early Day9. 


Babj«ct of the discomfort saffered bj his 
•enrants for wmnt of additional quarters. 
"Nor is there at this moment," he writes, 
in that tine, bold, measured hand that he 
learned at Mr. Williams's school, " a place 
in which a servant can lodge with anj 
decree of comfort .... Hardly one of 
them able to speak for the colds they have 

After Mr. Laurence Washington was 
establi^^hed in lodginp;s, under the care of 
a physician, his brother left him to return 
home, to await the result of the experi- 
ment; but no benefit resulting to the 
invalid from his West Indian sojourn, it 
was arranged that his wife, under George's 
escort^ should meet him at Bermuda, 
where a new attempt was to be made. 
But all these efforts gained not even a 
reprieve. The progress of the disease 
was so rapid, that nothing remained but 
a hurried return home, where death put 
a speedy termination to hopes and fears, 
and the elder brother, who had. since the 
father's death, been a second parent and 
worthy guide for George, was removed, 
on the 2Gth of July, 1752, at the early 
aire of thirty-four. This occurred at 
Mount Vernon, and Washington, who 
was evidently the main dependence and 
a<v<iistant in his brother's affairs through- 
out his illness, now took charge of his 
business and also of his family, consisting 
of his widow and one daughter, sickly 
fr>m her birth. The widow married again, 
the daughter died, and the estate at Mount 
Venion became, by Laurence's will, the 
property of George Washington, and an 
mseparable appendage to that illustrious 
name for ever. 

Washington had even earlier than this 
commenced his military career, by accept- 
ing an appointment in the militia — that of 
one of four adjutants-general, carrying the 
rank of migOr. This brought him back 
to his old school-day business of drilling 
and inspecting troops, and we find him as 
active and zealous in it as in every thing 
else that he undertook. No perfunctory 
service was his, in this or any other case. 
lie fitted himself for his duties by practice 
in military exercises and the study of 
writers on tActk», as if he had foreseen 
that he must one day command armies. 
lie travelled through the counties included 
in his district, receiving his recruits, in- 
specting their accoutrements, and acquaint- 
ing himself diligently with the whole state 
of things as it regarded his official duties. 
Wherever he went the first place was ac- 
corded to l\up, and he took then, as ever, 
the position of comnuind, without the least 
•Kumptioo or offence. From the very 

begmning, men seem to have been as will- 
ing to come under his influence as he 
could possibly be to have them there. If 
we can gather any thing distinct from the 
accounts of those times in Virginia, duties 
and instruments seem to have tended to- 
wards him as towards a centre of attrac- 
tion, making goo<l the observation of 
Fouriei*, that some people are natural 
foci — a fact which is very evident, and 
by no means unaccountable. 

All this drilling was by no means 
fruitless or premature. Warlike doings 
on the part of the French upon the fron- 
tiers soon began to call for some attention 
from the authorities, and it was necessary 
at least to ask the aggressors what they 
meant. The Virginia Governor, Dinwid- 
die. not quite so well skilled in his busi- 
ness as was at least one of his adjutants 
in the preparation of soldiers, had already 
sent a messenger with presents to the 
Indians, and the ulterior design of dis- 
covering the intentions of the French, but 
the returns were unsatisfactory, and the 
information manifestly fallacious. The 
French were represented as hopelessly 
formidable and rapacious, allowing no 
Englishman to trade beyond the moun- 
tains, on the ground that all west of the 
Alleghanies belonged to the domains of 
their master. The truth was. that the 
French had begun the formation of the 
famous cordon of military posts from 
Canada to the southern part of the Missis- 
sippi and that they had in this operation 
managed to get very much the start of 
the not very warlike colonists, who at a 
somewhat late hour began to feel that 
both honor and interest required an im- 
mediate check upon such encroachments. 

Both French and FiUglish had, before 
it came to this, made treaties with the 
Indians, sometimes with tribes rival or 
inimical to each other, sometimes with 
those whose only object was to obtain 
the largest possible amount of presents 
from both parties, whether for aid on the 
one hand or betrayal on the other. What 
the Indians in general thought of this con- 
test between two great nations for their 
hunting-grounds, may be gues.sed from the 
shrewd question put by one of them to 
a gentleman on a tour of observation 
among them — '• Whereabouts do the In- 
dian lands lie, since the French claim all 
the land on one side the Ohio River, and 
the English all on the other ? " 

Indian alliances complicated the coming 
war a good deal, for messengers and re- 
connoitring parties were sure to fall in 
with plenty of red men, and it was often 
very difiicult to distinguish friend from foe, 


Washington's Early Days, 


especially when both were found under 
the same ochre and feathers at an interval 
of a few hours. The business of travers- 
ing the woods was almost as hazardous as 
in the time of Tancred, when the trees 
could hear and talk. But Governor Din- 
widdie had sagacity enough to know 
where to apply after his first messenger 
failed, and Major George Washington 
required no second bidding to become 
his honor's commissioner, to ascertain the 
intentions of the Indians in certain quarters, 
and, a still more delicate errand — to, de- 
mand of the French commandant by what 
authority and with what design he pre- 
sumed to invade British dominions. 

Here is the conmiission of the youthful 
major, only just major in the legal sense: 

'• I. reposing especial trust and confi- 

dence in the ability, conduct, and fidelitr 
of you, the said George Washington, hATe 
appointed you my express messenger, and 
you are hereby authorized and empowered 
to proceed hence, with all convenient and 
possible dispatch, to that part or place on 
the river Ohio where the French have 
lately erected a fort or forts, or where the 
commandant of the French forces resideft. 
in order to deliver my letter and message 
to him, and after waiting not exceeding 
one week, for an answer, you are to take 
leave and return immediately back. 

" To this commission, I have set," &o« 

** All his Majesty's subjects, and all in 
amity or alliance with the crown of Great 
Britain," were also charged to further 
"George Washington. Esquire, commis- 

Tb« Sonrtjon* Caniik 

Washington's Early Days. 


ler the great seal,'* and " to be 

1 assisting to the said George 

on and his attendants, in his 

assagc to and from the river 


rty consisted of eight persons — 

the same who received from 
OS the posing question as to the 
> of the lands on either side the 
ixpericnced woodsman, and valu- 
Jolm Davidson, an interpreter 
idians, and Jacob Van Braam, 
3m Washington learned the art 
I, a Dutchman, who could spe.ik 
'hich Washington himself could 
ise. with four attendants, com- 
chicf s party, which set out from 
»m^, Virginia, October 31st, 
nust have required some courage 
tie confidence in ono*s resources 

strength, and perseverance, to 
amcy of five hundred and sixty 
t)ugh woods and over moun- 
lorseback, in the winter season, 
prospect of camping out nearly 
It. Wo have seen a charming 
r the party making their slow 
igh the woods in a heavy snow- 
5 of the most lifelike, expressive, 
aberable of pictures, yet we have 
ly forgotten to what American 

pleasure was due. Let this 
e our atonement for the fault 
a fortnight before the cavalcade 
bill's Creek, the confines of civi- 
nd plunged into the pathless 
the Alleghanies, to encounter all 
rs of cold, fatigue, and danger. 
^mency of the season," says Mr. 
the Alleghanies covered' with 
the valleys flooded by the swell- 
s, the rougfi passages over the 
,'aiMl the difficulties in crossing 
IS by frail rafts, fording or swim- 
abstacles that could be overcome 
r and with patience." And by 
1 patience they were overcome, 
img soldier found himself, on the 
(h day after leaving Williams- 
ogstown, an Indian settlement, 
'orders required him to hold 
i0Bwith Tanackarison, — known 
If-lung, — and other sachems of 
ratkms, and obtain from them 
d guards for the remainder of 
nr, tA well as all possible infor- 
t6 the intentions of the French. 
crag's intelligence was that the 
d already built several forts on 
rippi and one on the Ohio ; and 
jired to pilot the messenger's 
le quarters of the French com- 
IB said that the nearest and most 

level road was now impassable, by reason 
of great marshes, so that it would take five 
or SIX ** nights' sleep " to reach the nearest 
fort, where visitors must not count upon 
a very civil welcome. 

lie, the Half-king, had been received 
very sternly by the commander, and in re- 
ply to the abrupt question, what his busi- 
ness was, had replied by a speech which, 
as recorded from his own lips by the 
severely veracious pen of Washington, pre- 
sents as remarkable dignity and good sense 
as ever novelist put into the mouth of the 
ideal red man, — a style of eloquence which 
we are in the habit of classing as the mil- 
lionth dilution of the Ossianic poetry, 

" Fathers," he said, " I have come to 
tell you your own speeches, what your 
own mouths have declared. Fathers, you, 
in former days, set a silver basin before 
us, wherein was the leg of a beaver, and 
desired all the nations to come and eat of 
it, to eat in peace and plenty, and not to 
be churlish to one another ; and that if 
any such person should bo found to be a 
disturber, I here lay down by the edge 
of the dish a rod which you must scourge 
them with ; and if your father should 
get foolish in my old days, I desire you 
may use it upon me as well as others. 

" Now. fathers, it is you who are the 
disturbers in this land, by coming and 
building your towns, and taking it away 
unknown to us, and by force. 

" Fathers, we kindled a fii-e a long time 
ago, at a place called Montreal, where we 
desired you to stay, and not to come and 
intrude upon our land. I now desire you 
may dispatch to that place, for, be it 
known to you, fathers, tliat this is our 
land and not yours. 

'* Fathers, I desire you may hear me in 
civilness, if not, we must handle that rod 
which was laid down for the use of the 
obstreperous. If you had come in a 
peaceable manner, like our brothers, the 
English, we would not have been against 
your trading with us as they do ; but to 
come, fathers, and build houses on our 
land, and take it by force, is what wv can- 
not submit to. 

^* Fathers, both ^ou and the English are 
white; we live m a country between j 
therefore, the land belongs neither to the 
one nor the other. But the Great Being 
above allowed it to be a place of residence 
for us ; so, fathers, I desire you to with- 
draw, as I have done our brothers, the 
English; for I will keep you at arm's 
length, I lay this down as a trial for 
both, to see which will have the greatest 
regard to it, and that side we wilL stand 
by, and make equal 8haier«^V:bL\i&. Q\a 


WashingUmU Early Days. 

brothers the English, have heard this, and 
I oome now to tell it to you ; for t am 
not afraid to discharge you off this land." 

The French commandant seems to have 
replied in a very truculent spirit^ as re- 
ported by the Indian chief: 

"Now, my child, I have heard your 
speech ; you spoke nrst, but it is my time 
to speak now. Where is my wampum, 
that you took away with the marks of 
towns upon it ? This wampum I do not 
know, which you have discharged me off 
the land with ; but you need not put your- 
self to the trouble of speaking, for I will 
not hear you. I am not afraid of flies or 
musquitoes, for Indians are such as those ; 
I tell you, down that river I will go, and 
build upon it, according to my command. 
If the river was blocked up, I have forces 
sufficient to burst it open, and tread under 
my feet all that stand in opposition, to- 
gether with their alliances ; for my force is 
as the sand upon the sea-shore ; therefore 
here is your wampum ; I sling it at you. 
Child, you talk foolish ; you say this land 
belongs to you, but there is not the black 
of my nail yours. I saw that land sooner 
than you did. before the Shannoahs and 
you were at war ; Lead was the man who 
went down and took possession of that 
river. It is my land, and I will have it, 
let who will stand up for or say against 
it. I will buy and sell with the English. 
If people will be ruled by me they may 
expect kindness, but not else." 

Mr. Sparks, remarking upon these 
speeches, says well, "The high-minded 
savage was not aware that, as far as he 
and his race were concerned, there was 
no difference between his professed friends 
and open enemies. lie had never studied 
in the school of politics, which finds an 
excuse for rapacity and injustice in the 
Uw of nations, nor learned, that it was 
the prerogative of civilization to prey upon 
tfae ignorant and deicnceless." 

On the 26th a council was held, and 
Washington in his turn made a speech, 
with the usual sprinkling of " Brothers," 
but stating succinctly and candidly the 
objects of his journey. The Half-king 
desired him not to be in a hurry, and 
suggested some reasons for delay, to which 
Washington, after much argument and 
remonstrance, was obliged to yield, for 
fear of defeating the object of his jour- 
ney. " As I found it was impossible," he 
says, " to get off without aflfronting them 
in the most egregious manner. I consented 
to stay." 

Three chiefs and one of the best hunters 
were at length appointed to oompoBe the 
eoawoy, aad on the 4th of December they 

arrived at Venango, an old I 
at the mouth of French Creek, < 
" without any thing remarkal 
ing^" says Washington, " but i 
series of bad weather." 

Here they fell in with Capta 
an interpreter, and one who hi 
fluence over the Indians. He 
be the commander of the 01 
commended to the young comi 
carry his business to the gener 
his quarters at the near fort 
French were extremely civil, 
the wine began to go round, ti 
the proverb by telling much th 
intended to conceal: that it 
absolute design to take possesi 
Ohio, and that they would do 
although they knew the Ed] 
raise two men for their on 
motions were too slow and 
prevent any undertaking of t 
Captain Joncaire plied the In 
liquor, and used every possibh 
entice them to go no furthei 
much difficulty Sie party was 
on the road, and, travelling 
more through " excessive rains, 
bad travelling Uirough many 
swamps," they at length reach 
and found the French comi 
knight of St. Louis, Lcgard« 
Pierre, a gentlemanly old sol 
fort was a considerable one, gt 
that time by about one hundre 
a large number of officers, 
officers were debating upon the 
missive, Washington was rec 
in every direction, taking the 
of the fort, counting the canoef 
latter amounted to about fifty 
readiness to convey the forces 
river in the Spring. On W 
inquiring of the commandant 
authority he had made prisoner 
English subjects, he said that t 
belonged to the French, and t 
orders to make prisoners of evei 
man who attempted to trade on 
of the Ohio. 

The Siemr St. Pierre was 
civilities, but did every thing ii 
to separate the Indian oonvo 
party. Washington says, in tl 

" I cannot say that ever in 
suffered so much anxiety as I 
affair." His life had not been 
but his expressions were al 
moderate, so that we may i 
perplexity. To leave the Ha 
hind, was to give him and hif 
over to the French interest, 
not to be thou^t ot Wash! 


WoMnfftoti^i Earfy Dayt. 


to the general and remonstrated, was met 
with fiur words and professions as nsu^ 
hot still could not get his Indians ofi^ 
Uqnor heing agahi put in requisition to 
incapacitate t^m for every thing bu( 
qoarrelling or sleeping. 

At length the Half-khig, for shame's 
sake, put an end to the delay, and the 
party set out on their return, to travel one 
hundred and thirty miles in canoes, tho 
horses having been exhausted and sent on 
before. They were destined to encounter 
new hardships in the new way of travel. 
" Several times," writes the chief, in his 
Report, " we had like to have been staved 
against rocks ; and many times we were 
^igod, all hands, to get out and remain 
in the water half an hour or more, getting 
over the shoals. At one place the ice had 
lodged and made it im^Missable by water ; 
we were therefore obliged to carry our 
canoe across the neck of land, a quarter of 
a mile over. We did not reach Venango till 
the 2'2d. where we met with our horses." 

The iiorses being nearly useless from 
&t^ne and poor feeding, the cold increas- 
ing every day, and the roads blocked up 
hj a heavy snow, Washington, anxious to 
nt back and make his report to tho 
Qovemor, resolved upon attempting the 
remainder of the journey on foot, accom- 
panied only by Mr. Gist, the most experi- 
enced of the party, and leaving the baggage 
and efiects in charge of Mr. Van Braam. 
With gnn in hand, and the necessary 
papers and provisions in a pack strapped 
on his back, he set out, with a single com- 
panion, to thread the trackless forest, on 
the twenty-sixth of December, not with- 
out some misgivings, as we may well be- 
lieve. On the second day the two travel- 
lers encoantercd a party of Indians in 
kagae with the French, who were lying 
IB wait for them. One of the savages 
fired st them, not fifteen paces cfl^ and 
missed ; but instead of returning the fire, 
which might have brought the whole pack 
upon them, they simply took the fellow 
mto mistody and kept him till nine o'clock 
in the evening; then let him go, and 
walked all ni^t to get the start of who- 
tver might attempt to follow. The next 
day they walked on until dark, and 
leikched the river, about two miles above 
the Fork of Uie Ohio, the ice driving 
down in ^reat quantities. 

Here it was that the incident of the 
whirling raft occurred, which had so 
nesriy changed the fortunes of our first 
straggle for independence, if not the whole 
dertmy of our oountrv for an age or two 
at least The Jonmalist states the occor* 

" There was no way for getting over but 
on a raft, which we set about with one 
poor hatchet, and finished just after sun- 
setting. This was one whole day's work. 
We next got it launched, then went on 
board of it and set off; but before we 
were half way over, wo were jammed in 
the ice in such a manner that we expected 
every moment our raft to sink and our- 
selves to perish. I put out my setting- 
pole to try to stop the raft, that the ice 
might pass by, when the rapidity of the 
stream threw it with so much violence 
against the pole, that it jerked me out into 
ten feet water, but I fortunately saved 
myself by catching hold of one of the raft- 
logs.' Notwithstanding all our efforts, we 
could not get to either shore, but were 
obliged, as we were near an island, to 
quit our raft and make to it. The cold 
was so extremely severe that Mr. Gist 
had all his fingers and some of his toes 
frozen, and the water shut up so hard 
that wo found no difficulty in getting off 
the island on the ice in the morning." 

We have seen several picturings of the 
scene on the rail, and one of Washington 
struggling in the icy water, but we should 
like to sec one that would express the 
condition of the two half-frozen travellers 
on the island through that night, without 
tent or fire, and wrapt in the stiflf, I'rozen 
clothes with which, one of them, at least, 
must have come on .shore. Not a word is said 
of this in the journal ; of the horrors of cold, 
fatigue and hunger all at once ; the long 
hours till morning, the reasonable dread 
of such savage dan^^ors as had already 
been encountered. Well may Wa.shington 
say this travel of eleven weeks had been 
** as fatiguing a journey as it is possible to 
conceive ; " and he adds. " From the first 
day of December to the 15th, there was 
but one day on which it did not rain or 
snow incessantly; and throughout the 
whole journey we met with nothing but 
one continued series of cold, wet weather, 
which occa.sioned very uncomfortable 
lodgings, especially after we had quitted 
our tent, which was some screen from the 
inclemency of it." 

Uncomfortable lodgings ! 

On his return to Williamsburg, Mr. 
Robertson, speaker of the House of Bur- 
gesses, took the opportunity of Washing- 
ton's being in the gallery of the house to 
pay him a high compliment, by proposing 
that the thanks of the House should be 
presented to the youthful major. This 
was instantly acceded to, and besides the 
usual form of words, we are told "the 
House rose, as one man^ axvd toriATx^ \x>- 
wsrdi Washington, saXutod Yma nh^ % 


WashinffUm^i Early Days 


general bow." It is hardly Decessary to 
obserye that this must have been far more 
embarrassing than gratifying to a modest 
man of one and twenty, and it is not to be 
wondered at that the recipient of so un- 
usual a testimonial of approbation was 
orerwhelmed with confusion, as he rose 
to attempt the impromptu reply, which 
he knew would be expected by these 
good-hearted gentlemen. He blushed, 
stammered, stopped ; and had succeeded in 
uttering no more than, "Mr* Speaker! 
Mr. Speaker!" when Mr. Robertson 
kindly called out — **Sit down. Major 
Washington, sit down I your modesty is 
equal to your merit." 

They reached Williamsburg on the Kth 
of January, 1754, and Major Washington 
made his report to Governor Dinwiddie, 
delivering also the letter of the French 
commandant The Council ordered the 
raising of two companies of men, by way 
of preparation to resist the encroachments 
of the French, now perceived to be assum- 
ing a hostile attitude toward the colonists. 
Major Washington was at once appointed 
to the command of these troops, and by 
way of informing the people of the prob^ 
able designs of the French, and exciting 
their indignation to the pitch of war, the 
(Jovornor ordered the journal from which 
we have quoted a few passages, to be 
published entire, much against the in- 
clination of the writer, who thought 
very poorly of it It was reprinted in* 
England, and attracted much attention 
there. The Governor's orders to the young 
commander and his subordinates were, 
" to drive away, kill, and destroy or seize 
as prisoners, all persons not the subjects 
of the king of Great Britain, who should 
attempt to settle or take possession of the 
lands on the Ohio River, or any of its 

But the country in general was not 
particularly well disposed towards the 
warlike manifestations planned by Gover- 
nor Dinwiddie. who writes somewhat pite- 
onsly to the Lords at home ; ^' I am sorry 
to find them very much in a republican 
way of thinking." He persevered, how- 
ever, and enlistments went on ; the forces 
were increased, and demands for aid made 
on the neighboring States. Washington's 
experience in raising and equipping troops 
without money commenced here ; he 
writes from his head-quarters at Alexan- 
dria, to the Governor, that his men are 
much discouraged for want of pay, and 
that " many of them are without shoes or 
stocking, some without shirts, and not 
M few without coats or waistcoats." Wash- 

colonel, second in command nndier 
Fry, an excellent officer. Cann 
other military equipments, recently 
from England, were sent to Ale: 
for the use of the growing army, 
aggressions on the Ohio preciptKl 
tilities somewhat Some men wl 
building a fort were attacked by 
sand French under Captain Conti 
and forced to yield the ground, the 
staying to finish the works, whic 
named Fort Duquesne, in compUi 
the Governor of Canada. Colond 
ington occupied an outpost, much e: 
and his force was quite insufficient 
serious resistance ; but he lost no 
ment in pushing forward into the 
ness to clear and prepare a road— i 
which would at least give active b 
to his men, and keep off diseonti 
timidity. To all other hardshi] 
superadded that of scanty fare, th 
tolerable ill. to the laborer. But the 
chief thought there was "no such ^ 
fail," for him, at least, and he tried 
an expeditious passage by the Youg) 
River, in the course of which he < 
tered rocks and shoals, and at lengt 
to a fall, which rendered farther e 
tion impracticable. When he n 
to the camp, he received a wamin 
sage from the Half-king importh 
the French were marching toward 
determined upon an attack. On 
information of the near approach 
enemy. Washington set off to jc 
Half-king, a task of no snaall dii 
as the march was to be performed 
night, in a violent storm of rai 
through an almost trackless wild 
That the state of affairs at this tii 
not wholly satisfactory may be 
from the following passage in a lei 
dressed by Colonel Washington 
Governor : " Giving up my commi 
quite contrary to my intention, 
ask it as a greater favor than any a; 
the many I have received from your 
to confirm it to me. But let n 
voluntarily ; then I will, with theg 
pleasure in life, devote my servloef 
expedition, without any other rewa 
the satisfaction of serving my cc 
but to be slaving dangerously 
shadow of pay, through wooda, 
mountains — I would rather pre 
great toil of a daily laborer, and d 
maintenance, provided I were red 
the necessity, than serve upon snch 

terms I hope what I ha 

will not be taken amiss, for I rei 
liere, were it as much in your p 
it 18 in your inclination, we m 


Wtuhin^UmU \Barly Days. 


treated as gentlemen and officers, and not 
haye annexed to the most trifling pay 
that ever was giyen to English officers^ 
the glorious allowance of soldiers' diet, — 
a poond of pork, with bread in proportion, 

rvr 6xy. Be the consequence what it will, 
am determined not to leave the regiment, 
but to be among the last men that shall 
quit the Ohio." 

A painful occurrence at this' stage of the 
border war was the death of M. Jumon- 
vQle, a French captain, who fell in an afr 
tadc led by Washington himself, the 
whole circumstances of which have been 
strangely misrepresented by the French 
historians. They assert that Jumonville 
advanced in the pacific character of a mes- 
senger ; Washington observes — " TViirty- 
fix men would lumost have been a retinue 
for a princely ambassador instead of a 

petit An ambassador has no need 

of spies; his character is always sacred. 
Since they had so good an intention, why 
should they remain two days within five 
miles of us, without giving me notice of 
the summons, or any thing that related 

to their embassy 1 They pretend 

that they called to us as soon as we were 
discovered, which is absolutely false ; for I 
was at the head of the party approaching 
them, and I can affirm that as soon as 
they saw us, they ran to their arms with- 
out calling, which I should have heard 
had they done so." 

The short and simple account ^iven by 
Washington to Governor Dinwiddie is 
this : *• I set out with forty men before ten, 
and it was from that time until near sun- 
rise before we reached the Indians' camp, 
having marched in small paths, through a 
heavy rain, and a night as dark as it is 
possible to conceive. We were frequently 
tumbling one over another, and often so 
lost that fifteen or twenty minutes' search 
would not find the path again. 

" When we came to the Half-king, I 
counselled with him, and got his assent to 
go hand-in-hand and strike the French. 
Accordingly he, Monacawacha, and a few 
other Indians, set out with us, and when 
we came to the place where the troops 
were, the Half-king sent two Indians to 
follow the tracks and discover their lodg- 
ment, which they did, at a very obscure 
place, surrounded with rocks. I thereupon. 
m conjunction with the Half-king ana 
Monacawacha, formed a disposition to at- 
tack them on all sides, which we accord- 
ii^jly did, and after an engagement of 
fifteen minutes, we killed ten, wounded one, 
and took twenty-one prisoners. Amongst 
those killed was M. Jumonville, the com- 
mander. The principal officers taken are 

M. Drouillon and M. La Force, of whom 
your Honor has oft^n heard me speak, as 
a bold enterprising man, and a person of 
great subtlety and cunning. These officers 
pretend they were coming on an embassy ; 
but the absurdity of this pretext is too 
glaring, as you will see by the Instructions 
and Summons inclosed. Their instructions 
were to reconnoitre the country, roads, 
creeks, and the like, as far as the Poto- 
mac, which tl^ey were about to do. These 
enterprising men were purposely chosen 
out to procure intelligence, which they 
were to send back by some brisk de^ 
spatches, with the mention of the day 
that they were to serve the summons, 
which could be with no other view than 
to • get a sufficient reinforcement to fall 
upon us immediately after." 

History is really disgraced by the at- 
tempt to represent the death of the com- 
mander of such a party under such cir- 
cumstances an "assassination;" yet Mr. 
Sparks mentions MM. Flassan, Lacretelle, 
Montgaillard, and a recent writer in the 
Biographie Universelie, as only a few of 
the French historians that have fallen into 
this gross error, the sole authority for 
which is a letter written by M. Contre- 
coeur to the Marquis Duquesne, which 
letter gives the Governor the report of a 
Canadian who ran away at the beginning 
of the skirmish, and the rumors gathered 
among the Indians. 

Not content with this prosaic slander, 
M. Thomas wrote an epic (I) entitled 
^^ Jumonville," the subject or which he 
states as, '• IJAssassinat de M. Jumon- 
ville en Amerique, et la Vengeance de ce 
Meurtre," a poem which Zimmermann 
cites as a remarkable instance of the effect 
of national antipathy. "The preface," 
observes Mr. Sparks, "contains an ex- 
aggerated paraphrase of M. Contrecoeur's 
letter, as the groundwork of the author's 
poetical fabric. With the materials thus 
furnished, and the machinery of the deep 
and wild forests, the savages, the demon 
of battles and the ghost of Jumonville, 
his epic speedily assumes a tragic garb, 
and the scenes of horror and the cries of 
vengeance cease not till the poem closes." 

Washington, with his usual self-abne- 
gation in cases merely personal, never 
took the least pains io justify himself by 
declaring publicly the falsity of the stain 
thus sought to be fixed upon his character. 
He had the unqualified approbation of the 
authorities under whose orders he acted, 
and of the government at home, and he 
was content. Governor Dinwiddie wrote 
thus to Lord Albemarle : " The prisoners 
said they were come as an embassy from 


WashingUm^s Early Day$. 


the fort ; but vour Lordship knows that 
ambassadors do not come with such an 
armed force, without a trumpet or any 
other sign of fHendship \ nor can it be 
thought they were on an embassy, by 
staying so long reconnoitering our small 
camp, but more probably that they ex- 
pected a reinforcement to cut them all 

Washington's private journal of the 
affairs of the time, which was lost at the 
fatal defeat of General Braddock, was 
many years afterwards discovered in Paris, 
and found to confirm the statement given 
in his letter to the Governor. So it is to be 
hoped future French historians will be con- 
tent at least to reduce the depth of color 
which their predecessors have thought 
suitable to this event, and allow the death 
of M. Jumonville to assume its true aspect 
and position, as one among the legitimate 
horrors which follow in the train of war — 
horrors which Washington was never 
known wilfully or carelessly to deepen. 

It Is most interesting to observe, in 
stuflying the career of Washingon from 
the very beginning, how entirely he was 
a man of peace, though so much of his 
life was pas.sed in making war, and that 
with an iron will and unJBIinching thorough- 
ness. He seems to have done his duty in 
the character of a soldier just as coolly and 
regularly as he did it in that of a surveyor. 
He knew his work, and he set about it 
with all his powers of mind and body, 
but wo never feel for a moment that it 
was work that he loved. He loved rural 
life, the occupations of the farm, the sports 
of the field, the enjoyments of the fireside. 
Much has been said of his reserve, as if it 
were exclusiveness ; but his letters and 
his constant home practice show, conclu- 
sively, that no man depended more upon 
friendship, or found society more necessary 
to his enjoyment. He kept only his cares 
to himself, and those only when to impart 
them would have been ii\jurious or un- 
profitable. As he grew older, weighty 
business made him more grave and silent ; 
but we should always carry with us, in 
attempting to appreciate his chAracter as 
a man, the idea of him that we gather 
from the record of his earlier days ; the 
kindliness, the sociability, the generous 
confidence, the courageous candor that 
marked him then, and evidently formed 
part of the very structure of his being. 
Whoever can read his journals and early 
letters without imbibing an aficction as 
well as reverence for him, must have sat 
down to the task with enormous prepos- 

sessions, derived from the aooonnts of hit 
later life. 

Horace Walpole, that inveterate pointer 
of anecdotes, says — *' In the express whidi 
Major Washington despatched on the pro- 
ceding little victory, he concluded with 
these words: ^JheardthebuUeUwhutle, 
and, believe me, there is something 
charming in the sound.^ On heanng of 
this, the king said, sensibly, ^He would 
not say so if he had been used to hear 
many? " Mr. Sparks remarks that the 
despatch communicated by Major Wash- 
ington to Governor Dinwiddie, giving an 
account of the encounter with Jumon- 
Tjlle, contains nothing about the tohist^ 
ling of buUetSy nor is such a sentiment 
contained in any of his letters that have 
been preserved. " As the writer refers to 
no authority, it may be presumed that ho 
had none but rumor, either for the saying 
of Washington or for the more sensiblo 
reply of the king. Yet this knecdote is 
not wholly without foundation, if we may 
rely on a statement of Gordon, who says— 
^ A gentleman who had heard the Rever- 
end ^Ir. Davies relate that Col. Washing 
ton had mentioned he knew of no music 
so pleasing as the whistling of bullets^ 
being alone in conversation with him in 
Cambridge, asked him whether it was as 
he had related. The General answered. 
" If I said so, it was when I was young." ' " 

In his maturcr years, the report of a 
fowling-piece was the only warlike sound 
that had any music for his oars, and he 
loved the lowing of kine. and the cracklmg 
of a bright wo<Mi fire better still. Not a 
letter of his that contains any allusion to 
his private and personal tastes but bseathes 
the very spirit of a love of retirement and 
domestic repose. In 1790 somebody cavil- 
led at the etiquette observed at his levees 
in New- York, to which he replies : " That 
I have not been able to make bows to tho 
taste of poor Colonel B. (who, by the by, 
I believe, never saw one of them), is to 
be regretted, especially, too, as upon thoee 
occasions they were indiscriminately bo- 
stowed, and the best I was master oL 
Would it not have been better to throw 
the veil of charity over thenk ascribing 
their stiffness to the effects of age, or to 
the unskilfulness of my teacher, rather 
than to pride and dignity of offioe, which| 
God knows, has no charms for me ? For 
I can. truly say I had rather be at Monnt 
Vernon, with a friend or two about me^ 
than to be attended at the seat of eovern- 
ment by the officers of state and the rep- 
resentatives of every power in Europe." 





AM ARRIAGE ceremony at Athens is a 
very dififerent celebration from one 
in the country. In the former we find 
that there is exhibited somewhat of Euro- 
pean civilization and cultiyation ; while 
the influence of foreign customs has not 
yet penetrated into the remote villages. 
There men are married, as well as ba[>- 
tized and buried, accoraing to the good 
old traditionary forms of their ancestors. 
And yet there have been preserved, even 
in the city, so many characteristic pecu- 
ijariUes, that they appear novel and inter- 
esting to a stranger. I was, therefore, 
lery much pleased to receive one day an 
invitation to the wedding of a young 
Greek couple, which was to take place a 
few evenings Uter. 

The ceremony is generally performed 
b the house of the bridegroom, though in 
some provinces the parish church is re- 
sorted to. But in this respect, as in most 
others, each petty district has its own 
customs, as inmiutable as the laws of the 
Medes and Persians. We went at an 
early hour to the house of the evening's 
fisstivitics. It was a mansion of the old 
style, all of stone and stucco, and faced 
one of the narrow streets that abound in 
the more ancient part of the town. A 
crowd of the lower classes, who, though 
they were not among the invited, made 
bold to collect in force about the door, 
seemed to preclude all entrance. A small 
company, some distance down the street, 
were keeping up their spirits with frequent 
potations; and made merry with the 
music of a stringed instrument, whose 
notes grated harshly on our ears. It was 
ever and anon interrupted by the jocose 
comments which the party uttered upon 
the appearance of the guests, as they suc- 
cessiTely came into the light cast b^ a 
flaming torch set in a convenient position. 
When we had succeeded in working our 
way up the thronged staircase, we foimd 
some sixty or eighty persons already con- 
gregated in the moderately large parlor, 
whicli, though it seemed rather bare of 
oniament and furniture to one who, like 
myself, had come from the West, had 
some pretensions in common with the 
drawing-rooms of Paris and London. The 
isscmblcd company, composed, as usual, 
of a much greater proportion of ladies 
than gentlemen, were mostly dressed in 
the last style of Parisian fashions. Yet 
there was a sprinkling of gentlemen in the 

genuine Albanian dress, comprising your 
free and easy people, who wish to pass 
for the most independent class of society, 
and scorn to adopt the continually chang- 
ing mode. There were not wanting a 
considerable number of pretty faces among 
the ladies (who, according to the common 
practice, congregated on one side of the 
room); but it was a beauty consistine 
rather in freshness of colour, and a good 
healthy look, than in delicacy of feature. 
If, however, rumor tells true, some of the 
tmts are borrowed ; and the belle of the 
ball-room makes but a sorry figure the 
next morning. All the tight lacing in the 
world could not give an Athenian damsel 
the wasp-like contour of figure, which is 
the admiration of all your French dress- 
makers and misses in their teens. Dis- 
guise it as they may, there is a tendency 
to the en bon point among the ladies, 
many of whom waddle about wiih a grace 
which would have seemed charming in the 
eyes of our worthy Duteh progenitors. The 
men, on the other hand, are a lean, lank 
race, whose dark-complexioned faces ac- 
quire an additional touch of ferocity from 
the formidable moustaches they wear, and 
which, when their hands are not other- 
wise employed, they may be seen twirling 
by the hour. 

The company were all assembled, and 
on the tiptoe of expectation, when the 
bridegroom and bride entered, and took 
their stand at the further extremity of the 
room. Each of them held a long lighted 
waxen taper, and the groomsman and 
bridesmaid carried similar ones. The 
bride, arrayed in a white satin dress, 
covered with lace, and having for a head- 
dress a wreath of flowers, from behind 
which a long white veil hung down over 
her shoulders, looked charming, — as what 
bride does not ? She bore the classic name 
of Athend. The bridegroom was dressed 
in Frank costume. 

The priests came in at the same time 
with the couple, — or, more properly, there 
were present at the commencement of the 
service two priests^ with a deacon and a 
young man who read the responses, and 
corresponded to the enfant de cha&ur of 
the Latin Church. 

There are two distmct services in the 
Greek Church pertaining to this cere- 
mony ; and the rite of marriage cannot 
take place, unless the parties have been 
previously betrothed. Sometimes, how- 
ever, as in this instance, the one service 
takes place immediately before the other. 


Modem Greek Customs. 


The liturgy was read by one of the priests 
from an elegantly bound service book. In 
one part of the ceremony he stopped, and, 
taking up a ring from the small table, on 
which were deposited the various utensils 
which the deacon had brought in, he 
thrice made the sign of the cross over 
the book. Then he touched it to the 
forehead of the bridegroom, and to that 
of the bride. Last of all he placed it suo- 
cessively upon the finger, first of one and 
then of the other, after divers crossings 
performed in the air. 

When the parties were thus lawfully 
betrothed, there was a short pause, and 
then the bishop, whom the relatives had 
invited to officiate in order to give more 
brilliancy to the wedding, entered the 
room, and the priests hastened to do him 
homage. He is usually dressed in the 
ordinary episcopal costume, wearing his 
black cloak and gown, and the clerical 
cap, over which a black veil hangs down 
behind, as a distinguishing mark of his 
office. But on this occasion his head was 
covered with a crown, and he carried a 
heavy silver crozier, such as is only to be 
seen in the Greek Church — Iloman Catho- 
lic bishops rarely appearing in public with 
it The handsome dresses of the priests 
added to the singularity of the scene. 
The bishop now took the principal part in 
the services, reading from a book covered 
with a solid silver binding, which one of 
the priests held before him. Whenever 
he found it necessary to lay aside his cro* 
zier, one of the attendant ecclesiastics 
took it at tho same time kissing his supe- 
rior's hand. And when he resumed it 
the same ceremony was repeated, to the 
no small disgust of those of us who were 
not accustomed to such abject servility. 
The service was a long one ; and we be- 
came quite tired of it; for it consisted 
chiefly of prayers, which were hurried 
through, and of passages of Scripture 
mumbled in such a maimer as to be 
quite unintelligible. Some portions of the 
written form are, in themselves, so utterly 
senseless, that no one has the least idea of 
what they mean. 

The great and essential part of the rite 
was the crowning of the couple. The 
crowns were, in this case, merely wreaths 
of artificial flowers, numbers of which 
may be seen in the shops every day. The 

Cmsman held one over the head of the 
egroom, and the bridesmaid held a 
similar one over the bride's head, during 
the whole time ; and they appeared quite 
weary before the conclusion of the cere- 
mony was reached. At last, when the 
proper time came, the bishop took one of 

the wreaths, and touching it to the forehead 
of the bridegroom, and afterwards to that 
of the bride, made with it the sign of the 
cross between the couple. This he thrice 
repeated, while at the same time, he recited 
the words which follow : " Thou, the ser- 
vant of the Lord. Gregory, art crowned 
(or married) to the servant of the Lord, 
Athen^ in the name of the Father, and of 
the Son, and ofthe Holy Ghost." He then 
crowned the bridegroom with this wreath ; 
and with the other performed the same 
ceremony with the bride. Later the 
groomsman, who is usually the godfather, 
or nonnosj of the bridegroom, and is ex- 
pected to be hereditary sponsor, exchanged 
the two wreaths, and then replaced t^ni 
on the heads of the couple. A cup was 
then handed by the bishop, first to the 
man, and then to the woman ; and each 
of them drank a portion of the wine it 
contained. This very pretty ceremonr 
was symbolical of the obligation, whicn 
both parties enter into, to participate 
equally in all the pleasures and sufienngs 
of life, in its joys and its sorrows. I hibd 
heard it stated that a bitter ingredient is 
mingled with the wine, typical of life's 
vicissitudes. But those of whom I in- 
quired, assured me that nothing of the 
kind is customary. It was singular that 
with so affecting an incident, there shoola 
be closely connected another of a ludicrous 
character. The bishop took the hand of 
the priest ; Ive in turn grasped that of the 
deacon ; and so, with the married ooaple^ 
the singers and all, a string vrss inade^ 
which the chief ecclesiastic lA around tbs 
table in the centre of the room. The 
whole resembled in a ludicrous manneri 
some of those games which the children 
play in America. 

With this the service came to an end, to 
the satisfaction of every one present 
While the priests retired, all pressed 
around the bridegroom and bride to ofier 
congratulations, some formal, and others 
afiectionate. The company remained but 
a few moments more. A servant came 
bringing in a large tray, covered with 
candies: and each guest was expected 
to help himself plentifully to them, and 
to carry some home. A few seemed to 
measure their kind feelings to the cou- 
ple, by the quantity which they heaped to- 
gettier. Judging by this criterion, their 
benevolent feelings were not small. Out 
or two drew forth their handkerchieft, 
and carried them away full. After which 
the company began to disperse, and I fol- 
lowed the general example. 

It struck me as a very singular circum- 
stance, that during the entire service whidi 


Modem Ghreek CusUms, 


I had been listening to, not a single re- 
sponse had been made by the couple, nor 
had the consent of the parties been ex- 
pressed, or any promise exacted of th<An. 
In (kct) the bridegroom may arrange the 
whole matter with the parents or guar- 
dians of the lady, without her knowledge, 
and eyen against her will. And let not 
any one suppose that such a thing, though 
sanctioned by law, never actually occurs 
in practice. We assure them that such 
things do happen, and not unfrequently 
cither. A case of this kind was related 
to me, as having taken place not long 
since at Smyrna, which was so romantic in 
its details, that it might have formed the 
plot of a tale of no ordinary interest. A 
wealthy inhabitant of that city, an old 
Qreek subject, had an only daughter, 
named Theodosia, whose hand had been 
sought, and whose affections had been 
gained by a respectable young English 
resident of the place. But the father was 
too proud to let his daughter marry a 
foreigner, and a heretic, too ; and he com- 
manded her to think no more of him. As 
an offset, he promised his daughter in 
marriage to a boorish Greek from the 
East. But, it is well known, the affec- 
tions are sometimes most unreasonably 
stabbom ; and the young lady preferred 
an elopement to remaining with her 
parents, under such circumstances. A 
rendezvous was fixed upon by the two 
lovers; but, unfortunately, there was a 
misunderstanding as to the spot, and 
Theodosia, after waiting for hours at the 
place agreed upon, was finally discovered 
and brought back to her father's house. 
Threats, and even chastisement, were em- 
ployed, ineffectually, with the hope of 
gaining her consent Notwithstanding 
this a day was appointed for the nuptials, 
the priests were called in to perform the 
rite, and the young girl was brought into 
the room by main force. While the ser- 
Tice was being read Theodosia fainted, and 
the priests stopped until she recovered her 
senses, when they proceeded ; and she 
was wedded to a man whom she loathed. 
These circumstances may appear the more 
remarkable, from the fact, that at this 
time the young lady was nineteen or 
twenty years of age. So inauspicious a 
marriage was not likely to prove a fortu- 
nate union. It was not long before the 
wife was forced to be separated from her 
husband, who had treated her in the most 
cruel manner. Her father became the 
strenuous advocate of this measure ; but 

for a long time, he found himself utterly 
unable to persuade her to leave the man 
whom he had compelled her to wed.* 


The customs which characterize any 
country are to be found in their purity, 
only in those remote portions, into which 
the manners of other lands liave not as 
yet penetrated. The increasing facilities 
of intercommunication, while they ame- 
liorate the condition of the poor, so far as 
mere material interests are affected, de- 
stroy in Greece, as well as in Switzerland, 
those striking contrasts in the mode of 
living, which excite the curiosity of the 
stranger. The American, walking the 
streets of Athens, hears at every turn the 
cry of the peddler, who, under the name of 
"pania Americanica," hawks the fabrics 
of the Lowell mills; and the Grecian 
mother finds it cheaper to clothe her 
daughters in them, than to occupy her 
leisure hours at the loom. 

In the secluded villages, the ceremony 
of marriage, which in the capital has be- 
come gradually assimilated more and more 
to the stereotyped form of other countries, 
includes a number of ancient customs. 
Every petty hamlet or, at least, every 
small district, possesses some of its own, 
which entirely regulate tlic performance 
of the ceremony, and which none of even 
the more polished citizens attempt to 
abrogate. It would, therefore, be quite 
a hopeless task to describe a// the diller- 
ent modes ; and the customs prevailing in 
the province of Maina, at the southerly 
extremity of the country, may be taken 
as a fair specimen of the rest. The wed- 
ding has long since been projected, and 
afler having been fully discussed in family 
council, on either side, the connection has 
been approved, and the time for its con- 
summation determined by all the nearest 
relatives of the interested parties. For 
such a thing as a clandestine marriage, or 
one celebrated without the authorization 
of friends, is almost unheard of. Whoever 
should marry a young lady, without first 
asking the consent of even her third 
cousins, would, in Maina, inevitably draw 
upon himself their fierwst animosity ; and 
cause an irremediable breach, which would 
sooner or later end in revenge and blood- 
shed. We have even heard mentioned 
the instance of a young man. who eloped 
with a girl of his acquaintance, and who 
afler forty years had passed, and he 

* This Is the story, as related by one who had been a neighbor and acquaintance of the parties; and it wm 
MBfirmed by some esteemed Athenian Mends. 
VOU III. — 10 


Modem Oreek Customs. 


was surrounded by grown-up sons and 
daughters, fell a victim to the unrelenting 
hatred of those whom he had so long since 

Tlie first preparations commence a week 
beforehand, and as the ceremony occurs 
on Sunday, these take place on the same 
day of the week. The bridegroom and 
his intended father-in-law each invite their 
friends to their houses. If they live in 
the same village, this is accomplished in 
person ; but if they live too far off for 
that, the invitation is equally well under- 
stood, on the reception of a small caka 
which in these regions takes the place of 
the gilt and crested envelope, and the " At 
home," card of our more refined countries. 
Upon its reception, every one is in duty 
bound to go the same day to the house to 
which he is bidden, where a convivial 
party is thus assembled. Their occupa- 
tion for the afternoon consists in cleansing, 
and somethnes grinding, the wheat, though 
this latter operation is often deferred for 
a day or two. While performing these 
offices of friendship, the company enliven 
their labors by singing various songs, for 
the most part curious and characteristic ; 
few of which have ever yet been collected 
in a permanent form. 

The remamder of the week is spent in 
a quiet manner, and it is not until the 
ensuing Saturday, that the same parties 
reassemble at the house of bridegroom or 
bride, as the case may l>e : for no one is 
invited to both places. The bridegroom, 
who, according to the custom of the dis- 
trict, bears all the expenses, has previously 
agreed to provide a stipulated number of 
rams or sheep, which are never less than 
three, and rarely exceed a dozen. These 
he now sends to the house of his intended 
fatheMn-law, and with them, three times 
as many loaves as there are sheep, and 
three times as many okes of wine * as there 
are loaves of bread. The men who are 
dispatched with these gifts — which are 
intended for immediate consumption, are 
expected to be entertained and lodged at 
the house of the bride, for the night. Such 
an addition to the household might, in- 
deed, disturb an American housekeeper. 
But as beds are an unknown, or unusual 
commodity, as far ns the greater part of 
the population are concerned, even a large 
number of guests can easily be admitted. 
Provided the Greek peasant finds plenty 
to eat, and especially to drink, he lays 
himself down in perfect contentment, 

wrapped up, as he is^ in a huge capote^ or 
shaggy coat, by the side of the fire, kindled 
on a stone hearth, in the middle of the 
room. Meanwhile the family oocufyy. 
perhaps, a small inclosed space at one of 
the ends of the house, to which aooess is 

f lined by a ladder of two or three steps. 
am alluding here, of course, only to Um 
habitations of the lower and poorer dan, 
which occasion may, perhaps bo taken sX 
a future time, to describe more fullr. 
Even in retired districts, one oocask>naUy 
finds a house with much greater preten- 
sions to comfortable arrangement 

About midnight, another set of men are 
dispatched from the bridegroom*8 housa. 
They carry a complete attire for the bride^ 
who is dressed up in it immediately. 
Then, on Sunday morning, at about three 
or four o'clock, the bridegroom proceeds 
thither in person, accompanied by a few 
of his more intimate friends. And now 
the marriage ceremony, that is the stepluk' 
noma, or crowning, takes place in the 
presence of all. The parish priest who 
has been called to quit his slumbers al 
this early hour, officiates. Upon the con- 
clusion of the service, the priest retires to 
his home, and so does the bridegroom, 
leaving his lady behind at her father*! 
house. But at perhaps nine o'clock, in 
broad daylight, he proceeds on horseback, 
and attended by all his friends, to claim 
and carry home his newly married wife. 
By his side walk two of his nearest female 
relatives, on his father's and mother's 
side. When the procession reaches the 
house, the bridegroom must not enter, but 
must stop in some part of the court, where 
the guests of the bride's father come each 
to greet him. First, his mother4n-]aw 
embraces him, at the same time pladng 
about his neck a silk handkerehief, as a 
gift. All the women follow her example, 
and place a like present on his shoulders; 
so that, before they get through, he will 
find himself loaded with a pile of handker- 
chiefs. These, of course, he does not wish 
to keep, and within a few days disposes 
of them, without compunction, by sals. 
As the custom is universal in the region, 
it becomes merely a matter of excbangi^ 
for every one receives in the end about at 
much as he gives. And now the bride- 
groom and his friends may enter the housiL 
where they are generou.<%ly entertained, and 
conviviality reigns awhile. 

But now this must end. The &ther 
takes his daughter, and committing her to 

* Thi.H story is emboiUcd in one of those pnthetlc maerologiik, or laincntfi, which are repeated over Uat 
tombs of Uie (Icccascd. In thiit poetic history, tlio leiMling evontii of the maa's life are related in coasidMiU* 
SaCaiL Munj jperauna have acquired a singular reputation for their sliill in eomjHninir them. 

t Wine and oil are in Greece measured by weight, and an ok4 Is aaarly •qua! to threo uf <mr pooada 


Modem Greek Oustcms. 


lier hosband's care, gives him such advice 
and exhortation as ho thinks proper. 
Then leading them both into the court, he 
makes them tread on some firm stone; 
^which form, if it has anj meaning at all, 
(as, with regard to many of the more 
trifling particulars of such ceremonies as 
these, seems rather improbable), is in- 
tended to convey the idea of the unanimity 
necessary to both parties. The parents 
now take leave of their daughter, and the 
friends accompany the newly married 
couple to their home. The guests of the 
bridegroom divert themselves as they go, 
by singing songs, possessing, in truth, 
little poetical merit, but lively enough ; in 
which they represent themselves as having 
"robbed a village, and despoiled a country, 
to carrj- off the bride, whose praises thou- 
sands sing." This nettles the friends of 
the bride's father, who retort upon them 
by wishing, " May the bride shiuo ujx)n 
joa like the moon, and illuminate you as 
the sun. May she trample you imder foot 
like the earth ; and be in no way depend- 
ent upon you for aught." 

The ceremony which took place at the 
&ther's, is now repeated at that of the 
bridegroom; and the bride is not pcr- 
mitt^ to enter her new home, before her 
hiisband\s friends have all pressed around 
her to shower presents upon her, consisting 
of various little commodities, or of money. 
All the assembled company follow the 
oouple into the house, and after a few un- 
important forms, they sit down to a colla- 
mi, with which the entire ceremonial 
onnes to an end. 

Those who are acquainted with the 
eostoms of the ancient Greeks and Ro- 
mans, will scarcely fail to observe the very 
striking pouits of resemblance which those 
I have been relating present. The wedding, 
the bridal procession, the songs of the 
friends, and many of the inferior details, 
preserve a similarity truly wonderful, 
when the varied circumstances, and the 
long intervening space of time, are taken 
into consideration. The fact must, how- 
ever, be borne in nnnd, that the habits of 
the people in various districts are so ex- 
tremely diverse, that the description of 
those which prevail in one place, by no 
means conveys a correct idea of those of a 
Tillage only a few miles distant 


One of the tenants of a friend intended 
to have his child baptized ; and we were 
included among those who were requested 
to witness the ceremony. The small 
cottage, wluch stood with its end to the 

street was entered from the court on its 
side. Here a part of the family, in their 
gala dresses, were awaiting the arrival of 
the priest who was to officiate. There is 
a large fund of kindness in the Grecian 
heart, even among the poorest ; and the 
inmates of the cottage received us with 
pleasure, and exerted themselves to the 
utmost to entertain us. The priest kept 
us waiting for him. When he did come. 
I found that he was an acquaintance, ana 
officiated in the neighboring church of St 
Nicholas Rangaves ; whose shrill little 
bell, ringing to call the people to their de- 
votions, used to break in upon my morning 
slumbers. A good heart beats within 
that coarse black go\ni, and a ruddy face 
beams with good nature from under the 
priestly cap ; but a plentiful use of the 
snuff-l)0x does not improve his appearance 
for cleanliness. 

A large brass vessel, a couple of feet in 
diameter, was brought in by a young man, 
and placed in the centre of the room. 
Several bucketsful of warm and cold 
water were poured in. until the tempera- 
ture was judged suitable. But before the 
water was fit for using, another operation 
was necessary ; for the presence of any 
evil spirits or magic in the water would 
infallibly impair, if not destroy, the effect 
of the ordinance. If any such beings or 
influence lay concealed, they were assur- 
edly dispelled by the manipulations of tho 
priest, who, baring his arm. three times 
drew it through the water, making tho 
sign of the cross. And if this had been 
ineflectual, they could not remain after 
that he had blown upon the surface, so as 
to repeat the same sacred sign upon it 
The water being thus consecrated, the 
child was brought in, neatly dressed in 
white, and presented by its godfather for 
baptism. And now it was stripped of 
every particle of clothing, then tatven by 
the priest, who held it up before the whole 
company, in order, I presume, that all 
might be witnesses to the act A small 
bottle of oil was presented to the ecclesi- 
ustic, and after its contents had been 
sanctified by receiving an apostolic bene- 
diction, the infant's entire Ixnly was an- 
ointed with it. This is not, however, con- 
sidered an integral part of the religious 
rite ; but is merely intended to prevent 
any injurious effects from the application 
of water at so tender an age, as is custom- 
ary among the Greeks. And the precau- 
tion, if it he of any avail, is certainly 
needed. The common people consider the 
performance of the ceremony almost, if 
not quite, a sine qua non of salvation, be- 
liering in its regenerating influence. So 


Modem Greek Chutoms. 


the more delicate the babe's constitution, 
the more anxious are the parents to have 
the rite performed as early as possible. 
Notwithstanding all their precautions, 
however, I have heard that great numbers 
of infants yearly die in consequence of the 
shock they receive. 

The act of baptism itself consisted in 
three times entirely immersing the child. 
The priest managed this very adroitly, 
and prevented its strangling by covering 
its mouth and whole face with one of his 
hands. After this was done (the name 
being given at the same time), the priest 
returned the crying and shivering baby 
into the hands of the godfather, and the 
others who stood near, by whom he was 
speedily wiped and clothed. The baptism 
was completed by the application to the 
child's forehead, ears, hands, and feet, of 
a little of the •' holy unguent," which is, 
or was until lately, compounded only by 
the Patriarch of Constantinople, and dis- 
pensed once a year to all the churches. 

The infant being now removed, the god- 
father presented to each of the persons 
present a bright silver coin of the date of 
the current year, and a ribbon passed 
through a small hole in it The person 
who receives this little piece of money is 
bound to keep it safely, that it may re- 
mind him of his having witnessed the bap- 
tism of that child. This testimony he is ex- 
pected to render, if necessary, before men, 
and also before the angels at the last 
Judgment. And now the glittering coin, 
as it lies glittering on the table before me 
as I write this, with the neat knot of blue 
ribbon tied to it, recalls the image of that 
departed innocent, which no longer needs 
any to witness to its christening here 

The godfather bore all the contingent 
expenses, which were in this case but 
small, though they sometimes amount to 
a considerable sum. So it is esteemed 
quite a mark of friendship to stand as 
sponsor for your neighbor's child. But 
the most important consideration by far, 
is that the connection thus formed is as 
binding as a natural relationship, and for 
ever precludes all intermarriages between 
those thus allied to each other, even to 
the same degree as with members of the 
same stock — that is, according to Greek 
law, to the ninth degree, I believe. 


Look with me for a moment at the pro- 
cession, which is this moment passing on 
its way to the cemetery beyond the nisisus. 

Duriiig the hot months, seven 
may be counted every day. The i 
choly nasal chant of the prieats m 
come alone, betokens the approach 
train ; and, as it comes nearer and i 
the litanies which are recited becom 
distinguishable. The corpse of ti 
ceased is borne in a light woodeta I 
coffin, upon the shoulders of men. 
body, decorated with flowers and c 
in white, is exposed to the gaze of a 
the lid has been removed, and is i 
by a man or boy in the van of the j 
sion. It has a large cross invi 
pamted upon it. As it approadies^ 
bystander reverently raises his ha 
stands uncovered until it has pasaec 
this mark of respect is paid not to t 
parted, but to the sign of the cross, 
Greek friends assure me. It must 1 
fessed, there is something rather rej 
in this parading of death throug 
thronged street, especially where it 
ject has been chosen from amoc 
aged, or bears the marks of gr» 
recent struggles for dear life. Si 
the manner in which the common 
are carried to their last resting-placi 
the death of a bishop occasions 
greater pomp. He is carried throu 
most public thoroughfares ; and, d 
as in the discharge of his eodesi 
functions, he is placed in a sitting p 
upon the bier. Upon reaching toe t 
tery where he is privileged to enter 
buried in the same position, — a disti 
allowed to no one else. 

The interest entertained by soi 
for the memory and souls of the d 
evinced by the prayers that are c 
their behalf, though the Greeks c 
profess to believe in the czistenoi 
purgatory. A singular practice a 
their remembrance yet more vividly, 
ral successive Fridays arc set «p 
especially devoted to the dead, ifi 
of the church of St. Nicolas, situs 
the very base of the Acropolis, att 
my attention on one of these oca 
Upon entering the church, which 
small edifice scarcely exceeding in i 
ordinary room, I found a few p 
waiting for the commencement < 
services, the men and boys, as 
standing near the altar, while the i 
kept at a more respectful distance, 
and anon some person would oo 
carrying a small dish covered with 
kin ; and after devoutly crossing h 
place the dish upon the floor, in fr 
the screen of the hieron or holy 
These plates contain a peculiar s 
oompound or cake, which is calli 


Pla€$t of PMie Amumnent. 


OoUjfva. It is, in fiust^ an ofibring made 
to the ^ manes " of the dead, and can cer- 
tainly claim a pagan, rather than a Chris- 
tian origin. It is carefully made, the 
principal ingredients being boiled wheat 
and currants. The surface of the top is 
ornamented with various degrees of neat- 
tteas, by means of the eatable red grains 
ct the pomegranate, almonds, or any thing 
of that kind. These cakes were sent by 
the relatives of those who had died within 
a year or two; and if handsome, were 
allowed to remain before the chancel. If 
more commonly prepared, the contents 
was thrown into a basket In every plate 
of CoUyva^ and in every basket were 
stuck a number of little lighted waxen 
tapers, which burned during the service 
The notion of the common people was 
to me by a person whom I 

asked to explain the purport of the cere- 
mony. " The soul of the deceased," said 
he, "for whom the Colly va is offered, 
comes down from heaven during the ser- 
vice, and eats a single grain of the wheat" 
But what manner of good this could do 
the disembodied spirit, he could not inform 
me ; nor did he give any satisfactory reason 
for offering so large a quantity, when the 
spirit is so moderate in its desires. The 
parish priest, during the short prescribed 
forms took notice of the names of all those 
for whom Collyva had been offered. At 
the conclusion, he helped himself to his 
share of the cakes, after that the spirits 
had enjoyed an ample opportunity of eat- 
ing to their hearts' content. The rest was 
distributed by the handful to every one 
present, to be carried away and eaten at 
home, — a feast for the dead. 



IF labor for labor's sake is against nature, 
as Locke says, amusement for amuse- 
ment^s sake is equally unnatiu-al. Amuse- 
ment that has to be sought becomes labor, 
while labor becomes an amusement when 
properly directed. A Down East captain 
said to his crew, " Come, men, knock off 
work and go to piling staves." We seek 
amusement in a similar manner, by change 
of occupation, and, in dancing all night 
for pleasure, we work much harder than 
we have done during the day at our regu- 
lar business. Amusements are as often 
oalled recreations, which Is, perhaps, a 
better term; and the great point to be 
determined is what kind of amusement 
will yield the greatest amount of enjoy- 
ment, or recreation, affording the overtaxed 
mind and body opportunity to recover 
their elasticity after having been subjected 
to too ticht a strain. A moment's thought 
bestowed upon this subject will at once 
tend to the conclusion that amusements 
must be as varied as the employments of 
tibe people to be amused. Our friend 
Snip^ the tailor, whose employment con- 
flnes him six days out of seven to his 
shop-board, as well as Cocker, the book- 
keeper, can conceive of no more delightful 
rocreation than a target excursion or a 
party to the Fishing Banks ; while Sam. 

Jones, the fisherman, and Bob Brown, the 
omnibus driver, imagine that the highest 
heaven of enjoyment might be found in 
the gallery of a theatre, where the air 
would be hot, and the shifting scenes as 
unlike as possible to any thing they had 
ever seen from a smack's deck or the top 
of an omnibus. The amusements of a 
people, therefore, while they must be con- 
genial to their habits, must also be antago- 
nistical to their employments; fanners' 
boys would never go into the fields for 
recreation, nor students to a lecture room ; 
and hence the impossibility of transplant- 
ing national pastimes, or even of reviving 
them when they have fallen into disuse. 
If people are let alone, they will find 
amusements best adapted to their neces- 
sities, and therefore any legal restraints 
placed upon the natural tendency of a 
people in seeking for recreations must be 
productive of mischief. 

Bull-baitings, and cock-fightings, and the 
sports of the turf, are revolting to certain 
classes of people, but they are essential 
' means of recreation to certain other classes, 
who, when deprived of such legitimate 
amusements will seek the gratification of 
their instincts in a more ol^ectionable 
manner. Instead of boisterous enjoyments 
in the fields, they will create riota^ moba^ 


Places of Public AmnaemeiU. 


and rows in the streets. On board of men 
of war it Ls the custom to pipe all hands 
to mischief, occasionally, when the crew 
have been a long time on shipboard, that 
the necessity for abandonment and fun 
may be spent in harmless excitement 
But for such safety yalves, the irritation 
of constant restraint would lead to insub- 
ordination and mutiny. Commanders of 
fleets and armies make timely arranp;e- 
ments for the recreation of the men under 
them, and it would be wise in our muni- 
cipal governors if they would do the same. 

In most of the despotic countries of 
Europe, the monarch finds it to his interest 
to provide means of recreation to the 
people free of cost, and these are generally 
on a scale of inverse liberality to the 
illiberal ity of the government In no other 
part of the world are the amusements of 
the people more generously attended to 
than in France, while in no other does the 
individual enjoy so httle of his individu- 

In this happy country of ours, where all 
the natural instincts arc allowed their 
utmost expansion, it is ver}' remarkable 
that the amusements of the people are the 
only affairs that are hampered by statutory 
restrictions. One may follow any business 
he likes, embrace any religion, jom any 
party, or engage in any enterprise ; but 
the law fixes the boundary of his amuse- 
ments and forbids his recreating himself 
in certain ways. In the State of Connec- 
ticut, the law prohibits all amusements 
and recreations of a theatrical or dramatic 
nature ; Shakespeare may be read in the 
parlor, or from the pulpit ; but to present 
Shakespeare^s plays in the way they were 
intended by their author to bo represented, 
is unlawful and would subject those guilty 
of so wrong an act to fine and imprison- 
ment Horse jockeying is an indigenous 
trade in Connecticut, but riding horses for 
the amusement of others is there an inter- 
dicted employment. In the State of 
Massachusetts, the laws are less rigorous, 
and Shakespeare's plays may be repre- 
sented acconling to their author's inten- 
tions, by the pajTnent of a fee and under 
a special license, on any night of the week 
but Saturday and Sunday. On those two 
evenings Shakespeare is interdicted as an 
amusement in the good Old Bay State. 
In this city, a man may establish a dozen 
whisky distilleries, or manufacture fire- 
arms, or quack medicines with perfect 
freedom, without fee or license; but no 
one can establish a place for theatrical 
amusements without a special license and 
paying for the privilege. Every theatre, 
And open, houae, and drcos in N6w-York 

has to pay a yearly fee which is tf 
ated to the use of some public chai 

The theatre is one of the greate 
malies of modem civilization. It h 
an established institution m all c 
countries, in the face of an oppositi 
ing through 500 years, and it still 
Next to the sports of the diase i 
oldest of all human recreations^ and 
for its votaries the loftiest geniu» 
have blessed mankind. The instinct 
people demand its pleasures, and 
find a footing wherever it is not ei 
by law. The taste for Uie stage 
merely a love of tinsel and inex] 
dumb show — it is the universal di 
see the bright side of the world, 
travel out of ourselves into the airy 
of poetry and romance. 

The persecution it has met, ha 
deserved, where it fell upon the im 
ties unhappily united with it: b 
undiscriminating hostility to all di 
representations of human life, as son 
iniquitous per se, is a mere folly, ii 
able were it not for something wo; 
the feeling from which it sprung. I 
stage been rescued to the purposes of 
instead of having sufferea ouUawry 
the good, a powerful instrument 
have been saved to the better sidi 
only for the purposes of amusement 
mental culture, dramatic show is ai 
and efficient means. Regardless or tli 
less of this, good men have let it < 
to base uses and then blamed tl 
which in some measure at least, th^ 
have prevented. Were every dc 
taste or art abandoned on the samef 
as the drama, our life would be bei 
the benefit and solace of the wh 
them. There are great difficuiti 
doubt, in giving to the stage a hij 
pure character — but are thev insupc 
Is there any reason why this as \ 
any other natural taste may not be 
and made a "minister of grace? 
there be, still let us discriminate b 
the thing itself and our own weakn 
It is a strange circumstance thai 
music, painting, poetry, elocatioi 
dancing, are not only considered as 
less, but as elevating and benefidi 
in themselves, yet. when they are a 
bined in the production of a dram 
are regarded as fit only to be ana* 
tized. The church, too, combines 
ceremonials all these arts but th 
and, in all Catholic countries eclip 
feeble attempts of the stage, in thei 
bination to dazzle the senses and th 
imagination. Of course there can 
comparison between the theatre i 


Pkuei of Pnblie AmtuemenL 


Ghorch, because it is the proyince of the 
one to amuse, and the other to instruct 
the believer in the solemn mysteries of 
eternal salvation. The stage, too, pro- 
fesses to be moral, and the punishment of 
vice is the inevitable end of all dramas. 
There is no such hims as an immoral 
drama. It is the delight of the coarsest 
natures to see poetical justice dealt out to 
the wicked, and the sufferings of the vir- 
tuous form the great staple of all tragedies. 
There is nothing that so certainly com- 
mands the tears of an audience, as the un- 
deserved calamities of the innocent One 
of our theatres has been reaping a harvest 
of nightly benefits by exhibiting the un- 
timely death of a little girl, and the hard- 
ships of a virtuous slave. The public go 
to the National Theatre, in one of the 
Artiest streets of the city, where they sit 
in not over-clean boxes, amid faded finery, 
and tarnished gilding, to weep over Little 
Eva and Uncle Tom. It takes us back to 
the days .£schylus, and convinces us that 
the love of the drama is as strong as it 
ever was, and that it must remain for ever 
while men have hearts capable of being 
moved by human suffering. The descent 
from Prometheus to Uncle Tom, dramati- 
cally considered, is not a very violent one, 
nor 80 long as some may imagine. 

It is the fashion with a certain class to 
speak of the theatre as having outlived its 
thne, and being no longer necessary to the 
people ; but a reference to the history of 
the stage, and an investigation into the 
eondition of our theatres would prove that 
the theatre, as we observed just now, was 
never before in so thriving a condition as 
at present. Players are no longer vaga- 
bonds by act of parliament, nor are they 
exx)osed to any legal indignities here on 
the ground of their profession. An actor 
may now be buried in consecrated ground 
in France, but this privilege was denied his 
poor corpse in the days of Moliere. Some 
of our actors are men of large fortune, and 
oar actresses make themselves independent 
and retire to private life while they are 
yet young; and our managers become 
millionaires, and men of social standing. 
It is said that the stage pays well as a 
profession to those who are tolerably well 
qualifled for it, and men of capital are not 
averse to investing their money in theatri- 
cal property. There are many pains-tak- 
ing, well-intentioned men who have gone 
upon the stage, as coolly and deliberately 
as other men have gone to the bar or the 
polptt, as a business pursuit, and have 
mamtained themselves and families respect- 
ably by enacting the parts of ^' heavy 
CUfaers/' and fillmg the posts of " utility 

men." It must be a sorry business, to be 
sure, but hardly worse than being a 
drudge in any other profession. The 
vagabondage of the theatrical profession, 
which is generally supposed to be the 
necessary condition of all its members, is 
rather imaginary than real. Actors are, 
generally, when off the stage, the most 
matter of fact and serious people to be 
seen ; many of them have other callings, 
they engage in trade, or manufacturing, 
and perform the parts of good citizens with 
as much success as thotje of the stage vil- 
lains and heroes whom they personate for 
a living. It was lately revealed to the 
public that Salvi, the fascinating tenor of 
the Italian Opera, when not employed 
before the foot lights in fancy costume, was 
superintending his large soap-boiling and 
tallow candle establishment on Staten 
Island — a revelation, that may here- 
after mar the effect of his spirto gentiX 
in the ears of the listeners who have so 
often been charmed by his tender voice. 
But it is not every actor who has the good 
fortune to be connected with so substan- 
tial a business as that of Salvi's ; the ac- 
tual life of too many presents a melan- 
choly contrast to the stage splenrlors with 
which they are associated in the minds 
of the public, who imagine it is all fun and 
hilarity behind the scenes. 

Mrs. Mowatt, in her autobiography, 
gives some instructive glimpses of the 
private life of the heroes of the stage, and 
bears her testimony to the general good 
character of the greater part of the mem- 
bers of the profession which she joined as 
a means of honorable independence. £ven 
in the profession of the ballet dancer, 
which is looked upon as the lowest and 
most degraded of the whole class of indus- 
trials who draw their support from the 
theatre, she says " there is nothing neces- 
sarily demoralizing and degrading," and 
she gives a slight skcteh, but perfect as 
far as it goes, of a poor ballet girl, who dis- 
played such a heroic spirit in the discharge 
of her humble duties, that her history 
should be sufficient to ennoble her despised 
occupation. Mrs. Mowatt states that she 
knew this real heroine of the stage, and 
had the opportunity of watching her con- 
duct for several years. 

^^She had been educated as a dancer 
from infancy. She had been on the stage 
all her life ; had literally grown up bo- 
hind the scenes of a theatre. Her parents 
were respectable, though it is difficult to 
define their position in the social scale. 
At the time I knew her, her mother was 
paralytic and bedridden. The father was 
enfeebled by age, and could only earn a 


Plaee9 of Public Amusement 


pi ttance by copying law papers. G eorgina, 
the ballet prf, their only child, by her 
energetic exertions, supplied the whole 
wants of the family. And what were 
those exertions ? The mind of the most 
imaginative reader could hardly picture 
what I know to be a reality. Georgina's 
parents kept no servant; she discharged 
the entire duties of the household — cook- 
ing, washing, sewing, every thing. From 
daylight to midnight not a moment of her 
time was uncmploj-ed. She must be at 
rehearsal every morning at ten o'clock, and 
she had two miles and a half to walk to 
the theatre. Before that hour she had the 
morning meal of her parents to prepare, 
her marketing to accomplish, her house- 
hold arrangements for the day to make ; 
if early in the week, her washing; if in 
the middle of the week, her ironing ; if at 
the close, her sewing; for she made all 
her own and her mother's dresses. At 
what hour in the morning must she have 

'• Iler ten o'clock rehearsal lasted from 
two to four hours — more frequently the 
latter. But watch her in the theatre, and 
you never found her hands idle. When 
she is not on the stage, you were sure of 
discovering her in some quiet comer — 
knitting lace, cutting grate aprons out of 
tissue paper, making artificial flowers, or 
embroidering articles of fancy work, by 
the sale of which she added to her narrow 
means. From reliearsal she hastened home 
to prepare the midday meal of her parents 
and attend to her mother's wants. After 
dinner she received a class of children, to 
whom she taught dancing for a trifling 
sum. If she had half an hour to spare, 
she assisted her father in copying law 
papers. Then tea must be prepared, and 
her mother arranged comfortably for the 
night. Her long walk to the theatre must 
be accomplished at least half an hour be- 
fore the curtain rose — barely time to make 
her toilet. If she was belated by her 
home avocations, she was compelled to run 
the whole distance. I have known this 
to occur. Not to be ready for the stage 
would have subjected her to a forfeit 
Between the acts, or when she was not 
on the stage, there she sat again, in her 
snug corner of the greenroom, dres.sed as 
a fairy, or a maid of honor, or a peasant 
or a jMige, with a bit of work in her handsj 
only laying down the needle, which her 
Augers actualU' ma<le fly, when she was 
summoned by the call boy. or required to 
change her costume by flie necessities of 
the play. Sometimes she was at liberty 
at ten o'clock, hut oftener not until half- 
pant cloven, and then there was the long 

walk home before her. Iler mother gene- 
rally awoke at the hour when Gcorgina 
was expected, and a fresh round of filial 
duties were to be performed. Had not 
the wearied limbs which that poor ballet 
girl laid upon her couch earned their sweet 
repose ? Are there many whose refresh- 
ment is so deserved — whose rising up and 
lying down arc rounded by a drue m 

" Xo one ever heard her mormur. Her 
fragile form spoke of strength overtasked ; 
it was more careworn than her faoe. 
That had always a look of busy serenity 
off the stage, a soflly-animated expressioa 
when occupied before the audience in the 
duties of her profession. She had a readj 
smile when addressed — a meek reply when 
rudely chided by the churlish ballet master 
or despotic stage manager. Many a time 
I have seen the tears dropping upon her 
work ; but if they were noticed, she would 
brush them away, and say she was a fool 
and cried for nothing. Iler devotion to 
her parents was the strongest impulse of 
her nature. In her early youth she had 
been engaged to a young man, a musician, 
belonging to the orchestra. They had 
been betrothed for several years. Some 
fairer face, though he could scarcely have 
found a sweeter, had rendered him faith- 
less. She bore her deep sorrow with that 
lovely submission which elevates and 
purifies the spirit but gave her heart 
away no more. The breath of slander 
had never shadowed her name. Youiger 
and ga3'er girls in the theatre used to 
designate her as the ^old maid,' but this 
was the hardest word that any one ever 
applied to Georgina. Was not such a 
heart as hers what Elizabeth Barrett 
Browning has described as 

* A fiilr, still house, well kept. 
Which huinblti thoughts had swept, 
And holy pnyen mado clean ? * 

" Her answer to a sympathizing * How 
weary you must be at night ! ' was, * Yes; 
but I am so thankful that I have health 
to get through so much. What would 
become of my poor mother or of my father, 
if 1 fell ill?' 

" IIow many are there who can render 
up such an account of their stewardship 
as this poor girl may give in the hereafter? 
IIow many can say with her that life has 

* One perpetual growth 
Of bcavcnwanl enterprise ? ' 

*' And this flower blossaomed within the 
walls of a theatre — was the iitdigenous 
growth of that theatre — a tralljiotper, if 
you like — but still sending up the rich 


Places of Public AmusctneHL 


Ultro- H..ut Kn.iil ..f {..litnii II..1I. 

frasTimcc of jfralitude to Him l»y vvliose 
haml it was fashioncci. To tho eyes of 
the Pharisee, who denounces all dramatic 
representations, while with sdf-iipplandinj; 
righteousness he Iwldly ai)proaehes the 
throne of mercy, this "'ballet pirl.' like 
the p«)or pal»liran. stoo<l 'afar off.' To 
the eyes of the great judge, which stooil 
the neaixT ? " 

The thoatrii'al business in New- York 
hr*"^ until within a short time, lieen almost 
entirely in the hands of Knglishmen. and 
f'v»*n the majoritv of the players are still 
fureij^TS, and it is doubtless owing in a 

jrrt'nt di'irnK' to this fuet. that the stajro 
has continnnl to lajr in the ntar of all 
(»thi'r institutions on tliis siile of the 
Atlantic; it has not a])]M>al(Ml to tlie sym- 
]>athies and tastes of the jK'oplc ; the actors 
have been aliens, and the pie<vs they [kt- 
fonned hav<* all bo«»n fon*ipi ; to go inside 
of our theatres was like stepping out of 
New- York into London, where the scene 
«>f nearly all the iN)me<lies pivsenteil is 
laid. Knglisli lords and ladies, 
.s<|uires. clo*lhop[)ers. and (*«H*kneys ; Enjr- 
li-ih r<»gues. Emrlish heri>es. an'l Enjrlish 
humors form the staple of nearly all the 


Places of Public Amusement 


plays put upon our 8tag;c. Tlic actors 
and actresses speak witli a foreij;n accent, 
and all their allusions and asides are 
foreign. The only places of amusement 
where the entertainments arc indigenous 
are tlie African Opera Houses, where na- 
tive American vocalists, witli blackened 
faces, sing national songs, and utter none 
but native witticisms. These native thea- 
tricaKs, which resemble the national pluys 
of Italy and Spain, more than the per- 
formances of the regular theatres, are 
among tlie best frequentetl and most pro- 
fitable places of amusement in New- York. 
While every attempt to establish an Italian 
Opera here, though originating with the 
wealthiest and best educated classes, has 
resulted in liankruptcy. the Ethiopian 
Opera has flourished like a green hay 
tree, and some of the conductors of these 
establishments have become millionaires. 
It was recently proved that one of the 
" Bone soloists " attached to a company of 
Ethiopian minstrels, ha<l spent twenty- 
seven thousand <lollurs of his income within 

two years. It is surprising that the 
managers of our theatres do not take a 
hint from the success of the Ethiopiar 
()|M^ra, and adapt their performances tc 
the public tastes and sympatliies. The 
manager of the National Theatre, one of th< 
least attractive of all the places of public 
amusement, has made a fortune by putting 
Mrs. Stowe's Uncle Tom upon his stage. 
Uncle Tom, as a drama, has hardlj 
any merit, it is rudely constructed, with- 
out any splendors of sc!enery and cos- 
tume, or the fjLscinations of music; the 
dialogue is religious, and the Bible fur- 
nishes its chief illustrations; but it 15 
American in tone, all the allusions have i 
local significance, and the symimthies of 
the iKHiple are dinn^tly appealed to. The 
result is an unheard-of success, such as 
has never l)cfore been accorded to anv 
theatricsil |KTforniance in tlie New World. 
The mnnagtr of the National Theatre i* 
himself an American, and nearly all hi; 
corps of actors are also natives, and though 
he only aims at the tastes of the lowest 

ln»rri..r of<.>h»M H«ll. 


Places oj Public Ammtement. 



BrowiwHy Tht-alri-. 

classes of the people, yet liis theatre has 
lieen daily and iii^^htly filk-<l with the 
elite of our society, who are willinjj: to en- 
dure all the inconvenienci»s which a visit 
to the place imposes for the sake of enjoy- 
Mi^ an eiuotion. such as neither the pi'oarh- 
ipjr of their clergy, nor the sinirinjc of 
Italian artists coiilrl create. A slight re- 
action of popular favor towards the theatre 
has lieen caused by the presence of Mr. 
Bourcicault among us, the author of 

liondon Assurance. To witness the first 
representation of a new conicily by a 
]M>pu)ar Kn;;lish dramatist has attracted a 
class of jKjople to the theatre who have 
not iK'cn in the habit of frefpienting it. 
Ihit Mr. Boureicanlt's come<lies are not 
calculated to ivvive an interest in the 
stage ; tliey are artificial in their construc- 
tion, their characters are mere conven- 
tionalities of the stain*, the dialocrue lai^ks 
sincerity and wit, and the entire tone and 


Placcn of Public Amuacment. 


sontiniCTit of liis plays art* fnreijrn to ii5<. 
lie nowlit-n' jrives that tonoli nf nature 
which i»ak<.v< ilu* wliole world kin. but 
roiniM'ls u> all the whih; tofoel that wc» an* 
assi-stinirat an alien i»iM*lbnnan(T. Then:! is 
om.* |K»int. hijwover. he may elaini the credit 
<»f havinic e<tal>lis]ie»l ; he has jireatly ini- 
pmved the uphoNterv of the sta.ire. ami. 
hy the introduction of "ival furniture" 
transforuieil the hefiux^ hare-lookinir .scenes 
of hiteritu's inti» soniethinir which hears a 
n»coj«:ni/.ahle n*senihlance to a modern 
drawin}r-r»joni. Mr. Uourcieault is the 
most smvcssful of the jnvsent class of 
Enjilish dramatists ; hut. tlic ivj^ular 
drama died with Sheridan ; sin<v tlie 
Scht)ol for Scandal was produced, there 
lias iM'en no play written in Knjrlautl which 
.stands tlie remotest chance of beinir kn«»wn 
by name half a century hen«'e. The n'jru- 
lar drama is as forcijin now to ihe wants 

of tlie theatre, as tlie Greek tragedy, or 
the mediaeval mysteries. The theatre 
survives lor «)t}ier puriM>se.<; than the res 
pivsentati(m of the drama ; its prc.sf»iita- 
tions are merely sensuous, and not intol- 
lc<.'tual ; ShakesiK*an? is only endure<l f<)r 
tlie sake of the star actor who im]M'r.^n- 
ates the one character suited to his physi- 
cal p<-»wer.s. The piei\.*s which attract 
audieuivs and iill the treasury are as nn- 
Shakespoarian as |>ossible. Ta)>leaux, 
burlesques. thrillin<r melo-ilramas. ballets, 
spectacles, liorses. dwarfs, giants. rt)j)C- 
dancers. any thinjr that is monstrous and 
wonderful, form now the pvat attractions 
of the theatres, and any thinj» is consider- 
ed as •• legitimate " by the puldic. which 
affords amusement, and as proi^T. l>y the 
manap:er, which tills liis house. 

The lectun*-rcx>m has now l>ccome a 
kind of c(»m]iromise betwi^i^n the theatre 

h..H-<T^ Tli'-atn-. 

Places of Public Amusefnent, 


Iiiti-ri- r vi C.-i.t I- f.ixTtli 

L^hurch. it is a neulnil ^rrount]. 
ich all |)artii's aii«l roivlitions 
. do mectt, aii«1 tlie ])cripaU*tic 
rer occupies nearly tlie saino posi- 
K Koscius did in tlie early days 
■ge. The jjivatest achievements 
are the plays which were never 
for print ; an<I. dmihtless. the 
lions to onr literature will he the 
rhich wen* only written to amuse 
oe, and not intended fur pulilioii- 
othcr form. 

ire innmnerablo places of re<Tea- 
ach cities as N<nv-York. which 
t)perly entitled to be classed iin- 
cad of places of public amu»e' 
lich we are considerinjr now. 
trc has always In-en. and still 
nncipal place of public amuse- 
.il. thon>;^h its chara<*ter has 
ianji^*d. and its fi\'ijuentei< are 
of the class who once jrave it its 
ort, it oci-Mipies to«i prominent a 
the social orpmi/atinn of our 
ns to be overlooked by j)rofe*iM'd 
and religious teachers. Its exis- 
thc fact of its being frequented 

by immense numl)ers of people whose 
morals ninnl h)okin}r after, should Iw suffi- 
ciently stronp reasons for the clergy, awl 
all others who are by virtue of their ottice 
jMiblic teachers, to exert themselves to 
render it as little hannful as possible. 
To stand outside ami denounce the theatie 
without knowing any thing of its interior, 
is not the true way to improve it. The 
repn-'sentation of moral, and even religious 
plays has lK*en ftumd not only very etlec- 
tive ujv>n the audiences who attend uik^u 
them, but pnititable to the manager who 
brinirs them out. 

As religious novels f<»rm a very ctmsider- 
able part of the popular books of the cLay. 
we si*e no ivason why ivligious drama.n 
.^should not alst» form an inqiortant part 
of theatrical entertainments. The fact 
that such a dnima as Tncle Tom*s Cabin 
can Ik* i-epresi-nted two hundred nights in 
MinM'<<ion. at one of the lowest theatres in 
N(;w-Vork. i-onvertinir the place into a 
kind of conventicle, and Imnishing fnmi it 
the degraded class, pn'Si'mt' has 
been (»ne of the stromrt'st objeetions ti» the 
theatre which lia.^ been made by morali.sts, 


Places of Public Amiutement 


is sufficient to show that religious pla^'H, 
like religious novels, may be pressed into 
the service of education with powerful 
effect It is stated by Mrs. Mowatt, in 
her autobiography, from which wo have 
already quoted, that in the catalogue of 
English dramatic authors there arc the 
names of two hundred clergymen. But 
wo imagine that none of these have written 
any religious plays. There are six regular 
theatres in New- York, which are open 
nearly every night in the year, excepting 
Sundays, for dramatic representations, and 
the public that sit night after night with a 
fortitude and good nature to us incre<lible, 
to see the School for Scandal and the Lady 
of Lyons woidd l)e but too happy to vary 
their amusements by a religious drama, if 
it were only new and intelligible. The 
chief of our'city theatres, which clahns to 
be the Mctrojwlitan, since the destruction 
of the Old Park, is the Broadway. It is 
a very large house, capable of seating 
.some 43(.K)" persons. It was built by 
Col. Alvah Mann, a gi-eat circus pro- 
prM?tor, who ruine<l himself b}' the specu- 
lation, and is now the projieity of Mr. 
Raymond, another millionaire of the ring. 
Broadway is a '• star house," and depends 
more upon the attraction of a single emi- 
nent performer than upon the general 
character of its |)erformances. or its stock 
cora()any ; and it is at one time a ballet, 
another a tragedian, again an ofiera, then 
a spectacle, that forms its attractions. 
Forrest has here api^ared one Inmdrefl 
nights in succession ; here too Lola Mon- 
tex ma<le her debut in America, and any 
wandering monstrosity is sei7A*d upon by 
the manager to secure an au<lience. The 
regular drama, excepting with the attrac- 
tion of a star, is found to be a regular lx>re 
to the public, and a regular loss to the The manager of the Broadway, 
E. A. Marshall, Esq.. is neither an ac- 
tor nor a dramatist, but dimply a man 
of business ; and. besides the Broadway 
Theatre, he is also i>roprietor of the ^Vai- 
nut Street Theatre, Philadelphia. an<l of 
the theatres in Baltimore and Washington. 
Neither the exterior nor interior of this 
house is at all creditable to the city ; it 
has a shabby and temporary look exter- 
nally, and the ornamentation of the audi- 
torium is both mean and tawdry. No 
class of people seem to frequent it for 
recreation but only to gratify an excited 

The " Bowery," which is the oldest of 
all the theatres in New- York, is alK)ut 
the same dimensions as the Broadway, 
but has a stage of much greater depth, 
and better adapted to .spectacle. It is 

frequented chiefly by the residents of the 
eastern side of the city, and its pit is gene- 
rally fille<l with lioisterous repreMntatives 
of the tirst families in the city — that lAj the 
first in the ascending scale. The perfor- 
mances at the Bowery are. of course, 
adapted to the tastes of its audiences, who 
have a keen relish for patriotic devotion, 
terrific combats, and thrilling effects, and 
are never so jubilant as when suiferine 
virtue triumphs over the machinations of 
perst'cuting villainy. It was for such 
audiences as these, with a slight infusion 
of better natures, that Shak.speare wrote 
his dramas, and for whose amusement he 
was willing to personate the humblest of 
his creations. The present edifice is the 
fourth that has been erected on the same 
ground, since the tirst one was erected in 
the year 1820, the others having been 
destroyed by fire. The late proprietor 
of the Bowery Theatre amassed a fortune 
here, and le'fl the establishment to his 
heirs, to whom it now belongs. It is un- 
derstood to be a very profitable concern, 
as it has been from its first erection. It 
was in the Bowery Theatre where Madame 
Ilutin. the first opera dancer seen on this 
side of the Atlantic made her debut^ and 
where the first ballet was performed, one of 
the troupe being the then unknown Celeste. 
It was here, too, that Malibran made her 
first apjKjaranct* on the stage after her unfor- 
tunate marriage, and filled the house with 
the l>eauty. Ikshion, and intellect of the 
city. Such audiences have never since 
graced its pit and galleries. It was on tlic 
stage of the I^)wery that Forrest achievcti 
his greatest triumphs, and laid the founda- 
tion of his fame. But it is long since stars 
of such magnitude have shed their sweet 
influences on Bowery audiences. 

Niblo's is not. strictly, a theatre^ but a 
.show house, open to any body that may to hire it. It is one night a circus, 
another an Italian Opera House ; then a 
dramatic temple, and then a lecture room. 
It is called a '* garden." but it is one of 
the roomiest, best constructed, and most 
CTHivenient of all the places of amusement 
in the city, and is unexceptionable in its 
character. Its interior decorations are 
very inferior to the other threatres. but it 
has the great advantage of Iniing clean and 
well ventilated. The entrance to it, 
through the Metn)|X)litan Hotel, is ex- 
tremely elegant and cajmcious. Under 
the same rtK)f, within the walls of the 
sjime hotel is Niblo's Saloon, a splendid 
room used for cfmcerts ami balls. The 
whole ground now covered by the Metro- 
|K)litan Hotel was once Niblo's Garden, 
and the theatre was merely an appendage 


Place* ^ Public AmuMment, 


to it to draw custom to the refreshment 

There are two theatres in New- York, 
and but two which are devoted exclusively 
to the performance of the regular drama ; 
these are Burton's in Chambers-street, and 
Wallack's in Broadway. Burton's Thea- 
tre was, orig:inaI1y, a liath-house, and was 
afterwards turned into ait Italian Opera 
House, in the management of which a 
good deal of money was lost, and Palmo, 
the proprietor ruined. Burton then took 
possession of it, and made a fortune. It 
was the first instance in which a theatre 
in this city had fallen into the hands of a 
manager of scholarly attainments and 
artistic instincts, ana the result of his 
management shows what may be effected 
by talent turned in the right direction. 
Mr. Burton has not only enriched himself, 
but done the public a service by af- 
fording them a place of harmless and ele- 
Tating amusement One of the first pieces 
that he put upon his stage was Milton's 
Comus. which gave the public aissurance 
that the new manager was a person of 
education and refinement; and the uni- 
form good iudgment shown by him in the 
pieces he has selected, and the superior 
manner in which they have been costumed, 
have made his theatre a superior place of^ 
intellectual entertainment for people of 
educated tastes. Mr. Burton is one of the 
best low comedians on the stage, and is, 
himself, one of the strongest attractions 
of his theatre. But. like a true artist, he 
never hesitates to take a subordinate part, 
when it is necessary to give completeness 
and effect to a performance. lie has a 
devoted attachment to his art and goes 
through with his nightly performances, 
sometimes appearing in three different 
pieces, with a degree of vigor, and careful 
attentk)n to all the minute accessories of 
his part, which wo could only look for 
in an enthusiastic acolyte in the temple 
of art Mr. Burton is an Englishman ; 
but unlike most of his countrymen, he 
left his native country behind him, when 
he crossed the Atlantic, and became 
thoroughly American in his feelings. He 
was bred to the profession of a printer, 
and, after his arrival in this country en- 
gaged in several literary enterprises. He 
established the Gentleman's Magazine, 
now called '' Graham's." 

Wallack's Lyceum, in Broadway, is an 
exceedingly elegant little house, the style 
of the interior decoration is in excellent 
taste, and the effect of a full house is 
light cheerful, exhilarating, and brilliant 
James Walladc, the manager and proprie- 
tor, is the head of a large family remark- 

able for the possession of theatrical talent. 
He was a celebrated actor in Ix)ndon more 
than thirty years ago, and Is still one of 
the best players in his line, — the genteel 
heroes of melo-drama, — on the stage. But 
he rarely makes his appearance before the 
foot lights. Wallack's Lyceum is Burton's 
without Burton. Great attention is al- 
ways paid to the production of pieces at 
this brilliant little house, and the costumes 
and scenery form an important part of the 
attraction. English comcd}' and domestic 
dramas form the chief attractions at Wal- 
lack's, and the house is generally full. 
The utmost order and decorum are main- 
tained, both at this house and Burton's, 
and every tiling offensive to the most deli- 
cate taste carefully excluded from the 

the National Theatre in Chatham-street 
has long been the resort of newsboys and 
apprentices, and the style of performances 
has been very similar to those of the 
" Bowery ;" but, in a happy moment, the 
manager, a good natured native whom they 
call Captain Purdy, put Uncle Tom's 
Cabin upon his stage and at once raised 
his fortune and changed the character of 
his house. As it has played this piece 
twice a day for nearly six months, and is 
now the family resort of serious family 
parties, it would be rather hazardous to 
predict what its future course may be ; 
the old Chatham Theatre was converted 
into a chapel, and Captain Purdy's is 
half way towards the same destiny. 

Attached to Banium's Museum there 
is a large, well arranged, and showily de- 
corated theatre for dramatic representa- 
tions, where domestic dramas of a moral 
character are performed, and a version of 
Uncle Tom adapted to Southern tastes has 
been a long time running. The "St. 
Charles," is a small theatre in the Bowery 
which was built for an actor named Chan- 
frau, who was the creator of the univer- 
sally recognized charact^jr of Mosc, the 
type of the New- York gamin. 

The Italian OjHjra House in Astor Plac« 
has been adapted to the uses of the Mer- 
cantile Library Association ; and the new 
opera house m Irving-place, which bids 
fair to be one of the most magnificent 
structures devoted to music in the world, 
is not yet sufficiently built to be described ; 
but we shall describe it hereafter. 

Since we commenced writing this article 
the most beautiful and spacious place of 
popular recreation in New- York has been 
swept out of existence by one of those 
sudden and disastrous conflagrations which 
have earned for New- York the appellation 
of the City of Fires. Metropolitan Hal). 


Places of Public AmusemenU 


which was unrivalled for its extent and 
splendor by any concert room in the 
world, together with the superb marble- 
fronted hotel in which it was inclosed, 
with all their wealth of embellishment 
and taste, the embodied forms of labor, 
genius, and skill were suddenly whiffed 
out of existence on the morning of the 
8th of January. The engravings which we 
have the good fortune to possess of these 
superb structures are all that now remain, 
but tlie memories of those ornaments of 
our city. 

Castle Garden, the unique, remains, 
where opera, music, and the drama are 
presented by turns. It is a hall of un- 
equalled advantages for public exhibitions, 
which was originally a fort, but has long 
been appropriated to the refining arts of 

The Ethiopian minstrels have become 
established entertainments of the public, 
and amon;; them are three permanent com- 
panies in Broadway; the Buckleys, Chris- 
ty's, and Wood's, where the banjo is the 
first fiddle, and the loves of Dinah and 
Sambo form the burthen of the perform- 

The Italian Opera, too, is now an estab- 
lished institution in the New World, but 
it leads a vagabondish kind of a life at 
present, and has no permanent house of 
Its own, although one is erecting for it 

We are neither wealthy enough 
cieutly educated in music to m 
an Italian troupe at present, but 
pelled to share this luxury in 
with our neighbors of Boston, 
phia, Havana, Mexico, Valpon 
Lima. The Italian Opera is the 
onier of theatrical entertainment 
mands a class of educated and 
people for it,s proper support moi 
rous than v^'^ have yet been able 
of. There are never more thai 
dozen good singers before the pu 
time, and in comjKJting for their 
we have to contend with, not tl 
of other cities, but with their n: 
the Emperor Nichola*<os and Emp 
poleons, who never hesitate to s] 
money of their subjects to purchi 
sures for themselves. 

The circus is still the most po 
public amusements, and it is o 
on a magnificent scale as a reguj 
ness speculation bv enterprising 
The most famous nders now in Ei 
graduates of the American riD( 
Hippodrome, in the Fifth Avenae 
attempt to transplant Franconi 
Paris. But the Hippodrome y 
exotic to thrive in our climate, a: 
a season of doubtful success, it hi 
probably for ever. 

Hlp p odronw. 




KnufirM dTun BaurgenU ds Parin par U Doeteur 
L Vbeo!«, comprenant: Ltt Jin rf« rKmjrire, la 
RfMUiurttiion^ l«i Momtrchi^ d« Jniflft, et la 
R*pultllqH« JuA'iH'tiH riUihlin^tnneRt ds VSm' 
pin. Tome rrvmler. Parldi ISKL pp. SSa 

IT is scarci'l}' ncccs.'Wiry to .say tliat we 
have rirarl witli great interest Dr. 
Veron'-s memoirs. They arc a gossipping 
ntrrative of tlie last thirty years of French 
life. The first vohimc only has apjwared, 
which is rather a preface to the other 
Toliimcs than a chnmological relation of 
its parts to this perio«l of time ; it never- 
theless contains a great many curious 
pictiircs of French society during this 
perioil, wliich we, who are separated from 
Paris bv a winter's Atlantic, could scarcely 
finfl aiiv where else. A great many 
Frenchmen hold that French history be- 
gins only with the advent of Xaiwlcon, 
and they reckon the antece<lent years as 
merely the history of the Iy)uises and the 
Henrys and the Charleses who have sat 
npon the throne. Gross as is this mis- 
take (which, by the way, has just been 
clearly cxjiosod'hy M. August in Thierry*), 
it is very certain' that French society has 
nnderfro'ne several radical clianges binoe 
the Eighteenth Brumairc. and that the 
national character differs nearly as much 
from that of the Frenchman of the reign 
of Lonis XIV. as he dillered from the 
Gaul descriljCfl by Cjesar. The general 
specimen of a Frenchman given by our 
school books of geography, and which rep- 
resent hun with a cocked hat and a 
rulHed bosom, and dancing under a tree, is 
quite a-s inapplicable to a Frenchman of 
the present da}' as it would be to a Sioux 
Indian. The gaycty, and contentment, 
and careless generosity, which once were 
the prominent traits of the Fren<rh char- 
acter, have completely disappeared ; he 
has bcrumc ambitious. an<l discontented, 
and avaricious. Successive radical revolu- 
tions, which, by the most fonnal laws, ex- 
pressed in the most absolute terms, arid in 
moro than one instance |«ssed by the .self- 
same body of men, have dethn)ued every 
ruler of the country, and have in turn 
exalted to the skies and debased to the 
acwer every form of government and every 
family of governors known to the country : 
more than onco the traitor's gaol has been 
the footstool to the throne ; the futil in- 
fluence of the article of the Code Nap<)leon. 
which provides an equal distribution of 

estates among the<rs male and 
female children, share and share alike, has 
dilapidated every fortune, and Ixr^igared 
the lower cla.ssi\s of the rural ix>iiulation ; 
the complete loss of power and of position 
of the ari.stocracy of the nation; the 
number of successful adventuRTS the re- 
volutions have tossed to jyower, and the 
con.scquent demoralization of all cIjisscs of 
society ; the insatiable thirst for wealth 
(now' the only social distinction in a 
country where quite as many ex-cabinet 
ministers arc rotting in gaols, or living by 
their wiUs in an exile's a>)ode. as may be 
found in fashionable drawing-rooms), and 
the inexorable demands of money nuule 
by all, even the least social positions, havft 
corrupted the French nation to an mcon- 
ccivable degree — we had almost said, have 
made them as a.stutc and as unprincipled 
as the modern (ireek. Our reader will 
sec we are very far removed from the 
cocked hat and rullled shirt Frenchman 
who capered gayly under a tree. 

A truce, however, to these general re- 
flections. Let us trace this society from 
the end of the pjupirc to the ju'csent time, 
by the examples Dr. Veron i)]aces before 
us; let us carefully mark the different 
pha.<!c.s he presents, and we may, at the 
en«l of the work, be better enabled to 
form an idea of that strange phenomenon 
— Fi-ench society. 

Before dippnig deep in his lx)ok of me- 
moirs, let us stay a moment to examine 
the cluiracter of the writer: indctMl his 
first chapter provokes the incpiiry ; it is en- 
titled, Qui jt: till is, •• Who 1 am.'' Dr. 
lx)uis Veron was born the 5th Ajiril. 
17y8. lie chose medicine as a pmfe.^- 
sion, and prostvutcd it with energ}- and 
succe.<.s. lie tells us tliat when he 
saw all the volumes which comix>se a 
student's lirst library hg felt that it was 
necessary he .shoidd give himself up com- 
pletely to study, and lead a quiet. soUt. 
and uninteiTUpted life ; getting up early 
in the morning, shunning exciting dinners, 
and hastening to his gairet imme<liaioly 
afterwards, and tiiking good care to fin«l 
no society there hut his books, lie con- 
fesses he found the study of anatomy and 
of pathology r;ither diifl ; ho hit upon a 
plan to enliven them : to read some of the 
great writers of the seventeenth and of 
the eighteenth o-nturies, ami never to 
have a cent of money in his ]K)oket ; 

• iC9»ai Mur Fiiidoirg ds In /[fnnatUm «t d§9 ProgrU du lUrt-Eiat^ Par A uguBtin Th terry. 
TOL. III. — 11 ' 


Memoirs </ Dr. Veron. 


** poverty has made a great many great 
men." His parents gave him twenty 
francs the first of every month, and the 
day he received them ho lived like a lord ; 
they were spent with the day : he dined 
with some of his friends at a restaurant, 
and went to some theatre, and finished 
his day at the Cafg da Roi, then the 
favorite resort of the wits and the men of 
letters. In 1821 he was appointed au 
cancours first interne of the hospitals; 
he was made a doctor 0/ medicine in 1823. 
He went every morning in winter from the 
Rue da Bac to the H6pital de la Piti6 
by five o'clock, that ho might reach there 
before the van which takes off from the 
hospitals all the unreclaimed bodies of the 
deceased patients, that he might select the 
best of them, and with his scalpel prepare 
them for the students studying anatomy. 
He remained, too, for some time in the 
Hospice des Knfans-Trouv^s ; every morn- 
ing, thermometer in hand, he gave some 
fifteen of these foundlings, affected with 
a hardening of the cellular tissue, a 
vapor bath; during one year, he dis- 
sected at the least a hundred and fifty 
foundlings, and studied in a spoon the 
milk of more than two hundred nurses. 
Dr. Veron, however, abandoned his am- 
bition of becoming a professor of the Medi- 
cal school, in consequence of a defeat in a 
eoncoure for the prizes of anatomy, natural 
history, natural philosophy, and chemis- 
try; his rivals were MM. Andral and 
Bouillaud, and they carried off all the 
prises ; M. Orfila however afterwards told 
him that he had voted for him for the 
first prize in natural philosophy and 
chemistry, and his fortunate rival, M. 
Andral, complimented him on his lecture 
on electricity. The result of this concoure 
persuaded Dr, Veron he had powerful 
enemies among the Faculty ; he did not 
appear at another concours, and shortly 
after published a pamphlet upon the dis- 
eases of infants, containing notes on croup 
and on an abscess in the thymus. (At the 
birth of the Connt de Paris, the Duke 
d'Orleans, being anxious about the health 
of his first child, asked Dr. Blache which 
was the last and the best treatise upon the 
croup : Monseigneur, replied the Doctor, 
the last and the best treatise upon the 
croup is by Dr. Veron, the manager of the 
opera.) He removed from the Quartier 
Latin to the Ohauss6e d'Antin, where he 
opened a doctor's office, but he avows in 
ail humility that no client ever paid him 
a visit. One night, however, about three 
o'clock A. M., he was called up by his porter 
and two or three old women to go and 
■ee aa old porter's wife hard by, whose 

nose had been bleeding for more 11 
hours ; he arrested the bleeduig, a 
the old women of the quarter sooim 
praises with feminine volubility, 
reputation rose from the porter's k 
the first floor, and it was not long 
he had three patients : one of the 
a rich woman, who was no longer ; 
and rather corpulent ; it was neoes! 
bleed her : — 

"£very body is talking," she s 
me, " Monsieur, of your sluU and 
learning, and 1 have quitted my ph^ 
to receive the care of a gentleman e 
brated as you already are. All 1 
acquaintances will follow my ezamp 
in a very short time you will hv 
most brilliant practice in Paris." I 
often heard his old professor and 
M. Roux, the most skilful surgeon 
world say, that when he had to t 
person he always was uneasy ; ai 
Veron began now to be nervous ; ho 
he was obliged to make the attem] 
took hold of the patient's arm; sli 
tinned to overwhelm him with pi 
he plunged in the lancet ; he did not 
the vein ; he plunged in the lancet 
no blood came. Oh! then the 
changed : " You are a miserable aw 
fellow ; the meanest surgeon bleeds 
than you. How I pity the patient 
confide themselves to your care. Bi 
mv arm up as quickly as you ca 
take yourself off; you have doi 
maimed me." " The day of my gran 
says the Doctor, "was the eve 
fall, and an unsuccessful bleedini 
wrecked all my castles in the air 
miliation was mixed with nnr d 
and when 1 returned home, 1 sai< 
very decided tone to poor Justii 
porter, whom I afterwards made 00 
of the opera : " Justin, 1 do not 
practising medicine any more, 1 
never bleed again, and if any bod, 
for a doctor, say there's none J 

After thus bidding adieu to the ] 
sion of medicine, Dr. Veron found* 
Revue de Paris in 1829. There wa 
but one literary journal publisl 
France, Le Mercure, which was pul 
under the editorship and *' by the c 
ents " of M. Gentil, whom M. Veror 
wards made the keeper of the " j 
ties" at the opera; M. Gentil, ho 
could give the young writers, his coi 
tors, nothing but praise and pub 
but he was a firm partisan of Um 
mantic school," as may bo seen, wl 
are told that he is the author of tha 
and celebrated judgment which m 


Memoin of Dr. Vertm. 


much noise in its day : " Racine est un 
fioliuon.^'* The Revue de Paris was a 
joint stock company, with a capital of 
80,000 francs, and Dr. Veron took 20,000 
francs of shares ; he was presented to the 
wealthy M. Aguado, Marquis de Las Mar- 
ismas, who took some shares in the enter- 
prise. We shall hereafter frequently find 
the Aguado family in relations with Dr. 
Veron. Some of our readers may remem- 
ber that the latter years of the Restora- 
tion saw the commencement of the famous 
war of the Romantics and the Classics, 
which excited a great deal of passion, and 
occupied the public mind even in the 
midst of the crisis, which lasted during the 
last years of the Restoration and the first 
years of the Monarchy of July. Victor 
Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and Alfred de 
Vigny, were the leaders of this war waged 
on the dramatic unities enforced by Aris- 
totlCj and which were defended by the 
French Academy, with a great deal more 
bitterness than judgment. The foundation 
of the Revue do Paris rendered a great 
deal of service to the Romantic school, and 
indeed to French literature, as it was in its 
pages, and on the editor^s annual budget of 
40,000 francs, that MM. Prosper Merim^e, 
Samte-Beuve, Saint-Marc-Girardin, Casi- 
mir Delavigne. Arnault, Charles Nodier, 
Jules Janin, and Eugene Delacroix com- 
menced, or increased their reputation. 
MM. de Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and 
Rossini were also among the contributors. 
Dr. Veron promises to speak in due time 
of all the eminent writers and artists, with 
whom he lived in a daily intimacy, and to 
give a great many of theur letters, which 
will place in a new and a clearer light the 
secret history of French literature during 
the last twenty-five years. He gives us 
a taste of these future revelations by these 


" My dear Veron, — See how men 


talent work. I send you a hundred and 
twenty pages of blank paper, have them 
stamped by your servant in the corner 
opposite to the numbers. Return them to 
me Thursday morning by the first train. 
You will find your volume commenced 
when you come to dine with me Thursday 
14th, and I will return it to you finished 
when I go to dine with you Thursday the 
21st— Yours. A. Dumas." ♦ 


"Monsieur, — You vex me extremely 
by asking for a novel a month earlier than 
our common engagements provide. It is 
a great inconvenience to my health, and a 
great danger for the merit of the story to 
work in this hurry, without having had 
the time to mature my subject, and to 
make the necessary researches ; for there 
is no subject, however small it may be, 
which does not require a great deul of 
readinpj and of reflection. I think you treat 
me a little too much like a stop-gap ; my 
amour propre does not suffer by it, and I 
have too much esteem and friendship for 
Eugene Sue to be jealous of all your pre- 
ferences for him. But, if you give liim 
the time necessary to develope fine and 
great works, time is also necessary to me 
to arrange my little studies, and 1 cannot 
engage to be ready whenever the suppres- 
sions of the Ju\f Errant may require it, 
nor to have it terminated when the Jutf 
Errant is ready to commence his tour 
around the world. All that I can pro- 
mise is to do my best, because I sincerely 
desire to serve you : I pass by in silence 
the annoyance of setting again to work, 
when 1 reckoned upon another month of 
very necessary repose. I have already 
abandoned it ; I have been working since 

* This chaniGterlBtlo letter of th« most proUflo writer of this century will suggest to our reader's mind an 
iuddent the newsftapera recently mentioned. M. Alexandre Dumas is at present living in Bru!«clA ; a forced 
expatriation, we bclieye, in consequence of Uie involved state of his pecuniary affaire. He engaged with the 
manager of the Theatre Fran^ais tu deliver a five act comedy by an appointed dav, and he received a large 
■dTanee fn money for the forthcoming woric Two days before tlio delay expired, \llle. Polra Camera, an ao- 
eompMshed Snanl^b danaeuw, who appears to have half-crnzed Pariis came to Brussels, and M. Dnmas gave 
her ft lioDte^hritto fite, at which every body eat, drank, danced, and sung until four o'clock in tlio morning, 
when, bis guests having retireti, M. Dumas sot at his writing desk, and wrote the fourth act, and the flftli act 
to ttie enarse of the ensuing day. The Censors interdicted the comedy ; whereupon he wrote this letter to the 
MMMoer of the Theatre Fran^ais :— 

"My dear Manager,— I haveinst come from Brussels, having received notice that the Censors have stopped 
JA Jewmetm de LouU XI V, This Is Tuesday, I ask leave to read to yon next Monday. 1 will rend yon tive 
•Ota I dun*t know yet what I shall read you, for this news has taken me by Buri>rise ; but the five acis shall 
be called La Jeunesse de Loub XV. I shall take care that the scenery, dec. you have ordered, and which I 
■m told to all ready, may be nsed in this pky. I need not say that there will not be in ^ Jeuu*^Hse de Ltmit 
Xr. a word or a sitaation from ^ tAnmeaM <f0 Z^m^^ XT FT, which shall remain intact until it pleases the 
Ceraon to return it to yoo. If I am ready before Monday I will have the honor to inform you. Wholly 
yoan, Alkxandkk Dimas.*" 

**Taeaday, 11 o*clock^—Bzert a little diligence on yonr part and the piece may be represented in throe 

Friday evening he wrote the following note to the manager : — 

** My dear HoiuMy^— Aa I foresaw, l shall have finished the piece before Monday. So you may appoint 
file raiding of La Jeoncate de Lools XY. for to-morrow, Satorday. Wholly yoora, 

JWrfay J W w i i i g. ALsxAiroBa Dvhai.** 


Memoirs cf Dr. Venm. 


I receiTed your letter, bnt can I send you 
in six weeks a work with which I am 
satisfied, and with which yon yourself 
shall be pleased ? I do not think it is the 
interest of your paper to press me in this 
way. So I am rather angry with you, and 
yet I do not refuse to do what is within 

human possibility A thousand 

kind compliments, and some reproaches, 
" Gkorge Sand." 

from eugene sue. 

" I have thought, my dear Veron, that 
Martin^ VEnfant Trouve^ would be a 
better title, and it is very impartant that 
this rectification be made; you will see 
why. I shall send you, at the end of this 
week, about a half volume. Have com- 
posed for me a double proof on my paper. 
Read it and give me your opinion in notes, 
when you send me my two proofs. I 
think I am in quite a good vein ; however, 
you will judge, and you will tell me very 
frankly^ as always^ what you think, for 
the commencement is very important, as 
it is necessary the reader should be en- 
listed I am as happy as ten 

kings ; I have excellent dc^s ; I work a 
great deal ; and my green-house plants 
are in full llower. I assure you, ten o'clock 
at night comes with an incredible rapidity, 
and at six o'clock, whether it is day or 
not, I am up. But the great business 
with me is work ; and when I am satis- 
fied with what I have written in the 
morning, I ride or I hunt with a double 
pleasure. Isn't this a great life ! Adieu, 
my dear Veron ; when the railway is estab- 
lished you must come and see my house. 
Believe in my very sincere, very afiec- 
tionate sentiments. Wholly and faith- 
fully yours, , E. Sue.* 

** What do they say about the title of 
the Memoires (T un Vakt'de-ChambreV^ 

FROM LOUIS napoleon. 

£l7sce,14th December, 1S51. 
"My dear Monsieur Veron, — I wish 
to announce to you, myself, that, wishhig 
to show you all my gratitude for the 
services you have rendered to the cause 
of order and of civilization, I have ap- 
pointed you an officer in the Legion of 
Ilonor. Receive this promotion as a proof 
of my affectionate sentiments. 

Louis Napoleon B." 

from a. thiers. 
" My dear Monsieur Veron.f — ^I charged 

M. Etienne to oompliment jovl on the 
talents with which the ConsiituHonnei is 
written. Unluckily my letters have flown 
to the department of the Meuse. I there- 
fore address my compliments directly to 
you. I add two modificationa to them. 
You praise M. M0I6 too much, and you 
use Belgium ill. I know M. MoU ha» 
more mind than his colleagues, but he is 
incapable of supplying their place ; be has 
not talents enough for that ; their weak- 
ness which crushes them, crushes him 
too. No one shines by the side of feebler 
colleagues unless he supplies their place ; 
but M. M0I6 knows how to do nothing, 
but to elude ; one may elude difSculties 
for a moment, but never for a long time. 
M. M0I6 is weak in consequence of the 
weakness of his colleagues and also of 
himself. At the same time I like him 
well enough, I do not want to see him ill- 
treated, but I don't want to have it 
thought that we have an understanding 
with him. If your praises are designed 
to excite difficulties between him and M. 
de Montalivet I am sorry I am not hi 
Paris that I might tell you what praises 
of that sort are worth ', it is lost labor. 
Junctures of affairs embroil men; but 
praises given to one and against another 
is a force given to them, without increas- 
ing their variance, which is always great 
enough when the juncture of affairs leads 
to it ; should we come to an understand- 
ing with M. Mold to-morrow, we should 
wait until day after to-morrow before 
praising him. As for Belgium, it must 
not be forgotten that with its disagreeable 
character it is nevertheless our ally, — that 
its dignity, its interests are ours, — that our 
cabinet should not be weakened in a very 
difficult posture of affairs, — and especially 
that the Belgians should not be encour- 
aged to be feeble, by being maltreated. 
Such are the homilies of an old parson ; I 
repeat to you the paper is admirable, well 
written, very courageous ; that I applaud 
it in every respect but two. I should like 
to send you something, but I should like 
to know by a letter from you, what is the 
exact situation, and what are your cal- 
culations. — Adieu, je vouxfais mille com" 
pliments, A. Thiers." 

Doctor Veron made the Revue de Pari» 
not only a brilliant review, but a souire 
of a considerable pecuniary profit to him* 
self, and he found in the relations he there 

* "* I am glad,"" Mys Dr. Veron, " to •xhlblt have, depicted bj bimaelA one of our great and proUfle wilten^ 
whiMKi name will ri'uialn after him. Laborious and iuipafisiuuedf a great philoeopher, loving woinen, dug% 
borses, ami flowery pre-eminently a gallant man. Eugene 8ao is penonally no dangerous politician. May tbee^ 
true rv4narka about that dlsUngoishea writer end hia aad exile.** M. Sue was exiled from Frmnce Immediatoly 
after the C\m/> <rstui made the 2d December, 1851. 

t Tbie letter bean no date ; it was written the a4tb June 1886. Oooat M0I6 was then Prime lOalilar. 


MemoiM f)f Dr. Feron. 


formed some very efficient aids when he 
issomed the managership of the Grand 
Opera, or ikt Ope^ as we believe it is the 
fiishion in Paris to call it, while the guide- 
books inform us that its official name is 
L' Academic Imperiale de Musique. 

In 1831, Dr. Veron solicited and ob- 
tained the privilege of the Grand Opera. 
He owed tlus place, in a great measure, 
to the footing on which ho stood with 
Count de Montydiyet, then the Minister of 
the Interior, and who was under some 
obligations to Dr. Veron for the kind re- 
ception he had given to the former's lucu- 
brations, while he was the editor of the 
Revue de Paris, M. Aguado seconded 
M. Veron in this enterprise with a great 
deal of zeal : he placed two hundred thou- 
sand francs in his hands as a portion of 
the collateral security the French govern- 
ment always requires from the manager 
of the Grand Opera ; and, in return for 
this favor, besides paying the legal rate 
of interest for the use of this money, M. 
Veron gallantly insisted that M. Aguado 
should take the best box of the theatre 
(and which is now, we believe, the Em- 
peror's box) and occupy it during his 
whole administration. We would remark, 
for the benefit of those readers who may 
be surprised at this zeal on the part of Af . 
Aguado, that the purse-holder of a Paris 
theatre is reported to hold a very enviable 
position (and to whose mysterious advan- 
tages, we hope M. Veron will, in tim^ 
initiate us) ; it is certain that from 1831 
to the present day the members of the 
Aguado family have found it so agreeable 
a position, they have not ceased to occupy 
it at some theatre or another. Rumor 
alleges they are now the purse-holders of 
the Italian Theatre. M. Veron made a 
great deal of money at the Grand Opera ; 
and he promises us some very piquant 
details touching his managership. They 
cannot well be otherwise: he was thrown 
into almost hourly communication with 
Harold (sometime maitre de chant 
during his administration), Ilal^vy (who 
succeeded H6rold in his functions, and 
brought out during his management La 
Juive)j Cherubini (who also brought out 
there Alt Baba). Meyerbeer (whose 
Robert le Diable then coined money for 
the opera), Rossini and Auber, and espe- 
cially during the three or four months of 
rehearsals of their operas, during all of 
which " they are incessantly agitated by 
joy, or by fear, or by despair." And 
during his management Mme. Cinti- 
Damorean, M. Nourrit, M. Duprez, Mile. 
Falcon, Mile. Taglioni, Mile. Fanny 
Eltalcr, were m all the beauty and the 

force of their talents. M. Veron betrays 
the secret of his success : — 

" While I was manager of the opera, I 
enjoyed the most delicate perfumes of 
praise ; all the newspapers celebrated with 
warmth my great administrative talents, 
and my intelligent passion for arts and for 
letters. The members of the then govern- 
ment, whom I saw a great deal of either 
at their houses or in my house, often said 
to me : ' How do you manage to make 
the newspapers such good friends of 
yours ? they praise you so much, we feel 
jealous of you.' I was merely cordial and 
polite to every body ; and 1 paid courte- 
ous attentions to every one. I never sent 
a box to a literary man, without writing 
him, myself, a note, and reproaching him 
for not coming to the opera more fre- 

We presume M. Veron will give us 
further conlidences in his art of sSducing 
the press of Paris, '' the most fearful wild 
beast flying," into unanimous and unvaried 
applause. We have reason to believe M. 
Veron ascertained that dinners and sup- 
pers are as powerful friends as M. Cardme 
urges they are to all difficult enterprises. 
We believe the tradition of his entertain- 
ments is still fresh in Paris ; certain it is, 
distant as we are from the scene of his 
triumphs, we have heard of them. One 
day after Mile. Fanny Ellssler had fulfilled 
a brilliant engagement, M. Veron gave a 
grand dinner in her honor ; at the dessert a 
basket full of jewelry was handed around 
to all of the lady guests. Mile. Ellssler 
modestly took a small ring worth perhaps 
a louis d'or, but a Mile. Adeline from 
some of the minor theatres, whose face 
was her fortune, and who was invited to 
the dinner to ornament the table, impu- 
dently seized a bracelet of some five hun- 
dred louis d'or, and which was destined 
to the celebrated danseuse. She is said 
to have been shown the door immediately 
afterwards: Frenchmen do not relish 
jokes, whoso cream is gold out of their 
pockets. And a supper given by M. 
Veron has been so famous as to reach 
even our ears : he assembled around him 
the most brilliant literary men of Paris, 
and the most beautiful actresses ; after a 
luxurious supper, card- tables were brought 
out, and after groups were formed around 
each of the tables, a valet in livery handed 
around a silver waiter filled with louis 
d'ors; some of the vaudeville actresses 
helped themselves plentifully ; the gaming 
went on briskly ; Mile. Page [an actress of 
the Variet6s Theatre, as remarkable for 
her beauty as she is notorious for the use 
die makes of it] won a great deal of money, 


Memoirs of Dr. Veron. 


and then lost more than she had won ; 
she took the silver waiter and emptied its 
contents in her lap; which made M. 
Veron so angy, that he gave her a sharp 
lecture, and instantly retired to bed. 

After M. Veron had made a fortune at 
the Grand Opera, he became ambitious. 
He had enjoyed so intimate a social com- 
merce with political men, he felt a longing 
to be of them as well as with them ; and 
perhaps a tribune surrounded by an ap- 
plauding audience occupied a large hall in 
one of his castles in the air. " In 1837, 1 
sot out for La Bretagne; I purchased 
estates there; I sent to them valuable 
stallions, I improved the land. I laid out 
money on them, to improve the condition 
of the laborers, le tout, jtour ne pas ttre 
nomme depute d Brest extra muros?^ 
M. Veron was imsucccssful. The passage 
we have quoted is none the less curious as 
showing the preliminary steps deemed 
necessary under the reign of Louis Philippe 
to reach the Chamber of Deputies. Bun- 
combe is in France as well as in regions 
with which we are more familiar. 

The 12th March. 1838, M. Veron at the 
suggestion of MM. Thiers and Etienne pur- 
chased two shares of the Const itution- 
nel^ for which he paid 262,000 francs. 
That paper then reckoned 6,200 subscrib- 
ers ; its property was divided into fifteen 
parts. lie was immediately admitted to 
the editorship of the paper ; but. as he was 
not the principal editor he soon saw him- 
self unable to enforce the measures he 
deemed necessary ; the number of sub- 
scribers daily diminished, notwithstanding 
the public and the avowed patronage of M. 
Thiers ; and it became so involved it was 
set up at public auction, and sold the 15th 
March, 1844. We have omitted to men- 
tion that M. Aguado purchased from M. 
Veron tlie half of one of his shares when 
the latter purchased the two shares of the 
Constituitonnel : and that before M. Ve- 
ron became an editor and proprietor, M. 
Aguado proposed to him to become the 
editor of two newspapers he then owned. 

M. Veron purchased the Constitution- 
nel. at auction, for 432,000 francs. A new 
stock company was formed ; . a deed made 
M. Veron absolute master of the political 
conduct of the newspaper ; he abandoned 
this power to M. Thiers, and contented 
himself with being the administrator of the 
paper ; indeed, he so completely abandon- 
ed all influence touching the politics of the 
paper, he received the sobriquet of ie 
pere aux ecus. M. Thiers appointed M. 
Charles Merruau (now the Secretary Gene- 
ral of the Prefecture of the Seine) the chief 
editor ; and he regularly reported the de- 

bates in the Chambers ; he kept m inti- 
mate relations with all the deputies of his 
party ; he consulted i^jth M. Thiers eveir 
morning; and he admitted or rejected tSl 
political articles. Although M. Veron had, 
after three years of editorship, increased 
his subscription list to 25,000 subscribers, 
his losses had amounted to 290,000 francs, 
and consequently no dividends had been 
divided among his stockholders, who na- 
turally were dissatisfied, and compelled 
him to limit his editorial expenses to 
110.000 francs ; they were in reality 
160,000 francs. It may be curious to 
glance at these details of the domestic 
economy of a French newspaper. M. Ve- 
ron announced to his editorial corps that 
he intended to diminish their salaries. M. 
Merruau replies by telling him that the 
party he represented (i. e. M. Thiers) had 
determined to place 100,000 francs in his, 
M. Veron's hands, and which would re- 
main his property so long as the ConstU 
tutwnnel followed the line of policy pur- 
sued by the Centre-Left Party, of which, 
as our readers will remember, M. Thiers 
was the leader ; taking the care, however 
(and this artful precaution is eminently 
characteristic of M. Thicrs's astuteness), to 
provide that M. Thiers alone should be the 
arbiter to decide whether and when the 
ConstitiUionnel deviated from the policy 
of the Centre-Left Party, and consequently 
to decide when M. Veron should return 
the 100.000 francs he was allowed to use. 
From the 12th March, 1838, until the 9th 
November, 1849, never had any public 
man so devoted a servant as M. Thiers 
found in the ConstitiUionnel. To borrow 
a low, but expressive phrase, it defended 
him through thick and thin: the 13th 
May, 1839, the morning after the emeute 
. of Barber, the M(>niteur announced that 
the King had framed a new cabinet, the 
party of M. Thiers had reached power, but 
he was ostracized; yet the Constitution' 
net even then remained faithful to him. 
Hippolyte Royer Collard had taken, the 
pains, at no inconsiderable expense of 
time and labor, to assemble all the 
grammatical faults, and the mistakes 
of events and of dates in the first volumes 
of Thiers's History of the Consulate and 
tlie Empire; M. Thiers heard of it, 
and was alarmed ; and, at his entreaty, 
the Constitutionnel engaged M. Rover 
Collard to suppress his criticisms. But 
the 9th November, 1849, M. Veron 
wrote, and published, in the Constituiionr 
nely notwithstanding the resistance of M. 
Merruau, a leading article, approving the 
message addressed by the President of 
the Republic to the National Assembly 


Menunri of Dr. Verm, 


file 3l8t October, 1849. That very day 
M. TYaxm doclared he would cease all con- 
nection with the ConstitiUionnel, and he 
demanded the retom of the 100,000 fhmcs. 
They were returned. We understand the 
Count de Momay (who played so active 
a part in the events of December, 1851), 
if indeed his name was not a mask of 
Prince Louis Napoleon himself, then ad- 
vanced M. Veron 100,000 francs, and the 
Const Uuiionnel became the most zealous 
supporter of the Bonapartist cause. A 
letter we have quoted shows how those 
services were rewarded. From this time 
forth M. Yeron took an active part in the 
editorial department of the Constitution- 
net; and his editorials were always re- 
marked Tour reEuiers are aware the French 
law on tne press requires writers to sign 
their articles), and they were rudely at- 
tacked by the pen and b^ the pencil ; it is 
the fashion among certam circles in Paris 
constantly to hold up M. Veron to ridi- 
cule. Another newspaper, Le Pays, was 
founded, and which, after wavering a veir 
long time between the republic of M., 
Lamartine, and the republic of General 
Cavaignac, and the republic with Prince 
Louis Napoleon as the president, as soon 
as it was very evident the coup d* itai of 
December was completely successful, be- 
came a zealous supporter of Prince Louis 
Napoleon, and one of the loudest petition- 
ers for the re-establishmcntof the Empire. 
It injured the subscription list of the Con- 
stitutionnel a great deal : in six months 
it lost 10,000 subscribers ; and the Con- 
Mtitutionnel determined to break down the 
rival paper ; to do this it reduced its sub- 
scription price from 40 francs to 32 francs 
a year — a measure which added to its sub- 
scription list twenty thousand new sub- 
scribers, at a loss not only of all its pro- 
fits, but of 80,000 francs of its reserved 
fund. Tired of this unsuccessful and costly 
warfare, M. Veron proposed to the pro- 
prietors of Le Pays to purchase it from 
them ; or to agree to a common rate of 
subscription. This was declined ; but the 
proprietors of Le Pays proposed to pur- 
chase the Constitutionnel for 1,900,000 
francs ; of this amount M. Veron received 
776,000 francs. The sale, and its condi- 
tions, was no sooner made public, by ru- 
mor, than the Aguado family ^^the M. A- 
guaao who hitherto figures in the preceding 
pages died some years before these events ; 
and we are now speaking of his widow and 
his sons) brought a suit against M. Veron 
to recover more money than they received, 
as shareholders, on the ground that M. 
Veron had received more than his share. 
Tbe suit was no sooner instituted than the 

most odious libels were forged, and were 
applied to M. Veron : his character was 
atUcked in every way ; and none were 
more ardent and none were more embitter- 
ed in these attacks than the press of which 
he had long been a faithful representative, 
and the literary men to whom he had al- 
ways been a friend. Besides, M. Veron 
had never allowed his paper to stoop, and 
he has never stooped himself to any man ; 
he has always preserved his dignity, and 
the dignity of Ws paper, even when in com- 
merce with Prime Ministers, in the days 
when Prime Ministers were all-powerful 
in France : he obliged the haughtiest and 
the most powerful to treat hmi as their 
peer ; and, under his management, the Con- 
stitutionnel was never a slave, potent aid 
as it might have been to its party. — It 
would seem to an impartial observer that 
these reasons alone, were none else want- 
ing, would have, at the least, made writers 
so cautious as to examine the foundation 
of the charges made before they reported 

But it is one of the most curious traits 
pf French society, that envy is so promi- 
nent in every member of it, both in the 
capital and m the most secluded villa^^. 
No country in the world offers such bit- 
terness of feeling between the different 
classes, nor such obsequiousness of the 
lower to the higher classes, when they are 
brought immediately in contact. The 
habits of French life afford ample oppor- 
tunity to envy, as, apart from the national 
obtuscness to all those principles of deli- 
cacy which with us flow from hospitality, 
the life on *' flats," the custom of resorting 
to cafes and to restaurants, the frequent- 
ing of other public places, or, in a word, 
the excessive publicity of even the humblest 
particular life, and the absence of a cen- 
sorious public opinion — that national con- 
science which avenges outraged laws, and 
outraged decorum, in those delicate cases 
for which the statutes cannot provide pun- 
ishment, except at the risk of opening the 
door to graver offences — which encourages 
to post connections, which elsewhere men 
conceal in some obscure alley, and even 
from their nearest friends, advertises to 
the world one's tastes, and fortune, and 
character, with an abundance of details 
which startles our home-keepmg, privacy- 
loving notions. Few of our readers, be- 
sides those who have resided abroad for a 
long time, are aware of the gossiping m 
which the French newspapers indulge, and 
the ruthlessness with which they lay their 
hands on the most delicate details of do- 
mestic life, and blazon them to their read- 
ers. At ^is moment we have several 


Memoirs of Dr. Veran. 


files of French newspapers by us, whose 
contents never cease to astonish us by the 
familiar details they give of the life of per- 
sons moving in Paris society. 

It is true M. Yeron has some salient 
points of character, which, in the peculiar 
constitution of Paris, invite attacks. He 
is rather eccentric, he is somewhat vain of 
his luxury^ he seems to spread before the 
public his fortune, and his tastes, and his 
free habits. Every day while the Rue de 
Rivoli and Rue do Castiglione are filled with 
the throng which flows through them be- 
tween noon and four o'clock, M. Veron in 
his robe de chambre leans negligently on 
his balcony, and enjoys the animated scene. 
In the evening he is always to be seen at 
a table in the comer of the second salon of 
the Caf(& de Paris, surrounded by feome of 
the most celebrated writers, or artists, or 
wits of the day : M. Scribe, the dramatist ; 
M. Jules Janin, and M. Armand Berlin of 
the Journal dcs Dehats, M. Malitourne 
of the Constituiionnely M. Eugene Dela- 
croix, the painter; M. Ilalevy, and M. 
Auber, and M. Meyerbeer, the composers ; 
M. Gilbert des Voisins, the witty husband 
of the famous Taglioni, and some fifty 
others of the celebrated persons of Paris, 
alternately, for he gives one of these din- 
ner parties every day, having commonly 
three guests. After dinner he retires to 
his box at the Grand Opera, or at the 
Opera Comique ; and is thus in public 
nearly all the day long. Besides, M. Ye- 
ron'9- pug nose, and obesity, and enormous 
shirt-oollar have been niade very ridicu- 
lous, by one of those statuette caricatures, 
by M. Dantan, the sculptor (who has 
amused his leisure with making laugh- 
able statuettes of all the celebrated per- 
sons of France), who, not content with 
exaggerating them in a droll manner, 
encumbers M. Veron's hands with a 
huge umbrella, a clyster- syringe, and a 
box of quack cough paste Tan allusion to 
M. Veron's profession, ana to a report 
which ascribes to him the invention, and 
original proprietorship of the quack reme- 
dy). As all of the satirical papers of 
Paris have adopted M. Dantan's staluette 
as their model of M. Veron, and as they 
attack him daily, the publicity in which he 
lives is increased in intensity, by his 
never losing his personality (for every 
body knows him by sight), while their pens 
and their pencils have exaggerated his 
harmless eccentricities to ridicule. After 
M. Veron lost the power and the position 
his place at the head of the Constitution- 
net gave him, he found himself greatly 
abandoned, and especially before the Agua- 
dos' suit against him was compromised, 

and while it seemed to menace him with dis- 
honor, the number of his daily guests and 
fiatterers jwas considerably diminished. 
His time hung heavy on his hands. He 
began to experience the isolation unmar- 
ried men experience even in Paris. Thus 
he was led to write his memoirs. We have 
now exhibited, as well as we may, the 
character and the life of the person who 
presents himself to conduct us through 
the varying phases of French society, from 
the end of the Empire down to some time 
last year. We would fain hope that our 
reader has not deemed the space too lons^ 
which we have given to M. Veron. It 
could not well have been curtailed, and 
have given the reader the necessary know- 
ledge of the previous history, and the dia- 
racter of the historian : — " The revolutions 
which this half century has seen," says M. 
Veron, "are not only the revolutions of 
governments, and of dynasties, but they 
have caused the profoundest changes in 
our ideas, in all of our philosophy, in our 
literature, in our moeurs, and even in our 
hygiene." Let us turn to his memoirs. 

We have nowhere read a sadder pic- 
ture of the days of the Empire, whoso 
efiulgence so dazzles our eyes ; we cannot 
readily conceive the social state of the 
country whose flag was floating on every 
pubhc edifice of western continental Eu- ^ 
rope, whose polished tongue was the 
official language of every court, whose 
admirable Code Napoleon protected pro- 
perty, and reputation, and life every 
where. It would, however, have re- 
quired no great deal of reflection to have 
deduced that as, of necessity, the butchers 
of a hundred fields, living on blood, and 
familiar with murder, and other scenes of 
violence which follow war as inevitably as 
the night the day, could not have h&ca 
softened to courtiers by the first whiff of 
the perfumed air of a flower-decked draw- 
ing-room. Our utter ignorance of the 
state of society during the Consulate and 
the Empire, is partly owing to the com- 
plete severance of relations between Eng- 
land and France (on the former we were 
mainly dependent for all we know about 
Europe during that period), and partly 
that the French wrote all the history we 
have about their nation during that time, 
and because the dgantic genius of Napo- 
leon completely ab^rbed all attention, as 
we have just said. But who is there that 
does not feel every drop of blood in his 
veins tingle, when he is told (and by a fa- 
vorable witness, who, in his blind admira- 
tion of the extraordinary man who rescued 
France from anarchy, seems insensible of 
the enormities he is narrating), — who is 

Memoin of Dr. Veron, 


we saYj that does cot feel every 
r blood m his yeins tingle when he 
thmt during the time of the Empire, 
entered the public places and 
i saying a word snatched news- 
from the hands of civilians, and 
the theatres thcj pushed the latter 
id entered before them in the rudest 
r, while the civilians were forced to 
leee impertinent insults? When 
js that if a dishonored husband 

complain of his wrongs ho was 

1 out of the window ; and that it 
frequently happened that when the 
ous loves of these martial heroes 
ed to give them dissatisfaction, 
; was more common than to correct 
irith the horsewhip? Who can 
HI the sentiments of a profound 
. while hearing that it was deemed 

talent to have a digestive appara- 
lich could withstand any amount 
1; that many men had obtained 
re offices after swallowing at one 
Mt a hundred dozen oysters ; that 
I Dumesnil gave an oyster-break- 
iie cellars of Lcs Trois Frdres Pro- 
z to all the officers of his regiment ; 
cellars were illuminated, and upon 
leap of bottles were placed tickets 
Dg their age and their growth; 
kt all ages and growths were emp- 
sfore the officers of his regiment 

the cellars ; that none but hercu- 
en were deemed handsome, that 
shoulders, a prominent belly, and 
iant " calves, were a sure passport 
nilino and to feminine favor ; that 
lan one literary man of the Empire 
is literary fame and fortune to an 
md well made leg ; that an excel- 
Qcer was assured of success in the 
r in the diplomatic corps ; that rope 
; were the favorite amusers of the 
What uncontrollable indignation 
itempt take possession of even the 
uggish mind while hearing tliat it 
ommon occurrence, and deemed no 
:h to a young man of the best 

to live at the expense of the 

(invariably a married woman) 
bom he was on a criminal footing ; 
at he would task his ingenuity to 
9 new expedients of procuring 
from her and to lavish on his other 
es; and descending to such expe- 
as these : a favorite way with one 
e persons was to give orders to his 

to burst into his mistress's boudoir 
le was in the midst of a most af- 

fectionate and a most impassioned pro- 
testation of love, and to say: The con- 
stables (he had taken care beforehand to 
hire three or four and to post them in the 
street) are coming to arrest Monsieur le 
Comte for a note for twenty-five thousand 
francs. The poor duped woman manages to 
procure the twenty-five thousand francs ; 
and the shrewd servant receives a handsome 
commission from his master. Another of 
these fellows engaged his physician to be 
his confederate : I wish you would say to 
Madame * * ♦ that you find me greatly 
changed, and that you cannot account for 
my sadness or'my unusual thoughtfulness. 
The physician lied as his friend desired 
him ; Madame * * * was greatly annoy- 
ed ; she could not sleep, until by falling 
on her knees, and weeping and imploring 
her lover, she extorted his secret : I have 
some creditors, and my family whom I 
refuse to have any thing to do with, places 
insuperable obstacles in the way of my 
selling some of my extensive landed 
estate ; they even prevent my mortgag:ing 
it And what shall be said of this 
paternal homily addressed by a well- 
known person, who made a large for- 
tune in more than one trade during the 
Directory and the earlier days of the Em- 
pire. It would appear that his son, who 
liad run largely in debt, avowed to his 
father that his creditors' clahns on him 
were for a hundred thousand francs. 
How have you managed to spend a hun- 
dred thousand francs ? Why, father, my 
cab, my mistresses What, mis- 
tresses! Spend money on mistresses at 
3'our age ! In my day, persons of your 
age, sir, made their mistresses pay for 
their cab, and spend money on them. M. 
Veron also mentions a celebrated author of 
the " books " of Operas Comiqncs, as say- 
ing to a common friend : I am going to 
cut my old hag ! my last piece has made 
a woman desperately in love with me. 
From the third story, I am goinjj to the 
first,* and she is going to give me a cab- 

The state of social opinion exhibited by 
these anec<lotes (whose authenticity has 
not been challenged for a moment) is in 
such harsh conflict with every pnnciple 
of religion and honor, and with even 
the most elementary notions of what 
we have been in the habit of regarding 
as the foundations of self-respect and 
delicacy, and common honesty, and of 
the true relations of the different sexes and 
several stages of life, and of the paternal 

—dim era aware that In Paris fkinilles liye In storiea or flats, a good mmj fiuniUef Uvlog in the aame 
rbe moit arlttooratlc habitation is the first iloor (oor seoond floor). 


Memoirs qf Dr. Vercn. 


duties, we do not feel ashamed of our- 
selves or of our language, to confess we 
are utterly at a loss for the appropriate 
accents which might express the storm of 
indignation, and pity, and loathing, and 
contempt which they have excited. 

M. Vcron publishes several contem- 
porary letters which give striking pictures 
of the course of Napoleon's life : — 

" Lefebvro proposed introducing me to 

the Consul I confess I was 

frightened, but his (Napoleon's) affable 
manner soon put me at ease ; he said : I 
have heard about you ; I am glad to see 
you, come and dine with me to-morrow. 
So I shall go and dine with him to-day, 
when I shall examine with greater ease 
that extraordinary man. He works 
eighteen hours a day. Ho sees his minis- 
ters only at night : the night is long, he 
says. lie never goes to bed before four 
o'clock in the morning ; he holds six or 
seven councils of state every decode, and 
disctisses there himself all objects of ad- 
ministration with a precision and a clear- 
ness which astonish the most skilful 
persons there. The dccadi is given to 
rather more repose ; he {msscs that day 
in the country ; Mme. Chabaud dined 
with him day before yesterday ; there 
was a singular assortment of guests : the 
Turkish ambassador, two chiefs of the 
pacified Chouans, senators, legislators, 
painters, poets, and his very large family. 
Such are his pleasures ; day before yester- 
day, they remained an hour at the table, 
but commonly he ends his meal in twenty 
minutes I reached the Luxem- 
bourg rather late ; they were at table, I 
saluted the Consul ; he pointed me to a 
place. Twenty plates were set at the 
table, but we were only eight including 
his step-daughter (afterwards Queen Hor- 
tense) and his brother. Bonaparte was 
in a bad humor ; he did not speak until 
towards the end of the dinner, when he 
talked about Italy. He eats rapidly and 
he eats a great deal, especially of pastry. 
The dishes were simple, but delightfully 
cooked. There was only one service, com- 
posed of ten dishes, which was followed 
by a dessert. We were only eighteen 
minutes at table. Bonaparte was waited 
on by two young Mamelukes, and two* 
small Abyssinians. It is not true, he eats 
only dishes prepared expressly for him. He 
eat, among other dishes, of a mushroom pie, 
of which I eat very heartily, for you know 
I love them. He drinks a very little wine, 
but he drinks it pure ; he got up as soon 
as he had finished his dessert. We went 
int^the drawing-room. He said a few 
iTOrds to me^ a^ut the sitoAtion of my 

regiment, while we were taking coffee, 
and then he went at once into his study ; 
the whole affair did not last longer than 
twenty-five or thirty minutes." 

We must, however, return to other 
scenes of that day. Our readers have 
seen how thoroughly corrupted society 
had become. This corruption pervaded 
all the nation. Every thing too was un- 
hinged. France was a great hive swarm- 
ing with adventurers. None perhaps 
were more meanly corrupt, and none are 
more characteristic of the period than the 
furnishers of the army. The most astute 
and the most successful of these appears 
to have been a certain M. Paulee, who was 
bom in Douai, and where he was for 
some time employed as a servant in one of 
the taverns of the place, from which he 
rose to be the butler of the inn, made 
his first fortunate step m marrymg the 
cook of the establishment, by which con- 
nection he became quite an important 
character, and it became worth the while 
of his customers to court his favor, if they 
were partial to good dishes and to choice 
wines. The inn was frequented by a good 
many oflScers of the army, and by a good 
many grain dealers. He won the confi- 
dence of those who had grain to sell, as 
of those who wished to purchase. In- 
fluential generals patronized him. and 
gave him small orders for grain; his 
affairs prospered and increased in import- 
ance; he took a partner, a M. Vanler- 
berghe ; he bought largely of ecclesiastical 
and national estates sold in the depertr 
ment of the Nord, and which he had 
selected so judiciously, it was estimated 
that his income was $100,000 per annum ; 
the marriage portion he gave his son 
was worth $50,000 a year, and the mar- 
riage contract of his son and Mile. Yan- 
lerbcrghe cost $1G,000 as Uegistrar's tax. 
We may imagine how this shrewd cook 
(he could neither read nor write) made 
this fortune, when we read that he bad 
constantly about him able lawyers, expe- 
rienced managers, and intelligent clerks, 
who (the latter) received some $8,000 a 
year, a splendid apartment and ^* he (M. 
Paulee) secured for them the favors of 
some of the young actresses of the Theatre 
Francaise," and that several of his more 
confidential clerks still receive from his 
heirs large pensions to keep secret what 
they may know. 

Ouvrard was a more celebrated annj 
contractor (to use the modem wordl 
Ouvrard was firmly persuaded that fritn 
money every thing was possible. He had 
profoundly studied and had accurately 
calculated all its power on the 


Mitnoirs of Dr. Veran, 


heart M. Yeron says it almost seemed 
he had studied under the professor of 
chemistry who said, Gold has the pro- 
perty of gladdening the sight of man ; and 
he gires a late instance of Ouvrard's phi- 
losophy : During the war with Spain, in 
1823, he reached Tolosa on the eve of the 
day his service as contractor commenced ; 
the army bivx>uackod in the suburbs of 
the town ; it had no stores nor provisions. 
Ouvrard was angrily examined : To-mor- 
row the army will receive its ordinary 
rations. But the second corps requires 
ten days' rations. To-morrow the second 
corps will receive its ten days' rations. 
He went to all tf^e authorities of the place, 
to the clergy, to the lawyers, to the shop- 
keepers : Tell every body you know, said 
be, that I shall pay in cash every thing I 
take ; what is delivered to me before eight 
o'clock in the morning, I will pay ten 
times its value ; nine times its value what is 
delivered before nine o'clock, eight times 
what is delivered before ten o'clock, and 
BO on diminishing one tenth per hour. 
The army had an abundance of stores and 
of provisions during the whole campaign. 
He frequently used to say: "There are 
but two ways of carrying on war, by pil- 
laging or by paying;, it is cheapest to 
pay. Between Ouvrard and Seguin (an- 
other celebrated contractor, whose house 
was filled to encumbrance with violins 
and music, and who constantly kept some 
thirty or thirty-five horses in his stables 
which he never rode or drove) there were 
frequently contested accounts. It appeared 
from the last account between them that 
Oavrard owed Seguin $1,000,000; now 
Ouvrard had lost all of his fortune except 
a last million of dollars. He pretended 
the government owed him a million of 
dollars, and he referred Seguin to the 
public treasury. Legal proceedings were 
instituted against Ouvrard ; at their ma- 
turity, a writ, like our Ca. <Sa., was issued 
against him, and it was confided to the 
most skilful constable of Paris. The 
latter dogged Ouvrard from eight o'clock 
b the evening, following him to the 
Rocher de Cancale and to theatres, until 
he returned home at two o'clock in the 
morning. Every night Ouvrard returned 
to the same house, and a posse of con- 
stables watched the door until daybreak. 
One morning they sought the Juge de 
Paix (whose presence is indispensable 
whenever a house is to be entered by 
force) that they might enter the house ; 
ihcy entered without difficulty, they 
searched all the rooms, all the closets, 
they made a mason sound all the walls. 
To hftTe arrested Ouvrard it would have 

been necessary to have pulled down the 
whole house : he had constructed a mov- 
able chimney back, which afibrded him a 
secure retreat Furnished with an almanac 
indicating the hours of sunset and of sun- 
rise, and an excellent pocket chronometer, 
Ouvrard never left his retreat except at 
the indicated hours ; but this almanac was 
inexact, and one evening when he came 
into the street, he was arrested, it was ten 
minutes to sunset. While so pursued, 
Ouvrard always carried about with )iim 
fifty thousand francs in bank-notes; he 
ofibred them to the constable if he would 
release him : I cannot take them, sir, re- 
plied the constable ; besides Seguin has 
given me sixty thousand francs to arrest 
you. Ouvrard had not left the gaol- 
registrar's office, when one of his nephews 
came to console him. Don't feel grieved, 
said Ouvrard. don't you sec I shall not be 
afj-aid now of being arrested. No insolvent 
debtor had ever been admitted as a pri- 
soner in the Conciergeric (a famous gaol 
immediately back of the Palais-du- Justice ; 
insolvent debtors are commonly sent to 
the prisrfti at Clichy) ; Ouvrard procureti 
the favor of being transferred there. The 
gaoler was even authorized to rent him a 
large and well distributed suite of rooms 
and for six thousand francs a year. This 
apartment was soon richly decorated. So 
many visitors came to see him, the im- 
prisoned insolvent debtor was sometimes 
so tired of receiving company, he would 
order the gaoler to say : ^lonsieur Ouv- 
rard has gone out. The Rocher de Can- 
cale furnished Ouvrard's dinner, and the 
choicest brands of the Clos-Vougeot ; cele- 
brated persons, wits, noblemen, distin- 
guished artists, appeared every evening. 
These epicurean dinners became very cele- 
brated, and Ouvrard told me that one day 
Seguin himself asked the favor of being 
invited to them. Seguin received his in- 
vitation immediately ; the dinner was one 
of the gayest and most splendid which 
had been given there. There is but one 
drawback to the dinner, said Ouvrard, 
Lucullus is obliged to dine every day at 
home ! 

'' What ! " replied Seguin, " how can 
you, now fifty-five years old and having 
before you scarcely five good years, how 
can you be content to spend them in gaol ! 
Now see here, I am a good fellow and I 
feel anxious to pay my share of the 
reckoning ; give me three millions, and to- 
night you sleep in your own bed." 

" Monsieur Seguin," said Ouvrard, *' you 
are some years older than 1 am ; if you 
were ofiered a speculation which would 
assure you a clear profit of five millions^ 


Boarding-SchooiSy French and Other. 


would you refuse it because ft would ob- 
lige you to make a voyage to Calcutta?" 

" No, certainly not" 

" And 3-et, you would be obliged to cm- 
bark on the ocean, to go four thousand 
leagues, to leave your family, your chil- 
dren, your friends, to abandon an excel- 
lent cuisine such as we have before as, 
and such choice wine as this, and perhaps 
encounter the yellow fever." 

" Yes, yes, yes ; but five millions, fis^e 
millions ! " 

" Eh bien ! " replied Ouvrard, in a victo- 
rious tone, " without quitting terra firma^ 
without changing sky or clime, without 
bidding adieu to my family or friends, 
without even being deprived, Monsieur 
Seguin, of the pleasure of receiving and 
dining gayly with you, out of the reach of 
all disastrous chances and perils, I earn 
here, in this delightful retreat, the five 
millions for which you would expose your- 
self to such rude sacrifices." 

There was a moment's silence. Segnin 
became serious and pensive, and at last 
said, coldly : ^^ Eh bien, Monsieur Ouvrard, 
perhaps you are in the right" 

^' There is in the life of Ouvrard a pa^ 
which will fedeem many faults, and will 
appease many enmities. Ouvrard knew 
Colonel Lab6doy^re. After the Uundred 
Days, Lab^doydre sought him, to ob- 
tain his advice : Leave France, said Out- 
rard to him, at once, go to the United 
States ; here's a letter of credit for fiitj 
thousand francs, and fifteen hundred lonis 
d'or. The next day the Prince de Tallej^ 
rand sent for Ouvrard, and demanded ex- 
planations about the letter of credit foimd 
among Labddoy cre's papers, for he was ar- ' 
rested : It is not before you. Prince, said 
he, that I need justify myself, for having 
endeavored to save a proscribed man 
whose head is menaced. Prince Talley- 
rand felt this reply ; and Ouvrard was not 


THE Indians say, " Winter cannot come 
till the ponds are full," and an equally 
infallible preliminary, to us citizens of 
New- York, is the filling up of our various 
boarding-schools, French and other, before 
the holidays. 

The process begins early. With the 
first falling leaf, the curious in such things 
may observe, in front of certain tall and 
elegant houses in conspicuous or retired 
situations, tracks that show the incessant 
wheeling of carriages, every one of which 
has been freighted with its fluttering 
damsel or two, an anxious papa or mam- 
ma, or guardian, and a cloth-enveloped 
trunk, whose fresh appearance proclaims 
that the owner has not yet been much of 
a traveller. And " about these days," as 
the Almanac says, or indeed a little earlier, 
the newspapers break out with a new ad- 
vertisement, simultaneously, as if they 
had all been inoculated in a batch — '* Mrs. 

's Boarding and Day School for Young 

Ladies will reopen on the 15th of Sep- 
tember." The initiated are in nowise 
puzzled to account for the accumulated 

But who can tell what sighs of little 
beating hearts load those first cool breezes 
of autumn; or count the hundreds of pairs 

of tearful, pretty eyes that gaze wistfully 
out of those carriage windows upon our 
streets of palaces, finding all barren be- 
cause it is not '*home?" It is the first 
lesson, to many of these little thoaghtfbl 
ones, on the value of homej up to this 
time, perhaps, considered a stupod old 
place, where there is no fun going on that 
is comparable with the doings of the gaj, 
free world beyond its careful walls. F^ipd) 
whose occasional snnbbings have some- 
times been rebutted with gentle pouti^ 
and mamma, not always pleasantly tnank- 
ed for her maternal reproofs and cautions, 
are seen transfigured through those tears, 
till their faces are as the faces of angols. a 
class of beings, by the by, of whom hardlr 
any body knows so much as school-gim 
seem to do, perhaps because they are 
specially favored with a good many, not 
needless, to keep watch and ward over their 
young steps. What questioning -glanest 
are thrown up at the cold freestone fiwa 
of the new home, which the perverse little 
heart has already vowed shall never seem 
home, whatever kindness or pleasure nunf 
be found in it ; though indeed prejudice la 
too apt to decide at once that there caa 
be neither kindness nor pleasure than^ 
thanks to the benevolent pains taken lij 


Boardinff-SekoolBj French and Oihir. 


gpnerml liteimtore, to represent the board- 
inc-acliool u a sort of intermediary state^ to 
which a moderate purgatory were paradise. 
How the countenance of the mistress, we 
beg her pardon, "principal" (we wish to 
be set down at once as a deyoted disciple 
of the Woman's Rights doctrine), comely 
and kind to other eyes, gleams with 
incipient cruelty, and, pah! self-interest, 
that odious and uncommon quality! 
Thanks to general literature again, which 
has labored to show that the profession 
needed almost a new invention in the 
shape of woman — ^a woman in whose com- 
position all the better feminine traits 
shonld be omitted. How the tasteful 
qilendors of the reception rooms are dis- 
paraged, in comparison with the home 
parlors, even though the great home study 
and effort has been to bring those parlors 
up to a faint imitation oi such achieve- 
ments of upholstery and cabinet work! 
The very tail of Madame's lap-dog is sup- 
posed to curl with preternatural stiffness ; 
the effect of an awful disciplinary atmos- 
phere, by which dogs' caudal appendages 
and young misses' wills must expect to 
be controlled and forced into unnatural 
shapes. And these other scholars — anti- 
quated denizens, '^ oldest inhabitants," 
whose faces are plump and rosy, and 
whoso eyes show no traces of weeping ? 
Ah ! but " they have got used to it ! " or, 
perhaps, they never had homes ! At all 
events their very contentment is stolid; 
they are not of the finer clay that asks 
tears for the moulding ! 

Poor child ! you waJk in a vain show, 
tnd disquiet yourself for naught Stern 
papa and secretly-weeping mamma knew 
all this must come, when tho time arrived 
fw the little home-bird to try her wings, 
ud they have sturdily agreed to push the 
fledgling from the nest, spite of her reluc- 
Uot cries. She must kiss wild good-byes 
into the very substance of their cheeks 
ind lips, and watch the carriage drive off, 
thitragh eyes that see prismatic colors on 
tho panels and all about the horses' ears, 
tnd then turn sadly in, no longer " Fanny " 
or « Jalia," but "Miss Budd," or "Miss 
Midge," or " Number 54," — transformation 
Strang and hateful. 

Up to this time of life our dibutanie 
itts seen a friend in every new face ; now 
she sees only enemic^ antagonists, plotters 
against her peace. To him who will wear 
rid spectacles, the landscape is for ever 
lurid. The much lauded maxim, *^In 
pesos prepare for war" — reverend as is 
ita arigio, is a war maxim, at least in 
lodety. Countenances look forbiddine 
whni the J are forbidden. The distrustful 

thoughts of the new-comer being painted 
on her face, all her compeers resent her 
unhappiness. They aro not going to coax 
her, not they ! They have forgotten their 
own first days. If a teacher try, woe be 
unto her ! Gorgons can only turn their 
victims to stone, and she, being a gorgon 
to Fanny's weeping eyes, will only make 
her heart the harder. 

"But what does all this mean?" says 
Cousin Kitty, at whose request we sat 
down to write a tirade against Boarding- 
Schools, all and several. " Seems to me," 
she says, looking over our shoulder, 
" seems to me you mean to take their part^ 
after all I " Not so fast Miss ! Not so 
much of a Balaam as your ladyship sup- 
poses ! Let us get at the truth and then 
deal out justice. " Justice ! " says Kitty, 
poutingly. We knew very well that was 
not what she wanted, but wo shall have 
our own way. 

Let us then take a fair and sober look 
at some young ladies' boarding-schools 
French and other. 

The first French one that we know 
much about is that of St. Cyr, established 
by Louis XIV. under tho influence of 
Madame dc Maintcnon, a lady who was 
more of a woman than some people sup- 
pose, as one easily learns by studying the 
plan and history of this one, single insti- 
tution. If she did sanction the revoca- 
tion of the Edict of Nantes, it was because, 
on various accounts, she could not help 
it ; if she did give up her generous advo- 
cacy of Madame Guyon and Fenelon, it 
was not until the whole power of church 
and king was turned against them and 
herself, and her habitual deference to both 
authorities, and the terrible fear of losing 
her soul, which always haunted even a 
mind so brilliant and enlightened as hers, 
proved too much for her resolution, though 
working no change in her affections. But 
at St. Cyr we have the flower and fruit of 
her genius and her benevolence, and the 
crowning object of her life, from the mo- 
ment that she came into power by her 
marriage with the king. It was about 
this time that Louis XIV. bethought him 
of making a sort of peppercorn atonement 
for the decimation and impoverishment 
which the nobility had suffered through 
his wars, by the establishment of throe 
charitable institutions — a Military Hos- 
pital (the Invalidcs), a scliool for young 
gentlemen, and another for young ladies — 
the last two for the children of noblemen 
who had been killed, crippled, or beggared 
in the service of the state. Madame de 
Maintenon had already become interested 
in a charity school, to which ibi^ Vatv^ 


Boarding-Schooliy French and Other. 


granted the domain of Noisy, (not intend- 
ing a sarcasm, we dare saj, Kitty !) and 
from this comparatively small beginning 
grew the great school and convent of St. 
<Jyr. When Madame de ^faintenon rep- 
resented to the king her idea of what it 
would become him to do in the premises, 
ho checked her with the remark that no 
Queen of France had ever attcmpte<i any 
thing so magnificent ; but, nothing daunt- 
ed, she reminded him, in turn, of what he 
had been doing for the young men. and 
of his own projects for the reform of 
society and the re-establishment of reli- 
gion ; wisely arguing that the culture of 
women was at least as likely to be effec- 
tual in this direction as that of the other 
sex, and that the planting of noble senti- 
ments in the minds of people of rank, was 
especially important because of the power 
of their example. As soon as the royal 
consent was obtained, the plan was laid 
before the council, who were naturally 
appalled at the expense to be incurred at 
the close of the war, which had left the 
treasury empty. In the end, the king's ori- 
ginal notion of adopting five hundred young 
ladies, was modified by the deduction of 
one half. Two hundred and fifty were 
then invited to repair to St Cyr, a vil- 
lage within the limits of the park of Ver- 
sailles, where a great house was built by 
Mansard, under the joint direction of 
Madame de Main tenon and the king. 
The occupation took place in 1686. 

The special intents connected with the 
establishment of this school have little to 
do with our sketch of it for the present 
purpose. What we desire is to ascertain 
the governing ideas of a boarding-school 
for girls, under the auspices of a French 
woman, holding the highest rank in the 
kingdom, yet finding time for the closest 
attention to this great undertaking. " Pro- 
vidence," she says, " which had destined 
me for St Cyr, has given me special 
qualifications for such an institution." 
And according to our notion no one should 
undertake such things without a sjiedal 
vocation. This was no temporary fancy — 
no court-lady's whim, in Madame de 
Maintenon. For thirty years she visited 
the school nearly every morning, and 
very generally retaained there the greater 
part of the day. inspecting the classes, 
overseeing the kitchen, caring for the sick, 
and often with her own hands ministering 
to the comfort of the convalescent. She 
taught the teachers and drilled the schol- 
ars, and she says, in her naice way. *^ I 
prefer these duties to all the amusements 

of Versailles." The king gave mnch of 
his attentk)n to the school, and it was on 
hi9 first visit there in state that the muse 
now familiar to us as " God save the king," 
composed by Lulli, was originally per- 
formed,* the words, by Madame de Brinon, 
then principal of St Cyr, oommendng 
thus : — 

" Grand TMea, nam to Boi 1 
Grand Dleu, T«ngc« 1« Boll 

Qir.1 jamais itrlorlenx, 
Louis vlct(vleuz« 
Yujre sea cnnemts, 

• Tui^oan Bouuita,'* Ae. 

The original scope of instruction included 
"religion, the French language, a little 
arithmetic and music, and, above all 
(8urtout)j needle- work, including plam 
sewing, embroidery, knitting, laoepmaking, 
and tapestry or worsted- work." Ma- 
dame's own sketch of her aims reads thus 
— *• What we desire is solid piety, far re- 
moved from all the pettiness of convents ; 
spiritual elevation ; the most careful selec- 
tion of maxims ; real eloquence in our in- 
structions ; great freedom in our conversa- 
tions ; an agreeable tone in society." Be- 
sides all this, she wished to allow a noble 
freedom in their studies, their recreation^ 
their relations with their instructresses. 
All should be dignified, easy, smiling, natu- 
ral, whether in piety, writings, behavior, 
or language. ^* No tedious minuteness, no 
narrow and onerous devotk>n, no vulgar 
restrictions or reprehensions." The sdiol- 
ars were to be allowed a select variety of 
reading, for the purpose of forming an 
elegant style ; they were to be encouraged 
to converse on worthy and elevating 
topics; their deportment was to claim 
careful training, and the cultivation of 
personal elegance and grace by no meani 
to be neglected. " Noble sentiments, gen- 
erosity, disinterestedness, probity, com* 
passion, mildness, afiability," ., were the 
burden of her song, but she disdained not 
*' the exercises calculated to inspire them 
with a politeness r^uired by gocKl sodetr, 
and which is not incompatible with reu- 

When we remember 'that the epodi of 
St. Cyrian glory was the age of Madame 
de Sevigne, we are not surprised to find 
how much stress was laid on langnagi^ 
and the graces of converse *^ion and writing. 
Racine even condescended to become one 
of the instructors or the young ladiot 
honored by the protection of Madame de 
Mahitenon. " She desired," says the hisfo- 
rian, '* that her beloved pupils should undei^ 
stand their native tongue, not so mnch in its 

• LftvalUr HJftoIra da te IfdMB BojaU da Bt Pn; 


Boarding-Sehools, French and Other, 


grammatical subtleties, as in its fine turns 
of expression, in its titinsparency and its 
abundance, in the weight of its words and 
the significance of its phrases." " They 
were required," says Racine, "to talk 
oyer the histories they had studied, and 
the important truths that had been taught 
them; to recite and declaim the finest 
passages of the best poets." And to this 
desire to perfect them in all that was ele- 
rant and inspiring in language, we owe 
Esther and Athaliej which were written 
at the desire of Madame de Maintcnon, 
for the young ladies of St. Cyr. and per- 
formed by them under the personal direc- 
tion and instruction of Racine and Boilcau. 
At first entirely private, these representa- 
tions were soon the highest amusement of 
the court, and contests for the honor of 
admission soon became troublesome. 

Biahopc and priests in their mitred mrray 

By Uie canllnal legato recruited, 
(Flnser-post». pointing to heaven the way, 

WUle tlMir hei in the earth are ruoted>— 

as sings an irreverent poet, crowded the 
benches, Bossuct and Bourdalouc includ- 
ed. The king himself stood inside the 
door, holding his cane across it for a bar- 
rier, to see that no one found entrance 
whose name was not upon Madame de 
Haintenon's list for the evening, and that 
the doors were closed as soon as the invit- 
ed gaests had all arrived. At the fourth 
representation of Esther, February 5th, 
16iS9, James II. of England, and his queen 
'^assisted," escorted, with great pomp and 
honor, by Louis XIV., and his court." 
"Three crowned heads, and nearly all the 
princes and princesses of the blood ! " says 
the delighted Madame de Pcrou, one of the 
instructresses : and Madame de Sevign6 
—"The king, appearing to be quite at 
home, which gave him the most amiable 
»ir, camo to where we were sitting, and 
aid to me : " Madame, I am sure you have 
been pleased." A/oi, sana m* etonner. 
ft repondis, " Sire^ je suia charmee. 

The prince and princess came to 

nre me a word ; Madame de Maintcnon a 
flash. She retirwi with the king." There 
ii DO need of further unfolding here the 
histoiy of thU great t'rench boarding- 
achooi, except to say that these public-pri- 
vate theatricals were very soon found in- 
imical to the worthy progress of the young 
ladies in the solider branches of education, 
which the enlightened mind of the foun- 
dress valued above all others. The pupils 
became Tain and haughty, fancying that 
the eyes of all the world were upon them, 

and that their proper object in life was to 
be charming, and to make grand mar- 
riages. They scorned every thing that 
savored of labor, and objected to singing 
psalms in church, for fear of spoiling 
their voices. Madame de Maintcnon was 
for a while almost in despair at this result 
of all her cares and prayers, but. sum- 
moning courage, she resolved upon a thor- 
ough reform; commencing with the* re- 
moval of the Lady Superior, by a lettre de 
cachet^ that dame hautaine having round- 
ly refused to modify her practice by the 
ideas of the foundress of the institution. 
Far stricter and graver rules now came 
into fashion. '• We must rebuild from the 
foundation," said Madame ; " cultivate hu- 
mility and simplicity, renounce our grand, 
self-sufficient, worldly airs, and our ambi- 
tion of wit. We must reprehend our girls 
more decidedly, and be less familiar with 
them. They must retrench their ribbons, 
their pearls, their tassels, and draw their 
veils more closely. We must not give them 
new clothes so often, but rather let them 
go a little shabby. They must not write 
so much, lest they become too ambitious of 
being rhetoricians ; they must not acquire 
too much taste for conversation, or they 
will die of ennui when they return to their 
homes. Even poetry is not good for them ; 
it puts high notions in their heads. They 
must be put to domestic affairs, working 
with their hands, and learning, above all 
things, to live Christian lives, and fit them- 
selves to take care of families." Madame's 
resumi of her plan of reform concludes 
w^ith these characteristic words : — " Lea 
femmes ne aa vent jamais qu^d demi^et 
le peu qWelles savent les rend commu- 
nement Jieres^ dedaig-neuses, cauaeuaea^ 
et degotUee dea choaea aolides?''* 

Whew ! Miss Kitty, how do you relish 
that compliment from one of your own 
sex ? Ilaiefid old thing ! She is said to 
have been " aussi spirituellc que modeste" 
in her youth, and, at the age of fifty, she 
is thus described by impartial judges : 
" She was still very beautiful, ^vith the 
sweetest and most agreeable voice, aflbo- 
tionate manners, an open and smiling as- 
pect, eyes of fire, graceful and elegant 
movements, a beautiful hand, which she 
used with much grace j altogether a charm 
which threw the greatest belles of the 
court quite into the shade. At first glance 
her air was imposing, and somewhat tinc- 
tured with severity, but the smile and the 
voice unveiled her. And, further, she was 
of a most equable humor, mistress of her- 

know only by halT«a. and the little they do know only Benres generally to make them proud, dls- 

l wltb Mrtotu thiaci. 


Boarding- Schools^ French and Other. 


self, modest, reasonable ; and, in addition 
to these rare attractions, she was witty, 
intellectual, and highly cultivated." 

When we add to all this the fact that 
she reigned over the affections, and enjoyed 
the respect of Louis XIV. for thirty con- 
secutive years, we must allow, gentle Kitty, 
that she was — well, well ! we will not in- 
sist. But just think for a moment what a 
fine, generous, high-souled boarding-school 
this must have been; how far removed 
from the petty, penurious, torturing, soul- 
less image that has full possession of yoxxr 
silly little brain, when such a thing is men- 
tione^l. What a thorough understanding 
of what should be the end and aim of edu- 
cation, and what constitutes the perfection 
of female loveliness, is here displayed. 
Tliere are none such m this country! 
There are no Madame de Maintenons, I 
grant ; they do not belong to our age ; but 
tliere will always be springing up among 
your sex, wise and good women, whose best 
thoughts and labors will be given to the 
improvement of the rising race. What 
has been, shall be, Kitty. The worst edu- 
cational system cannot spoil all the women. 
You may be assured that there will always 
be some who undertake teaching without 
the least desire to make little girls miser- 
able, or to do them any thing but good. 

But. let us look a little at another great 
boarding-school, one of somewhat similar 
general aims, undertaken in the nineteenth 
century in our young republic. Mount 
Holyokc Seminar}-- was founded by Miss 
Mary Lyon, not with the aid of a royal 
treasury, but by the contributions of the 
public, whom, by the power of her en- 
thusiasm, she succeeded in interesting in 
her benevolent project Miss Lyon was a 
very plain Yankee girl, without personal 
charms or social graces, whose strength 
lay in her honest and religious purpose, 
and the passionate zeal with which she 
entered upon the business of education. 
When she was about twenty years of age, 
somebody remarked of her, '• She is all in- 
tellect ; she docs not know that she has a 
body to care for." She lived as a sort of 
servant in her brother's family, while she 
earned, by spinning, weaving, teaching, 
&c., the money that was to buy her own 
education. Her struggles for this great 
end were immense ; the family with whom 
she boarded thought that for months she 
slept not more than four hours out of the 
twenty -four. Such was her energy, that 
in three days' time she committed to me- 
mory, with the utmost accuracy, all that 
portion of Adams's Latin Grammar usu- 
ally recited by students. She soon be- 
came a regular and acceptable teacher in 

various schools, but not without inienn 
application to study in those hours which 
others would have devoted to recreation 
or repose, and her progress in self-know- 
ledge, self-control, and deep interest in the 
welfare of others, kept pace with her Hte- 
rary advancement All this was prepar- 
ing her, more and more deeply and per- 
fectly, ^r the realization of an idea which 
early dawned in her mind, of establishing 
a school, " which should be so moderate 
in its expenses, as to be open to the daugh- 
ters of farmers and artisans, and to teach- 
ers who might be mainly dependent on 
their own exertions." In a letter she savs^ 
" O ! how immensely important is this 
great work, of preparing the daughters of 
the land to be good mothers ! If ther 
are prepared for this situation^ they will 
have the most important preparation that 
they can have for any other ; they can 
soon and easily become good teachers, 
and, at all events, good members of socie- 
ty." The difficulties and di.scouragements 
likely to beset such an enterprise, were 
none of them spared her. Hesitating 
friends, jealous or sneering foes, honest 
doubters, and lukewarm helpers there 
were, in plenty. No one who has ever 
tried to begin any thing, however useful, 
that required the consent and contribution 
of many minds and purses, need be assur- 
ed that her path was no primrose one ; but 
she had the spirit that could, like the good 
clergyman described by Vinet, reply to 
the severe.«5t animadversions, — " Et mes 
panvres ? " I may be all you insinuate, 
but — my object 1 And in the end she 
triumphed, as such advocates must They 
bring with them the fire, before which ice, 
and harder things, melt. Money came, 
and co-operation and aid of all needed 
kinds ; a great building was erected, in a 
confusion of tongues, that makes one think 
of Babel, so many were the doubts and 
fears and varieties of opinion that hinder- 
ed it for a while ; and teachers were found, 
who were willing to serve for the smallest 
kind of earthly consideration, and Miss 
Lyon laid her head on the hard pillow of 
the principalship, with a glorious feeling 
of success, and a perfect willingness to en- 
counter all that the position was sure to 
bring upon her — a rare example of female 
energy, wisdom, love and devotion, the 
memory of which will be always green 
and fragrant in New England. 

The most distinctive feature of the new 
boarding-school, was the arrangement by 
which all the household labor of the in- 
stitution M'as performed by the pupiks. 
This it was that at first occasioned such 
infinite discussion and caviL Young la- 


Boardinff'SchoolSj French and Other. 


dies do housework ! Shocking ! Shock- 
ing even to those 3roung ladies whose mo- 
tbm were doing the yery same thing daily ; 
niy more, to those who. hehind the scenes, 
and always with an anxious protest in be- 
half of their gentility, were themselves 
obliged to be intimately acquainted with 
kitchen affairs, as well as with the lighter 
labors of the upper chambers. It is cu- 
rious that in our country, where so much 
of the ordinary domestic labor is, in one 
way and another, performed by the ladies 
of the family, there should be so much 
fidse pride and mean concealment about 
it, but so It is ; and this item of the plan 
fti" the new seminary, — an indispensable 
one for a school which was intended to be 
all but a charity-school, — came near ren- 
dering the whole scheme abortive. The 
feeling of quality, though so anxiously 
cherished, and so prevalent in our com- 
munity, is yet not deep and sincere enough 
to rid women of the fear, that by perform- 
ing such labors as princesses of old did 
not disdain, they may lose cctste^ and be 
considered as inferiors by the least valu- 
able of their acquaintances.* This part of 
Miss Lyon's plan seemed original, yet it 
was only so in this country. In all the 
convents, — i. c, institutions having for 
their object the religious retirement and 
education of women, the inmates have 
shared among themselves the domestic la- 
bor. In the Beguinages. whose members 
are ladies of noble and even royal blood, 
the whole round of household duty is per- 
formed by themselves in turn ; thus avoid- 
ing the introduction of inimical or discor- 
dukt elements, dishonesty, or ignorance. 
The very idea of a perfectly organized re- 
ligions community, such as Miss Lyon de- 
rigned, almost demands this arrangement, 
for reasons too obvious to need insisting 
on. And she saw this, and persisted, 
much to the advantage of the institution 
and its pupils. Madame de Maintenon in- 
troduced the requisition into the school at 
St Cyr, for the sake of the scholars ; she 
considered it a necessary part of a young 
woman's education, and, queen as she was, 
personally taught and assisted in such 
labors. *• We must teach them all sorts 
of things," she said ; " put them to hard 
work to make them healthy, strong, and 
intelligent. Their instruction in the class- 
es must be the first object, but beyond 
that, let them work." " At certain times." 
says the historian of St. Cyr, '* as reward, 
as exercise, or for the regulating of the 
house, they allowed a whole class, or di- 

vision of a class, to scrub, wash, clean the 
infirmary ; arrange the closets, the refec- 
tory, and the sacristy ; sweep the house 
from top to bottom — and all this was per- 
formed in silence." " Employ them," said 
Madame de Maintenon, " without scruple ; 
all that you can make them do at St Cyr 
will be but trifling, compared with what 
they must do in after life. Make them 
thri fty and industrious. By all means hin- 
der them from being proud and squeam- 
ish ; let them eat any thing ; let them 
have hard beds and chairs ; do not allow 
them to stoop, or to go to the fire to vrarm 
themselves, unless it is absolutely neces- 
sary; let them wait upon one another, 
sweep, and make beds, — all this will make 
them strong, adroit and humble. But do 
not neglect them, or make them work 
through a spirit of penury. They must 
serve the house, but they are also to be 
served. Spare nothing for their souls or 
their bodies." St. Cyr was filled with 
the daughters of the nobility and of army 

Horrible. Yes, I dare say- you think 
so, Kitty. Old bachelor! Yes — and 
I mean to be one, until there are some 
young ladies educated after some such 
plan as this. If I want a doll I can buy 
one — a beautiful waxen image, with pink 
cheeks, a mouth always showing a set 
smile, and eyes that will open and shut by 
the pulling of a string. I can dress such a 
thing in velvet and lace, and put diamonds 
upon her little useless hands, and feathers 
on her empty head. But will she talk to 
me, feed my soul with sweet, womanly 
thoughts, kiss away the frown-wrinkles 
from my forehead, and charm down the 
angry or disappointed passions that the 
turmoil of life is apt to bring into men's 
minds ? What can she do for me when I 
am sick and cross, or poor and afflicted, 
and thrown upon homo resources? To 
smile and look pretty is not enough. It 
is part of a woman's duty, I own, as silks 
and ribbons are a part of her dress. I 
would not divest her of feminine graces 
any more than I would wrap her in per- 
petual linsey-woolsey. 

Here was the fault in Miss Lyon and 
her system. She herself felt no interest 
in dress or fine manners; her impulses 
were towards great things, to the exclu- 
sion of little ones, which her own early 
circumstances had taught her to disparage. 
Utility, immediate and obvious, was her 
aim. She had not that wider view which 
takes in the whole nature, and seeks to 

• Tet, we know (mo young lady In Fifth Avenue, who gives orders to the servant, on certain days, to excoao 
to to visitors, oo the ground that she is making cake / 
TOL. III. — 12 


Notes frwn my Knapsaek. 


glorify God by cultivating every power 
and grace he has bestowed. But what a 
soul she had ! What a spirit of self-sacri- 
fice^ — ^what singleness of eye, — what a 
heavenward aspect ! " Do not think of 
filthy lucre and immortal minds together," 
she would say ; " Teach, as Christ taught, 
to do good. Dollars and cents can never 
pay the faithful minister nor the foithful 
teacher." This was no affectation, or 
word-virtue. Her generous soul felt it 
all. Her own money, hard-earned as it 
was, had no whit of preciousncss in her 
eyes, save as an instrument of doing good, 
and when she had educated a young girl 
as* a teacher, her next thought was of an 
outfit that would enable the debutante to 
go forth creditably, to educate others in 
her turn, for she had no Louis XIV. to 
dower her youthful graduates. 

The darling object of this noble crea- 
ture's life, Kitty, was that terrible thing, 
a boarding-school. For this she livea 
and labor^ suffered, prayed, and died — 
died in the midst of such love, honor, 
gratitude and reverence from her pu- 
pils, that we can almost fancy her borne 
to heaven on these feelings, as in a lumi- 
nous cloud, or like St Catherine, by a choir 
of white-robed angels. Plain and homely 
in body, and tasteless in outward guise, 
yet pure and glorious within, and with a 
soul that would have become an empress ; 
was she one of your female Herods, Kitty, 
a victimizcr of young hearts ? 

If there are some good, there are a 
great many bad ones. Yes, indeed; I 
concede so much. There are — ^hard, sor- 
did, mean, selfish people, who dare to un- 
dertake the care of tender, helpless daugh- 
ters, without a thought beyond the stipend 
which is to reward their treachery, — at 
least we must believe there are such, we 
hear it so oflen. Tet even such, you must 
remember, are necessarily influenced by 
the very self-interest which is their snare, 
to a certain amount of kindness, for they 
would soon sit alone else. This country has 

no female Squeerses, nor any nool 
could hide such monsters and theiz 
strous doings. There may be starvin 
snubbings and neglect) but it muBt I 
very moderate scale among us. An 
parents do not err on the severe side, 
greatest cruelty to their children 
Qie most absurd and ruinous indii] 
an indulgence that can end only ii 
and weakness. The most sordid te 
are those who, knowing this our ni 
foible, cater to it most unblushing!; 
I think you can hardly make oui 
case against the whole army of boi 
schools and their proprietors. The 
undertake the ofiBce from good n 
the bad are induced to perform it i 
as they can, fix>m bad motives ; na 
can the scholars be much abused? 
After alL what do I reaUy i 
Why I think that there are as max 
sons who have a natural bias towai 
act of teaching, as those who by 
are poets or painters. People Cff 
tion, who have occasion to do soin 
for their own support, are led bj a 
taneous impulse to the use of uid 
power, and to the attempt to commi 
to others that which they thems^T 
to be the best earthly acquisition, 
profession is as legitimate a one, « 
as good a right to share in the emol 
and the respect of the community, a 
Physic, or Divinity 5 and, as the woi 
vances in civilization, this will be the 
ral feeling. And when that time < 
Kitty, even foolish little girls will 
more apt to speak ill of all teachers tl 
all clergymen or all phyrfdans ; will n 
suspect the mistress of a boarding 
of treating her pupils unkindly, thi 
clergyman of preaching ruinous doc 
to his people, or the doctor of si 
poison mto lus patients' doses, 
used to be a story that the Jews ' 
steal little Christian children, an 
them ; but I don't think it was tr 



A BROKER in meteorological phenome- 
na at Labaca, Texas, might have tele- 
graphed his correspondent on the morning 
of the 11th of August, 1846, after this 

fashion: — Rain steady, but still i 
and terra firma any thing but firm. 
spite the weather, however, the orda 
to march, and camp Irwin — Mrbk 


Notes from my Knapsack. 


days and weeks had presented a series of 
dj^lving views — was abruptly dissolved 
for ever. Thus far campaigning had been 
"as easy as rolling off a log." From 
Alton to Labaca was very plain sailing 
so far as we volunteers were concerned : 
thenceforth was to be the " tug of war." 
The incidents connected with the passage 
down the Mississippi and the transit across 
the Gulf, are scarcely worthy of a place 
in these recollections; but as the future 
was to unfold novelty of scene and variety 
of circumstance, our pens were put in re- 
quisition with our legs. The ten compa- 
nies of a regiment derive their patronymics 
from the alphabet, and ai-e known as "A." 
" B." " C.» &c, and as we of " Company I." 
may be regarded as the optics of the com- 
mand, it may be presumed that whatever 
occurred must have passed under our ob- 
servation, and, therefore, our qualifications 
as historians ought not to be questioned. 

At an early hour we began our march 
upon San Antonio. The rain had been 
fiJling in merciless torrents for weeks, and 
the large portion of a flat and barren prai- 
rie, was covered with water to an average 
depth of three or four inches. The mo- 
notony of an unbroken level was relieved 
at intervals, by what are called " hog- 
wallow prairies." These are formations 
of pitfalls and elevations, hollows and 
hillocks of every variety, which succeed 
each other like cups and saucers turned 
topsy-turvy. A transition over such a 
region, on foot, horseback or wheels, is 
munly suggestive of reflections touching 
the ups and downs through life, and adven- 
tures by flood and fleld, and recalls the lines 
in Don Juan, slightly modified, 

** II ow man falls and ripea, 
Teraa hog-wallows place beyond disgulaes.'* 

These eronps of irregular elevations and 
depressions, with so much of the country 
submerged, present an enlarged view of 
the map of a State, after having been sub- 
jected to that felicitous operation in polit- 
ical surgery, known as Gerrj'mandcring. 
The soil appears to be of indifferent qual- 
ity, and must be comparatively valueless, 
if liable to these inundations once in a 
quarter of a century. The vegetation 
principally consists of a stunted growth 
of Uve-oak, richly canopied and curtained 
with the luxuriant moss of the morass. 
This timber is probably unfit for any use 
in naval constructions, being small, crook- 
ed, and brittle, but is doubUess a fair spe- 
dmen of those inexhaustible and invalu- 
able live-oak forests, which figured so cou- 
qncuously in the diplomatic correspond- 
ence touching annexation, during Mr. Van 
Bnzen's admmistration. 

Victoria^ is a village of five or six hun- 
dred inhabitants^ who are huddled together 
somewhat promiscuously, in small, rudely 
constructed dwellings, many of which 
seem to have " passed into a decline." It 
was originally a Mexican settlement, but 
the transforming process has been so com- 
plete, that but few of its paternal linea- 
ments are remaining. 

The celebrated battle ground of the 
chivalric but unfortunate Fannin, is about 
four days journey from Labaca. It is 
marked by a natural monument of three 
live-oaks, which, however, must be spe- 
cially pointed out by the guide, or the 
traveller has nothing to remind him that 
he is treading one of the few hallowed 
spots in Texas. Here, on the 19th of 
March, 1836, Colonel Fannin with a force 
of less than four hundred men, was at- 
tacked by one thousand Mexicans, com- 
manded by a treacherous foreign merce- 
nary, and after an obstinate and sanguinary 
conflict, was compelled to surrender as 
prisoners of wai*. By one ,of the most 
atrocious acts of perfidy which history 
reconls, the terms of the capitulation were 
infamously violated by the Mexican com- 
mander — a miscreant of an Italian — and 
all except six of that gallant band were 
deliberately put to death at Goliad, upon 
the principle, perhaps, that no faith is to be 
kept with heretics. 

About ten miles hence, a solitary farm- 
house in 1846 stood by the wayside, just 
opposite the town in which the terrible 
tragedy, just referred to, was enacted. 
Goliad — the scone of so much perfidy and 
so much heroism — is on the right bank of 
the San Antonio River, and exhibited from 
the other side only a few irregular brick 
or stone structures, apparantly crumbling 
into ruin. Tradition makes it a place of 
much former splendor and renown, but one 
now finds it hard to believe, that with- 
in its shattered and dilapidated walls, 
once thought and smoked, danced, dreamed 
and sinned, fifteen thousand of the mixed 
descendants of Cortez and Montezuma. 
There is an old church or Spanish mission 
in the neighborhood, erected by the Jesu- 
its for the conversion of the Indians, — 
which, with an increase of Anglo-Saxon 
population, may yet become in reality, 
tributary to the cause of education, mo- 
rality, and a pure Christianity. 

The prospect improves as we advance 
westward. We enter upon a purer atmos- 
phere, the land rises, its surface becomes 
more varied and broken ; and though the 
soil is neither rich nor productive, the views 
are strikingly picturesque. The level plain, 
the swelling hill, and the sunken valley, 


Notes from my Knapsack. 


with now and then a quiet little stream, 
clear as crystal and flowing over snow- 
white gravel, which ever and anon greet 
the eye, form a succession of natural land- 
scapes of rare and unrivalled beauty. A 
spire in the distance — ^a moss-grown ruin, 
and .1 waterfall, would present a combina- 
tion of loveliness, on which the eye of a 
painter or the lover of nature might linger 
with unmixed pleasure. But these arc 
matters foreign to the matter-of-fact busi- 
ness of a campaign, and to the cogitations 
of a ploughman turned patriot. 

For two or three days occasional ranches 
had indicated an approach to civilization, 
or the settlements, and on the morning ot 
August 24th, we came in sight of the 
long looked for San Antonio. As the per- 
manent camp could not be selected before 
consultation with Oeneral Wool, our tents 
were temporarily pitched near the " Mis- 
sion Concepcion," in the vicinity of a de- 
tachment of regular dragoons. Our first 
stride towards Chihuahua, has been ac- 
complished in less than a fortnight, one 
day's experience of which, will illustrate 
the process of initiation through which the 
volunteer enters upon the path to glory. 

The prairie partakes of but few of the 
characteristics which had been anticipated. 
Instead of boundless plains covered with 
carpets of perpetual verdure, and enam- 
elled with flowers of various and gorgeous 
colors, over which the wild horse may be 
seen careering in his untamed strength, 
and herds of deer bounding in their native 
grace and beauty (see writers on Texas 
passim'), there is before you, for the most 
part, nothing but barrenness, stretching 
away in the distance until the eye aches 
with vacancy. Down come the rays of the 
sun, scorching and scathing every thine 
on which they fall. All of animal and 
vegetable life seem gasping for a moment's 
respite from heat, or for one priceless drop 
of moisture ; but there is no grateful shade, 
no passing cloud — no bubbling fountain- 
visible over the wide waste of that arid 
plain. The atmosphere seems on fire, and 
even in its rare intervals of motion, when 
a current of air strikes the cheek, it is 
like burning lava. Yet, on we go, taking 
no heed of toil, or heat, or distance. That 
we advance is hardly known by any change 
of scene, though sometimes the phantom 
of a lifeless shrub rises along our path. 
Clouds — few and far between — soar above 
us, fly away, or evaporate into nothings ; 
the air is roused for a moment from its 
stagnation, but the stifling solitude, the 
vast vacuity of the desert, the suspension 
as It were of vitality, cling to you with an 
oppressive reality that is almost vnthering. 

If it were not for the native oi the animal 
kingdom — noxious as is the vegetable, 
meagre and worthless — ^life would seem 
extinct ; but the fly alone, as if feeding 
fat the grudge of some ancient hate and 
long deferred vengeance, heeds not the 
scorching vapor and fiunished earth, but 
preys with active unceasing vigor, upon 
the wasted energies of our toil-worn beasts. 
What cares he for water, when he may 
gorge himself on blood ? Still the column 
drags its slow length along, cheered by the 
ever hopeful presence of its leader, who, 
mounted on his white charger, leads the 
way, or moves to and fro along the line 
with words of encouragement for alL — 
Qlie fire of his eagle eye was quenched on 
the bloody field of Bucna Vista, where, 
with so many others, he who had over 
borne himself as a gallant soldier and 
Christian gentleman, scaled his devotion 
to his country's honor with his blood. 
And those who served with him on that 
campaign, will pardon and appreciate this 
passing but imperfect tribute to the noble 
heart and heroic virtues of John J. Har- 

Wearied almost to exhaustion^ panting 
and gasping under the rarefied air — a halt 
to droop, if not to die, seems ine\'itable ; 
when a tree is revealed in the distance, a 
cloud is waited into bein^, and before Uie 
change is completely realized, dark masses 
are piled up and lowering all around the 
horizon. The sun is hidden, the air cools — 
lightning dances in the distance, and flash 
after flash keeps time to the music of elec- 
tric artillery. Drop by drop the rain iaUs 
at first, and disappears beneath the gap- 
ing and famished earth. Anon it quickens, 
and soon the entire firmament appears 
converted into a fountain ; every sunbeam 
has become a cataract, and torrents follow 
fast and follow faster, until the scorched 
plain is transformed into a hissing lake. 
The rivulet, whoso proximity has l^cn ap- 
parent for some time, in the quickened v^e- 
tation along its banks, and which vnthin 
a few moments one of our famished beasts 
might almost have drunk dry, is swollen 
into a river, rolling on with a constantly 
accelerating impulse, and of sufficient T<j- 
ume and power to arrest the progress of 
an army. The day's march is done. 
Slowly the stragglers come in from the 
rear, and preparations are made for a bi- 
vouac. A few tents are pitched on the 
soft and slippery earth. The soil, satur 
rated with water, yields at every step, so 
that one position cannot be abandoned 
without danger of being mired in another. 
Such a night is, perhaps, as disagreeable 
as any part of a soldiers troubles. Won 


Notes Jrom my Knapsack, 


down by the exertions of a long day's 
march, parched by the heat of a tropical 
son; buried ankle deep in mud, except 
where the long rank grass waves its wet 
drapery around you ; to raise a fire on the 
damp ground, to kindle into a blaze the 
green and hissing wood, and to find a spot 
where the water does not ooze from beneath 

Qas from a wet sponge in the grasp of an 
washcrowman; are assaults of no 
ordinary magnitude upon a voluntcer^s 
philosophy, and degrees of misery of which 
our pampered legislators, and pigeon-hole, 
red-tape and soft-cushion statesmen, who 
annex empires and wage wars, with no 
knowledge of either, have but very im- 
perfect conceptions. 

If Texas may be judged by the speci- 
men between San Antonio and Labaca, its 
principal feature must be its grazing ter- 
ritory, which probably includes two thirds 
of its area. Cotton may be grown in the 
valleys of many of its shallow streams, 
but the vanablcness of the seasons, and 
the consequent uncertainty of the crops, 
will not justify the farmer, who is already 
well located, in disposing of improvements 
at a sacrifice, for the purpose of making 
the dangerous experiment of producing 
more at less cost. Many a man it is said 
has been seduced by the promise of the 
spring, and the golden prospect then pre- 
sented, to part with his old homestead, 
sever for ever the most sacred associations, 
and turn over the graves of his fathers 
to the keeping of strangers, for the pur- 
pose of removing hither, who has found 
on his arrival, that the desolating drought 
has blighted the hopes predicated on the 
vernal bloom ; and while bitterly lament- 
ing the folly of his course, finds his sole 
consolation in the feet, that if he saves one 
crop out of two or three, he is doing quite 
as well as his neighbors. If the former 
trusts his seed to the high grounds, the 
crop is endangered by the parching rays 
of the sun and the total absence of rain 
for months ; if he plants in the low grounds, 
the chances are equal that ruin will come 
from floods and freshets. lie has to run 
the gauntlet between Scylla and Chary bdis 
— to be drowned by the one or burned by 
the other. He has no surety in either 
position, and the maturity of the crop de- 
pends upon accident rather than upon in- 
dustry. But in these regions, there is cue 
harvest that never fails, that owes its suc- 
cess neither to deluge nor to drought; 
its products are not exposed for sale in the 
market-place, nor quoted on the exchange : 
it is the harvest of bilious fever. Where 
the lands are rich and fertile, and, per se. 
w<Mrtby of cultivation, there sickness and 

disease flourish with rampant vigor ; and 
where people can live unmolested by these 
unwelcome attendants, the soil will scarce- 
ly repay the labor of cultivation. It 
may be true that Texas has the purest 
air, and finest land on the continent — ^but 
they appear to repel each other, like the 
opposite poles of a magnet. 

There is another point in relation to the 
habitable portion of Texas, so peculiar in 
itself, and so important even now to the 
emigrant in all its bearings, that it is en- 
titled to special attention. It is the fact 
so forcibly presented by ^fr. Senator Ben- 
ton in his celebrated speech at Boonville, 
in 1844, that to almost every acre of land 
here, there are innumerable claimants 
under innumerable titles. There is an 
original Spanish grant, then a Mexican 
grant, then a Texan grant or "head- 
right," and the latter transferred perhaps 
so often that the actual fee simple is in- 
volved in a labyrinth, the clew to which 
can only be found in the tortuous track of 
winding wickedness, which Justice so often 
adopts as the only avenue to her temple. 
If the current reports be true, the pur- 
chaser of Texas lands has secured to him- 
self a lasting lien upon litigation, a legacy 
of lawsuits in reversion for ever, and in- 
volving the combined obliquity of the civil 
and common law. If the titles of the 
numerous claimants to the best parts of 
Texas, could be actually spread out on 
the country, they would envelope the soil 
like the coats of an onion ; and some en- 
thusiastic geologist, eager for novelties and 
discoveries, stumbling upon the exhibition, 
would imagine that he had added a few 
centuries to the age of the world in find- 
ing a new formation, which he might pos- 
sibly designate as the titular-aqua-igneous- 
bi-transition-revolutionary series. What- 
ever lands here, not now covered by this 
multiplicity of claims, may be considered 
as a legitimate and acknowledged range 
for the Comanches; since it cannot be 
presumed that the holders of '• floats " and 
" head-rights," which may be located at 
will on lands not taken up, would invoke 
the expense, delay, and harassing anxieties 
of litigation, and risk the total loss of 
their investments, when other lands of 
even inferior value could be secured in- 
volving no questions of title. 

In every view in which Texas may be 
considered, with reference to fertility of 
soil, geniality of climate, freedom from 
disease, regularity of crops, validity of land 
titles, facilities for transportation, conveni- 
ence and safety of harbors, and proximity 
to markets^ it is probably equal to but few 
of the States and superior to none. These 


Notes from my Knapsack. 


facts explain the great secret, why the 
people with a unanimity unparalleled on 
any other subject, and in opposition to 
the behests of their political leader who 
carries the ballot-box in his breeches 
pocket, joyfully relinquished their sove- 
reignity, and Toted for annexation. None 
knew so well as they — for their know- 
ledge was experience — that the country 
was almost wholly destitute of the essen- 
tial elements and resources of an independ- 
ent power, and was utterly exhausted by 
a trivial contest with an imbecile foe. Its 
actions for years had been but the convul- 
sions of expiring energy, and when it was 
Tylerizcd into the Union, it was in its last 
paroxysm. The people of Texas imagined 
that annexation would heal all their dis- 
eases, and that the gold to be introduced 
by two inevitable if not immediate conse- 

Suences — a war with Mexico and with 
le Comanches — would infuse its own 
warmth and vigor into the torpid and 
prostrate corpse of the body politic. 

Life has its varieties even in San Anto- 
nio. The fandango of last night is followed 
by the funeral of this morning; — thus 
sorrow treads on the heels of joy, and 
checkers with black and white, the uni- 
versal picture of human life. 

" Fandango " is the term given in the dic- 
tionaries for a " lively Spanish dance," but 
is here applied to nocturnal gatherings for 
dances, "lively" enough, certainly, but 
possessing very few of the qualities* of the 
"poetry of motion." The women who 
Attend these assemblies are seen, with 
their rebozos drawn closely over the face, 
serving for bomiets, which they never 
wear, wending their way early in the 
evening, by the light of their own cigar- 
retas, and puffing most industriously, to 
the place of rendezvous. These are of 
a class not definable, as in Mexican female 
society here, there apj)eared to be little dis- 
tinction between vice and virtue, and the 
chaste matron or maiden (if there be such), 
and the leprous prostitute, seemed to be on 
terms of social Cijuality. The young girl 
not yet indoctrinated in the ways of vice, 
finds ready instructors at these gatherings, 
where she soon loses the mo<:lesty of feel- 
ing and purity of heart, innate in the sex, 
and by degrees falls at last into that pit 
from which there is no recovery. Fan- 
d.ingoes, as conducted here, are mere 
schools of corruption and immorality for 
the destruction of the younger attendants, 
soul and body ; in which the alphabet of 
vice and the rudiments of prostitution are 
acquired with fatal facility. Yet there is 
positively nothing more attractive in them, 
than the discordant tones produced by the 

untutored hand of a village blacksmith, 
upon fibres of untanned catgut. The 
males were drawn entirely from the Ame- 
ricans ; the few Mexicans who were prowl- 
ing round the outside of the building^ 
seemed to surrender without a struggle or 
a regret their wives, sisters, and daughters 
to hopeless pollution and degradatioD. In 
the dance, the females arc ranged in a rieht 
line on one side of the room, and the males 
opposite theur respective partners ; then to 
the soimds of unearthly music, Uicy pro- 
ceed to go through with the most labonous 
antics and gyrations; motions fore and 
afl and up and down, vulgar if not volup- 
tuous ; and having succeeded in wci||dng 
themselves up to the proper point ofper- 
spiration — thereliy generating a species of 
perfumery less delicious than the ^* gales 
of Araby" — the dance ceases, and each 
man conducts his partner to a refreshment 
table, where he purchases a dime's worth 
of cake or tortillas, which she receives in 
her handkerchief or hands, and proceeds 
to deposit under a bencn, or with a 
friend, for safe keeping, so that it may not 
encumber her performances in the next 
dance. This pile accumulates durine the 
evening, if she is tolerable good-lookinc. 
to a mass large enough to feed a small 
family of Mexicans, until the next fan- 
dango. The dance is thus considered a 
business transaction, conducted on the 
cash system. 

Tortillas constitute the ordinary Mexican 
bread. They are of com, and as thin as 
pancakes, which in appearance (onlv^ they 
resemble. The grain is first soaked m ley, 
until it becomes soft and loses the outer 
covering; it is then thoroughly washed 
in water, and made ready for* the milL 
This consists of a flat stone, the upper sur- 
face slightly concave, and a cylmdrical 
crusher of the same material. A woman 
places the com thus prepared beside her, 
and with the stones before her, she crashes 
about a handful at a time, when it becomes 
pulpy and sofb. It is then turned into a 
trough, and after a little additional mani- 
pulation, is ready for the oven. Apropos 
of this operation, one of our countrymen 
was in a sort of cake shop belonging to a 
native, where the woman was making 
pies. There being no chairs, he was about 
to make use of the bed as a substitute, 
when the woman, under an unaccountable 
excitement earnestly begged him to desist 
As her language was wholly unintelligible, 
she was compelled at last to reveal the canse 
of her uneasiness and opposition, by ex- 
hibiting a layer of pies which she had snug- 
ly stowed away between the sheets, pre- 
paratory to transferring them to the oven. 


Notes from my Knapsack, 


The cracked bell of the old church rang 
out early the morning following the fan- 
dango, a cry of distress, in broken accents, 
and abont nine o'clock a stragglmg pro- 
cession moved from the western entrance, 
which proved to be a funeraL The priest, 
preceded by three boys— one bearing the 
cross, the others swinging their censors — 
was in advance of the body^ garnished in 
faded robes, and chanting m a sing-song 
tone, in company with another, the ritual 
of the dead. A few uncovered men and 
noisy boys followed : the affair presenting 
none of the solemnity to which we are 
accustomed in the performance of the last 
duty to departed friends. The coffin was 
uncovered, and exposed the corpse of an 
aged female, of a haggard and emaciated 
appearance. She was clothed in an or- 
dinary calico dress, as unlike a corpse 
as possible, while a man bearing the top 
of the coffin, trotted along heedlessly b<^- 
side it 

While the troops were " marking time" 
at San Antonio, the town was usually be- 
sieged on Sunday by the military from 
Camp Crockett, who in the course of their 
rambles, generally dropped into the Roman 
church, during a few minutes of the ser- 
vice. The building is without a floor, and 
was originally without seats; but the 
vicmity af Protestantism has recently 
partially supplied the latter deficiency, a 
few rough benches having been constructed 
near the altar. The audience, save those 
belonging to the army, was mostly females. 
These were squatted on their hams on the 
ground, and appeared humble and atten- 
tive listeners to the harangue of the priest 
His address was in Spanish, and delivered 
in the monotonous, sing-song tones of his 

The building is of stone or adobs^ and be- 
longs to that class of architecture common 
to the "missions" in the vicinity, though 
of more limited capacity. Its walls are of 
great thickness, but the material is soft, 
and in many places crumbling away. 
Over the principal or eastern entrance, 
there is a small niche, occupied by a very 
comical statue of his holiness the succes- 
sor of Saint Peter in general. He has lost 
the fraction of one arm below the elbow, 
and a portion of his nose ; his robes are 
rent in many places, and other fractures 
are visible about his person. There is no 
sadness, however, amid so much dilapida- 
tion; and the figure reminds one of a 
doiltni, drawing down the usual thunders 
of applause from the juveniles, in the very 
facetious act of placing his thumb on his 
Dose, and extending his fingers, while he 
pantomimes "you can't come it" 

The dty of San Antonio de Bexar 
differs from all other towns in the United 
States, unless possibly Texas may possess 
its parallel. The streets are narrow and 
crooked, and the houses, with the excep- 
tion of four, are of one story, built of 
stone or mud, or of a combination of mud 
and wood. To construct those of the 
latter class, long poles are driven into the 
ground, as close as their crookedness will 
permit, and the intervals are then filled 
up with clay. The surface of the interior 
is smothly plastered, and looks passably 
well, but the exterior has the appearance 
of a pig-pen rather than the abode of man. 
The roofs are thatched, and afford but 
miserable protection from the weather. 
The stone and adobe (unbumed brick) 
buildings, are generally plastered and 
whitewashed on the outside, and of course 
present a more comfortable aspect than 
the others. The side walls rise higher 
than the lower line of the roofs — which 
are almost flat — forming a kind of parapet 
with openings at regular intervals for the 
passage of the water. The roofs incline 
only in one direction ; they are formed by 
heavy rafters laid a few inches apart, upon 
which boards, running in the same direc- 
tion, are firmly nailSd, the joints being 
immediately above the rafters. The whole 
then receives a covering of cement, and 
perhaps a foot or two of clay. Wooden 
gutters pass through the holes left in the 
parapet walls, and project several feet 
into the street, so that at a short distance 
the houses present somewhat the appear- 
ance of a fortification, bristling with artil- 
lery. With few exceptions, they have no 
floors other than the ground. This, when 
dry, forms a hard surface ; but in many 
houses they have worn away so much as 
to bring the level below that of the streets, 
which are thus drained into the houses. 
All of the buildings of Mexican origin are 
without windows, and, while they look 
very like prisons, are indeed little better. 

On the whole, this place, though nearly 
as old as Philadelphia — it was settled 
about 1685 — presents to the stranger only 
ideas of abject poverty and wretchedness. 
Whether it is due to the stagnant char- 
acter of the people, their imbecile govern- 
ment, or the tyranny of their religion ; the 
fact cannot be denied, that the native 
Mexicans are in an extremity of degrada- 
tion, rarely reached even by the semi- 
civilized. Instead of having advanced 
with the world, they actually appear to 
be less civilized and enlightened than 
were the Aztecs when they fell before the 
power of Cortez. They seem to be sub- 
ject to some mysterious influence which 


Nbtesfrom my Knapwck, 


hangs like an incubus upon tiiem, paralyz- 
ing their physical and stultifying their 
intellectual energies. They live, nobody 
knows how, transmitting from one genera- 
tion to another, mere cumberers of the 
earth. It may be doubted — whatever 
may be our hopes — whether the galvan- 
izing power of our own republic will ever 
be able to infuse into them any thing of 
life or activity. Like the aborigines, 
whose blood they so largely share, they 
appear to be fast dwindling into mere 
wrecks, monuments of greatness that has 
passed away for ever. 

The Inspector General arrived on the 
31st of August, and commenced his duties 
at once, by mustering and inspecting the 
troops. Ilis presence created no little ex- 
citement among those of the regulars who 
had recently had notliing to do with razors, 
and had cut the acquaintance of the barber. 
Even the few who presented no Esau de- 
velopment, save a graceful tuft pendent 
from the salient point of the chin, trembled 
with anxiety, lest that little might bo 
shorn of its fair proportions. All save the 
volunteers, (lucky fellows, who regulate 
themselves !) who in any degree swerved 
from the form and dimensions, so accu- 
rately and perspicuously described, as I 
find it to be, in the Army Regulations, 
above a line [straight curved, broken or 
disjointed, the book says not], drawn from 
** the lower tip of the ear " to " the curve 
of the mouth," were in great trepidation. 
They had very reasonable doubts as to 
th& reading, and very unwholesome fears 
as to the construction. The article is 
almost as unmeaning as '* the resolutions 
of '98," and must certainly have originated 
with a Virginian. If the line had to be 
drawn "/o the vunUhj^^ it might be under- 
stood ; but to have it to what any military 
anatomist may be pleased to consider the 
'^curve^^ of that beautiful and essential 
facial appendage, is rather too general for a 
strict constructionist. The " curve of the 
mouth," moreover, has never been deter- 
mined. It is not discussed as any one of 
the conic sections, nor does it figure among 
lines of the transcenclental order. It is 
neither algebraic nor logarithmic, and its 
properties appear to have been investigated 
only in relation to military whiskers. The 
scarcely fledged subaltern, in the chrysalis 
state from adolescence to manhood, sighs 
as he thinks the silky down upon his upper 
lip, which he has reared with so many 
delicate attentions, must be nipped by the 
early frost of a general order. The offen- 
der more daring perhaps, but not more 
confident, who in adhering to the " regu- 
lation whisker," hopes to force through a 

contraband moustache, shudders i 
crisis arrives which must expose th< 
mity to the Argus of the Army, 
the hardened and reckless, whose 
visages present a growth untouched 
barl^r's blade, and as undefiled sc 
son's when it fell before the she) 
Delilah^s treacherous confederate 
with philosophic but desperate unoi 
upon the alarm of others, and with 
firmness, hold themselves, as repre 
by their beards, ready for the gaill< 

The "Mission Concepcion" is c 
the numerous structures for quasi re 
purposes, created by the Spanish J 
for the conversion of the India 
Komanism. They are all now do 
and abandoned literally *^ to the mol 
the bats," and there is nothing yis 
the condition of Mexican or Indian, 
dicate any knowledge or any appro 
of the pure doctrines and divine mc 
of the New Testament From an im] 
inscription now almost obliterated. • 
building — which is of stone and ott 
appearance — it seems to have been e 
or completed in the year 1754. Bu 
is left of the interior finish, and that ] 
visible, as the building was so dai 
b}' bats and so offensive that entraiu 
almost impossible. Near this pla 
the 28th of October, 1835, occur 
brief, but hotly contested engage 
between a party of about one hu 
Texans under Fannin and Bowie 
three hundred Mexicans, in whic 
latter were defeated with a loss ol 
one hundred killed and wounded, 
small piece of artillery. 

On the right bank of the rivw 
about six miles below San Antonio, i 
the " Mission of San Jose." It is a 
ing of more pretension in its size anc 
of architecture than the other, and c 
less retains at present much of the i 
ing appearance designed for effect o 
Indians. The front is of elaborate ; 
the doorway being surrounded wil 
figures in alto relievo^ and other 
sculptured ornaments. The ground 
the only floor, except at the altar, 
an area of twenty-five or thirty feet s 
is covered with stone. As you ent 
apartment at the right displays th 
a grated door, a statue of the Virgi 
parcllcd in an old, faded calico gown 
as well calculated, perhaps, to stifl 
sentiments of devotion, and subs 
those of derision, as any design that 
be erected in a temple to the Aim 
There are small chapels on either s 
the principal aisle, but untenanted 
by the symbol of a saint in sadf 


ybtes from my Ehaptaei. 


The roof is formed by three cloistered 
arches, resting upon massive pillars, and 
a dome, of perhaps thirty or forty feet in 
diameter. The altar still preserves its 
eUborate workmanship, but the rich gild- 
ii^ is seen only in a few spots, which have 
eluded the corroding touch of time. Back 
of the main building, extends a long wing, 
to which arched porticoes are appended, 
which an old negro, sole occupant, and not 
onworthy successor of the Jesuits, repre- 
sents as having been constructed for, and 
occupied as, a convent By the aid of 
steps cut into a log, extending from the 
ground to a stone stairway, the visitor is 
enabled to ascend to the tower. He there 
finds two cracked bells, bearing date, 
" Seville, 1782." A largo stone cross, 
which originally rose over the entrance, 
has been broken off, and its fragments 
still remain on the roof. Here, too, may 
be best seen how the old pile is crumbling 
into ruins, from the devastations which 
time and neglect have already wrought. 
There is a broad fissure in one of the 
arches, which must be constantly widen- 
ing, and unless speedily arrested, will not 
k>ng hence bring the old edifice to the 
ground. Peach-trees are springing from 
the roof^ and round the highest point of 
the turret, the nopal^ or prickly pear, is 
winding its branches, and yielding a most 
abundant growth of fruit. 

In any other part of the United States, 
s building, so venerable and classical in 
appearance, rising as it were from the 
midst of a vast solitude, yet in the vicinity 
of hundreds starving for the bread of life, 
would become an object of wide-spreaa 
interest, and might perhaps induce some 
liberal man of wealth to interpose the 
^ almighty dollar," to arrest, if possible, 
its downward progress, and convert it not 
only in name but in reality to the uses of 
a pure Christianity. But here it is only 
a haunt for the half-starved, semi-civi- 
lixed, mongrel and dissolute descendants 
of the Spaniards and Aztecs, whose 
stagnant energies would permit the golden 
finit of Hesperides, to remain unplucked 
for ever. 

We were soon initiated into another 
phase of military life, that of a court 
martial, which was ordered from the 
Arkansas cavalry, on two Illinois officers. 
Colonel Yell was president, and Lieut 
Kingsbury of the army, judge advocate 
of the court The most striking member 
of the body was Captain Albert Pike, a 
man of original genius and varied powers, 
already distinguished as a poet and a law- 
yer, and only waiting for the opportunity, 
to weave with his civic wreath, tiie laurels 

of the soldier. He is tall, broad chested, 
and well developed, with a most exuberant 
growth of dark hair about his face, and in 
his military costume, certainly looks more 
like a corsair than a poet The power of 
genius, however, is unmistakably en- 
throned upon his brow, and its fire flashes 
from his eye. 

The Alamo is by far the most interest- 
ing object in the vicinity of San Antonio, 
though rapidly losing the romance con- 
nected with its historical recollections. 
It is now a shapeless mass of ruins. 
The walls on the north-eastern side are 
level with the ground, and there aro 
broad openings on the other fronts, which 
preserve only detached portions of their 
original dimensions. The entrance to the 
chapel, the remains of which are at the 
northern angle of the work, still shows the 
elaborately cut stone which formed the 
facade, and indicates no ordinary degree 
of taste and skill. The doorway is arch- 
ed, supported by two lofty columns. The 
Mexicans have a tradition that the ce- 
ment of the walls was mixed with goats' 
milk, by which some peculiar sanctity, 
if not strength, was given to the struc- 
ture ; but how much or how little of tho 
tale is true, cannot now be determined. 
Extending from the western side of the 
chapel is a wing, similar to that at the 
old mission, used as a convent, according 
to some, and by others, supposed to have 
been a barrack for soldiers. Gibbon 
observes in substance, that the barbarian 
now stables his steed in the palaces of tho 
Cesars ; and within this consecrated inclo- 
sure, the hammer of the quarter-master 
now rings upon the anvil, and the sacred 
retreats of the Mexican vestals (?) are 
decorated by the rude presence of the 
grim followers of Vulcan. Sic transit, 

Of the ditch which, it is affirmed, 
originally surrounded the work, all signs 
have so completely disappeared, that one 
may be pardoned for doubting whether it 
ever had an existence. There is a rank 
growth of weeds within the outline of the 
walls, and a few Mexican hovels on one 
side, which seem to have been erected 
from its fallen materials. Every thing 
around it Is stamped with gloom and 
desolation. The solemn chant, the lofty 
swell of the organ, the prayer which daily 
rose to heaven, have vanished for ever from 
the church ; the glitter of the soldier, or tho 
veiled faces of the nuns, will be seen no 
more ; and the fire of musketry and the 
roar of artillery, are hushed, until a 
mightier power than man shall causo 
these dry bones again to revive, and re- 


Notes from my Knapmck. 


people the habitations which are now 
desolate. Time and the elements will 
soon complete what the Mexican army 
commenced, and this spot, which is worthy 
to be reverenced as a second Thermopylro, 
will present but a shattered and crum- 
bling monument to the immortal memory 
of its defenders. 

On the 23d day of February, 1836 ♦ 
General Santa Anna entered San Antonio 
de Bexar, and took possession of the town 
without nring a gun. The small garrison 
of one hundred and thirty men, under 
the command of William Barret Travis, 
retired as he advanced to the Alamo, on 
the opposite side of the river, determined 
there to offer such resistance to the pro- 
gress of the tyrant, as their energies and 
resources should permit by a direct appeal 
to the God of battles. Flushed with the 
conquest, so easily effected, of the town, 
the Mexican Commander prepared for an 
immediate attack upon the Alamo. He 
ordered breastworks to be thrown up on 
every oommandmg point, and artillery to 
be planted, wherever it could be made 
most effective. One battery was com- 
pleted on the right bank of the river, by 
the 25th, and without waiting for others, 
the siege was at once commenced. 

It Ls a dark and gloomy morning, 
devoted to a dark and unholy purpose. 
Exulting in the work of death upon which 
ho is entering, Santa Anna crosses the 
river in person, and establishes his head- 
quarters in a small stone building — ^yet 
standing — from which he may the more 
accurately perceive the progress of his 
designs, without exposing himself to his 
enemies. The signal is given, and ere the 
sun has risen upon those hostile hosts, 
the roar of the Mexican battery awakens 
the echoes far and wide, and rouses from 
their slumbers the yet unconscious inhab- 
itants. But the defenders of the Alamo 
have not, for a single moment, lost sight 
of the movements of their wily and im- 
placable foes — they watch the studied 
direction of every gun; they see the 
match lighted, they listen breathless, as 
if even at that distance, they could hear 
the command to fire ; and when the walls 
of the citadel tremble under the shock of 
the iron hail, and the fragments of the 
parapet are whirled aloft by the sudden 
impulse; they send back a shout of 
defiance, mingled with a discharge from 
their own guns, as distinctive, if not as 
deafening, as the thunder of their assail- 
ants. Before the smoke rolls away, and 
the reverberations are lost in the distance ; 

while the shouts of the besiegec 
linger in the ears of the besi^er 
cannonade is renewed, and for seven! 
without pause or relaxation, fieroel 
tinned upon the walls of the i 
But these walls yield no more tin 
spirits of their aefenders. The i 
steadily returned ; and though stoo 
shivered around them, there are 
hearts and vrilling hands ready to 
every breach, and to restore from 1 
terior whatever may have been dee! 
from without. Earth is throws 
every crack or fissure is closed as f 
created, by the eager efibrts of thos 
will permit no evidence of success tc 
the hopes of their enemies. The si 
almost sunk behind the western ] 
when there is a pause in the wc 
demolition. The firing of the bee 
ceases for the day, with the Mexican 
for blood unsatiated: not a single 
has been shed within the Alamo, 
of Santa Anna's own men have I 
dust, before the artillerists and ril 
of the fort ; but thus far they ai 
avenged. Darkness falls upon be 
and besieged. The former raisi 
intrenchments to prosecute the as 
the latter establish a close watch fi 
night, and endeavor to seek that ; 
which shall renew their vigor for tt 
test which they know will come t( 

The morning of the 2Cth dawn 
reveals to the occupants of the fo 
effect of the midnight labors of thei 
mies, in the establishment of two 
tional batteries within the Alame 
the Alamo. The bayonets of the in 
which have crossed the river durh 
night, glitter in the morning beam 
the plumes of the cavalry are seen v 
on the eastern hills, to intercept tl 
pected aid fix>m that quarter. Th) 
test is renewed by a slight skirmii 
tween a small party of Texans, f 
quest of wood and water, and a M 
detachment under General Sesma 
this is a mere overture to the gran 
formance of the day. The thund 
the heavy ordnance, under the dii 
of Colonel Ampudia. are soon rouse 
action ; volley after volley is poure 
the fort, and answered only, exa 
rare intervals, by the shouts of 
within. There is no pause — no ces 
Still the cannonade goes on ; she 
hissing through the air, and balU 
themselves within the ramparts; bn 
again comes on, and the I^Iexican G 

* The details of the following sketch, iro dorived ftom Almonte's Joonia], and from Hving Tezn 


Ncite$ frfim my Knapiack* 


in Tftin looks for eridenoe of suooesB. 
Bftffled, Imt not discouraged, he adTances 
his line of intrenchmenti, and prepares, 
with the morning light, to resume his 
bloody task. The north wind sweeps 
over the prairies, as it only sweeps in Texas, 
a stormy lullaby to the stormy passions 
of those contencUng hosts. The darkness 
is broken only by the feeble blaze of a 
few huts, — fired by the Texans, — which 
had furnished a cover to the enemy. 
The flames curl upwards with a sickly 
elare, and their fitful flashes throw a 
mrid light for a moment upon the slum- 
bering army, and expire. The reign of 
darkness and of silence is restored. 

The next day the Mexicans appear in- 
actaye, though engaged in the construction 
of additional batteries. There is but little 
firing on either side. Travis and his men, 
with spirits unsubdued, and with energies 
weakened, but not exhausted, are apply- 
ing their contracted resources to the pur- 
poses of defence. No heart falters; no 
poise throbs with dimmished power ; no 
hand shrinks from the labor that neces- 
sity imposes. All is confidence and de- 
temunation ; and in every breast there is 
firm reliance springing from the holiness 
of the cause and the certamty of its final 

Sunday follows ; but brings no rest to 
those whom God has created in His own 
image, and who in violation of Ilis com- 
mands, are thus yielding to their erring 
and unhallowed passions. Perhaps with- 
in the chi^xil of the Alamo, consecrated 
to the worehip of the Almighty, and dis- 
tin&;uishcd by the emblem of suffering 
and of salvation, which surmounts the 
dome, heads may be bowed in prayer to 
the God of battles for deliverance from 
their sanguinary foe : but that foe takes 
DO heed of Sabbaths. Exclusive follow- 
ers, as they proclaim themselves, of the 
true church, they doom to destruction 
the very temple they have erected for its 
worship ; and kissing the cross suspended 
from their necks, and planted before every 
camp, they point their guns upon the very 
symbol for which they profess such un- 
bounded reverence. The fire of the Mex- 
ican artillery keeps company with the 
minutes as they roll on. Morning, mid- 
day, and evening are passed, yet there is 
DO Altering among those who are defend- 
ing the Thermopyla3 of Texas hberty. 
Another sun rises and sets, and yet 
another ; still the indomitable hearts of 
Travis and his companions quail not be- 
fore the untiring efforts of their enemy. 
In spite of that enemy's vindictive vigi- 
lance, the little garrison receives from 

Gonzales a reinforcement of thirty-three 
men; additional victims for the funeral 
pyre, soon to be kindled by Santa Anna, 
on the surrounding hills, as a human 
hecatomb to Mexican vengeance. 

Now batteries are erected by the be- 
siegers ; from eveiy point around, the 
missiles of dcstrucfion concentrate upon 
the Alamo. The circles grow smaller and 
smaller. The final hour must soon 
come. Provisions are not yet exhausted, 
but the ammunition cannot last many 
days longer. Water has long been sup- 
plied solely by the daring efforts of a 
Mexican woman, who, through showers 
of grape and musketry, has threaded the 
way to and fro between the river and the 
citadel, while her own blood has marked 
the path. She bears within her the 
stem and lofty spirit of her illustrious 
ancestor, stretched upon the racks of 
Cortez, and it is not the fear of torture 
or of death, that can swerve her firom her 

The siege has continued for ten days. 
The Mexican General has received large 
reinforcements, and his army now num- 
bers thousands. Ho has been unceasing 
in his efforts to batter down the walls, 
but has thus far failed. The triumph is 
with Travis; but it is written in the 
heart of his ruthless foe that he must die, 
and when the cannonade is suspended on 
the Gth of March, a small broach has been 
effected, and Santa Anna has determin- 
ed, without a summons to surrender, that 
the hour for the assault has arrived. Dur- 
ing ten days a blood-red flag has been 
streaming from the spire of the church in 
San jVntonio, proclaiming that no quarter 
is to be given to the champions of the 
Alamo — that blood alone will appease the 
fury of Mexican malice. When the sun 
again goes down, the flag is no longer seen, 
for the deed of which it was the sign has 
been accomplished. 

It is midnight. Stars are smiling in 
the firmament, and the repose of paradise 
seems hovering over the armed hosts, and 
hills, and plains which encircle the Alamo. 
The calm is so deep and solemn, that the 
angel of death seems to pause before the 
strife and carnage which are to follow. A 
low mui-mur rises upon the air, which 
gradually becomes more and more distinct 
Lights are glancing mysteriously in the 
distance^and indicate some unusual move- 
ment. The besieging army is in motion. 
There is no advance by columns: the 
force of the Mexicans is so great that the 
fort may be completely surrounded, leav- 
ing intervals only for the fire of artillery. 
The place is girdled by a deep line of in- 


Noiea from my 


fantry, and those are hemmed in and 
encompassed by another of cavalry. If 
the first falter or shrink, they must be 
thrust forward to the assault by the 
sabres and lances of their comrades. 
Suddenly the batteries are in a blaze, and 
from their concentric positions, pour forth 
radii of fire from the curcle of Santa Anna's 
ven|;eancc, verging to a single centre. 
Amid the thunders thus created, their 
own shouts hardly less terrible, and the 
martial blasts of a hundred bugles, the 
Mexicans advance to the Alamo. A sheet 
of flame, from rifles that never foiled, is 
the answer to the charge. The infentry 
recoil, and fall back upon the cavalry; 
their ranks broken and disordered by the 
deadly fire of the besieged. The shouts 
from the fort are mingled with the groans 
of the wounded and dying on the plain, 
while the officers arc endeavoring to reform 
their scattered masses. They return to 
the attack, but the leaden shower which 
they again encounter, fells them to the 
earth by platoons. Travis shows himself 
on the walls, cheering his undaunted fol- 
lowers. Around him are Crockett, Evans, 
and Borham, roused to a last struggle, for 
they know their doom is sealed. In quick 
succession rifle after rifle is discharged, 
sending hundreds to their long account 
The Mexicans are again repulsed; they 
fall back, dismayed and disheartened by 
the dead and dying around them. The 
battalion of Toluca — the flower of Santa 
Anna's army — is reduced from four hun- 
dred to twenty-three. Men have become 
for a moment regardless of their officers, 
and are almost delirious from the cries of 
anguish of their fallen and expiring com- 
radesy yielding to influences which no dis- 
cipline can restrain, and no efibrts repress. 
But the breach now appears practicable ; 
the disjointed forces, by the aid of threats 
and entreaties, are rallied, and once more 
return to the assault. The fire from the 
Alamo has for some time been growing 
slower and slower. Rifles have dropped 
from many a vigorous hand, now cold in 
death, while others cling to their weapons 
even in the agonies of dissolution. Am- 
munition, too, has been failing; one by 
one the muzzles drop ; and ere the last 
rifle is loaded and discharged, the Mexi- 
cans have gained the wall. Fearfully 
conspicuous in that awful moment, Travis 
receives a shot, staggers and falls. He 
dies not unavenged. A Mexican officer 
rushes upon him, and is about to plunge 
his sabre into the bosom of the fallen man ; 
when gathering his remaining energies for 
a desperate eflbrt, he bathes the sword to 

which he still clings, in the blood < 
enemy, and they die together. 

In the mean time, Uie conflict hi 
come hand to hand, and has been i 
hot and thick. The Mexicans have p 
into the citadel like famished wolvei 
ous for their prey. Each man Btn 
with his adversary, with the ener 
despair, dealing the death stroke 
rifles, sabres, or whatever mi&sileB m 
within reach. The Texans are a 
buried beneath the numbers of the 
ponents. The carnage has been sc 
nble that the slain are piled up in 1 
Death stares each survivor in the 
yet still he struggles on. Crocket 
been conspicuous in the mel§e, whi 
the blows fell hottest and fastest £ 
force his way over piles of the dead 1 
of his enemies, and has reached the 
of the chapel. Here he determii 
make his last stand. At one glau 
his eye, he sees that the fate of the 1 
rests upon himself alone, and that 
fate nothing can avert. Travis has i 
Evans is no more ; Bowie expires 
a bed of sickness, pierced to th^ hei 
a Mexican bayonet ; Borham falls di 
before him, and he finds himself the 
living warrior of the one hundro 
sixty-three who had been his compe 
Perhaps, at that moment, the life- 
creeps to his heart by a natural im] 
but it is only for a moment. The de: 
tion of his position sends it back wil 
force of an avalanche. His foes gla 
him with the fierceness of demom 
assault him with blows from mu 
lances, and sabres. The strength 
hundred men seems concentrate i 
single arm, as he deals out death i 
pitiless and unsparing assailants, 
bodies have grown into a rampart 1 
him. Blackened with fire and srook 
smeared with blood, and roused 
frenzy, he stands like some fable* 
of antiquity, laughing to scorn the n 
and the power, and the fury of his eiK 
New fire flashes from his eye, and 
vigor nerves his arm. On his assa 
rush, but it is upon death, certain an 
mediate. They fall, but their plao 
still supplied; and so quickly, the 
seem to rise up before him, like i 
men from the teeth of Cadmus. At 1 
a ball from an unseen rifle pierces 1 
the forehead; he falls backward 1 
earth, in the streams of gore which i 
around him. No groan escapes hii 
no cry of agony gratifies the impli 
rancor of his enemies : he dies,- 
Alamo has fallen. 

(To be ocmtlniMd.) 


Austrian Salt Mines, 



HAVING enjoyed an excellent oppor- 
tunity for exploring the curious 
mineral treasure-house near Salzburg, it 
is natural to desire that others should be 
interested in the same scenes, and if pos- 
sible drawn into a region which Sir Hum- 
phrey Davy pronounced unequalled by 
Switzerland itself for romantic views, sub- 
lime mountain-heights, and lakes that 
Italy might envy. Intelligent travellers, 
who have tired of the hackneyed route by 
railroad, and crossed from the Danube by 
way of Lintz and GonQnden to Salzburg, 
have wanted words to express their ad- 
miration of scenery continually changing 
from sublimity to loveliness — the greenest 
and best tilled fields, the most picturesque 
httle lakes, the marble crests of snow-clad 
Alps, the frowning gloom of vast forests, 
uniting the beauty of various lands in one. 
That our enjoyment of these less-visited 
German beauties is not exaggerated, may 
be considered proved by the preference 
shown among the cultivated Viennese to 
Tschl upon this route, the regular sum- 
mer resort, not only of nobles, but of 
sovereignty itself. At the time at which 
we write, the salt-baths are filled, or the 
trout-streams thronged, or the summer 
theatre crowded by the nobles of Germany, 
and princes from the south or the east, 
fiockmg together for their annual holiday. 
Salzburg, the nearest city to the princi- 
pal salt-mines, is really unequalled for 
beauty of position by any inland town in 
the world. A romantic castle, once be- 
longing to the archbishops, and built eight 
hundred years ago, towers over the city — 
in one of the dungeons of which an arch- 
bishop suffered a long confinement for 
having tidcen to himself a wife : in other 
apartments many of the instruments of 
torture remain by which Protestants were 
worried out of life not very long ago. A 
better memorial of their pious lordships is 
a tunnel cut through the native rock more 
than four hundred feet long, bearing the 
bust of its builder, Archbishop SigsmuncL 
with the inscription, " The rocks tell ot 
thee ! " I was still more interested by an 
ordinary, comfortable-looking house, the 
birthplace of Mozart, whose bronze statue 
by Schwanthaler, struck me as one of 
the noblest in £uropc. Nor is this the" 
only master of song whose memorials 
Salzburg rejoices to treasure: a mean- 
looking tomb was shown in one of the 
city churches as that of the great Uaydn, 
bat I suspect it is some other personage 
of his name, as the composer of "The 

Creation'' died at Vienna, and would 
hardly have remained to this time with 
so poor a monument 

All the walks and gardens of the town 
are arranged so as to display the magni- 
ficence of surrounding nature, showing 
how busy the hand of taste has been; 
while ruder art has carved half a street 
of dwellings out of the lime rock, erected 
two imposing castles and a famous old 
riding-school of solid stone. 

Nor is it a mere fancy, that even the 
humblest citizens through this section of 
country are remarkable for kindness and 
courtesy : they have not been " ridden to 
death" by cockney travellers — ^have not 
come, like the Parisian, to depend upon 
the stranger for their principal support — 
are not, like the Oriental peasant, driven 
to beggary in order to meet the extortions 
of an insatiable despotism. Much as the 
republican has cause to detest Austria, 
she does not seem so hateful at home : the 
people are remarkably light-hearted and 
joyous ; upon the surface you detect none 
of that detestation of oppression, that sense 
of degradation under a grinding yoke, felt 
by so many in their secret hearts. More 
pleasure-gardens, more crowded dances, 
more love of innocent relaxation, more 
earnestness of devotion, more through- 
going honesty are hardly to be found any 
where, — in proportion of course to the 
population, — than through the district 
bearing tne inodorous name Salzkam- 

But, we must hasten to Ilallein, the 
salt- village, over which towers the. salt 
mountain Dumbcrg, which we have first 
to walk up on the outside, and then de- 
scend through its hollow heart. Fortu- 
nately again for a lonely traveller, the 
church had availed herself of the constant 
necessity of ascending this lofty hill, and 
erected what she calls " a Calvary " along 
the way, and, being at the right season 
when the Catholic heart of Germany 
pours itself out with a peculiar and re- 
freshing enthusiasm, fair village-maidens, 
and sometimes tottering village sires were 
my companions up the steep road ; and, 
every little while, a rude shrine stood at 
my side, with a crucifixion rudely carved, 
and some scene from the " Last Suffering" 
painted beneath. And here, this unso- 
phisticated devotion gave free vent to itself 
m groans, and prayers, and sighs, and 
tears, then passed on refreshed and light- 
ened to the next lowly altar, where an- 
other picture carried the Saviour still 


Austrian Salt Mines, 


nearer to his crucifixion-agony. And 
so I had company enough, and of those 
whOj though differing from me entirely in 
opinion, I could have fellowship with at 
the heart — not questioning their sincerity, 
and rejoicing, as I did, at the joy which 
their religion evidently gave their child- 
souls, ^d so the four miles were soon 
finished^ and I was in the office, asking 
permission to inspect subterranean worlM 
which were six centuries old ; and though 
I was en solitaire, and my visit would 
require just as many attendants and nearly 
as much artificial light as the usual quota 
of twelve, I was at once robed in a miner's 
dress of white duck, my right hand guarded 
by a thick mitten, and my head protected 
by a well wadded cap of coarsest frabric. 

The first process was to walk through 
a long, narrow, dark, cool passage way, 
gently descending for three thousand feet, 
into the mountain's heart. As the work- 
men passed me on their way to dinner, 
we had to make the best of our poor can- 
dle light to get by one another in the con- 
fined path, and each said " laub," a hasty 
contraction for the (German "with your 
leave, sir." And now came the curiosity 
of this underground journey. The gently 
sloping path, sustained by boards and 
beams, and just wide and high enough for 
one beef-eating Englishman at a time, 
made a sudden dip, and the guide threw 
himself down and made me do the same ; 
slipped his right leg over a smooth wooden 
rail, and grasped with his right hand a 
cable supported on rollers ; and thus W3 
slid down as fast or slow as we pleased, a 
depth of a hundred and forty feet at an an- 
gle of forty-one degrees. It was not \CTy 
funny to see your only dependence in hu- 
man shape sinking out of your sight into 
the bowels of the earth ; but, I found the 
exercise delicious, and would recommend 
it to all good people who have mines to 
exhibit or sunken caves to explore, as cer- 
tam to bestow upon them an unprecedent- 
ed popularity. 

This was succeeded by another gallery- 
walk, then a second descending shaft — 
again a nearly horizontal footpaUi, follow- 
ed by a third "coast" downwards — and 
so on, the longest walk being the first of 
about three thousand feet, and the greatest 
descent at one time falling short of two 
hundred feet. In no part was the air un- 
pleasant ; the greater coolness was com- 
pensated by the constant exercise and the 
thick miner's dress. Several times we 
came upon large chambers, which showed 
with no brilliancy as our poor candles 
made their darkness visible, because the 
saltspar is mixed up with large masses of 

earth, though some fine crystals are i 
at a little museum^ in the centre < 
mountain. After this succession of 8 
passages had begun to be monoton 
number of little lip:ht8 began to spri 
all around me, as if in fairy land ; m 
^ide to a fiat boat, which an in' 
Charon set in motion at once acroe 
lake of salt, over three hundred 1 
length. Here was the secret of a 
A chamber is excavated, wooden 
are led to it and from it — the first of 
bring the fresh water fix>m moi 
springs whk^h gradually impregnai 
self with strong brine ; then after a 
of months the lower pipes are opene 
the manufactured little ocean runs 
some place where wood is plenty — 
I had already seen it a distance of 
miles, boiling down into a beautiful, 
white article for commerce. I was 
little perplexed at first, and I find 
travellers have come away without 
taining how the salt was procured, 1 
seeing the whole process going on al 
and from supposmg that this pon 
made b^ nature, and had no speca 
cem with the government manoB 
But as fast as this lake is formed a 
fresh water dissolving the salt and 
rating it from the clay, another i 
pared where the mineral is thought 
more abundant ; and, only the woi 
earth is seen in process of removal t 
carts, while the precious salt carries 
out, silently and away from obser 
in hollowed trunks of trees. Th< 
care is to prevent the earth from fal 
upon the workmen and crushing th 
has been the case repeatedly; h 
most surprising puzzle to an unin 
observer is, why, in the process 
months or a year, this water does u 
off" through some natural outlet 1 
solving the salt in its way. These 
must sometimes lie very near tO| 
and directly above one another : I 
as their roofs are entirely flat, freq 
destitute of ai*tificial support, anc 
rock there is crumbles to the too* 
might expect these wide sheets of 
would sometimes break through, 
dents, however, are rare, though 
are sometimes forty excavations in i 

IIow parties of pleasure feel in c 
over this deathlike lake at such i 
real pace, with not a sound to bn 
oppressive stillness, and rarely a 
crystal reflecting the feeble twinkle 
illumination for which you have 
cannot say — but, to a lone voyag 
myself it was one of the most solei 




ments of life — darimess seemed to rest 
like a tombstone upon me — none but 
fiMrfiil images filled my visions — the re- 
pose of my bodj added to the gloom of 
mj mind — and it was a blessed relief when 
I could use my own limbs on what seemed 
lolid earth again. 

Still other slides came, one at an angle 
of fifty degrees, and one, the longest in all 
the works, of four hundred and suctj-eight 
feet This brought me as far down as the 
ibnr miles of winding road had carried 
me up; but, as there was none of its 
sudden changes of yiew, no wild forest, 
meny mountain-stream, knot of cherry- 
fiioed peasant-girls, laughter of happy 
diildhood to "cheer the toil and cheer the 
way," I may be pardoned for wishing my- 
self out 

But, now came a new yehicle. I stood 
•lone in the yery heart of this mountain 
of limestone, gypsum and marl, when two 
wild boys mounted me between them 
upon a wooden horse, on a rude enough 
wooden railway, and, in a moment, my 
steeds began to show their mettle, and I 
was run through a passage of a mile tun- 
nelled in the solid stone: once only the 
ragged colts paused to take breath, and to 
let me admire the light from the mouth, 
which seemed nothing else than a bright 
blue star. Very soon genuine daylight 
came to our relief; and, but slightly 
wearied, I bounded from the cavern mouth 
to take the £ilwagcn on its return to 

I learnt little more of the salt-trade in 
Austria. It is a government affair, and 
six thousand men are said to be employed, 
some in preparing the rock crystal for the 
market, some in boiling or evaporating 
the sea water, and more in connection 
with mines like the Duniberg. The men 
did not seem very healthy, and one part 
of the process must oflen cause the sacri- 
fice of life. At Ebensee I found them 
boiling down the water brought from 
Hallcin in thirty miles of pipes, and I 
learnt that whenever the iron vat leaks, a 
workman is obliged to wade through the 
boiling liquid to the injured place upon a 
kind of stilts — if his feet should slip, he 
would certainly boil to death, and if not 
of strong lun^ he is likely to stifle — a 
horrible &te either way. For more than 
a week these fires are continued day and 
night, eating sadly into the forest, the salt 
being removed as fast as it is crystallized, 
and fresh brine poured in. Then the 
fire is extinguished, the pan, which is a 
foot deep and sixty round, thoroughly re- 
tinkered, the calcareous crust which ad- 
heres to the bottom and sides broken of^ 
and poor plates replaced by new. 

So much for the great Salt Mine of 
central Europe, a great source of wealth 
to its Government, and a main de- 
pendence for a prime necessary of life of 
Southern Germany, and the countries to 
the eastward upon the Mediterranean 


HOW many and loud, are the objurga- 
tiODS which that pattern father of a 
femily, Mr. Bull, visits upon the maraud- 
ing propensities of his disinherited son, 
Jonathan ? " The graceless urchin," the 
old gentleman is constantly saying, ^^ who 
Itts already grown so large that his feet stick 
out hr beyond his trowsers, is as greedy 
as <»ie of his own turkey-buzzards, and as 
ahirp and unconscionable as one of his 
own peddlers. He has, during the very 
dort time that he has lived, cheated the 
poor Indians out of twenty or thirty 
States, has flogged Mexico into the relin- 
onishment of half a dozen more, is bullying 
mm tor the surrender of Cuba, has hood- 
wmked Kamehameha I., until he scarce- 
^ knows whether the l^andwich Islands 

are his own or not, and has deliberately 
surveyed Japan with a view to some fu- 
ture landing ! "Was there ever a more im- 
principled, insatiable, rapacious, gonnan- 
dizing Filibuster than that same Jonathan, 
who fancies that the whole world was 
made for use, and his use too, and has no 
more scruple about la>nng his hands upon 
any part of it, than a fox has in satisfying 
his hunger in a hen-roost I " 

Having said this, Bull rolls up his eyes 
in the most moral manner, heaves a lugu- 
brious sigh, and sits down to read the 
THmes^ which contains several long col- 
umns of dispatches from India, and a gen- 
eral account of the troubles in the colonies 
from Australia and the Cape, to the most 
northern iceberg on which Capt Macluro 




has recently hoisted the "meteor-flag." 
He is, however, considerably consoled by 
the perusal, and especially by the com- 
ments of the editor on the inappeasablo 
ambition of republics, and their eager spirit 
of self-aggrandizement. These encourage 
him into a sound appetite for his rolls and 
coffee, after which he smilingly turns to 
Punchj whose jokes upon Yankce-doodle- 
dom arc exceedingly mirthful, causing John 
to split his fat sides almost, over its cun- 
ning exposures of American hypocrisy, 
boastfulness, negro-driving, and land- steal- 
ing. Meantime, the entertaining volumes 
of some traveller in " the States " are laid 
upon his table, hot from the ])rcsSj and 
brilliant with the keenest sarcasms pro- 
voked by our vulgarity, which the face- 
tious Cockney (who. if he were called upon 
to read aloud what he had written, could 
not pronounce his own mother tongue), 
shows up in a variety of the most amus- 
ing lights. 

Well, touching a great deal of this, 
which gives John a good laugh, we shall 
have nothing to say ; many of us cnioy it 
quite as much as he can, and for better 
reasons ; but on the subject of Annexation, 
or the imputed zeal of republics to grasp 
all they can get. we mean to put in^ 
an apology, using the word in its ancient 
sense of a denial and a justification. We 
mean to prove, firstly, that a willingness 
on the part of nations to take the proj)crty 
of their neighbors is no new thing under 
the sun, so that if the United States had 
been guilty of it. they would have been 
acting only in aline of decided precedents. 
But the truth is. as wo shall prove .second- 
ly, that we have not been guilty of it at 
all, in any injurious sense, while our en- 
tire national action and diplomacy have 
been more liberal, just, candid, and forlx'ar- 
ing than those of any other nation. Yes ; 
vou facetious and vituperative Bulls ! ue 
have been the first among nations to set 
the examine of an open, generous, equita- 
ble international policy, and whatever ad- 
vances modern statesmen may have made 
towards the substitution of highminded 
negotiation for overreaching intrigue and 
secret diplomacy, they have learned from 
us much calumniated republicans! Of 
that, however, by and by. 

Many of the foreign tourists and e^litors, 
who chatter of Ameri(ran annexation, real- 
ly seem to suppose that annexation has 
never before been heard of in the history 
of the world. '• Did you ever !" they ex- 
claim in tones of otlended virtue, like an old 
lady, who has just bwn told some precious 
piece of scandal, forgetting in the excess 
of her indignation and surprise, the small 

indiscretions of her own youth. " Did yea 
ever ? These republicans most be actually 
insane in their avidity for more land! 
Not satisfied — the cormorants ! — with the 
immense slice of the western continent 
they now possess, they warn us Europeans 
off the rest of it. and are ooosumed with 
fiery desires for the islands of the set. 
Like the republics of old — like the repub- 
lics of Italy, this modem republic gives 
token of the characteristic weakness of 
its kind ; it must live by conquest, and, 
like all its forerunners, swell until it 

Oh ! Crapaud and Bull, how can you 
utter such nonsense ? Annexation is no 
new thing, nor is it peculiarly repub- 
lican ! Eveiy page of nistoiy is fuU of 
it, from the time of the earliest vagabond 
and fugitive, Cain, who built a city in the 
land of Nod, which was not his, until the 
latest English war in Bunnah ! It is the 
one subject, indeed, the burden of huDnan 
annals. The first command given to 
Noah, after the flood, was to be fruitful, 
and multiply, and replenish the earth ; or 
as it may be translated, take possession 
of the earth ; and ever since, that divine 
injunction, if no other, has been faithfully 
and incessantly obeyed by his descendants. 
Do we not all remember, that the condi- 
tion of the magnificent blessings which the 
Lord promised to Abram, was, that he 
should begin a long process of annexation, 
by '* setting out of his own country, and his 
own kmdrSi, and his father's house," and 
settling in another land ? What was the 
Exodus of the Children of Israel, under 
Moses, but a preparatory step to the 
seizure of Canaan, which was no sooner 
taken, than it was divided by lot among 
the nine and a half tribes, the other two 
and a ha>f having already pocketed their 
allowance on this side the Jordan? and 
what the whole subsequent career of the 
Hebrews under Joshua, but a scries of 
skirmishes with their amiable neifrhbors, 
the Amorites, the Ilittites, the Hivites, 
the Jebusites, &c, whose country they 
had invaded, annexing ^' all the land, the 
hills, the south country, the valley' and 
the plain, and the mountain of Israel and 
the valley of the same;" appropriating 
the cattle, despoiling the cities, smiting 
the kings, and utterly routing and rooting 
out the people, so that, as we are told. 
" not any one was left to breathe ! " Nor 
was this wholesale and slaughterous policy 
much changed under the Judges and tlie 
Kings, in spite of the reverses expcrienoed 
at the hands of the Moabites, the Midian- 
ite.s, and the Philistines ; for. scarcely had 
they recovered their power under Saul and 




DmTid, before they strack out again to the 
light and loft, burning cities, levying bond- 
aervioe, and converting every body's terri- 
tory to their own use. Jerusalem, their 
great dty, fell a prey at last to the same 
spirit, manifested by their Roman neigh- 
bors ; yet in the heels of tliis overwhelming 
disaster, the last vaticination of the apostle 
of Patmos, as his prophetic eyes swept down 
the nebulous tracks of time, was, that good 
Christians every where should not only 
be *^ priests and kings unto God." but 
** inherit all things." 

The fact is, that none of those Orientals 
were ever over particular as to seizing the 
territories of a friend. If they wanted 
what he possessed, they took it, and gave 
him a drubbing besides, if he made any 
outcry about the process. As far back as 
we can penetrate in their annals, even to 
those remote periods when the twilight of 
tradition itself merges in the primeval 
darkness ; we find that their kings and 
leaders were capital adepts in the annex- 
ing business, carrying it on on a prodigious 
anle, and quite re^utllcss of the huge 
rivers of blood, which they often had to 
wade through, in the accomplishment of 
their purposes. Some of them, indeed, 
have left no other name behind them, for 
the admiration of posterity, than that ac- 
quired in these expeditions of butchery 
and theft, undertaken with the laudable 
desien of stripping a neighbor of his pos- 
sessions. We know little of Scsostris and 
Semirainis; but that little is enough to 
justify Edmund Burke, in setting over 
against the conquests of the former, about 
one million of lives, and against those of 
the latter about three millions. All ex- 
pired, he exclaims, in quarrels in which 
the sufferers had not the least rational 
ooDcem. Old Nebuchadnezzar, too, who 
flourished in Babylon, according to the 
Bible, what a thriving fellow ho was, in 
this line ! The little state of Judea was 
scarcely a flea-bite for him ; and though 
he despoiled £gypt, and demolished Tyre, 
he was quite uncomfortable until Phoenicia, 
Palestine, Syria, Media. Persia, and the 
greater part of India, were added to his 
already considerable farm. But what 
was he, after all, to that scries of magni- 
ficent Persian mouarchs, who thought no 
more of razing hundred-gated cities to 
the earth, and laying hold of vast empires, 
than Barnum's lazy anaconda docs of 
bolting a rabbit? There was Cyrus, a 
most prosperous gentleman, as the good 
Xenopbon relates, who overran pretty 
modi the whole of Asia, and his promising 
no, Cambyses, who took Tyre, Cyprus, 
lETpt^ Macedonia, Thraoe, S^ and hia son 

▼OL. III. — 13 

again, Xerxes, " a chip of the old block," 
and then his descendants once mora. 
Artaxerxes, first, second, and third, — all 
" chips of the old block," — what unscru- 
pulous ways they had of sacrificing mil- 
lions upon millions of people in their little 
territorial disputes? It was well, indeed, 
that Alexander of Maccdon put a stop to 
these ravages, or there is no telling to 
what extent they might have carried 
their sanguinary sports, — perhaps as far 
as Alexander himself, who beginning with 
a small strip in the south of Europe, an- 
nexed patch after patch, until he became 
beyond all question the largest landed pro- 
prietor in the known world. A bird fly- 
ing for several days together in a straight 
line, could scarcely have passed from the 
western to the eastern boundaries of his 
dominions. A splendid anncxationist| 
trulj', was the great Alexander ! 

He was not a whit in advance, how- 
ever, of a famous Tartar captain, who 
called himself Genghis Khan, and who 
achieved prodigies of brutality and crime. 
In advance of him ? No ! For the 
magnitude of his rapacity, for the rapidity 
of his slaughters, and for the exquisite 
refineincnt of cruelty which attended his 
marches, he was as superior to Alex- 
ander as the wild tiger is to the domestio 
cat. Genghis, we all remember, ruled 
over the Alongols of Tartar}-, and signal- 
ized his accession to power by putting 
seventy chiefs of an opposite faction into 
as many caldrons of lx)iling water. He 
next seized the vast dominions of Vangf- 
Khan, or Prester John of Austria ; aftSr 
which he reduced the kingdoms of Hya in 
China, Tangan. Turkay, Turkistan, Kara- 
zin. Bukaria, Persia, and a part of India ; 
killing upwards of fourteen millions of 
people in the process, and annexing eight- 
een hundred leagues of territory east and 
west, and about a thousand leagues north 
and south ; and when he had died, one of 
his sons sulxlued India, and another, after 
crossing the Wolga, laid waste to Russia, 
Poland, Hungary, and Bohemia, while a 
third enlarged the patrimonial possessions 
by Syria, and the maritime provinces of 
the Turkish empire. 

There was one of the ancient nations, 
more modest than the rest which we ought 
to except from this career of conquest and 
spoliaJon ; for .aring the greater part of 
its existence it was content with its own 
moderate limits, and the production of 
Iliads, Prometheus Vinctuses, Parthenons, 
and Orations de Corona. We refer to 
Greece, which, being more republican than 
the rest of the world, ought to have been, 
according to the modem theory, more 




omnivoroui than the rest But Greece 
was poor-spirited in comparison. She had 
become so enamored with her own glori- 
ous skies and hills, was so delighted with 
her own fair climate, and so besotted with 
a certain dreamy notion of beauty and 
self-perfection, that, like a woman as she 
was, she seldom passed beyond her own 
threshold. Not that she was afraid of 
fighting, cither, as certain places named 
Thermopylse and Marathon hear witness ; 
but that she was quite destitute of that 
grandeur of soul which led Belus, Sesos- 
tris, and the other illustrious individuals 
to whom we have referred, to cut their 
way to glory, by cutting the throats of 
80 many of their fellow humans. 

We shall have to dismiss republican 
Greece, then, as rather an untoward case, 
and turn to imperial Rome. Ah! how 
her records blaze with examples of a 
thorough spirit of annexation ! Suckled 
by a wolf in the beginning, Rome never 
lost her original vulpine nature, but to the 
day of her dissolution, went prowling about 
the world, wherever there was a sheep- 
fold to break into, or an innocent lamb to 
be eaten. Look into the index of any 
popular history of her triumphs, and mark 
now it is composed of one unbroken series 
of annexations ! Thus it reads : b. c. 283, 
the Gauls and Etrurians subdued; b. c. 
278, Sicily conquered; b.c. 266, Rome 
mistress of all Italy ; b. c. 264. the First 
Punic War ; b. c. 231, Sardinia and Corsica 
conquered; b.c. 224, the Romans first 
cross the Po; b.c 223, colonies of Plar 
tontia and Cremona established ; b. c. 222, 
Insularia (Milan) and Liguria (Genoa) 
taken ; b. c. 283, the Second Punic War ; 
B.C. 212, Syracuse and Sicily conquered ; 
B.C. 210, Scipio takes New Carthage ; b. c. 
204^ Scipio carries the war into Africa; 
B.C. 195, war made upon Spain ; b.c 188, 
8yna reduced to a Roman province ; b. c. 
168, Macedon becomes a Roman province ; 
B. c. 149, Third Punic War, and conquest 
of Corinth ; b. c. 146. Greece becomes a 
Roman province ; b. c. 135, Spain a Roman 
province; b.c. 133, Pergamus a Roman 
province; b.c 118, Dalmatia a Roman 
province; b.c. 105, Numidia becomes a 
Roman province; b.c. 99, Lusitania be- 
comes a Roman province ; b. c 80, Julius 
Caesar's first campaign, — and after that 
the reduction of the world, from the hot 
sands of the desert South to the fogs of 
Britain in the North, and from the Eu- 
phrrtes to the Atlantic Ocean, in the other 
direction. The ve7ii vidi vici, in short, 
was not an individual saying, but a uni- 
Tersal Roman maxim. 

We might refer, too, now that we are 

on the train of historical looomot 
those extraordinary migrations i 
German races^ who seem to have I 
other object m life, than to overr 
territories of others^ and who, in tl 
coming on like whu*ling sand-stor 
the desert, paid Rome in her owx 
or to those exciting episodes of the ] 
Ages, when myriads of pious and 
thirsty Crusaders flung themselTe 
Asia, with an entire looseness, to i 
the Holy Land ; or to the impartial i 
of the Spanish and Portugese in th* 
cursions over South America; or 
entertaining annals of treachenr, fri 
ing, and assassination by which the 
great and royal houses of Europe b 
their power. — such as the house of 
bon, which gradually enlarged its r 
a few acres, to a nght coextensiv 
France — or the house of Hapsburg, ] 
German dukedom at the start, but 
mighty empire in which a dozen kii 
are absorbed — or to the house of 
parte, which began without a sous t 
its stars with, but which speedily ei 
its phylactaries, and got itself wi 
nearly all the tbrones of the Com 
or, in brief, to a hundred other ini 
of enormous adventure and giganti 
andage. But the truth is, that thi 
of thing is the staple and uniform 

Rabelais, in his famous outline < 
quest, which the gallant statesmen « 
ricole presented to that chivalric m< 
though he has caught the spirit 
national Rob-Koyism, combining i 
largeness of view with the easy efTi 
of the swell-mob, hardly equals vi 
history. "You will divide your i 
said the Duke of Smalltra^, Uy 
of Swashbuckler, and Captain Du 
who were Pichricole's advisers, " in 
parts. One shall fall upon Gram 
and his forces ; and the other shal 
towards ^Onys, Xaintoigne, Angc 
and Gascony. Then march to Pei 
Medos. and Elanes, taking wherev 
come, without resistance, towns, * 
and forts; afterwards to Bayon: 
John de Luz, to Fuentarabia, whe 
shall seize upon all the ships, and, 
ing along Gallicia and Portuj^ st 
lage all the maritime places e^ 
Lisbon, where you shall be suppik 
all necessaries befitting a conquero 
Copsodie, Spain will yield, for tl 
but a race of boobies ! Then are 
pass by the Straits of Gibraltar, 
you shall erect two pillars more 
than those of Hercules, to the pe 
memory of your goodness, and the : 




entnnoe there shftll be called the Pichrioo- 
UnalSea. Having passed the Pichricolinal 
Sea^ behold Barbarossa yields him your 
slave ! And ^ou shall conquer the King^ 
doms of Tunis, of Hippo, Argia, Bomine, 
Corone, yea, all Barbary. Furthermore, 
Tou shall take into your hands Majorca, 
Minorca, Sardinia, Corsica, with the other 
islands of the Ligustic and Balearian seas. 
Going along on the left hand, you shall 
rule all Gallia, Narbonensis, ProTcnce. the 
Allobrogrians, Genoa, Florence, Luccia; 
and then— God be wi' ye— Rome ! Italy 
being thus taken, behold Naples, GalabriiL 
Apulia, and Sicily all ransacked, ana 
Malta, too ! From thence we will sail east- 
ward, and take Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, 
and the Cyclade Islands, and set upon the 
Morea. It is ours, by St. Irenaeus ! and 
the Lord preserve Jerusalem!" With 
the enumeration of Lesser Asia and the en- 
tire east of £urope, the imagination of the 
moaurch was excited, and he shouted, ^' On, 
OD, make haste my lads, and let him that 
bves me, follow me ! " 

No ! the fertile fimcy of Rabelais, in the 
wklest circuit of its fun, does not equal 
the serious doings of some even of our 
modem nations. " A century ago," savs 
the latest Blackwood, << Russia, still in the 
infancy of civilization, was scarcely counted 
m the great European family. Gigantic, 
indeed, have been the forward strides she 
has since made, in power, influence, and 
territory. On every side she has extended 
herself; Sweden, Poland, Turkey, Persia, 
have all in turn been despoiled or partially 
robbed by her. North and south she has 
fleixed upon some of the most productive 
districts of Europe ; the Baltic provinces 
on the one hand, Bessarabia and the 
Crimea on the other." 

Be it observed, however, in justice to 
critic and criticized alike, that Russia is 
beshful, self-denying, almost ascetic in her 
lost of annexation, compared with another 
power, which we shall not name, lest we 
should shock its delicate sensibilities. But 
we could tell, " an we would," of a certain 
Utile island of the North Atlantic, in itself 
scarcely bigger than a bed-spread, yet 
iMMisting of an empire on which the sun 
ntwer sets. It has annexed to its slender 
ehalk-cli^ from year to year, one country 
after another, undl now it exclaims in the 
pride and plenitude of its dominion, — 

**Qasi nfk) in terris, nostra non plena laboiis? " 

which, in its own vernacular, means, " on 
what part of the earth have we not gained 
a foothold ?" In Europe, there are Scot- 
had, Ireland, the Orkneys, Gibraltar, 
Mail% Heligoland, and the Ionian Isles; 

in America, there are Upper and Lower 
Canada, Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, New 
Brunswick, Prince Edward's Island^ New- 
foundland, and the Bermudas; m the 
West Indies, there are Jamaica, Barbadoes, 
St Vincent, Tobago, Trinidad, Antigua, 
Dominica, the Bahamas, Guiana, and a 
dozen more; in Africa, there are Good 
Hope, Mauritius, Sierra Leone, Gambia, 
and St. Helena; in Australia, there are New 
South Wales, Western Australia, Southern 
Australia, and Van Dieman's Land ; and 
in Asia, there are, most monstrous of all, 
Ceylon and India, with its dependencies. 
Enough, one would say, in all conscienoe 
for a reasonable ambition ; but it is not 
enough for the people of that little island 
— that model of ail the national proprie- 
ties — which omits no opportunity now for 
extending its possessions, and almost with 
every steamer sends us word of new a^ 
quisitions in the East ! 

Alas ! wo must repeat it, annexation is 
not a new thing, not a peculiarity of re- 
publicans, and of late American republi- 
cans, in particular ; not in any sense a 
novel iniquity over which we are just 
called to moralize! It is a practice as 
old as our race and as broad as our 
race ; known to every people and every 
age; and as invariable, in its prompt- 
ings, if not its effects, as a natural law. 
Wherever there have been weak nationa 
to pillage, and strong nations to pillage 
them ; wherever there have been men, like 
those splendid robbers of antiquity, will- 
ing to otfer hecatombs of lives to toeir in- 
sane will to rule; wherever there have 
been chances opened to military genius, to 
rapacious selfishness, to the love of a row, 
to the hope of plunder, to the appetite for 
distinction and blood, to the mere vague 
restless feeling for movement and change, 
— there annexation has flourished, in one 
form or another, and the relations and 
destinies of empires have been relaxed, or 
enlarged, or revolutionized. But, God in 
heaven ! what a phantasmagoria of wrong, 
outrage, and despotism it has been ! What 
spoliations, ravages, wars, subjugations, 
and miseries have marked its course ! 
What crimson pictures it has painted on 
every page of almost every history ! In- 
deed, when we look at it, how the whole 
past comes rushing down upon our vision, 
like a vast, multitudinous, many-winged 
army ; with savage yells, with wild pier- 
cing whoops, with ringing war-cries, with 
sackbuts, and cymbals, and trumpets, and 
gongs, and the drowning roar of cannon ; 
naked heroes, shaggy sheep-skinned war- 
riors, glittering troops, phalanxes and 
serried legtons, colossal cavalries; now 




sweeping like frost-winds across the 
plains — now hanging like tempests on the 
mountains — now breaking in torrents 
through rocky defilos — and now roaring 
like seas around the walls of cities, — on- 
ward and downward they come, irresist- 
ible, stormy, overwhelming : the mighty 
host, the stupendous vanguard of never- 
ending annexationists ! 

Note, also, that it is not in conquest 
alone that this spirit of aggrandizement 
has been exhibited ; for next to the his- 
tory of conquest, the most terrible book 
that could be written, would be a narra- 
tive of national colonization, or of the peaco- 
fhl attempts of nations to create auxiliaries 
on distant shores. It would be a second 
Book of Martyrs, eclipsing in atrocities 
the rubric of Fox. It would show us 
innumerable homes, in all lands, made 
Ttcant by forced, or, quite as dreadful, 
voluntary exiles : the pathways across 
the lonely seas, lined, like the accursed 
middle passage of the slave-trade, with 
the bones of victims cast down to watery 
deaths ; the inoffensive natives of many a 
continent and island driven mercilessly, by 
intruders, to the jungles, or the swamps, 
or to the solitary fastnesses of the moun- 
tains ; weary years of struggle on the part 
of the intruders themselves against dis- 
ease, against poverty, against capricious 
and persecuting climates and intractable 
soils, and against the cruel extortions and 
oppressions of remote administrations ; 
tnd, as the end of all, failure, in its worst 
forms, of industrial bankruptcy and social 
rain. Many, indeed, is the colony, to 
which we might apply the heated, but 
not overdrawn language of Sheridan, in 
describing the desolations wrought by 
Hastings in the province of Oude. ^* Had 
a stranger." he exclaims, "entered that 
land, and, observing the wide and general 
devastation of fields, unclothed and brown 
— of villages depopulated and in ruin — of 
temples unroofed and perishing — of reser- 
voirs broken down and dry ; had he in- 
quired, 'what has thus laid waste this 
beautiful and opulent country ; what 
monstrous madness has ravaged with 
wide-spread war ; what desolating foreign 
foe; what civil discords; what disputed 
succession ; what religious zeal ; what 
fiibled monster has stalked abroad, and 
with malice and mortal enmity, withered 
by the grasp of death, every growth of 
nature and humanity?' The answer 
would have been, not one of these causes ! 
No wars have ravaged these lands and 
depopulated these villages 1 no desolating 
foreign foe ! no domestic broils ! no dis- 
puted anooession! no religions snperser- 

viceable zeal ! no poisonous monster! no 
affliction of Providence, which, while it 
scourged us, cut off the sources of resus- 
citation ! No ! this damp of death is the 
mere effusion of British amity. We sink 
under the pressure of their support ! We 
writhe under their perfidious gripe ! 
They have embraced us with their pro- 
tecting arms ; and lo ! these are the fruits 
of their alliance ! " 

Now, compared with the Brobdignagian 
scoundrclism of the older nations, both in 
the way of conquest and colonization, 
what have we poor republican Americans 
done ? Why are we stigmatized, as of- 
fenders above all others, or as the special 
representatives of that national avidus 
alienuniy which confesses neither limit 
nor principle ? We have, smce the com- 
mencement of our political existence, per- 
fected three things : we have entered the 
lands of the Indians ; wo have acquired 
Louisiana, Florida, and Texas ; and we have 
beaten Mexico out of California and a few 
other morsels of earth ; to which let us 
add, that we meditate some time or other 
getting possession of Cuba, and perhaps 
of the Sandwich Islands. That is posi- 
tively the front and substance of all our 
trespasses! But in what manner have 
they been committed ? 

No one, we suppose, will question the 
propriety of our mode of acquiring Flori- 
da and Louisiana, which were purchased 
honorably in the open market ; therefore 
wo will begin with the poor Indians. We 
have robbed them of their lands, it is said. 
But it is not so ; not a rood of their land 
have we which has not been honestly paid 
for, and more than paid for, as land goes^ 
and a thousand times paid for in superior 
returns ! De Tocqueville made this cnarge 
in his book, and led Mr. Benton, who was 
then in the Senate of the United States, 
to call for a full ^ numerical and dirono- 
logical official statement of all our deal- 
ings with the Indians, from the origin of 
the federal government m 1789 to his day, 
1840," which he procured from the depart- 
ment, making a full and accurate list of 
every acre that we had ever taken from 
any Indian tribe or individual. What is 
the result ? Why, it appears from the 
document, that the United States had paid 
to the Indians eighty-five millions of dol- 
lars for land purchases up to the year 
1840, to which five or six millions may be 
added for purchases since — say ninetr 
millions. This is near six times as mucli 
as the United States gave Napoleon for 
Louisiana, the whole of it, soil and jnri»- 
diction, and nearly three times as much u 
all three of the great foreign purdi M M 




LoaisimnA, Florida, and California,— cost 
lis ! and that for soil alone, and for so 
much as would only be a fragment of Lou- 
isiana or California. " Impressive," sajs the 
distingnished statesman^ to whom we are 
indebted for this exposition of an Indian 
policy, "as this statement is in the gross, it 
becomes more so in the detail, and when 
i^iplied to the particular tribes whose im- 
puted sufferings have drawn so mournful 
a picture from Mons. de Tocqucville." Fif- 
ty-six millions went to the four large 
tribes, the Creeks, the Cherokees, the Choc- 
taws and the Chickasaws, leaving thirty-six 
millions to go to the small tribes whose 
names are unknown to history, and which 
it is probable the writer on American de- 
mocracy had never heard of when sketch^ 
ing the picture of their fancied oppressions. 
Mr. Benton adds, in respect of these small 
remote tribes, that, besides their proportion 
of the remainmg thirty-six millions of 
doll&rs, they received a kind of compen- 
sation suited to their condition, and in- 
tended to induct them into the comforts of 
y civilized life. He gives one example of this 
drawn from a treaty with the Osages in 
1839. which was only in addition to simi- 
lar benefits to the same tribe in previous 
treaties, and which were extended to all 
the tribes which were in the hunting state. 
These benefits were, "two blacksmith- 
shops, with four blacksmiths, five hundred 
pounds of iron and sixty pounds of steel 
annually ; a grist and a saw-mill, with 
millers for the same; 1,000 cows and 
calves; 2,000 breeding swine; 1,000 
ploughs ; 1,000 sets of horse-gear ; 1,000 
axes; 1,000 hoes; a house each for ten 
chiefs, costing two hundred dollars a piece ; 
with six good wagons, sixteen carts, twen- 
ty-eight yokes of oxen, with yokes and 
log-chains for each chief; besides agreeing 
to pay all claims for injuries committed 
by the tribe on the white people, or on 
other Indians, to the amount of thirty 
thousand dollars; to purchase their re- 
served lands at two dollars per acre ; and 
to give them six thousand dollars more 
for certain old annuities. In previous 
treaties had been given seed grains and 
seed vegetables, with fruit seed and fruit 
trees, domestic fowls, laborers to plough 
vp their ground and to make their fences, 
to raise crops and save them, and teach 
the Indians how to farm ; with spinning, 
weaving and sewing implements, and per- 
sons to show their use." Now all this, 
observes our authoritv, was in one single 
treaty, with an inconsiderable tribe, which 
]nd been largely provided for in the same 
way in six different previous treaties ! But 
9Si the rode tribes — those in the hunting 

state, or just emerging from it, were pro- 
vided for with cqiml solicitude and liber- 
ality, the object of the United States being 
to train them to agriculture and pasturage 
— to conduct them from the hunting, to 
the pastoral and the agricultural state. 
Not confining its care, however, to this, and 
in addition to all other benefits, the United 
States have undertaken the support of 
schools, the encouragement of missiona- 
ries, and a small annual contribution to 
relip^ous societies who take charge of their 
civilization. Moreover, the government 
keeps up a large establishment for the spe- 
cial care of the Indians, and the manage- 
ment of their affairs ; a special bureau, 
presided over by a commissioner at Wash- 
ington City ; superintendents in different 
districts; agents, sub-agents, and inter- 
preters, resident with the tribe ; and all 
charged with seeing to their rights and 
interests — seeing that the laws are observ- 
ed towards them ; that no injuries are 
done them by the whites ; that none but 
licensed traders go among them ; that no- 
thing shall be bought from them which is 
necessary for their comfort, nor any thing 
sold to them which may be to their detri- 
ment Had the republic been actuated, 
in its intercourse, by any of that selfish 
and infernal spirit, which animates the 
old monarchies, it would have swindled or 
beaten the Indians out of their possessions 
at once, and, in case of resistance, put the 
whole race to the sword. 

But it will be answered, " You have 
carried them by force, from their ancient 
homes, from the graves of their sires, and 
planted them in new and distant regions ! " 
We reply, that we have done so, in the 
case of a few tribes, or rather remnants of 
tribes, as a matter, however, of absolute 
necessity, and not in any grasping or un- 
kind spirit. A small, but savage and in- 
tractable, race suddenly surrounded in the 
Providence of God by a powerful and civi* 
lized people, whose laws and customs it 
cannot or will not accept, but whose vices 
are readily spread among them, has no 
other destiny but to die of its corruptions, 
to perish :n arms, or to be removed by 
gentle methods to some more remote and 
untroubled hunting grounds. It was at 
the option of the United States to choose 
either of these courses, and its choice, on 
the advice of Jefferson, whoso noble for- 
tune it has been to initiate so much of our 
most wise and beneficent policy, fell upon 
the most humane, peaceful, and considerate 
of the three. Indecid, the language in which 
this plan was urged, in the second inaugu- 
ral address of the eminent democrat we 
have just named, may be used also as ths 




language of the history which records its 
execution. " The aborigines of these coun- 
tries," said he. " I have regarded with the 
consideration their position inspires. £n- 
dowed with the faculties and the rights of 
men, breathing an ardent love of liberty 
and independence, and occupying a coun- 
try which left them no desire but to be un- 
disturbed, the streams of overflowing po- 
pulation from other regions directed itself 
on these shores. Without power to di- 
Tert, or habits to contend against it, they 
have been overwhelmed by the current, 
or driven before it Now reduced within 
limits too narrow for the hunter state, 
humanity enjoins us to teach them agn- 
culture and the domestic arts — to encou- 
rage them to that industry which alone 
can enable them to maintain their place in 
existence, and to prepare them in time for 
that state of society which, to bodily com- 
ibrts, adds the improvement of the mind 
and morals." We have therefore liberally 
furnished them with the implements of 
husbandry and householdure ; we have 
placed instructors amongst them in the 
arts of first necessity ; and they are co- 
yered with the segis of the law against 
aggressors from among ourselves. A few 
stubborn individuals, misled by prejudice 
or ambition, and carrying with them frag- 
ments of their tribes, have resisted the in- 
evitable fate of their race, and have com- 
pelled our authorities to subdue them by 
arms ; but the greater part of the tribes 
have gone to their new homes beyond the 
Mississippi cheerful! v, and in peace. Some, 
like the Cherokees, have been raised to a 
higher European civilization ; and all are 
in a condition superior to that in which 
they were found by our people. 

The annexation of Texas, secondly, it is 
needless to dwell upon, because it was an 
event so inevitable as a historical develop- 
ment, and so clear in all its principles, 
that it requires no justification. A bor- 
dering people, in the natural increase of 
population and trade^ settle in a foreign 
state, where they acquire property and rear 
families ; they gradually become citizens, 
and look upon the place as their home ; 
but they are oppressed by the govern- 
ment, and rise in revolt ; they carry on a 
successful revolution ; they organize and 
maintain a free and stable government : 
they are acknowledged as independent by 
all the leading powers of Christendom ; 
and then to secure themselves from exter- 
nal assault, and to acquire additional in- 
ternal strength, — led too, by old and natu- 
ral affinities, — they seek a constitutional 
alliance with the people to whom they for- 
Bierij belonged, and are still cordially at- 

tached. That is the whole history of 
Texas, and we see nothing in our jrielding 
to her request for admission to the rights 
and protection of the Federal Union, that 
is, in the least, extraordinary, or atrocious, 
or particularly greedy. As a question of 
domestic policy, the annexation may haye 
properly divided opinion ; but as a ques- 

tion of international relations, nothing 
could have been more simply and obvious- 
ly just 

Again : in respect to conquests, we have 
but one to answer for — that of Mexico, — 
and there is nothing in either the com- 
mencement, the course, or the end of that 
— if even it may be called a conquest — for 
which the lover of his country or humani- 
ty, needs to blush. It was a regular war, 
begun in vindication of the clearest na- 
tional rights, which had been outraged; 
carried on with vigor, but with the strict- 
est regard also to the most just and hon- 
orable principles ; and closed by a deliber- 
ate treaty, in which, though it was in our 
power to confiscate the whole nation, by 
reducing it to the state of a dependent 
province, we refrained from all arbitrary 
or exorbitant demands, and agreed to pay 
generously for every acre of land that we re- 
tained, and for every iota of loss we had oc- 
casioned ! It is true that the territories thus 
acquired proved subsequently, through 
their unexampled mineral deposits, to be 
of priceless worth ; but this peculiar source 
of value was unsuspected at the time, while 
it is probable that, if they had remained 
in the same hands, they might have been 
imknown to this diay. 

Compare, then, the " annexation " of the 
United States, for which it is so largely 
ridiculed, or so roundly abused, with the 
same process as it has been conducted by 
other nations ! Not with those predatory 
expeditions of the magnificent buidits of 
the East ; not with the Roman conquests, 
which were incessant scenes of spoliation, 
violence, subjugation and tyranny; not 
with the irruptions of the northern hordes, 
whose boast it was that no grass grev 
where they had trod ; not with the merci- 
less and gory marches of Pizarro or Cortes. 
because those were the deeds of rude and 
brutal ages ; nor yet even with the stormy 
anabasis and ratabasiSj as De Quinc^ 
somewhere calls it, when, 

•* Tho Emperor Nap. he did set off 
On A pleasant exounion to Moscow;** 

but compare it with the more modern, 
and, therefore, we may suppose, the 
more just and humane management of 
their external relations, by any of the 
most advanced nations of Europe ! With 
the treatment of Algiers by the French| 





fbr instance ; or of Poland by Russia ; or 
of Hangary and Italy by Austria: or of 
Ireland and India by England ! We shall 
see the latter subduing, plundering, depo- 
pulating, carrying decay or death where- 
eyer they spread, maintaining their supre- 
macy only by armies of functionaries and 
soldiers, who consume the substance and 
blast the industry of their dependents; 
and shaping their entire policy with a 
single eye to their own interests. We 
shall see. also, that they are hated and 
cursed, with unrelenting bitterness, by 
their victims. On the other side, we own 
no subject nations, no colonial victims, no 
trembling provinces — and we never desire 
to own them ; — we waste no fields, we 
min no cities, we exhaust no distant set- 
tlements ; — the weak Indian tribes among 
us we have striven to redeem and civil- 
ize ; the weak Mexican and Spanish races 
about us, a prey to anarchy and misrule. 
we offer the advantages of stable govern- 
ment, of equal laws, of a flourishing and 
refined social life ; and we aim at no alli- 
ances which are not founded on the broad- 
est principles of reciprocal justice and 
goodwill. Away, then, with the base 
calumnies which hold us up to the world 
as a nation of reckless filibusters ! Away 
with the European cant of the invading 
tendencies of Republicanism ! 

*• Our past, at least," as Webster said, " is 
secure." It brings no crimson to our cheeks : 
not, however, that our people are any better 
m themselves than other people — human 
nature, we suppose, is much the same every 
where — but because our free and open in- 
stitutions, through which the convictions 
of men and not the interests of monarchs 
or &milies are expressed, incite no sinister 
and iniquitous proceedings. The glory of 
Republicanism is, that it is aboveboard, 
r^cting solely the extant wisdom and 
justice of the aggregate of its supporters. 

Thus far, we have only disposed of the 
invectives of foreigners, showing what 
gratuitous and unfounded malice they are ; 
but we have yet to consider our subject 
in its most important aspects, or in its 
bearings upon the internal policy of the 
State. The annexation of contiguous ter- 
ritories, in one shape oi another, is a 
question that must constantly arise in the 
course of our progress, and it is well for 
us to know the true principles on which it 
ahould be managed. 

From the time that Adam was sent out 
of the sunset gate of Eden ; from the 
earliest descent of the Scythians upon 
the plains of Iran; from the Phcenician 
settlements in Greece ; the tremendous 
invasions of the Mongolians in Russia ; and 

the dispersion of the Teutonic races over 
Italy, France, and England ; down to the 
exodus of the Pilgrims, and the hegira 
from all lands into the golden reservoirs 
of California, there appears to have been 
a decided movement southward and west- 
ward of the populations of the world. It 
was never constant and continuous, and yetj 
contemplated in large epochs, it was always 
discernible. Sometimes, creeping slowly 
like a silent brook in the shade of forests ; 
sometimes arresting itself like pools in the 
hollows of rich valleys; sometimes, in- 
deed, seeming to recede, and then springs 
ing suddenly from hill-top to hill-top, as 
the lights which bore the news of Gre- 
cian victory, in old Homer's poem, it has 
gone forward, to the gradual civilization 
of the earth. By natural growth, by the 
multiplying ties of trade, by warlike ex- 
cursions, by voluntary migrations, by re- 
volutions and by colonizations, the supe- 
rior races of the great central cradles of 
Western Asia have spread, pursuing the 
paths of the sun, until they now quite 
circle the globe. Nor is there any rei^- 
son for believing that this diffusive can- 
ncUus will be stopped, while there remains 
a remotest island, or secluded western 
nook, to be reduced to the reception of 
Christianity and European arts. An in- 
stinct in the human soul, deeper than the 
wisdom of politics, more powerful than 
the sceptres of states, impels the people 
on, to the accomplishment of that high 
destiny which Providence has plainly re- 
served for our race. 

Annexation, consequently, is an inevi- 
table fact, and it would be in vain for the 
American people to resist the impulses 
which are bearing all nations upward and 
onward, to a. higher development and a 
closer union. Nor, when we consider the 
attitude in which we are placed towards 
other nations of the earth, is it desirable 
for us, or them, that this expansive, yet 
magnifying influence, should be resisted t 
As ihe inheritors of whatever is best in 
modern civilization, possessed of a political 
and social polity which we deem superior 
to every other, carrying with us wherever 
we go the living seeds of freedom, of in- 
telligence, of religion ; our advent every 
where, but particularly among the savage 
and stationary tribes who are nearest to 
us, must be a redemption and a blessing. 
South America and the islands of the sea 
ought to rise up to meet us at our coming, 
and the desert and the solitary places hi 
glad that the hour for breakmg their fatal 
enchantments, the hour of their emanci- 
pation, had arrived. 

If the Canadas, or the provinces of Soutk 




or Central America, were gathered into 
oar Union, by this gradual and natural 
absorption, by this species of national en- 
doitnosiSj they would at once spring into 
new life. In respect to the former, the 
contrasts presented by the river St. I>aw- 
rence, which Lord Durham described, and 
which are not yet effaced, would speedily 
disappear. " On the American side," he 
says, " all is activity and bustle. The fo- 
rests have been widely cleared ; every year 
numerous settlements are formed, and 
thousands of farms are created out of the 
waste ; the country is intersected by roads. 
On the British side, with the exception of 
a few favored spots, where some approach 
to American prosperity is apparent, all 
soems waste and desolate. . . The an- 
dent city of Montreal, which is naturally 
the capital of Canada, will not bear the least 
comparison in any respect with Buffalo, 
which is a creation of yesterday. But it 
18 not in the difference between the larger 
towns on the two sides, that we shall find 
the best cndence of our inferiority. That 
painful but undeniable truth is most mani- 
fest in the country districts, through which 
the line of national separation passes for 
% thousand miles. There on tlie side of 
both the Canadas, and also of New Bruns- 
wick and Nova Scotia, a widely scattered 
population, poor, and apparently unenter- 
prising, though hardy and industrious, se- 
parated by tracts of intervcnmg forests, 
without town or markets, almost without 
roads, living in mean houses, drawing lit- 
tle more than a rude subsistence from 
ill-cultivated land, and seemingly incapa- 
ble of improving their condition, present 
the most instructive contrast to their en- 
terprising and thriving neighbors on the 
American side." The Canadas have rap- 
idly improved since Durham wi-ote, gal- 
Tinized into action chiefly by 'American ex- 
ample and energy, and the larger freedom 
they now enjoy ; but what might not their 
development be if wholly emancipated and 
rcpublicanized ? Or, still more, in respect 
to the silent and baiTcn regions of the 
Southern Continent, what magical trans- 
formations, a change of political relations 
would evoke ? The rich wastes given over 
to the vulture and the serpent, — where the 
nmshine and air of the most delicious cli- 
mate fall upon a desolation, — would blos- 
som and put forth like the golden- fruited 
Hesperides, opening a glorious asylum to 
the over-crowded labor of Southern Eu- 
rope ; the immense rivers which now hear 
no sound, save their own complaining moan 
as they woo in vain the churlish banks that 
spurn their offers of service, would then 
laugh with ships and go rejoicing to the 

sea ; the palsy-smitten Tillages broken into 
pieces before they are built, would teem 
like hives with " singing-masons building 
golden caves;" and the scarcely human 
societies, leprous with indolence, or alter- 
nately benumbed by despotism, or con- 
vulsed by wild, anarchical throes, would 
file harmoniously into order, and like en- 
chanted armies, when the spells of the sor* 
cerers are gone, take up a march of triumph : 

*• Such power there Is in heavenly polity." 

Nor would the incorporation of these 
foreign ingredients into our body, — we 
mean by regular and pacific methods, by 
a normal and organic assimilation, and 
not by any extraneous force or fraud, — 
swell us out to an unmanageable and ple- 
thoric size. It is the distinctive beauty of 
our political structure, rightly interpreted, 
that it admits of an almost indefinite ex- 
tension of the parts without detriment to 
the whole. In the older nations, where 
the governments assume to do every thin^ 
an increase of dimensions is always accom- 
panied by an increase of danger. — the head 
IS unable to control the extremities, whk*h 
fly off into a St. Vitus's dance of revolu- 
tion, or the extremities are paralyzed, 
through a congestion of despotic power in 
the head. But with us there is no such 
liability : the political power, dispersed and 
locali/x^d, the currents of influence pass 
reciprocally frc-n the centre to the circum- 
ference, and frpm the circumference to the 
centre, as in the circulation of the blood ; 
and whether the number of members in 
the system be more or less, the relations 
of strength between them and the head 
remain pretty much the same ; or, rather, 
as our federal force is the net result and 
quotient of the contributions of the sepi^ 
rate States, it is rather strengthened than 
weakened by the addition of now elements. 
Our circle of thirty-one integers works aa 
hannoniously as it did when it was com- 
posed of only thirteen, while the probabil- 
ity of rupture is lessened, from the greater 
number which ure interested in the UnioD. 
A powerful community, like New- York or 
Ohio, might have its own way opposed to 
a mere handful of smaller communities ; 
but opposed to a vast network of commu- 
nities, though never so small in themselves, 
it would be compelled to listen to reason. 
Indeed, the dangers likely to arise in the 
practical workings of our system, will re- 
sult from an excessive ccnlripetal. rather 
than centrifugal tendency, and the annex- 
ation of new States is, therefore, one of the 
best correctives of the vice. 

But be that as it may, it is clear that 
we must maintain some relations to the 




other natkms of the world, either under 
the existing international law, or by treaty, 
or else by regular constitutional agree- 
ment Now, which of the three is the 
best? International law, as we all know, 
is the merest fi^ent in practice, pro- 
verbially uncertain in its principles, with- 
out sanctions or penalties, and wholly in- 
effective when it conflicts with the will of 
powerful states, of which fact the whole 
oontincnt of Europe is witness. Treaties 
of amity and commerce are often only 
temporary, and may be abrogated at the 
option of the parties to them, or openly 
Tiolated, when one of the parties is strong 
and unscrupulous. But a constitutions 
imion, an eternal and brotherly league of 
independent and equal sovereignties, is the 
most permanent, peaceful, and unoppres- 
sive in which states can be joined, — the 
wisest, strongest, and happiest relation 
that can bo instituted among civilized na- 
tions. We are, therefore, decidedly in favor 
of its adoption in settling the terms of our 
intercourse with all the people who are 
around and about us ; carrying our faith 
in its efficacy and beneficence so far, in 
Act, that we expect to behold, at no dis- 
tant day, the whole earth encompassed, 
not bjr warring tribes and jealous nation- 
mliticS; but by a glorious hierarchy of free 
and independent republics. 

The fears, therefore, that some express 
at our assumed velocity and breadth of 
expansion, would, if they were well-found- 
ed, be ungenerous, as well as unmanly 
iuid un-American. They arc petty, un- 
reasoning, and extra-timid. If we ever 
liad swept or were likely to sweep over 
the earth, 8ux>oco-wise, drinking the dews, 
"Vrithering the grass, blearing the eyes 
cf men, or blistering their bodies, there 
>rould then be some excuse for such apprc- 
liensions ; or, if in the might and intensity 
«f the centrifugal impulse there were danger 
f>f dislocating our own system, whirlmg 
the fragments off into measureless space, 
it would become the character of every 
patriot to shout an earnest halt But 
Caucasians as we are, carr>nng the best 
blood of time in our veins, — Anglo-Saxons, 
the inheritors of the richest and profound- 
est civilizations: Puritans, whose religion 
is their most imperishable conviction: 
native Yankees of indomitable enterprise, 
and a capacity for government and self- 
government, which masters every element 
— the effeminacy of climate, the madness 
of gold-hunting, the spite and rage of 
seas and windsw — we go forth as a bene- 
ficent, not a aestructive agency; as the 
bearers of life, not death, to the prostrate 
nations — to the over-ripe or the under-ripe 

— to all who lie on the margins of Beth- 
esda. waiting for the good strong arm to 
thrust them in the invigorating pool. 

Precisely, however, because this ten- 
dency to the assimilation of foreign ingre- 
dients, or to the putting forth of new 
members, is an inevitable incident of our 
growth, — ^because too, of the manifest ad- 
vantages to all concerned, — there is no 
need that it should bo specially fostered or 
stimulated. It will thrive of itself: it 
will supply the fuel of its own fires : it 
requires only a wise direction. A mas- 
terly inactivity is here emphatically the 
rule, for it will better secure us the desir- 
ed result than the noisy, proselytizing, 
buccaneering zeal of over hasty dema- 
gogues. The fruit will fail into our 
hands, when it is ripe, without an officious 
shaking of the tree. Cuba will be ours, 
and Canada and Mexico, too, — if wo want 
them, — in due season, and without the 
wicked impertinence of a war. Industry, 
commerce, silent migrations, the winning 
example of high prosperity joined to a Free- 
dom which s{)orts like the winds around 
an Order which is as firm as the Fynr 
mids, are grappling them by imseen ties, 
and drawing them closer each day, and 
binding them in a unity of intercourse, 
of interest and of friendship, from which 
they will soon find it impossible to break, 
if they would, and from which, also, veiy 
soon, they would not break if thoy could. 
Let us then await patiently the dowries 
of time, whose promises are so complar 
cent and decided, 

" Nor weave with bloody hands the tissue of our line." 

" It should be, moreover, always borne in 
mind, as the truth most certain of all the 
truths that have been demonstrated by 
the experience of nations, that their homo 
policy, their domestic relations, their in- 
ternal development, the concentration, not 
the dispersion, of their energies, are the ob- 
jects to which they should devote their first 
and last, most earnest and best regards. 
It is the most miserable and ruinous of all 
ambitions, which leads nations into dreams 
of external domination and power. ._ The 
wars they engender, deadly as they may 
be, are comparatively nothing to the sap- 
ping, undermining, exhaustinpj drains and 
sluices they open in the whole body and 
every limb and member of the state. 
"Ships, colonies, and commerce," has 
been the cry of the old world cabinets, 
and the effects are seen in bankruptcies, 
in Pelion-upon-Ossas of debt, in rotten 
courts, in degraded and impoverished 
peoples, and in oppressed and decajring 
neighbor-nations. Thus, France, instead 



of giving a chance to her thirty-six mil- 
lions of lively and industrious people, to 
recover and enrich their soils, to open 
roads, to make navigable their streams, 
and to build themselves up in knowledge 
and virtue, has ever been smitten with an 
insane love of foreign influence ; but might 
rather have been smitten with the plague. 
She has overrun and ruinod Lombaray ; 
she has overrun and paralyzed, if not 
ruined, the Netherlands and Holland ; she 
has overrun and arrested the civilization 
of Catalonia ; she has overrun and deeply 
wounded Belgium ; she has been the per- 
petual enemy of the free cities of Germany, 
stirring up thirty years wars, and assist- 
ing Austria in infamous schemes of de- 
struction ; she has invaded (}enoa, Sicily, 
Venice, Corsica, Rome, suppressing them 
time and again with her armies; she 
hangs like a nightmare upon Algeria; 
she maintains penal colonies at Guiana— 
and all with what gain to herself? With 
what ^in ? Heavens ! Look at the semi- 
barbarism of her almost feudal rural popu- 
lation; at the ignorance, licentiousness, 
and crime of her cities ; at her vast agri- 
cultural resources, not only not developed, 
but laden with taxes and debt ; at her 
unstable governments, shifting like the 
forms of a kaleidoscope ; at her Jacqueries, 
her St. Bartholomews, her dragonades, 
her Coups cPEtat; her fusiladed legis- 
lators, and her exiled men of science and 
poets ! Prance, under a true decentralized 
freedom, with the amazing talents of her 
quick-witted and amiable people, left to 
tne construction of their own fortunes, 
might now have been a century in advance 
of where she is ; but she followed the ignis 
fatuus of glory, of power abroad instead 
of industry and peace at home ! England, 
too, in spite of her noble qualities and gi- 
gantic industry, has depopulated Ireland, 
starved India, ruined her West India 
islands, hamstrung the Canadas, in order 
to make distant markets for her trade, 

and yet, her poor at home are 
half-«tarved. earning only one 
what they might for her, whil 
and freer nations are enticing 
commerce of the very dependen 
it has taken whole generations 
torture, and bloodshed to creati 
On the other hand, the Unit 
refraining from the spoliation of 
bora, devoting herself steadily U 
of industry set before her, welc 
people of all nations poor and 
stricting government to its simp] 
securing every man by equal 
giving to every citizen oppori 
honor, fortune, self-culture, — ^1 
short fifty yeara, overtaken the 
vanced nations, has left the otl 
the rear, and in less than ten yeai 
date at which we write, will tak< 
as the first nation of the earth— 
rival — without a peer — as we ha\ 
an enemy, — but, whether with < 
enemies, — able, single-handed, 
her terms, on any question, to 
the self-seeking, and therefon 
monarchies of Europe. By not 
foreign aggrandizement, of whk 
often recklessly accused, she b 
a position which puts it easilT in 
Her strength has been in her 
her ability to cope with the 
grown out of her unwillingness t 
attempt ; and behold her now a n 
example of the superior glory of 
tice, ^x>d will and honest hard y^ 
grant that she may never find < 
walk in the devious paths of i 
raise the battle cry of invasion 
grant too, — we ask it with a doul 
ness, — that she may not, in her] 
forget those that are in advereitj 
may never take part with the 
but give her free hand of sympa 
oppressed, whenever they shall 
the struggle for their rights ! 


With folded hands the lady llet 

In flowing robes of white, 
A globed lamp beside her ooaeh, 

A round of tender light 

With snch a light above her head, 

A little year ago, 
She walked adown the shadowy rale, 

Where the blood-red roses grow I 

A shape, or shadow Joined htr there, 
To fiiiek the royal flower» 

Bat stole the lily firom her braM^ 
Which was her only dower. 

That gone, all went : her falsa lore i 
And then her peace of heart ; 

The hard world fh>wned, her Mend 
She hid in tears apart: 

And now she lies upon her ooaob, 

Amid the dying light. 
Nor wakes to hear the little volet 

That moaas throughoat tiM Blglil 

1864.] JM 


DOWN in the bleak December bay 
The ghostly vessel stands away ; 
Her spars and halyards white with ioe. 
Under the bleak December skies. 
A hundred souls, in company, 
Have left the vessel pensively — 
Have touched the frosty desert there, 
And touched it with thie knees of prayer. 

And now the day begins to dip, 
The night begins to lower 
Over the bay and over the ship 

Neither the desert, nor the sea 
Imposes ; and their pravers are free ; 
But sternly else, the wild imposes ; 
And thorns must grow before the roses. 
And who are these ? — ^and what distress 
The savage- acred wilderness 
On mother, maid, and child, may bringi 
Beseems them for a fearful thing ; 

For now the day begins to dip, 
The night begins to lower 

Over the bay, and over the ship 

But Carver leads (in heart and health 
A hero of the commonwealth) 
The axes that the camp requires. 
To build the lodge, and heap the fires. 
And Standish from his warlike store 
Arrays his men along the shore — 
Distributes weapons resonant, 
And dons his harness militant ; 

For now the day begins to dip, 
The night begins to lower 

Over the bay, and over the ship 
Mayflower ; 

And Rose, his wife, unlocks a chest — 
She sees a Book, in vellum drest, 
She drops a tear and kisses the tome, 
• Thinking of England and of home — 
Might they — ^the Pilgrims, there and then 
Ordained to do the work of men — 
Have seen, in visions of the air. 
While pillowed on the breast of prayer 

(When now the day began to dip, 
The night began to lower 
Over the bay, and over the ship 

The Canaan of their wilderness 
A boundless empire of success ; 
And seen the years of future nights 
Jewelled with myriad household lights ; 
And seen the honey fill the hive ; 
And seen a thousand ships arrive ; 
And heard the wheels of travel go ; 
It would have cheered a thought of woe, 

When now the day began to dip. 
The night began to lower 

Over the bay, and over the ship 





CLARIBEL.— -Zoo, may I ask why, in 
spite of the promise that you early 
gave of poetical ability, no one has seen of 
iate any of the productions of your pen 7 

ZoE (with animation) — Pretty good 
poetry is like a pretty good egg. Who 
ever relished an egg that was at idl doubt- 

Claribel. — True: poetry is a luxury; 
one must have it of the best, or not at all. 

ZoE. — I have been looking this even- 
ing through this volume. 'Tis one of the 
old Annuals so popular in England, when 
poetical glow-worms were treated as great 
lights, and shams of every kind were in 
fashion, for Royal Turveydrop was " first 
gentleman of Europe," and England is too 
loyal not to follow the example of her 
kings. In those days poetastering was at 
its height, and society was afflicted with 
a flux of rhyme. 

Bh« put him on a little shrond, 

A chaplet on his head. 
And gathered early violets 

To strew above the dead. 

True poetry ought to be tonic — strength- 
ening, refreshing, and stimulating. Such 
things as this once honored ^Mittlc 
shroud," do not even rise to the dignity 
of bosh: — they are mere twaddle, — the 
paper baskets of poetry; trumpery no- 
things, made out of materials the most 
flimsy which become in the making flim- 
sier still. 

Claribel. — Bosh ! What is bosh ? 

ZoE. — The Turkish word for nothing. 
Bosh is a wind-bag composition, whether 
in poetry or prose. 

Margaret. — There is great distinction 
to be drawn between " twaddle " and 
" bosh." Of the former any poet's-comer 
in Annual, or Country Newspaper, will 
furnish us a prompt example — some af- 
fecting historic^ or familiar incident done 
into fluent rnyme. The latter is less com- 
mon. It has sound and fury — but not 
sense. It partakes of galimatias and 
phebus.* It soars into the regions of 
the incomprehensibly sublime. It has 
varieties. The Bosh grandiloquent and 
the Bosh transcendental being prominent 

kinds. Of the former, many admirable 
specimens may be found in modem fiction. 
^ ^ Isabel,' he exclaimed, in a voice that 
ran through her heart like ice " — is an in- 
stance I read recently in a popular work. 
But the richest preserve of striking pas- 
sages of '^ bosh" is to bo found, I thmk, in 
the works of a modem Bard, called the 
"Poet of the West" by his admirers. 
Hear him describing the sensations of » 

He stood before the altar ; and a shade 

Of darkness flashed one moment o*er hit tomr. 
Then molted into beanty on his Up, 

And by the same author is a poem call- 
ed the " Wreck at Sea " of which the first 
verse and the last are printed and pab- 
lished as follows : 

The son was low— a^lood of light 

SUpt on the glittering ocean— 
And nighVi dark robM %Der€J<mnuiffimg up 

With slow and solemn motion. 

Gaped wide the deep— down planged the vm^ 

Up roee afeaiftal yell — 
Zkath't ycingnjlapped o*er that sinking deck, 

A shndder I— all was stUL 

ZoE. — ^To write " twaddle " is so easy, 
and the public grew so tolerant, that I am 
astonished donkeys did not leara to braj 
in rhyme. Select a well-known incident ; 
historical should be preferred. Carefollj 
cut off the point, strip it of individoality, 
lard it with " prithees," " mayhaps " and 
"perchance" Don't flavor it with any 
thing. Serve it in lines of six and ei^t| 
with manners of romance, and moral saoot 
in the concluding line. 

Margaret.— It is surprising that some 
of our best modem authors have oocaskm- 
ally degenerated into this kind of compo- 
sition. Byron's Hours of Idleness, and 
half the Hebrew Melodies, are twaadle ; 
and Campbell's works contain poems in 
the most approved poetastical style. Yom 
know his Adelgitha, 

The ordeaTs fatal trumpet sounded, 

And sad, pale Adelgf tha came, _ 
When Ibrth a valiant champion bounded 

And slew the sUnderer of her fiuncc 
Bbe wept delivered from the danger ; 

But when he knelt to claim her glore, 

* La galimatias rcnferme une obscurity profbnde, et n*a de soi-m(me nul sens raisonable. Le ph^bna n'seC 
pas si oMcnr et a un brlllant qui signlflo ou semble signlflcr quolque obose, Ic soleil y entre d'ordlnaiie et e'seC 
oe qui a donn6 lieu en notro langue au nom de phubus, ce n'est pas que quelquo fois le jpbebua ne devleBBe 
obsour Jusqu'& n'etre patt enteDUu, raois alors lo galimatias s* en Joint, ce ne sent que brillans et t^Ddbnt de 
teas ootte. Bo-uoM. EntretUn cTAt-Ut^ et (tSvgiiu, 


A Pot Pourri of Poetry and Parody. 


•8«ek not,** ihe criAd **oh gaUant ttnuiger, 

For haplMS Adelgitha^s love. 
F6r be is In » foreign Ckr-land, 

Whoee enn ehould now hare set me free, 
And I most wear the willow's garland 

For him who's dead or ftlse to me.'' — 
* Nay, say not that hU &ith is tainted ;** 

He raised his vizor.— At the sight 
8be fell into his arms and fidnted :— 

It was indeed her own trae knight 

ZoE. — T%i8 from the man who wrote 
"The Rainbow," the "Last Man," » Ho- 
heolinden," " Lord UlUn's Daughter," " O'- 
Connor's Child!" Oh! the corruptive 
influences of second-rate adulation. One 
wonders in what frame of mind ho could 
hare been, to sit down and write any thing 
in this strain. Perhaps it was penned af- 
ter the excitement of some great effort, 
and so served the purpose of the block- 
beads whose society was a relief to Ma- 
dame du Barry, " J'aimais ^ leur voir," 
said she, " car me reposait Timagination." 
It needs no tax upon one's wits to write 
verses of that kind. Trepan me, and I 
coald compose you portfolis of such stuff 
without a brain« 

Margaret. — Claribel smiles. 

ZoE. — Don't you know, my dear Clari- 
bel, that the criticisms of an amateur are 
sharper than those written by the ever- 
pointed pencil, or sharpest steel pen of a 
critic by profession? Just as in speech 
and private correspondence, we say a thou- 
sand things more cutting than any we 
should choose to print and publish to a 
friend's disadvantage. In private life we 
are all of the family of Bludyer. We 
may not, indeed, cut up a thrce-volumed 
book, and take a dinner and pint of sher- 
ry oat of it at a coffee-room, but we make 
onrselves agreeable guests at the expense 
of the victim we discuss, and amass con- 
versationid capital out of the weakness of 
oar associates. Bludyer would go dinner- 
kflB if authors had no faults, and some of 
08 would be unwelcome company enough 
b«t for our little talent in exposing the 
liait foibles of a friend. But to prove to 
yoa the worth of my recipe — the facility 
of " doing" an incident into fluent rhyme — 
let OS each take a pen, and see how many of 
mch thmgs we can strike off this evening. 

Margaret. — On what subjects. 

ZoB.--On any; "The Fall of Wolfe," 
** The Death of Guatamozin" — any of the 
stock subjects to be found in every book 
of history, or amongst the " examples" in 
toy grammar. 

[A paitse of Jive tninitteSy during which 
ike scratching of pens is heard,) 

ZoB. — I have done. 

Margaret. — And so have L Read 


Upon the sward, beside a rill 

Tbe dying Hero lay, 
The life-blood fW>m his wounded side 

Was ebbing fast away ; 
When through the startled air a cry 

Of sudden triumph ran : 
**They run— our foemen run 1 ** was passed 

Along the struggling van. — 
"Who run ? " exclaimed the dying chief, 

" The French I " was the reply ; 
" Once more on England's pennon lights 

The bird of Victory." 
** Then I die happy f** cried the BraTe, 

^ I am content to dle.^ 
A glow of triumph tinged bis cheek. 

His spirit soared on high. 

Margaret. — Mine is by no means so 
successful. I attempted a different style ; 
the imitation of a Poetess guiltless of 
either " bosh" or •* twaddle." She affects 
the rugged grief style of composition. 
My sympathies cannot follow her through 
such a '* Vale of Misery." Indeed, I see 
no necessity for inviting me to the journey. 
But some women prefer walking abroad 
in storm and rain, when they had better 
be at home ; forgetting what Archbishop 
Leighton has so beautifully said. That 
like the bees '* when there is foul weather 
abroad wc should be busy in the hive." 

Claribel. — Your temperament, Mar- 
garet, disposes you to make yourself com- 
fortable. Had you been here, you would 
have put up an umbrella to break the 
fury of the storm. Something in miti- 
gation of the ills of life, always turns up 
for such as you. 

ZoE. — But the poem. 

Margaret. — 

ONK moment's consolation. 
Soul of my soull Why wert thou made too dead ; 

Why was my soaring spirit linked to thine? 
Why am I taught to fear— ay— taught to/ear 

The tender tones that used to answer minei 
Come blackness— come despair— sweep o*er my brow, 

Sad night, thou gazest on a shivered soul. 
Tears — tears unsluiced my spirit overflow, 

The big drr»pe slow adown my sad face rolL 
Meseemeth that I stand on yon lone shore 

Where once we stood together— thou and I— 
Oaost thou recall the place ? No more— no more ! 

Away sad thoughts !— weak waters dim mine eye. 
Come storm— come darkness— hide ye in mine heart, 

Make there your nest— nurse there your sable 
TJndaanted yet my soul shall bear her part. 

And reap— aye reap— her heritage of good. 

Claribel. — I am ashamed of you, Mar- 
garet. Have you never read her lines on 
" Absence" — lines which ring through my 
memory a daily chime, calling me apart 
from worldly things to better thoughts, 
and those brave deeds which are the com- 
plement of better thoughts, and ought al- 
ways to succeed them. 


A Pot Pourri cf Poetry and Pofoif. 


Oh ! how and by what means nuy I eontrlTe 

To bring the hoar that calls thee back more near; 
How may I teach my drooping hope to live 

UnUI that bleased time-«nd thoa art here? 
ni tell thee : for thy sake I will lay hold 

Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee 
In worthy deeds each moment that is told, 

While thoa belovM one art hx from me. 
80 may this doomed time build np in me 

A thousand graces which shall yet be thine ; 
80 may my love and longing hallowed be, 

And thy dear thoaght an inflnenee dirine. 

Margaret. — Nobody can appreciate the 
beauty of that poem more entirely than I, 
nor that of the other little gem, which a 
Christian Minerva might inscribe upon her 
aegis, and carrying it before her into the 
battle of life, keep herself unspotted from 
the world. 

Better trast all and be deceived. 
And weep tliat trust and that deceiving, 

Than doubt one heart which if believed 
Had blessed ono*B life with true believing. 

Zo£. — ^It is a question of taste, and not 
of appreciation. Margaret does not like 
to see grief bowing at the foot-lights, and 
wUl not throw her a bouquet But see 
what I have done while you were talking. 

Deep hidden in the clouds of circumstance, 
My captive spirit pined Its strength away, 
Waiting the coming of the glory ray. 
Wrapt in a fixed ImmuUbility— 

An awfhl deathlike trance — 
Till the fkint spirit tones came rushing by 
And actuated by its own Intensity 
My spirit soared on high I 

Far out into the Dread 

Their mighty pinions spread. 
Crowned with the lightnings— and the nnceotinf 

Of the immeasurable in our track I 

Till whirling echoing back. 
Pealed the great spirit-minor o*er my head. 
Striking the knell of earthly hopes and fears, 
While the pale glister of an Angel's tears 

Shone o'*er the conquered soul ! 

There ! I maintain that that produc- 
tion is not one whit more incomprehensi- 
ble than the song of the Morning Star to 
Lucifer in the " Drama of Exile." 

Margaret (hesxiaiingly). — I do not de- 
fend the " Song of the Morning Star," nor 
many other things in the " Drama of Ex- 
ile," but I think that there are admira- 
ble beauties in that poem, which should 
have kept it sacred from your satiric 
pen. The moment that the author's muse 
comes down from the shadowy into the 
human, leaving the " Desertness " and 
" spectral Dread," the poem becomes full of 
a beauty and pathos unequalled as I think 
by any other poem by a woman's pen. 
There is a passage in Adam's blessing to 
the Woman, which ought to be printed on 

broad-sheets, and scattered by colporteun 
throughout the length and breadth of these 
United States, till a copy were in the hmndi 
of every individual tainted or taintable 
with the prevailing heresies on the posi- 
tion of woman. 

Bad issue to the woild, thou ahalt go Ibfth 
An angel of the woe thoa didst achieve ; 
Found acceptable to the world ioitead 
Of others of that name, of whoee bright rtept 
Thy deed made bare the hill& Be satltfled; 
Something thou hast to bear throng womaal i ood 
Peculiar Buffering answering to the tin ; 
Some pang paid down for each new huntii liii 
Some weariness in guarding such a lifo ; 
Some coldness fh>m the guarded ; some miatnuit 
From those thou hast too well served; from thoie 

Too loyally some treason : feebleneea 
Within thy heart, and cruelty witboot, 
And pressures of an alien tyranny 
With its dynastic reasons of larger bones 
And stronger sinews. But, go to 1 thy lore 
Shall chaunt itself its own beatitude* 
After its own life-working. A child^ klas 
Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad; 
A poor man, served by thee, ahall make thee ildi; 
An old man, helped by thee, shall make thee atrMg; 
Thou Shalt be served thyself by eveiy aenae 
Of service which thou renderoat 

ZoE. — The tears are in oor eyes, Ifai^ 
garet. I too propose to benefit my sex by 
a speech I shall have the questionabie 
honor to deliver some day at Syrmcoaei 
the capital of the Amazons. "Fellow- 
women," I shall say, "did it ever chanoe 
to you to find yourselves singly or in pain 
in the midst of a wide solitaiy field, sur- 
rounded by moderately excited cattle? 
and did you render a philosophical aocoiuit 
to yourselves of the relief you experienced 
on seeing a small boy advancing tovrards 
you? Tell me, fellow-women, has not 
nature implanted in us a conscbus sense 
of difference on some points— ^may I not 
say inferiority?" 

Margaret. — Zoe, do yoa imagine that 
a woman, who has stCKxl unmoved fiv 
hours on a platform before a raging as- 
sembly of the other sex, is to be daunted. 
as you or I would be, by a drove of cattle ? 

Olaribel. — You are more severe on 
them than Zoe is. She gave them credit 
for retaining some of the most natoral 
feelings of womanhood. But I have heard 
that some of those who wish to create 
perfect equality between the sexes are 
very exxgearUea in society, where they 
are great sticklers foi the present code or 
Ladies' Rights, en attendant the redress 
of the Wrongs of Women. 

Margaret. — It seems to me that if yoa 
make the solution of the question to eOB- 
sist, as some do, in " ignoring the habitiisl 
discrimination of men and women M f 


A Pot Powrri of Poetry and Parody. 


ing separate ckuteSy and. regarding all 
alike as simply penona — numan beings,"* 
that the argument becomes in danger from 
both horns of a dilemma. Once place the 
sexes on all points on an equality as 
'^ simply persons — ^as human beings,'^ and 

DysMtle reuons of larger bon€S 

destroy the equality at once, by creating 
the relation of protector and protected. 

ZoB {catching a moth^ which has 
heenjluttering about the light^ and shak- 
ing him from her handkerchief into the 
open air). — If I never speak at Syracuse 
on Woman's Rights, at least I will aspire 
to the presidency of a society for the pro- 
per r^;ulation of insect suicide. Gray 
millers shall not grill themselves at an 
expense of human feelings in our lights, and 
flies shall be restricted to the use of water, 
and not cream or milk, for purposes of^^^ 
de se. "By the way, " to the great mind 
every thing becomes an incident." Is not 
that in Emerson 1 

Margaret. — I never found it in his 

Claribbl. — Margaret, you once owned 
a very capital imitation of transcendental 

Margaret. — Yes ; in the days of the 
Dial. "Ecstasy the law of Nature." It 
contained all the catch words of the sect, 
and was written by a witty friend. 

Single, malttform creation I 

SoaI-difl8o1ving ecstasy I 
How shall our souls come fhll circle, 

If we dwell not orbed In tbee ? 

Strttb of kings and crime of nations, 

Weakness, wickedness of heart, 
AH are adjuncts to this power, 

All in ecstasy have part 
An-penrading, ever-flowing^ 

OrUng, circling ecstasy I 
Mortal props and rafters Tanisb, 

Prone wa cast oorselyea on tboe 1 

Claribel. — That is not more incom- 
prehensible than the usual run of trans- 
cendental poetry. I remember a few lines 
of " The Sphynx," a poem much admired 
by the understanding few when it came 
out in the Dial. 

The Journeying atoms 
Primordial wfaole^ 
Firmly draw, firmly drive 
By their animate polea. 

Margaret. — Transcendentalism is as a 
lamp gone out. It was a protest against 
Unitarianism, which in the preceding gen- 
eration had been a protest against Puri- 
tanism. It cast a wide glare over New 
England, but the smoky flame died out as 
^eedilj as it had kindled, attesting at 

once the wide-spread feeling of a tDani, 
and the insufficiency of the new faith for its 
satisfaction. Transcendental poetry was 
never of much account. It was mere 
prose snipped into verse and metre, tagged 
with indifferent rhyme. 

Claribel. — I have been reading Mar- 
garet Fuller's Life, of late, and have been 
disappointed very much. Its defisct is m 
its plan. It is like a " Long Thursday " 
London opera night, distracting one with 
acts from half a dozen operas. Margaret 
was eminently a progressive person. The 
interest of the first thirty-five years of hep 
life consists almost entirely in the de- 
velopment of her character. Either of 
the three distinguished gentlemen, Clarke, 
Emerson, and Channing, who wrote the 
book, might have written her biography 5 
but from the system pursued of a plurahty 
of authors, it is entirely impossible to fol- 
low out her development. As soon as we 
fancy we have gained a certain insight 
into her character, the clew is broken off 
and another fastened on. 

Margaret. — She died with Yanitas 
Vanitatum inscribed on all her labor, with 
no wish granted her on earth except that 
touching prayer for death with her husband 
and her child. And in the hour of ship- 
wreck her pride of intellect — her habit of 
command, may have been fatal to herself 
and those she loved. She had not learned 
her woman's lesson of implicit obedience 
in time of danger, es|)ecially at sea. An 
ignorant emigrant mother might, with a 
kiss of agony — a prayer of trust, have 
given up her baby into the hands of the 
good steward who pledged his life to save 
the boy. and have rc-einbraced her little 
one on the sand-hills of Fire Island ; but 
nothing would induce Margaret to part 
from her husband and her child. 

Claribel. — It is a touching fact, that 
the only papers of any value which escaped 
the wreck, were the love letters that had 
passed between her and Ossoli. 

Margaret. — Yes; and these records 
of a late but tender married love, and the 
marble form of her dead infant, seem like 
a mute plea for sisterhood and gentle 
judgment made by this woman, so beloved 
yet so calumniated, whose own mind, like 
a troubled sea, cast up mire, and dirt, and 
gold, and gems. ^' Walking through dry 
places, seeking rest, and finding none," 
might be the motto for her biography. 
The book, such as it is, is the saddest 
thing I ever read, not only from the cir- 
cumstances of her life, which were of 
themselves sufficiently trying, but from 
her entire and constant disappointment in 
her own theories. She constantly ex- 


A Pot Pourri of Poetry and Parody. 


pressed strongly her weariness of life — 
now all had failed ; but there is no look- 
ing beyond ; no resting on the hope of an 
eternal home, where we shall see all things 
in the light of God. 

Claribel. — For some months before 
the wreck, her boy had been teaching her 
the lessons she should have learned in her 
own infancy. Her heart had been bom 
old, and it was growing young. He might 
also have led her to a simple faith. She 
might, guiding his infant steps, have en- 
teml " as a little child " the kingdom of 

ZoE. — While you have been talking, I 
have made another poem. 


*' Put oat the \ig\kt,*^SUte$ptmrt, 

FI7, ally sprite ; Imprisoned now no morei 
Ilssto to tlie miMMy ddls where vlolots lic^ 

Upon the pinions of the »outh wind soar, 
And all rejoicing in thy liberty ; 
Hence, cliild of froedom, fly 1 

Ilie to the Rn>enwood, where the gushing rillB 
Flow swiftly onward on their gentle way, 

Where the glad nightingale hor vesper trills, 
And flowerets fold tholr leaves at close of day; 
Haste Joyously away I 

Where the pine forest rears ltd stately head. 
Where the pale primnMe ponn its rich peif ume, 

Where tullfM bright their gaudy petals shed, 
And the younie roses all unreckcd of bloom 
Amid Uie deepening gloom. 

Hence I cleave once more the blue ethereal air, 
And when the moon Illumes the ocean's breast, 

Seek thee simie bed beside the waters fair. 
And when the earth in her dark robes Is drest 
Fold thy light wings and rest I 

Margaret. — That is so speciously non- 
sensical, that it would be worth while to 
try if it might not impose on the editor of 
some literary journal, who, deceived by the 
sweetness of the metre, might print it in 
good faith as the production of a disciple 
of Mrs. Ilcmans. 

ZoE. — Multitudes of published poems 
are to the full as absunl. Did we ever 
show you, Claribel, the poem Margaret 
and I once wrote to see what we could do 
as a bona fide joint impromptu ? Vile as 
it is, it is an average specimen of the stylo 
of poem to which it belongs. We agreed 
to compose in alternate lines. Neither 
was to hesitate or change a word. We 
started without any design, nor did we 
find one, till I gave the two last lines in a 
breath and wrote over it a title. 


They wandered slowly o'er the plain, 

The father and the duogbter, 
Until they reached a silvery ]ak» 

Of dear and placid water. 

Where Bitting uidly l^ its aide 
Her tears dropped slowly in ; 

They were soft tears of woman^i pridi^ 
Of sorrow, not of dn. 

There came a naiad fhrni the wtvc^ 
And caught them in a shell I 

More pnroly white than moantala-na 
She caught them as they fell 

The fkther watched the glancing sprite 
And bending o'er his child. 

He said with accents low and soft, 
And Ups that Ikintly smiled— 

** Behold, sweet girl, the ways ofloT*; 

Those tears that sadly fell. 
Shall prove bright gems of predoni wt 

Hid in that prison sbelL** 

Claribel. — Was that reallj 
promptu 7 

ZoE. — I hope you don't suppose 
any thing else. It was repeated ofl 
out pause, as I have said it to you* 

Maroaket. — I can be more len 
ori^nal trash, I think, than to th( 
which spoils a foreign poet by trans 
I greatly prefer to read the works < 
foreign bard (if I cannot understanc 
in his own tongue), through the m 
of a prose translation in a third lai^ 
One IS not annoyed by awkward £] 
and the poetry retains a sort of 1 

Claribel. — By the way, Gcrmui 
may be literally translated^ and the 1 
version of a German work &;aiiu 
little foreign flavor ; but Frenchifiec 
lish is a caricature of fine writini 
justice may be best done to a 1 
author by rendering his work, not 
for word, but idiom for idiom. 

ZoE. — I seldom read poetical ti 
tions without thinking of what the 
ney draper aptly said, that Homer t 
Pope was ^* unclassickedj not transl 

Margaret. — A few years since 
literary miss, and forward schoolbo] 
their hands upon translation, and 1 
suit was, both so vile and so volum 
that it is a mercy the task of compfl 
edition of the " Poets and Poetry 
rope " was not appropriated by oim 
as Carlyle says, would have edited 
as one *' edits wagon loads of brokeo 
and dry mortar, simply by tumbli 
the wagon." 

Claribel. — One of our very best 
lish transl-itions, is Leigh Hunt's si 
version of Redi's Bacchanalian 
praise of the wines of Tuscany. 

And drink of the wine of the Tine 
That sparkles warm in Bansovine I 

Those lines are more musical thi 
Italian — and think of the old gent 
having been a water-drinker tS&r a 


A Pot Pourri of Poetry and Parody. 


ZoE. — He sings the praise of ice as 
masically and enthusiastically as that of 
the vine* If I were a member of the 
skating club, I'd skate an inscription from 
the Ode on Lake Wenham. 

Margaret.— Reading a translated poem 
ought to be made a punishment for not 
having studied the language of the origi- 
nal, and therefore I would never find fault 
with a translation^ like Gary's Dante, in 
which the strained mvolved English makes 
the author's meaning harder to get at than 
it would be to a student with common 
sense in the original with even an imper- 
fisct knowledge of the poet's tongue ; but 
the huge mass of modem poeti^ trans- 
lation is in the ^lib versification of the 
Laura Matilda soiool. I speak feelingly 
upon this subject because I number 
amongst the sins or my youth a transla- 
tion, which I suffered to appear in print, of 
what was probably in the original a rude, 
roug^ broken, and effective ejaculatory 
people's ballad. I reduced it to smooth 
annual-like stanzas — reminding me when- 
ever I think of it, of Champagne or spark- 
lii^ Moselle in a cut glass decanter. It 
was courteously alluded to, too, at the-time, 
by no less an authority than a London 
Quarterly Reviewer ! 

ZoE.~Who can write a respectable im- 
itation of the national poetry of the old 
Sherwood Forest days? Why is it that 
the Ballad, the earliest expression of pop- 
ular feeling dies out at the approach of 
civilization ? Sir Walter Scott's " Glcn- 
finlas " is scarcely worth the trouble of 
reprint — and if you want to see degenera- 
tion, compare the fragment " Baruiram'a 
Dirge" with "Elfinland Weed." or « Ru- 
dicer," or the "Eve of St John." 

Margaret. — ^It was always a proof to 
me how greatly the national taste for poe- 
try was ux gone from original simplicity 
in Johnson's days, that Chatterton's imi- 
tation was so widely mistaken for a gen- 
uine old Ballad. Kny one familiar with 
Ellk, Ritson, and Bishop Percy could, it 
seems to me, detect the forgery in half a 
line. There is another vice of ordinary 
translation — ^I mean expansion — which in- 
terfores with our rendering the lays of an 
earlier day. A nation in its infancy lisps 
in numbers, intent not on its form of 
speech, but the expression of its feeling. 
When it has acquired greater command of 
language it is so pleased by " the beauty 

and newness of its art " that it floods its 
ideas with words, and loses the conciseness 
and simplicity, and at the same lime the 
pre-Raphaelitic attention to details, which 
characterized its earlier poetry. 

ZoE. — To resume your champagne simile 
it would be well if our translators in de- 
canting would be content to give us du 
champagne non mousseau at least free 
from the adulteration of their own turnip 
juice or gooseberry. 

G*e8t le bon rol Dagobert 
Qui mit 8a cnlotte A ronvera. 

Translate that, Margaret 
Margaret. — 

The Monarch roused him from hisslambers. 
The foe came on, and great tholr numbers. 
Good was the king— a -warrior bravo, 
Bold Dagobert the name they gave. 
8o hasty dressed he for the row, etrs, 
That wrong side out ho donned his trowsers. 

ZoE. — You are not competent to the 
task, Margaret. You have no genius for 
redundancy. The nursery distich has five 
principal words. These you have only 
expanded into a line a-piece with one to 
spare for the interpolation of your own 
giratuitous supposition. You have given, 
however, the jerky way in which some 
folks translate epigrams : 

Claribel. — It is nearly twelve o'clock, 

"Bee, we have wasted half a summer's night 1 " 

may we not say with Artevcld. You 
have damaged the reputation of poets we 
all love; and mercy and truth have not 
met together in your estimate of the poet- 
lings. What good docs it do to point out 
spots in the sun? Leave us to fancy him 
all brightness. 

ZcE. — What good may I have done to 
poetlings? Such good as may be done 
by nailing a dead hawk to a barn door ! 
Nor does it do us harm to turn our opin- 
ion of our favorites sometimes wrong- 
side out, and ravel out unsightly threads. 
And principally good is done by reflections 
on this subject, because young writers may 
be warned to have an eye to sense, and 
some may be scared, as Margaret and I 
have been, from second-rate attempts at 
versification. A verse containing bits of 
broken similes is not redeemed by unim- 
peachableness of rhyme — or sweetness of 

▼OL. IIL— 14 


The Lateit mstorie Ihubt : 



[We shall probftblj not again bo called upon to glre place to another article on the snbject of the I 
and wc odIj do so now in Jnstioe to our readers, whose cmiosit/ has been exdted by the two prerioni 
from Mr. Hanson, and who may consider themselvee entitled to know all the developments which ha 
made in tliis strange history since his last commnnication. The first article which we published on t 
Ject, '* Have wc a Bourbon amongst us t ** was Introduced by a letter fh>m one of the most distingoiahe^ 
men of the Episcopal Cbu^cl^ vouching for the respectability and dbinterested zeal of the author, aac 
lowing review is by another eminent clergyman of the same church, who, as will be seen, has had tb« 
tage of knowing; Mr. Williams from his boyhood, and whose testimony is beyond the sospicloa of 
motives or partisan zeal— Ed. P. H.} 

Teb Lost rnnrcs : fiicts tending to prove the iden- 
tity of Louis the Seventeenth of France, and the 
Bev. Elcazer William^ Missionary among the In- 
dians of North America. By John H. Hanson. 
New- York : O. P. Fatnam & Ga ISdi. pp. 478. 

THE Rev. Mr. Hanson, author of the 
articles on this subject published in 
this magazine in February and April of 
last year, avowed his deep interest in the 
question from the start, and has not hesi- 
tated to declare his conviction, that the 
Rev. Eleazer Williams is the son of Louis 
Sixteenth of France, and, consequently, 
the Dauphin, who was alleged to have 
died in the tower of the Temple at Paris, on 
the 8th of June 1795. Under such an im- 
pression, it was not to be expected that 
Mr. Hanson, after all that he had done, 
would let the subject sleep. He has, ac- 
cordingly, given it diligent attention — has 
examined critically all that has been writ- 
ten and said against the claims of Mr. 
Williams — has travelled extensively, to 
look up additional evidence — and has fi- 
nally come forth with the result of his in- 
vestigations, in a handsome duodecimo of 
479 pages, in a little less than a year after 
his. first article on the subject was pub- 
lished. The volume bears the title of the 
TBOtto at the head of this article. The 
Lost Prince.. And Mr. Hanson has not 
labored in vain. He has certainly accom- 
plished something. We may even say, 
he has done a good deal. Where his work 
does not produce conviction, it will at 
least command respect He has, we think, 
cleared the way for, and abundantly justi- 
fied the following propositions : 

L The Dauphin did not die in the 
Temple, as the French Government alleged 
at the time, and as has been commonly 

2. The child that died there was clan- 
destinely introduced as a substitute for 
the Dauphin, while the Dauphin was se- 
cretly carried away. 

3. Ho was brought to America, and 
disposed of, with the intent that he should 
never appear as a claimant of the throno 
of France. 

4. Two French refugees, as thei 
supposed to be, a man and woma 
peared in Albany, N. Y., in 17 
charge of two children, a boy an 
under such circumstances as to just 
theory, that the boy was the Dai 
and that they left Albany for par 

5. In the same year, 1795, two F 
men, one of them having the appe 
of a Roman Catholic priest, brouf 
weak, sickly boy, in a state of men* 
becility," to l^conderoga, and lej 
with the Indians. The child was a 
by an Iroquois chief, named Thomii 

6. This child is proved to be tb 
Eleazer Williams. 

7. Mr. Williams is not an Indian 

8. The Duchess D'Angonl^me, a 
other members of the French Bonrl 
mily, have always known that th 
phin did not die in the Temjdo, and i 
was carried to America. 

9. The same members of the ! 
Royal family have always been w 
vised, so as to believe the fact, th 
Dauphin was still alive, in the pei 
the Rev. Eleazer Williams. 

We do not say that all these p 
tions are clearly demonstrated ; fo 
there would be no remaining qo 
Some of them are, doubtless, bett€ 
blished than others. Some, indei 
proved beyond the possibility of 
But the sum of probabilities which 
around the more doubtful, is of a 
and character fully to justify the ( 
sion, that Mr. Williams may be tb 
phin, and, perhaps, to justify the 
that he actually is so. Mr. Hans 
prefaced his argument by the fol 
two mottos, which appear on hif 
page : ^^ There is no historical 
against which obstinacy cannot rais 
objections. Many people think thex 
justified in asserting, against an 
historical fact, its impossibility, v 
considering, that nothing is true or 
in the eye of history becmase it is p 


Problem of the Loet Prmee. 


or improbable, bat simplj because, as- 
suming its general logical possibility, it 
can be proved to be or not to be a fact" — 
Buruen. '* On appealing, after a number 
of years, to the evidence of facts, it will 
always be found, in the end, that proba- 
bility is, in all tilings, the best symptom 
of truth." — Lamartine. According to 
the principle of these two mottos, wherein 
the above propositions, as stated by us, 
are not clearly demonstrated, they may 
be safely weighed in the balance of proba- 
bilities ; and it is on this principle that we 
have thought proper to give them form 
and place. The negative of either of them 
cannot be established by like probabilities, 
as, for example, in the contradiction be- 
tween Mr. Williams and the Prince de 
Joinvillc, which, indeed, has no direct 
bearing on either of the propositions we have 
laid down, though it may passibly be re- 
nrded as having an incidental relation. 
But, assuming that the Prince de Join- 
ville was disappointed in the result of his 
interview with Mr. Williams^ it is easy to 
Me, that he was forced into this contradio- 
tion by his plan and policy, admitting the 
facts allf^ed by Mr. Williams. Here the 
role of probability applies with great 
force in favor of Mr. Williams' account, as 
it is very improbable that the Prince 
would assent to its truth. He could not 
do it, in consistency with the alleged pur- 
pose of his mission. 

Mr. Hanson, by his industry and zeal 
in this cause, has certainly collected most 
important and vital evidence pn this ques- 
tion, since his first papers were published, 
m February and April of last year ; ana 
m the volume now under consideration, 
he has grouped all the testimony in the 
case with great skill and with telling ef- 
fect For his jseal he needs no apology ; 
for he professes to believe in his story, 
vfaich, if true, is worthy of any man's 
enthusiasm. The first item of additional 
evidence brought forward, which we pro- 
pose to notice, is the second affidavit of 
iCr. Williams' reputed mother, Mary Ann 
Williams, which was made by her to cor- 
rect the fiilse statements of the first To 
apeak in the mildest terms that will pro- 
perly characterize the discrepancy be- 
tween the two documents, as it applies to 
the question at issue, it is a most as- 
tooncung disclosure — astounding not onl^ 
Ifor the sudden flood of light which it 
easts on the main question, but especially 
aod altogether more astounding for the 
audacity of the fraud practis^ in the 
means of obtaining, and in the mode of 
uttering, tlie first affidavit This docu- 
■MD^ it would 6eem, was obtained at the 

instance of M. De Courcy, though there 
is no evidence that he gave instructions 
that would suggest or justify the fraud. 
It appears, however, to have been quite 
acceptable to him. as might have been 
expected from his known feelings. For 
what reasons he took it to France, before 
it was published here, or whether he went 
expressly on that errand, we are not in- 
formed. It is natural to suppose, from 
the fact of his going to France with this 
document in his pocket, that it required 
to bo submitted there. He then returned 
it to New- York, to be published in the 
Courrier dea EtcUa Unis^ from which 
journal it went the rounds of the papers 
of the country, silencing, as was supposed 
at the time, the pretensions of Mr Wil- 
liams, and overwhelming them with ridi- 
cule and contempt. The history of this 
remarkable document is sufficiently indi- 
cated by the following certificate : 

*^ I certify that the aflSdavit sworn to before me ia 
March last, by Mrs. Mary Ann Williams, was in the 
English language. She came to my office in Hi)gan»- 
bnrgh, either in companj with, or met there, the 
Bev. Francis Marcoux, Roman Catholic priest at St 
Bcgis. Two Indians wero also present Mr. Mar> 
coux acted as Interpreter, and put the qneetions to her 
in the Indian language, and interpreted them in Eng- 
lish. A. FULTOX, J. P. 

*• Hogansburgh, Julj/ 8, 16M.'' 

It will be observed, that Mrs. Williams 
gave her evidence in the Indian language, 
not understanding English ; and that >Ir 
Marcoux interpreted it to the Justice of 
the Peace, Mr. Fulton, in English, to be 
put down, sworn to, and published in 
that language. It was executed and pub- 
lished accordingly, but, in all the par-' 
ticulars mentioned in this affidavit, touch- 
ing the question before the public, Mrs. 
Williams is made to contradict her re- 
puted son, the Rev. Mr. Williams, and to 
implicate him in false statements. She is 
made repeatedly to declare, that Eleazer 
Williams is her own son; to deny the 
story to the contrary, and to maintain 
June as the month in which she thinks 
he was bom. Suffice it to state, that she 
is made to say and swear to in English, a 
language which she did not understand, 
many things important to the point in 
issue, which she did not say in her own 
tongue, which she did not intend to say, 
and which she could not say with truth 
and a good conscience ; all which, when 
she came to have it explained to her, as it 
really was, she entirely repudiated, and 
went before the same magistrate, Mr. 
Fulton, a second time, and made a new 
affidavit in her own language; and not- 
withstanding she was followed up by Mr. 


The Latest HieUmc Doubt : 


Marconz's friends, with assiduous efforts 
to embarrass her, and to prevent her from 
purging her conscience, she nevertheless, 
in her second affidavit, declared, that the 
Rev. Eleazer Williams was an adopted 
child, and corrected all the other points in 
which she had been misinterpreted by Mr. 
Marcoux in her first affidavit. Mrs. Wil- 
liams swears, in her second affidavit, that 
Mr. Marcoux, with others, some women, 
persuaded her to make the first and that 
she found, when the first was explained 
to her, that it contained things which she 
did not intend to say, and which were not 
true; that is, all the material points of 
the case. These two affidavits, and the 
history of them, are given in the twentieth 
chapter of the book now under notice, and 
they claim an attentive perusal by those 
who desire to understand the merits of 
this controversy. We need not name the 
legal or technical denommation which 
characterizes this fraud, as all know that 
it constitutes a very high crime. Mr. 
Hanson might well be eloquent, as he is, 
on this branch of his argument We cite 
a single sentence : ^' Taking advantage of 
her ignorance of all languages, but Indian, 
and relying upon the obscurity of a bar- 
baric tongue, to hide from the world his 
imposture, this clergyman falsely inter- 
prets her answers to the magistrate, sub- 
stitutes wholesale statements, adapted to 
his own ends, for those which she in real- 
ity makes; then falsely interprets his in- 
terpretation to her, procures her oath to 
his fabrication, poisons the fountains of 
truth and justice at their primal and most 
sacred source, add seeks to send the poor 
woman into the grave with a sworn lie 
upon her lips, against the child of her 
adoption, that he might at once destroy 
his reputation, and deceive the world 
upon a grave question of history." And 
when M. De Courcy gets possession of 
this precious document, ho goes on a mis- 
sion to France, peradventure to have it 
determined there when and where it shall 
be published ; and it is sent back to be 
published in New-York. 

It is true that this enormity in the social 
state docs not prove that the Rev. Eleazer 
Williams is the son of Louis Sixteenth ; 
but it does prove that man must have a 
strong motive, and should receive no tri- 
fling compensation, to practice subornation 
of perjury to prevent the establishment of 
such an historical fact It proves, more- 
over, that there is some stupendous wrong 
in this business, be it to rob a bom prince 
of his right to a throne, or a private and 
humble individual of his character, the lat- 
ter of which may, possibly, in this case, be 

more highly priz^ than the former. So 
palpable a fraud too, and a fraud of such a 
character, will naturally lead men to think, 
that, after all, there is something in this 
question not only deserving of oonsidera- 
tioion, but of very grave import There is 
not, perhaps, in the whole history of this 
complicated affair, another incident of a 
more striking and impressive character. 
Every one will ask, what could be the mo- 
tive of this subornation of peijury ? and 
let him who can, answer. 

Another interesting and instructive part 
of the additional evidence adduced by Mr. 
Hanson, is the narrative, and more sucdnGt 
affidavit, of Mrs. Brown, of New Orleans, 
also given in the twentieth chapter of the 
book, and in Appendix N., Mrs. Reid certi- 
fies by affidavit to the (^aracter of Mrs. 
Brown, and the Rev. Mr. Whitall, in the 
same way, to that of Mrs. Rdd. The credi- 
bility of the testimony is well guaranteed. 
Mrs. Brown was formerly wife of the Secre- 
tary of Count D' Artois, and resided six 
years, from 1804 to 1810, at Holyrood 
House, Edinburgh, with the royal exiles ; 
and for nearly as long a time afterwards, she 
was on terms of intimacy with the Bourbon 
family, and did them seme service, whick 
was highly appreciated. Her position as 
wife of the Secretary of the Count, was 
doubtless above that of a domestic Hence^ 
while in exile, the Dudiess d'AngouI^me 
seems to have admitted her to some de- 
gree of confidence. The knowledge,^how- 
ever, which she attained from the Duchess^ 
and through other channels, while in this 
relation to the royal family, of the Rer. . 
Eleazer Williams, as the recognized Dau- 
phin, seems to have been purely accidental, 
and it is all the more valuable on that ac- 
count. She testifies that the Duchess 
d'Angouldme told her, that ^She knew 
the Dauphin was alive and safe in Ameri- 
ca." The affidavit also proves, that the 
royal family knew that he was called bj 
the name of Williams ; but they said " he 
was incompetent to reign ;" or as detailed 
more particularly by Mr. Hanson, page 
420, ^^ Mrs Brown went on to say, that, 
according to Mrs. Chamberlain's state- 
ment (Mrs. Chamberlain was wife to the 
Secretary of Count De Coigny.) the sub- 
ject had been much discussed in the pal- 
ace, and that the royal family said, Wil- 
liams was incompetent to reign, and his 
elevation to the throne would only increase 
the difficulties of the times — that a man 
had come out from America to confer with 
them on the sul^ect, and that she had seen 
him. Money was given to this man, and 
he returned to America." Mrs. Brown 
had often heard m the royal ikmil j, that 


PrtjhUm <^ the Lost Prinoe. 


Bellanger was the name of the man who 
carried the Dauphin to America. Mrs. 
Brown was an old and retired lady, had 
passed through many trying vicissitudes 
of life, and had nothing more to hope for 
from the world, being on the borders of 
the grave, and dying of a cancer in the 
breast Her testimony is simple, and ap- 
parently honest It is entirely indepen- 
dent of all other sources ; and yet, so ffur 
as it goes, it is perfectly coincident with 
the history of Mr. Williams' life. She was 
never before acquainted with anybody, 
except the members of the royal family, 
who knew any thing about Mr. Williams. 
This, certainly, is a very remarkable fact 
The name of Williams she knew well as 
being that under which the Dauphin was 
known to the royal family ; but his Chris- 
tian name she had forgotten. When asked 
if it were Joseph, or Aaron, or some oth- 
ers, she promptly said. No; but when 
Eleazer wias mentioned, her memory seem- 
ed to brighten up, and she said, " It seems 
to me it was Eleazer." If Mrs. Brown's 
evidence is to be received, it proves, that 
the history of Mr. Williams was as well 
known to the royal family, as to any of 
those who have been personally acquaint- 
ed with him all his life in this country. 
It is probable, from all accounts, that the 
Duchess d'Angoul^me, while a young per- 
son, supposed her brother the Dauphin 
iras dead. But the Duke do Provence, 
who came to the throne as Louis the 
Eighteenth, who plotted against his broth- 
er, Louis the Sixteenth, in the progress of 
the Revolution, and who is supposed to 
have intrigued to get Bellanger into the 
Tower, in charge of the Dauphin, is known 
to have had the care of his niece till her 
marriage ; and it were strange, if he could 
not prepare her mind, after the horrors of 
the Revolution were chiefly obliterated, 
and when she herself was interested in the 
exclusion of the Dauphin from the throne, 
to receive the intelligence, that her brother 
was yet alive, but in a condition that un- 
fitted him for the assumption of regal 
Kwcr. But the Duchess was not a Lady 
icbeth, and conscience will always work 
in tender minds. It is in evidence, that 
she went down to the grave with a weighty 
sorrow upon her heart. 

Mrs. Brown never had supposed that 
the information she possessed on this sub- 
ject could be of any practical importance. 
She obtained it accidentally, and had oc- 
casionally spoken of Mr. Williams acci- 
dentally. Mrs. Rcid had heard her speak 
of him for the last fifteen years, as an in- 
teresting item in the history of the royal 
Cunily, in whidi she 83rmpathized ; but 

neither she nor her auditors ever supposed 
that any thing would come of it. All this 
— and it is by no means inconsiderable — 
is manifestly a distinct and independent 
chapter in the field of evidence on this 
subject; and being perfectly and even 
strikingly coincident ^^ith all the rest, it 
adds to the sum of probabilities belonging 
to the question a quantity of great weight 
and force. It is more especially important, 
as it shows, first, that the royal family 
never had any doubt that Mr. Williams 
was the Dauphin ; and next, that they have 
never failed to keep themselves well in- 
formed about him. Admitting these facts, 
the theory of the case supposes that he was 
sent here to get rid of him, and that, so 
long as this purpose could be maintained, 
there was humanity enough in the family 
to take some interest in his obscure and 
humble fortunes, and in an indirect way, 
and by occult agencies, to administer oc- 
casionally to his support and comfort. It 
will be seen, also, that this theory tallies 
exactly with the interest in Mr. Williams 
shown by the Louis Philippe family, and 
with the alleged mission of the Prince 
de Joinville to Green Bay. 

We will now return to propositions laid 
down by us, in the former part of this 

1. The Dauphin did not die in the Tem- 
ple. The evidence on this point must, we 
think, now be regarded as conclusive. Mr. 
Hanson has collected and arranged it most 
satisfactorily. It amounts to demonstra- 
tion. We may perhaps say, that the in- 
stincts of historical acumen have long 
since decided this point against the alleged 
death of the Dauphin in the Temple ; or 
rather, they have never been able to enter- 
tain it as a fact. Even to superficial ob- 
servers, it has always seemed, more or less, 
as a got up affair, or political trick played 
off on the public. In view of the allq^ed 
facts of the case, wrapped in so much ob- 
scurity, no strong mind has ever been sa- 
tisfied with the proces verbal ordered and 
sanctioned by the Convention. The theo- 
ry of the Dauphin's escape supposes that 
the Duke de Provence had. by his intrigues, 
outwitted the Convention. The Duke had 
got rid of his brother, Louis XVI.. as he 
had wishedj without having the responsi- 
bility of his decapitation; and the only 
obstacle now in his way to the throne was 
the Dauphin. But Dessaux, the first 
physician in all France, had pronounced 
that his disease was not incurable, and 
that with proper treatment, he might get 
well ; or, as the Duchess d' Angoullmesays, 
"he undertook to cure him." Dessaux 
suddenly dies, with rumors whispered 


The Latest HUtoric Doubt: 


about, that he had been poisoned. His 
medical pupil. M. Abcill^, uniformly said 
he was poisoned. The appointed physi- 
cian of the Dauphin, attached to the roy- 
al family, who would naturally feel the 
strongest interest in the life and health of 
the child, who had pronounced his com- 
plaints by no means alarming, and who 
manifestly felt a confidence that he could 
raise him up again, is out of the way. They 
who, in so great an emergency as that of 
opening the way to a throne for a favorite, 
would not pause at the secret disposal of 
the life of a private citizen, might, never- 
theless, shrink from imbruing their hands 
in the blood of a prince ; more especially, 
if that prince could, by any means, be 
spirited away, put beyond sight and hear- 
ing of the public, and a sickly child be 
made to die in his place as the Dauphin. 
Certain it is.that Bellangcr, in the interest 
of the Duke du Provence and of his party, 
and by their influence, was introduced to the 
Temple, just at this time, as commissary, 
and spent a day there, having every thing 
his own way. while others acting in concert 
with him were in and about the Temple. 
If the Dauphin was not carried off at this 
time, and another sick child substituted, 
it was not because they had not the most 
favorable opportunity. It is no less cer- 
tain, that the archives of police in France 
will show the record of an order, dated 
the 8th of June, 1795, the day on which 
the child in the Temple died, which was 
sent out to the departments, to arrest, on 
every high-road in France, lany travellers 
bearing with them a child of eight years 
old or thereabouts, as there had been an 
escape of royalists from the Temple. But, 
if it was important to the Duke de Pro- 
vence that the Dauphin should be carried 
off, as he was not likely to die a natural 
death, it was equally important to the Con- 
vention, that he should be supposed to 
have died in the Temple ; and a child did 
die there on the 8th of June. Hence the 
sham of the procds verbal, and the hasty 
and irreverent funeral of the child. Hence, 
when Louis XVIU. ordered prayers for 
the souls of those members of the royal 
family who perished in the Revolution,' ho 
was not impious enough to order pray- 
ers for the soul of Charles Louis, the 
Dauphin. Hence the searching eye of 
astute historians has never been able to 
find the death of the Dauphin. Hence 
the studious abstinence of the Bourbons, 
when in power, from too much pains of 
search for the bones of the Dauphin. And 
hence the uniform belief of the Bourbon 
family of France, down to this time, that 
the Dauphin waa alive, and in America. 

Should they not know where they had 
sent him ? And should not the common 
dictates of humanity, even in such aa 
iniquitous plot, prompt them to observe 
the track of their victim, so long as be 
did not threaten to rise and compass thdr 
deep damnation 1 They must watch kim 
any how, to see that he had no chance of 
doing so. We may, perhaps, be justified 
in saying, that a clearer case was never 
made out, in the records of historical evi- 
dence, than that the alleged death of the 
Dauphin was a political &brication, which 
the French Convention, since the Dauphin 
had slipped through their fingers, and the 
royal family were all that time equally 
interested in maintaining before the world. 
We have no space to present even a tithe 
of the evidence on the point 

2. Our second proposition is, that the 
child that died in the Temple was clan- 
destinely introduced as a substitute for the 
Dauphin, while the Dauphin was secretlj 
carried away. 

Even Beauchesne has left a chasm in 
his narrative, amply sufficient for the ac- 
complishment of this object, viz., from the 
31st of May, when Bellanger lefl the Tem- 
ple, to the 5th of June. In pandering to 
the tastes of that class of religionists in 
the Church of Rome, who delight in no- 
thing so much as in the supernatural and 
miraculous, Beauchesne has utterly min- 
ed himself in the estimation of all sober 
and right-minded men, Christians and 
others. That want of honesty whidi 
could revel in such arrant fictions, destroys 
his character for credibility in all things 
else, except as verified by other author- 
ities. He was undoubtedly the paid agent 
of his employers, and wrote for a puly. 
This is all we choose to say of a man who 
could be guilty of such rant, except that 
we have no objection to any of the things 
he has chosen to put in the mouth of the 
child which Bellanger left behind him 
when he took away the Dauphin, as they 
cahy the stamp of their fictitious and ut- 
terly incredible character on the lace of 
them. For nursery tales they might do 
very well ; but to be put forward as his- 
tory, is an insult to every lover of truth. 
For the multifarious evidence which Mr. 
Hanson has adduced on the disappearance 
of the Dauphin, and the introduction of 
another sick child in his place, who died 
there on the 8th of June, we must refer 
to his o^-n argument, after remaining 
that, in our opinion, no question of history 
ever had a more satisfactory solution. 

3. The Dauphin was brought to America 
with the intent that he should never ap- 
pear asa claimant of the throne of Fraaos. 


Problem of the Loei Prince. 


We do not claim for this proposition 
any thing more than the sum of probabili- 
ties which arise from previous and subse- 
quent history. From the nature of the 
transaction, as a secret mission, wo do not 
expect to find the name of the ship, or a 
history of the voyage, or a publicly au- 
thenticated record of the names of the per- 
sons in charge of the child. What is cer- 
tain Ls, that the ambitious and unscrupu- 
lous Duke de Provence found his brother, 
Louis XVI., and the Dauphin, in his path 
to the throne of France ; that he connived 
at the Revolution, so far as it tended to 
remove his brother out of his way ; that, 
without authority of law or precedent, he 
set up his own court and issued his pro- 
dmmations as Regent, after his brother 
was beheaded ; that the Dauphin was 
gtill in his way ; that Dessaux, the most 
eminent physician of France, had been in 
attendance on the Dauphin for nearly the 
whole of the month of May — and, let it be 
known, that, although he found the Dau- 
phin suffering under mental imbecility, 
and tumors on the knees and wrists, as 
the result of long confinement and bad 
treatment, he did not consider his physical 
constitution essentially impaired, or his 
life in danger ; that, consequently, it was 
naturally expected the Dauphin would be 
restored to health, under the treatment of 
Dessaux ; that Dessaux, when asked one 
day, on leaving his patient, if he thought 
the child would die, expressed himself in a 
low voice, that he feared there were those 
who wished him dead ; that Dessaux died 
on the thirty-first of May, in a mysterious 
manner, and that Abeill^ his pupil, said 
he was poisoned ; that the Duke de Pro- 
vence intrigued successfully to get his own 
tools in and about the Temple, till they 
had possession and control of the person 
of the Dauphin ; that Bellanger, his em- 
ploy6 in the arts of painting and design, 
obtained the place of Commissary of the 
Temple, under the Convention, surrounded 
by his associates in and outside of the 
prison ; that he was alone with the Dau- 
phin a whole day, including a night, seek- 
ing and succeeding to amuse the child 
with specimens of his art ; that, on the 
8th of June, the very day when the child 
in the Temple died, the whole police of 
France was put on the qui vive^ by order 
of the agents of the Convention, to arrest 
any travellers on the high-roads, bearing 
a child with them of eight years old or 
more, as some of the royal family had es- 
OLpcd from the temple ; that, afterwards, 
in the same year, 1795, a French gentle- 
man and lady appeared at Albany, N. Y., 
wader noticeable circumstances, in charge 

of two French children, a boy and girU 
the boy about the age of the Dauphin, but 
disposed to amuse himself after the man- 
ner of a child of two or three years of age, 
and refusing to notice any attentions and 
addresses of strangers ; that the boy pass- 
ed under the name of Monsieur Louis ; 
that this party left Albany for parts un- 
known ; that, not long after, two French- 
men, one taken for a Roman Catholk; 
priest, appeared at Ticondcroga, in charge 
of a boy answering to the description of 
the one brought to Albany, who was left 
with the Indians, and adopted by an Iro- 
quois Chief, of the name of Thomas 
Williams ; that the same French gentle- 
man — apparently the same — who disposed 
of the boy to Thomas Williams, came to 
visit him afterwards, when the family 
were at Lake George, where a touching 
interview ensued ; and that the Rev. 
Eleazer Williams is the same person as 
the boy thus adopted. Moreover, it is 
certain that the royal family of France 
have always known and believed that the 
Dauphin was alive, and that he was car- 
ried to America ; that they have always 
kept themselves informed of his history, 
and known him under the name of Elea- 
zer Williams, afterwards Reverend and 
Missionary among the Indians ; and that 
Bellanger, above named, has always been 
recognized by the royal family and other 
parties, as the agent who brought the 
Dauphin to America, took him to Ticon- 
dcroga, and disposed of him as the adopted 
child of Thomas Williams. Still, the Rev. 
Eleazer Williams may not be the same 
person with the Dauphin who was con- 
fined in the Temple, and who is alleged to 
have died there. There are those who 
say that he is not: and Beauchesne hat 
told us, not only that the Dauphin died in 
the Temple, but how he died. Unfortu- 
nately for Beauchesne, he has spoiled hia 
story by his zeal and extravagance. No 
man of sober judgment can believe a word 
of it And this, now, is the chief reliance 
for that side of the question. 

Let any candid person review the items 
above stated, as verified by history, in 
connection with many other things of the 
kind too numerous to mention, and he 
may safely be left to the necessary opera- 
tions of his own mind on the question, 
whether they do not amount to a sum of 
historical evidence, or of probabilities, if 
you please to call them so, or to a chain of 
circumstances, which are often the strong- 
est kind of evidence ; in view of which 
there is no escape from the conclusion, 
that the Rev. Eleazer Williams is the son 
of Louis Sixteenth. 


The Labut Eistcric Doubt: 


As the ground of all the propodtioDB 
laid down in the former part of this 
article, subsequent to the third, excepting 
only the seventh, is chiefly ooyered in the 
statements above made under the third ; 
and as it is not our purpose to give the 
whole of Mr. Uanson's argument, but 
only to call attention to some of its main 
points, we will now close our remarks on 
the aforesaid propositions in form, in a 
long notice of the seventh : 

That the Kev. Eleazer Williams is not 
an Indian. This is determined, in the first 
place, by the instincts of that portion of 
the public, not small, who have known 
Mr. Williams, in the course of his some- 
what eventful life. The value of this 
feeling, in the present argument, consists 
chiefly in the fact, that it has been spon- 
taneous, and nearly or quite uniform. So 
long as he was supposed to be an Indian, 
in his childhood, in his youth, and in his 
riper years, incredible as it might and al- 
ways did seem to observers, the belief in 
it could be entertained only as one of the 
unaccountable varieties and freaks of na- 
ture. He an Indian ? every body thought 
or said, with some sign of incredulity; 
and there is probably not a person within 
the entire range of his acquaintance, 
daring a long life and much intercourse 
with the world, who does not remember 
that this question had its place in his own 
mind, and that it has been frequently a 
topic of conversation. That Mr. Williams 
ha<d a predominance of European and 
French blood, has almost universally 
been beUcved, before the question of his 
belonging to the Bourbon family was 
agitated, and back even to his earliest 
years. All the people of Longmeadow, 
now living and old enough, remember 
well the difTcrcnce between him and his 
reputed brother John, as long as John 
stayed there, which, we believe, was some 
years — at least four or five. While Elea- 
zer took to civilized life naturally, John 
was always averse to it ; and though the 
latter was a mere child when he came to 
Longmeadow, probably about ten j^ears of 
age, his discontent was so abi^mg and 
stubborn, that he was finally sent homo 
to his father, to live and enact the Indian. 
But Eleazer could only be happy in civil- 
ized society. Being thought much of as 
a promising Indian youth, he was much 
cherished by the best society in New 
England, particularly by the clergy, who, 
on account of his religious disposition, 
expected he would be an Indian mission- 
ary. As if he had been rocked in the 
cradle of the Tuilleries, he was never so 
much at home, as when he received the 

kind attentions of highly coltivated socie- 
ty, and with all such he was a universal 
pet As if some mysterious Providenoe 
presided over his destiny, and gave him 
favor with the kind and gentle, all such 
had an instinctive feeling, not only that 
ho wa8 something, but that he would b€ 
something. With the religious portion €i 
the community he was the nursling of 
piety and prayer. Nature in those whost 
hospitality he enjoyed, forgot that he was 
an Indian, and never felt it He was ever 
cherished as the best of human kind. 

All these feelings^ we think, may be 
put down as the instmct of nature, which 
overrides the barriers of conventional 
caste, supplies the lack of history where 
it is wanting, and arrives precisely at the 
same result where true history would 
guide us. Eleazer Williams would not 
have been cherished more in New Eng- 
land, while in a course of education ther^ 
if it had been known that he was a son oi 
Louis XVI. Who will deny, that there 
is argument in these revelations of in- 
stinct so fiir as the historical problem 
now before us is concerned? Nobody 
felt that Eleazer Williams was an Indian. 
Add to this common, universal, and abid- 
ing feeling, the opinion of numerous and 
well-known professional gentlemen of 
great eminence in the M^ical Faculty, 
who have examined Mr. Williams care* 
fully for that object. They unanimously 
declare that there is no Indian blood in 
him, and that he belongs to a superior 
class of European society. As is well 
known in the medical profession, there 
are certain infallible indications on a 
question of this kind, in the texture of 
the skin, in the articulations of the body, 
and in general anatomy, all of which 
have been applied, in a scientific examinar 
tion of Mr. Williams, and which prove 
that he is not an Indian, but a European 
of an elevated class. It will be seen that 
this is an important point in the general 
argument, and we think it must be admiW 
ted, that it is conclusively settled. 

The writer of this article has known 
Mr. Williams firom the time when be was 
brought to Longmeadow to be educated ; 
was for some years intimately acquainted 
with him ; is well versed in his history 
from beginning to end ; has always entej^ 
tained respect for him ; in the mutations 
of life has occasionally lost sight of him; 
and has had a little correspondence ¥rith 
him, since this Bourbon question came 
up. But, bemg otherwise occupied, he 
has never taken much interest in it. Hit 
first impression was, that Mr. Williami 
could not have been old enou^ to hava 


PrMem of the Zo9t PHum. 


been born in 1785, which, if true, would 
cf coarse exclude him from the pale of 
this question. But having made repeated 
inquiries at Longmeadow on this point, of 
persons of Mr. Williams' own age, and 
cldet, who know him well and have a dis- 
tinct remembrance of him when he came 
there, and as long as he made a home 
there, the writer has been convinced, that 
Mr. Williams might have been born in 
1785. That difficulty being settled, he 
was foroed to the conclusion, that there 
were facts enough in this case, of a re- 
markable character, to make it worthy of 
» full and fair hearing, and he has read 
most that has been written on the subject 
with care. During the agitation of this 
question, down to this time, he has had 
no personal intercourse with Mr. Wil- 
liams, except once for a few minutes, when 
we talked on this subject, and a second 
time in the street, when we had no time 
to speak of it 

In the remarks above made on the 
common instinctive feeling, that Mr. Wil- 
liams is not an Indian, the writer has 
given a copy of the workings of his own 
mind, and thinks he is not mistaken, that 
he has described those of all others who 
have known Mr. Williams. In reading 
Mr. Hanson's late work, under the title 
of the Lost Prince, the writer is con- 
vinced that' the sul^ect has received much 
new light, and that, if Mr. Williams is 
not the son of Louis XVL, here is the 
most marvellous combination and con- 
catenation of evidence on a historical 
problem, which the world has ever wit- 

An examination of the claims of the 
other pretenders to the rights of the lost 
Daophiu, has never failed to expose their 
impostures, as in the cases of NaundoriT 
tod Richemont Not so in the case of Mr. 
Williams ; but time, events, and scrutiny 
are constantly throwing new light on the 

2aestion, and augmenting the evidence in 
iTor of the claioL When the fraudulent 
affidavit procured from Mr. Williams' re- 
puted mother by the Rev. Francis Mar- 
ooox, was published, it was thought the 
question was settled ; but now wlicn the 
fraud is exposed, it has only helped, and 
greatly helped, that which it was intended 
to injure. It is seen and felt, that such 
in atrocious transaction would never have 
been ventured on, if the claims of Mr. 
Williams had been without foundation. 
The contradiction of the Prince de Joinville 
to Mr. Williams' statement, is only con- 
firmative of the theory which it was in- 
tended to overthrow, and places the Prince 
i&amost onfavorable position. For here are 

numerous disinterested witnesses against 
him as an interested one. Besides, his 
denial is absiurd. What ! not know the 
name of Williams, when his own Secre- 
taries had been and were in correspondence 
with Mr. Williams, by his order, and when 
his father was doing the same thing ! He 
ignorant of a name which was a house- 
hold word with the entire family of the 
French Bourbons ! Bat the position of the 
Prince in this matter is well understood 
at the first glance, by all the world. It 
was with him and his family a question 
of policy and interest Humane though 
they might be, they never intended to 
commit themselves. All know that in 
State diplomacy there is no forum of con- 
science, and that the simple truth may be 
an unpardonable blunder. The Prince's 
contradiction of Mr. Williams proves noth- 
ing against Mr. Williams ; it only shows 
that the Prince was careful of his own se- 
crets, after having failed in his mission. 

On the whole, the field is entirely clear 
for Mr. Wilhams. There is not, so far as 
we can see, a single fact that militates 
against his claim, while a world of facts 
indicate its validity ; and what is remark- 
able, new facts of the same class are con- 
stantly transpiring. The question is not, 
whether Mr. Williams be qualified by 
education and life to rule an empire ; or 
whether there be any chance, that ho will 
ever attain that high dignity ; but whether 
he is the son of Louis XVI. The theory 
of his being the Dauphin supi)oses that 
his mental structure was crushed and 
broken down in childhood, by inhuman 
treatment. Even if the throne of the 
Capets were open to the legitimate claim- 
ant, and Mr. Williams were the man, his 
life has been a poor school for the cares 
and responsibilities of tliat place, and he 
is a Protestant. These facts must be in- 
superable obs tides in the minds of the 
French Bourbons and of French states- 
men. They may rcsjiect misfortune, and 
be willing to alleviate it ; and that, proba- 
bly, is the sentiment which has actuated 
some of the members of the royal family 
of France in the interest they would seem 
to have taken in the fortunes of Mr. Wil- 
liams. While Louis XVIII. was living, 
who is supposed to have sent the Dauphin 
to America to get rid of him, nothuig of 
course would be done to bring him back ; 
and when he was dead, it was too late. 
The hypothetical heir of the throne was 
then disqualified to occupy it. Humanity 
might have its claims ; but the state was 
supreme. A sense of a mighty wrong might 
rest on the conscience of those concerned 
who had a conscience ', but the reparation 


The Latest JERstorie IhM: 


of such wrong would be controlled and 
limited by considerations of policy. Here- 
in, probably, may be seen the motives of 
the treatment of Mr. Williams by the 
royal family of France down to this time, 
on the supposition that they knew he was 
the son of Louis XVI. They have not failed 
to keep themselves informed of his histo- 
ry, and in some instances, apparently, have 
manifested compunctious visitings of re- 
morse, as for example, the Duchess d'An- 
goul^me, who. doubtless, was for a long 
time too much under the influence of her 
imcle, Louis XVIII. — so long as to lose 
for ever the opportunity and hope of doing 
justice to her brother. She is said never 
to have smiled for many of the last years 
of her life. Alas for those who are bom 
to a high condition ! 

Like the fraudulent affidavit obtained 
from Mrs. Williams, the elaborate work 
of Beauchesne, prepared evidently in the 
same interest, by the same party, and for 
the same purpose, has served only, can 
only serve, in the view of fair and sober 
minds, to open the eyes of the public on 
this question, and to impart an immense 
additional force to the argument in favor 
of Mr. Williams' claim. A desperate cause 
requires a desperate remedy. Look on 
Mrs. Williams' affidavit — the first one — 
said the opponents of Mr. Williams tri- 
umphantly, when it first appeared. But 
her second affidavit overwhelmed them 
with confusion and dismay, and proved 
what was intended to be disproved by the 
first. It did vastly more. No one can look 
at that fraud, without feeling, believing 
even, that they who devised and carried 
it into execution, knew that Mr. Williams 
was the son of Louis XYI. What else 
would have prompted such an atrocious 
crime? And read Beauchesne's book, 
says the private Secretary of the Prince 
de Joinville, by his master's order. And 
who, in following this advice, is not as 
fully convinced, that Beauchesne's account 
of the Dauphin's death is an unadulterated 
fiction, as that Mrs. Williams' first affida- 
vit was a forgery, after having read the 
second? Beauchesne had the folly — the 
infatuation, we might say — to construct a 
drama of supernatural agencies, to honor 
the death-bed of the Dauphin. For the 
dark ages this might have been well 
enough, and it might have been after the 
taste of those times. But to demand such 
credulity now. is preposterous. Such a 
book, except as it may answer the pur- 
poses of a party and of interested persons. 
or entertain the miracle-loving portion ot 
Papists, can produce no other eflect than 
to excite disgust, and to help forward the 

very cause it was designed to di 
as does the second affidavit of Mn 
liams in relation to the object of tb 

Look at Beauchesne's book I Ia 
Marcouz's forgery! They both 1 
to the same category, were prompt 
the same interests, and will prodcM 
same efiect. The motive of one 
more transparent than that of the • 
and that of the poorest fraud — proi 
the solemnities of the public judicial 
surely, sufficiently patent Nothis 
the imperative necessity and iniat 
of a bad cause would have encoa: 
such a risk. It is a virtual conoesfii 
the validity of Mr. Williams' clainc 
if there were nothing in it, the prop 
the only wise course was to do notl 
to allow the pretension to wear itsd 
as it necessarily would. A fids 
groundless claim of such magnituc 
importance could never make any eC 
headway, or produce any uneasiness 
minds of interested parties, who k 
to be false and groundless. It wo 
fit only for ridicule and contempt, 
here are fraud and fiction, — the fom 
a most grave, and the latter of a 
elaborate character, — got up atinflni 
to encounter an imposture, which 
only to be left to itself to fall a 
crushed under the weight of its o^ 
firmities, if it be an imposture ! 

The sum of the evidence on this 
tion, as it now stands before the wo 
as follows : — The Dauphin did not 
the Temple, but was carried away 1 
party attached to the Duke de Pro 
afterward Louis XVIII. This is d 
strated to the satisfaction of all rcasi 
minds. There are few who now 1 
that the Dauphin died there, «e 
death has always been doubted, 
events have since proved that he d 
die there. Being in the hands and 
disposal of the self-styled Regent^ i 
his way to the throne, we have o 
consider the probable course he 
pursue, from what we know of his c 
ter. It was evident, that if the 
whose mind had been thus crush 
cruel treatment, could be transpor 
a remote part of the world, and di 
of among barbarians, under false pre) 
he would never be likely to troab 
usurper of his rights. To asstJ 
him, therefore, would be a wanton m 
as well as a more shocking and 
aggravated crime. Precisely in couk 
with this theory, we find Bellang 
tool of the Duke, and by his ini 
Commissary of the Temple, in cha 
the Daapbiin, surrounded bj otb 


PrMem ^ ths lost Prince. 


Ills own dass, and together with hun, hav- 
ing power to remove the child and suhsti- 
tate another. We find, on the very day 
€f the alleged death of the Dauphin, and 
iHien a chud did die in the Temple, the 
whole police of France put in action with 
<Nrder8 to arrest any travellers on the 
bigh-road, hearing a child of eight years 
of age or thereabouts, acting, of course, 
under authority of the Convention, who 
had made the discovery of the escape of 
■ome members, as idleged, of the royal 
fioiily fh)m the Temple. Nest we lind 
Monsieur Louis, a boy of the same age 
with the Dauphin, apparently non compos 
mentis, and a little girl, in charge of a 
gentleman and lady, at Albany, New-York, 
all French, who leave there for parts un- 
known. Next we find two French gentle- 
men, one a Roman Catholic priest, visiting 
■ome Indians at Ticonderoga, with a little 
boy of like age as above, whom they leave 
with Thomas Williams, an Iroquois chief, 
by whom the boy was adopted, and is now 
living, and known as the Rev. Elcazer 
Williams. This boy is afterwards visited 
by a French gentleman, and caressed 
with great aficction and with tears. We 
find, from various independent sources of 
eviffence, that the royal family of France 
have always known that the Dauphin was 
living and in America, and that they have 
uniformly identified him with Mr. Wil- 
liams. We find, too, that the name of 
Bellanger is always coupled with the 
Dauphin*s transport to America, as the 
agent in this transaction. Every item of 
evidence on the subject — and it is a large 
dbaptor constantly augmenting as time 
advances — is perfectly harmonious with 
the theory, that the Rev. Eleazer Wil- 
liams is the son of Louis XVI. We are 
disposed to say, nay we are confident, that 
wch harmony of evidence, from so many 
independent sources, and so much of it, 
could never be accounted for, except on 
that supposition. All parts of it coi-robo- 
rate the hypothesis, and reduce it to a 
ehi4»ter of well authenticated history. 
Every circumstance tallies with the theory, 
and all the parties in the drama enact 
piedsely th^ parts which the theory re- 
quires as natural and probable. Bellanger 
in the Temple, after having obtained in- 
troduction there as Commissary, and his 
aiBistants in and about the Temple, enact 
precisely the parts which the hypothesis 
requires. The Convention, also, having 
diaoovered the escape of the Dauphin, do 
frecisely what might be expected, in order- 
ing the sham procis verbal of the death 
oCthe Danphin, alias of the stranger child 
thai was found there, in arranging the 

funeral solemnities, not very solemn, and 
in putting the public police on the track of 
the fugitive. But they did not find him. 
Bellanger — for it was doubtless he— did 
exactly what might be expected at Albany, 
at Ticonderoga, and in his subsequent visit 
to the child. The royal famiiy, while in 
exile, and at other times, would naturally 
speak on the subject, in their own circle, as 
we find they do ; and it comes to us, in a 
most credible form, from those who were 
a long time inmates of the family. When 
Louis Philippe comes to the throne, he in- 
herits the obligation of looking after the 
Lost Prince, who is known not to be lost* 
except to his rights. He writes to him. 
He entertains, perhaps, the benevolent de- 
sign of calling him home, and treating him 
like a prince on condition that he will re- 
sign all right to the throne ; and he sends 
his son, the Prince de Joinville, to treat 
with him for this object, not doubting, 
from his knowledge of his position, that 
his proposal ought to be, and probably 
would be, accepted. All this was per- 
fectly natural ; it may. perhaps, be called 
generous and noble. Louis PhUippe having 
come to the throne, as an elective mon- 
arch, without having had any personal re- 
sponsibility in the wrong of Ix>uis XVIL, 
if living, as he believed he was, could not 
be expected to impair his own rights, or 
those of his family, in treating with Mr. 
Williams ; and he doubtless knew enough 
of history to be of the opinion, that the 
idea of restoring the son of Louis XVI. to 
the throne of his father, after all that had 
passed, could not be entertained by any 
parties of influence in France, the people 
or others. The mission of the Prince de 
Joinville, therefore, may have been prompt- 
ed by humanity and benevolence. But it 
failed ; and when the nature of it became 
public, and being incapable of verification, 
for lack of witnesses, it would of course 
be denied from motives of policy. That, 
too, was natural. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, for the Prince, he said too much in 
his denial, and brought down upon him- 
self several witnesses of a most credible 
character, to impeach his statements. 
Some of them also were absurd, in view 
of known facts of history. In this predi- 
cament of affairs, the forged affidavit of 
Mrs. Williams was also a natural expe- 
dient, though a very unwise one. It was 
thought it would settle the question, and 
it certainly has done so, in a very great 
degree, if not conclusively, though directly 
on the opposite side from that intended. 
Beauchesne's work, too, was a natural 
expedient in the same cause, and though 
its fictions are not so criminal as thoaa 


Staff&-Coach Storm. 


of the affidavit, because not uttered under 
like solemnities, they are, nevertheless, 
equally transparent, and both are doomed 
to the same stamp of reprobation in his- 
tory, so far as Beauchesne's work bears 
on this question. It is impossible to im- 
pair the force of such accumulated evidence, 
running in so many independent channels, 
over such a length of time, and such a 
broad field, all coinciding harmoniously to 
establish the same fact More especially 
is it impossible, when the expedients 
adopted to impair it are so easOy proved 
to be wicked and false. 

When we have spoken of the claim of 
Mr. Williams in this article, we have 
used the word in its appropriate technical 

sense on a (question of this kind, ai 
as a pretension put forward by hin 
far as we know, he has been chiefl 
sive in this agitation, except when pi 
ed to act by others. All who kno 
Williams, must also know, that he is 
of great simplicity of character, an* 
he is totally unskilled in control 
tactics. "He is not able," sayj 
Hawks, " to invent a complicated m 
circumstantial evidence to sustun a 
catod story." There would oei 
seem to be no demand for it in this 
as all the evidence reijuired turns up 
dentially without bemg invoked, ax 
turally fidls into its pl^e without a; 
of arrangement 

(Oontiniied from page 91) 

PRESENTLY I discovered, that where- 
evcr a turn of the road made a favor- 
able light, I could see, notwithstanding 
the barege veil, the large eyes of the 
fair lady lookius at me curiously from 
under their dark-friugcd lids, and the 
brunette, whose veil was often drawn 
aside, would, when replying to Cranston, 
sitting before her, allow her glance to pass 
by him, and rest fairly on mo. From these 
circumstances, and an occasional look of 
intelligence which they exchanged, a cor- 
ner of which I thought included me, I con- 
jectured that I was the subject of their 
observation and remarks. 

I flattered myself too, that this atten- 
tion, with which I was favored, was some- 
what more distinguished than the notice 
that ladies are wont to bestow on strange 
young gentlemen, and upon this my spirit 
rose, and I began to pull up my shirt-col- 
lar to a corresponding elevation, until pre- 
vented by a dismal recollection, that in 
the privacy of my bedroom, that very 
mominsr, on an inspection and count of 
my stock of clean sliirts, I had decided 
that the two days* worn article of that 
species, doffed the previous night, would 
do well enough to take a dusty stage-ride 

" However," thought I, partially re- 
covering from the confusion into whach I 
had been plunged by this humiliating re- 
miniscence, " I'm clean shaven at any rate, 
if my Uncn bo not as immaculate as the 

daguerreotype man's. Fm not go 
stand back for the Judge and Cra 
They, themselves, are bachelors bot 
for all old Walker's fatherly airs to 
the young women, he's but fifty 
very outside, and looks at them very 
in the same way that I do, I rcckoi 

As for the artist: since he had ti 
force a laugh at the clock story, I 
remained under a cloud, with no ap 
intention of making his light shine tt 

« By dash ! " thought I, " what , 
say. I must b^n a talk somehc 
not sit here like a deaf mute." 

I took advantage of a turn of th( 
which brought into view a long an 
turesque reach of the river. 

" iJiem !" I began, clearing my 
of the dust " this is a beautiful w 

'<£h?" said tjie Judge, tumii 
wards me, and intercepting the 1 
glance wliich I threw at the ladies, 
der to notice what effect the sound 
voice would have. " Oh ! the pn 
yes, a cHSlrming view from where y 
but looking from my position, now, 
with my face forwards, it iscompaxi 

The wick^ Cranston, who divin 
motive I had in dipping my oar in 
current of conversation, turned hi 
carefuUv from the ladies, put his i 
in his (^eek, looked out qnizmcally 


Stage- Ooaeh Stariei. 


his eyebrows and did his best to make me 

" The foreground of the picture, viewed 
from my position," I returned, as mali- 
doosiy as I dared. ^' is anything but beauti- 
ful, but beyond tnat it is enchanting." 

" And don*t it make you melancholy, 
my dear fellow," inquired Cranston, with 
a hateful grin, "to think that you are 
not getting anead at all in the direo- 
liOQ you are looking ? " 

*' Speaking of pictures," interrupted the 
artist, feeling in town on this subject and 
lightening up; "I took a daguerreotype 
of this YaUey last summer, while I was 
stopping at Byfield, from that high hill 
over yonder, and, as this gentleman says, 
the background is really lovely, but the 
foreground is confused and did not take 
weU at all." 

" Well, if I might advise, gentlemen," 
said Cranston, " as you both seem to pre- 
fer the background, perhaps you'd better 
keep there— or, by the bye, sir, " he ad- 
ded, turning to the artist, " are you quick 
enough to 1^ able to take yourself on ? " 

* Oh yes, sir," replied the daguerreo- 
type man, "there's no difficulty about 
that I've done it repeatedly, sir." 

"Perhaps you'll be so good, sir," said 
Cranston, "as to do it again at the next 
stopping place." 

The artist began to explain that his ap- 
paratus was not in order, but the half 
suppressed smiles of the Judge and the 
lames suggested the malicious meaning of 
Cranston's remark, and he was straight- 
way enveloped in the cloud again. 

The kind-hearted Judge, to cover his 
discomfiture, resumed the conversation. 
^ It is," said he, " one of the pleasantest 
rides I know of. You never were in Guild- 
kfd. I think I heard you say, Lovel ?" 

"Never," I replied; "my practice is 
confined pretty much to my own comer of 
the SUte." 

" It is a grand old place," pursued the 
Judge ; " in the midst of a charming coun- 
try ; rather dull and quiet to be sure, but 
they live on the fiit of the land down there. 
I like to hold the term in Guildford." 

" They feed the bench better than they 
fee the bar," said Cranston. " There's a 
aoore or two of rich old codgers in the 
Tillage, all with lots of unmarried daugh- 
ters. The sons all emigrate as soon as 
they Are sixteen. So there's a plentiful 
hck of beaux, and a marketful of belles. 
The Judge, being a bachelor, the patri- 
ardis and deacons give him rich dinners, 
fti^ dose him with old Madeira ; and the 
mis set their caps at him and call him 
that dear, old judge ; they make him watch- 

cases, pen-wipers and book-marks, knit 
him purses, and quarrel among themselves 
who's to have hun. Their not being able 
to decide that question is the only reason 
why he's at large yet." 

" Pooh ! pooh ! " said the Judge, fiimb- 
ling at his watch-guard and looking 
round out of the corner of his eye at the 
ladies. " Though I mxist own," he added, 
thoughtfully, " the village is remarkable 
for its hospitality." 

" And for the number, beauty and ex- 
ceeding amiability of its young ladies," 
said Cranston. 

The eyes of the artist glimmered tran- 
siently as if he were about to shine through 
the cloud once more, his lips parted, but 
encountering the short glance of Cranston, 
he inserted between them the head of his 
cane and remained silent. 

" Guildford is a fine place to pick up a 
wife in," continued Cranston ; " plenty of 
candidates, many of them rich and hand- 
some, — many a man out of hand before he 
knows it, sometimes, I'm told. Perhaps, 
Lovel, you'll meet the twin of your soul 
down there." 

" To tell the truth," said I, " some years 
ago, I did intend to visit Guildford on a 
most particular errand." 

" Eh ? " cried the Judge, briskly, ex- 
tremely willing to escape the chance of 
taking his turn again with the common 
enemy, Cranston. " Eh 1 What was it ? " 

" Why," said I, with some embamiss- 
ment, for I saw the four eyes of the ladies 
bent upon me ; " the fact is, that I had 
formed a plan — an intention, to go to 
Guildford, for the purpose of— to visit a 

"In a word, a-courting," cried Cran- 
ston, looking back at the ladies; "and 
now you are merely going to court — a dis- 
tinction not without a difiercncc." 

" Why, didn't you go ? " suddenly in- 
quired the artist, with a look of manifest 

" Exactly," laughed Cranston ; " a very 
pertinent question, * why didn't you go 7 ' 

If any one else had told in my presence, 
under similar circumstances, such a story 
about himself as I began to tell, I should 
not have failed to detect and appreciate the 
folly of the act. But the occasion came 
suddenly. I was possessed of an insane 
desire to attract and retain the attention of 
the ladies on the back scat. " These pret- 
ty girls." thought I, " shall remember me 
as someoody else than a green, awkward, 
silent, stiff, country lawyer, tno helpless, 
harmless butt of a fluent city advocate.'' 
I didn't stop to consider whether the re- 
gard I should be apt to win would be 


Stagt-Coach Storiei. 


farorable or not A man, sometimes, 
rather than remain in obscurity, will be 
content, for the sake of cutting a figure, 
to expose himself to disHke and even ridi- 

" Do you know Frank Eliot, of Guild- 
ford ? " I inquired, addressing myself to 
the Judge. 

" Of course he does," interrupted Cran- 
ston ; " if he has marriageable daughters." 

" I know him very well," said the Judge ; 
" a very good fellow ; was bred to the bar 
and makes the best country magistrate I 
know of. I've dined with* him several 
times since I've been on the bench. lie 
has the best cellar in the country, and 
now I think of it, I remember of his in- 
quiring once about you very particularly, 
and whether you were doing welL and all 

" Ha ! ha ! " shouted Cranston, "hasn't 
be a notion of commencing a breach of 
promise suit in the name of his daughter ? " 

" You're mistaken this time, my fine 
fellow," said I. " If Eliot has a daughter 
she must be altogether too young to be 
the plaintiff in a breach of promise suit. 

" Ay — but he has a sister though, or 
cousin," said the Judge, smiling, " a very 
beautiful girl, I've heard. I never hap- 
pened to see her." 

'* Eliot has no sister, I know, and as for 
cousin," said I, " I suppose, of course, that 
he has them like other people, but I never 
heard of more than one, and she is married. 
You have seen Eliot's wife, I suppose, 

"Frequently," replied Judge Walker; 
" a remarkably fine-looking woman ; con- 
Bidcrably younger than her husband, I 
should think." 

" Just so," said I " ten years or more." 

" Nearly that, I should think." 

" Well," I resumed ; " for a whole year 
together, in my younger days, I fully in- 
tended to go to Guildford, court and marry 
Eliot's wife," 

"Come," cried the lawyer, "thereby 
hangs a tale ! Begin, Lovel ; so you were 
nonsuited even before you filed a declaration. 
Well, God willing, I humbly trust you'll 
not have much better luck m yoiu* court- 
ing this term." 

"We'll talk to the Judge about that 
on Monday," I returned. 

" Right," said the Judge ; " nbw go on, 
just give us the facts of the case." 

So, gentlemen, like a fool, I proceeded 
to tell a story, which I will endeavor for 
your amusement to repeat in as nearly the 
same words as I can. 

" Go on," said the stout gentleman, who 
it seems had not yet gone to sleep. 

Thus encouraged the lawyer p 
as follows : — 



"You must know," I began, 
slyly around to see that all were 1 
and vastly gratified to observe tb 
attention of the lady passenger 
must know that Eliot and I wen 
lege together. To be sure, he is ol 
I am by several years, and wai 
class two years ahead of me ; but 
chums awhile, belonged to the e 
ciety, and were of course intimate a 
ances and very good friends. B 
he left college I heard and saw no 
him until the occasion of which 
speak presently. 

" From the time when I was old 
to read llobinson Crusoe, the Be 
and Peter Simple, all through m}^ 
boy days, I had a strong inclini 
a seafaring life, which manifesti 
chiefly in frequent truant wanderin 
the wharves of my native city, < 
the shrouds and exploring the d« 
holds of vessels in charge of good- 
mates and ship-keepers, and comii 
late at night, if not captured eariie 
anxious father or some of his mjn 
with trousers, hands, and hair be 
with pitch and molasses, or stair 
bilge water and iron rust; in 
stealthy, but timely discovered pac 
an old chest in the garret, with 
clothes within my reach ; and in : 
declarations to the servants, duly i 
to the higher powers in the parioi 
would be a sailor in spite of opposi 
denial. In consequence of this I ik 
ty closely watch^ by my revered 
and reverend schoolmasters, lest 
run away to gratify this untowan 
and was finally promised, that if 
go to college like a steady boy, 
have myself with propriety, as m 
and grandfather had done before 
the end of the tedious four years ] 
be pennitted to make the tour of 
and indulge my fancy for rambl 
seeing the world. As soon, therel 
had got my {Mirchment, I claimed 
filment of this promise ; and foe 
to a day after Commencement^ I 
away my trunks in a stateroom oi 
Liverpool liner. Independence." 

" Why didn't you go in a ste 
asked the artist ; " the voyage is ) 
shorter in them." 

"Pooh! "said Cranston; «dc 
know that the longer the voyage t 
you get for your money ? " 


Stage- Coach Stones. 


" I went aboard while the Bhip lay at 
the pier," I continued, without heeding 
the interruption, *^ three days before the 
time of sailing. I solicited permission to 
eat and sleep aboard, but this being re- 
fused, I put upi hard by, at the United 
States Hotel, aeriying extreme comfort 
and satisfaction from the circumstance of 
Bitting at table, each day at dinner, bo- 
tvreen two nautical gentlemen. All day 
long I haunted the deck of the ship, get- 
ting into every body's way, inquiring the 
names and uses of the ropes ; causing, I 
have no doubt, vast annoyance and some 
oountenrailing amusement to the mates 
and stevedores, but, nevertheless, enjoying 
myself intensely in my maritime fancies, 
the bustle and hurry of getting the freight 
and stores on board, the smell of tar and 
dock mud, and the brilliant anticipations 
of the voyage. Finally, to my infinite do- 
l^fat, the day of departure arrived. Early 
in the morning the crew came on board, 
we hauled out into the stream and drop- 
ped down with the tide, and before aligjfit 
ureeze, to the quarantine-ground, where 
we aiM^hored to wait for the steamboat 
which was to bring aboard the rest of the 

" About two o'clock the steamboat came 
alongside. There were a good many 
people on her decks, and among them I 
Tery soon recognized, somewhat to my 
sorprise, my old friend Eliot, in company 
wiu an elderly ladpr and gentleman and 
two very pretty girls. I stood on the 
quarter-deck of the ship, and forthwith 
hailed him. Frank looked up in surprise, 
recognized me, called my name, and then 
eagerly pointed me out to the elderly lady, 
who was leaning on his arm. ' Isn't it 
lucky, mother,' I heard him say, ^ there's 
my old chum. Level, going out in this 
alup. Now you'll certainly feci easy about 
me.' Upon this the old lady and gentle- 
man and the two pretty girls looked up. 
ind stared at me with great interest, and 
Frank sung out, ^ Come aboard the boat, 
Lorel, and I'll introduce you to my folks. 
If y mother here will want to give me into 
your charge.' 'Oh yes,' cried the old 
ndy. ' do come here Mr. Level, I want to 
qpeak with you very much indeed, and I'm 
■> thankful you are going abroad ; but I 
ihall never be able to climb the side of 
your big ship.' The old gentleman, too, 
flourished his cane, and had something to 
ny, that ?ras lost in the sudden whiz of fhe 
iteam-pipe and the shouting of the sailors. 
Ab for the pretty girls they looked at me 
iteadily, but waited before speaking, for a 
more formal introduction. 

It woald have been very easy for me to 

go around to the gangway, and get aboard 
the boat by the safe means an ordinary 
landsman would have chosen to use. But 
I had been three days afloat and was too 
much of a sailor to consult convenience 
and security. Besides, there was a good 
deal of a crowd at the p:angway. So I 
climbed over into the mizzen-chains, in- 
tending to jump from thence to the prom- 
enade deck of the little steamer. The 
pretty girls watched my motions atten- 
tively, of which I was by no means un- 
conscious. Whether it was that their 
bright eyes dazzled me, or that the dis- 
tance between the ship and the steamboat 
was wider than it appeared to be, I know 
not I sprang out gallantly over the gulf 
— my feet touched the railing of the steam- 
er's promenade deck. I wavered a mo- 
ment and threw up my anns. I saw 
Eliot and the old gentleman spring for- 
ward, and the younger of the pretty girls 
cover her blue eyes with her hands. Tha 
next thing that I recollect were the figures 
marking the vessel's draught on the stem- 
post, and the gleam of bright copper over 
my head, seen through the green water in 
which I was strugglmg, ten feet below tha 

"But you wasn't drowned — at least," 
said the artist 

" Don't be alarmed," said Cranstoi^ 
"there is a class of people proverbially 
exempt from casualties of that sort." 

"I could swim very well," I resumed, 
"and a boat being lowered. I was soon 
taken on board, a little confused in my 
ideas, my head bleeding slightly and my 
clothes in a very damp condition. The 
remedies for these misfortunes being duly 
applied, with the assistance of my friend 
Eliot, in the course of an hour I left my 
state room and went on deck again, to find 
the ship under way, and running down tha 
narrows with a favorable wind. 

"Eliot and I very naturally became 
close friends. He agreed to vary his plans 
somewhat — I changed some of my pur- 
poses and we resolved to keep together 
during our travels. 

"The voyage was an uneventful and 
pleasant one. Nevertheless, I was surprised 
to find at the end of it how much my 
passion for the sea had abated. I was as 
ready to leave the ship at Liverpool, as I 
had been eager to join her at New- York. 

" We staid in London a little too late for 
Eliot's good, and were obliged to travel 
hastily to Naples. Here Frank took a 
hard cold, having been caught in a shower, 
while on an expedition with me to the 
crater of Vesuvius. I nursed him care- 
fully, kepi by him day and night for 


Stage-Coaeh SioriM. 


three weeks, and at the end of that time, I 
think, we loved each other richt heartily. 

" One evening, when he had got nearly 
well we were sitting together tidkinc over 
old times, and comparing them with the 
present, when Eliot suddenly inquired — 

"'Charlie, are you in love with any 

" Now, it so happened that our land- 
lady's daughter had a pair of large, dark 
eyes, a well proportioned, rounded form, 
a taper waist, a most bewitching, soft, 
white, plump little hand — yes, two of them 
^and the same number of adorable little 
feet ; and it also happened, that a few dajrs 
before the unlucky excursion to the vol- 
cano, I had endeavored to express to the 
young woman my perception of the exist- 
ence of these various charms, and, in some 
faint degree, the Yemarkable effect which 
the sight of them had had upon my feel- 
ings ; and although my knowledge of the 
language of the countiy often failed to aid 
me in making the mother comprehend my 
wishes with respect to clean linen, fuel, 
water^ and such necessary matters, I had 
expenenced no diflBcultv whatever in con- 
veying to the daughter's mmd a vivid im- 
pression of the fact, that she was, in my 
estimation, an angel and divinity, and the 
object of my most fervent adoration. In- 
deed, since Frank's illness, and especially 
during the period of his convalescence, I 
had occasionally met the damsel in the 
long corridor, and on the stairs, and wo 
had, by means of the few words of Italian 
that I could utter and understand, as well 
as by appropriate signs, tokens and ges- 
tures, given each other assurances of dis- 
tinguished consideration and regard. 

" I looked at my interrogator, who was 
leaning forward in his chair, waiting, with 
an appearance of much interest, mr my 

" ' Why,' said I, a good deal oonfhsed ; 
<what makes you ask that question. 

" ' Because I want to know,' said he, in 
his quiet way, ' I've an object in it' 

" * The deuce you have,' thought I, * you 
are going to read me a lecture. Master 

'' Eliot was a prime good fellow ; free, 
social, generous^ and of a lively disposition, 
lie liked the things that yoimg men are 
wont to like — a fast horse, a glass of wine, 
a pretty face — but then he was seldom 
guilty of nonsense, and never of extrava- 
gances. He had always carefully avoided 
sprees when in college. I had never 
luiown him to flirt, and I was aware that 
he denounced without mercy any thmg in 
the way of gambling. He was set down 

by his classmates and others as 
but rather steady fellow. In fin 
no reason to expect much spap 
encouragement f^om him, if I she 
him of my flirtation, and I suspect 
he was paving the wa^ for a friei 
monition and rebuke m relation 
very matter. 

"'Did you — have you — notk 
thing in my manner ? ' I asked. 

"'Bless the boy, no;' rejdiec 

"'Why,' said I, greatly enoc 
' the fact is, that I am — at least, I 

" ' Pray excuse me,' continued £ 
I venture to call your passion fo 
see — what's her name?' 

"'Rosetta,' I replied, a little i 
* and its a very pretty name, but n 
pretty for her.' 

"'For the charming Rosetta, 
really, Charlie a very pretty | 
merely a transient matter; soz 
from which you will surely 
speedily. You've had an inflamnu 
the heart, Charlie, while I've l 
malady on my lungs. We shall b 
well, I trust ; though let me say n 
don't look so cross, or take it i 
must both be careful. These vital 
of ours should not bo trifled with, 
think it is wise to let one's fancy n 
the pretty girls one sees in travelli 

" ' Perhaps not,' said I ; * still oi 
help it sometimes.' 

" ' Very well,' said Eliot, lauehin 
Rosetta affair, for which you i£all 
special dispensation, is the only love 
that you have on hand, is it f No 
heart at home, who has your ha 
locket and your heart in keeping? 

" ' Why^ as to that,' I answered 
less the gu'ls have burnt them u] 
are locks enough of my hair i 
Haven to make a wig of; but t 
one I gave avray was when I was i 
and I went to the lady's wedding j 
fore last May vacation.' 

" ' Qood,' said Eliot, sinking bad 
chair. ' I'm heartily glad.' 

"'Why so?' I asked, somewh 
prised at the manner of my frie 
not a little curious to know the re 

" ' Because,' replied Frank, as e< 
you please, ' I've found; a plan fo: 
in fact, I've picked you out a wife 

"'Eh?' said I, 'what!' 

'"I've got a cousin at home^' 
tinned ; ' she's a charming little | 
orphan, and my father is her guar 

"'How old is she?' I inqain 
much interest. 


Stage-Coach Stories. 


" * I should say not more than fifteen, 
ibongh she may be a year more.' 

" ' Pooh !' said I, with all the contempt 
that young gentlemen of twenty are wont 
to feel for young ladies of fifteen. 

"*Why, what's the matter?' asked 

" ' She's decidedly too young, Frank,' I 
relied, stroking a carefully cherished and 
▼cry downy moustache that was budding 
on my upper hp. 

"*But she'll mend of that fault, daily,' 
said Eliot, encouragingly. 'When you 
are twenty-three, and you'll not think of 
marrymg before then, she will be just 

" * Indeed, that's true, very true,' I re- 
plied ; ' you say she is handsome ? ' 

" ' She is very beautiful, I think. But 
you have seen her ; rather briefly though, 
I must own.' 

"'What!' said I, you don't mean to 
say — it must be though — that she was 
one of those pretty girls with you on the 

"£Uot nodded. 

" ' Which one ? ' I asked, with animation. 

" * Which would you rather have her to 
be?' asked Eliot, leaning forward in his 
chair, and waiting for my decision with an 
air of eager curiosity. 

" * Oh ! the blue-eyed one — the younger 
one by all means.' 

" * All right,' cried Eliot, joyously ; ' you 
shall have her, Charlie. I can bring it 
about No fear of rivals at home ; those 
few fifteen years keep beaux at a distance 
for the present Aha! old Lovel, we'll 
be brothers-in-law after all.' 

". * No,' said I, correcting him, ' cousins- 

" ' WeU, well,' said Eliot, ' it will amount 
to pretty much the same thing, you'll 
&ia. She has been as a sister to me.' 

" * And who was the other girl, Frank ? ' 
I asked after a while. 

«'0h— ah!' rephed Eliot, blushing a 
little, and stooping to pull up the heel of 
bis slipper ; * the other one ? She is a — a 
friend of Helen's.' 

**' Helen!' said I, who the dash is 

" ' Helen Eliot, you stupid fellow — ^your 

"*Oh-ho! exactly. Helen Eliot; a 
mighty pretty name. It runs off the tongue 
toently. Helen Lovel — Mrs. Helen Lovcl. 
Qood. But now, Frank, isn't this other 
one a friend of one Francis Eliot, of my 
acquaintance — a particular friend — come, 

"* Well,' said Eliot, afler a moment's 
hesitation, 'I'U enlighten you on this 
▼OL. m. — 15 

pomt if you won't ask me any thing more. 
She is a lady that I believe I love very 
dearly. I think she loves me. Whether 
we ever marry depends upon circumstan- 
ces. I hope so — Ibut we are not engaged, 
as the term is — there you have it' 

"'Good, old fellow!' I shouted, clap- 
ping his back until I set him coughing. 
* Now just tell me her name.' 

" * No, ugh — ugh — *ir,' coughed Frank, 
any thing but doubtfully. ' Recollect the 
bargain. She is Helen Eliot's friend. 
That's all you can know.' 

" ' But what shall I call her when I 
speak of her ? ' said I. 

" * You needn't go out of your way to 
speak of her at all,' replied Eliot * But 
if you must have something to distinguish 
her by, call her the other one.' 

*• Well, in a few days afterward, Frank 
wrote home and told them all about 
his having been sick, and how I had 
tended him like a orother, and how 
grateful he was to me, and how much 
he loved me, and how well and strong 
he had got to be, and that he was 
never heartier in his life. He stretched 
the truth a little with respect to his ren- 
ovated health, but that was natural, writ- 
ing to an anxious mother four thousand 
miles away. And he wrote to Cousin 
Helen, too, and told her to mind her books, 
and her music, and take care of her heart, 
for that he had a lover chosen for her, 
his dearest friend — meaning me — whom 
he specified, and that I had tumbled over- 
board on her account solely, wishing to 
distinguish mvsclf in her eyes, and a good 
many other things that pleased me very 
much when Frank read them to me. 
And he wrote a very long letter besides, 
which I surmised was to the Other One, 
and tried to get a look at the superscrip- 
tion of it, and didn't succeed in the at- 

" And the next month, having a chance 
to send parcels as well as letters home by 
a returning government vessel, he wrote 
again to father and mother, to Cousin 
Helen, and, I had no doubt^ to the Other 
One ; and I added a postscript in my own 
handwriting, ostensibly for the purpose 
of indorsing Frank's boastings of his ex- 
ceedingly robust health, though, strange 
to say, this document was appended, not 
to the letter to the old gentleman and 
lady but to the one to Cousin Helen. 
And I sent her a little heart made of a 
piece of lava from Herculaneum, all set in 
gold — the shape and material of which I 
exulted in thinking was very expressive, 
and was terribly cut up when Frank 
hinted, that considering the lava had once 


Stage-Coach Storiet. 


been melting but now grown cold, may be 
it would be more appropriate to give it to 

"And in due course of time, when 
Frank got letters from home, if there 
wasn't a postscript by Helen herself, not 
to me, directly, in the second person, to 
be sure; but which, nevertheless, began 
forthwith — * Tell your friend, Cousin 
Frank, that,' &c., &c. It was signed 
'Helen;' and I asked Frank to let me 
look at it so often, that he finally tore it 
off and gave it to me. 

'•So, for a year the postscripts went 
back and forth. Cousin Helen's second 
one commenced, 'Tell our friend.' and 
the third, 'Tell Charlie for me,' and so 

" In the mean time wo had made the 
usual continental tour, and got back to 
Paris. Eliot's health was now estab- 
lish^ and — " 

" Would you be so kind, sir, as to tell 
us what became of Rosetta?" inquired 
the artist, with some hesitation. 

" Ah ! pray now ! " said Cranston, 
"you arc indiscreet to press such a ques- 
tion on the gentleman." 

" I will tell all I know, with pleasure," 
I replied. " When we returned to Naples 
after a cruise up the Mediterranean, I 
found that Rosetta had married a rich 
maccaroni manufacturer. 

"Wo found in Paris," I continued, 
" several countrymen of our acquaintance. 
There were an attache to our Legation, 
and several medical students whom we 
had formerly known in college. It was 
not long, therefore, before we found our 
time fully occupied in one way and an- 
other, and had more engagements on hand 
than we were able to fulffi. 

" Among the number of our new female 
friends there was one Madame — I'll call 
her Madame La Vigne. Her Christian 
name was Sophie — but whether she is 
still Madame La Vigne or not, I shouldn't 
dare take upon myself to say. Now this 
lady was young, rich, and a widow — ^young, 
for she had seen less than thirty summers ; 
rich, for she had a clear income of more 
than thirty thousand francs a year, be- 
sides a pretty estate in the provinces 
and a fine hotel in the city proper. She 
was a widow. Moreover, Madame La 
Vigne was gay, coquettish and very hand- 

" I don't know whether the possession 
of these desirable qualities by the charm- 
ing widow will seem to you a satisfactory 
reason for what I am about to tell you — 
nevertheless, so it was, that my friend 
Eliot being presented to the lady was 

presently fascinated, and being appa 
encouraged thereto became speedil 
completely bewitched, bewildered 
enchanted by her graces and cl 
I saw, at the very first, that he 
smitten youth, but putting great tm 
reliance on his steady temperamen 
especially on the influence of his liki 
the Other One, I felt nowise uneasy 
him, but supposed that this unex 
aberration would be as transient as 
been sudden. Indeed, I amused i 
exceedingly in observing the adn 
with which the coquettish widow 8 
to lure him on, and the change in F 
speech and conduct to me, respectii 
matter, from the transparent attec 
concealing the nature of his &nctes 
checked expressions of admiratia 

"At last, one night after our 
from the opera, where we had be 
the whole evening favored occupai 
the widow's box, when Eliot, as hm 
usual of late, began to let off som> 
rocketing praises of Sophie's eye 
hah-, and lips, and hands and so € 
got a little alarmed at his extrava 
and began to rally him. 

" ' Suppose,' said I, ' that the 0th 
could hear you now ; wouldn't she 
that there was some danger of her j 
the go by ? ' 

" ' Nonsense ! ' repled Frank, 
moderated tone and reddening ; ' yoi 
suppose that — that the Other One, i 
call her, has any claims on me, < 

"'Oh! she hasn't then!' said 
thought you told me once that you 
to marry her ? ' 

" ' That was a mere boyish fane 
turned Eliot, with an air of irritatic 
beg you won't mention it. The 
One is my — that is to say, your I 
friend, that's all.' 

" ' And for that reason I must sti 
for her. Come, Frank ; you're get 
too deep. Let's leave this wicked 
and go home.' 

" ' Come, come,' cried Eliot, impat 
' a truce with your nonsense. Go 
I want to sit up and write a letter.' 

"'Nonsense!' I repeated. 'P« 
my wise friend, you don't rememl 
talk we had in Naples a year ago. 
you then that if you should happen 
in love with some pretty Parisia; 
would not incline to call it nonsen» 

" ' Preposterous ! ' cried Frank, bi 
up to hide his embarrassment ; ' yc 
pretend to institute a comparison b 
that Rosetta of yours and ' 


Stage- Coach Stories, 


"*No, no,* I interrupted, 'not mine, 
she belongs to the maccaroni man now.' 

" ' And Madame La Vigne ? ' continued 
Prank, finishing his interrogatory with 
undiminished fierceness. 

" * By no means,' I replied ; ^ but ' 

" * But wliat, sir ? ' said Frank, with 
«n inflamed countenance. I had turned 
the tables so completely on him that he 
was as cross as a bear. 

'* ' But if I should,' said I, with a mock- 
ing laugh, 'I don't think that Madame 
La Vigne would have any reason to com- 
plain. And then again — ' but here I 
stopped, for Eliot made a sudden moj^ion 
that had the appearance of looking after 
something to throw at my head. 

" • And then again,' I continued cau-» 
tiously, when my companion had recovered 
his thoughts a little ; ^ suppose I should 
compare Madame La Vigne with Rosetta, 
or any body else, what have you got to do 
or say about it ? ' 

" *I have not got the trick,' he exclaimed, 
^of disguising my feelings when I am 
strongly excited, and let me tell you that 
you mustn't speak lightly of Madame La 
Vigne in my presence. I can't suffer it 
1 love her — yes — I love her ! Let me 
alone ; I am resolved.' 

^' Eliot continued to pace to and fro, 
and plainly endeavored to hear me pa- 
tiently. He winced when I spoke of the 
Other One, and when I asked him if 
he thought his father and mother would 
like a gay Parisian belle for a daughter, 
let her be ever so rich and handsome, I 
saw that I had touched a tender place in 
his heart. 

" * Charlie,' said he, interrupting me 
suddenly, *■ don't waste your brei^h and 
torment me by talking in this way. It is 
all in vain- I know my own mind. I 
did think I loved — the Other One ' — he 
brought out these last words with a queer 
attempt at a smile — ' but I see now how 
mfinitely I was mistaken. Love ! Great 
God ! To call by the same name the quiet 
sentiment which we entertained for each 
other — which I have still, for I like her 
as well as ever — and the burning, all-ab- 
sorbing passion that consumes me now. 
It's of no use, Charlie,' he continued, 
rapidly, as he saw me about to speak. 
'I've thought over all you have said and 
a good deal more besides — but I love this 
lady — ^love, love^ love her, Charlie! Do 
you know what that means ? I cannot 
live without her ! I am willing to give up 
every thing for her. I wish that she were 
poor — a peasant girl, a grisctte, any thing, 
10 that I might show her how much I love 

her, and how cheerfully I would make 
any sacrifice for her sake. I am resolved 
to win her or die ! ' 

" I saw that talking was useless, indeed ; 
but after another pause I put a good face 
on the matter, and said, 

'•'Well, well, Frank; you're in love, 
there's no mistake ; all of a glow, but 
mind you, I shall do all in my power to 
cure you of your passion.' 

"'Look you, Lovel,' said he, through 
his shut teeth, walking up to the so& 
where I was lounging, 'Let's have no 
hypocrisy. If you are my rival, be an 
open and avowed one.' 

" ' Good night, Frank,' said I, pleasantly, 
turning towards him in the doorway. 

" ' Wait a moment,' said Eliot. ' On 
your word, now, old friend, do you — have 
you any — liking for Sophie yourself? ' 

" ' Why no, you jealous fool' cried I, 
laughing. Have all your senses left 

'"On your honor, Lovel ? ' 

" ' On my honor, Eliot, or if you prefer 
it, I'll swear to it.' 

" ' And you've never thought that So- 
phie seemed to favor you — to-night, for 
instance — you know what I mean,' per- 
sisted Eliot anxiously. - 

" ' What a ffooso love will make a man,' 
I replied. ' I'm going to bed, and you'd 
better follow my example,' and so I left 
him to walk the room and recover his 
equanimity as best ho might. 

"I felt seriously uncomfortable about 
this extraordinary passion which I had so 
unexpectedly discovered was entertained 
by my friend. I could see very plainly 
that it was all passion. The object, to be 
sure, was not so exceptionable. She was 
rich, handsome, and respectable. But 
then what a wife for the staid Frank Eliot ! 
What a daughter, half skeptic, half Catho- 
lic, for the strict old descendants of the 
Puritans, his worthy Presbyterian parents ! 
What a probable contrast between the 
gay, frivolous, Parisian belle and the 
Yankee bred, modest Other One. I was 
conscious that Eliot, blinded as he was by 
passion, was yet secretly and vehemently 
dissatisfied with himself for yielding to 
its promptings, and with the choice that 
he had made. It was evident that there 
had been a severe conflict between his 
judgment and his feelings, and that he 
had wilfully permitted the latter to con- 
quer. I could not doubt that he was 
resolutely bent upon marrying the widow 
if he could, and running the risk of repent- 
ing his pi*ecipitation at his leisure. 

CTo be oonttnned.) 




American. — Mrs. Mowatt's Autobt- 
ography of an Actress is one of the 
f^fihest and most readable books that the 
season has produojd ; it is precisely such 
a volume as its title does not promise, for 
we naturally anticipate a piquant^ ego- 
tistical, frivolous and green-roomish narra- 
tive, full of rouge, spangles, and f ilse senti- 
ment; but, instead, we have a simply-told 
story of an earnest and heroic woman, 
whose life has been one of contention with 
adverse fortune, sweetened by many bril- 
liant successes, which were the result of 
her own exertions. It will prove a most 
profitable book to a very numerous class 
of readers, by teaching them the impoi^ 
tance of self-dependence, and the folly of 
caring what Mrs. Grundy may say. There 
are a few little disclosures of the earlier 
years of the autobiographer, and the par- 
ticulars relating to her marriage, which 
are neither essential to the understanding 
of her character, nor particularly edifying 
in themselves, but they do no harm, and 
are not discreditable to the persons in- 
volved. Mrs. Mowatt is yet a young 
woman to write her own history ; but 
being on the eve of retiring to private life, 
she publishes her autobiography in obe- 
dience to the request of her husband. 
Her actual entrance upon the stage of real 
life, her debut in public, took place on the 
reverses of fortune which befell her hus- 
band soon after their marriage ; she then 
gave readings in public, then commenced 
her career as an author, which furnishes 
the most interesting and instructive part 
of her history. She employed her pen 
with great diligence, and produced novels, 
essays, cookery books, books of needle- 
work, and became a hack for a cheap 
publisher, and at last tried her hand upon 
a comedy, which proved successful, and 
was the means of turning her thoughts to 
the stage as a profession. The simple 
narrative of her trials and successes as an 
actress has all the interest of a romance, 
and, if published anonymously would 
hardly be taken for truth. But, it has 
also the appearance of truth, and we no- 
where discern any evidence of exaggera- 
tion, or attempts to sacrifice truth to 
dramatic effect. The admirable charac- 
teristic of Mrs. Mowatt's confessions is the 
union of a highly wrought romantic sen- 
timent with a sweetly simple style, and a 
degree of practical good sense which might 
be envied by a denizen of Wall-street. 
She is always true, candid, and tender, 

but always keeps an eye upon the main 
chance; and, better than all, she never 
whines, but has a high-hearted and reli- 
gious trust that doing right will lead to 
right results. We should be glad if our 
space would allow us to give a few charac- 
teristic extracts from her aulobiographj^ 
but we can give but one, the account of 
her debut in England, which shows how 
difierently our brethren across the Atlantic 
receive an adventurer from the New 
World, to the manner in which all adven- 
turers from the Old World are received 
here. The contrast is by no means favor- 
able to the other side. 

"Previous to our diXmi, Mn. 8— n enteitmin«d 
undisguised fears thst we would receive harsh treat- 
ment St the hands of the proverhially caustic ICan- 
Chester critics. She called upon the most ascetic of 
the cynical brotherhood, to * smooth the raven down,* 
by interesting him in my history. The experiment 
was only calculated to render him more uneompro- 
mi&ing. In another field she was more snooessftiL 
Her wonuwly efforts raised me up an army of d«' 
fenders amongst the members of her husband^ coo- 
gregatlon. They were prepared to support me if I 
betrayed the fSdntest glimmering of geninai 

*" Another anxious friend called upon the theatrical 
critic of the Manchester Guardian, the leading oracle 
of the press, and offcre<l to present him to me. The 
cautious and conscientious critic declined the intio- 
dabtlon until t{fUr my dibvi, remarking that a per- 
sonal acquaintance might prepossess bim in my ikvor, 
and interfere with the justice of his criticlsoL And of 
such Judges was the tribunal composed before which 
we were to be dfled, scanned, and tested. In raek 
hands was placed Distinction's 

< Broad and powtrfbl fiu,* 


■tan, win 

t Um Uitht away.* 

If our talents fell short In their *fkirproporti<mt* of 
some fkbulous or imaginary standard, we were to be 
annihilated by a paragraph— stabbed by thnuts of 
steel in the formsof pens— exterminated by the almoooi 
of a criUc's breath. Pleasant augnriea. these, to nolMr 
in our career in a land of strangers. 

" The theatre was a remarkably beautifhl onei The 
play selected for our dibut was, as usual, the Lady cf 
Lyons. Our only rehearsal took place on the day of 
performance. We could not but notice the half sneer 
that flitted across the fiices of the English acton dur- 
ing that rehearsal They were incredulous as to nor 
abiIitie^ an«l, perhaps, not without some cause. Now 
and then there was a contemptuous Intonation in 
their voices that seemed to rebuke us for presumptloQ. 
Their shafts * hit, but hurt not' Our American Inde- 
pendence was an cgla, ftrom which tlie arrows fell 
without producing any effect but merriment Ho 
hand of welcome was extended — no word of encoor^ 
agemcnt was spoken to the intruding "Yankees." 
We were surrounded by an atmosphere of impene- 
trable fHgldlty. And yet there were, no doubt, kind 
hearts among the doubters. But the * stars* wwe 
transatlantic and their light was unacknowledged in 
that bemlsphem Even the aubordinatee of tho 


Editorial Notu — American Literature, 


theatre gave It as their private opinion that theee new 
Inminaxics wonld be extinguished without trouble. 

** At night, when the curtain rose upon Pauline, the 
greeting of the audience said plainly, 'Let us see 
what you can do I ' and It said nothing'more. Claude 
reeeired the same gracious though proiniseless per- 
mlsion. But even that greeting assured us of that 
downright generous trait in John Bull which makes 
him the fkirest of umpires, even where be is a party 
to the contest. Once make it plain to him that he is 
beaten, as in the ease of the trial with the New-Tork 
yacht, and be will huzza fur the victor as vociferously 
as he would have done for himself had he been on the 
winning side. 

** Before the fall of the curtain on the fourth act, It 
was decided that the * stars * were not to be * put out* 
At the fdl on the flfUi, they had taken an honorable 
place in the theatrical firmament, and were allowed 
to sfaise with undisputed light** 

Her reception in London by the actors 
and the managers was the same as in 
Manchester, and as we cannot doubt the 
correctness of her narrative, we can only 
wonder at the want of courtesy exhibited 
towards the young debutant by a class of 
Englishmen who have been accustomed to 
the most indulgent reception on this side 
of the Atlantic But Mrs. Mowatt was 
confident of her power to win applause 
from the public, and she bravely encoun- 
tered the rudeness of professional jealousy 
and hostility. We are tempted to give 
another extract describing her debut at 
the Princess's Theatre in London, for it is 
not only an interesting story in itself, but 
it will serve as an illustration of national 

** Our first rehearsal in an English provincial theatre 
had not proved particularly dellghtftiL But it was a 
foresliadowing o^ and a needful preparation for, the 
more aggravated, temper-trying inflictions that await- 
ed us at a London rehearsal. The stage aristocrats- 
of the company made no effort to conceal their ab- 
solute contempt fur the American aspirants. 

** Figuratively speaking, we were made to walk 
through a lane of nettles, so narrow that we could not 
avoid getting scratched. The more gently they were 
touched, the more deeply they stung. At the requ^ 
politely urged, of * Be so good as to cross to the right 
—I occupy the left'— the answer dryly returned was, 
'Excuse mo; I played this part originally with Mrs. 
Butler, at Dmry Lane— I always kept this position- 
it Is (A« proper situation.* Then there was a signlfl- 
eant look at the prompter, which said, ' This republi- 
can dost offends us ! We must got rid of it ! * 

**Tlie more mildly Mr. Davenport and mjrself ut- 
tered our unavoidable reque^'ts, the more decidedly 
we were answered M-ith objections to our wishea, 
ftxinded upon tlie autliority of some mighty precedent 
Neither patience nor gentleness could disarm our 
antagnniets. Wearied out with hearing that Mrs. 
Butler 9ai during her delivery of a certain speech, 
and, therefore, that nobody else could stand— or that 
Miss Fandt fainted with her hea<l leaning forwards, 
and, therefore, no Julia could faint with her head in- 
ettned backwards— or that Mrs. Kean threw herself 
It a eertain point into tlie arms of Master Walter, 
and, therefore, tlie embrace was a necessity- 1 at last 
ktdly, and, I confess, with some temper, said, * Sir, 
Vhcn I bsv« made np my mind to become the mere 

imitator of Mrs. Butler, or of Miss Fandt or of Ite 
Kean, I shall, perhap^ come to you for Instructioa. 
At present it is for the public to decide upon the 
faultiness of my conception. I shall not alter it, in 
spite of the very excellent authority you have cited.* 

"This determined declaration (it was certainly a 
* declaration of independence*) silenced my principal 
tormentor. He made up his mind that if I was want* 
ing in talent I ^^ not deficient in spirit He would 
have bowed before the one, but he at least yielded to 
the other. 

** But this was not my only or most serious annoy- 
ance. Miss Susan Cushman was to enact the charac- 
ter of Helen. She sent an apology for her absence at 
rehearsal on the plea of indisposition. The manager 
chose to Imagine that she entertained some theatrical 
Jealousy towards a countrywoman, and purposed to 
absent herself on the night of our first appearanoa 
No substitute for so Important a part as Helen could 
be provided at short notice, and the play would neceft* 
sarily have to be withdrawn— the antidpated d&mt 

" I see no reason for supposing that Miss Cushmta 
meditated any such unamlable intentions as wer« 
attributed to her by the manager. We were very 
slightly acquainted, but our intercourse had been 

" Miss Cushman's name was unceremoniously ex- 
punged from the * cast ; * and Miss Emmellne Mon- 
tague, the leading lady of the theatre, was persuaded 
by Mr. Maddox to undertake the r6U of Helen. 

** At Uie last rehearsal, for we had several. Just at 
Miss Montague commenced rehearsing. Miss Susan 
Cushman walked upon the stage. She inquired by 
what right the character belonging to her was given 
to another lady. The manager, who was not cele- 
brated for a conciliatory demeanor towards his com- 
pany, bluntly informed her of his suspicions. An 
angry scone ensued, such as I never before, and I re- 
joice to say, nerer a/Ur^ witnessed in any theatre. 
Behearsal was interrupted. I sat down at the promp- 
ter's table in a must unenviable state of mind. The 
actors stood in clusters around the wings, enjoying the 
dispute. Miss Cushman and Mr. Maddox occupied 
the stage. A casual spectator might have supposed 
they were rehearsing some tempestuous passages of a 
melodrama. Miss Cushman declared that she tDotUd 
play Helen, for that she had done nothing to forfdt 
her right to the performance. Mr. Maddox maintain- 
ed that the part should be played by Miss Montague. 
Miss Cushman was very naturally exasperated. I 
remalne<l silent but internally wishing that the dla- 
putanls might suddenly disappear through some of 
the trap doors that checkered the stage and were de- 
voted to the use of fairies and hobgoblins. 

"Finally Mr. Maddox ordered that the stage should 
be cleared and rehearsal continued. Miss Cushman 
was forced to retire. Just as she readied the wing, 
she turned back and offered me her hand I gave her 
mine— she departed, and rehearsal proceeded. This 
extraordinary scene in the drama of real life thorough- 
ly unnerve<l and unfitted me for the business of the 
hour ; and that night I was to make my London d4- 

— Poole's Index. — A simple account 
of the contents of this volume is the best 
eulogium that we can bestow upon it. The 
title tells its object and it is strictly what 
it professes to be, an Index of Periodical 
Literature. Mr. Poole has made a careful 
examination of all the standard periodicals 
which have appeared since the be^^inoing 


Editorial Notes — American Literaiure. 


of the century ; classified the articles of 
each number ; and arranged all the sub- 
jects treated in them under their appro- 
priate heads. The result is, an index 
which carries you to the opinions of the 
reviewers and essayists of this long period 
as readily as a table of contents does to 
the chapters and sections of a single work. 
The name of the author has been given 
wherever it has been possible to ascertain 
it ; and for one review, the North Ameri- 
can, the list is complete. Mr. Poole must 
be a lover of hard work, and what many 
people would think dry work, or he would 
never have had the courage to do this. 
But he has done it well, and produced a 
volume which wDl necessarily become a 
manual for every thorough scholar. 

The inevitable errors of a work like this 
must be errors of omission. "VVo had 
noticed a few which wo should have in- 
serted, if it had not occurred to us that it 
would bo more courteous to send them 
directly to the author. We will, however, 
make one suggestion. Let every body 
that has ever ^vritten for a review, even 
though it should be no more than a single 
article, examine Mr. Poole's Index, and if 
he finds his name omitted send him the cor- 
rection. In a few months the omissions 
or mistakes might all be corrected, and 
then the addition of a short appendix 
would make this volume as complete as a 
work of this nature over can be. 

We must add, that the work is printed 
just as works of permanent value always 
ought to be ; and if the meeting of a great 
and acknowledged want is a guarantee of 
success, both author and publisher will be 
amply rewarded for their labors. 

— Grace Greenwood's Haps and 
Mishaps of a Tour in Europe, has the 
quality of readableness, wnich many books 
of much greater pretensions lack ; but the 
^ books of almost all lady authors are read- 
able, just as the conversation of all women 
is entertaining ; the errors, volubility and 
misconceptions, which we will not tolerate 
in men, become amusing and entertaining 
in the case of a lady, or a child. Grace 
tells us nothing new about Europe, and 
even her own haps and mishaps are with- 
out piquancy or wonder, but her impetu- 
osity, good-hcartedness, and freshness of 
feeling iinpait to her letters the charm 
and fascination of a private communication. 
Such candor, prittle-prattle, and unreserve 
seem to have been intended for private 
reading, and not for the eye of the great 
republic of readers. She hurries through 
England, Ireland, Scotland, France, and 
Italy, taking no distinct or definite 
not^ of'^any thing, but mingling up in 

a hasty kind of pot-pourri, remarks 
about every thing and every body. No 
future author will ever quote any thing 
from the Haps and Mishaps, as reliable 
information, but those who read her book 
will have many old memories freshened 
by her allusions, and gain new ideas of 
persons and places that they have not 
known from personal acquaintance. She 
is a right-feeling, generous, and impulsive 
woman, who jots down upon paper her 
vivid impressions without mugh concern 
about the profundity of her opinions, or 
their correctness. She knows she is right 
in her intentions, and goes ahead. It is 
the better way, for stopping to consider in 
such cases would be fatal to letter-writing 
and book-making. It is better that the 
public should be at the trouble of verify- 
mg facts and justifying criticism. Like 
all European tourists, Grace dabbles in 
art and politics, showing much more 
knowledge and judgment in the latter 
than in the former; she is a radical in 
politics, a vehement Protestant in religion, 
and a Catholic in art. She laughs at the 
Pope, pities the poor people who are op- 
pressed by their rulers, and glorifies all 
the pictures, churches, and statues she 
encounters. If ever there should be a con- 
cordance made of her book, the repetition 
of the word gorgeous would be startling. 
It occurs on almost every page, and only 
yields now and then to such mild adjec- 
tives as grand, sui^rb, and delicious. 
These terms arc applied without discrim- 
ination to every thing that catches her eye. 
But her favorite expletive is gorgeous. In 
one place there are '* glorious Vandykes," 
in another " delicious" pictures of Andrea 
dol Sarto, Rafiaelle is ''grand," Michael 
Angelo "sublime," and Scott's Monu- 
ment in Edinburgh "gorgeous." Sun- 
sets, mountains, trees, churches, paintings, 
music, and pyrotechnics, are all gorgeous. 
But, as we have no standard by which to 
measure the value of her expletives, we 
do not know what they are worth, and 
their frequent use raised a suspicion that 
they are worth nothing at aU, but are 
merely used to simulate a real sentiment 
In architectural drawings it is necessary 
either to introduce a human figure that 
the relative size of objects may be judged 
by the eye, or a scale given of so many 
feet or miles to the inch, that the 
size of objects may be determined. It 
would be well for authors to introduce 
some such contrivance into their descrip- 
tions, that some idea may be formed of 
their meaning by the adjectives they em- 
ploy in conveying their ideas. A writer 
who commences bj' calling a small mono* 


EdUorial Notes — American Literature, 


ment gorgeous, loses all chance of convey- 
ing an idea of the greater works which he 
will be shortly called upon to describe. 
The most brilliant red would appear dall 
painted on a vermilion background. The 
defects of Grace's letters are that they tell 
us nothing which has not already been told 
by others, and the most hackneyed themes 
receive the same attention at her hands 
as the most novel. It is quite a useless 
labor to attempt to describe the Louvre, 
Hampton Court, or the Vatican, but a 
description of Stafford House, the town 
residence of the Duke of Sutherland, 
which has recently become a point of 
mat interest to Americans from the 
honors paid to Mrs. Stowe by its noble 
owner, as it has long been to the polite 
world from the treasures of art which it 
contains, would have been something new. 
But Grace, who had the privilege, which 
few travellers have ever enjoyed, of visit- 
ing this magnificent mansion, with Lord 
Carlisle for a cicerone, makes no more of 
her opportunity than she did of her visit 
to the Louvre, which thousands of tourists 
have already wearied the reading public 
by describing. To criticize works of art 
requires first a natural capacity which is 

Suite as rare as the genius to produce 
tiem, and then, an education, which few . 
have the opportunities to gain, without 
which it is impossible to judge correctly 
of the relative excellence of the produc- 
tions of the artists. But all our travellers 
who go to Europe, whether they have any 
of the requisite qualifications or not, feel 
themselves not only qualified to form opin- 
ions of works which they merely glance at, 
and which artists study with care, but 
think it their duty to publish their opinions 
to the world. Grace Greenwood is a lady 
of too much natural good sense and right 
instincts to have fallen into such bad 
habits ; but she runs through the Louvre 
and other great collections of art, and 
publishes her opinion about the works 
which she rapidly glanced at with as much 
flippancy and freedom as though she had 
made art the study of her life, and had a 
right to speak, ex-cathedra, upon all sub- 
jects that come within the province of 
criticism, from St. Peter's at Rome down 
to Scott's Monument in Edinburgh. 

— **Ik. Marvel" founded a school of 
litterateurs, whose peculiar characteris- 
tics are, much sentimentality, and a little 
thought about nature and the poetic side 
of every -day life, expressed in the form of 
soliloquy, although occasionally breaking 
mto the colloquial, the author addressing 
his words to some imaginary hearer. "VVe 
have read the works of the founder of the 

school, we cannot say with pleasure, but 
with respect, because so many people liked 
them. It was the first sentimentalism, 
the dawn of the school, when there was 
some freshness and glow in it, though not 
much, and before every man, woman, and 
child, who had experienced a vague sensa- 
tion of satisfaction at the sight of a sunrise 
OP a mountain, attempted a vague render- 
ing of the impression upon paper, and pub- 
lished it with success. Reveries, musings, 
and thinkings, memories, mysteries, sha- 
dows, and death — old times, voices from 
the past, stars, moonlight, night winds, 
old homesteads, flowing rivers, and prime- 
val forests, filled the pages of the new 
books, and the columns of the daily 
papers. fS&. delighted the readers of a 
morning paper with a deer, a dog. and a 
dead girl, served up in every conceivable 
style of sorrow, sadness and sighs, for a 
whole year, at least once every week. 
This may be called the middle sentiment- 
alism. Latterly, the disciples of the 
school, sinking to a lower point, have 
broken out with increased vigor and popu- 
larity, and are now filling the news- 
papers with tiresome and salacious namby- 
pambyism, which has neither simplicity 
nor sentiment to recommend it. This 
is the newest, and, we hope, the last 
sentimentalism. January and June, a 
new work, by Benjamin F. Taylor, be- 
longs to the middle stage, and is a good 
specimen of its class, and will be relished 
by those who like such writing. As to 
the " Hot Com" writers, we shall pay 
our respects to them and their patrons 
at another time, to which the reader 
is referred ; and to the admirers of the new 
sentimentalism, we would recommend a 
course of Sterne, which will effectually 
cure them of their unwholesome fondness 
for diluted sentiment, by teaching them 
the difference between the true and the 
false in this kind of literature. 

— On takinj]^ up a book called Old 
Sights with New Eyes, our attention was 
attracted to the introductionj by Dr. Ro- 
bert Baird, in which he commends the 
work in the highest terms. Among other 
things he says : " The style is pure and 
beautiful, and the descriptions of places 
and things are exact, concise, and highly