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Abbot, a novel, by the author of Waverley - . - 173,255 

A«T>erican Antiquarian Society, transactions of • - -69 

AniericanBarAs. apoem - . . . . 270 

Letter to the Trustees of South Carolina College - - 141 

M^ste^y or Forty Years Ago, a novel . . - • 145 

Ordination Strmon, by Dr. Ware ..... 260 

Petei's Letters to his Kinsfolk . - - . - 1 

Poetical Works of John Trumbull - ... 36, 65 

Sillinian's Tour to Quebec .... . 193 

Snuthey's Life of John Wesley .... 321 

Thomas' Travels in the Western Country - > ' - 129 


Adair's Expedition - • - - - - 61 

Adventure with the Indians ..... US 

Alleghawian Monuments of Elkhorn creek - - . 52 
Anecdotes ....... 112, 254 

Attack upon Boonsborough by the Indians in 1778 - - 362 

American Scenery, letter upon ~ . . - . 23'5 

Account of the late Timothy Dexter .... 278 

Commencement, Transylvania University ... 51 

Dr. Dudley's Medical Discourse, extracts from - - - 237 

Enquiries on the Galaxy or Milky way - . - . 117 
Pishes in the Western Waters, natural history of - - 165,244 

Historical Anecdotes . . . , : , 112 

Hudson New York, letter from ... . 164 

Imperfection of Language - - - . . 302 

Internal Improvnment ---,... 368 

landing of the Fathers at Plymouth .... 285 

languages, Tabular View of - - - . . 310 

Lm gunge, In^ perfection of - - . , . 302 

I. f:ri'irg. Encouragement of ... . 373 

Literary Intelligence . . . * 188; 252 

Lttrary Notice - . . . - . ' 51 

Literary Pocket Book •. . . . , . 311 

Meteorological Observations . . , . 124,375 

Pussell's Cave, letter describing .... 160 

St. Clair's Campaign - • - - . - 58 

The Zend-Avesta of Zoroaster - - . . 356 


Anacieon, Translation of - - - . ,, . 255 

Dream - - - ■> - - - - * 583 

Eiiig-mas, translation of two from the Latin - - ''«.'. 315 

Ej-iigram, on the loss of a Frjend - . - - ' 382 

Eve' of Life - - - - - . - J 256 

Inscription for a beech tree - - - - - ' • 320 

Impromptu .... . . ,. 320 

Julia's Urn - - . - - - - - 62 

Kentucky ...-..,. 378 

] a Bagatelle ....... 382 

Lir>estVom a Ilusbanrl on seeing- his daughter at play - - 255 

presented to a lady on her birth day • - - - 191 

to E. - - - - - - - - 383 

Malvinii - - . ..... 127 

Ode to the memory nf Mr. J. D. Clifford, tranlated from the Italian 63 

Schuylkill River and its Seats ..... 3yO 

Silvia - - - . . " - 127 

Si.ep, lines on . - - - - - 319 

Sou.^ - - - ... 381 

Stewart's Essay on. "The Beautiful," lines written after reading 317 

Summer morning', description of - » - - 320 

Yarnall, l,ieut. lines on the death of - - - 316 

York Spring's Penn, lines written on leaving - - 317 


^^ ..".^ ?* l> AND 

Vol. III. AUGUST, 1820. 

—'•'•'— ^ - '-■ --■' -- " - ■ — 

^^Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk, to which is added a Post- 
cript^ addressed to Samuel T Coleridge, Esqr. Second A- 
merican edition, J^ho-York^ printed by James and Joha 
Harper, No. 138, Fulton Street,forE Duyckinck, Coring 
& Co, Collins and Hannay, S. Campbell & Son, and G. 
Long. 1820." 8v-o, pp, 520. 

This is a very amusing" book of a very amusing kind. Of 
all subjects, those, which are here intreduced, are best cal- 
■culated to excite our curiosity, and to gratify our taste for 
an elegant species of social and literary gossip. We are, 
or at least appear to be, let into the the closet of life and 
character, and are enabled to see men and things stripped 
of their disguises. We have scarcely ever been more en- 
tertained with any work than with this of Peter, and must 
acknowledge ourselves to be indebted to him for a high de- 
gree of enjoyment many a delighted hour. He 
treats of a great variety of subjects in Scotland, and just 
such as we v.'ould have selected for him, had we been called 
on beforehand to name the sort of production to which h& 
should devote his talents. He brings to our attention the 
most interesting personages of the country, and in the most 
interesting attitudes, whether in public or in private life. 
He makes us familiarly acquainted wiih the literary, profes- 
sional, and religious condition of the best part of Scotch so- 
ciety. He turns often to the same characters, but always 
with a new interest. He pours out a full and copious 
stream of thought, observation, criticism, and good feeling, 
which seems to be inexhaustible. He is remarkably graphic- 
al, and compels us, ai$ much as any write.i: we have qverread^ 



to look at objects through his own glasses, and with his own 
sympathies. He places us precisely where he chooses tohave 
the landscape seen under the relations, and in the perspec- 
tive, thathis purpose requires. We quarrel with him indeed 
sometimes for his diminutions and amplifications, his trans- 
positions, and his excessive colours, but so much skill is 
shown throughout, that we easily forget the censures which 
we intended to treasure up and pronounce. We are nof, 
ive confess, likely to become converts to his craniology., or 
to any of the far cies which Gall and Spurzheim have sported 
upon the "iww?p5" of the skull. We may be very dull as well 
as very heretical upon this subject, but we cannot offer our- 
selves for admission to the fellowship of this wizard church 
of German philosophers built upon the osfrontis and os occi- 
yitis. Making pigeon holes of the brain to receive the dif- 
ferent faculties of the mind, according to the arrangement 
of an attorney's papers, is too trifling an occupation for a man 
of Peter's talents. He has, however, rendered this system 
more agreeable, as a play of fancy, than we had anticipated 
from any writer. The heads, which he describes, belong- 
ing to persons, wjiiose characters and peculiarities he well 
knew, answer an excellent purpose for amusing illustration, 
and for a novel course of critical remark upon cele- 
brated individuals. We are not even sure, that we wish the 
craniological part of the book absent, notwithstanding the 
extravagance of the principles, upon which it rests. Indeed, 
w^e could not spare this portion of Peter's speculations so 
well as some others, and think his book would be less perfect 
without it. Were a man to be serious in this theory, we 
should think him crack-brained; but he may sport with it 
as well as with any other absurdity. That this was the in- 
tention of Peter, we are willing to believe, if he or the read- 
er pleases. Provided we have room, we may hereafter 
make some extracts from the book to show how such a sub- 
ject maybe managed by a skilful hand. 

These letters are said to be written by Mr. Lockhart, a 
young man of the bar with whom Dr. Morris became ac- 
quainted at a dinner given by Mr. Gillies, (p, 407.) We 
have no means, but from the work, of knowing how far 
this suggestion is worthy of being received as true. There 
is nothing conclusive against it in the notice taken of this 
young gentleman. On the contrary, several circumstances 
easily lead us to believe that the notice is intended as a 
blind to assist the concealment of the imognitus. M*. Lock- 

iSSO, Peter's letters to his kins'folk» 9 

hart IS an Oxonian, very fond of the study of languages, ad- 
ding the modern to the ancient, having strong partialities to 
English literature as distinguished from Scotch, a writer in 
Blackwood's Magazine, a satyrist, an avowed critic and (in 
some respects) enemy of the Edinburgh Review, and well 
acquainted with the scenes and persons described by Dr. 
Morris. To all these points Peter answers extremely well, 
and shows too familiar an acquaintance with Edinburgh and 
the vicinity to permit us to consider him merely as a travel- 
ler on a visit to the northern metropolis. We are entirely 
satisfied that any man, who will give us as good a book, 
shall have the privilege of writing much more about him- 
self as a blind, than Mr. Lockhart has done. We are not 
afraid of the consequences of this permission or practice, 
which some persons predict and dread. Fastidiousness 
would deprive us of much pleasure, as well as of much in- 
struction, by forbidding the authors of Journals and Letters 
to say any thing about their contemporaries and neighbours. 
Peter has fairly defended himself in his Postscript against 
the objections and cavils which have been employed to 
criminate him. He has generally spoken well of the per- 
sons, whom he has introduced, although he ascribes to them 
very different kinds and degrees of talents, attainments, 
and virtues. The particular visits are probably invented 
for the purpose of describing society, and are founded upon 
his previous intercourse with the persons and their fami- 
lies. It is to us immaterial, however, whether the visits 
were made, or not. All that we want is to have them faith- 
fully descriptive of the persons, places, and manners. It 
is a lively mode of embodying one's knowledge and opin- 
ions for public use. Attention is arrested by it, and nothing 
escapes the notice of the reader. We rise from Peter's 
book with a conviction that we are intimately acquainted 
with every scene, place, person, street, house, drawing 
room, dress, and action mentiored. We seem to have spent 
a year in Edinburgh and Glasgow, and to have visited all 
the principal families of the country, and to have convers- 
ed freely and confidentially with all the poets, orators, 
lawyers, lecturers, clergymen, wits, belles, and blue stock- 
ings, to be found in these cities. We sympatliize with W — 
in his tory-prejudices, and half prefer the old town to the 
new. We are desirous of jumping into the shadrydan, and 
of submitting ourselves to the discretion of '■'■scrub.^^ We 
are present at Burns's Dinner, hear tl^e songs, drink the 


toasts, and enter into all the feelings of Hogg and Wilson^ 
»^e attend the courts, iand are delighted with the acumen 
of Clerk, tlie elegance of Cranstoun, the fertility of J:>ffrey, 
and the pathos of Cockburn. We go to the churches, and 
tremble under the boldness of ^^loncrief, yield to the good 
sense and ingenuity of Inglis, abandon our disguises under 
the penetration and plainness of Thompson, are delighted 
and refined by the sentimental addresses of Alison, and are 
Warmed and elevated by the enthusiasm and piety of Chal- 
iners. We enter the picture gallery of Allan, and every 
painting becomes a scene of real life. We are made to 
feel the extent and efficacy of Coustable^s system of busi- 
ness, are interested in the more animated and ambitious 
exertions of Blackwood, and have our e3'es and ears filled 
with elegance and gossip at the shop of Manners and Mil- 
ler. Our eyes suifer under the dazzling brilliancy of t^e 
gas light of the theatre, and we join in reprobating the 
taste that makes the audience and the actors equally con- 
spicuous. Under the hand of Peter, all subjects glow wilh 
life and interest. Whatever topic he may select, it is found 
to be full of instruction and amusement. Few writers in- 
terweave useful remarks, even with words of levity, more 
successfully than he does. 

Educated in England, but having settled himself in Scot- 
land, Mr Lockhart is peculiarly qualified to observe accu- 
rately, and describe closely, whatever peculiarities he may 
have discovered in any department of Scotch character, man- 
»ers, learning, taste, laws, institutions, religion, and morals. 
A native would pass over a multitude of subjects, without 
discerning their distinctive features, which a stranger 
would feel powerfully, and exliibit analytically. And yet a 
stranger, making only a visit, would noi; be able to observe 
minutely enough, and under a sufficient variety of circum- 
stances, to judge fairly of the whole. An Englishman well 
educated, and establishing himself as a resident in Edin- 
burgh,is best qualified to understand and exhibit Scotch char- 
acter and society. Dr. Morris is a candid observer in the 
main, and the spirit of kindness and apology, in regard to 
the errors and peculiarities of persons, prevails in his book« 
When certain subjects, however, and certain individuals, 
arise, he loses his candor, in some degree his temper, and 
of course his fidelity in describmg them. He is doubtless, 
one of the principal su'pporters of Blackwood's Magazine, 
and hates the Edinburgh lievicw, to which he is professed- 

^SSO. Peter's letters to ms kinsfolk^ 8» 

ly an antagonist writer. He thinks that he sees determin- 
ed and calculating infidelity in the articles of JetiVey and 
his friends, where we see none, and xvhere we acknowledge 
no cause of alarm. He cannot do justice to the talents of 
the whigs of Scotland, paiticularly the young whigs, 
nor to the learning and philosophy of the metaphysi- 
cians of that countiy. At the same time, his portraits of 
Scotchmen are, upon the whole, very flattering and highly 
colored. We do not wish him to say more in their praise, 
but we want a little more judgment and discretion in cer- 
tain parts, and in regard to certain persons. He sympathi- 
zes too muci) with the Quarterly Review, and is unwarrant- 
ably censorious of its great and victorious competitor in 
the North. The tone of moral feeling, howe\^er, and the 
tendency of his Letters, must be allow^ed to be good, and 
even excellent. No writer has unfolded more happily some 
of the finest and noblest sentimen*s of our nature, nor 
pointed out more truly the chilling and debasing influence 
of habitual skepticism. He is analytical and acute, copious? 
and free, various and graphical. He describes character 
admirably, and paints natural scenery in living colors. He 
i5 peculiarly happy in the selection of epithets, and is al- 
most the only author who has made us take a deep interest 
in an account of pictures. This part usually of travellers 
and amateurs is exceedingly dull, and would be much bet- 
ter to be omitted. But no reader of Dr. Morrig would miss, 
for any consideration, the visit to Mr. Allan. The Letters 
are no doubt quite unequally WTitten, and compactness 
does not belong to the style of any of them. They are so 
well written, however, taken as a whole, that we have little 
pleasure in dwelling on the faults of the style. The work 
is chiefly employed about particulars, but introduces a vari- 
ety of general reflections which have the greatest interest 
and use. The particulars too are so given, that they lead 
the reader to general reflections when the writer does not 
follow them out in form. Good principles, in this way, pro- 
duce a powerful impression upon our minds, when we 
have no suspicion of the manner in Avhich the end is ac- 

Peter must be a man of diversified learning; lie must 
Lave travelled considerably; he must have observed keenly; 
and is well fitted to comment on life and manners. His as- 
sumed character is well sustained, and gives him fair op- 
f ortunities to say many excellent things, and to introduce 

jP «peter's letters to his kinsfolk. »^iig. 

many interesting anecdotes, that he could not have men- 
tioned in propria persmia. We think very little of the ob- 
jections, which we have tieard made to his high coloring, 
and what is called his extravagance. Such readers do not 
appear to us to enter into the real spirit of the book. Eve- 
ry man, at all acquainted with the world, understands at 
once the alloAvances which are to be made, and Avhich were 
intended. We should as soon think of objecting to wit, hu- 
mour, and character-painting, in conversation, because of 
their vivacity and glow, as to Peter's Letters for the same 
qualities. The author has succeeded in what he meant, the 
production of a work which every one should read, over 
which no one should sleep, and by which every one may be 

We come now to the particulars, which we have placed 
upon our notes, in the perusal of the Letters, and shall 
give extracts upon a variety of subjects. 

We were surprised to find that a trial of strength in leap- 
ing is still a practice in Scotland among gentlemen collect- 
ed by an invitation to dinner, and that even quite old meu 
join in this sport. 

"We were joined toward six o'clock by professors Playfair and Lesslie^ 
and one or two young' advocates, who had walked out with them. Then 

came R Morehead, whom you remember at BalUol, a relation and in- 

■flmate fViend of Jeffrey's. He and the celebrated orator Alison officiate 
logether in one of the Episcopalian chapels in Edinburgh. Although we 
never knew each other at Oxford, yet we immediately rec(^gnized each 
other's old High-Street faces, and began to claim a sort of acquaintance 
on that score, as all Oxoniaa contemporaries, I believe, are accustomed to 
do, when they meet at a distance from their alma mater. There were 
several otlier gentlemen, mostly of grave years, so that I was not a little 
astonished, when somebody proposed a trial of strengl-h in leaping. Nor 
was my astonishment at all diminished, when Mr. Playfair began to throw 
off his coat and waistcoat, and to ])repare himself for taking his part in the 
contest. When he did so much, I could have no apology, so I also strip- 
ped; and, indeed, the whole party did tlie same, except Jeffrey alone, 
T.'ho was dressed in a short green jacket, with scarcely any skirts, and, 
therefore, seemed to consider himself as already sufficigntly 'uccinctus 

"I used to be a good leapevln niy day — witness the thousands of times 
I have beat yoa in the Port .Meadow, and elsewhere — but I cut a very poor 
figure among these sinewy Caledonians. With the exception of Lesslie, 
they all jumped wonderfully; and Jeffrey was quite miraculous, consider- 
ing his brevity of stride. But the greatest wonder of the whole was Mr. 
Playfiiir. He also is a short man, and he cannot be less than seventy, yet 
he took his stand with the assurance of an athletic, and positively beat ev- 
ery one of us, at least half a heel's breadth. I was quite thunder- 
struck, never having liearcl the leas-t liint of his being so great a geometri- 
cian — in this sense of ;he word. I was, however, I must own, agreeably 
surprised by such a buoyant spirit and aiuscularstren^-th in so venerably 

i62Q. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk* Y 

an old g-entleman, and could not forbear from complimenting him on his re« 
vival of tJie ancient peripatetic ideas, about the necessity of ciiltivatini^ 
the external as well as the internal- energies, and of mixing the activity oi 
the practical with that of the contemplative life." (p, 39.) 

Peter met an old Oxonian friend in Edinburgh, whose a- 
miable qualities and prejudices form an interesting mixture^ 
and afford an opportunity for the following fine portrait. 

"William W is a pale-faced, grave-looking thin gentleman, of for- 
ty yeai'S old, or thereby. He has a stoop in his gait, and walks with hi.q 
toes in; but his limbs seem full of sinew, and he is of a seemly breadth a- 
cross the back. He uses to wear a hat of singular broad brim, like a Qua- 
ker, for the convenience of shadow to his eyes, which are weak, though 
piercing. These he further comforts and assists by means of a pair of 
spectacles, of the pure crystalline in winter, "but vhroyghout the sunny 
portion of the year," green. His nose is turned up somewhat at the 
point, as it were disdainfully. His li]5S would be altogether indiscernible, 
l)U,tfor the line of their division; and can call up in no mind (unless, per- 
chance, on the principle of contrast) any phantasy either of cherry or 
rosebud, to say nothing about bees. This yellow visage of his, with 
his close firm lips, and his grey eyes shining through his spectacles, as 
through a burning-glass, more brightly — the black beard not over diligent- 
ly shorn — all lurking under the projecting shadow of that strange briin, 
compose such a physiognomy, as one would less wonder to meet within 
Valladolid, than in Edinburgh. It is plain, yet not ugly. It is monastic, 
yet it is not anchoretic. It is bitter and yet it wants not gleams of sheer 
good humour. In short, it belongs, and only could belong, to the ner- 
vous, irritable, enthusiastic, sarcastic William W . The years which 

had passed since our parting, had exaggerated the lines of this counte- 
nance, and entirely removed every vestige of its bloom. But the fea- 
tures were too marked to hare undergone any essential alteration, and 
after dinner, when some half a dozen bumpers of claret had somewhat 
smoothed its asperities, I could almost have fancied myself to be once 
more transported back to thecommou-roomof Trinity or Jesus." fnD 18 
19.) ^* ^ ' ' 

We are much pleased with W throughout. His 

faults and weaknesses take nothing from our good feelings 
toward him. We are in love with his honesty, with his at- 
tachment to the Old Town, and with his unbending fidelity 
to his principles and convictions. We are not sure that we 
should not quarrel with him in real life, and living in the 
same place, but however disagreeable he might be found 
under such circumstances, we like him not a little ia the 
book, where nothii^g clashes with our own prejudices, and 
no attack can be made upon our own peace. 

The appearance of the Scotch, people at church, as it is 
given in the following extract, is well calculated to let ws in- 
to the religious character of this critical and discerning na- 
tion. The author must have attended closely to the subject 
to define so well. 

"\Yh»\. tbe Scottish physiognomists are u,se4 to talk of, with tUe hi^i- 


est satisfaction, is the air of superior intelligence stamped on the faces of 
their countrymen of the lower orders of society; and indeed there is no 
question, a Scottish peasant, with his long- dry visag'e, his sharp prominent 
cheekbones, his grey twinkling- eyes, and peaked chir, would seem a ve- 
ry Argus, if set up close beside the sleek and ponderous chubbiness of a 
Gloucestershire farmer — 1'» sav nothing of the smarter and ruddier oili- 
ness of some of our country folks. As to the matter of a mere aeute- 
iiess, however, 1 think I have seen faces in Yorkshire, at least a match for 
any thing to be founu farther north. But the mere shrewdness of the 
Scotch peasant's face, is only one part of its expression; it has other 
things, I should imagine, even more peculiarly characteristic. 

"The best place to study their faces in is the kirk; it is there that the 
sharpness of their discernment is most vehemently expressed in every 
line — for they are all critics of the sermon, and even of the prayers; but 
it is there also that this sharpness of feature is most frequently seen to 
melt away before emotions of a nobler order, which are no less peculiar- 
ly, though far less pertinently theirs. It is to me a very interesting thing 
to witness the struggle that seems to be perpetually going on between 
the sarcastic and reverential elements of their dispositibn — how bitterly 
they seem to rejoice in their own strength, when they espy, or th'nk they 
espy, some chink in the armour of their preacher's reasoning; and then 
■witii what sudden humility they appear to bow themselves into the dust, 
before some single solitary gleam of warm affectionate eloquence — the 
only weapon they have no power to resist. If I mistake not, it is in this 
mixture of sheer speculative and active hard-headedness, with the capa- 
city of so much lofty enthusiasm concerning things intangible, that we 
must seek for the true differential quality of the Scottish peasants." (p, 27.) 

The remarks upon Goetho, and the portrait of Jeffrey, ar&- 
worthy of a place in our review. 

"Of all the celebrated characters of this place, I rather understand that 
Jeffrey is the one whom travellers are commonly most in a hurry to see — 
not surely that the world in general has any such deep and abiding feeling 
of admiration for him, or any such longing to satisfy their eyes with gaz- 
ing on his features, as they have with regard to sucli a man as Scott, or 
even St— — t; but I think the interest felt with respect to him is of a 
more vi\ acious and eager kind, and they rush with all speed to gi'atify it 
— exactly as men give immediate vent to tticir petty passions, who have no 
difficulty, or rather, indeed, wlu) have a sort of pleasure in nursing silent- 
ly, and concealing long, those of a more ssrious and gi-ave importance. A. 
few years ago, I shoulrl, perhaps, have been more inclined to be a sharer 
in this violent sort of impatience; but even now 1 approached the resi- 
dence of Jeilrey wiih any feelings assuredly rather than those of indiffer- 

"He was within when I called, and in a second I found myself in the pres- 
ence of tliis bugbear of autliors. He received me so kindly, (although, 
from the app^ru-ance of his room, he seemed to be immersed in occupa- 
tion,) and asked so many questions, and said and looked so much, in so 
short a time, that I had some difficulty in collecting my mquisitorial pow- 
ersto examine the.person of the man. I know not how, there is a kind 
df atmosphere of activity about him; and my eyes caught so much of the 
prevailing St. 'l. .J ihat they darted for some niinutes from olijectto object, 
a.nd -■<,.; uaeJ, for the first time, to settle the:nselves even upon tlie fea- 
tures of a miw of genius — to them, of all human things, the most potent 
attractions. ' • . 


"I find tliatthe common prints ^ive a very inadequate notion of his ap- 
pearance. The ?rtists of this day are such a set of cowardly fellows, that 
they never dare to give tlie truth as it is in nature; and the consequence 
is, after all, that they rather take from, than add to, the impressiveness 
of the faces they would flatter. What a small matter is smoothness of 
skin, or even regularity of feature, in the countenance that Nature ha» 
formed to be the index of a powerful intellect? Perhaps I am too much 
of a connolseur to be a fair judge of such matters; but I am very sure, 
that the mere lumdsomeness of a great man is one of the last things about 
;him that fixes my attention. I do not wish, neither, to deny, that, when I 
Brst saw Goethe, ihe sublime simplicity of his Homeric beauty — the aw- 
ful pile of forehead — the large deep eyes, with their melancholy hght- 
nings — the v»hole countenance, so radiant with divinity, would have lost 
much of its power, had it not been, at the same time, the finest specimen 
of humanity I had ever beheld; neither "would I conceal the immeasura- 
ble softness of delight which mingled with my reverence, when I detect- 
ed, as if by intuition, in the midst of the whole artists of St. Luke's, the 
Hyperion curls, and calm majestic lineaments, which could be nobody's 
but Canova's. But although beauty never exists in vain, there is nothing 
more certain than that its absence is scarcely perceived by those who arc 
capable of discovering and enjoying the marks of things more precious 
tlian beauty. Could all our countrymen at the present time, of very great 
reputation for talents or genius, be brought together into a single room, 
their physiognomies would, I doubt not, form as impressive a group as 
can well be imagined; but, among the whole, there would scarcely be 
"more than one face which any sculptor might be ambitious of imitating 
on marble. Jeifi-ey's countenance could not stand cuchatcst. To catch 
ilie minutest dements of Its eloquent power, would, I think, be a hard e- 
nough task for any painter, and indeed, as I have already told you, it has 
proved too hard a task for such as have yet attempted it." (pp, 33, 34.) 

"Mr. .Jeffrey, then, as T have said, is a very short, and vei-y active-look- 
ing man, with an appearance of extraordinary vivacity in all his motions 
and gestures. His face is one which cannot be understood at a single 
look — perhaps it requires, as it certainly invites, a long and anxious scru- 
tiny before it lays itself open to the gazer. The features are neither 
itandsome, nor even very defined in their outlines; and yet the effect of 
the whole is as striking as any arrangement either of more noble or more 
jnarked features, which ever came under my view. The forehead is ve- 
■ly singularly shaped, describing in its bend from side to side a larger 
segment of a circle than is at all common; compressed below the temples 
rdmbst as much as Sterne's, and throwing out sinuses above the eyes, of 
an extremely bold ar.d compact structure. The hair is very black and 
wiry, standing in ragged bristly clumps out from the upper part of his 
head, but lying close and firm, lower down, especially about the ears. Al- 
together it 1^ pictureso^^ue, and adds to tlie effect of the visage. The 
mouth is tlie most cspressi%'e part of his face, as I believe it is of every 
face. The iipsare very firm, but they tremble and vibrate, even when 
brought close together, in such a way as to give the idea of an intense, 
t\ever-ceasing play of mind. There is a dehcate kind of sneer almost al- 
ways upon theTT). which has not the least appeal ance of ill-temper about 
it, but seems to belong entirely to the speculative understanding of the 
inan. I iiave said that the mcuth is the most expressive part of his face — 
and, in oiie sense, this is the truth, for it is certainly the seat of all its rap 
id and transitory expression. But what speaking things are his eyesi 
They disdain to be agitated with those losser emotions which pass over 
tie lips; l^ey reserve t^eir fierce and ^Sffk eu^rgiej for ift^tters of ii»er$ 

2 • ^ >^ 


Ttnoment; once kindled with the heat of any passion, how they beam, flash 
tipon flash! The scintillation of a starts not more fervid. Perhaps, not- 
"withstiinding of this, their repose is even more vvortliy of attention. With 
the capacity of emitting such a flood of radiance, they seem to take a plea- 
sure in banishing- every ray from their black, inscrutable, glazed, tarn- 
like circles. I tliiiik their pre vailing language is, after all, rather a mel- 
ancholy than a merry one — ^itis, at least, very full of reflection. Such is 
a faint outline of this countenance, the features of which (to say nothing 
at all of their expression,) have, as yet, baffled every attempt of the por- 
trait-painters; and which, indeed, bids very fair, in my opinion, to leave no 
amage behind it either on canvass or on copper. A sharp, and, at the 
.same time, very deep-toned voice — a very bad pronunciation, but accom- 
panied with very little of the Scotch accent — a light and careless manner, 
exchanged now and then for an infinite xariety of more earnest expres- 
sion and address — this is as much as I could carry away from my first visit 
to "the wee rekit deil," as the Inferno of Altesidora h.:s happily called 
liim. I have since seen a great deal more of him, and have a great deal 
anore to tell you, but my paper is done." (pp, 36, 37.) 

Justice is done to the talents, learning, and style of Hume, 
l)ut there is an apparent contradiction between the declara- 
tions which are made concerning the extent of his influ- 
ence. "The prince of skeptics has himself been found the 
most potent instrumeTit for diminishing, almost for neutralir 
:zing, the true and grave influence of the prince of histori- 
ans." (p, 50.) From this we should suppose that Hume's 
influence is very small, but we learn in another place that 
it is very great. "Whatever may be his future fate, this 
much is quite certain, thattne general principles of his jihi- 
Josophy still continue to exert a mighty influence over by far 
the greatest part of the literary men of his country; and 
that almost the only subject, on which these his pious disci- 
ples dare to apply his principles in a different way froir^ 
Tvhat he himself exemplified, is that of politics." (p, Bl.) 

The charge against Adam Smith, (p, 50,) that he attempt- 
ed to try every thing hy '■'■mere utilittj,'''' is by no means justj if 
it includes the idea that man has by nature no moral senti- 
ments, and that every question in casuistry is to be decided, 
as in Paley's ethics, by a calculation of general conseq^uen- 
vces. Smith believed that man is in his nature &, moral be- 
ing, possessing moral sewtiments^ and approving or disap- 
proving according to their dictates. The moral sentimentt 
may indeed he abused; they may be well or ill directed; 
they may be happily or unhappily associated; but they ar» 
always a part of our nature, and affect our moral judgments, 
■whatever may be our education or our attainments. It is 
the great defect of Paley's Moral Philosophy, that he dis- 
regards the moral constitution of man, and determines ques-» 


trons of right and wrong by mere utility, or general conse-^ 
quences. But Smltt's excellent work, The Theory of Mor- 
al Sentiments, is of a very different character, and brings 
into view continually the moral nature of the human mind. 
Peter has furnished us with an ingenious and amusi- g^ 
"cranioscopical" account of Hume and Rousseau. But, as iiL 
other cases, he has taken the characters of the men, as he 
knew them from other means, and appropriated their differ- 
ent talents to different parts and conformations of their 

"The prints of David Hume are, most of them, I believe, taten frona 
the very portrait I have seen; but. of course, the style and effect of the 
features are much more thoroughly to be understood, when one has an 
opportunity of observing them expanded mi their natural proportions. 
The face is far from being in any respect a classical one. The forehead 
is chiefly remarkable for its prominence from the ear, and not so much 
for its heigbt. This gives him a lowering sort of look forvvard, expres- 
sive of great inquisitiveness into matters of fact, and the consequences to 
be deduced from them. His eyes are singularly prominent, which, ac- 
cording t) the Callic system, would indicate an extraordinary develop- 
ment of the organ of language behind them. His nose is too low between 
the eyes, and not well or boldly formed in any other respect. The lips, 
althougU not handsome, have, in their fleshy anA maeey ouihnes, abun- 
dant marks of habitual reflection and intellectual occupation. The whole 
has a fine expression of intellectual dignity, candour, and serenity. The 
want of elevation, however, which I have already noticed, injures very 
much the effect even of the structure of the lower part of the head. It 
takes away all idea of the presence of the highest and most god-like ele- 
ments of which our nature is capable. In the language of the German 
•doctor, it denotes the non-development of the organ of veneration. It is 
to be regretted that he wore powder, for this prevents us from having the 
advantage of seeing what was the natural style of his hair — or, indeed, of 
ascertaining the form of any part of his head beyond the forehead. If I 
mistake not, this physiognomy accords very well with the idea you have 
formed of David Hume's character. Although he was rather fond of 
plaguing his theological contemporaries, there was not much of the fanat- 
icism of infidehty about him His object, in most cases, was to see 
what the mere power of ratiocination would lead to, and wherever he 
met with an illogical sequence of propositions, he broke it down without 
mercy. When he was led into ill-toned and improper feelings, it was 
chiefly by the intoxication of intellectual power, for ther^ seems to have 
been much humanity and graciousness in his disposition. 

"In the same room I saw also a portrait, by the same hand, of David's il» 
lustrious friend, and illustrious enemy, Jean Jacques. No person who sees 
their two heads in this juxtaposition, can help wondering by what circum" 
stances these two men should ever have been led to imagine themselves 
capable of entertaining true feelings of friendship for each other. As 
well might one conceive of an alliance between the calm, cud-chewing, 
mild-eyed cow of the meadow, and the wild, fierce, untamed anduntame- 
able leopard or panther of the jungle. Rousseau is represented in his usu. 
al fantastic Armenian garb, a loose flowing brown vest or caftan, and a high 
furredbonnet on his head. This last piece of dress mingles itself admira- 
bly wKh his wiry hair, twisted and, sonyolYsd, as ii"it gt«w through a skia 


that had no rest — and both harmonize, as wall as possible, with the thin,. 
paJe, melancholy visag-e, the narrow irascible lips, the black wandenng^ 
impenetrable eye,, and the thick jetty eye brows drawn together with. 
such a lookof visionary suspicrousness. One sees little of the forehead 
itself, but the bonnet gives the effect of great elevation, aad such, I 
doubt not, was the truth, coulti we look belov,-. What an eloquent ex-^ 
pression of self-tormenting imagination! It seems as if all thoughts came 
to that mysterious. receptacle, andfew could find there any resting place, 
Enthusiasm, with the strong wing^ and the kingly eye of the eagle — ^the 
meaner fei'ocity of the kite — and passionate dreams, soft as the pinions of 
a dove — and broken touches of melody more melting than the music of 
liightingales. Moft strange, most unintelligible of men! wiiat glimpsess- 
of more than earthly happiness must he have experienced, when^iu the 
glory of his strength, he tossed from him for a. time his besetting infirmi- 
ties, and allowed his free spirit to soar and hover at its will! What more 
than mortal anguish, in the degradation and subjection of that which was. 
capable of so serial a flight— the imprisonment of the King of the Airl' 
"What wonder, that when mean thoughts festered in his nobler soul, he 
should have deemed all men traitors to his liberty, and poured his burn- 
ing curses on them through the self-raised bars of his visionary dungeon! 
Alas! liow easy to condemn^ how difficult to sympathize m, the aberra- 
tions of such a spirit! 

"The gentle, inflexible, intellectual David — the raost consistent of men. 
— how should li£ have been the friend, the companion, of this phrenzied 
enthusiast.' How could these men have understaod each other.-' — their ve- 
jy eyes speak languages which have scarce two words in common. In in- 
fidelity, the only point or their agx^-cment. Hume was far more different 
from Rousseau, than half the Christians in the world are from half the infi- 
dels. They fought again&t different parts of the system, and they fought 
with different weapons^ There was more danger by far to be dreaded 
from the Scott than the Swiss. His onset, indeed, was not attended with 
so much of the spectacular and imposing circumstances of combat — his 
troops were of a more still and quiet disposition, but they made their at- 
tacks with more cunning skill, and the effects of their impious triumphs 
have been far more durable and deadly. The high and lofty parts of man's 
nature, which Rousseau audaciously enlisted against the ISible, struggled, 
for a season, with all the clamours of, determinate warfare; but they are 
tlie natural allies of that which- they assaulted, and throughout the worli 
they have long since returned devoutly to their old allegiance." (pp, SS^.^ 

From the account given, of Mr. Murray^s address at th©. 
dinner in honor of Burns, it ought to hav^e failed as it did. 
Such occasions however are the most difficult for oratory, 
and few men succeed, under such circumstances, to keep 
up with the excitement of the minds of the guests, and to 
meet expectations which are high and ill defined. The ne- 
glect of Wordsworth and Coleridge, in the toasts that were 
offered, was mean, if Peter has assigned the right motives 
to the managers of the dinner. The defence of Words- 
wo'-th's kind of poetry is good for all who have the feelings 
required to understand it. 

"The delight, which is conferred by vivid descriptions of stiangrer e- 


Tents and stronger impulses than we ourselves experience, is adapted for 
all men, and is an universal delight. That part of our nature, to which 
they address themselves, not only exists in every man originall}-, but hag 
its existence fostered and cherished by the incidents of every life. To 
find a man, who has no relish for the poetry of Love or of War, is almost 
as impossible as to find one that does not enjoy the brightness of the 
sun, or the softness of moon-light. The poetry of ambition, hatred, re- 
venge, pleases masculine minds in the same manner as the flashing of 
liglitnings and the roaring of cataracts. But there are other things in man 
and in nature, besides tumultuous passions and tempestuous scenes — and 
he that is a very great poet, may be by no means a very popular one. 

"The critics, who ridicule Mr. Wordsworth for choosing the themes of 
his poetry among a set of objects new and uninteresting to their minds, 
would have seen, had they been sufficiently acute, or would have confess- 
ed, had they been sufficiently candid, that, had he so willed it, he might 
have been among the best and most powerful masters in other branches 
of his art, more adapted to the generality of mankind and for themselves. 
The martial music in the hall of Clifford was neglected by the Shepherd 
Lord, for the same reasons which have rendered the poet that celebrates 
hija such a poet as he is* 

'Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie. 

His daily teachers had been woods and rills. 
The silence that is in the starry sky. 

The sleep that is among the lonely hills,* 

Before a man can understand and relish his poems, his mind nmst, in some 
measure, pass through the same sober dieoipHnc — a discipline that calms, 
but docs not weaken the spirit — that blends together the understanding' 
and the affections, and improves both by the mixture. The busy life of 
cities, the ordinary collisions of sarcasm and indifference, steel the mind 
against the emotions that are bred and nourished among those quiet val- 
leys, so dear to the Shepherd Lord and his poet. What we cannot un* 
derstand, it is a very common, and, indeed, a very natural thing, for us to 
undervalue; and it may be suspected, that some of the merriest witticisms 
which have been uttered against Mr. Wordsworth, have had their ori- 
gin in the pettishness and dissatisfaction ot minds unaccustomed and un- 
willing to make, either to others or to themselves, any confessions of inca* 
pacity." (pp, 68, 69.) 

The difference between Crabbe's descriptions ot low 
life and those of Burns is well delineated. 

•'What different ideas of low life one form seven from reading the works 
of men who paint it a(hnirably. Had Crabbe, for instance, undertaken 
to represent the carousal of a troop of beggars in a hedge alehouse, howT 
unlike would his production have been to this Cantata? He would havd 
painted their rags and their dirt with the accuracy of a person who isnot 
used to see rags and dirt very often; he would have seized the light care- 
less swing of their easy code of morality, with the penetration of one 
who has long been a Master-Anatomist of the manners and the hearts of 
men. But I doubt very much whether any one could enter into the true 
spirit of such a meeting, who had not been, at some period of his life, a 
partaker in propria persona, and almost par cwn paribus, in the rude mem- 
jnent of its constituents, \ have no-doubt that Burns sat for bis own pic- 

4* meter's LETTfinS TO HIS KINSFOLK, ^W,^; 

ture in the Bard of the Cantata, and had often enough in some such scene 

«s F<iosie JVansie's — 

-'Rising, rejoicing 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
liOoked round him, and found them 
Impatient for his chorus.' 

««It IS by such familiarity alone that the secret and essence of that charre 
tvhich no group of human companions entirely \rants, can be fixed and 
preserved even by the greatest of poets — Mr. C-:'abbe would have describ- 
ed the Beggars like a firm, though humane. Justice of the Peace — ooor 
Robert Burns did not think himself entitled to assume any such airs of su;- 
periority. The consequence is, that we should have understoodaiid piti- 
ed the one group, but that we sympatliize even with the joys of tlie other. 
"We would have thrown a few shillings to Mr. Crabbe's Mendicants, but 
We are more than half inclined to sit down and drink them ourselves along, 
\ii:ithtlie «orra duds' of those of Burns." (pp, 75, 7&) 

The 1 3th Letter is upon Scotch education, and is the re- 
sult evidently of critical observation by a mind vs^ell imbu- 
ed with classical learning. Some cf the remarks deserve 
particular attention in our own country, and show^ how 
much alike some of the Edinburghers and some of the A- 
mericans think and talk upon this great subject. It is time 
that vsre should understand the value of the study of lan- 
guage, and that we should earnestly encourage as well as 
dihgently pursue it. The bad taste, in which such an im- 
.mense proportion of our writing is produced, shows too 
plainly ttiat we have yet to make ourselves familiar with the 
great masters of antiquity, and to imbibe their simplicity 
and elegance. 

"Before these boys, therefore, have learned Latin enough to be able ta 
aread any Latin author with facility, and before they have learned Greek 
enough to en&ble them to understand thoroughly any one line in any one 
Greek book in existence, they are handed over to the Professor of Logic, 
!Rhetoric,and Belles lettres, quasi jam Unguaram satis /jeriti. You and [ know 
"well enough it is no trifling matter to acquire any thing like a mastery, a 
true and effectual command, over the great languages of antiquity; we 
"well remember how many years of busy exertion it cost us in boyhood — 
yes, ar.d in manhood too— before we found ourselves in a condition to 
make any somplete use of the treasures of wii ami wisdom to which 
these glorious languages ai-e the keys. When we then are told that the 
■whole of the classical part of Scottish academical education is completed 
•within the space of two years, and this with Doys of the age I have men- 
tioned, there is no occasion for saying ono word moi-e about the matter. 
We see and know, as well as if we had examined every lad in Edinburgh, 
that not one of them, who has enjoyed no better means of instruction tfian 
these, can possibly know any thing more than the merest and narrowest 
rudiments of classical learning. This one simple. fact is a sufficient expla"* 
31'ation not only of the small advances made by the individuals of this na» 
tion in the paths of erudition, strict!}^ so called, but of much that is pecuUar, 
and if one may be permitted to say so, of much tliat is highly disagreeable 
tooj in the general tone of the literature vvhereiu the national mind is and 

iS^. Peter's letters to hi& kinsfolk, 1^ 

has been expressed. It shows, at once, the origin of much that distin- 
fruishes the autliois of Scotland, not from those of England alone, but 
fvom those of all the other nations of Europe. I do not mean that which; 
honorablv distinguishes them, (for of such distinction also they havet 
much,) b'uttiiat which distingiiishes them in a distressing and degrading 
manner — ^their ignorance of the great models of antiquity — nay, the ir- 
reverent spnic in which they have the audacity to speaK concerning men 
and works, whom (considered as a class) modern times have as yet ia 
Vain attempted to equal. 

*'This is a subject of which it would require a bolder man than I am to 
sayson.ucl', to almost any Scotchman whose education has betn entirely 
conducted ai his own count] y. If you venture only to tread upon the 
hem of that garment of self-sufficiency, in which the true Scotchman 
■wraps himbcif, he is sure to turn round npon you as if you had aimed a dag- 
ger at his vitals; and as to this particular point of attack, he thinks he ha» 
snrst completely punished you for your presumption (in the first place) and 
checked your courage for the future, (in the second.) when he has launch- 
ed out against you one or two cf those sarcasms about 'Jongs and shorts/ 
and the 'superiority of things to words,' with which we have, till of late, 
been familiar in the pages of the Edinburgh Review. A single arrow 
from that redoubcable quiver, is hurled against you, and the archer turn* 
away with a smile, nothing doubting that your business is done — nor in- 
deed, is it necessary to prolong the contest; for, although jou may not feel 
Yourself to be entirely conquered, you must, at least, have seen enough to 
convince you, that you have no chance of making youi- adversary yield. 
If he have not justice on his side, he is, at least, tenacious of his purpose;. 
an.d it would be a waste of trouble to attempt shakinif his opinions eithes 
•f you t)r cf himself- 

"The rest of the world, however, may be excused, if, absente reo, they 
Tenture to think and to speak a little more pertinaciously concerning the 
absurdity of tliis neglect of classical learning, which the Scotch do not 
deny or palhate, but acknowledge and defend. We may be excused, if 
We hesitate a little to admit the w- eight of reasons from which the univer- 
sal intellect of Christendom has always dissented, and at this moment dis- 
sents as firmly as ever, and to doubt whether the results of the system a- 
dopted in Scotland have been so very splendid as to authorize the tone of 
satisfied assurance, in which Scotchmen conceive themselves entitled to 
deride those who adhere to the oldei and more general style of discipline. 

"It would be very useless to to one, who has not given to the 
writei-s of antiquity some portion of such study as they deserve, any des- 
cription of the chaste and delightful feelings with which the labours o£ 
such study are rewarded — far rriore to demand his assent to conclusions de- 
rived from descriptions which he would not fail to treat as so purely fan- 
tastical. The incredulus odi sort of disdain, with which several intelligent 
and well-educated men in this place have treated me, when I ventured in 
their presence to say a few words concerning that absurd kind of self-de- 
nial, abstinence, and »nor/{/?cGfta spiritus, which seems to be practised bj 
the gentlemen of Scotland, in regard to this most rational and most eu- 
<iuring species of pleasures — the air of mingled scorn and pit}', with which 
they listened to me, and the condescending kind of mock assent which 
they expressed in replj', have sufficiently convinced me that the country, 
men of David Hume are not over fond of taking any thing upon trust. The 
language of their looks being interpreted, is, "Yes — yes — it is all very 
well to speak about feelings, and so forth; but is it not sad folly to waste 
so many years upon mere words?" Of all the illogical, iiTational sorts'of 
delusion, with which ignoranee ever cawe to th« consolation of self-ioye. 

48 i»eter's letters to hi§ kinsfolk. ^Mg, 

Purely this is the most palpably absurd. The darkness of it may hefelc. 
During the few short and hasty months in which the young- gentlemen of 
Scodand go tiirough the ceremonious quackery which they are pleased 
to call learning Greek, it is very true that they are occupied with mere 
•words, and tliat too, in th2 meanest sense of the phrase. They are seldon? 
Very sure wiiether any word be a noun or a verb, and therefore they are 
occupied ahoat words. The few books, or fragments of books, which they 
read, are comprehended with a vast expense of labour, if they be compre- 
hended at all with continual recurrence to some wretched translation, En- 
glish or Latin, or still more laborious recurrence to the unmanageable bulk 
and unreaaable types of a Lexicon. It is no wonder that they tell you all 
their time was spent upon ?nere -ivords, and it would be a mighty wonder 
if the time so spent wex-e recollected by them witli any consi:lerable feel- 
ing of kindliness. I must own, I am somewhat of m) Lord Byron's opin- 
ion concerning the absurdity of allowiYig boys to learn the ancient Ian* 
guages, from books, the charm of which consists in any very delicate and 
evanescent beauties— any c?<f/osa/e^i««fls either of ideas or expressions. I 
also remember the time when I complained to myself (to others I durst not) 
that I was occupied with mere words — and to this hour I feel, as the no- 
ble Childe does, the miserable effects of that most painful kind of exer- 
cise, which with us is soon happily changed for something of a very dif- 
ferent nature, but which here in Scotland gives birth to almost the only 
idea connected with the phrase itxidying Greek, 

"But that a people, so fond of the exercise of reason as the Spotch; 
should really think and speak as it it were possible for those who spend. 
many years in the study of the classics, to be all the while occupied about 
mere words, this, 1 confess, is a thing that strikes me as being what Mr- 
Coleridge would call 'One of the voonders above voonders.' — How can 
the thing be done? It is not in the power of the greatest mdex-making 
or bibliographical genius in the World to do So, were he to make the en- 
deavour with all the zeal of his vocation. It is not possible, in the first 
place, to acquire any knowledge of the mere words — -tiie vocables — of a- 
ny ancient language, without reading very largely iti the books which re- 
main to us out of the ruins of its literature. Rich above all example as 
the literature of Greece once was, and rich as the pure literature of 
Greece is even at this moment, when compared with that of the Romans, 
it so happens that all the classical Greek works in the world occupy but a 
trifling space in any man's library; andwei'e it possible to read philoso- 
phers and historians as quickly as novelists ol" tourists, they might all be 
read through in no very alarming space of time by any circulating-library 
g-lutton who might please to attack them. Without reading, and being- 
familiar with the whole of these books, or at least without doing some- 
thing little short of this, it is absolutely iirpossible for any man to acquire; 
even a good knowledge of Greek. Now, that aiiy man should make him- 
self familiar with these books, without at the same time forming some 
pretty tolerable acquaintance with the subjects of which they treat, not 
even a Scotchman, 1 think, will venture to assert. And that any man 
can make himself acquainted with these books (in this sense of the 
phrase) without liaving learned something that is worthy of being known, 
over and above the words submitted to his eyes in their pages, I am quite 
sure no ])erson of tolerable educatio i in Christendam will assert, unless 
lie be a Scotchman " (pp, 8.3— 86.) 

We should like to extract the page devoted to Dr. Brown's 
lc(!ture room, and indeed the whole of the 14th Letter, but 
»ur limits forbid. The analysis of the Farnese Hercules is 

1820. Peter's letters to his kiksfolk. 17 

so novel and interesting-, that wc shall not resist our wish to 
quote it. 

^'Tliis was sug'gested tome, however, not by a picture of the Madonna, 
but by a Grecian bust; and I think you will scarcely suspect which this 
was. It w^s one of which the whole character is, I apprehend, mistaken 
in modern times; one whicli is looked at by fine ladies with a shuddf^r, and 
by fine gfentlemen w ith a sneer. Artists alone study and love it; their eyes 
ave too much trained to permit of any thing' else. But eventhey seem to 
nie entirely to overlook the true character of that which, with a view to 
quite difl"crent qualities, they fervently admire. In the Hercules Far- 
Tiese (for this is the bust) no person who looks on the form and attitude 
wit'i a truly scientific eye, can possibly believe that he sees only the im« 
age of brute strength. There are few heads on the contrary more hu- 
man in their expression — more eloquent v.ith thermanly virtue of a mild 
and genei'ous hero. And how indeed could a Grecian sculptor have dar- 
ed to represent Uie glorious Alcides in any other way? How do the po- 
ets represent him? As the image of divine strength and confidence, 
struggling with and vanquishing- the evils of humanity — as the emanation 
of divins benevolence, careless of all but doing good — pui-ifying the earth 
from the foulness of polluting monsters — avenginjr the cause of the just 
and the unfortunate — plunging into hell in order to restore to an incon- 
solable husband the pale face of his wife, who had died a sacrifice to save 
him — himself at last expiring on the hoary summit of Athos, amidst the 
blaze of a funeral pile which had been built indeed with his own hands, 
hut which he had been compelled to ascend by the malignant cruelty of 
a disappointed savage. The being who was hallowed with all these high 
attributes in the strains of Sophocles, Euripides, and Pindar — would any 
sculptor have dared to select him for the object in which to embody liis 
ideas of the mere animal power of man — the exuberance of corporeal 
strength? so far from this, the Hercules has not only one of the most in- 
tellectual heads that are to be found among the monuments of Greek 
sculpture, but also one of the most graceful. With the majesty which he 
inherits from the embrace of Jupiter, there is mingled a mild and tender 
expression of gentleness, which tells that he has also his share in the 
blood and in the miseries of our own lower nature. The stooping reflecting 
attitude may be that of a hero weary with combat, but is one that speaks, 
as if his combatting had been in a noble cause; as if high thoughts had 
nerved his arm more than the mere exultations of corporeal vigour. His 
head is bent from the same quarter as that of the ^Madonnas; and whoever 
takes the trouble to examine it will find, that in tins particular point is to 
be found the chief expansion and prominence of his organization." (pp, 150 

The following is a livelv portrait of Mr. Jeffrey as a Dan- 


"I had not been long ia the room, however, when I heard Mr. Jeffrey 
aimounced, and as I had not seen him for sooje time, I resolved to stay, 
iind, if possible, enjoy a little of his convercation in some corner. When 
lie entered, I confess I was a good deal struck with the dilr'erent figure he 
made from what I had seen atC j C k. Instead of the slov- 
enly set-out which he then sported, the green jacket, black neck- 
cloth, imd grey panialooas, I have seldom seen a man more nice in his 
exterior than ;Mr. Jeflrcy now- seern.d to be. His little person looked 
very neat in the way he had now' adorned it. He had a very well-cut 
lilue coat— evideutlv not after the design of any EdinburgU Wtjst— light 

is Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. J^u g-. 

"kerseymere breeches, and ribbed silk stocking-s— a pair of elogr.nt buck- 
les — white kid gloves, and atri-colour watch ribbon. He held hi.s hat un- 
der his arm in a very degagee inanner, and altog-cther he was certainly on© 
of the last men in the assembly, whom a stranger would have guessed to 
fee either a great lawyer or a great reviewer. In short, he was more of a 
Dandy than any great author I ever saw; always excepting Tom Moore 
and David Wilhams." (pp, l^-l, 155.) 

Mrs. Grant is indebted to Dr. Morris for an excellent par- 
agraph of judicious praise. 

"I was at another party of somewhat the same kind i»st night, where, 
however, I had the satisfaction of seeing several more characters of some 
note, and therefore I repented not my going. Among others, I was in- 
troduced to M''s. Grant of Laggan, the author of the Letters from the 
Mountains, and other well known works. Mr."5. Grant is really a woman of 
great talents and acquirements, and might, without offence to any one, 
talk upon any subject she pleases. But, I assqre you, any person that 
hopes to meet with a Blue-Stocking, i)i the common sense of the term, in 
this lady, will feel sadly disappointed. She is as plain, modest, and unas- 
suming, as she could Iiave been had .she neverstepped from the village, 
•whose name she lias rendered so cclelirated. Instead of entering on any 
long common-place discussions, either about politics or political economy, 
or any other of the hackneyed subjects of tea-table talk in Edinljurgh, 
Mrs. Grant had the gooti sense to perceive, that a stranger, such as 1 was> 
came not to hear disquisitions, but tc gather useful information, and she 
therefore directed her conversation entirel}' to the suiiject which she 
herself best understands — which, in all probability, she understands bet- 
ter than almost any one else— and which was precisely one of the subjects, 
in regard to which I felt the greatest inclination to hear a sensible person 
speak — namely the Highlands. She related, in a very simple, but very 
graphic manner, a variety of little anecdotes and traits of character, with 
my recollections of which I always shall have a pleasure in connecting my 
recollections of herself. The sound and rational enjoyment I derived 
from my conversation with this excellent person, would, indeed, atone for 
much more than all the Blue-Stocking sisterhood have ever been able to 
inflict upon my patience." (pp, 159, 160.) 

The criticism upon the mode of lighting a theatre ap- 
pears to us to be just, and to deserve public regard. 

"There is no doubt that the size of such a theatre as the Edinburgh^ 
one is much more favourable to accuracy of criticism, than a house of 
larger dimensions can be. It is son:ewhat larger than the Hay-Market; 
but it is quite possible to observe the minutest workings of an actor's 
face from the remotest parts of the pit or the boxes; and the advantages 
in point of hearing, are, of course, in somewhat the same measure. The 
house, however, has newly been lighted up in a most brilliant manners 
■"vith gas; and this, I should think, must be any thing rather than an im- 
provement, in so far as purposes, truly theatrical, are concerned. Noth- 
ing, indeed, can be more beautiful than tlie dazzling' effect exhibited, when 
one first enters the house; before, perhaps,"the curtain is drawn up. The 
whole light proceeds from the centre of the roof, where one large sun of 
crystal hangs in a blazing atmosphere, that defies you to look up to it — 
circle within circle of white flame, all blended and glowing into one huge 
orb of intolerable splendour. Beneath this flood of radiance, every face 
in the audience, from the gallery to the orchestra, is seen as distinctly as if 
all were seated in the open light of noon day. And the unaccustomcci 

iSW. Peter's letters to ms kinsfolk. if* 

spectator feels, when liis box-door is opened to him, as if he were step- 
ping into a brilliant ball-roo-.n, much more than as if he were entering a 

"But the more complete tlie illumination of the whole house, the more- 
tliflicult it of course must be to throw any concentrating and command- 
ing degree of light upon tlie stage; and the consequence I should 
think, is, that the pleasure which the audience now dei'ive from looking" 
jit each other, is just taken from tlie pleasure which, in former times, 
they might ha\e had in looking at the performers. There is nothing- 
more evident, than that tlie stage should always be made to wear an ap- 
pearance in all respects as different as possible from the rest of the thea- 
tre. The spectator should beeiico.uragedby ail possible arts to imagine 
himself a complete eaves-dropper, a peeper, anda listener, who is hearing 
and seeing things that he has no proper right tc, hear and see. And it is 
for this reason, that I approve so much of the ajrangement usually observ- 
ed in tlie French, the German, but most of all in the Italian theatres, which» 
while it leaves the whole audience en^ eloped in one sheet of dim and 
softened gloom, spreads, upon the stage and those that tread it, a flood of 
glory, which maKes it comparatively an easy matter to suppose, that the 
curtain which has been drawn up was a jjart of the veil that separates one 
■world of existence from another. In such a theatre, the natural inclina- 
tion every one feels is to be as silent as possible — as if it were not to be- 
tmy the secret of an ambush The attention, when it is drawn at all to 
the stage, is drawn thither entirely; and one feels as if he were g'uilty of a 
piece of foolish negligence eveiy moment he i-emoves his gaze from the 
only point of lig-ht on which he has the power to rest it. * * * In 
such a theatre as that of Edlnburg-li, on the contrary, all is alike dazzle 
and splendour. The Dandy of the Green-room is not a whit more ridicu- 
lous, or a whit better seen, tlian his double close by your side; and eveiy 
blaze of rouge or pearl-powder displayed by the Pseudo Belles of the; 
distance, finds its counterpart or rival on the cheek or shoulder of some 
real goddess on your fore-ground. In short, a poor innocent Partridge, 
introduced for tlie first time to theatrical spectacle in such a place as this, 
would. I think, be not a little at a loss to discover at what part of the house 
it should be his business to look. He would of course join in every burst 
of censure or applause; but he might, perhaps, be mistaken in his idea of 

•w hat liad called for the clamour. He might take the ogle of Miss 

for a too impudent clap-trap, or perhaps be caught sobbing his heart oat 

in sympathy with some soft flirtation scene in the back-row of Lady 'a 

Bide box. (pp, 161 — 163.) 

Peter's talent in describing natural scenery is beautifully 
exemplified in his 27th Letter. 

"In every point of view, however, the main centre of attraction is the 
Castle of Edinburgh. From whatever bide you approach the city — ■ 
■whether by water or by land — whether your foreground consist of height 
or of plain, of heatli, of trees, or of the buildings of the city itself — this 
gigantic rock lifts itself high above all that surrounds it, and breaks upon 
the sky with the same commanding blackness of mingled crags, cliffs, but- 
tresses, and battlements. These, indeed, shift and vary their outlines at 
every step, but every wheie there is the same unmoved effect of general 
expression— the same lofty ana imposing image, to which the eye turns 
with the same unquestioning worship. Whether you pass on the south- 
ern side, close under the bare and shattered blocks of granite, where the 
crumbling turrets on the summit seem as if they had shot out of the kin- 
dred reck in some fantastic freak of Nature— and where, amidst the ©- 

^p, Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. Sug. 

verhang'ing' mass of darkness, you vainly endeavour to descry the track 
by which Wnlhice scaled — or whether you look from the north, where 
the niggyclifis find room for some scanty patches of moss and broom, to 
diversity their harren gre3'~and where the whole mass is softened intcJ 
beauty by the wild green glen which intervenes between the specfator 
and its foundations — wherever you are placed, and however it is viewed, 
you feel at once that here is the eye of the landscape, and the essense of 
the grand ur. 

"Neither is it possible to say under what sky or atmosphere all this ap- 
pears to the greatest advantage. The heav«ns may put on what aspect 
they choose, they never fail to adorn it. Changes that elsewhere deform 
the face of nature, ajid rob her of half her beauty, seem to pass over this 
majestic surface only to dress out its majesty in some nev/ apparel of 
magnificence. If tlie air is cloudless and serene, what can be finer than 
the calm reposing dignity of those old towers — every delicate angle of 
the fissured rock, ever)^ loop-hole and every lineament seen clearly and 
tligtinctly in all their minuteness, or, if the mist be wreathed around the 
basis of the rock, and frowning fragments of the citadel emerge only here 
and there from out the racking clouds that envelo]>e them, the mystery 
and the gloom only rivet the eye the faster, and half-baffled Imagination 
does more than the work of Sight. At times, the whole detail is lost 
to the eye — one murky tinge of impenetrable brown wraps rock and for- 
tress from the root to the taimmit— all is lost but the outline; hut the out- 
line atones abundantly for all that is lost. The cold glare of the sun, 
plunging slowly' down into a mclanclioly west beyond them, makes all the 
broken labyrinth of towers^ batteries, and housetops paint their heav_v 
breadth in ten-fold sahle magnitude upon that lurid canvass. At break of 
day, how beautiful is the freshness with which thfe venerable pile appears 
to rouse itself from its'sleep, and look up once more with a bright eye in- 
to the sharp and dewy air! — At the 'grim and sultry hour' of noon, with 
what languid grandeur the broad flag seems to flap its long weight of folds 
above the glowing battlements? 'When the day -light goes down in purple 
glory, what lines ot gold creep along the hoary brow of its antique 
strength! When the v*h6le heaven is deluged, and the winds are roaring 
fiercely, and 'snow and hail, and stormy vapour,' arc let loose to make war 
upon his front, vvidi what an air of pride does the veteran citadel brave all 
their well-known wrath, 'cased in the unfeeling armour of old time!' 
The capitol itself is but a pigmy to this giant. 

"But here, as every vvkere, moonlight is the best. Wherever I spend 
the evening, 1 must always walk homewards by the long line of Prince's 
Street; and along all that spacious line, the midnight shadows of the Cas- 
tle-rock for ever spread themselves forth, and wrap the giound on 
•which I ti»ead in their broad '-epose of blackness. It is not possible to, 
imagine a more majestic accompaniment for the deep pause of that hour. 
The uniform splendour of the habitations on the k-ft opening every now 
and then broken glimpses up into the very heart of the modern city — the 
magnificent terrace itself, with its stable breadth of surface — the few dy- 
ing lamps that here and there gdimmer faintly — anc^ no sound, but the 
teavy tread of some far-off watchmen of the night-J-this alone might be 
enough, and it is n^ore than almost any other city could afford. But turn 
to the right and see what a glorious contrast is there. The eternal rock 
sleeping in the stillness of nature— its cliffs of g-ranitc — its tufts of ver- 
dure-^all alike steeped in the same unvarying hue of mystery — its tow- 
ers and pinnacies rising like a strove of quiet poplars on its crest — the 
•whole as colourless as if the sun had never shone there, as silent as if no 
v<)ice of man had ever disturbed the echoes of the solemn scene. Over- 
head, the sty is all one breathless canopy of lucid crystal blue— here and 

18S0» Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. 21 

there a small bright star twinkling in the depth of sther— and full in the 
midst, tiie inoon walking in her vestal glory, pursuing, as from the bosom 
of eternity, her calm and destined way— and pouring down the silver of 
her smiles upon all of lovely and sublime that nature and art could heap 
together, to do homage to her radiance. How poor, how tame, how worth- 
less, does the converse even of the wisest and best of men appear, wbe« 
faintly and dimly remembered amidst the sober tranquility of this heav- 
enly iiour! How deep the gulj^h that divides the tongue from the heart— 
the communication of companionship from the solitude of man! now- 
soft, yet how awful, the beauty and the silence of the hour of spirits! 

"1 think it was one of the noblest conceptions that ever entered into 
the breast of a poet, Vv'hich made (iocthe open his Faustus with a scene of 
moonlight. The restlessness of an intellect wearied with the vanity of 
knowledge, and tormented with the sleepless agonies of doubt; the sick, 
iiess of a heart bruised and buffeted by all the demons of presumption; 
the wild cind wandering throbs of a soul parched amonfj plenty, b\ the 
blind cruelty of its own dead aifections: these dark and dejiressing mys- 
teries all n7addening within the brain of the Hermit Stuaen% might have 
suggested other accompaniments to one who had looked less deeply into 
the nature of man-- who had felt less in his own person of that which he 
might have been ambitious to describe. But this great matter of intel- 
lect was well aware to what thoughts, and what feelings, the perplexed and 
the bewildered are most anxious to return. He v.eil knew where it is, that 
filature has placed the best balm for the wound of the spirit — by what in-f 
dissoluble links she has twined her own eternal influences around the dry 
and chafed heart-strings that have most neglected her tenderness. It is 
thus, that his wearyandmelanchoh' sceptic speaks, his phial of poison is not 
yet mingled on his table, but the tempter is alre.idy listening at his ear, that 
would not allov/ him to leave the world until lie should have plunged yet 
deeper into his snares, and added sins against his neighbour to sins against 
God and against himself. I wish I could do justice to his words in a transla- 
tion, or rather that 1 had Coleridge nearer me. 

Would thou wert gazing now thy last 

Upon my troubles, glorious Harvest Moon! 
Well canst thou tell how all my nights have past. 
Wearing away how slow and yet hov/ soon! 
Alas! alas! sweet Queen of Stars, 
Through dreary dim monastic baj-s, 
To me thy silver radiance passes. 
Illuminating round me massses 
Of dusty books and mouldy paper. 
That are not worthy of so fair a taper. 
O might I once again go forth, 

To see thee gliding through 4hy fields of blue. 
Along the hill-tops of the north; 

O might I go, as when I nothing knew, 
Where meadows drink thy softening gleam, 
And happy spirits twinkle in tiie beam. 

To steep my heart in thy most heahng dew." (pp, Wt — IT'O.) 

The characters of the lawyers of Edinburgh are minute- 
ly and elegantly drawn. The Stw^ School of wits is thu 

"The eider and more employed advocates, to have done with my simili- 
tudes, seemed for the most part, when not actually eng-agcdin pleading'. 


to have tlie habit of seating themselves on the benches, whicfi extend a- 
Hong' the whole 'car of vheir station. Here the veteran might b'.' seen ei- 
ther poring over the materials of some future discussion, or contesting- 
bitterly with some brother veteran the propriety of some late decision, 
or perhaps listening with sweet smiles to the talk of some uncovered A- 
geni, Vvliose hand in his fob seemed to give pTomiseof a coming fee. — 
The most of the younger ones seemed either to promenade with an tiir 
of w'^iCY nonchalance, or to collect into groups of four, live, or six', from 
•whence the loud and luisky cackle of some leading cUaracters might be 
I)eard ever rxudunon i-ising triumphantly above the usual hum of the place. 
I could soon discover, tliat there are soiiis half-dozen, perhaos, of profes- 
sed wits and story-tellers, the droppings of whose inspiration are suffi- 
cient to attract round each of them, wlien he sets himself on his legs in 
the middle of the floor, a pro]>er allowance of eyes and moutlis to glis- 
ten and gape over the morning's budg-et of good things — some new ec- 
centricity of Loi d H , or broad bon-mot of Mr. C . The side 

of the Hall frequer.letl by these worthies, is heated by two or three 
3ai'ge iron Btoves; and from the custom of lounging during the winter 
jnnonths in the immediate vicinity of these centres of comfort, the bar- 
TJ-sters of facetious disposition hiive been christened by one of their bre- 
thren, the "Wits of the Stove-school." But, indeed, for augh.t 1 sec, the 
journeyman-days cfthe whole of the j'oung Scotch advocates might, with 
2;reat proiiriety, ha called by the simple collective — Stovehood. 

"What has a more striking eifect, lu)wcver,than evaiitiie glee and mer- 
riment of these young' people close at hand, is the sound of pleaders 
pleading at a distance, the music of whose elocution, heard separate from 
2ts meaning, is not, for the most part, such as to tempt a near approach. 
At oneBar. the wig-oftlK; .ludg'eis seen scarcely over-topping- tbe m^ss 
of eager, benl-forward, listening aduiirers, assembled -to do honour to 
2(Jme favourite speak-cr of the day — their faces already array-edin an ap- 
propriate smile, wherewith to welconie the expected joke — or fixed \n 
the attitude of discemmer.t and penetration, as if resolved that no liiikof 
Ills cunning chain of ratiocination shoukl escape their scrutiny. At ano- 
ther extremity, tiie vidiole paraphernalia of the Judge'; attire are expo- 
sed full to \-ision — ulithe benches around his tribunal deserted and ten- 
sintless, while some wearisome proser, to whom nobody listens except 
from necessity, is seen thum])ing the bar be fore him in all the agonies of 
\inpartaken earnestness, his hoarse clamoraus voice floating desolately 
into thin air, "like the voice of;; man cTvuig in the wilderness — wh-^m no 
jrian heaieth." (pp, 182, 183, 1S4.) 

Unpariaken carneslntss is a peculiarly graphical expression. 
Tlie pictures of Cl^rk and Cran&toun must be to tke life. 

"Never was any inr.nkss of a quack than Mr. Clerk; the very essence 
cfhis character Is .scorn of ornament, and utier loathing of affectat;on. — 
He is the ]daine;il, the shrewdest, and the most sarcastic of men; his 
«ceptre owes the wlwle of its power to its weight — nothing to ght- 

"It is impossible to imagines physiognomy more expressive of the 
character of a grvat lawyer :ind barrister. The features are In them- 
tjeivcs good— at k-.ista painter would call them so; and the upper ])art of 
Ihc profde has, as, line lines as could be v/ishcd. Hut then, how the habits 
of the nnndhavc i;tamped their traces on every pari of the face! What 
sliarpncss, what razor-like sharpness, has indented itself about the wrin- 
kles of his eye-lids; the eyes themselves sr» quick, so gray, such bafflers 
:iof scrutiny, such c:x-q'.tisitescrutiu;zers, U'jw they clungc their ex^vvs.- 

1820. Peter's letters to his jvInsfolr. ^31 

sion — it seems almost, liow Ihcy char.g'c their colour — shifting fi'oin con- 
tracted, concentrated blackness, throug-h every sliade of brown, blue, 
green, and hazel, back into their own open, g-leaminj^ gray again! How 
they glisten into a smile of disdain! — xvristotle sa}s, that all laughter 
springs from emotions of conscious superiority. I never saw the Stag- 
yrite so well illustrated, as in the smile of this g-entleman.' He scenes to 
be affected with the most delightful and Ijalmy feelings, by the contem- 
plation of some soft-headed, prosing driveller, rrxking his poor br:iin, or 
bellowing hislungsoTit — all about something wlucli he, the smiler, sees 
through so thoroughly, so distinctly. Blunder follows blunder; the mist 
thickens about the brain of the bewildered hammerer; and ev try pUmgs 
of the bog-trottei- — ever}' deepening shade of his confusion — is attested 
by some more copious infusion of Sardonic suavit}-, into the horrible, 
ghnstlj, grinning smile of the happy Mr. Clerk. How he chuckles o- 
vcr the si'lemn spoon whom he hath fairly got into his power! When he 
rises, at the conclusion of his display, he seems to collect hinseif like a 
kite above a covey of partridges; he is in no hurry to come down, but 
holds his victims "with his ghttering eye," and smiles sweetly, and yet 
more sweetly, the bitter assurance of their coming fate; then out hs 
stretches his arm, as the kite may his wing, and changing the smile by de- 
grees into a frown, and drawing down his eyebrows from their altitude 
among the wrinkles of his forehead; and making them to hang like 
fring'es quite over his diminishing and brightening- eyes, and mingling a 
tincture of deeper scorn in the wave of his lips, and projecting his chin, 
and suffusing h^s whole face with the very livery of wrath, how he 
pounces with a sci-eam upon his prey — and, may the Lord have mercy up- 
on their unhappy sou's! 

"He is so sure of himself, and he has the happy knack of seeming tobes 
so siire of his case, that the least appearance of labour^ or concern, or nicety 
of arrangement, or accuracy of expression, would take away from the 
imposing effect of his cool, carcles;?, scornful, and determined negli- 
gence. Even the greatest of his opponents sit, iis it were, rebuked be- 
fore his gaze of intolerable derision. But careless and scornful as ha is, 
what a display of skilfuines.^in tlic way of putting his statements; what 
conimand of intellect in the strength with whiclihe deals the irresistiljle 
blows of his arguments— blows of all kinds, _//6er*, cross-buttockers, but 
most often and most delightedly sheer facers--chrjppers. — ".iis est celave ar^ 
tern," is his motto; or rather, "Usus ipse natvra est;" for where was there^ 
ever such an instance of the certain sway of tact and experience? It is 
truly a delightful \lung, to be a witness of this mighty intellectual gladia- 
tor, scattering every thing before him, like a king, upon his old accus- 
tomed ai-ena; with an eye as swift as lightning to discover the unguarded 
pointof his adversary, and a hand, steady as iron, to direct his weapoa, 
and a mask of impenetrable stuffy that throws back, like a rock, the pry- 
ing gaze that would dare to retijliate upon his own lyn.\-like penetra- 
tion— what a champion is here! It is no wonder that every litigant in, 
this covenanting land, should have learned to look on it as a mere tempt- 
ing' of Providence to omit retaining John Clerk." (pp. 190 — 192.) 

"There cannot be a greater contrast between any two individuals of 
eiirinent acquirements, than there is between Mr. Clerk and the gentle- 
man who r.anks next to him at the Scotish Bar — Mr. Cranstoun. They 
mutually set of}' each other to great advantage; they are rivals in nothing. 
Notwithstanding their total dissimilitude in almost every respect, they 
are well nigh equally admired by every one. lam much mistakea if any 
thjijgcould furnish a more unequivocal testimony to the talents of theia 

S4 Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. Aug, 

"It was my fortune to see Mr. Cranstoun for the first time, as he rose 
to make his reply to a fervid, mascuhne, homely harraiigae of my old fa- 
vom-ite, and I was never less disposed to receive ftvourably the claims 
ofastrang-er upon my admiration. There was something-, however, a- 
bout the new speaker which would not permit me to refase him my at- 
tention; although, I confess, I could scarcely brirg myself to him with 
n\-wch giisto for several minutes. I felt, to use a simile iii Mr. Clerk's own 
way, like a person whose ej es have been dazzled with some strong-, rich, 
luxuriant piece of the Dutch or Flemish school, and who cannot tuste, in 
immediate transition, the mere pale, calm, correct gracefulness of an Ital- 
ian Fresco; nevertheless, the eyes become cool as they gaze, and the 
mind is gradually yielded up to a less stimulant, but iii tlie end a yet 
more captivating- and soothing- species of seduction. The pensive and 
pallid countenance, every delicate line of which seemed to breathe the 
Tery spiritofcompactthous^litfulness— the mild, contemplative blue eyes, 
with now and then a flash of irresistible fire in ti\em— the lips so full of 
precision and tastefulness, not perhaps without a dash ot fastidiousness in 
the compression of their curves— the g-entle, easy, but firm and dignified 
air and attitude — every thing about him had its magic, and the 6iliarm 
Avas not long in winnuig me effectually into its circle. The stream of his 
discourse flowed on calmly and clearly; the voice itself was mellow, yet 
commanding; the pjouunciation exact but not pedantically so; the ideas 
rose gradually out of each other, and seemed to clothe themselves in the 
hest and most accurate of phraseology, without the exertion of a single 
thoug:ht in Its selection. The fascination was ere long- complete; and, 
■when he closed his speech, it seemed to me as if I had never 
before Witnessed any specimen of the true "mellifluamajestas" ofQuliva? 

"The only defect in his manner of speaking-, (and it is, after all, by n» 
means a constant defect,) is a certain appearance of coldness, which I 
suspect, is nearly inseparable from so much accuracy. Mr. Cranstoun is 
a man ofhigh birth and refined habits, and he has profited abundautly bj 
all the means of education, which either his own, or the sister country can 
all'ord. His success in his profession was not early, (though never was 
any success so rapid, after it once had a beginning;) and he spent there- 
fore, many years of his manhood in the exquisite intellectual enjoyments 
of an eleg-ant scholar, before he had either inclination or occasion to de- 
vote himself entirely to the more repulsive studies of the law. It is no 
wonder, then, that, in spite of his cor;tinual practice, and of his great 
natural eloquence, the impression of these delightful ycar.3 should liave 
become too deep ever to be concealed from view; and that, even in the 
midst of the most brilliant displays of his forensic exertion, there should 
mingle something in his air, which reminds us, that there is still another 
sphere, wherein his spirit vvouldbe yet more perfectly at home. To me, 
] must confess, although I am aware that you Mill laugh at mc fordoing so, 
there was aUvays present, while I listened to this accompUshed speaker, 
a certain feeling of pain. I could scarcely help regretting, that he should 
have become a barrister at all. The lucid pov^^er of investigation — the 
depth of argument— the richn^sss of illustration- — all set forth and 
euibahned in such a strain of beautiful and unaffected language, 
appeai-edto me to he almost too precious for the purposes to which they 
were devoted— even although, in this their devotion, they were also minis- 
tering- to my own delight. 1 could not help saying to myself, v/hat a ])ity 
thai he, who might have added a new name to the most splendid triumph 
of his country— who might perhaps, have been equal to any one as histo- 
rian, philc/Sopher, o:- statesman, should have been induced, in the early 
and ancwisciousdJifivdejice of his genius, to give him.-,clf to a profession 

iS^O. Peter's letters to his kinsfoijK. 25 

which can never afford afty adequate remuneration either for the talents 
which he has devoted to its service, or the honour which he has conferred 
upon its name." (pp. 195, 196.) 

We would extract the whole account of Jeffrey as he ap- 
pears at the bar, but having already devoted so much room 
to hnn, we must take no more here than is necessary 
to furnish the contrast between him and Mr. Cockburn. 

"The person ag-ainst whom Mr. Cockburn is most frequently pitched 
jnthe Jury Court for civil cases, is Mr. Jeffrey; and after what I have said 
«f both, you will easily believe thatii is a very deht^htful thing- to witness 
tlie ditlerent means by which these two most accomplished speakers en- 
deavour to attain the same ends. It is the wisest thing either of them 
can do, to keep as wide as possible from the track which nature has 
pointed out to the other, and both are in general so wise as to follow im- 
plicitly and exclusively her InfaHlble direction. In the play of his wit, 
tlie luxuriance r.t his imagination, the beauty of his expression, Mr. Jeff- 
rey is as much beyond his rival, as in the depth of his reasoning, and the 
general richness and commanding energy of liis whole intellect. In a 
.case where the reason of his lieurers alone is concerned, he has faculties 
which enable liim to seize from the beginning, and preserve to the end, a 
total and unquestioned superiority. There is no speaker in Britain that 
deals out his illustrations with so princely a profusion, or heapsupon eve- 
ry image and every thought, that springs from an indefatigable ihtellect, 
so lavish a garniture of most exquisite and most apposite lang'iage. — 
There is no man who generalizes with a tact so masterly as Jeffrey; no 
multiplicity of facts can distract or dazzle him for a moment; he has a clue 
that brings liim sai'e and triumphant out of every labyrinth, and he walks 
in the darkest recesses of his detail, with the air and the confidence of 
one that is sure of his conclusion, and sees it already bright before him, 
uhile every thing is Chaos and Erebus to his bewildered attendants. The 
dehght which he communicates to his hearers, by the display of powers 
so extraordiiKiry, is sufficient to make them rejoice in the confession of 
their ov.n inferiority; careless of the point to wiiich his steps are turned, 
they soon are satisfied to gaze upon his brightness, and be contented 
that such a star cannot lead them into darkness. A plain man, who for 
the first time is addressed bj- him, experiences a kind of sensation to 
which he has heretofore been totally a stranger. It is like the cutting 
off' the cataract from a blind man's eye, when the first glorious deluge of 
light brings with it any thing j-ather than distinctness of vision. He has 
no leisure to think of the merits of the case before him; he is swallowed 
up in dumb overwhelming wonder of the miraculous vehicle, in which 
one side of it is expounded. The rapidity with which word foHows 
word, and image foljov.s imag'^, and argument follows ai-gumeiit, keeps 
his intellect panting in vain to keep up with the stream, and gives him no 
time to speculate on the nature of the shores along which he is whirled, or 
the point towards which he is carried. 

"Rut when the object of all this breatiiloss wonder has made an end of 
speaking, it is not to be doubled that a plain, sensible, and conscientious 
joerson, who knows that the sacred cause of justice is to be served or in- 
jured 'jy the decision which he himself must give, may very naturally 
experience a very sudden and a very uncomfortable revulsion of ideas.- — 
Thai distrust ofuimself, whicli had attended and grown upon him all the 
whde he listened, may now perhaps give way, in no inconsiderable mea- 
sure, to distrust of the orator, >.,iicse winged words are yet ringing in his 
acbintf e;u-3. T^e sv.iftnccr: •■;' .he career hss b.-en sucii^ t'eut ^e cannot^ 


M meter's letters to his kinsfolk. Jlu§, 

on reflection, gather any thing more than a very vague and unsatisfacto- 
ry idea of the particular steps of his progress, and it is no wonder that ho 
should pause a little before he decide vvjtli himself, that there is no safer 
and surer issue to which he might have been conducted in some less bril- 
liant vehicle, and with some less extraordinary degree of speed. Nor 
can any thing be more likely to affect the mind of a person pausing and 
hesitating in this way, with a delightful feeling of refreshment and secu- 
rity, thj-n the simple, leisurely, and unostentatious manner in which such 
a speaker as Mr. Cockburn may commence an address which has for ita 
object to produce a quite opposite impression. When he sees a face so 
full of apparent candour and simplicity, and hears accents of so homely » 
character, and is allowed time to ponder over every particular statement 
as it .s made, and consider with himself how it hinges upon that which 
bas preceded, before he is calledupon to connect it with something that 
is to follow- — it is no wonder that he should feel as if he had returned to 
his own home after a flight in a parachule, and open himself to the new 
rhetorician with something of the reposing confidence due to an old and 
tried associate and adviser, 

"As for causes in the Criminal Court, wherein mere argument is not all 
that is necessary, or such causes in the Jury Court as give occasion for a- 
ny appeal to the feelings and affections- — 1 fancy, there are few who have 
heard both of them that would not assign the palm to Mr. Cockburn with- 
out the smallest hesitation. Whether from the natural constitution of Mr. 
Jefl^rey's mind, or from the exercises and habits in which he has trained 
and established its energies, it would seem as if he had himself little syixi' 
pathyforthe more simple and unadorned workings of the affections; and 
accordingly he has, and deserves to have, little sticcess, when he attempts 
to command and controul those workings for purposes immediately his 
own. I have never seen amy man of genius fail so miserably in any at- 
tempt, as he does whenever he strives to produce a pathetic effect by his 
eloquence. It is seen and fe\t in a moment, that he is wandering from 
his own wide and fertile field of dominion, and eveiy heart which ho 
would invade, repels liim with coldness. It is not by an artificial piling 
together of beautiful words, and beautiful images, that one can awe into 
subjection the rebellious price of man's bosom. It is not by such daz- 
zling spells as these, that a speaker or a writer can smite the rock, 

"Wake the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 

Mr. Jeffrey is the Prince of Rhetoricians; but Mr. Cockburn, in every o- 
therresp;ct greatly his inferior, is more fortunate here. He is an Ora- 
tor, and the passions are the legitimate and willing subjects of his deeper 
sway." (pp. 205.-207.) 

The anecdote of Lord Herraand's reading Guy Mannering 
on the bench in court shows the Lord's enthusiasm, the tal- 
ents of the writer of the novel, and the good nature of the 
audience in permitting it. 

"There would be no end of it, were Ito begin telling you anecdotes a- 
boutLord Hermand. Ihear anew one every day; for he alone furnishes 
half the materials of conversation to the young groups of stove- school 
wits, of which I have already said a word or two in describing the Outer- 
House. There is one, however, which I must venture upon. When Guy 
Mannering came out, the Judge was so much delighted with the picture of 
the life of the old Scotish lawyers in that most charming novel, that he 
could talk of nothing else but Pie ydelJ, Dandie, and the High Jinks, for 

i820. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. ^ 

many weeks. Heusually carried one volume of the book about with him, 
and one morning', on the bench, his love for it so completely g'ot the belter 
of him, that he iiig-gedin the subject, head and shoulders, into the midst of 
a speech about some most dry point of law; nay, getting warmer every 
moment he spoke of it, heat Ipstfelrly plucked the volume from his pock* 
<et, and, in spite of all the remonstrances of all his brethren, insisted upoa 
reading- aluud the whole passage for their edification. He went through 
the task with his wonted vivacit}^, gave great effect to every speech, and 
most appropriate expression to every joke; and when it was done, I sup» 
pose the Court would have no difficHlty in confessing that they had very 
seldom been so well entertained. During the whole scene, Mr. W— — > 

S was present, seated indeed, in his official capacity, close under the 

Judge." (pp. 228.) 

The followino^ is full of life, and gives a most interesting. 
View of a fashionable lounge. 

*'If one be inclined, however, for an elegant shop, and abundance of gos- 
sip, it is only necessary to cross the street, and enter the shop of Messrs. 
Manners and Miller— the true lounging-place of the blue-stockings, and 
literary beuu-monde of the Northern metropolis. Nothing, indeed, cau 
be more inviting than the external appearance of this shop, or more a- 
muslng, if one is in the proper lounging humour, than the scene of ele- 
gant trifling which is exhibited witliin. At the door you are received by 
one or the other of the partners, probably the second mentioned, who 
has perhaps been handing some fine lady to her carriage, or is engaged ia 
conversation widi some fine gentleman, about to leave the shop after his 
daily half-hour's visit. You are then conducted through a light and spa- 
cious anti-i-oom, full of clerks and apprentices, and adorned with a few 
busts and prints, into the back-shop, which is a perfect bijou. Its walls 
are covered with all the most elegant books in fashionable request, array- 
ed in the most luxurious clothing of Turkey and Russia leather, red, blue, 
and green — and protected by glass folding doors, from the intrusion even 
of the little dust which might be supposed to threaten them, in a place 
kept so delicately trim. The grate exhibits either a fine blazing fire, or^, 
in its place, a beautiful fresh bush of haivthorn, stuck all over with roses 
and 1 dies, as gay as a Ma v pole. The centre of the room is occupied by a 
table, covered with the .\I:igazines and Reviews of the month, the papers of 
the day, the last books of Voyages and Travels, and innumerable books 
of scenery — those beautiful books which transport one's eye in a mo- 
ment into the heart of Savoy or Italy — or that still more beautiful one, 
which presents us with exquisite representations of the old castles and 
romantic skies of Scotland, over whose forms and hues of native majesty, 
a new atmosphere of magical interest has just been diffused by the poet- 
ical pencil of Turner — Thomson— or Williams. Upon the leaves of these 
books, or such as these, a groupe of the most elegant young ladies and 
gentlemen of the place may probably be seen feasting, or seeming to 
feast their eyes; while encomiums due to their beauties are mingled up 
in the same whisper with compliments still more interesting to beauties, 
no doubt, still more divine. In one corner, perhaps, some haughty blue- 
stocking, with a volume of Campbell's Specimens, or Dp. Clarke's Scan- 
dinavia, or the last number of the Edinburgh Review, or Blackwood's 
Magazine in her hand, may be observed launching ever and anon a look 
of ineffable disdain upon the less intellectual occupation of her neigh- 
bours, and then returning with a new knitting of her brows to her own 
pmiUo majora. In the midst of all this, the Bookseller himself moves a- 
bout doing the honours of the place, with the same unwearied gallantry 
.and politeness---noF naingliHg his smiles with those of the triflers, and 

S8 Peter's letters to his kinsfolk., 

now listening with earnest civility to the dis3cvtation, comnaendatoiy oi'- 
reprobatory, of the more philosophic fair. One ssees, in a moment, that 
this is not a great publishing- shop; such weighty and labonous business 
Vould put to flig-ht all the loves and graces that hover in the perfumed 
atmosphere of the place. A nov<»l, or a volume of pathetic sermons, ov 
pretty poems, might be tolerated, but that is the utmost. To select the 
most delicate viands from the great feast of the Cadells, Murrays, Bald- 
wins, Constables, and Blackvvoods, and arrange and dispose them so as to 
excite the delicate appetite of the fine fastidious few — such is the object 
and such the art of the great Hatrhai-d of Edinburgh. This shop seems 
to have a prodigious flow of i-etail DTisiness, and is, no doubt, not less lu- 
crative to the bookseller than delightful to his guests. Mr. Miller is the 
successor of Provost Creech, in something of his wit, and many of his 
stories, and in all his love cf good cheer and good humour, and may cer- 
tainly be looked upon as the favorite bibliopole of almost all but the wri-" 
ters of books. He ought, however, to look to his dignity, for I can per- 
ceive that he is likely to have ere long a dangerous rival in a more juven-' 
ile bookseller, whose shop is almost close to liis own — Mr. Peter Hdl.— - 
This young gentleman inhabits at present a long and dreary shop, where 
it is impossible to imagine any groupe of fine ladies or gentlemen coidd as- 
semble, selon Ics regles;hu\.he talks of removing to the New Town, and 
hints, not obscurely, that Mr, aiillcr may soon see all the elegancies of 
his 6oi<f/oi> thrown into shade by an equally elegant sa/o?j." (pp. 254 — 

We are not displeased r, itli v»hat is said of Coleridge, 
and are gratified with this able defence of him. 

"If there be any man of grand and original genius alive at this moment 
in Europe, such a man is Mr. Coleridge, A certain rambling discursive 
style of writing, and a habit of mixing up, with ideas of greal originality, 
the products of extensive observation and meditation, others of a \ery 
fantastic and mystical sort, borrowed from Fichte and the other German 
philosophers, with whose works he is familiar — ihese things have been 
sufficient to prevent his prose writings from becoming popular beyond a 
certain narrow class of readers, who, when they see marks of great pow- 
er, can neveribe persuaded to treat lightly the works in which these ap- 
pear, with whatever less attractive matter they may cliance to be inter- 
mirgled. Yet even his prose Avritings are at this moment furnishing 
most valuable materials to,people who know, better than the author him- 
eelf does, the art of writing for the British public, and it is impossible that 
they should mucii longer continue to.bc neglected, as they now are.— 
But the poetry of Coleridge, in order to be understood perfectly and ad- 
3-nired profoundly, requires no peculiar habils of mind beyond those 
which all intelligent readers of poetrv ought to have, and must have. A- 
tloptingmuch of the same psychological system v.dnch lies at the root of 
allthepoetrv of Wordsworth, and expressing, on all occasions, his rever- 
ence for the' sublime intellect winch Wordsworth has devoted to the il- 
iustration of this s\stcm, Coleridge liin^self has abstained from bringing 
ills psychological notions forward in his poetry in the same open and un- 
courting \\ay exemplified by his friend, and, what is of far more impor- 
tance in the ]iresent view ol the subject, he has adopted nothing of his 
friend's peculiar noi ions concerning poetical dicticn. He is perhaps the 
most splendid versifier of our age; he is cert.ainly, to my ear, without ex- 
ception, the most musical. NoUnng can sarpass the melodious richness 
of words which he heaps aroui.d his images— images which are neither 
glaring in themselves, uor set forth in any glaring framework of incideuto 

iSSO. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. SO 

but which are always affecting to the very verge of tears, because tliey 
liaveall been fcnned and nou'-ished in the recesses of one of the most 
deeply musing spirits that ever breathedibrth its inspirations in the ma- 
jestic language cfEng'land. Who that ever read his poem of Genevieve 
"«an doubt this? That poem is known to all readers of poetry, although 
comparatively few of tliem are aware that it is the work of Coleridge. — 
His love poetry is, throughout, the finest that has been produced in Eng- 
land since the dajs of Sliakspeare and the old dramatists. Lord Byron 
represents the passion of love with a and fervour every way wor- 
th}' of his genius, but lie does not seem to understand tlie naiure ot the. 
feeling Vi'hicli these old EngHsh poets called by the name of Love. His 
love is entirely Oriental: the love of haughty warriors reposing on t\\& 
bosom of humble slaves, swallowed up in the unqvi'stioning potency of a 
passion, imbibed in, and from tlie very sense of their perpetual inferiori- 
ty. The old dramatists and Coleridge regard women in a way that im- 
plies far more reverence for them — far deeper insight into the true gran- 
deur of their gertleness. T do not think there is any poet in the world 
Avho ever touclied so truly the mystery of the passion as he has done in 
Genevieve, and in that other exquisite poem (1 forget its name,) where ha 
speaks of — 

"ller voice— 

Her voice, that, even in its mirthful mood, 
Jfath made me xvish to steal aivay and ibeep." 
(pp. 275, 276.) 

The attack upon Hunt and Hazlitt is the only part of 
these letters, in which we think a positively base spirit is 
manifested. The Story of Rimini, by the former, is one of 
the best productions of modern times, jiotvvithstanding its 
numerous faults. Hazlitt we care much less about, althoudi 
we think his books far more instructive and entertaining' 
than are generally those of his enemies. 

The painter Schetky is admirably given. 

"Among the younger artists, there are, I believe, not a few of very 
great promise, and one, above all, who bids fair ere long to rival the ve- 
ry highest masters in the department he l\as selected. I allude to Staff 
Surgeon Schetky, a gentleiaan, wliose close ancf eminent attention to liis 
own profession, both here and white'he served with Lord Wellington's ar- 
my, have not prevented him from cultivating- \\\t\\ uniform ardour an art 
fitted above all others to form a delightful relaxation from the duties of 
professional men, and which, it is easy to see, must besides be of great 
practical and direct utility to a man of his profession. During tiic long- 
est and most fatiguing marches of our Peninsular army, his active and in- 
telligent mind wa? still fresh in its worshipping of the forms of nature; 
finding its best relief from the contemplation of human suffering, in the 
couteraplation of those serene beauties of earth and sky, which that love- 
ly region for ever offers to the weary eye of man. 1 tliink the Doctor is 
a very original painter. He has looked on nature with an eye tliat is en- 
tirely his own, and he has conceived the true purposes of his art in awa)' 
that is scarcely less peculiar. He seems to have the most exalted views 
of the poetical power of landscape-painting, and to make it his object on 
every occasion to call this poetical power into action in Ills works. He 
does not so much care i,o represent merely striking' or beavitiful scenes, as 


to characterize natural objects, and brintj out their life and expression, 
A painter, who feels, as he does, what nature is, considers every trae oj? 
plant as in some measure an animated being-, which expresses the tone of 
its sensations by the form which it assumes, and the colours which it d.isv 
plaj's. How full of pot try and meaning is every vegetable production, 
•when sprouting forth spontaneously in sucli places as nature dictates, and 
growing in the way to which it is" led by its own silent inclinations! Even 
ihe difierent surfaces and shapes of soils and rocks have an expression re- 
lating to the mariner in which they were form-d, although they cannot be 
literally considtred as expressive of sensation like plants. Mr. Schetky 
seems more than almost any painter to be imbued with these ideas of u- 
aiiversal animation. His trees, his rocks, his Pyrenees, seem to breathe 
and be alive with the spirit of their Maker; and he has no superior, but 
■one, in every thing that regards the grand and mysterious eloquence of 
cloud and sky." (pp, 309, 310.) 

The ideas of dignity, which Dr. Morris expresses in his 
jiotice of Scott, are excellent, though not new, and may as- 
sist to cure some of our countrymen of their false estimates 
of this part of manners. 

"I did not see Mr. Scott, however, immediately on my arrival; he had 
Igone out with all his family, to show the Abbey of Melrose to the Count 

■von B , and some other visitors. I was somewhat dusty in my appa- 

Tel, (for the sh.andiydan had aioved in clouds haif the journey,) sol took 
the opportunity of making m)' toikt, and had not quite completed it when 
J heard the trampling of their hors/^s' feet beneath the window. But in c 
short time, having finished my adonizdtion, I descended, and was conduct- 
ed to Mr. Scott, whom I found by Iiimself in his library. Nothing could 
be kinder than his reception of me, — and so simple and unassuming are 
5iis manners, that I was quite surprised, after a few minutes had elapsed, to 
■find myself already almost at home in the company of one, whose pres- 
jence'l had approached with fechngs so very different from those with 
. "which a man of my age and experience is accustomed to meet ordinary 
strangers. There is no kind ot rank, which I should suppose it so difficult 
to bear witli perfect ease, as the universally-honoured nobility of univcr- 
sslly honoured genius; but all this sits as lightly and naturally upon this 
p-reat man, as ever a plumed casque did upon the liead of one of h's ovvTI 
graceful knights. Perhaps, after all, ihe very highest dignity iray be 
more easily worn than some of the inferior degrees — as it has of ten been 
said of princes. My Lord Duke is commonly a much more homely person 
than the Squire of the Parish — oryourhttle spick-and-span new Irish Bar- 
on. And good heavens! what a difference between the pompous Apollo 
cif some Cockney coterie, and the plain, manly, thorough-bred courtesy 
of a Walter Scott!" (p, 313.) 

The visit to this great poet and novelist is one of the hest 
portions of the Letters. We are compelled to admire the 
man as much as the author. Such a scene should have 
such a dcscriher. The accompaniments of the dinner 
were peculiarly approjiriate to the Caledonian "Rlinslrel. 

"While I was thus occupied, one of the most warlike of the Lochaber 
pibroclis began to be played in the neiglibourhood of tlie room in which 
we were, and, looking toward the window, 1 saw a noble highland piper 
?5r)arading to and fro upon the Liwji in front of the house — the plumes e,f 

18S0. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. 5C 

his bonnet, the folds of his plaid, and the streamers of his ba;^-pipe, al! 
floating majestically about him in tlie light evening bree'ze. Yo'i have 
seen this niagnificent costume, so I need not trouble you either with its 
description or i\s eulogy; but I am quite sure you never saw it where its- 
appearance harmonized so delightfully with all the accompaiiiments of the 
scene. It is true that it was in the Lowlands— and that there are other 
streams upon which the shadow of the tartans might fall with more of the 
propriety of mere antiquarianism, than on the Tweed. But the Scotcli 
are right in not now-a-days splitting too naich the symbols of their nation- 
ality; as they have ceased to be an independent people, they do wisely in 
striving to be as much as possible a united people. But here, above all, 
whatever was truly Scottish could not fail to be truly appropriate in tha 
presence of the great genius to wnom whatever is Scottish in thought, in 
feehng, or in recollection, owes so large a share of its prolonged, or reani- 
mated, or ennobled existence. The poet of Roderick Dhu, and, under 
favour, the poet of Fergus Mac Ivor, does well assuredly to have a piper 
among tne retain ei-s of his hospitable mansion. You remember, too, hovf 
he has himself described the feast of the Rhymer: — 

"Nor lacked they, as they sat at dine. 

The music, nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine. 

Nor mantl'ng quaighs of ale." 

After the Highlander had played some dozen of his tunes, he was sum- 
moned, according to the ancient custom, to receive the thanks of the com- 
pany. He entered more militari, without taking off his bonnet, and receiv- 
ed a huge tass of aquavitaj from the hand of his master, after which he 
withdrew again — the most perfect solemnity all the while being displayed 
in his weather-beaten, but handsome and warlike Celtic lineaments. Tha 
inspiration of the generous fluid prompted one strain merrier than tha 
rest, behind the doqr of the Hall, and then the piper Was silent— 'his lunga, 
I dare say, consenting more than his will, for he has all the appekrance of 
being a fine enthusiast in the delights and dignity of his calling. So much 
for Roderick of Skye, for such I think is his style. 

His performance seemed to diffuse, or rather to heighten, a charming flow 
of geniality over the whole of the party, but no where could I trace its in- 
fluence so powerfully anciso delightfully as in the Master of the Feast. Th« 
music of the hills had given anew tone to his fine spirits,and the e.isy playful- 
ness with which he gave vent to their buoyancy, was the most delicious of 
contagions. Himself temperate in the extreme (some late ill health lias 
made it necessary he should be so,) he sent round his claret more speedi- 
ly than even I could have wished — (you see i am determined to blunt the 
edge of all your sarcasms) — and I assure you we were all too well employed 
to think of measuring our bumpers. Do not suppose, however, that there 
is any thing like display or formal leading in Mr. Scott's conversation. Oa 
the contrary,every body seemed to speak the more that he was there to hear 
— and his presence seemed to be enough to make every body speak delight- 
fully — as it had been that some princely musician had tuned all the strings, 
and even under the sway of more vulgar fingers, they could not choose 
but discourse excellent music. His conversation, besides, is for the most 
part of such a kind, that all can take a lively part in it, although, indeed, 
none that I ever met with can equal himself. It does not appear as if he: 
ever could be at a loss for a single moment for some new supply of that 
which constitutes its chief peculiarity, and its chief charm; the most keen 
perception, the most tenacious meroor)^, and the most brilliant imagina- 
tion, having been at work throughout the whole of his busy life, infilling 
his mind with a store of individual traits an<J anecdotes, serious ancj comic. 

^2, Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. Aug* 

indvidual and nation.i], such as it is probable no man ever before possessed 
— and such, still more certainly, as no man of great original power ever be- 
fore possessed in subservience to the purposes of inventive genius. A youth 
spent in wandering among the hills and vallies of his country, durin^j 
which he became intensely familiar witli all the lore of those grey-haired 
shepherds, among whom tiie traditions of warlike as well as of peaceful 
times find their securest dwelling place — or in more equal converse with 
tlie relics of that old school of Scott sh cavahers, whose faith had nerved 
the arms of so many of his own race and kindred — such a boyhood and 
such a youth laid the foundation, and established the earliest and most 
lasting sympathies of a mind, which was destined, in after years, to erect 
upon this foundation, and improve upon these sympathies, in a way of 
•which his young and thirsting spirit could have then contemplated but 
little. Througli his manhood of active and honoured, and now for many 
years of glorious exertion, he has always lived in the world, and among 
the men of tlie world, partaking in all the pleasures and duties of 
society as fully as any of those who had noticing but such pleasures and 
such duties to attend to. Uniting, as never before they were united, 
the habits of an indefatigable student with those of an indefatigable ob- 
server — and doing all this with the easy and careless grace oi one who is 
doing bo, not to task, but to gratify his inclinations and his nature — is it to 
be wondered that the riches of his various acquisitions should furnish a nev- 
er-failing source of admiration even to those who hiue known him long- 
est, and who know him best.' As for me, enthusiastic as I had always been 
in my worship of his genius — and well as his works had prepared me to 
find his convei'sation rich to overfl(Jwing in all the elements of instruction 
as well as amusement — I confess tlie reality entirely surpassed all my anti- 
cipations, and I never despised the maxim ?«'/ adnnrari so heartily as 
now." (pp, 315 — 31S.) 

The analysis of Wordsworth's chara^cter is worthy of the 
genius .of Peter. 

"In listening to Wordsworth, it is Impossible to forget for a singLs 
moment that the author of the "Excursion" is before you. Poetiy has 
been with liim the pure sole business of life — he thinks of nothing else, 
and he speaks of nothing- else — and wheie is tlie man who hears him that 
would for a moment wisii it to be otherwise? The deep sonorous voice iu 
•which he pours forth liis soul upon the high secrets of bis divine art — and 
those tender glimpses which he opens every now and then into the bo- 
som of that lowly life, whose mysteries have been his perpetual insj)!- 
j-ations— the sincere earnestness with which, he details and expatiates — the, 
innocent confidence wliich he feels in the heart that is siibniitted to his 
workings — and the unquestioning command with which he seeks to fas- 
ten to him every soul that is capable of understanding his words — iili 
these things are as the} sliouldbc, in one that has lived the life of a 
mit — musing, and meditating, and composing in the secluslop. of a lonely 
cottag-e — loving- and worshipping the nature of m:in, but parUJdng little iii 
the pursuits, and knowing little of the habits, of the Men of the World. 
There is a noble simplicity in the warmth with which he discourses to 
all that approach him, on the subject of which he himself knows most, 
and on which he feels most — and of which he is wise enough to know 
•that every one must be most anxious to hear him .speak. His poetry is 
the poetry of external nature and profound feeling; and such is the hold 
which these higii ihenjes have taken of his intellect, that he seldom 
dreams of descending in tiie tone in wiiich the. oi-dinary conversation of 
men is piiclied. Hour after hour his eloquence flows on, by his own sim- 

SSBO. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk. BS 

pie fireside, or along- the breezy slopes of his own mountains, in the samft 
lofty strain as in his loftiest poems — 

«'0f Man and Nature, and of human life. 
His liaunt, and the main region of his song." 

His enthusiasm is that of a secluded artist; but \vho is he that would not 
rejoice in being permitted to peep into the sanctity of such a seclusion— 
oi' that, being there, would wish for a moment to see the enthusiasm that 
has sanctified it, suspended or interrupted in its work? The large, dim, 
pensive eye, that dwells almost for ever upon the ground, and the .smile of 
placid abstraction, that clothes his long, tremulous, melancholy lips, com- 
plete a picture of solemn, wrapped-up, contemplative genius, to which a- 
mid the dusky concussions of active men and common life, my mind re- 
verts sometimes for repose as to a fine calm stretch of verdure in the bo- 
som of some dark and hoary forest of venerable trees, where no voice is 
h;ard but that of the sweeping wind, and far-off waters: — what the Et- 
trick Shepherd finely calls 

"Great Nature's hum, 

Voice of the desert, never dumb." 

"Scott, again, is the very poet of active life, and that life, in all Its varie* 
ties, lies for ever stretched out before him, bright and expanded, as in 
the glass of a magician. AVhatever subject be mentioned, he at once 
steals a beam from his mirroi', and scatters such a flood of illustration 
upon it, that you feel as if it had always been mantled in palpable night 
before. Every remark gains, as it passes from his lips, the precision of a 
visible fact, and every incident flashes upon your imag'ination, as if your 
bodil)- eye, hy some new gift of nature, had acquired the power of seeing 
the past as vividly as the present. To talk of exhausting his light of jra- 
mourie to one that witnessed its play of radiance, would sound as absurd as 
to talk of drying up the Nile. It streams alike copiously, alike fervently 
upon all things, like the light of heaven, which "shineth «ipon the evil 
and upon the good." The eye and the voice, and the words and the 
^■estures, seem all alike to be the ready unconscious interpreters of soma 
imperial spirit, that moves irresistibly their mingled energies from with- 
in- There is no effort — no semblance of effort — but every thing comes 
out as is commanded — swift, clear, and radiant through the impartial me- 
dium. The heroes of the old times spring from their graves in panoply, 
and "drink the red wine through the heliiiet barred" before us; or 

"Shred their foemen's limbs away. 

As lops the woodman's knife the spray" — 

— But they are honoured, not privileg-ed — the humblest retainers quit the 
•dust as mil of life as they do — nay, their dogs and horses are partakers in 
the resurrection, like those of the Teutonic warriors in the Valhalla of 
Odin. It is no matter what period of his country's story passes in review. 
Bruce— Douglas — their Kingly Foe, in whose 

"Eye was set 

Some spark of the plantagenet,'*" 

James — Mar\- — Angus — Montrose — Argyle — Dundee — these are all alike, 
not names, but realitieE— living, moving, breathing, feeling, speaking, 
looking realities — when he speaks of them. The grave loses halfits po- 
tency when he calls. His own imagination is one majestic sepulchre, 
where the vyizard lamp burns in never-dving splendour, and the charmed 



Wood glows forever in the cheeks of the embahned, and every long- 
sheathed sword is ready to leap from its scabbard, like the Tizona of the 
Cidin the vault of Cardena," (pp.318— 320.) 

The conviction of Mr. Lockbart, who is on the spot, goes 
far as evidence that Walter Scott is the author of Waverlej, 
and of that whole series of novels. 

"Perhaps the two earliest of his poems, the Lay of the Last Minstrel 
and Marmion,are the most valuable, because they are the most impreg- 
nated with the pecuhar spirit of Scottish antiquity. In his subsequent 
poems, he made too much use of the common materials and machinery 
employed in the popular novels of ikat day, and descended so far as to 
hinge too much of their interest upon the common resources of an art- 
fully constructed fable. Li like manner, in those prose Tales---which I 
110 more doubt to be his than the poems he has pubhshed with his name----. 
in that delightful series of works, which have proved their author to be 
the nearest kinsman the creative intellect of Shakspeare has ever had — 
the best are those, the interest of which is most directly and historically na- 
tional— -Waverley and Old Mortality. The whole will go down together, 
so long as any national character survives in Scotland-and themselves will, 
1 nothing question, prolong the existence of national character there 
more efi'ectually, than any other stimulus its waning strength is ever likely 
to meet with. But I think the two T have mentioned, will always be con- 
sidered as the brightest jewels in this ample crown of unquenched and un- 
quenchable radiance." (p. 338.) 

As Mr. Lockhart is believed to be the author of the Let- 
ters, we ought to give his account of himself. 

"It was on this occasion that I had an opportunity of seeing and conver- 
sing with Mr. Lockhart, who, as well as Mr. Wilson, is supposed to be one 
of the principal supporters of this Magazine, and so of judging for myself 
concerning an individual who seems to have cared very little how many 
enemies he raised up among those who were not personally acquainted 
withhim. Owingtothesatiricalveinof some of the writings ascribed to his 
pen, most persons, whom I have heard speak of him, seemed to have been 
impressed with the notion that the bias of his character inclined toward 
an unrelenting subversion of the pretensions of others. But I soon per- 
ceived that here was another instance of the incompetency of the crowd 
to form any rational opinion about persons of whom they see only partial 
glimpses, and hear only distorted representations. I was not lon|: in his 
company ere I was convinced that those elements which form the basis of 
his mind could never find thjir satisfaction in mere satire, and that if tlie 
exercise of penetration had afforded no higher pleasure, nor led to any 
jnore desirable result than that of detecting error, -or exposing absurdity, 
there is no person who would sooner have felt an inclination to abandoa 
it in despondency and disgust. At the same time, a strong and ever- 
wakeful perception of the ludicrous, is certainly a prominent feature in 
his composition, and his flow of animal spirits enables him to enjoy it 
keenly, and invent it with success. I have seen, however, very few per- 
sons whose minds are so much alive and awake throughout every corner, 
and who are so much in the habit of trying and judging every thing by 
th?; united tact of so many qualities and feelings all at once. But one 
mtets with abundance of individuals every day, who show in conversa- 
tion a greater facility of expression, and a more constant activity of spec- 
ujative acutei^ess. In.^v^' s^w Mr, Lockhart very much engrossed with 

1820. Peter's letters to his kinsfolk^ %f5t 

the de&ire of finding language to convey any relation of ideas that had oc- 
curred to him, or so enthusiastically engaged in tracing its consequence^ 
as to forget every thing else. In regard to facility of expression, I do not 
know whether the study of languages, which is a Favourite one with him 
— (indeed lam told he understands a good deal of almost all the modem 
languages, and is well skilled in the ancient ones) — I know not whether 
this study has any tendency to increase such facility, although there is no 
question it must help to improve the mind in many important particul^-s, 
by varying our modes of perception. 

"His features are regular, and quite definite in their outlines; his fore- 
Bead is well advanced, and largest, I think, in the region of observation 
and perception; but the gei>eral expression is rather pensive than other- 
^se. Although an Oxonian, and early imbued with an admiration for the 
works of the Stagyrite, he seems rather to incline, in philosophy, to the 
high Platonic side ofthe question, and to lay a great deal of stress on the 
investigation and cultivation of the impersonal sentiments of the human 
mind — ideas which his acquaintance with German literature and philoso- 
phy has probably much contributed to strengthen. Under the influence 
of that mode of thinking, a tuinfor pleasantry rather inclines to exercise 
itself in a light and good-humoured play of fancy, upon the incongruities 
and absurd relations which are so continually presenting themselves in 
the external aspect ofthe world, than to gratify a sardonic bitterness in 
exulting over them, or to nourish a sour and atrabilious spirit in regar- 
ding them with a cherished and pampered feeling of delighted disappro- 
bation, hke that of Swift, But Mr. Lockhart is a very young person, and f 
^vould hope may soon find that there are much better things in literature 
than sal ire, let it be as good humoured as you will. Indeed, W tells 

me he ah-eady professes liimself heartily sick of it, and has begun to write 
oflate, in a quite opposite key." (pp. 407, 408). 

The remarks upon society in Glasgow are such a« we 
should have anticipated from so accomplished a pen. We 
can however only refer our readers to them without ex- 
tracts. The portrait of I>r. Chalmers we have already seen 
several times in the newspapers, and it must be familiar to 
the public. 

In conclusion, we can only say, that we wish we had 
such Letteri as Peter's about every capital in Europe, and 
even about our own principal towns. They unite, in a ve- 
ry remarkable degree, instruction, amusement, and contin- 
ued excitement. We have never reaJ a book with a keen- 
er relish. The opulence of the writer's illustration is un- 
equalled. His talents shine forth in every page. Vivacity 
pervades the whole. 

As our Review is read chiefly in that part of our coun- 
try where the Letters of Peter will not probably be gene- 
rally accessible, we have indulged ourselves in making ve- 
ry copious extracts. Different circumstances would have 
compelled us to abridge this gratification. We are confi- 
dent however that the majority of our readers will be pleas- . 
ed with seeing so f^U an exhibition of our author. 


One word we have to say to the printer, and that is a 
word of unqualified censure. The typographical errors in 
this New York edition are very numerous and sometimes 
important, as Lord Buchan for Lord Byron (p, 156.) These 
errors are a disgrace to the office and to the city, and ought 
to be noted as at least a small degree of public punishment. 

•'The Poetical Works of John Trumbull, L, L, D; con- 
taining Mc Fingal^ a. Modern Epic Poem, revised and correct- 
ed, icith copious explanatory notes; the Progress of Dulness; 
and a collection of Poems on various subjects, written before and 
during the Revolutionary War: in two volumes. Hartford, 
printed for Samuel G Goodrich, by Lincoln and Stone^ 
1820." pp, 434, octavo. 

We are happy to see a new and elegant edition of tlie 
Poetical works of this celebrated scholar, patriot, and wit. 
We are not the less gratified to observe, that the printing, 
the designs of the plates, and the engraving, are from his 
native State. The whole is a fine exhibition of the im- 
provement in the arts, which Connecticut has made within 
the life of the author. With the exception of Barlow's Co- 
lumbiad, which was printed at Philadelphia, and which is 
the most elegant specimen of American typography, we do 
not recollect to have seen, from any of our presses, so hand- 
some an edition of any of the productions of our bards. 
The portrait of the poet painted in 1793, by his cousin John 
Trumbull, is thought to be a good likeness for the period 
when it was taken. The designs by Tisdale are well con- 
ceived, and give the spirit of the scenes selected from the 
text. Bassett engraved the vignette on the title page, and 
the entrance of Abijah White into Boston. Willard engra- 
ved the Town Meeting, and the Cellar, while Tisdale him- 
self engraved the collection around the Liberty Pole. This 
last and Abijah White are of about equal merit as specimens 
of the art, and are both superior to the work of Willard. 
The vignette on the title page is the best of all, and shows a 
more free and tasteful hand. The object of the satire in 
Mc Fingal is well pointed out by the cross of St. George o- 
ver the Python, writhing under the arrow, shot from the 
bow of Apollo. In so fine a plate, we are surprised that 
the artist has left the lines, which were jnade to direct him 

48S0» Trumbull's works* 3y 

in forming' the- lengths of the letters, and which ought to 
have been erased. This is a small article of criticism, but 
should not be omitted. In the Town Meeting, the calmness 
and dignity of the whigs are well contrasted with the irrita- 
tion and confusion of the tories, among whom the snarling 
dog is happily introduced as characteristic of the opposition 
to Honorius. The face, the mock importance, and the 
whole air of Abijah White are successfully delineated. 
Perhaps more military trappings oug1>t to have been given 
both to him and to his horse. The rage of Squire Mc Fin- 
gal tied to the Liberty Pole, the waggish look united to the 
gravity of the judge Avith a three cornered hat, the leer of 
his left hand neighbour, the activity of the boys in picking 
the goose, the tar bucket, the grin of the whiggish agents, 
the beer mugs, the svviuging hats, and the poor constable 
suspended between heaven and earth by the waistband of 
his breeches, looking with terror at the distant flight of his 
tory friends, form a most ludicrous group, and have all the 
spirit of carricature without any of its extravagance. It is 
precisely that kind of natural and well governed humor in 
which Mr. Tisdale excels. The principal figure in the tur- 
nip bin in the cellar is admirably conceived. Just sympa- 
thj' enough is excited to make the farce peculiarly interest- 
ing. In former editions we find prints somewhat like two 
of these, but they are anonymous. Possibly they are the 
productions of Mr. Tisdale, or may have aided him in giv- 
ing us the Town Meeting and the Liberty Pole. 

In regard to the Memoir of the Life and Writings of Mr. 
Trumbull no apology was necessary. This name is too 
dear to a large portion of the inhabitants of the eastern 
part of the United States to permit them to be uninterested 
in the biography of the distinguished members of the fam- 
ily, and particularly in the history of the author of Mc Fin- 
gal, a poem which w'as of essential service to the cause of 
liberty in our revolution. 

Quotations, in almost all instances, ought to have, in the 
margin, directions where to seek for them in the original 
works. A writer should not indulge his dislike of minutiee 
so far as to omit the references which inquisitive readers re- 
quire. They do no harm to any, and they gratify no small 
number. The whole paragraph, in the Quarterly Review, 
to which reference is made, (p, 8,) concerning Mr. Trum- 
bull, stands thus: 

"To Mr. B?rlow's Epicj may be joined, without disparagement to ei- 

3§ Trumbull's workst. ^Ilng- 

tlier, a poem, fi«m wliich tlie following is an extract, hy a Mr. FingaT, 
(no descendant, webeliev**, of the Caledonian bard of that name.) I'he 
bold idea of transporting all England ovei- to America for its crimes is not 
Mnworthy of one, whose progenitors had probably, in consequence of their 
T-irtues, been prevailed upon to anticipate the period of its removal. On 
comparing the insignificance of Little Britain with the 'largest empire o<v 
the face of the earth,' or mther with one otits 'waters^' the muse exclaims^ 

Its small extension, long supplied 
By vast immensity of pride: 
So small, thnt had it found a station 
In this new world at first creation. 
And for its crimes transported ovef, 
We'd find full room for't in Lake Erie or 
That larger water-pond Superior, 
Where North, on margin taking stand, 
Would not see shore from either strand." 

Vol: 10, pp, 523, 524. 

The Quarterly Reviewers have quoted this passage false- 
ly, even from the old editions. It is, in the new copy, thus' 

••Sep, where yon chalky cliffs arise. 
The hills of Britain strike your eyes; 
Its small extension long supplied 
By full immensity of pride; 
So small that had it found a station 
In this new world at first creation. 
Or, doom'd by justice, been betimes 
Transported over for its crimes, 
We'd find full room for't in lake Erie or 
Tliat larger water-pond Superior,* 
Wliere North,}- at magln taking stand. 
Would scarce be able to spy land." 

pp, 173, 173. 

The blunder of the Quarterly Reviewers, in mistaking 
Fingal for the real name of the author, is quite as charac- 

'♦'*Lake Superior is more than 2200 miles in circumference, an extent 
sufficient to warrant tlie assertion of the poet, that the inhabitants of Bri- 
tain, in the supposed situation, would not be able to spy the surrounding 
shores of the lake." 

"|This has been a most unhappy couplet. The poem, completed by the 
addition of the two last cantos, was first published in America in the year 
1782. Some yer^rs after, the whole was reprinted in London. In that in- 
terval Lord North was so unhapp3 as to lose his sight; and the British Re- 
■viewers of that day, with their wonted sagacity, imagined that these lines 
were intended as an insult upon him for that misfortune; thinking, as we 
presume, that Mc Fingal foresaw the future blindness of his Lordship by (he 
aid of iiis second sight. Their abuse of the author, as wanting candour 
and common sense, need not be repeated. la a subsequent copy of the 
poem, he struck out the name of Lord North, and inserted that of King 
George, — and lo, in a few years more, the King also was afflicted with 
blindness. To prevent all further mishaps, the hues are now restored to 
their original form." 

1820. Trumbull's wobks. B& 

teristic of that work as it is amusing. They had never 
read the poem; they knew nothing about it; but quoted and 
relied npon the romancer Jansen. The whole is a speci- 
men of the want of correctness and good faith, hy which 
this English Magazine is disgraced, in every thing relating 
to the United States. 

Our readers will be gratified with the following extract 
from the work, now under review, concerning the family of 
the author. 

"The family of Trumbull was among- the early settlers in Few-Eng- 
land. Their ancestor came from England, and in 1645 fixed his resi- 
dence at Ipswich in Massachusetts. His son, named John, removed and 
established himself at Suffield in Connecticut. He had three sons, John, 
Joseph, and Benoni, whose descendants are still living in this state. The 
Rev. Benjamin Trumbull, D. D. the respectable historian of Con;iecticut, 
was the grandson of Benoni. Joseph settled in Lebanon, and at his dscitl* 
left one son, Jonathan Trumbull, who was Governor of the State durine; 
the whole revolutionary war, and whose patriotic esertions are amplyre- 
corded in history. Two of his sons were Jonathan Trumbull, afterv/ards 
Governor of the State, and John Trumbull, the celebrated painter, whose 
merits have long been distinguished, both in Europe and America. 

"The author of these poems is the grandson of John TrumbuH, eldest 
son of him who first settled in Suffield. He was born on ihe 13th day of 
April, old style, (the 24thJiCcording to the present mpde of computation,) 
in the year 1750, in the parish of Westbuij', then a part of the town of 
Waterbury in New-Haven county, but since formed into a separate town- 
ship, by the name of Watertown, and annexed to the county of Litch- 
field. The settlement of that village was begun a few years beforo 
his birth. His father, who was the first minister of the Congregational 
church in that place, was a good classical scholar, highly respected by 
his brethren, and for many years one of the trustees, or Fellows, of Yala 
College. His mother was a daughter of the Rev. Samuel Whitman of Far- 
mington in Hartford county, and grand-daughter of the Rev. Solomon 
Stoddard, D. D. of Northampton in Massachusetts. 

•'Being an only son, and of a very delicate and sickly constitutic^n, be 
was of course the favorite of his mother. She had received an education 
superior to most of her sex, and not only instructed him in reading, from 
his earliest infanc}', but finding him possessed of an extraordinary memory, 
taught him all the hymns, songs, and other verses, with which she was ac- 
quainted. His faiher's small hbrarj consisted mostly of classical and 
theological books. The Spectator and Watts' Lyric poems wei-e the only 
works of merit in the belles-lettres, which he possessed. Young T;um. 
"^uU not only committed to memory most of the poetry they contained, but 
was seized v.ith an unaccountable ambition of composing verses himself^ 
in which he was encouraged by his parents. The country cjergy at that 
time generally attempted to increase their income by keeping private, 
schools for the education of } outh. When he was about five years of age, 
his father took under his care a lad, seventeen jears old, to instruct and 
qualify him for admission as a member of Yale College. Trumbull noti- 
ced the tasks first imposed; which were to lesu'n by heart the Latin Acci- 
dence and Lilly's Grammar, and to construe the Select Colloquies of Cor- 
derius, by the help of a Hteral translation. Without the knowledge of 
apj' person, except big aiotter, ks began ia ttiis wa^^ the stvdy of t^e L^t- 

40* TRUMBULL^'S WORKS. •5«tg*. 

in language. After a few weeks his father discovered his wishes, and find- 
ing- that by the aid of a better memory, his son was able to outstrip his 
fellow-student, encouraged him to proceec. At the commencement m 
September 1757, the two lads were presented at College, examined by 
the tutors, and admitted as members. Trumbidl, however, on account of 
his extreme youth at that time, and subsequent ill health, was not sent to 
reside at college till the year 1763. He spent these six years in a miscel. 
laneous course of study, making himself master of the l.i.reek and Latin 
authors usually taught in that seminary, reading all the books he could 
meet with, and occasionally attempting to imitate, botli in prose and verse, 
the style of the best English writers, whose works he could procure in 
his native village. These were of course few. The Paradise Lost, Thomp- 
son's Seasons, with some ot the poems of Drydcn and Pope, were the 
principal. On commencing his collegiate life, he found little regard paid 
to English composition, or the acquirement of a coirect style. The 
Greek and Latin books, in the study of which only his class were employ- 
ed, required but a small portion of his time. By the advice of his tutor, 
he turned his tlioughts to Algebra, Geometry, and astronomical calcula- 
tions, which were then newly introduced and encouraged by the instruct- 
ors. He chiefly pursued this course during the three first years. In his 
senior year he began to resume his former attention to English literatnre. 
After receiving the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1767, he remained three 
years longer at college as a graduate. Being now master of his own time, 
he devoted himself chiefly to polite letters; reading all the Greek and Lat- 
in classics, especially the poets and orators, and studying the style and en- 
deavouring to imitate the manner of the best English wj-iters." 

pp, 8—11. 

In this extract, the phrase, "mi unaccountable ambition of com'- 
^losing verses,'''' shows negligence of thought in the writer of 
the Memoir. No ambition was more natural, or more easily 
understood. This airof the marvellous was not needed to give- 
interest to the facts. That a hoy should write verses at five, 
be able to pass a creditable examination in Greek and Latin, 
and enter college at seven, is in itself sufficiently extraordi- 
nary. Such precocity is usually followed by early mental 
debility, but the author of Mc Fingal is an exception. As 
it respects the exercise of Iiis memory, to which his mother 
made him apply when he was very young, the example is 
worthy of being follov/ed by other parents. This faculty is 
among the first, v/hich arc unfoLied, and is best cultivated 
before invention and judgement are much employed. Lan- 
guage and poetry are eminently suited to its early efforts, 
and a large stock of words, images, and happy expressions 
may be laid up in the mind u'hen it is capable of doing 
nothing else. Words must be learned, not only for com- 
municating thoughts, but for thinking, whenever an indi j 
vidual wishes to advance far in philosophical knowledge. 
The common declamation concerning the inferiority of 
words to things, wi;en it is intended to discourage the study 
of language, is not only a mark of an unsound judgement, 

^820. Trumbull's Work«; ^i 

but is in the highest tTegree mischievous in its influence on 
young minds. We cannot learn things, to any great extent, 
without words, and words should be learned as early in 
life as possible. The folly of attacking the study of lan- 
guage is, happily for our country, passing away, and better 
ideas are becoming prevalent. 

We have no intention to recommend the example of 
Trumbull as a motive to induce boys to enter college at an 
early age. On the contrary, they ought to be kept at pre- 
paratory schools much longer than they are, and join the u- 
iiiversity at a much later period in life than they generally 
do. The mind should be sufficiently matured to enable it 
to comprehend mathematics and metaphysics, and to take 
delight in tracing out the laws of sound philosophy in the 
whole circle of science. 

The intimacy which was formed between Trumbull, 
Bwight, Barlow, and Humphreys, and the influence which 
their tastes and labours had upon the course of education 
in Yale Coilege, are peculiarly gratifying to our recollec- 
lioTis and o;ir meditations. Possessing eminent talents, in- 
dustry, zeal, boldness, and virtue, they were able to contend 
with, and finally to put down, a false estimate of learning,and. 
a monkisli spirit in that institution. The belles lettres rose 
to their proper rank under the fostering care and brilliant 
■Buscess of these friends, gentlemen, and scholars. Increas- 
ed attention was paid to rhetoric and oratoiy, and an era 
was begun in the institution which will not soca be forgot- 
ten. Mr. Trumbull 

"In November 1773, was admitted as a practising' attorney at the bar 
in Connecticut: but immediately went to Boston, and entered as astudent 
in the office of John Adams, Esq. since President of the United Statesj 
and'toolc lodg'ing's with Thomas Cashing', Esq. then Speaker of the House 
of Representatives, afterwards a delegate to the first Congress, and Lieu- 
tenant Governor yf tlie Stale of Massacliusetts. He was now placed in 
the centre of American poliiics. The contest between Great-Britain and 
the Colonies approached rapidly towards a crisis, Tiie violence of party 
was extreme. The Governor, Council, Judg'es, and all the lesfal authori- 
ty under the crown, em])Ioyed their utmost efforts to establish the uni- 
vei-sal supreinacy, and enforce tlie oppressive acts, of the English parlia- 
ment. The leaders of the poptdar party iiad the complete control of the 
House of Representatives, and directed every movement of the populace. 
Bv means of un extensive correspondence, with men of the best informa- 
tion ut the British and Fretich courts, they were fully convinced, at that 
early period, tiiat nothing-, sliort ot warlike resistance, could successfully 
oppose the clauiiS of GieuL -Britain to unlimited authority; and that, with- 
out eventual'r declaring- independent>e and assuniing the rights of sover- 
SitTnt/as auction, jio iajport^nt assistajice could be obtained from France, 

6 ■ 

^ Trumbull's works.' ^Aug^ 

"iJpain, or any European pov/cr. Slill the people were impressed with an 
nwi'ulidea ofthe omnipotence of Britain, ?nd shuddered at the thought of 
attempting- a separation. They placed their hopes on the effect of their 
petitions to the king-, their ai^crecments to stop all commercial inter- 
course, and the exertions of their numerous friends in the British nation 
and parliament. To cement the union of all the colonies, to counteract 
the fears ofthe people and encourage their confidence in their own 
strength and resources, to lead them into measurf^s decisive in their con- 
sequences, and to prepare their minds for resistance by arms, was the on- 
ly policy which the leaders could, at that time, pursue. Trumbull en- 
tered into their sentiments, with all the ardor in favor of liberty, which 
characterizes a youthful pohtician. Thougii he prosecuted the study of 
?aw with the utmost attention, h^ frequently employed his leisure hours 
in writing essays on political subjects, in the public gazettes; which had 
perhaps a greater effect from the novelty of his manner, and the caution 
lie used to prevent any discovery of the real author. Nor did he neglect 
occasionally to cultivate the muse; and just before he left Boston, anony- 
mously jniblished his Elegy on the Times, which is contained in the pres- 
ent collection. Every thing then verging towards Hostility in Masachu- 
setts, the cession ofthe courts being suspended, and Mr. Adams absent 
at the Congress in Philadelphia, he returned to New-Haven, and success- 
fully commenced practice at the bar, in November, 1774. 

"The year 1775 was a period of terror and dismay. The war had com« 
mj;nced by the battie at Lexington. Unconditional submission, or a to- 
tal rejection of the authority ofthe crown, presented the only alternative. 
'Every exertion was made by the friends of American liberty, to in- 
spire confidence in our cause; to crush the efforts of the Tory party and 
to prepare the public mindfor the declaration of independence. With 
these views, at the solicitation of some of his friends in Congress, Trum* 
JjuU wrote the first part of the poemof M'Fmgal, which they immediately 
ajrocm-edto be pubhshed at Pliiladelphia, where Congress was then as- 
eembled. He had also formed the plan of the work, sketched some ofthe 
tcenes of the third Canto and written the beginning of the fourth, with 
■the commencement ofthe Vision, at which point, not being gifted with 
the prophetical p owe I'S of his hero, he was obliged to leave it then unfin. 
ished." (pp.15— 17.) 

McFingal was completed in 1782. Tlie author is still 
living in Hartford, enjoying the respect of all those, whose 
good opinion is an honor to age and virtue, as well as to-tal- 
ents and learning. 

Mc Fingal is the principal poem in the collection, and 
first claims our attention. The object of this mock epic 
is explained by Mr. Trumbull himself, in a letter written 
May 20lh, 1785 to the Marquis de Chastellux. 

"In obedience tx) your request, signified to me by our mutual friend, 

Colonel , I will uowst. te without reserve the plan and design, 

upon which the poem of M'Fingal was constructed. It was written 
merely witli a political view, at the instigation of some leading members 
ofthe first Congress, who urged me to compose a satirical poem on the 
events ofthe campaign in the year 1775. My design was to give, in a 
poetical manner, a genera, account ofthe American contest, with a par- 
ticular description ofthe characters and manners of the times, intersper^ 
sed with anecdotes, v.hich no history would probably record or display r- 

iSZO. trujVibull^s works. 

and with as much impartiality as y)ossible, satirize the follies and ey- 
travag-ancies of'mj^ countrymen, as well as their enemies. I determined 
to describe every subject in the manner it struck my own imagination, 
and without confining myself'to a perpetual effort at wit, drollery, and 
iiumour, indulge every Variety of mumor as my subject varied, and in- 
sert all the ridicule, Fatire, sense, sprightliness, and elevation, of which E 
Vas master. In a word, I hoped to write a burlesque poem, which your 
Boileau would not have condemned, with those of Scarron and Dassouc:^ 
*'aux plaisans du Pont-neuf." 

"To throw this design into a regular poetical form, T introduced MTin- 
gal, a fictitious hero, who is the general representative of the party, whont 
■we styled Tories, in New-England. The scenes in which he is engagjd, 
the towr -meeting, the mobs, the liberty-pole, the secret cabal in the cel- 
lar, the operation of tarring and feathering, &c. were acted in almost eve- 
ry town. His exertions in favour of Great-Britain are regularly comple- 
ted by his flight to Boston, to which event every incident in the poem 
tends: in the course of which, all the transactions of the war, previous to 
the period of his flight, are naturally introduced in narration. The sub- 
sequent events are shown in the customary and ancient poetical way in a 
vision; in wiiicli I availed myself of tlie claims of the Scotch Highlanders^ 
to the gift of prophecj' by second-sight, *s a novel kind of machinery, pe- 
culiarly appropriate' to the subject, and exactly suited to a Poem, which 
from its nature must in every part be a parody of the serious Epic. lu 
this style, I have preferred the liigh burlesque to the low, ( which s the style 
of Hu Jibras) not only as more agreeable to my own taste, but as it readily 
admits a transition to the grave, elevated or sublime: a transition which is 
often made with the greatest ease and g-racefulness, in the satirical poems 
of Pope and Despreaux."*** (pp. 231— 233.) 

Tlie name Mc Fingcl was probably not chosen without 
some particular signification in the choice. It was impor- 
tant to the hero to have the gift of second siglit, and this could 
not be conferred, with so great propriety,upon any as upon a 
Scotchman. A Scottish tory too is a more fit instrument of 
tyranny over English subjects tlian an English tory. A mer- 
c -nary Jacobite, having deserted the House of Stuart, and 
sworn allegiance to tlie House of Hanover, was particular- 
ly adapted to the dirty purposes of oppression in British col- 
onies. An association with the poems of Ossian helps the 
spirit of the "high burlesque" in this satyric epic. 

"From Boston, in his best array. 

Great Squire Mc Fingal took his way. 

And, grac'd with ensigns of renown, 

Steer'd homeward \o his native t jwn. 

His higii descent our heralds trace 

From Ossian's* fam'd Fingalian race: 

For though '.heir name some part may lack, 

Old Fingal spelt it with a Mac, 

AVhich great McPherson, with submission. 

We hope will add, the next edition." (p, 4.) 

"*See Fingal, an ancient Epic Poem, published as the work of Ossian, 
a Caledonian bard of the third century, uy James McPherson. The com- 
plete name of Ossian, accoi'ding to tiis Scottish uonicncla'cure, will be Ost 
sian Mc Fingal." 

4# Trumbull's works, *^m^. 


The plan of this poem is very simple. The first canto is 
the Town Meeting in the forenoon; the second, the Town 
Meeting in the afternoon; the third, the Liberty Pole; and 
the fourth, the Vision. Mc Fingal, the representative of the 
tories, makes speeches in defence of British oppression. H6- 
norius, the representative of the whigs, the advocate of the 
rights and liberties of the colonies, and the fearless denoun- 
cer of tyranny, opposes Mc Fingal, and detects the folly, in- 
justice, and corruption of the tories in America, and the in* 
fatuation and perverseness of the British ministry. HoHorius 
conquers Mc Fingal both in argument and address. After 
dinner, the people erect a Liberty Pole, which is discovered 
by Mc Fingal, and he goes out to read the riot act to them, 
and to disperse the whiggish nwltitude. They seize him, 
appoint a tribunal «f three of their number to decide upon 
his case, bind him with a rope to the Pole, elevate his con- 
stable by the waistband of his breeches, tar and feather the 
principal, and afterward drive both through the streets ii^ 
a cart according to the decision of this waj^gish court. 

"Then on the fatal cavt, in state 
They raised our grand Duumvirate. 
And as at Rome* alike committee. 
Who found an owl within their city. 
With solemn rites and grave processlons- 
At every shrine performed lustrations; 
And lest infection might take place 
From such grim fowl with feather'dface. 
All Rome attends him through the street 
In triumph to his country seat: 
With like devotion all the choir 
Paraded round our awful 'Squire; 
In front the martial music comes 

Of horns and fiddles, fifes and drums, - : _, i 

With jingling sound and carriage bells. 
And treble creak of rusted wheels. 
Behind, the croud, in lengthen'drow 
With proud procession, closed the show. 
And at fit periods every throat 
Combined in universal shout; 
And hail'd great Liberty in chorus, 
Or bawl'd 'confusion to the Tories.'' 
Not louder storm the welkin braves 
From clamors of conflicting waves; 
Less dire in Lybian wilds the noise 
When rav'ning lions lift their voice; 
Or triumphs at town-meetings made, 
On passing votes torcgalate trade j t^pp. 115-117.) 

* Livy's History. 

•j-Such votes were frequently passed at town-meeting, with the view- 
to prevent the augraentaticn of prioeSj and dtop the depreciation of the 
paper money. 

iSSO. Trumbull's works, 4^ 

Thus having- borne them round the town. 
Last at the pole thcv set them down; 
And to the tavern take their way 
To end in mirth the testa! day." 

Mc Fingal has a vision, sees his old tory friend Malcolm 
on a gallows, hears from him a sad tale of the entire defeat 
of their faction and of the British arms, and the success of 
the colonists in gaining their independence, and flies to 
i>oston in despair to join his disconsolate party and flee the 

In the progress of this debate and vision, the causes of 
our Revolution are enumerated; the principal characters, 
l^attles, and events, are noticed; and the whole is brought 
to a happy conclusion. A great deal of satire is employed, 
and a minute acquaintance with the history of the period 
is evinced. Both low and high burlesque are put in requi- 
sition, although the author mentions the high only in his let- 
ter to the Marquis de Chastellux. The writer did not con- 
fine hnnself to any single mode of attack, but indulged his. 
pen in every kind of figure and description which camein 
his way. Particulars to illustrate this remark will be se- 
lected in the course of our review. 

Mc Fingal is made perhaps too weak, inconsistent, and 
absurd in his arguments or statements for the defence of the 
tory cause. The party would hardly acknowledge for their 
own the representations which he makes of their favorite 
doctrines. They could not subscribe to the last line of the 
following quotation. 

"Have not our High-Church Clergy made it 
Appear from Scriptures, which ye credit. 
That right divine from heaven was lent 
To Kings, that is, the Parliament, 
Their subjects to oppress and teaze. 
And serve the devil -when they please?" 

p, 24. 

The orator is not at liberty to ridicule his own argument in 
this manner. There must be at least seeming consistency, 
and the speaker ought so to express his sentiments as to ap- 
pear to believe them himself. It is too broadly against his 
own ostensible purpose, when he wishes to recommend a 
monarchical form of government, and particularly the ad- 
ministration of the monarch of Great Britain at that time, 
to say of kings what he does. 

"Now heaven its issues never brings 
Without the means, and these are kings; 

14 Trumbull's works.^ Au^^ 

And he who blames, when they announce ills, 

"Would counteract the etepnal counsels; 

As when the Jews a murmuring race. 

By constant grumbling? fell from grace. 

Heaven taught them first to know their distance, 

By famine, slavery, and Philistines; 

"When these could no repentance bring. 

In wrath it sent them last a king. "" 

So nineteen, 'tis believed in twenty 

Of modem kings for plagues are sent you; 

JV'or can your cavillers pretend 

£ut tliat they ansioer -well their end," 

p, 27. 

We do not however desire to see Squire Mc Fingal's castt 
made out any better than it is. It was a bad cause, and 
ought to appear so. The poet has prepared his reader for 
the weaknesses and absurdities of his hero, and foretold his 
ill success as a logician. 

"Thus stor'd with intellectual riches, 
Skill'd was our Squire in making speeches. 
Where strength of brains united centers 
With strength of lungs surpassing Stentor's. 
£ut as some muskets so contrive it 
As oft to miss the mark they drive at, 
Jlnd, though -well aim'd at duck or plo-ver^ 
Jiear -wide and kick their otuners over; 
So far'd our Squire, whose reasoning toil 
Would often on himself recoil. 
And so much injur'd more his side, 
The stronger arguments he applied. 
As old war-elephants dismayed 
Trod down the troops they came to aid, 
And luu't their own side more in battle. 
Than less and ordinary cattle. 
r" ■• • "Yet at Town Meetings, every chief 

Pinn'd faith on great Mc Fingal's sleeve, 
Which, when he lifted, all by rote 
Rais'd sympathetic hands to vote." 
pp, 7, 8 

Notwithstanding Mr. Trumbull, in the letter already quo- 
ted, speaks of his poem as the '•'•high hurUsqm^'' there are 
some ittstances of the Icm and even of the coarse. 

*'The quack forbears his patient's souse 
To purge the Council and the House; 
The tinker quits his moulds and doxies 
To cast assembly-men and proxies 
From dung-hills deep ofr blackest hue. 
Your dirt-bred patriots spring to view. 
To wealth and power and honors rise, 
Like new wing'd maggots chang'd to flies, 
And fluttering round in high parade 
Strut in the robe, or gay cockade. 

iS20» Trumbull's works. f^, 

See Arnold quits for ways more certain^ 
His bankrupt perjuries tor his fortune. 
Brews rum no longer in his store; 
Jockey and skipper now no more. 
Forsakes his warehouses and docks, 
And writs of slander for t e pox-* 
And cleans'd by patriotism from shame. 
Grows general of the foremost name." 

pp, 91, 92. 

We shall now take notice of a variety of particulaiH^ 
without any choice as to the order in which they may be 

"When Ytuikies, skill'd in martial rule, 

First put the British troops to school;" 


The orthography of the word in italics is not yet settled, 
and is improperly various in this new edition of Mc Fingal. 
The plural here given, Yankies^ requires the singular to be 
Yankey, as it was in the old editions. In page 136, it is 
written Yankee, the regular plural of which is Yankees. 

"And every Yankee, full of mettle, 
Swarm forth like bees at sound of kettle." 

We know not why the old orthography, Yankey, has been 
changed to Yankee, unless it be, that doubling the letter e 
in the termination is supposed to make it resemble more the 
Indian sound, whence tlie word is thought to be derived. 
Yankooh (Mass: Hist: Coll: vol: 9, p, 95,) is the Mohegan 
term for a person, and Yaneka was the name of a town a- 
mong the Chickkasahs. A tradition has been handed down, 
but appears not to be capable of much support from authority, 
that Fan/coo, or Yankee, is an Indian word denoting courage, or 
power, or greatness. The author of "The Yankey in Lon- 
don" considers the term as the awkward Indian pronuncia- 
tion of Yorkshire; but a more probable account of its ori- 
gin is given in the appendix of the second volume of the 
work under review. 

"Yankies. — The first settlers of New-England were mostly emigrants 
from London and its vicinity, and exclusively styled themselves, The 
English. The Indians, in attempting to utter the word, English, with 
their broad guttural accent, gave it a sound, which would be nearly re- 
presented in this way, Taungees; the letter _§• being pronounced hard and 

* 'Arnold's perjuries at the time of his pretended bankruptcy, which 
was the first rise of his fortune; and his curious law suit against a brother 
skipper who had charged him with having caught the above mentioned 
disease by his connection with a certain African princess in the West In 
dies; were among the early promises of bis future greatness and honors/ 

^ TRUMBULL^S WORKS » «ltt^» 

approaching id the sound of k joined with a strong aspirate, like the 
Hebrew Cheth, or the Greek Chi, and the I suppressed, as almost impos- 
sible to be distinctly heard in that combination. The Dutch settlers on 
the river Hudson and the adjacent country, during the. long contest con- 
cerning the right of territory, adopted the name, and applied it in 
contempt to the inhabitants of New-England. The British of the lower 
class have since extended it to all the people of the United States. 

"This stems the most probable origin of the term. The pretended 
Indian tribe ofYankoos does not appear to have ever had an existence: 
as little can we believe in an etymological derivation of the word from 
ancient Scythia or Siberia, as that it was ever the name of a horde of sava- 
ges in any part of the world." (pp. 223, 224.) 

This derivation is in favour of the orthography that dou- 
bles the letter e, Yankee. Although it was originally appli- 
ed by the British as a term of derision to the inhabitants of 
New England, its import is so honourable that its applica- 
tion, in the language of foreigners, has become national, 
and has risen above the indignity with which tories attempt- 
ed to cover it. The 65th number of the Edinburgh Review, 
in the article devoted to "Seybert's Statistical Annals," and 
which we noticed in our last, shows us that Jonathan also has 
become a national appellation for us, as much as John Bult^ 
has for England. Those whigs and republicans of the pre- 
sent day, who adopt the language and feelings of British 
partizans and hirelings toward these national appellations, 
can hardly be delivered from the charge of degeneracy. 

We observe that Mr. Trumbull always puts before the S, 
in ^Squire Mc Fingal, the comma. This is unnecessary, and 
had better be omitted. Johnson and Walker consider Squire 
an English word as well as Esquire. The contracted form 
has good authority without the mark of contraction. 

We are surprised to find in so handsome an edition, and 
coming from so good a scholar as Mr. Trumbull, such irreg- 
ularity in regard to the elision of vowels in words supposed 
to be too long for the measure. 

"Enslave t/t' Amer'can wildernesses,"—^— 

p, 6. 

««As that famed weaver, wife f Ulysses," ■ 

P. 9. 

"Above and near th^ hermetic staff," 

p. 10. 
•'Her conq^rin^ standard awed the main." 

P, 12. 

Since he began th^ unnat'ral war," 

P, 19. 
Tar in th' horizon toiu'rd the west." 
p, 106. 

These instances of elision, and of the supply of the com* 


ma to denote the contraction, are not followed by any de- 
gree of uniformity. It is not possible to know on what 
principles the vowels are left out in some cases, and re- 
tained in oliiers. The very same word is ditferently treated. 

"From our old i^ev'rend Sum Auchmuty," — 

p, 24. 
•'O'er punster Cooper's reverend head." 

p, 75: 

This is mere caprice, and, although a small article for a 
single instance, it is of importance as . it affects botli the 
pronunciation of the language, and its appearance on the 
page. Contractions injure euphony, and their marks in 
print arP! thorns to the eye which should be avoided wlien 
possible. The following are instances, where the elisioa 
ought to be found in words ending in ed^ but it is not. The 
reason for the elision, when the ed is not pronounced m 
full, is. that sometimes the full pronunciation ,of it in poet- 
ry is demanded by the measure. 

"Anath'maiizeil each unbeliever, 
An J vovv'd to live and rule forever." 

p, 15. 

Why is voitPd subjected to the elision, and the last syllable 
of anatli'matized not.'' 

"Her follies izjir^e^i In all then- stages,-' (p, 15) 

"Not vainer vows vs^ith sillier call 
Elijah's prophets raised to Baal." (p. If- 

In the same page the same word is contracted. 

"And gallows rais dto stretch their necks on.'* 

The following is a similar instance of caprice. 

"Make them run glib, when oiled by priest. " (p, 26.) 

"Swung Ih' unoiVd hinge of each pew door" (p, 80.) 

"Stood imaged forth in stones and stocks," (p, 13,) • 

The following are words, in which the vowels should be 
omitted for ther same reason that excludes them from Jlmer''-. 
ean^ Merc^ry^ comfring^ unnafral^ and others already quoted, 
Or they should be retained in all. The truth is, that they 
ought not to be cutoif in any of these instances, except in 
the termination erf, when not pronounced in full. The rea- 
sons we shall give by and by. 

"Opposing winds in ^^olus' f jE' his' J," — 

P, 11, 

**WJiose various fvar'ottsj wealth with liberal flib'ralj hand,"— . 

p. 12. 

50 Trumbull's works, •^w^' 

"Bade North prepare his^ery fyi'ryj furuacc;" — 

p, 16. 
*«Our General ("Gen'ralJ as his actions show," — 

*'And yet gain'd fewer proselyte fpros'lytej Whig's,"— 

"Did heaven send down, our pains to medicine, Cmed'cine,J 
That old simplicity of Edson." 
p, 33. 

Herfi, as med''cine rhymes with Ediion^ there is a peculiar rea-- 
son for the elision. 

"The indulg-ent fTli' indulgent J bowels whence ve sprung;" — 

p, 42. 

We might go on for a long time adding to this collection 
of capricious adoptions and omissions of the elision, but it 
5s unnecessary. We direct public attention to it chiefly for 
the purpose of remarking, that the true rules for scanning 
English poetry have received much less regard than they 
deserve, and are not generally understood. Because the 
measure, as in Mc Fingal,is iambic, it is not required that ev- 
ery foot should be an iambus. Other feet may be, and fre- 
quently are, introduced by the best poets. The number of 
Jeet, but not the number of syllables, must be the same in 
rhyming lines, except in the Alexandrine wdiich ends a para- 
graph in our pentameter, or heroic verse. It is not desira- 
ble to have the same kind of foot uniformly in the same 
piece of poetry. A variety is far more agreeable. In all 
the instances, where Mr. Trumbull has adopted the elision, 
excepting the words terminating in erf, the measure is com- 
plete without it. His lines are all intended to be oi four 
feet This object is accomplished if we do not confine him 
to iambuses^ but is not accomplished if Ave do, even though 
we allow him his elisions. We will take one of the mosfc 
difficult lines for our analysis. 

"Enslave th' Amer'can wildernesses." (p, 6.) 
Drop the elisions and divide this line thus: 

"Euslave | the Amer j ican wil | dernesses." 

The first foot is an iambus^ tlie second an anapaest^ the third 
an anapcBst., and the fourtii an amphibrach. We have no ac- 
cented types, and therefore cannot mark the long and short 
vowels, or long and short syllables. 
We will take another difficult line. 

"As that fam'd v.-caver, wife t' Ulysses." (p, 9. ) 

Write and divide the line thus: 

«As that 1 fj.i;a'd -vea i ver vrlfi; [ to Ulysses." 

1820. LITERARY. ^4 

The first foot is an iambus^ the second a §.ponck€, the third 
an iambus, and the fourth a pceon tertius, answering* to anima- 
tus in Latin. Any man, who is skilled in reading English 
poetry, and knows how to scan it, can give a distinct sound 
to every syllable, and yet preserve the feet and the melody, 
Jfcven when the elisions are made, the vowels must be 
sounded, or the euphony of the line is destroyed. 

When we obtain accented types, it is our intention to of- 
fer some essays at large on the subject of English versiiica- 
^on ahd orthoepy. 

{To be concluded in ow next number.) 


On Wednesday, the 12th of July, was held the Com- 
mencement ot the first regular class of graduates in Tran- 
sylvania University. The Exercises, which were in the 
chapel of the Institution, were attended by an overflowing 
audience of the most respectable people in the town and 
vicinity. The Salutatory, by Wills, was a piece of good 
Latin, containing appropriate addresses to the President 
and Trustees, to the associates of the Faculty, to the class 
and other students, and to the citizens assembled. Had it 
been more perfectly committed to memory, it would have 
been more successfully pronounced. The tones of the 
speaker's voice are varied, sweet, and interesting. An Es- 
say on the Study of Man, by Stout, was sensible and useful, 
delivered in a plain and modest manner, and creditable to 
his understanding. A dissertation on the Imagination, by 
Wallace, was respectable. It evinced an amiable mind 
with considerable cultivation. He wants more force and 
animation in his delivery. A dissertation on Liberal Stu- 
dies, by Pressley, was judicious, feeling, and excellent. 
The declamation was natural, earnest, and impressive. His 
sincerity, sound sense, and high tone of practical morality, 
commanded the entire attention of the audience. His cen- 
sure of the ancient sages was, however, too unqualified and 
sweeping, an arror into which young minds are apt to fall. 
An Oration on the Association of Ideas, by Morehead, was 
Jieautifully writterj, full of glowing and elevated sentiments 
and images, and (klivered with ^ happy uniou of diguitjf 

2'2^• LITERARY. *^tlgo 

and feiTor. He was a little too rapid, and might have intro- 
duced a greater variety of tones with advantage. His ima- 
gination and taste are good, but the last requires his atten- 
tion most. Refinement, feeling, patriotism, and a generous 
enthusiasm, pervaded and consecrated his performance. 
An Oration on Military Spirit, by Hopkins, had good 
thoughts, just reflections, and the materials of fine figurative 
illustration, but it was composed in bad taste which was not 
covered by a judicious pronunciation. His sentt nces were 
too long, and were loaded with ornament. He is said to 
bs a good scholar, and a young man of excellent promise* 
Let him tlien chastise his taste, and discipline his imagina- 
tion. TJie Valedictory, by Coleman, was a sensible vindica- 
tion of the Philosophy of the Mind, and its great importance 
to the im.provement of our systems of education, while it 
contained appropriate and interesting addresses to his In- 
structers, to the Trustees, to the patrons of Transylvania^ 
\o his successors in the University, and to his class-mates 
now about to part forever with their present relation to each 
other in the walls of their Alma Mater. His sentiments 
were good, his style adapted to the thoughts, his compli- 
ment to his successors generous, and his delivery excellent. 
His tones were happily varied and relieved. The ceremony 
of conferring degrees, notwithstanding little is expected 
from it, is yet an interesting part of this academical exhibi- 
tion. The Latin Form gives dignity and authority to th© 
occasion, while it furnishes an article of variety to the ex- 
ercises, and tends to preserve a just reverence for this ele- 
gant classical language and its liallowed associations. Th© 
heart of every spectator must be engaged for the prosperity 
of the young gentlemen who receive this last gift from the 
temple of the Mu.5fts as they are retiring from the dev^otions 
which they have been paying lor years. The Baccalaureate 
Address necessarilycalls up the most interesting recollectionij 
and anticipations. It is connected with the history of the> 
class, their studies, the gradual development of their minds, 
their manners and habits, the friendships they have formed, 
their destinations in life, the services they are to render to 
the community, the glory tliey are to obtain, and the reward* 
they are to meet. The whole is crowned with a devout re- 
commendation of the graduates, the University, and tha 
country to the care and the blessings of Heaven, 



(hi the Upper Alleghawian Monuments ofJVbrih Elkhorn Creek^ 
Fayette County, Kentucky. 

Lexington, 12th July, 182a 

All the various monuments, scattered through the west- 
ern states by that ancient and populous nation, the Allegha- 
wian, (as we find it called by tlic Lennape tribes) are very 
far from being thoroughly and accurately known; yet no 
one, who values in the least the knowledge of remote times 
and past generations, will deny, that their complete and 
comparative investigation might prove highly interesting, 
and till many of the present blanks in the earliest history of 
America in general, and our country in particular, its first 
inhabitan-ts, their manners, arts, and acquirements. 

The neighbourhood of Lexington appears to have beeri 
formerly the nucleus of an Alleghawian settlement, since 
many of their monuments are scattered near this town. I 
described to you in a former letter a ditched town, near 
the head of Hickman's creek. I have since heard that 
there are some other monuments in that vicinit}', which I 
shall soon visit again: they might be called the eastern 
group of our monuments. 

We have two northern groups, lying on the south side of 
North Elkhorn Creek, at the distance of about a mile from 
each other. I have lately visited and surveyed the upper 
one lying eastward, near Russell's cave on the Cynthiana 
road, which I now" mean to describe to you. When I shall 
have surveyed the lower group, wl.ich is said to consist of 
two very larg-e circular inclosures, I shall not fail to give yoii 
an account of it. I am told that a square inclosure lies 
west of this town, near the northern Frankfort road, and 
fiiany mounds and graves lie to the south of this town, which 
I shall endeavour to visit gradually. 

It is rather extraordinary that no survey (to my know- 
ledge at least) ha? yet been taken of these monuments, al- 
though they are so near to our town, and appear to be as 
singular as any found in the State of Ohio. Our worthy 
and lamented friend, Mr, John D. Clifford, had never visit- 
ed those on the Elkhorn, although he would have been 
highly gratified by their sight, since they elucidate and fur- 
nish additional proofs for his theory on the religious purpose 
of all the enclosures with aa jowarcj ditch, 


I visited this upper group of monuments, a few days 
ago in company with two gentlemen of Lexington. They 
are situated about six miles from this town in a N. N. E. di- 
rection, on the west and back part of Colonel Russell's 
farm, which stands on the road leading from Lexington to 

The ground on which they stand is a beautiful level spot, 
covered with young trees and short grass or fine turf, on the 
south side of a bend of North Elkhorn Creek, riearly oppo- 
site the mouth of Opossum run, and close by Hamilton's 
.farm and spring, which lie west of them. They extend as 
far as Russell's cave on the east side ot the Cynthiana road. 
There are many sinks towards the South and South East. 

I send you a map of the neighbourhood, and the monu- 
ments, by which you will easily conceive their relative situ- 

J shall now proceed to describe tlie monuments in order. 

No. 1, which stands nearly in the centre, is a circular en- 
closure, 600 feet in circumference, formed of four parts: 
1st, a broad circular parapet, now about 20 feet broad and 
2 feet high; 2d, an inward ditch noAv very shallow, and 
nearly on a level with the outward ground; 3d, a gateway, 
lying due north, raised above the ditch, about 15 teet bread 
and leading to the central area; 4th, a square central area, 
raised nearly 3 feet above the ditch,perfcctly square and lev- 
el, each side 10 feet long and facing the four cardinal points.- 

No. 2 lies N. E. of No. 1, at about 250 feet distance; it is 
a regular circular convex mound, 175 feet in circumfer- 
ence and nearly 4 feet high, surrounded by a small outward 

No. 3 lies nearly North of No. 1, and at about 250 feet 
distance from No. 2. It is a singular and complicated mon- 
ument, of an irregular square form nearly conical, or nar- 
rower at the upper end facing the creek. It consists, 1st, 
of a high and broad parapet, about 100 feet long and more 
than 5 feet high as yet, above tlie inward ditch on the 
South base, which is about 75 feet long; 2d, of an inside 
ditch; 3d, of an area of the same forn. with the outward 
parapet, but rather uneven; 4th, of an obsolete broad 
gateway at the upper west side; 5th, of an irregular raised 
platform connected with the outward parapet, and extend- 
ing towards the north to connect it Avith several mounds; 6th, 
«r three small mounds, about 50 feet in cii'cumference and 


2 feet bigh, standing irregularly round that platform, two 
on the west side and one on the east. 

No. 4. These are two large sunken mounds, connected 
with No. 3. One of them stands at the upper end of the 
platform, and is sunk in an outward circular ditch ahout 
250 feet in circumference, and 2 feet deep. The mound, 
which is perfectly round and convex, is only 2 feet high, 
and appears sunk in the ditch. Another similar mound 
stands in a corn field, connected by a long raised way to th» 
upper east end of the parapet in No. 3. 

No. 5 is monument of an ohlong square form, consisting 
of the four usual parts of a parapet, an inward ditch, a cen- 
tral area, and a gateway. This last stands nearly opposite 
the gateway of No. 3, at about 125 feet dis'ance, and leads 
' over the ditch to the central area. The whole outward cir- 
cumference of the parapet is about 440 feet. The longest 
side fronts the S. W. and N. E. and is 120 feet long, while 
tlie shortest is 100 feet long. The central area is level and 
has exactly half the dimensions of the parapet, being 60 
feet long and 50 wide. It is raised 2 or 3 feet as well as the 
parapet. The end opposite to the gateway is not far from 
Hamilton's spring. 

No. 6 is a mound without a ditch, 190 feet in circumfer- 
ence and 5 feet high. It lies nearly west from No. 1. 

No. 7. is a stone mound on the east side of Russell's spring 
and on the brim of the gulley. It lies east from the othef 
monuments and more than half a mile distant. It is 10 
feet high on the north side, and 175 feet in circumference, 
being formed altogether by loose stones heaped together, 
but now covered with a thin soil and stone grass. 

No. 8 is a similar stone mound, but rather smaller, lying" 
north of No. 7, at the confluence of Russell's spring with 
North Elkhorn. 

} I was told by Colonel Russell that another small stone* 
mound formerly stood in his yard west of the spring, and, 
laying rather in the way, was removed; when the loose 
stones were found to cover human bones. 

Russell's spring is a natural curiosity, it is a subterrane- 
nean stream of water issuing from a cave; both have been 
traced and followed for three quarters of a mile, and it is 
moreover connected with the sinks west of Russell's, since 
something thrown into them has been seen to come out at 
the spring. The cave is crooked, narrow, and rather shal- 
low. As tlie stream often fills it from side to side, on® 


must often wade to explore iti, and even swim in some pla- 
ces. Fish are found in it, such as Suckers and Catfihes. 
In freshets the water fills the cavity. At the mouth the 
stream is usually one foot deep, and discharges itself into 
the Elkhorn about one hundred steps below. The mouth 
of the cave is below a chain -of roc-ky limestone clitFs, 
where some organic fossils are imbedded. A large and spa-» 
cions hall lies next to it in the rock, forming- another cave, 
which is filled up by rubbish at a short distance, but com^ 
municates by narrow chasms with the other cave. 

Thf* above account of this curious group of monuments 
will probably suggest to you some new ideas on the subject, 
as they afford some new peculiarities, seldom seen else- 
where. In my opinion it is not doubtful thi t Nos. 1, 3, and 5- 
were earthern buildings adapted for religious ceremonies 
and the others for sepulchral purposes, 

When'^ver we meet Alleghawian monuments not calcula- 
ted for defence and military purposes, and without outward 
Pitches and inclosed springs; but particularly when we find 
an inward ditch separating the outward enclosure or para- 
.pet from a central and raised area, we ought to consider 
these monuments as Alleghawian temples, &c, the rude 
eacerdotal architecture of a people in the earliest stage of 
civilization, or a degree lower than those nations who built 
similar shaped monuments witli sunburt bricks and stones. 
The similarities between these monuments and many Celtic, 
3Druidic, Scythic, Tartarian, Indian, and Polynesian reli- 
gious monuments will appear evident to all those, who may 
undertake to compare them, and investigate the subject 
witii candour. But tlie identity between our Alleghawian 
monuments and thosp of the ancient Floridian, Antillian, 
Mexican, Peruvian, and Chilese nations is almost complete 
in many instances, and in others hai'dly any difference ex- 
5sts, except such variety as we even observe among oujs, op 
euch as the progress of the arts will have occasioned. 

The man or men, who will endeavour to collect all the 
scattered accounts and notices of American monuments, 
and who will bring them forth in a methodical, compara- 
tive, and perspicuous point of view, will render a real 
and important service to the historian of our ancient times, 
and of our predecessors on this luxuriant soil, and even to 
liistorian of mankind, its early arts and manners. 

Among the principal peculiarities, which I have noticed 
•in this group of monuments, the sc[uare area of No. 1, en- 


Closed within a circular ditch and parapet, is very interest- 
ing, since it exhibits a new compound geometrical form of 
building. The ditch must have been much deeper once, 
and the parapet, with the area, much higher; since, during 
the many centuries, which have elapsed over these monu- 
ments, the rains, dust, decayed plants and trees must have 
gradually filled the ditch, &c. I was told by Mr. Martin that 
within his recollection, or about twenty-five years ago, the 
ditch in the monument near the head of Hickman's Creek 
was at least one foot deeper. Whenever we find central 
and separated areas in the Alleghawian monuments, we must 
suppose they were intended for the real places of worship 
and sacrifices, where only the priests and chiefs were ad- 
mitted; while the Crowd stood probably on the parapet, to 
look on, and in fact these parapets are generally convex 
and sloping inwards or towards the central area. 

The ditched mound, no. 2, is remarkable, and must have 
had a peculiar destination, like the sunken mounds, No 4, 
which differ from No. 2, merely by being much lower, and 
appearing therefore almost sunk in the ditch. 

The stone mounds, Nos. 7 and 8', are also peculiar, and 
evidently sepulchral. But why were the dead bodies cov- 
ered here with stones instead of earth? Perhaps these 
mounds belonged to different tribes, or the conveniency of 
finding stones, in the rocky neighbourhood of Russell's 
cave and spring, may have been an inducement for employ- 
ing them. 

Believe me, as usual, your friend and well wisher, 


P. S. I have lately heard that something like the ruins of 
a town built with sunburnt bricks, mixed with straw, and in 
which brick Avells have been seen, also the appearances 
of houses, streets, &c. have been discovered not far from 
the western bank of the Mississippi, between New Madrid and 
the mouth of the River Arkansas. It is much to be wished 
that somebody would visit and survey the spot, ascertain the 
fact, and describe this new monument, which may add 
another link to our Ancient History. 

58 ST. CL air's campaign. ^ug: 


The following articles, as well as some of a similar nature which have 
appeared in pievious numbers, are worthy of preservation as materials 
for history. Should any errors be detected in them, we shall be happy to 
receive and publish corrections from authentic and responsible sources, 
Their general accuracy may be relied on. 


General Harmer's expedition, of which an account was 
given in the Western Review for April Jast, not having an-- 
swered the purpose intended, viz, that of bringing about a 
peace with the northern Indians, Congress passed an act 
adding to the establishment another regiment of regular 
troops, which was placed under the command of general 
Arthur St Clair, and general Richard Butler was made se-* 
cond in rank, which last appointment determined general 
Harmer to leave the service. The delay in the Quarter-^ 
Master's Department was so great, that it was late in Sep- 
tember before the army was ready to leave fort Washington, 
and when it arrived at the Big Miami River a fort was com- 
menced, the erection of which, from the rawness of the 
troops, occupied more than two weeks. The army then, a- 
bout the 4th of October 1791, attempted to march by two 
roads, opened at four hundred yards distance from each oth- 
er, and proceeded about two miles; the line of march was 
then altered, and they proceeded, in two days more, about 
twelve miles, when the country became more open. They 
then continued in a direct line, N. 16° W. until stopped, at 
thirty six miles from the Big Miami, by an impenetrable 
swamp or morass. Upon strict search an old Indian path 
was found, which the General concluded to follow, as the 
whole country appeared to be full of these morasses. At 
about sixty eight miles from the Ohio River a second fort 
was built, called Fort Jefferson, before the completion o£ 
which the contract failed, and the public horses had to be 
sent back for a supply of provisions. The men were put 
on an allowance of half a pound of flour and a pound of beef 
per day for one week, and were then limited to a quarter of 
a pound of flour per day to the end of the campaign. Fort 
Jefferson having been finished, the troops moved on six 
miles, to the place where Greenville was afterwards built, 
fiud remained there a week. Having then received % ignaall 

1830. ST. glair's campaign* ^^ 

supply of provisions, they moved on twelve miles to Still 
Water, where about one hundred and fifty or two hundred of 
the Kentucky Militia deserted. The General, beinL appre- 
hensive they would fall in with and destroy a convoy of pro- 
visions which was expected, detached major Hamtramock, 
with the principal part of the 1st regiment, to meet the con- 
voy and protect it. As the major passed tht encampment, 
(six miles from fort Jefferson,) a party of Indians was discov- 
ered reconnoitring, who fled at his approach. The regi- 
ment proceeded to the tree, nineteen miles from the Miami 
River, where it was expected the convoy of provisions 
would be in waiting, but none was there. The detachment 
then commenced its march back to the army, but did not 
arrive in time to render any service. 

The army had advanced, on the night of the 3d of No- 
vember, thirty miles from fort JeJTerson, to the bank of one 
of the forks of the Wabash, and just after day light next 
morning a general attack was made on the whole army, 
which was completely surrounded, and received a most 
deadly fire, from the enemy on every side. The troops 
stood up in their ranks and received the fire for some 
time, when general Butler ordered a charge with the right 
wing and drove the enemy a considerable distance; bat the 
troops, on returning to their encampment, were followed by 
the enemy, firing on their rear, A second charge was 
then made by the same troops with similar success and sim- 
ilar loss. General Butler, having received two wounds, 
both of which were dresseJ, determined to make a third 
charge, but, just as he was mounting his horse for the pur- 
pose, he received a mortal wound,- By this time the field, 
was strewed with the dead and dying. General St. Clair, 
being ill with the gout, and scarcely able to sit on horse- 
back, entertaining no hopes of victory, but seeing the great- 
er part of his officers either killed or wounded, ordered his 
troops to charge at the road and to go home; by which 
means they broke through the enemy. Now commenced th» 
most disgraceful part of the scene. As the greater J)ortion of 
the men threw away their arms, and every thing that was 
cumbersome, the ground was strewed with dead bodies, 
hats, coats, and shoes for about four miles, where the 
enemy gave over the chase. The returns of the killed and 
missing amounted to seven hundred and fifty privates and 
seven officers, but including waggoners, pack horsemen, 
and bullock drivers, there were upwards of one thousand, 


besides a great number of women, who had been injudi- 
ciously suffered t© follow the army. 

Great blame has been cast on General St. Glair for the 
failure of this expedition, but the fault rested principally 
with the Quartermaster General, who took a considerable 
time in having tent poles and packsaddles made in Phila- 
delphia, and transported across the mountains. The for- 
mer were laid by as useless, the troops preferring to cut tent 
poles where they encamped, rather than to carry them, and 
the packsaddles were so large, that they injured the 
back of every horse on which they were placed, although 
they cost, exclusive of transportation, double the price of 
good ones in Pittsburgh. General Butler saw they would 
not answer and ordered others to be procured before he 
left Pittsburgh, otherwise the army would not have been 
able to move at all. 

Another cause of the failure, which cannot be attribu- 
ted to General St. Clair, was the nature of the troops, of 
which one half of his army was composed. They were 
levied for six months only, were badly clothed, and had to 
stand out in that climate with linen pantaloons nearly worn 
out; many of them were without shoes, with only part of a 
hat, and the remains of what had been called a coat, very 
few had shirts, and, what v/as worse than all, they were half 
starved. The contracthavingfai]ed,the army ought to have 
returned, but tlie General had no discretionary orders. He 
was to go on at all events to the Miami Village, where 
Harmer had been the fall before, and the contractor un- 
dertook with two hundred horses to supply the army with 
flour, although one thousand would have been insufficient 
for the purpose. The only error I attribute to General St. 
Clair, was his not following Harmer's route, as he had a 
number of officers with him, who could have been his 
guides, told him what kind of country he had to pass, 
and where to look out for ambuscades, but perhaps he 
was ordered to take the route he did. I cannot forbear to 
mention the shameful conduct ol some of the Quartermas- 
iers in cheating the soldiers out of part of their small al- 
lowance. It had been agreed that where the beef was drawn 
in large drafts, 5 per cent, should be allowed to make 
up for the waste in dividing between messes; this 5 per 
cent, those Quartermasters appropriated to their own use^ 
and indeed, it was said, frequently more. 

Forts Jefferson and Hamilton were retained, notwithstand- 

iSSO. ADAIR^S EXPEDITiai!?. 61; 

mg the great advantage the enem) had gained. Brigadier 
General Wilkinson was sent onto take the coramand of the 
residue of the troops consisting of part of the 1st and 2nd 
Regiments of Infantry. In the course of the winter the Gen- 
eral made an excursion to the field of battle and received, 
one piece of cannon, and all the carriages, also one travel- 
ling forge, and some tools. The nextsumnier was devoted 
to getting on a supply of provisions in advance, and recon- 
noitring the country. General Wilkinson made a second 
visit to St. Clair's battle ground, found one piece of can- 
non which the Indians had hid, and removed it to another 
place. The troops at Forts Jelferson and Hamilton were al- 
so employed part of the summer in getting a quantity of hay 
for the use of the Cavalry that was expected al Fort Jef- 
ferson. The hay-makers were attacked and a sergeant, cor- 
poral, and fifteen privates killed or taken. A few were 
also taken from Fort Hamilton. 

This summer, three ditferent fiags with proposals of 
peace, were sent to the Indians, the first by Mr. Freeman, 
who was killed on the Little Miami River, the other two by 
Colonel John Hardin of Kentucky, and Major Freeman of 
the regular troops, who set out together and kept in com- 
pany to the place now called St. Marks, where they separ- 
ated, Colonel Hardin taking the route to Sandusky, and Ma- 
jor Freeman to the mouth of the Auglaze. Nothing certain 
has ever been known of the fate of Colonel Hardin. Major 
Freeman had arrived within a (ew miles of his destination 
when he was treacherously massacred in the night by two 
Savages. The Interpreter, who was with him, escaped, and 
relates that, a few days after, he sav/ Colonel Hardin's hor- 
ses and clothes brought in, which is all that has ever been 
heard respecting him since. 


In the summer of 1792, one hundred Kentucky volun- 
teers were ordered to reinforce General Wilkinson for the 
purpose of escorting provisions to the out posts. The first 
party, under the command of Captain Joshua Barbee, had 
sers'ed the time for which they were engaged, and a second, 
under Major John Adair, w^hich attended as a convoy of pro- 
visions to Fort Jefferson had returned to Fort St. 
Clair, an intermediate post, on the night of the 5th Noveni- 


(52 IPOETRT. dug. 

ber, and encamped about two hundred yards from the fort. 
It was the custom with the Major to have his men up some 
time before day, and at the dawn to give a signal for the 
sentinels to leave their posts, to come in, ar d prepare for 
the march. On the morning of 6th November, as the senti- 
nels were coming in, the party was attacked by three or 
four hundred Indians, and by them driven under the walls 
of the fort. One half took shelter within; the rest, under 
Major Adair, took possession of a picket work, intended to 
cover some stables, where they made a successful stand. — 
They then drove the enemy to the woods, whence they 
also were driven back in their turn, and these alternate 
pursuits and retreats were repeated several times. The 
Indians, at length, drew off, taking all the horses with them, 
Adair again pursued them, and in a little more than a mile, 
came in sight of them across a steep hollow. He called tO' 
them to come back and take another fair fight, which they 
accordingly did; and being so far superior to him in number, 
3ie was of course obliged to give way and retreat as soon as 
possible. Lieutenant Job Hale, sergeant English, and 
three others, were killed; Lieutenants George Madison, and 
Kichard Taylor, and five or six others were wounded, all 
of whom recovered. The Indians left seven dead on the 
dfield, and were seen to carry otF several during the action. 
Two men, whom the enemy had taken a few days before 
from Fort Hamilton, were found dead at their encamp- 
ment, one mile and a half from the fort. 




Come, maidens, cull the choicest flowers 

That blossom in tlie solar ray: 
Seek these cypress-sliaded bowers, 
Nor hail the rosy smile of day. 
Slowly chant the song of love. 
Soothe the spirit of the grove! 
Strew along the rnossy way 
"The primrose and the viplet gay; 

|l8S0. POETKY. ^t 

Sweet Philomel shall plaintive mourn, 
Her solemn dirge o'er Julia's urn, 

Bid the shepherd- boy attend, 

And guide the tenderest yearlings here, 
Where, soft, the mournful willows bend 
Low, to shed the pensive tear. 
Bid him chant a softer strain. 
Call reflections from her fain: 
Cease, ye zephyrs! cease to chide 
The mournful murm'rings of the tide. 
Hither maidens come and twine, 
Your garlands round ray Julia's shrine. 

Let Erebus bedim the eye, 

The roseate, phosphor eye of day; 

Let Nature veil the glowing sky, 
And Luna shed her silver ray. 
Chant aloud your song of love, 
Plaintive mourner of the grove; 
Hither maidens come and bring 
The choicest blossoms of the spring; 
Come, Melancholy, leave thy cave. 
And breathe a sigh o'er Julia's grave ! 


Of the Italian Ode, in our last, 
To th memory of Mr. John D. Clifford. 

The flag funereal, stern Death, 

Dark-streaming o'er the crowded way, 
The sacred bell's harsh, iron breath, 
Thy hated victory display. 

We enter. Lowly is the flower 
Wither'd in life's meridian hour. 
Pallid it lies, crush'd by the claSp 
Of that all-powerful arm and adamantine grasp,^ 

The pious soul its rapid flight 
To Cod, its rirtue's guerdon, wings. 

Beyond the Sun, through realms of light 
Paeans of gratitude it sings. 

Arches empyreal around. 

With holy harmony resound, 

Till echoed through ethereal deeps 
Of other spheres, afar the heavenly music sweeps. 

Swift to the former partner of his joy 
Dove-like he flies. In raptures rol' 
Their moments, while no words alloy 
The still communion of the soul. 
With sympathetic glance they see 
The mourning orphan-family; 
Nor would their tears of sorrow sleep. 
If spirits of the blest, the seraphim, could weep. 

Sweet friendship's balmy duties, paid 

To sorrow, charm the holy pair; 
And sweet the sigh of the bright maid 
Who loves to lull that sorrow's care. 
The Almighty source of love they pray 
Their grief's intemperance to sway, 
And when the fatal signal's given, 
Wrapped in their saintly white, they may ascend t« 

Lo! where Death's chariot enshrouds 
His victim; and is toll'd the knell 
To unaffected Vveeping crowds 
Of a last, sorrowful farewell, 
Nor happy hope, nor torturing hour 
Resists the awful despot's power. 
Grates harshly, as his portals part, 
The hinge, and every clod falls heavy on the heart. 

Ne'er stopping on his journey, stills 

Gray Time the passions' sullen roar. 
The memory of distant ills 

Is but the sigh of tempests o'er. 
To his posterity his name 
Immortal virtues shall proclaim, 
And shame the vicious with his bays, 
True as the Poet's soul, unfading as Ins lays. 




Vol. III. SEPTEMBER?, 1820. No. 2. 

"The Poetical Works of John Trumbull, L, L, D; con^ 
taining Mc Fingal, a Modern Epic Poeni^ revised and correct' 

': cd, with copious explanatory notes; the progress of Dulness; 
and a collection of Poems on various subjects, loritten before 
and during the Revolutionary War: in two volumes. Hart- 
ford, printed for Samuel G Goodrich, by Lincoln and 
Stone, 1820." pp, 434, octavo. 

(continued from page 51) 

Although great indulgences ought totje granted toHudi- 
l^rastic rhymes, and their eccentricity and unexpectednesft 
constitute much of their merit, and sometimes ail, yet the 
following are hardly admissible. 

chief, } g dozy, ) ^^ Idiocy has the accent 
sleeve, ) ^' ' idiocy. J ^' ' on th^ first syllable. 
The penultimate is short, and we cannot consent to contra- 
dict all autkoi'ity, and make it long. 

desperater, \ jg This rhyme is good with the pronun- 
nature, \ "^ ' ciation of natute as it prevails in Con- 
necticut, naler; but the rhyme is destroyed by the modern 
English pronunciation. On this subject, however, we will 
not contend with Mr. Trumbull, because we are satisfied 
that be ha^ the authority of the old English pronunciation 
in his favour. 

beyond, ) j^ Beyend is a provincial pronunciation as 
end, ) ^' * well as beyand, and cannot be admitted. 
Walker says, '•'■Absurd and corrupt as this pronunciation (be- 
yand) is, too many of the people of London, and those not entire' 
ly uneducated, are guilty of if." This sentence may be appli- 
ed to Connecticut with respect io beyend. 
gestures, ^ p. 21 The criticism concerning fZespera^^r and 
protesters. ^ ^' ' nature (nater) applies to this rliyiuej 
which requires gestures t© be s.oun4ed gest^rs, 



jeer'd, ^ _ i In this instance, the second word must be 
heard, ^ P ' * pronounced heerd^ but it is made, in another 
place, to rhyme with concert^ and must of course be sound- 
ed hert. 

"And straight the people all at oiice heard 
Of tongues an universal concert." (p, 82.) 

This is somewhat too capricious even for doggerel that 
claims to be, not lovo^ but '-'•high burlesque." 

commissions, ) • laid in, ) longer's > 

license. ^ p, 26. sitting. ^ p, 29. congress. ) PjS^. 

speechifying, ) again you, ) all see, ) 

whine. 5 P) 33. ninny. i p, 51. policy. ) p, 77. 

correspondence ) scanty, > 

undone's ) p, 96. humanity. 3 p, 142. 

misty, 7 descended. > deities, I 

triplicity. S p, 150. engendered. 3 p, 169. treaties. | p, 164. 
In the rhymes, all see and policy, misty and triplicity, and scan- 
ty and humanity, the elision of the i is demanded, if the 
rhymes be allowed, but it would be better to make new 
rhymes. Putnam and mutton him are so odd a combination 
that we would pass it, if we could, but we cannot pronounce 
mutton him in any way sufficiently short to dispense with an 
additional syllable in Putnmn, and must make it Putton-am, 
a change, which his descendants would not much like. 

Several words are spelled wrong in the new edition, some 
of which were right in the old. '-'■ Catiffs'''' (p, 17,) we find 
Jor Caitiffs; Hoth'' (p, 10,) for loath; Heasf (p, 48,) for lest, 
as it is in page 61; '■'■setts'''' (p, 74,) for sets; '•'■paroV (p. 83,) 
ioY parole; "anfieni" (p, 86,) for anden^; and "safe" (p, 21,) 
for sat. 

"In the same way bad is sometimes very improperly used for bade, the 
preterite of the verb bid, and sate for sal, the preterite of sit. The only 
proper use of the word bad is as a synonyma for ill; and to sate is the 
same in signification as to glut." — {Campbell's PJdl: of Ithet: /», 213.) 

'■'■JMoggison'''' (p, 96) is usually written moccasin, but the or- 
tliography is not settled. 

There are many instances of erroneous pronunciation be- 
sides those already mentioned. '•'■Extreme,'''' (p, 26,) '■'■ finesse, ^"^ 
(p, 37,) "?cnnenf," (p,61,) '■'parol;' (p, 83,) ''distress;' (p,103,) 
and "surpass;'' (p, 144,) are accented on the first syllable in 
violation of good use. "■Triplicily;'' (p, 150,) and "pohYic," 
(p,^47,) are accented on the penultimate. To oiake '•'mergy''^ 

18^0, Trumbull's works* 67^ 

rhyme with '■'■ clergy ^^'' (p, 46,) the accent is taken from t]i& 
first, and given to the second syllable. The pronunciation 
which Ricliardson himself and the English have established 
f«r '■'■Pamela''^ (Vol: 2,p, 17,) requires the penultimate to be 

The English Church is said (p, 16,) to have 

•'Set wide for Popery the door,* 
Made friends with Babel's scarlet vvhore> 
Till both the matrons joined in clan; 
No sislers made a better span." 

Pickering, in his vocabulary of Americanisms, and of 
those words supposed to be such, has this remark. 

"Spas. A pair. Used in this expression; a s/vnt of'horses. J^'e-w-Ewf^ 
land. I do not find this use of the word in any of the English diction^- 
ries, nor in Ray's or Grose's glossaries. The Germans say, a span, or 
gespan ochsen oder pfirde, a team, not exclusively one pair of oxen or hoc-, 

"TWccfZ" (p, 69) is not in tlve dictionaries. '■'■Veers''' (p 
98) as a noun is not authorized. '■'■Rape''^ (p, 136) is not a 

The account of Tories and Whigs in the appendix may a- 
muse our readers. 

"The appellation of Tories was first given to the native Irish, who dwelt 
or were driven, beyond tlie English pale, as it was called, and, like the 
moss-troopers and outlaws on the borders of Scotland, for some centuries 
carried on a desultory and predatory war, against the British settlements 
in Dublin and tlie eastern and southern parts of Ireland. In the civil wars 
in the time of Charles the first, these clans adhered to. the royal party and 
^yere finally attacked and subdued by Cromwell. 

"In England this name seems to have been first applied to that part of 
the army of Charles, who were distinguished by the appellation of Caval- 
iers. A number of young noblemen and gentlemen of the first families 
who adhered to the king, formed themselves into volunteer troops of cav- 
alry. They were not more famous for courage in the field, than notorious 
for their dissolute manners and intemperate riots. Singing catches and 
ballads was then the fashionable rnusic of society. To every stanza in 
the old ballads was annexed a chorus, called tlie burden or wheel of the 
song, which usually consisted of a roll of unmeaning sounds, in wliich the 
whole company joined with the utmost vociferation. They had a favor- 
ite ballad suited to the times, and as much in vogue, as the Ca ira waS 
ifterwards in the French revolution. Its chorus was 
"Sing tory rory, rantum scantum, tory rory row." 
The word, Tories, soon came into use to denote a set of bacchanalian 
companions. Cotton, in his Virgil Travesty, often calls the Trojans at the 
court of Dido, Tories, and once, Tory-rories, according to this significa- 
tion of the terms. 

"The word Whig origina'y meant a sour, astringent kind of crab-an- 

* Alluding to the Act of parLam^ut, ^stablisliinff the Papal worshiD and 
ligionioCapadsK r «^»» 


;ple. The ancient pvoverbial comparison, "as sour as a Whig," is still in, 
use among the vulgar. Inriciicule of the short, clipped hair andpeiiiten-- 
tial scowl of the puritans, VBho served in the army of Cromwell, the roy- 
alists called the Whigs, pick-ears and round-heads. 

"Whether these facts afford a full explanation of the origin of the terma 
must be left to the decision of tlieantiquai'ians, among whom it has long 
"been a subject of dispute. Certain it is that they were never employed 
to designate political parties in England, until the period of the civil 
wars. The royalists who believed in the divine right, unlimited pre- 
rogatives and arbitrary power of the kings, were then stigmatized by the 
jiame of Tories. Those who adhered to the Parliament, asserted the 
rights of the Commons, and carrying their zeal for liberty to the extreme 
of licentiousness and anarchy, finally brought their monarch to the scaf- 
fold, were in return contemptuously denominated Whigs. But as early 
as the commencement of the last century the terms had lost their original 
opprobrious meaning; and although the word, Tory, never became re* 
putable, the name of Whig was assumed, as an honorable title, by the 
party opposed to arbitrary prerogative in the king, and to high-church 
principles in the hierarchy. The phrases now serve chiefly to distinguish, 
the two great political parties, into which England has ever since been 
divided. In this sense they are used by Swift, Bolingbroke and their ad- 
versaries, in the time of Walpole, and more recently in the writings of 
Burke and some ofthe later English historians, 

"During the revolutionary war in America, the friends of liberty and 
independence assumed the title of Whigs, and stigmatized as Tories, all 
those who adhered to the king of England, and advised submission to the 
demands of the Brit.. jh Parliament. In this sense the terms are used in 
M'Fingal and by all cotemporary writers on American politics. But 
since the acknowledgement of eur Independence and the adoption of a 
constitutional form of government in the United States, these names have 
gradually fallen Into disuse, are considered as cxpre.'Jsions approaching to- 
•wards vulgarity and almost banished from polite conversation. Pai-tles 
have arisen upon new grounds and principles of policy, and arc distln 
guished by new appellations.' (pp.224 — 227.) * 

Our prophetical gossips, whether in breeches or petit 
coats, may apply these lines to themselves. 

<'Nor only saw he all that could be. 
But much that never was, nor would be; 
Whereby all prophets far outwent he, 
'Ihough former days produced a plenty: 
For any man with half an eye 
What stands before him can espy; 
But optics sharp it needs, I ween. 
To see what is not to be seen." (p, 6,) 

Though often antedated, the fate of England must atlas* 
be bankruptcy, an event which will be a benefit to the na- 

"Thus now while lioary years prevail. 
Good mother Britain seem'd to fiiil; 
JItr back bent, crippled with the weight 
Of age, and debts, and cares of state. 
I'or debts she owed, and these so large; 
As twice her wealth could nt'es dischargea 

^8S0, Trumbull's woRK»i 6^ 

And now, 'twas thought, so high they'd grownj 

She'd come upon the parish soon. 

Her arras, of nations once the dread. 

She scarce could lift above her head; 

Her deafen'd ears, 'twas all their hop6. 

The final trump peihaps might ope; 

So long they'd been, in stupid mood. 

Shut to the he iring of all good." (p, 13.) 

The conclusion of Honorius's speech (pp, 19 — 81,) is not 
ii little severe upon the tory members of the several pro- 

««And are there in tlis freeborn land 

Among ourselves a venal band; 

A dastard race who long have sold 

Their s juls and consciences for gold; 

"Who wish to stab their counti-y's vitals. 

Could they enjoy surviving tiiles; 

"With pride behold our mischiefs brewing. 

Insult and triumph in our ruin? 

Priests, who, if satan should sit down 

To make a bible of his own, 

"Would gladly for the sake of mitres. 

Turn his inspired and sacred writers; 

Lawyers, who, should he wish to prove 

His claim to his old seat above. 

Would, if his cause he'd give them fees in. 

Bring writs of Entry sur disseisin. 

Plead for him boldly at the session. 
/ And hope to put him in possession; 

Merchants who, for his friendly aid. 

Would make him partner in their trade. 

Hang out their signs in goodly show. 

Inscribed with Beelzebub & Co.; 

And judges, who would list his pages. 

For proper liveries and wages; 

And who as humbly cringe and bow 

To all his mortal servants now? 

There are; and shame, with pointing gestures, 

Marks out the Addressers and Protesters; 

Whom following down the stream of fate. 

Contempts ineffable await; 

And public infamy forlorn. 

Dread hate and everlasting sCorn." 

The attacks upon Hutchinson are very severe, a severity 
■which he richly deserved. He was a great cheat, a traitor 
to those over whom he was placed as governor. His hy? 
pocrisy is not spared. 

"He white-wash'd Hutchinson, and varnish'd 

Our Gage, who'd got a little tarnish'd; 

Made them new masks, in time no doubt. 

For Hutchinsen's was quite worn out: 

Yet while he muddled all his head, 

You did nothecd » VYord fee iiaid," (pp, 29, 30.) 


« 'Have you forgot,' Honorius cried, 

*How your prime saint the truth* defied^ 

Affirin'd he never wrote a line ' 

Your cliarter'd rights to undermine^ 

"When his own letters then were by, 

Which proved his message all a lie? 

How many promises heseal'd 

To gctth' oppresive acts repeald, 

Yet once arrived on England's shore. 

Set on the Premier to pass more? 

But these are no defects we gi-ant, ' 

In a right loyal tory saint, 

Whose godhke virtues must with ease 

Atone for venial crimes, like these: 

Or ye perhaps in scripture spy 

A new commandment, "tliou "shalt lie^'' 

If this be so (as who can tell?) 

There's no one sure to keep so well' " (pp. 34, 35.) 

The introduction to the second canto is a handsome specl"- 
xnen of the facility and humor of the poem. 

"The Sun, who never stops to dine. 
Two hours had pass'd the mid-way line. 
And driving at his usual rate, 
Lash'd on his downward car of state. 
And now expired the short vacation. 
And dinner o'er in epicfash'on, 
"While all the crew, beneath the treesj 
Eat pocket-pies, or bi-ead and cheese^ 
(Nor shall we, like old Homer, care 
To versify their bill of fare) 
Each active party, feasted well, 
Throng'd in like sheep, at sound of bell; 
With equal spirits took their places, 
."> And meeting oped with three OA Fessesi 
When first, the daring Whigs t' oppose. 
Again the great M'Fisgal rose, 
Stretch'd magister alarm amain. 
And thus resumed th' accusing strain." (pp. 41, 42,) 

* Hutchinson, wliile Gover^or of the Province, in his letters to the 
iministry declared the necessity, in order to maintain government, of des 
troying the charter, abndging what h; termed English Liberties,' mmkint^ 
the judges dependent only on the crown, and erecting a nobility in A- 
inerica. Doctor Franklin, the provincial agent at the British Court ob" 
feiined a nunr^bef of the originals, and transmitted them to Boston' In 
1773, in a speech to the Legislative Assembly, he affirmed the absolute 
and unlimited authority of the parliament over the Colonies. This drew 
from the HoLt-e of Representatives a spirited and argumentative replv 
He rejoined; and in the course of debate, finding himself susnected of 
advisingthe ministry to oppressive measures, declared that he had evcj' 
been an advocate for the rigntsofthe Province contained in the charter 
and the equal liberties of the Colonists, with the other subjects of the 
British Dominion. On this, Hutchinson's letters were immediately pub 
lished in Boston, to the utter confusion of all his pretensions, political and 

482^. Trumbull's works. 71 

The following is a couplet in pentameter verse, and is a 
departure from the measure of the poem. 

"Or will proceed as though there were a tie. 
And obligation to posterity." (p, 47.) 

The clouds make a pun according to the speech of Squir* 
Mc Fingal. 

*'Was there a cloud, that spread the .skies, 
B' t bore our armies of allies, 
While dreadful hosts of flame stood forth 
In baleful streamers from the north? 
Which plainly show'd what part they join'd; 
For North's the minister, j e mind; 
Whence oft your quibblers in gazettes 
On JWii-therii blasts have strain'd their witS; 
And think you not, the clouds know how 
To make the pun, as well as vour" 

p. 73. 

The second canto is better than the firsf^, has more point 
and force, and shows the writer to have had his faculties 
more at command. 

The note to the following lines shows a little local feeling. 

"And on its top, the flag unfurl'd 
Waved triumph o'er the gazing world, 
Inscribed with inconsistent types 
Of Liberty and thirteen stripes."* 

p. 85. 

We should rather say of our flag, that our stars are to give 
light and renown to the friends of our country, but its stripes 
are to chastise our enemies. 

Mc Fingal, referring to the destruction of the tea, gives 
occasion for two interesting notes. 

"AVhat furies raged when you, in sea. 
In shape of Indians, drown'd the tea;j 
When your gay sparks, fatigued to watch it, 
Assumed the moggison and hatchet, 

* The American flag. It would be doubtless wrong to imagine that th? 
stripes bear any allusion to the slave trade. 

-j-The cargo of tea sent to Boston, after being guarded for twenty 
nights, by voluntary parties of the Whigs, to prevent it* bei'i^ clandes- 
tinely brought ashore, was thrown into the sea, by a party of about two 
hundrtd young men, dressed, armed, and painted like Indians; but many 
a ruffled shirt and laced vest appeared under tfe^ii' blankets. 

J'S ^ktjmijull's woKi^. Sept. 

With wampum'd blankets hid their laces, 

And like their sweethearls, primedf their fices: 

While not a red-coat dared oppose, 

And scarce a Tory show'd his nose; 

While Hutchinson, + for sure retreat. 

Manoeuvred to his country seat. 

And thence affrighted, in the suds. 

Stole off bareheaded through the woods." 

pp.96, 97. 

Some of the gentlemen engaged in destroying the tea, 
are still living. 

A whig, with a spade, contends with Mc Fingal armed 
with his sword. The mock heroic is well given> 

"The Whig' thus arm'd, untaught to yield. 
Advanced tremendous to the field; 
Nor did M<Fingai, shun the foe. 
But stood to brave the desp'rate blow? 
While all the party gazed, suspended 
To see the deadly combat ended; 
And Jove in equal balance weigh'd 
The sword against the brandish'd spadCj 
He weigh'd, but lighter than a dream. 
The sword flew up, and kick'dthe beam. 
Our 'Squire on tiptoe rising fair 
Lifts high a noble stroke in air. 
Which hung not, but like dreadful engines 
Descended on his foe in vengeance. 
But ah! in danger, with dishonor 
The sword perfidious fails its owner; 
That sword, which oft had stood its ground. 
By huge trainbands encircled round; 
And on the bench, with blades right loyal. 
Had won the day at many a trial. 
Of stones and clubs had braved th' alarms. 
Shrunk from these new Vulcanian arms. 
The spade so lemper'd from the sledge. 
Nor keen nor solid harm'd its edge. 
Now met it, from his arm of might. 
Descending with steep force to smite; 
The blade snapp'd short — and from his hand. 
With rust embrown'd the glittering sand." (pp. 104— IOC- 
^ Pi'imed, i. e. painted. 

t When the leading Whigs in Boston found it impossible to procure 
the tea to be sent back, they secretly resolved on its destruction, and pre- 
pared all the necessary means. To cover the design, a meeting of tlie 
peopleof the whole County was convened on the day appointed, and 
spent their time in grave consultation on the question, what should be 
done to prevent its being landed and sold. The arrival of the Indians put 
an end to the debate, at the moment, when one of the foremost of the 
whig-orators was declaiming against all violent measures. Hutchinsou 
was alarmed at the meeting, and retired privately in the morning, to his 
country seat at Milton. Whether from mistake or design, information 
was sent to him, that the mob was coming to puil down his house. He 
escaped in the utmost haste across the fields. The story of the day 
was, that the ala'-m was giycji, at the time, when hes.'it IiaJf-shaved under 
thehanda of his baiber. 


As the constable was pardoned on his full confession, 
(p, 110,) we know not why he shoukl still be punished with 
Mc Fingal, who would not give up his errors, nor declare 
his adhesion to the cause of liberty. 

The notice of the moon is sonjething like the idea of By- 
ron, who seems not to think so well of the virtue of this 
oytholo^cal personage, Diana. 

* Now niglit came down, and rose full soon 

That patroness of rogues, the Moon; 

Beneath whose kind protecting ray, 

Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey. 

The honest world all snored in chorus, 

"While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories, 

Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed. 

Crept from their liu-king holes abroad." Cp, 121,3 

3yron says: 

"The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon: 
The devil's in the moon for mischief; they 
Who call'd her chaste, methinks began too sooQ 
Their nomenclature: There is not a day. 
The longest, not the twenty first of June, 
Sees half the business in a wicked way, 
On which three single hours of moonshine smile: 
And then she lo&ks so modest all the while." 

Don Juan, canto I, stanza 113, 

Mc Pingal, in the turnip bin, in the cellar, makes his last 
address to the desponding tories, and introduces Malcolmj 
about whom there is a curious anecdote. 

"For late in visions of the night 

The gallows stood before my sigtit; 

I saw its ladder heaved on end; 

I saw the deadly rope descend. 

And in its noose, that wavering swang. 

Friend Malcolm* hung, orseem'd to hang. 

How changed-j- from him, who bold as lion. 

Stood Aid-de-camp to Gen'ral Tryon, 

Made rebels vanish once, like witches. 

And saved his life, but drop'dt his breeches. 

I scarce had made a fearful bow, 

Andtiemblingask'dhim, "how d'ye do;** 

When lifting up his eyes so wide. 

His eyes alone, his hands were tied; 

With feeble voice, as spirits use, 

Now almost choak'd by gripe of noose." (pp, 124-126.) 

■" Malcolm was a Scotchman, Aid to Governor Tryon in his expeditiom 
against the Regulators, as they called themselves, in North Carohna 
He was afterwards an under-officer of the customs in Boston, where be- 
coming obnoxious, he was tarred, feathered and haJf-hanged by the mob' 
about the year 1774. ' 

t — quantum mutatus ab illo 

Hectore, qui rediit spoliis indutus. Virg. 

* This adventuj© was tjbus reported ajnons^ the. «fl€c<?ot|§ of Ujf dai 

74 ^Trumbull's works. Seph 

Since Malcolm's hands were tied, and he could not lift 
them up, how could he "«Aafee" his arm, and ^'■ram''^ Mc*> 
Fingal to the stage ? 

'•Could mortal arm our fears have ended, 

This arm, {and shook it,) had defended." (p, 126.) 

"So from this stage shalttliou behold 
The war its coming scenes unfold, 
Mais'd by my arm to meet thine eye. 
My Adam thou, thine angel I." (p, 127.) 

Clinton, Vaughan, and Tryon are well denominated (pj 
149,) ^'' the journeymen of desolation^ 

The Continental Paper is poetically and forcibly describe 

*'When lo, an awful spectre rose. 
With languid paleness on his brows; 
Wan dropsies swell'd his form beneath. 
And iced his bloated cheeks with death; 
His tatter'd robes exposed him bare 
To every blast of ruder air; 
On the weak crutches propp'd he stood. 
That bent at eve"y slep he trod; 
Gilt titles graced their sides so slender. 
One, "Regulation," t'other, "Tender;" 
His breastplate graved with various dates, 
••The Faith of all th' United States/* 
Before him went his funeral pall. 
His grave stood dug to wait his tall, 

•I started, and aghast I cried, 
'•What means this spectre at their side? 
What danger from a pow'r so vain. 
Or union with that splendid train!" 

••Alas, great Malcolm cried, experience 
Might teach you not to trust appearance. 
Here siunds, as dress'd by fell Bellona, 
The ghost of Continental Money!* 

When Governor Tryon marched his militia, to suppress the insurgents 
in the western counties of North Carolina, and found them, drawn up in 
array to oppose him, Malcolm was sent with a flag to propose terms, and 
demand the surrender of their arms. Before the conclusion of the par- 
ley, Tryon's mihtiabeganto fire on the Regulators. The fire was imme- 
diately returned. Malcolm started to escape to his party; and by the vi= 
olence of his pedestrian exertion (as Shakespeare says) 

•'His points being broken, down fell his hosej" 
aijd he displayed the novel spectacle of a man running the gauntlet sans 
culottes, betwixt two armies engaged in action, and presenting an unusual 
mark to his enemy. 

* The description here given of the Continental paper-money is not 
more remarkable, as a splendid example ef the sublime burlesque, than as 
a faithful picture of that financial operstion. Though this money was 
counterfeited by waggon loads in the British garrisons, and sent into cir- 
culation in the country, yet iione of tUe consequences followed, wtic]^ 

fS26, Trumbull's works. y^J 

Of Dame Necessitj' descended. 
With whom Credulity engender'd: 
Though born with constitution frail, 
And feeble strength, that soon must fail. 
Yet strangely vers d in ma^ic lore. 
And gifted with transforming power. 
His skill the wealth Peruvian joins, 
"With diamonds of Brazilian mines. 
As erst Jove fell, by subtle wiles. 
On Danae's apron through the tiles, 
Inshow'rs of gold; his potent wand 
Shall shed like show'rs o'er all the land." 

(pp, 168—170.) 

The United States rise to great power and glory, and the 
prospect of this result pains the soul of Mc Fingal as much 
%9 the sun did Satan. 

*'And see, (sight hateful and tormenting!) 

This Rebel Empire, proud and vaunting. 

From anarchy shall change her crasis. 

And fix her pow'r on firmer basis; 

To glory, wealth and fame ascend. 

Her commerce wake, her realms extend; 

Where now the panther guards his den, 

H.r desert forests swarm with men; 

Gay cities, towTs and columns rise. 
And dazzling temples meet the skies; 
• Her pines, descending' to the main. 
In triumph spread the wat'ry plain. 
Bide iidandseas with fav'ring gales. 
And crowd her ports with w&itening sails: 
Till to the skirts of western day. 
The peopled regions ownhersway." (p, 174.) 

The new edition is considerably altered from the old, and 
is generally improved. About seventy lines are expunged 
and about ten new ones added. Besides this difference^ 
the changes of words and phrases are very frequent, and 
in almost every instance for the better. Lines are transpo- 
sed, the notes are corrected and extended, many new oriea 
are inserted, and interesting anecdotes are preserved 
Among the couplets omitted are those which follow in ital- 

"Your boasted patriotism is scarce. 

And country's love is but a farce; 

wei-e expected from this manoeuvre. The paper money carried on the 
war for five years; when it gave place to other measures, which the cir- 
cumstances of the country rendered practicable, and went peaceably to 
rest, as here described bj the author. The "weak crutches," called 
Megulation and T'e^irfar, by which this <Si/»ec<re is supported, allude to tho 
different acts of the State legislatures, made with the design of maintain- 
ing the credit of the Continental paper. Some of these acts regilated 
the prices o*" commodities, others made this paper a legal tend^ iu nay- 
I&ent, London Edit, 


Tor after all the proofs you bring-. 
We Tories know there's no such thing; 
Our Ens'li'sh writers of great fame 
. Prove public virtue but a name. 

Hatli aot D'alrymple* show'd in print. 

An J Johnson too, there's nothing- in't!'' (pp, 46, 47.) 

This charge against English writers of great fame wa* 
more admissible during the war than now, and is properly 
removed by the author. 

" Was there a Yankee trick you knotv. 

They did not play as -well as yon? 

Di'i they not lay their heads together. 

And gain your art to tar and feather,f 

When Colonel Nesbit, through the towm, 

In triumph bore the country-clovvn?" (pp, 56, 57.) 

This phrase, i/awfeeeinc/c, is a forj/ accusation, and as whigs^^ 
we reject it. If however it be used to denote the superior- 
ity of the American mind and arms over the British, either 
in the revolutionary war or in the last; if it be referred to 
such tricks as Hull, Decatur, Bainbridge, Jackson, and oth- 
ers played upon our enemies; we hare no objection to its 
preservation. Or if it be synonymous with the declaration 
of an English statesman in parliament, concerning the nego- 
ciation at Ghent, that it bore '•'■the stamp of American superior'^ 
ity^'''* we will not quarrel with it. 

The account of the disorder in the town meeting, which 
ivas held, according to custom, in a church, (the Moderator 
being in the pulpit,) has an omission. 

• This writer undertook to demonstrate, that all the celebrated Brit- 
ish patriots were pensioners, in the pay of France, His proof is derived^ 
from the letters of the French Embassadors, who accounting for the mo- 
nies received from their court, charge so many thousand guineas paid to 
Hampden, Sidney, and others, as bribes. We are told also that Admiral 
Hussell defeated the French fleet, at a time when he had engaged most 
solemnly, and received a stipulated sum, to be beaten himself. 

f In the beginning of 1775, to bring forward an occasion for a more se- 
rious cfuarrel, than had yet taken place between the people and the ar- 
my. Lieutenant Colonel Nesbit laid the following plan. The country 
people being in the habit of purchasing arms, he directed a soldier to 
sell one of them an old rusty musket. The soldier soon found a pur- 
chaser, a man who brought vegetables to market, who paid him three 
dollars for it. Scarcely had the man parted fi-om the soldier when he was 
seized by Nesbit and conveyed to the guard-house, where he was confi. 
siedall night. Early next morning they stripped him entirely naked, 
covered him with warm tar, and then with feathers, placed him on a cart, 
conductedhim to the north end of the town, then back to the south end,, 
as far as Liberty-Tree; where the people began to collect in vast num-- 
bers, and the military, fearing for their own safety, dismissed tke man, and 
made a retreat to the barracks. 

The party consisted of about thirty granadiers of the 47th regiment, 
•with fixed bayonets, twenty drums and fifes playing the Rogue's March, 
Jieaded by Nesbit with a drawn sword. Land, Edit, 

"The Moderator, with great vi'lence, ',, 

The cushion thump'd with, "Silence, Silence!'* 

The constable to every prater 

Bawl'd out, " pray hear the Moderator;" 

Some call'd the vote, and some in turn 

Were screaming high, "Adjourn, Adjourn.** 

Not Chaos heard such jars and clpshes, 

"When all the el'ments fought for places. 

Each bludgeon soon for blows tuas tirri'd; ' ^ 

Each fist stood ready cock' d and prim' d; 

The storm each moment fiercer grew; 

His sword the great M'Fingal drew, 

Prepar'd in either chance to share. 

To teep the peace, or sdd the war." (pp, 81, 82.) 

The rhyming word tim'^d is certainly not well applied! 
bere to a bludgeon^ but the humour of the second line is 90 
striking that we are sorry to lose it. 

Malcolm advises Mc Fingal to abandon his object in ral- 
lying the whigs to further opposition. 

"Ah fly my friend, he cried, escape^ 

And keep yourself from this sad scrape; 

Enough you've talk'd, and writ, and plann'dj 

The "Whigs have got the upper hand. 

Dame Fortune's itheel has turned so shorty 

It piling' d us fairly in the dirt. 

Could mortal* arm our fears have ended. 

This arm (and shook it) had defended. 

Sut longer now 'tis vain to stay; 

See even the Regulars run away; 

Wait not till things g^ow desperater. 

For hanging is no laughing matter, 

This might your grandsires' fortunes tell you on, 

TVho both were hang'd the last rebellion. 

Adventure then no longer stay; 

But call your friends and haste away." (p, 196.) 

We are willing to see the second of these omitted cou' 
plets removed, but the loss of the first and the third has de- 
prived the paragraph of its under-tone of satire. The low- 
phrase, '■Hell you on" is bad enough as grammar, but adds to 
the waggery. 

Malcolm exclaims on the gallows, 

I've long enough stood firm and steady, 

Half-hang'd for loyalty already. 

And could I save my neck and pelf, 

I'd turn a flaming whig myself. 

^nd quit this cause, and course, and calling, 

Like rata that Hy from house that's falling." (p, 134.) 

* Si Pergamadextra 

Defeivii possent, etiam hac defensi^ fuisseQt, Virg. 

7^ trum^cll's woftKS. Beph 

This severe comparison of the mercenary tories to deser- 
ting rats, the best satire of the quotation, is loiBt. A piece 
of scandal, rejected from the lines about commissary Lor- 
ing and his accommodating wife, some may thiRk ought to 
be preserved as a punishment for his cruelty, 

*'LorJng was a refug-ee from Boston, made commissary of prisoners bjr 
General Howe, Tlie consummate cruelties, practised on the American 
prisoners under his adminis*^ration, almost exceed the ordinary powers? 
of human invention. The conduci of the Turks in putting' all prisoners 
to death is certainly much more rational and humane, than that of th© 
British army for the three firsi years of the American war, or till aftec 
the capture of Burgoyne,'' (p, 143.) 

"Great Howe* had sweetly in the lap. 

Of Loring taken out his nap; 

.And -with the sun's ascending >'at;^ 

The cuckold came to take his pay% 

When all th' encircling hill? around 

"With instantaneous breastworks crown'd» 

With pointed thunders methissi^ht, 

Like magic, rear'd the former night. 

Each summit, far as eye commands. 

Shone, paopkd with rebellious bands. 

Aloft the tow'ring heroes rise. 

As Titans erst assail'd the skies; 

Leagued in superior force to prove 

The sceptred hand of British Jove." (pp, 155, 136.) 

This exposure of Howe's amours with Mrs. Loring was 
further followed up in the old edition. 

"Great Loring, fain' d above all laymen, 
' ^ proper priest for Lybian Jlmmon, 
Whoy -while Howe's gift his hro-ws adorns. 
Had match' d that deity in horns. 
Here every day, her vot'ries tell. 
She more devours^ than th' idol Bel." (p, 147'.) 

The following lines are among those added to the pre&- 
GHt edition. 

"Wlio'dseen, except for these testraints. 

Your witches, quakers, whigs and saints. 

Or heard of Mather's"!' famed Magnalia, 

If Charles and Laud hud chanced to fail you?" (p, 43.) 

We will give in Italics a few of the alterations as speci- 

* The sun had long since, in the lap 
Of Thetis, taken out his nap. Butler. 

■fSeeln Mather's Magnalia, a history of the miracles, which occurred 
in the first settlement or'New-Eiigland,- see also his "Wonders of the in- 
visible World," for a full and true account of the witchoraft at Salem. 

1S20, wrtTMBVLt's works; ^0 

*<No block in old Dodona's grove 
Could ever move oracular prove, 
Kor only saw he all that could be(^\Vis,J 
But much that never wua, nor -ivdiild be," (^came to'pass.^ 

(P, 6.) 

^^Bethle^m- College''^ is much better than '■'■ Bedlam- College^'^ 
(p, 14.) The colk)quial pronunciation and orthography have 
Usurped the place of the original form of the word, and are 
now exclusively proper to denote a mad house. '■'•Art and 
Jinesse^'' are well i Itered to '■'•fraud and finesse^^^ (p, 37,) and 
thus the synonymesare avoided. '•'■Genial womb" (p, 42) 
is much better than '-''welcome womb." As colonel Grant is 
made famous for running, rather than fighting, the exchange 
of '■'•valianV for '■•mighty''' (p, 48,) makes the irony more 

The note concerning our national air (p, 55,) is altered 
from the old one, the whole of which stands thus, and the 
last part contains a curious fact. "Yankee-Doodle, as 
M'Fingal here relates, was a native air of New England, 
and was often played in derision by the British troops, par- 
ticularly on their march to Lexington. Afterward the cap- 
tive army of Burgoyne was obliged to march to this tune 
in the ceremony of piling their arms at Saratoga. In th» 
course of the war, it became a favorite air of LiBERTr, like 
the present Ca Ira of France. It is remurkable, that after 
the taking cfthe Basti'e, and before the introduction of Ca Ira^ 
the Paris guards played Yankee-doodle." 

The couplet upon the Aurora Borealis, which frightened 
the superstitious so much formerly, is greatly improved by a 
slight alteration. 

"While dreadful hosts of fire stood forth 
Mid baleful glimmerings from the north." 
"While dreadful hosts oijtame stood forth 
Inh3\ei\x\ streamers ^TOXA the north." >(p, 7^-^ 

"Stories of prodigies were at that time industriously propagated by tha 
Tories in various parts of New-England, and with some success in alarm- 
ing and intimidating the superstitious. In fact, about the commence- 
jnent of the war, a large meteor passed throiigh our atmospliere, and the 
Aurora Borealis appeared more frequently, and assumed more singular 
appearances than usual. T hese materials were sufficient for a beginning; 
nonsense easily supplied the rest." (p, 72.) 

"And death and deviltry denounc'd"is judiciously ex- 
changed for the line, 

"And -Kur, aod plague, aad deati> deoeunc'd." 

30 thumbull's works. Sept^ 

'■^Union'd host" we willingly part with for "graf/icr'd 
hosts." (p, 158.) We are only surprised that Mr, Trum-> 
buJl should ever think, even when a young man, of employ- 
ing union as a verb. 

Besides the alterations in the notes already mentioned, 
there are others which claim our attention. The following 
is enlarged. 

««Some British officers, soon after Gage's arrival in Boston, walking on 
Beacon-Hill after sunset, were affrighted by noises in the air (supposed 
to be the flying of bugs and beetles) which they took to be the sound of 
bullets. They left the hill with great precipitation, spread the alarm in their 
encampment, and wrote terrible accounts to England of being shot at 
with air-guns; as appears by their letters, extracts from which were soon 
after published in the London papers. Indeed, for some time they se- 
riously believed, that the Americans were possessed of a kind of magic 
white powder, which exploded and killed without report." 

pp, 66, 67. 

A new note is introduced concerning Burgoyue as an au- 

"The Maid of the Oaks is a farce by Burgoyne, often acted on the 
English theatre. During the winter in which the British troops were 
shut up in Boston, they am.used themselves with the acting of a new farce, 
called The Blockade of Boston; the humour of which consisted in burles- 
t[uing the Yankee phrases, unmilitary dress, and awkward appearance of 
the new American levies, by whom they were besieged: like the fancy of 
Cardinal De Retz, who, while condemned to severe imprisonmert, took 
his revenge by writing the life of his jailor. This play was generally as- 
cribed to the pen of Burgoyne. As he was, on his final capture, return • 
ed to England, tn g-ood condition stiU to scribble, he has since taken the ad- 
vice of Malcolm, and written the comedy of The Heiress, which is indeed 
one of the best nvodern productions of the British stage." 

p, 141. 

Clive, famous for his cruelty in Calcutta, is thus mention- 
ed in the text, and the note is altered. The female person- 
age is '"'•British Clemency.'''' 

"Behold the temple, where It stands 
Erect, by famed Britannic hands. 
'Tis the Black -hole of Indian structure, 
New-built in English architecture. 
On plan, 'tis said, contrived and wrote 
By Clive,* before he cut his throat; 
Who, ere he took himself in hand, 
"Was her high-priest in nabob-land." 

p, 148. 

* Clive in the latter year of his life, conceived himself haunted by the 
Ghosts of those persons, who were the victims of his humanity in the East- 
Indies. It is presumed that he showed them the vote of Parliament, re- 
tjiruing thjinjcs for bis services, 


The ^^certaiu Lord'''' Spoken of in the note (p, 152,) is nam- 
ed in the old edition ^^ Carlisle,''^ and ihe'-'-pttticoated politi4iian''^ 
is said to be "a lady of considerable distinction.''^ 

«an the year 1778, after the capture of Burgoyns, our good govern- 
ment passed an act, repealing all the acts of which the Americans com* 
plained, provided they would rescind their declaration of Independence, 
and continue to be our colonies. The ministry then sent over three 
Cbmmissioners, Mr. Johnstone, Mr. Eden, and a certain Lord. These 
Commissioners began their operations and finished them^ by attempting 
to bribe individuals amo i)g the members of the State, and of the army.^ 
This bait appears to have caught nobody but Arnold. The petticoated pol- 
itician, here mentioned, was a woman of "Philadelphia, through whose 
agency they offered a bribe to Joseph Read, Governor of Pennsylva- 

We have now gone through with the first volume, which 
contains the "Memoir" and "Mc Fingal." It is many years 
since we read this poem till our perusal of it at the present 
time. Although we may not be quite as much amused 
with the Hudibrastic jingle as we once were, and may not 
have as unqualified a feeling in regard to the talents and wit 
of the author, we still have taken quite as much interest in 
it, and more than make up, by reminiscence and association, 
for the loss of novelty and juvenile ardor. The talents and 
wit of the author are unquestioned; and the production, 
though somewhat coarse, and the thought strained, is abun- 
dantly worthy of the present elegant edition, and will live, 
not only by the increasing importance of that Revolution^ 
with which it is connected, but by its own merits, by the ge- 
nius, patriotism, and satire, which pervade and consecrate 
it. We clo not find here all the fertility, variety, wit, and 
exquisite humor, which fill the pages of Butler, but Mr. 
Trumbull was a very j-oung man, in a very young country, 
and living in a very simple state of society. He has ac- 
complished much, and his satire I'endered to the cause of 
Freedom an immense service. Some general remarks we 
shall make hereafter upon the school of poetry, to which 
Trumbull, Barlow, Dwight, Humphreys, and Livingston be- 
long. At present we give our attention to the miscellane- 
ous articles composing the second volume. 

The "Progress of Dulness." has been long before the pub- 
lic. Its object is good, and the means employed to effect it 
are in the main successful. Having been so long kept up- 
on this measure in the first volume, we should be glad to 
be relieved sooner in the second. Mr. Trumbull's genius 
very naturally led him to continue this easy mode of writing 
verses, in which he could be grave or gay, careful or care- 


Si Trumbull's works.^ Sept: 

less, concentrated and powerful, or diffuse and rambling, 
According to his humor. 

Tom Brainless may be thought at first to be a carricature^ 
but it is, as the history of our colleges and our parishes too 
plainly proves, a character drawn from fact. There are 
some incongruities in it, and some parts are rather low and 
■ coarse. "Gowf" and '■'■stone'''' (p, 16,) are diseases not ap- 
propriate to a boy in college, but belong to a much later 
age. The tendency of some of the satire is decidedly and 
unfortunately (as in page 18) against the cultivation of clas- 
sical learning. There is a want of discrimination between 
the abuses and uses of this kind of knowledge. The author, 
being himself a fine classical scholar, and a lover of Greek 
and Roman lore, cannot be supposed to intend to come out as 
its enemy; but the text wants to be more qualified, and more 
exactly directed to its object. Logic, which is a useful sci- 
ence under proper regulations, is here (p, 19,) ridiculed ia 
the mass, and definitions are too crudely assailed. Consider- 
ing the manner, in which instruction was given at the time 
this poem was written, the indiscriminate attack is more ex- 
cusable. Syllogisms, (p, 20,) are very properly denounced, 
but Rhetoric deserved a better analysis, and more regard. 
The following episode in praise of genuine learning, as it 
was wished to prevail, is a specimen of the best style of th?» 

"Oh! might T live to see that day, 
"When sense shall point to youths their way; 
Through every maze of science guide; 
O'er education's laws preside; 
The good retain, witli just discerning 
Explode the quackeries of learning; 
Give ancient arts their real due. 
Explain their faults and beauties too; 
Teach where to imitate, and mend. 
And point their uses and their end. 
Then bright philosophy would shine. 
And ethics teach the laws divine; 
Our youths might learn each nobler art, 
That shews a passage to the heart; 
From ancient languages well known 
Transfuse new beauties to our own; 
With tas1 e and fancy well refin'd. 
Where moral rapture warms the mind, 
From schools dismiss'd, with lib'ral hand.. 
Spread useful learning o'er the land; 
And bid the eastern world admire 
Our rising worth, and bright'ning fire." , 

pp, 22, 23. 

The importance soraetiraes attached to orthodoxy, and the 

1820. tkumbull''s works* 8$ 

substitution of it for sense, learning, and benevolence, are 
properly chastised. 

"What though his wils could ne'er dispense 
One page of grammar, or of sense; 
What though his learning be so slight, 
He scarcely knows to spell or write; 
What though his skull be cudgel-proof! 
He's orthodax, and that's enough. ' (p, 29.) 

Dick Hairbrain is a coarse Dandy when compared with 
the improvements which have been made in this character 
in modern times. As Mr. Trumbull had no models of the 
true Dandy before him, he could not be expected to be very 
exact in the portrait. The best account of this kind of gen- 
tlemen is in Peter's Letters already reviewed. 

"I am not quite certain that Scotland can produce a single specimen of 
the genuine Dandy. In fact, the term here appears to me to be both im- 
perfectly understood and ver)'^ grievously misapplied. Were 1 to divine 
the meaning of the word from the qualities of those persons whom it is 
here used to designate, I should conceive a Dandy to be nothing more than 
a gentleman in a white great coat and a starched cravat, or, in the most 
liberal extension of its meaning, a person who is rather gay and foppish in 
his dress. But a Dandy is something more, nay, a great deal mo"e,than 
all this. I should define him, in few words, t<> be a person who has ac- 
quired such a degree of refinement in all matters of taste as is unattaina- 
ble, or at least unattained, by the generality of his countrymen. Dress, 
therefore, does not constitute Dandyism; because dress is only one of the 
many modes in which this fastidious refinement is displayed. A true Dan- 
dy decorates his person far less with the view of captivation, than from the 
abstract love of elegance and beauty, in which he deligiits. His extraor- 
dinary attention to his toilet is, therefore, quite compatible with the utter 
absence of personal vanity, and the same ruling principle is uniformly 
visible in his habits, his manners, and his enjoyments. Nothing, therefore, 
is more easy than to distinguish the real Dandy from the impostor. The 
latter never can maintain the same consistency of character which is in- 
separable from the former. For instance, if, in old Slaughter's Coffee- 
house, I discover a gaudy coxcomb complacently devouring atougii beef- 
steak, and a pot of porter, I know at once, from the coarseness and vul- 
garity of his appetite, that he has no real pretensions to the character of 
a Dandy. In this country, when I find the very Arbitri Elegantiarum, the 
Dilletanti Society, holding their meet-ngs in a tavern in one of the filthi- 
est closes of the city, braving, with heroic courage, the risk of an impure 
baptism from the neighbouring windows, at their entrance and their exit, 
and drinking the memory of Michael Angelo, or Raphael, or Phidias, or 
Milton, in' libations of whiskey-punch, I cannot but consider that the 
coarseness of their habits and propensities appears utterly inconsistent 
with that delicacy of taste in other matters to which they m?ke pretension. 
But that I may not carry my system of exclusion too far, I am inclined to 
divide the Dandies into two cksses — the real, and the imitative. 'I he for- 
mer being those who really accord with the definition I have already giv- 
en, and the latter merely a set of contemptible spooneys, who endeavour 
to attract attention by copying peculiarities which they really do not pos- 
sess: (pp, 395, 396.) 

Dick Hairbrain is at best but a "-spooney,^* 


Sterne, who w?s once raised quite above his merits, is> 
degraded below them by many critics of the present day^ 
and it is not quite certain that his fame is properly denoted by 
the phrase '■'•transitory reputation?'' (p, 44.) While we decid- 
edly condemn his '•'•double entendres^'^'' we remember that he 
has something else to rely upon for the favor of the reading 
world, and that his genius, humor, eloquence, and senti- 
ment will confer upon him at least a degree of immortality ,^ 
the end of which his denouncers will not live to see, though 
they should outlive all their own books. 

In Harriet Simper the burlesque of mueh boarding school 
embroidery is well given. 

"Perhaps in youth (for country fashion 

Prescribed that mode of education,) 

She wastes long months in still more tawdry. 

And useless labours of embroid'ry; 

"With toil weaves up for chairs together,. 

Six bottoms, quite as good as leather, 

A set of curtains tapestry -work. 

The figures frowning like the Turk;. 

A tentstich picture, work of folly. 

With portraits wrought of Dick and Dolly; 

A coat of arms, that mark'd her house. 

Three owls i-ampant, the crest a goose; 

Or shows in waxwork goodman Adam, 

And serpent gay, gallanting madam, 

A woful mimickry of Eden, 

With fruit, that needs not be forbidden.** (p, 68.) 

After Miss Simper becomes too far advanced in age fbr 
beauty, and is neglected by beaux for newer belles, the 
course, which is too common among ill educated aad emp* 
ty women, is thus pointed out. 

"At length her name each coxcomb cancels 

From standing lists of toasts and angels; 

And slighted where she shone before, 

A grace and g-oddess now no more. 

Despised by all, and doom'd to meet 

Her lovers at her rival's feet. 

She flies assembles, shuns the ball. 

And cries out, vanity, on all. 

Affects to scorn the tinsel-shows 

Of glittering belles and gaudy beaux; 

JJor longer hopes to hide by dress 

The tracks of age upon her face. 

Now careless grown of airs polite, 

Her noonday nightcap meets the sight; 

Her hair uncomb'd collects together. 

With ornaments of many a feather; 

Her stays for easiness thrown by, 

Her rumpled handkerchief awry. 

*18^. Trumbull's "wos&g, j^ 

A careless figure half undress'd, 

(The reader's wil may guess the rest;) 

All points of dress and neatness carried. 

As though she'd been a twelvemonth marriedj 

She spends her breath, as years prevail. 

At this sad wicked world to rail. 

To slander all her sex impromptu. 

And wonder what the times will come to." (pp, 87,88.) 

The common slang of querulous, neglected, and bigotted 
females, as well as males, is to ^Hoonder what the times will 
come toy 

We are pleased to leave this kind of poetry, and to meet 
with a higher sort. The "Genius of America," and the 
"Ode to Sleep," present Mr. Trumbull to us in the legiti- 
mate garb of the Muse,and one of the favored followers of the 
Nine. The "Ode to Sleep" we think is the best production 
of his pen. It is marked by elevated thought, delicate sen- 
timent, rich and poetical conceptions, beautiful and splen- 
did imagery, variety of measure, and felicity of expression. 
The following are some of its stanzas, 


"Descend, and graceful in thy hand. 

With thee bring thy magic wand. 

And thy pencil, taught to glow 

In all the hues of Iris' bow. 

And call thy bright srial train. 
Each fairy form and visionary shade. 

That in the Elysian land of dreams. 

The flower-enwoven banks along. 
Or bowery maze, that shades the purple streams, 
"Where gales of fragrance breathe th' enamour'd song's 

In more than mortal charms array'd, 
People the airy vales and revelin thy reign.'' (p, 114.) 


"Hence, false delusive dreams, 
Fantastic hopes and mortal passions yaln! 

Ascend, my soul to nobler themes 
Of happier import and sublimer strain. 
Rising from this sphere of night. 
Pierce 5 on blue vault, ingemm'd with golden fires; 

Beyond where Saturn's languid car retires. 
Or Sirius keen outvies the solar ray. 
To worlds from every dross terrene refined. 
Realms of the pure, etherial mind. 
Warm with the radiance of unchanging day: 
Where Cherub-forms and Essences of light, 
With holy song and heavenly rite, 
from rainbow clouds their strains immortal pour; 
An earthly guest, in converse high, 
Explore the wonders of the sky. 
From orb to orb with guides celestial soar, 
And take, througli hearen'is wide round, tbc universal tour." 

PP, 117, 118. 


The "Fable" addressed to a young lady who requested 
the writer to draw her character, is fanciful, and the ideas- 
are novel. To attempt to make a changing- cloud sit for a por- 
trait is somewhat extravagant, but the execution of the plan, 
on the part of the poet, furnishes splendid imagery, and re- 
conciles the reader to this mode of making the lady ac- 
quainted with her own versatility. 

"Balaam''s Prophecy" was evidently composed when the 
author's mind was full of the spirit and tone of Gray'§ 
"Bard." It is an excellent Ode. The fourth stanza has 
great dignity and force. 

And see, bright Judah's Star* ascending 
Fires the east with crimson day, 
Awful o'er his foes impending-. 
Pours wide the hghtning of his ray, 
. ; And flames destruction on th' opposing world. 

Deaths broad banners dark, uiifurl'd. 
Wave o'er his blood-encircled way. 

Sceptred king' of Moab, hear, 
Deeds that future times await. 

Deadly triumph, war severe, 
Israel's pride and Moab's fate. 
What echoing' terrors burst ujjonmine ear! 
AVhat awful farms in flaming horror rise. 
Empurpled Rage, pale Ruin, heart-struck Fear, 
In scenes of blood ascend, and skim before my eyes. 

p, 144. 

The "Owl and the Sparrow" are odd and amusing, and 
the satire properly directed. 

In the "Vanity of Youthful Expectations," an Elegy in 
imitation of that in a Country Church Yard, the following: 
lines have most ot the manner and tone of Gray. 

"And oh, that fate, in life's sequcstei-'d shade 

Had fix'd the limits of my silent way, 
Far from the scenes in gilded pomp array'd. 

Where hope and fame, but flatter, to betray. 

The lark hsd called me at the birth of dawn. 

My cheerful toils and rural sports to share; 
Uor when mild evening giimmer'd on the lawn, 

Had sleep been frighted by the voice of care." 

pp, 165, 166, 

We have promised a few remarks upon the school of po- 
etry, in which Trumbull, Dwight, Barlow, Humphreys, and 
some others who were educated at Yale College, formed 
themselves. This school is that of Pope, or the artificial as 

♦' *There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a sceptre shall arise out of 
Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab, Avd destroy all the children 8« 
Sheth. Chap.raiv,17, &c." 

i820. Trumbull's works. 8? 

distinguished from the natural. They are not equal to 
their master, or their model, but they have sought, in their 
serious and dignified verse, to balance the lines according 
to the taste of their favorite school. Their poetry is too la- 
boured, or rather shows the labor too much. It is too mo- 
notonous, too in itative, too scholastic, and too dry and hard. 
The writers have not studied nature and the heart enough 
for themselves, but have copied too much the general ex- 
pressions, images, and epithets, which have been handed 
down in books. They are stiff in the corsets made in the 
artificial school, and their motions are constrained and 
heavy. They have good thoughts, good sentiments, good 
imagery, and in the main good words, but these materials 
are not well put together, or at at least they are not poeti- 
cally, easily, passionately, and affectingly put together. The 
fire, feeling, pathos, and simplicity have escaped in the me- 
chanical labor of versification. They are too fond of un- 
commo . participles, such indeed as often have no authori- 
ty, as "g-utscd" — "imioncd" — and many others which give a 
forced and harsh character to their style. They have great 
and decided excellencies, and exquisite passages may be 
selected in abundance from each of them. They have 
more imagination than taste, more good sense than poetic- 
al feeling, more understanding than passion, more patience 
and perseverance 'than inspiration and spontaneous genius. 
They are too verbose, and have too many epithets, such ep- 
ithets as others have used before them time immemorial. 
They want more originality, an individual mode of thinking 
and feeling, the animation and pathos even of that School so 
often ridiculed, the Lake School. Byron, Moore, Hunt, Sou- 
they, Coleridge, and Wordsworth, think, feel, write, and tri- 
umph, each in his own way, with his own individual and pe- 
culiar character, and as though art and learning had no 
power to change or generalize the natural passions and sen- 
timents of the soul. We admire Pope, but he is always in 
the professed and established livery of the Muses. The 
members of the Lake School instruct, excite, alarm, or melt 
us, when Ave are not warned of their being about to make any 
attempt; when we see little or none of the form and parade 
of the poet about them, when we meet them in the simple 
and ordinary relations of life. Pope's verse has the state- 
liness and dignity of the manners of the olden time, those 
of Sir Charles Grandison and Lady Harriet, but the verse 
of the eaodern school has the nature, simplicity, force, va- 


riety, and pathos of the personages in the novels of Walter 
Scott. We still like to read Richardson, and have no idea 
of abandoning him or Pope, but we are more excited and 
impressed by Scott, and find more of the soul of poetry in 
Byron. Fashion and novelty have undoubtedly some influ- 
ence upon us in this respect, and we will not pretend to say 
that we shall always feel as decided a preference as we do 
now. But we are sure that we shall never cease to acknow- 
ledge the excellencies of each school of poetry. We shall 
indeed distrust our taste when we cannot admire Pope, and 
our capacity for emotion when we cannot be roused and 
captivated by Byron. 

The poets of 'Connecticut now mentioned are disciples 
of the old manner, and bear a great resemblance to each 
other in their descriptions. They all have a great deal of 
verbal amplification, and endeavor to fill out the impression 
by sounding epithets. The rhetorical labor is too apparent. 
Specimens of this may be given. 

DioighVs Conquest of Canaan. 

"But now the approaching clarion's dreadful sound 

Denounces flig-ht, and shakes the banner' d ground." (p, 196.) 

*'No more the foaming steeds could trace their way 

So thick the squadrons wedg'd their black array; 

JLoud tumults voar, the clouded heavens resound, 

And deep convulsions heave the labouring ground." (p, 198.) 

"Loud as oW ocean beats the rocky shore, 

Zioud as the storm's deep-bursting thunders roar. 

Vast shouts unrolling rend the e^Ae^a^ round. 

Trembles all heaven, and shakes the gory ground." (Ibid.) 

"The 7iodding forests plunge in flame pround, 

And with huge caverns gapes the shuddering ground." (p, 302.) 

Trumbull, Volume 11. 

ff And hosts infiiHate shake the shuddering plain." (p, 94.) 
"Their shades sliall wake, and from the ^nri/ ground. ' (p, 96.) 
"Conflicting thousands shake the shxcdderiiig ground." (p, 101.) 
"Dire forma sprang flaming from the rocking ground." (p, 106.) 

BarlowPs Vision of Cohmhus. 

'■'The smoke convolv'd, the thunders rock'. I around. 

And the bravehero press'd the gory ground." (Book 5, p 172,) 

*'Now roll like Tvinged stotma the lengthening lines," (p, 174.) 

"The clouds rise reddening rowndXht dreadful height, (ibid.) 

"Till the dark f:ji ding wings together drive. 

And, ridg'd with fires, andror^-'J with thunders, strive." 

Book 6, p, 192, 
**^\\CLthundcrlrg cannons rock the seas and skies." (ibid.) 


Humphreys to the brinies of America, 

*«The tide of slaughter stain'd the sanguine ground." 
•"RoU'd the -ivi'd eye, and gnaw'd the anguish' d tongue.'* 

Elegy OH the bummg of Fairfield. 

Long diiskjf WTeathes of smoke reluctant driven 
In blackening volumes o'er tlie landscape bend." 

"And kindling fires encrimson all the strand." 

"Clouds ting'dwith dies intolerably bright. 

*'The umbei'd streams in purple pomp ascend." 

These lines are quoted, not to show that the epithets are 
improper, but t^ illustrate our remark concerning- the man- 
ner in which the sound is filled out, and the laboring mo- 
tion of the verse, the similarity between the different versi- 
fiers, and the evidence that they all formed themselves up- 
on books of poetry more than upon nature and passion. 
Their poetical works however, though not of the first or- 
der, are highly respectable, were eminently useful at the 
time to the cause of the belles lettres and to taste, and spe- 
cimens of great excellence may be selected from each. 
They were men of high minds, pure morals, and ardent pat- 

**ARCHasoLOGiA Americana: Transadiens and Collections of the, 
American Antiquarian Society , published by direction of the So' 
ciety; Volume 1. Worcester^ Massachusetts^ printed for the 
American Antiquarian Society, by William Manning. 1820." 
Svo. pp. 436. 

This is the first Volume of the transactions and collec- 
tions of a society, whose nature and objects, perhaps exist- 
ence, are Ijittle known, though they are certainly peculiarly 
interesting, to us in the West. We embrace therefore the 
earliest opportunity to furnish our readers with an account 
of the origin, progress, present condition, and useful design 
of the institution, and to lay before them an outline of the 
valuable information, principally relating to the antiquities 
and natural curiosities of our own section of the union, con- 
tained in the volume before us. 

The "American Antiquarian Society" was established 
by a number of the citizens, and incorporated by an act of 
the legislature of Massachusetts, in the year 1812. Though 
thus organized and made a body politic by the authority of 


a single state, it is nevertheless intended as a national insti-< 
tution., and on that account members are sought for and in- 
formation is solicited in every state in the union. The fol- 
lowing extract from an address made to the Society in Feb- 
ruary 1819, will furnish an idea of its character and de-^ 

"The chief objects of the inquiries and researches of this So- 
"ciety, which cannot too soon arrest its atteniion, will be Amer- 
ican Antiquities, natural, artificial, and lite'-aiy. As all things, 
which are in their nature durable, if preserved from casualty 
and the ravnges of time, in a course of years wi 1 be an- 
tique, it will also be an obj ct of this society to deposit, from 
time to time, such modern productions as will, with accuracy, 
dendife to those who succeed us, the progress of literature, the 
arts, manners, customs, and discoveries of the passing age. 

"Thus by an attention to these objects, which the Society 
jhope to promote by the exertion of ils members residing in va- 
rious sections oj this -vast contineiit, the utility of the Institution 
will speedily be realized, and may in time vie with similar in- 
stitutions in Europe." pp, 42, 43. 

The following suggestions are made to the members in 
the same address. 

"It is requested that articles of Indian fabrication may be ac- 
companied with some arcount of the place of their deposit, 
probable age, supposed vise, and any other matter which may e- 
Jucidate their history. Authentic accounts of Indian moundsj 
fortifications, and other monuments and remains, communica- 
ted by mail, or through the Receiving Officers, to either of -h© 
Secretaries, are particularly desirable," "This request is partic 
ularly addressed to members resicung in the Western States, 
^vhere it is supposed such remains are the most numerous aud. 
perfect." p, 44. 

These extracts will furnish our readers with a general 
idea of the nature and objects of the institution, under 
whose patronage and superintendence the volume before us 
has been published. Like all new and infant establish- 
ments, it has advanced gradually and rather slowly into 
public notice, although tlie exertions of a few substantial 
friends, among whom its highly respectable President, Isai* 
AH Thomas Esq, stands conspicuous, have done much to- 
wards 2;ivingit, at this early period of its history, both sta- 
bility and dignity. A handsome and commodious building 
has been erected for its use in Worcester, Massachusetts, a 
flourishing inland town, which was selected for the purpose 
4is ^eing a more secure situation thai) s^ seaport for its cabi* 


net and library. Already has it collected nearly six thous^ 
AND VOLUMES, principally of rare and valuable works, some 
of which cannot be found elsewhere in the country, and it 
has obtained, from various sources, "files of the first news- 
papers published in British North America, which, probahly, 
are the earliest printed in this Western world; also, some 
of tlie first periodical works which appeared in Europe. 
Congress and most of the State Legislatures have passed 
acts and resolves for furnishing the society with a copy of 
all their printed Statutes, and such as hereafter shall be 
printed, together with theirotherprinted documents. These, 
so far as they have been printed, have been deposited in the 

By the laws of the Society, its officers consist of a pres- 
ident, two vice-presidents, one recording and three corres- 
ponding secretaries, a treasurer, a librarian and cabinet 
keeper, and a council composed of five counsellors resid- 
ing near the Library and Cabinet, five in the, capital of the 
state or its vicinity, and one in each of the other United 
States. The council meets statedly twice in each year for 
the general superintendence and raauagemp-nt of the affairs 
of the society, and it is considered the duty of distant coun- 
sellors, dispersed throughout the union, "to receive commu- 
nications from member** of the society and others, and for- 
ward them to the President" — "to receive such communi- 
cations to its members as may be sent to their care by the 
officers of the society, and dispose of them as they may be 
requested" — "to advise by letter, to the president or one of 
tlie corresponding secretaries, concerning any matf^ri in- 
teresting to the society; to use their efforts to gain inf ri^a- 
tion of the antiquities of the country, receive smc!) articles 
as can be obtained, and forward tliem to the president, or 
one of the officers appointed to receive and forward articles 
presented to the society." 

Having furnished this general outline of the character, 
design, and present condition of the American Antiquarian 
Society, we shall now proceed to an analysis of the inter- 
esting volume under review, and as it is not very likelv, at 
least for some time, to fall into the hands of our western 
readers generally, we shall indulge ourselves, and hope to 
gratify the lovers of the curious as well as the friends of 
science, by details as minute, as the narrowness of our lim- 
its and the claims of other articles will permit. 

We have first an account of the supposed discovery 


of the River Mississippi, originally published in France 
in the seventeenth century, afterwards translated and re- 
published in England, but now out of print. This curious 
narrative, written by the adventurer himself, father Lewis 
Hennepin, a Franciscan monk, who came over to the new 
world as a missionary, and who seems to have been zealous 
and indefatigable in his labours, accurate in his observa- 
tions, and minute in his descriptions, is well worthy of a 
prominent place in the volume before us. In the year 1678, 
the author set out from Canada with a view to explore the 
lakes, and the rivers connected with them. He had previously 
spent upwards of two years in the neighbourhood of the I- 
roquese, a tribe of Indians, whom he describes as insolent 
and barbarous, and incapable of restraint except by fear. 
The follov\^ing is given as a specimen of their manners. 

*'WhiIst we were with them, their parties had made an ex- 
cursioa towards Virginia, and brought two prisoners. They 
spared the life of one, but put to death the other with most ex- 
tjuisite torments. They commonly use this inhumanity towards 
all their prisoners, and their torments sometimes last a month. 
When they have brought them into their canton, they lay them 
on pieces of wood like a St. Andrew's cross, to which they tie 
their legs and arm.s, and expose them to gnats and flies, who 
Bting them to death. Children cut pieces of fl^esh out of their 
flanks, thighs, or other parts, and, boiling them, force these 
floor souls io cat thereof. Their parents eat some themselves, 
and the better to inspire into their children a hatred of their en- 
emies, give them some of their blood to drink." p. 65.. 

The following brief description, is given of the falls of 

"Father Gabriel and I went over land to view the great Fall^ 
thelike whereof is not in the whole world. It is compo\inded 
of two great cross streams of water and two falls, with an isle 
sloping along the middle of it. The waters which fall from 
this vast height do foam and boil alter the most hideous man- 
ner imaginable, making an outrageous noise more terrible than 
that of thunder; so that when the wind blows from the south, 
their dismal roaring maybe heard above fifteen leagues off. 

"The river Niagara, having ibrov/n itself down this incredible 
precipice, continaes its impeuious course for two leagues with 
an inexpressible rapidity; uud the brinks are so prodigious 
high, that it makes one tremble to look steadily on the water» 
rolling alongv.ith a rapidity not to be imagined. It is so rapid 
above the descent that it violertly hurries down the wild beasts, 
endeavouring to pass it to feed on. the other side, casting them 


down headlong above six hundred feet. A bark or gi-eater ves- 
sel may pass from fort Fi-ontenac until you come within two 
leagues of the fall, for which two leagues the people are oblig- 
ed to carry their goods oyer land; but the way is very good, and 
the trees are but few, and they chiefly furs and oaks. Were it 
not for this vast cataract, which interrupts navigation, we might 
sail with barks or greater vessels above four hundred and fifty 
leagues further." pp. 67, 68. 

The minute account of the clangers, privations, and dif- 
jBculties of a long and arduous journey through the midst 
of various savage nations, of the observations made upoa 
their manners and customs, and of the valuable discove- 
ries resulting from these enterprising efforts, is well worthy 
a perusal. The author and two of his companions were 
at one time taken prisoners and were, after much consul- 
tation, given up to three chiefs, "instead of three of their 
sons who had been killed in the war." During their con- 
tinuance in this captivity most severe were the hardships 
they were compelled to endure. 

"Our ordinary marches," says father Hennepin, <'were front 
■break of day till ten at night; and when we met with any riv- 
ers, we swam them, — ^themselves, who ior the most part are of 
an extraordinary size, carrying our clothes and equipage on 
their heads. We never eat but once in twenty four hours, and 
and then nothing but a few scraps of meat dried in smoke, af- 
ter their fashion, which they offered us with abundance of re- 
gret. I was so weak that I often lay down, resolving rather tq 
die than follow these savages any farther, who travelled at a rate 
so extraordinary, as far surpasses the stiength of any Europe- 
an. However, to hasten us, they sometimes set fire to the 
dry grass, in the meadows through which we passed, so that 
our choice was, march or burn. When we had thus travelled 
sixty leagues a foot and under all the fatigues of hunger, thirst, 
and cold, besides a thousand outrages daily done to our persons; 
as soon as we approached their habitations, which are situated 
in morasses inaccessible to their enemies, they thought it a pro- 
per time to divide the merchandize they had taken from us. 
Here they were like to fall out and cut one another's throats a- 
bout the roll of Martinico tobacco, which might still weigh a- 
bout fifty pounds." p. 86. 

We have not room to furnish more at length the inter- 
esting details of Father Hennepin, but must hasten to the 
next article, which is an account by the same writer of an 
attempt, commenced in 1684 by Mr. La Salle, to discover 
the riyer Mississippi ty w&y of the Gulf of Mexico, fho 


oTsject of this enterprising adventurer is said to have been 
*'to lind out a passage from the northern to the south sea 
ivithout crossing the line." In pursuit of this object he 
■arrived "in the bay of Spirilosanto, and about ten leagues 
off found a large bay which he took for the right arm of the 
Mississippi, and called it St, Lewis." After a variety of ad- 
ventures, and some sanguinary conflicts with the savages, 

"On the thirteenth of February, 1685, he thought to have 
found his so much wished for river: and having fortified a post 
on its bank, and left part of his men for his security, he return- 
ed to his fort the thirty first of March, charmed with his dis- 
covery. But this joy was overbalanced by grief for the loss of 
liis frigate. This was the only ship left unto him, with v/hich 
2ie intended to sail in a few days for St. Dumingo, to bring a 
new supply of men and goods to carry on his design, but it ran 
imfortunately aground, by the negligence of the pilot and was 
clashed in pieces. All the men were drowned, except the Sieur 
Chefdeville, the captain, and four seamen; the goods, liuen, and 
cloth of the colony, with the provisions and lools, were all lost." 

p. 96. 

Mr. La Salle, with a portion of his men, then comnrenc- 
«d a journey by land to Canada, but on the way he was taken 
«ick, deserted by several of his companions, and compell- 
ed to return to Fort Lewis, where he unfortunately lost hig 
2ife by ths treachery of some of his men. 

"With all his prudence he could not discover the conspira- 
cy of some of his people to kill his nephew; for they resolved 
\ipon it, and put it in execution all of a sudden on the 17th of 
3V1a'*ch, wounding him in the head with a hatchet. They slew 
likewise the lackey and poor Nika, who had provided for them 
hy his hunting, with great toil and danger. Moranger languish- 
ed under his wound for two hours, forgiving his murderers and 
embracing them frequently. But these wretches, not content 
•with this I)loody fact, resolved not to stick here, but contrived 
liowto kill their master too, for they feared he would justly pun- 
ish them for their crime. Mr. La Salle was two leagues from 
the place where Moranger M'as killed, and, being concerned at 
Jiis nephews' tarrying so kng, (for they had been gone two or 
three days) was afraid they were surprized by the savages; 
•whereupon he desired father Anastasius to accompany him in 
looking afier his nephew, and took two savages along with him. 
Upon the way, he entertained the father with a pious discourse 
of di.'ine providence, wiiicli had preserved him in the many 
dangers he had undergone durini*: twenty years' abode in Anier- 
3i.a; when, all of a sudden, father Anastasius observed that hs 
icUinto a deep sorro-.r, of Vi'hich he him!ic!f could give no ac- 


count. lie grew mighty unquiet and fall of trouble, a temper 
he was nt'ver seen in bet'oie. 

"When they were got about two leagues, he found his lack- 
ey's bloody cravat, and peixeived two eagles, (a conimon bird 
in those parts,') hovering over his head, and at the same tima 
spied his people by the water side. He went to them and in- 
quired for h.s nephew: they made him litt'e answer, but point- 
ed to the p'ace where he lay. Father Anastasius ai>d he kept 
going on by the river side, till at last they came to the fa- 
tal plare, where two of the villains lay hid in the grass; one oa 
one side, and one on the other, with their nieces cocked. The 
first presented at him, but missed fire, the ctiier fired at the 
same time and shot him in the head, of which he died an hour 
after, March 19, 1687. 

"Father Anastasius, seeing him fall a little v.-ay from hin» 
•with his face all bloody, ran to him, took him in his arms, and 
v,ept over him, exhorting him, as well as he could m this con- 
juncture, to die a good christian. The unfortunate gentlemaa 
had just time enough to confess part of his life to him, wh» 
gave him absolution, and soon after died. In his last momenta 
he performed, as far as he was capable, whatsoever was proper 
for one in his condition, pressing the father's hand at every ihing^ 
he said to him, especially when he admonished him to forgive 
his e. emies. In ihe mean while, the murderers, struck witii 
horror at whaJ: they had committed, began to beat their breasts 
and detest their rashness. Anastasius would not stir from the 
place, till he ! uried the body as decently as he could, and pla- 
ced a crossover his grave." pp. 100, 101. 

We have been llius minute in our details and lavish of 
©ur quotations, not because they are new or peculiarly im- 
portant, but because they are not probably familiar to cur 
readers, although they are of a nature well calculated gen- 
erally to interest and amuse. We are surprised however at 
the publication of these narratives by the Antiquarian So- 
ciety, as accounts of the original discovery of the Missis- 
sippi, when it is well known that that river was in fact dis- 
covered about one hundred and fifty years previous by De So- 
to. We hope the society will give us in their next volume a 
translation of De Soto's Expedition in the interior of North 
America, or, — as it was then called, — Florida. This enter- 
prising traveller appears to have passed througli that ex^ 
tensive tract of country now comprising the states of Ala- 
bama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennessee, Kentucky, &c. 
and found it inhabited by a numerous population, much 
more civilized than our present race of Southern Indians^ 
vSCUe work of De Solo is nearly out of priotj and yet a kaowr 


ledge of its contents is indispensable to the success of those, 
who may endeavour to elucidate our antiquities, as it is 
highly probable that many of the nations visited by that 
traveller were remnants of those ancient tribes, to which 
the monuments in the western states must be ascribed, and 
which have been called Alleghawee by the Lenni Lenape 
and by the Rev. Mr. Heckewelder, their late historian. 

We pass now to the article which occupies far the great- 
est proportion of the volume under review, and is entitled a 
"Description of the Antiquities discovered in the State of 
Ohio and other Western States," by Caleb Atwater Esq. 
of Circleville, Ohio. This valuable memoir, which embra- 
ces upwards of one hundred and fifty pages, contains a mass 
of important information, deserving the attention of the 
antiquary and the man of science. We shall furnish our 
readers with some account of the article, and then point out 
what we conceive to be its errors and defects. 

Mr. Atwater dkides the antiquities of which he treats in- 
to three classes. "1. Those belonging to modern Indians: 
S. To people of European origin; and 3. Those of that peo- 
ple who raised our ancient forts and tumuli." Of the first 
class he says but little, for, as he justly remarks — 

"He who wishes to find traces of Indian settlements, either 
numerous or worthy of his notice, must visit the shore of the 
Atlantic, or the banks of the larger rivers, on the eastern side 
of the Alleghanies." p. 112. 

Under the second head are noticed the various coins, me- 
dals, implements of war, &c, which have been discovered 
in different parts of the Western Country, and which are 
supposed by Mr. Atwater to have been deposited by the Eu- 
ropeans who first explored the interior of our country. 
With respect to tlie Roman coins, recently found in a cave 
near Nashville, Tennessee, he very naturally supposes "they 
were either discovered where the finder had purposely lost 
them, or, what is more probable, had been left there by some 
European since this country was traversed by the French." 

The third class of antiquities is that to which the princi- 
pal attention is devoted, and respecting which our curiosity 
is most highly excited. In the investigation of this branch 
of the subject Mr. Atwater has displayed great zeal, perse- 
verance, and enthusiani, and we think he is entitled to no 
small credit for what he has effected. This part of the 
work however is not without its errors, and even contains 
.some striking contradictions. In the early part of his me- 


r^ioir for example, the writer calls the ancient monuments 
he describes, exclusively ^^forts''^ and '■^fortifications,-'' and rid- 
icules the idea suggested by some, of their having been, in 
gome cases, used for religious purposes. 

"Some hasty travellers," says he, "wTio have spent an hour 
Or two here have concluded that the ^forts' were not raised for 
iniUtary, but for i-eligious purposes, because there were two ex- 
traordinary tumuli here. A gentleman in one of our Atlantic 
cities, who has never crossed the AUeganies, has written to me 
that /le is fully convinced that they were raised for religious 
purposes. Men thus situated, and with no correct means of 
judging, will hardly be convinced by any thing I can say. Nor 
do I address myself to them, directly or indirectly; for it has 
long been my maxim, that it is worse than in vain to spend one's 
time in endeavouring to reason men out of opinions for which 
they never had any reasons." p- 145. 

While he thus ridicules, in the commencement of his me- 
-moir, an idea entertained by many men of intelligence and 
learning, he holds towards t!ie end a very different language, 
acknowledges that many of the monuments were Teocalli 
er Mexican Temples, and appears to adopt the opinion 
he had previously treated with so much contempt. This 
apparent inconsistency may perhaps be attributed to the 
composition of different parts of his memoir at different pe- 
riods of time. During the progress of his labours he be- 
came convinced, by the perusal probably of the communi- 
cations of our late valued co-adjutor Mr. John D. Clifford, 
in previous numbers of this work, by private letters, or by 
the development in some other way of important facts, that 
the former vulgar opinion, representing all our monuments 
gf antiquity as exclusively forts, was erroneous. While 
Jiowever he adopts the results of the labours and research- 
es of Mr. Clitibrd, Dr. Mitchill, Rev. ^Ir. Heckewelder, 
Professor Rafinesque and others, he emits to 'mention to 
whom he is indebted for ttiese peculiar views. 
. As Mr. Atwater has taken high ground, and professed to 
furnish, from personal observation or undoubted informa- 
tion, a general view of the interesting antiquities of the 
west, as he has spoken with a proper degree of contempt of 
the crude and indigested statements of travellers respecting 
them, and given us to understand that his memoir is the re- 
sult of much labour and research; we were justified in ex- 
pecting a complete enumeration and an accurate descrip- 
tion of all tlie important monuments of antiquity in the wes- 


tern country. This expectation, we are compelled to say, 
has r\(t\ been fully realized; and while we are disposed to 
do ample justice to the industry he has employed, the infor- 
wation he has acquired, and the public spirit he has so lib- 
erally displayed, we beg leave to suggest that his labours 
»re not yet complete, that we have reason to believe his 
descriptions have been sometimes incorrect, and that there 
are yet a number of monuments he has failed to describe* 
"We have seen surveys of some, from sources the most au- 
^entic, differing very materially from those of Mr. Atwater, 
and without presuming to question the accuracy of his per- 
sonal observations, we may be permitted to point out some 
of the variations in order to lead to more minute investiga- 
tion. In the plan of the monuments, or, as Mr. Atwater 
Calls them, the ancient works near Newark, Ohio, (plate 2) 
eight intermediate rocks or flat stones, between the mounds 
at the gateways of the monument marked A, are omitted. 
In the same plate a group is likewise omitted, containing 
an octagonal monument with eight gateways and no mound, 
two avenues, a round temple and a square one,&c. In thdr 
plan of the monuments at Marietta, (plate 4.) several inac- 
curacies appear to us ta exist, although these antiquities 
have t een so frequently examined and surveyed. The rais- 
ed areas and pyramids, for example, are not well represent- 
ed, the ascents appearing to be square spurs, and rnucl* 
larger than they really are. Mr. Atvvater's plan (plate 5) of 
the monuments at Ci'-cleville, the place of his residence, 
differs from one made by Mr. Clifford, in which the mounds 
are represented as not precisely opposite the gateways. A 
description of Mr. Clifford's plan may be found in one of his- 
letters on "Indian Antiquities," in a former number of thit 

The momiments en Paint Creek (plate "7.) are the remains 
of three fortified or walled towns, with their temples, &c. 
In the plan we have seen of that marked C. none of the 
S'des were represented as curved, but there were in the 
wall D. three gateways, with a separate ditch and a wall in 
front of them, which are omitted in the plate. The sides, 
too were represented as straight and angular, and the square 
monument as having six gateways and three mounds. 

We have seen an accurate survey of the monument in 
Kentucky opposite the raoulh of tlie Scioto, which differs ia 
severai parin.uiais from that of Mr. Atwater, (plate 8.) The 
square hus no curved side,and there are six gateways instead 
oi HvQ, The eastern parallelogram has two straight sides, 


and an oblique semicircle at the end where the gateway w. 
Its lirngth is five hundred and twenty five yards. That oa 
the west is not crooked as ii the plate, but is simply bentia 
the middle where a deep ravine has broken it. Its length 19 
five hundred and seventy yards. Three mounds, a semi- 
circle, platform, &c. lie south of it. 

A plan, which we have seen, of the ancient fortification 
on the Little Miami River, differs widely from the represf n- 
tation given in plate 9, both in the number and directions 
of the sides, and in having, what we do not find here, a 
fm^ll mound at almost every angle. 

We nneiition these variations, because, trifling as thej 
may appear, they may in some cases lead to very important 
results, and because it is obviously of no small consequence 
that a work like this should be strictly accurate. Our hint* 
at least may be valuable, as they may lead Mr. Atwater to 
ascertain beyond a doubt whether the surveys he has relied 
on, or those to which we have referred, are the most cor" 

Among the important monuments entirely o itted, or 
barely meritioned vvitliout being de^cribed,in the volume be- 
fore us, we may enumerate the following in the stale of O** 

1. The group of monuments, situated on Mr. Waddle's 
farm two miles south west of Chillicothe, which consists of 
e circular temple with three gateways, and a square monu- 
ment having seven gateways and four mounds on the inside. 

2. The large circular monument on the land of Mr. Rob- 
ert Smith two miles from Chillicothe on the road to Frank- 
lin'on. It has nitie gatewajs and twenty five mounds, and 
embraces about twenty four acres of land. 

S. The fine group of monuments on the farm of Mr. Mi- 
chael Crj^der, about three miles from Chillicothe, consisting 
of a s'luare of seventeen acres with twelve gateways, four 
circular temples, one of which contains seventeen acres, 
and another of which had a large upright stone in the mid- 
dle, with several avenues. 

As these are all so near the residence ot Mr. Atwater, we 
are surprised that they have escaped his penetrating eye. 
They h: ve been accurately surveyed, and merit the atten- 
tion of the Antiquarian Society. 

There exist also in Ohio several other monuments not 
noticed in this work, those, for example, on Twin Creek, 
on the shores of Lake Erie, oa Sandusk/ river, and at the 


mouth of the River Miami, of several of vrhich we have 
seen surveys. In the other western states, there are many 
also not mentioned by Mr. Atwater, some of whieh we will 
I. In Virginia. 

1. A semicircular temple on the Ohio near the town oS 

2. Another and still larger one near Letart's Falls. 

' 3. Four circular temples, near Charlestown, on the Riv- 
er Kenhawa. 

4. A group of monuments on- the Ohio, above Poinf 
Pleasant, consisting of a square with five gateways, and of 
two circumvallations united by a wall. 

5. A group below Gallipolis, consisting of five circum- 
vallations, and one semi-circular temple. 

6. An irregular square monument, near Parkersburgh. 

II. In Kentucky. 

1. A fine group of ponumeiits on Hurricane creek, the 
principal one of which is an octagon of eleven acres. 

2. A polygonal mor^ument on South Elkhorn, about eight, 
hundred and sixtj yards in circumference, which is divided 
into two parts, as wallas surrounded by water. 

3. Two groups of monuments in Montgomery County. 

4. Six groups m Fayette County, some of which have 
ditcher yet remaining twenty feet in depth. 

6. One group in Woodford County. 

6. One near the Falls of the Ohio. 

7. Several in Madison, Garrard, and Jessamine Counties. 

III. In Tennessee. 

1. A stone fort or walled town on Duck River. 

2. An irregular square monument on Cumberland River, 
six miles above Nashville, containing seven acres, with a 
central, semicircular, raised platform. 

IV. In Mississippi. 

The walled town near Sultzertiwm. Of these we have 
seen plans. We might mention also several important 
monuments in Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Alabama, Arkan- 
sas, &;c. but as Vv'e have never met with any surveys of them, 
we shall not attempt to particularize. There is however a 
plan of one on the Missouri contained in the Travels of 
Lewis and Clarke. 

These are all interesting remnants of antiquity, which 
ought to be carefully investigated, and to be minutely des- 
cribed in some subsequent Volume of the Antiquarian So~ 


eiety; and we know no person more competent to the task, 
or more likely to undertake it, than the author of the very 
valuable memoir under review. 

The plates, as it respects their mechanical execution, are, 
generally speaking, good: but we have occasion sometimes 
to regret, that the physical state of the ground is not de- 
lineated, nor the actual geographical connection pointed 
out; circumstances, v»^hich render it often difficult to ascer- 
tain the spots intended and thus to verify the accuracy of the 
draftsman. We regret also that the scales, upon which the 
plans are drawn, are so various, and are sometimes in poles 
and chains, instead of yards and feet, with which every bo • 
dy is familiar. Many articles are engraved in. wood: and 
some of them are highly interesting, particularly those col- 
lected by Mr. Clifford, many of which had been already de- 

Mr. Atwater, in the course of his Memoir, gives us his 
"conjectures respecting the origin and history of the An- 
cient Wm-ks in Ohio," and attempts to furnish answers to the 
very natural enquiries — "Who were their authors? Whence 
did they emigrate? At what time did they arrive? How 
long did they continue to inhabit this country? To what 
place did they emigrate? and. Where shall we look for their 
descendants?" He supports the theory already advanced in 
this Reviewthat the monuments described were notthe work 
of the ancestors of our present Indians, but were originally 
derived from Asia. 

"The Jews," says he, "on many great occasions, assembled 
at Gilgal. The name of the place signifies 'a heap.' Here 
was a pile of stones, which were brought from the bed of the riv- 
er Jordan, and piled up on the spot where they encamped for the 
first night after they crossed that river, on their entrance into 
'the promised land.' Let the reader examine similar piles of 
stones on the waters of the Lickmg, near Newark, in the coun- 
ties of Perry, Pickaway, and Ross, and then ask himself, Whe- 
ther those who raised our monuments, were not originally from 
Asia? Shiloh, where the Jews frequently assembled to transact 
great national affairs, and perform acts of devotion, was situated 
■upon a high hili. When this place was deserted, the loftier 
hill of Zion was selected in its stead. Upon Sinai's awful 
summit the law of God was promulgated. Moses was com- 
manded to ascend a mountain to die. Solomon's temple was 
situated upon a high hill by divine appoiatment. Samaria, a 
place celebrated for the worship of idols, was built upon the 
high hill of Shemer, by Omri, king of Israel, who was there 


turied. Hovr many hundreds of nriounds in this country ar© 
situated on the highest hills, surrounded by the m)St fertile 
soils? Traverse the counties of Licking, Fra ,klin, Pick;nviy, 
and Ross; examine the loftiest mounds, and compare them with 
those described as being in Palestine." p. 197. 

Ani again, 

<'The land of Ham seems to have bern the place where the 
arts were first nursed. A thickly crowded populati )n, inhabit- 
ing a fertile soil, intersected by a large river, were placed ii the 
jnost favorable lircumstances foi obtaining an acquiintHUce 
■with the arts and sciences. The Nile fertilized their fiv-lls, 
and wafted on its waves the bark of the mariner, svhilu bt-neath 
its unruffled surface it contained an abundance of fishes. It 
invited o trade, to en'erprize, and wealth. The people flourish- 
ed and the arts were fostered. The same remarks apply to the 
people of the Indus and the Ging"s^— the re ulis were simdar. 
The banks of ihese streams were first cultivated. When oth- 
er parts of the woiid were peopled, we hive rejsin to be ieve 
it was done, either by fugitives from justice or from slavery. 
Their low origin will account f )r their low vices and their ig» 
noraUve. Living in countries but thinly settled, their improve- 
ment in their rondidon was gradual, though steady. 

«*It is interesting to the philosopher, to observe the progres- 
sive improvements made by man in the several uselul arts. 
Without letters, in the first rude stages of society, the tree is 
:^arked with a view to indicate v^-hut is already done, or is in- 
tended to be done. 'I'hough our Indians had lived along our 
Atlantic border for ages, yet they had advanced lO farther in 
indicating projected designs, or in recording past events. The 
abundance of wild game, and the paucity of their numbers, will 
satisfactorily account for their ignorance in this, and almost eve- 
ry other respect. Conning here at an early age of the world, 
necessity hud not civilized them. At that period, in almost all 
Uarts of the globe then inhabited, a small mound of earth serv- 
ed as a sepulchre and an altar, whereon the officiating priest 
could be seen by the surrounding worshippers. 

<'For many ages we have reason to believe there were no'^© 
tut such altars. From Wales, they may be traced to Russia 
«uite across that empire, to our continent; across it from thft 
Kiouth of the Columbia on the Pacific Ocean, to Black River, oti 
the east end of lake Ontario. Thence turiiing in a southwest- 
ern direction, we find them extending quite to the southern 
parts of Mexico and Peru.'* pp. 159 — 201. 

Mr. Atwater takes occa:^>ion very properly to add the 
weiiiiit of his opinion in favour of the Mosaic accoual qC 
the creation. 

4920: T«« AMEnteAK antiquahtaw society. *0S 

"Thus we learn from the most authentic sources, that these 
ancient wo ks existing in Europe, Asia, and * m erica, a' e as 
siniilar in (htir ronstruction, n the materials with which thejr 
l*ere rai&ed, ai d in the articles found iv them, as it is possible 
fur theni to be. L^t those w ho are constantly seeking; lor some 
argument, with whi'.h to overthrow the history of man by Mo- 
aes, consider this la t. Such persons ha 'e more than once as- 
lerled, that there were different stock* or races of men; but 
this similarity of works almost all over the world, indicates 
that all men sprung fr. m one common origin I have always 
considered this la t as strengthening the Mosaic account of 
Si)an, and that the S riptures throw a sir ng and steady light oo 
the path of ihe Antiquarian." pp. 205, 2C5. 

From the nature of the ancient monuments described^ 
and the apparently rude state of the arts among those who 
erected them, Mr. Atwater very naturally infers that they 
emigrated to this country, and constructed those monu- 
iiients in quite an early age of the world. He concludes 
likewise that they lived here for a long time, since they 
appear to have acquired a considerable den^^ity of popula- 
tion, and to have made some-important improvements in 
civilization and in the culturj, of the arts. He then traces 
them from their habitations on the banks of the Ohio and 
Other western waters, to Mexico and Peru, and produces 
the authority of Clavigero and other intelligent writers on 
the subject in support of his theory. We find, from the- 
following extract, that Mr Atwater is not quite so faithless 
as we had supposed, respecting the historical accounts of 
ihe sacrifice, by the Mexicans, of human victims. 

"Although 1 have always doubttd the truth of some of th& 
relations of the Spanish vi riters, respe ting the persecuted peo-- 
ple of Montezuma there is much reason to believe that the 
practice of sacrificing human beings existed among them. The 
Spaniards have probably exaggerated, yet I fear they did not 
entirely fabricate the horrid accounts of such sacrifices. And, 
upon the whole, we have almost as much evidence ©t the exis. 
tence of human sacrifices among those \vho built our elevated 
square* and v/orks of that class, m North, as we have in South> 

"Thus we have traced the authors of our ancient works, from 
India to North, and thence to South, America. Their works 
beine few and small, rude and irregular at first, but iiKreasing; 
in number, improving in everv respect as we have followed 
Ihem, sho%ving the increased numbers and improved condition, 
of their authors, as they migrated- towards the country wber^ 
Ihey finally settled. 

i^ tran3A.<:;tions and collectioks op Sepf- 

The place from whence they came, their religious rites, the 
attributes of their gods, the number of their principal ones, their 
sacred places, their situation near some considerable stream of 
water, their ideas of purification by the use of water, and of at- 
onement by sacrifice, the manner of burying their de-ad, and" 
jnany other strong circumstances in the history of this neople, 
as well as in that of other nations existing at the same period of 
time, lead us to the conclusion, that the mors carefully we ex- 
amine the Antiquities of this or any other country, the more 
evidence will be found, tending to establi&h the truth of the Mo- 
saic history. The discoveries of the Antiquarian throw a 
strong and steady light upon the scriptures, while the scrip- 
tures afford to the Antiquarian the means of elucidating many 
subjects othervvays difficult to be explained, and serve as an im- 
portant guide in the prosecution of his investigations." 

pp. 250, 251. 

On the whole we have been both amused and instructed 
by the perusal of Mr. Atwater's memoir. His style, how- 
ever, though animated, is diffuse, and not always correct. 
He is not even exempt from grammatical errors, nor is he 
uniformly accurate in his orthography. We observe too 
the frequent repetition of a very common blunder, in the 
use of the word antiquarian for antiquary. The former is an 
adjective; the latter is the corresponding noun. But these 
are trifling consideratiojns: the work is a valuable com- 
pend, and without displaying any great originality of thought 
or laying claims to any peculiar merit for excellence of ar- 
rangement or perspicuity of method, it forms an excellent 
supplement to the previous labours, in the same field, of 
Jefferson, Madison, Harris, Breckinridge, Kilbourn, Drake, 
Cutler, Shultz, Yolney, Clinton, Heckewelder, Bartram, 
Barton, Mitchill, Clifford, Rafinesque, and others. We 
liope the author will continue to prosecute his investiga- 
tions with the assiduity and zeal he has hitherto displayed, 
and we wish him all the success he so eminently merits. 

The next article in the volume is entitled "an account of 
the present state of the Indian tribes inhabiting Ohio," in 
a letter from John Johnston Esq. United States' agent of 
Indian Affairs at Piqua to Caleb Atwater Esq. From the 
means of information possessed by this writer, we have ev- 
ery reason to place confidence in his statements, and he has 
furnished us with some very interestingrcsulls. The whole 
number of Indians in the slate of Ohio in October 1819 he 
states to have been 2407, consisting of Dclavvarcs, Wyan^ 
dots, Shavranocse, (or as it is commonly vaitlen >?hawnees) 


Senecas, and Ottawas. Of each of these nations he gives 
a brief history, with an account of their present state and 

"Agriculture jnakes a slow but steady progress among them. 
Many Indians have taken to the plough. Last year, the Indian 
Agent delivered to them thirtysix ploughs, and every thing 
necessarily belonging to them. These were chiefly furnished 
at the expense of the Society of Friends. The Agent has now 
on hands implements of husbandry to the value of 100/. sterling, 
to deliver to them at the next council. This was given to them 
by an ancient female friend, of Cork, in Ireland. The yearly 
meeting of the friends in Ireland have given the sum of 150/. 
sterling, to be applied to the same benevolent purpose. The 
Indians are turning their attention more and more to the rai- 
sing of cattle. — The Shawanoese have appropriared, of this 
year's annuity, 1420 dollars, for the purchase of cows and calves; 
and they previously had one hundred and twentyfive head of 
horned cattle, and two hundred hogs. ' 

"The Senecas and others, at Lewistown, have three hundred 
hogs, and one hundred and fifty horned cattle. 

"The Wyandots and Senecas, on Sandusky river, have fif- 
t«en hundred hogs, and five hundred horned cattle. 

"The stock of the Indians is every where increasing within 
the limits of this agency. One individual owns seventy head 
of cattle. 

" f he Reservation of the Wyandots, at Upper Sandusky, is 
twelve by nineteen miles, including within its limits some of th» 
best land in the state." pp. 276, 277. 

We have then a view of the existing treaties between ths 
United States and these Indian Nations, and an interesting 
description of the prevailing manners and customs of the 
Indians. In the specimens given of the Shawanoese and 
Wyandot languages we observe a novelty which we highly 
approve, we mean an attempt to divide the words into their 
monysyllabic roots. If a literal translation ot those roots 
had been given, we should have enjoyed the means of ac- 
quiring a much greater insight, than we now have, into tne 
mechanical structure of those languages. We strongly 
suspect that all the words of our aborigines are composed 
of roots, either monosyllabic or disyllabic, and we fear that 
Mr. Duponceau, for whose labours and researches we hav^ 
the highest respect, has fallen into a strange mistake, when 
he has supposed that all our native Indian languages are 
susceptible of modified compound words, like the Sanscrit, 
Gerinanj aad Italia??, For instance, ai^ Itaiiae. iffnoraat oi 


the English, as a written language, hearing pronounced the 
phrase, Do you love me, will naturally regard it as a single 
word, and would write it according to the Italian power of 
the letters Dujuluomi, and if he is told the meaning of it, 
he will consider it a compound word. This must be the 
case constantly with the unwritten languages. Another de- 
fect is the omission of a standard for the power of the vow- 
els in the unwritten languages, when attempted to be writ- 
ten by Englishmen or Americans. It is well known that 
each English vowel hasten or twelve powers or sounds,* 
how then can a foreigner, or even we ourselves, ascertain 
with accuracy the power intended to be given.'' We advise 
all those who may hereafter attempt to reduce to writing 
languages previously unwritten, to furnish a key to the 
powers they have adopted. Their speculations will then he 
intelligible. At present they are not so. 

In the short communication of Moses Fiske Esq. of Hil- 
ham, Tennessee, entitled "conjectures respecting the an- 
cient inhabitants of North America," we find much of nov- 
elty and interest. We have the first account we have ever 
seen of the vestiges of ancient houses enclosed in the wall- 
ed towns. 

"The areas encompassed by these ramparts, were chiefly 
occupied by dwelling houses and mounds. The houses gen- 
erally stood in rows, nearly contiguous to each other, with an 
interval between the rows for a narrow street, though some- 
times they stood irregularly. 

<'They are indicated by rings of earth, from three to five 
fathoms in diameter, ten or twenty inches in height, and a yard 
or more broad; not always circular, some which I have noticed 
being square or oblong. The flooring of some is elevated a- 
bove the common surface, that of others is depressed.-^ -The to- 
kens are indubitable. Such rings overspread the country, some 
scattered and solitary, but oftener in groups. Villages wer© 
numerous with and without fortifications. But their dosnicils 
appear only on fertile grounds, at least, as far as I have been 
able to examine. And this seems to intimate, that agriculture 
was considered an indispensable pursuit; but that they did not 
practise manuring." p. 301. 

Mr. Fiske describes also the ancient burying places in 
T«nnessee. We consider him in an error however when 
he asserts that iron was unknown to the Alieghawee. Facta 
testify the contrary. Witness, for example, the discovery 

*Sce Dupongeau's English Vhonology. 


of iron rings in the graves at Augusta in this state. The 
following extracts will show a strong similarity in the con- 
jectures of Mr. Fiske and those of Mr. Atwater. 

"From the immense number of their dwellings, and the large 
tracts which they must have reduced to a state of cultivation, 
as well as from their numerous publick works, we may compute 
the term of their residence here at several centuries. But 
V'hether less or more, it is probably a full millenium, certainly 
half an one, since their extinction." p. 306. 

"The conjecture, that they migrated to Mexico, seems quite 
plausible. This seems to harmonize with all known facts. But 
to suppose them refugees from Mexico, is a supposition alto- 
gether inadmissible, 

"The subject generally is one that precludes the hope of a 
full developement. But progress may be made by an active ex- 
amination and comparison of facts and circumstances. And we 
can yet anticipate something from farther discoveries. 
*'It is to be regretted that these ancient ruins and relicks have 
been exposed to so much depredation. Valuable articles ars 
loite by being ybunc/. The finest specimen of statuary, that I 
have heard of in the couatry, was knocked to pieces to ascer- 
tain what sort of stone it v?as made of. It was the bust of a many 
holding a bowl with a fish in it, and was constructed of a spe- 
cies of marble, p. 207. 

But why does not Mr. Fiske perceive the identity of our 
ancient Aborigines, and the Natchez Fioridians of De Soto? 
Perhaps because he is not acquainted with the descriptions 
of the latter. 

We have next a short essay on the ^'Antiquities and curi- 
osities of Western Pennsylvania," by the Rev. Timothy AI- 
den, President of Alleghany College, in Meadville, Penn- 
sylvania, containing an account of some remains of ancient 
fortifications, some natural curiosities, and antediluvian an- 
tiquities, in that part of the country. 

In tlie letters of Dr. Mitchill, which are next introduced, 
we find unfolded his favorite theory that the Malays and 
Scandinavians reached North America, in opposite direc- 
tions, before the Tartars. The Malays or Polynesians are 
supposed by some philosophers to have formerly been a spe- 
cies of mulatoes between the Hindoos and Chinesec The 
division of mankind into three great branches, white, taw- 
ny, and black, is by no means peculiar to Dr. Mitchill. It 
has been suggested and acknowledged by many philoso- 
phers, Eut the Esquioaaux belong to the lawny l)ranchj 


while, the Hindus and Celts belong to the brownish di"] 
vision of the white branch. In his letters Dr. Mitchill re- 

"One of my intelligent correspontlents, who has surveyed 
with his own eyes the region watered by the river Ohio, wrote 
me very lately a letter containing the following paragraph: "I 
have adopted your theory respecfmg the Malayans, Polynesians 
and AUeghanians- This last nation^ so called by the Lennile- 
napi, or primitive stock of our hunting Indians, was that which 
inhabited the United States before the Tartar tribes came and 
destroyed them, and erected the mounds, works, fortifications 
and temfiles rf the western country. This historical fact is now 
"proved beyond a doubt, by the traditions of the Lennilenapi In- 
dians, published by Mr. Heckewelder, in the work just issued 
by the Philosophical Society of Philadelphia — and your sagai- 
ciods ideas are confirmed. I may add, that Mr. Clifford, of 
Lexington, Kentucky, has proved another identity between the 
Alleghanians and Mexicans, by ascertaining that many suppo- 
sed fortifications were temjiles — pai'ticularly that of Circleville, 
in Ohio, where human sacrifices were one of the rites. He has 
discovered their similarity with the ancient Mexican temples, 
described by Humbokit, and has examined the bones of victims 
in heaps, the shells used in sacred rites, as in India, and the 
idols of baked clay, consisting of three heads." pp. 347, 348. 

The next article is a letter from Jouln H. Farnwam, Esq» 
a gentleman of observation and intelligence, now resident 
in Jeffersonville, Indiana, containing a description of the 
Mammoth Cave in Warren County, Kentucky, and of the 
remarkable wwramy, or dried Indian woman, which was dis- 
covered in the neighbourhood, and which is now in the cab- 
inet of the Antiquarian Society. This letter is followed by 
one on the same subject from Charles Wilkins Esq. of 
Lexington, one of the proprietors of the cave, from which, 
we make the following extract. 

"I received information, that an infant, of nine or twelve 
months old, was discovered in a saltpetre Cave in Warren coun- 
ty, about four miles from the Mammoth Cave, in a perfect state 
of preservation. I hastened to the place; but, to my mortifica- 
tion, found that, upon its being exposed to -the atmosphere, it 
had fallen into dust, and that its remains, except the skull, with 
all its clothing, had been thrown into the larnace. I regretted 
this much, and promised the labourers to reward them, if they 
would preserve the next subject for me. About a month after- 
wards, the present one was discovered, and information given 
to our agent at the Mamnioth C?.',Xj v.-ho seat immediately for 


it, and brought and placed it there, where it remained for twelve 
months. It appeared :o be the exsiccated body of a female. 
The account which I received of its discovery, was simply this. 
It was found at the depth of about ten feet from the surface of 
the Cave, bedded in clay, strongly impregnated with nitre, 
placed in a sitting posture, incased in broad stones, standing oa 
their edges, with a fiat stone covering me whole. It was en- 
veloped in coarse clothes, (a specimen of which accompanied 
it) the whole wrapped m deer skins, the hair of which was 
shaved off in the manner in which the Indians prepare them for 
market. Enclosed in the stone coffin, were the working uten- 
sils, beads, feathers, and other ornaments of dress, Avhich be- 
longed to her. The body was in a state of much higher perfec- 
tion, when first discovered, and continued so, as long as it re- 
mained in the Mammoth Cave, than it is at present, except the 
depredations committed upon its arms and thighs by the rats» 
many of which inhabit the Cave. After it was brought to Lex- 
ington, and became the subject of great curiosity, being much, 
exposed to the atmosphere, it gradually began to decay, its 
muscles to contract, and the teeth to drop out, and much of its 
hair was plucked from its head by wanton visitants. As to the 
manner of its being embalmed, or whether the nitrous earth and 
atmosphere had a tendency to preserve it, inust be left to the 
speculations of the learned. 

The Cave in which the Mummy was found, is not of great 
extent, not being more than three quarters of a mile in length; 
its surface, covered with loose limestone, from four to six feet 
deep, before you enter the clay impregnated with nitre. It is 
of easy access, being about twenty feet wide, and six feet high, 
at the mouth or entrance. It is enlarged to about fifty feet 
wide, and ten feet high, almost as soon as you enter it. This 
place had evident marks of having once been the residence of 
the aborigines of the country, frO:n the quantity of ashes, and 
the remains of fuel, and torches made of the reed, &c. which 
were found in it," pp. 361 — 363. 

The account of the Caraibs, who inhabited the Antilles, 
by William Sheldon Esq. of Jamaica, is liighly interesting, 
though it is a mere compilation of what the old French and 
English writers had previously said about them. We will 
gratify our readers by a few extracts, but the length, to 
which we have already extended the present article, re- 
quires us to be sparing of them. 

"They had some very extraordinary customs respecting de- 
ceased persons. When one of them died, it was necessary that 
all his relations should see him and examine the body, in order 
tQ ascertain that he died a natural death. They acted so rigid- 


iy on this principle, that if one relation remained who had not 
seen the body, all the others could not convince that one that 
the death was natural. — In such a case, the absent relative con- 
sidered himself as bound in honour to consider all the other re- 
lations as having been accessaries to the d'^ath of the kinsman; 
and did not rest till he had killed one of them lo revenge the 
death of the deceased. If a Caraib died in Martinico or Gau- 
daloupe, and his relations lived in St. Vincents, it was necessaiy 
to summon them to see the body; and several months some- 
times elapsed before it could be finally interred. When a Ca- 
raib died, he was immediately painted all over with roucou, and 
Iiad his muslachios and the black streaks in his face made with 
a black paint, which was different from that used in their life- 
time. A kind of grave was then dug in the carbet where he 
died, about four feet square, and six or seven feet deep. The 
body was let down in it, when sand vi^as thrown in, which reach- 
ed to the knees,_^and the body was placed on it in a sitting pos- 
ture, resembling that in which they crouched round the fire or 
the table when alive, with the elbows on the knees, and the 
palms of the hands against the cheeks. No part ef the body 
touched the outside of the grave, which was covered with wood 
and mats, until all the relations had examined it. When the 
customary examinations and inspections were ended, the hole 
was filled, and the bodies afterwards remained undisturbed.—- 
jThe hair of the deceased was kept tied behind. In this way bo- 
•lies have remained several months without any symptoms of de- 
cay, or producing any disagreeable smell. The roucou not 
only preserved them from the sun, air, and insects during their 
iifetime, but probably had the same effect after death. The 
arms of the Craibs were placed by them when they were cover- 
ed over for inspection; and they were finally buried with them.'* 
pp. 377. 378. 

''The Caraibs "Seem to have been the most expert of all sav- 
age inhabitants of America in maritime affairs. They had two 
sorts oi vessels for performing their voyages between St, Vin- 
cents, Dominica, Gaudaloupe, and Martinico, One kind was 
•ailed becassas, with three masts and square sails; the others 
pirogues, had only two masts. The pirogues were about thir- 
ty feet long by four and a half feet wide in the middle. They 
«vere elevated at the ends, where they were about fifteen inches 
wide. Eight or nine banks or seats were m;\de iu them of 
planks, not sav/ed, but split out and made smooth. About eight 
inches behind each seat was a brace of wood, about the size of a 
jnan's arm, fastened to each side of the vessel, ami, being high- 
er than the seat, served to support the rowers sitting on the ben- 
ches. The edges of the pirogue had holes in tlietn, through 
^liich cords of maho.were inserted; and by those ropes their 


hammocks, provisions, and various other articles, -were suspen- 
ded." p. 390. 

'•If a Caraib heard of any thing which suited his fancy, he 
would make as long a voyage as it was possible for him to make 
in quest of it, and that in the most dangerous season. Perhaps 
the article in question would be some trifle, such as a knife, 
which, after the arrival of the Europeans, became a most pop- 
ular piece of furniture; a Caraib being seldom seen Avithout 
one naked in his belt, or open in his hand. Whatever he had 
fixed on, no other article would he take, not even if a whole 
house full of goods had been offered as an equivalent. He would 
give all he possessed for a thing he had set his heart upon; but 
he would not give the merest trifle for what he did not imme- 
diately want. If a Caraib was paid, for what he had sold, in coin, 
it was necessary to range the money in a straight line, like a file 
of soldiers. If the row was doubled, or the pieces were put ono 
upon another, the additions went for nothing, the whole bein^ 
considered as only a single rank. A long line of copper coin* 
pleased them as much as it pleased children. In trading, they 
were impudent rogues; for after having sold any thing, and ta- 
ken the money for it, they would carry off the article^, and re- 
fuse to refund the purchase money. The purchasers who were 
acquainted with their fantasies, immediately seized and secur- 
ed what they had bought. It frequently happened that the Ca- 
raibs would return and demand the articles they hvid sold and 
been paid for; and in those cases, the only peaceable way of 
getting rid of them was to pretend to know nothmg at all about 
them atter. The Caraibs bought cloth by the arms, i. e. by ta- 
king it in their hands, and stretching their arms as wide as pos- 
sible. What was contained between the hands was called an 
arm. Six arms of a tall Caraib would make ten French or 
twelve English ells. No wonder the Caraibs were dishonest; 
they learned from the Europeans to be so. Even Catholick 
priests have not scrupled to boast of the dexterity and address 
with which they duped and overreached the Caraibs." pp. 405, 

•'They had some strong prejudices. A man would have 
been dishonoured forever had he spun or wove cotton, or paint- 
ed a hammock. This was exclusively the business of the wo- 
men, by whom the catoli, or market basket, was solely used; for 
if a Caraib had carried one of them, the disgrace he incurred 
would have been indelible, and he would have been devoted to 
infamy. This point of honour was carried to such an extreme, 
that if a Caraib was obliged by any accident to carry the articles 
contained in a catoli, he made several journies for them, rathci* 
than carry them at once in the basket." pp. 414, 415. 

This account is valuable, although it is not original. W» 


wanted a compilation of the scattered information respec- 
ting this people, but we want much more an account of the 
Aifitillians or Inhabitants of Hayti, Cuba, &c. who were to- 
tally destroyed by the Spaniards, and who so nearly resem- 
bled our ancient Floridians or Southern Alleghawoes. We 
find that Mr. Sheldon is not far from admitting that the Ca- 
raibs were natives of North Africa, and very similar to the 
Ouaches or Canary Islanders. This 'has long been our o- 
pinion. We must therefore believe our continent, north of 
jPananca, to have received its ancient inhabitants from four 
diiFeient quarters, and to have been settled by four different 
races of the tawny branch; viz, 1. the Malays, or Polynesians, 
or Eastern Hindus, which came from the West; 2. the Tar- 
tars or Tatars, from the North West; 3. the Scandinavi- 
ans, or Northern Celts, from the North East; and 4. the 
Guaches, Getulians, or African Celts from the East. It 
would be highly interesting and useful to trace the history 
of these several people, and to ascertain to Avhich particu- 
lar class each nation of our aborigines has belonged or does 
yet belong. 

The Appendix of the Volume before lis consists of an ac- 
count of a great and extraordinary cave in Indiana, in a let- 
ter from the owner, Benjamin Adams, Esq. to a gentleman 
in Frankfort, Kentucky. 

We have thus endeavoured to furnish our readers with 
some adequate idea of the nature of this first effort, by a 
very respectable and growing, although yet infant, society, 
to acquire, preserve, and diffuse a knowledge of the anti- 
quities and natural curiosities of our country. We will 
merely remark, in conclusion, that we hope their books 
will be sought after and read with avidity, and that they 
will be encouraged, by the patronage afforded to the pres- 
ent publication, to present us, as frequently as possible, 
with additional volumes of transactions and collections. 


In the year 1792, general Anthony Wayne was appoint- 
ed to the command of the army engaged against the Indians. 
Congress now determined to do, wliat they ought to have 
done at first, viz, raise an efficient force to take possessio* 


of the territory of tbe Indians, and hold it until they were 
compelled to make peace. A legion was ordered to be 
raised, to consist of four sub-legions, each composed of 
twelve companies of infantry and riflemen, one company 
of artillery, and one troop of horse; each company and 
Iroop having one captain, one lieutenant, one ensign or cor- 
net, and ninety live non-commissioned officers and privates. 
General Wayne repaired to Pittsburgh, whither the recruits 
were sent as fast as they were raised, excepting those raised 
in the south, which were ordered to join Wilkinson. Gene- 
ral Wayne cantoned his troops for the winter at Legion- 
ville on the Ohio, some distance below Pittsburgh Early 
in April he descended the river to Cincinnati. It having 
been thought by the Society of Friends that a peace could 
be brought about, they were permitted to make the experi- 
ment, a,nd a treaty was appointed to be had at Rock de 
Eoat, on the Miamies of Lake Erie. General Wayne, in the 
mean time, was employed in disciplining his troops, open- 
ing roads, carrying hay, and throwing a quantity of provis- 
ions a head. The Indians discovered these movements, 
and assigned them as a reason for not treating. Colonel 
Hamtramck had sent W^illiam Wells, who had been a pris- 
oner with the Miami Indians, to attend the treaty, and bring 
word, w^hether terms were agreed on. Wells arrived afe 
Fort Jefferson early in October, with the news tliat the ne- 
gotiation had been broken off without producing any treaty. 
General Wayne immediately determined to push into their 
country; for which purpose one thousand Kentucky volun- 
teers, under general Scott, were ordered to join him. In 
the mean time the general moved his regulars six miles in. 
Tidvance of fort Jefferson, to await the reinforcement under 
Scott. A few days after lieutenant Lowry, with part of two 
companies, was ordered to fort St. Clair to meet a convoy 
of provisions and escort it to Head Quarters. Lowry, on' 
his return, encamped about four miles in advance of St. 
Clair, for one night, during the whole of which his se-nti- 
nels were firing at Indians. Next morning, just as he was 
about marching, a sudden attack was made by a.large body 
of the enemy, who soon overpowered his small party. Lieut. 
Lowry and ensign Samuel Boyd were killed; and, being the 
only commissioned officers in the detachment, the troops 
soon gave way and got back to fort St. Clair with all possi- 
ble speed, leaving about twenty men, besides the two offi- 
'cers, dead oo the field. Major Adair was a few nailes a 



bead of Lowry, and returned to the scene of action; but 
the enemy had left the ground, having destroyed the prin- 
cipal part of the provisions, and killed or taken off all the 
waggon horses, about 250 in number; Adair pursued, a«3 
came in sight of their rear, but they were thought toer well 
posted, and too far superior to him in numbers :to warrant 
an attack. The party of course returned. The weather 
proving unfavorable, the idea of going any farther for the 
present was abandoned, and the regular troops cantoned, 
with a view of carrying on a winter campaign. General 
Scott, with the Kentucky volunteers, returned home. The 
cavalry of the legion was also sent to Kentucky. In Febru- 
ary they were ordered back with a view of taking advantage 
of the ice to make an expedition into the enemy's country; 
but just on their arrwal, there came on a thaw, which pre- 
vented the movement. The general, however, was deter- 
mined to do something, and moved with a large detach- 
ment to St. Clair's battle ground, where he built a small 
but strong fort, which he called fort Recovery, on acconnt 
of having there recovered the cannon lost by St. Clair in 
1791. The bones of the slain on that unfortunate day were 
gathered and deposited with military honours; on which^oc- 
casion the same cannon that had been lost was used. 

Nothing of moment happened further during the winter, 
excepting that a few Indians came in with a flag, no doubt 
spies, to find out our strength and situation. In the spring 
there was some skirmishing, but only with very small piec- 
es, in one of which a white man by the name of Miller was 
taken from the enemy. Miller had been captured by them, 
when a child. He afterwards proved highly beneficial to 
the army in corps of spies and guides. 

About the 1st of June, captain Underwood, of the Chick- 
asaws, and captain Bob Sallad of the Choctaws, joined the 
general at Greenville, (the name given to our cantonment,) 
and were employed as reconciling parties. In one excur- 
sion Sallad pursued an Indian into a large encampment, and 
succeeded in killing him, but at the same time also lost his 
own life. 'About the 28th of June, 1794, major McMahon 
had been sent, with four companies of Riflemen and one 
troop of horse, to escort provisions to fort Recovery. The 
Chickasaw, captain Underwood, arrived there the same eve- 
ning that McMaJion did, to give intelligelice that a large ar- 
my of the Indians were approaching the fort, but unfortu- 
nately could not be understood. The next morning the 


pack-horse men had strung along the road to let their hors- 
es graze; about seven o'clock they were fired upon by a 
party of Indians. Major McMahon, supposing there were 
only a small detachment of the army, pushed on to the fire-^ 
ing, taking only the troop of horse with him. About one 
mile from the fort, he came up with them and found himself 
ambuscaded. Just as he halted to give orders, he was shot 
dead from his horse, the ball entering the fore part of his 
neck, and passing nearly central to the back part. Cap- 
tain Taylor, being completely surrounded, had to cut his 
way through him. Captain Hartshorn, second in command, 
had come up with the riflemen, and was, in his turn, forced 
to retreat, being wounded in the knee. His soldiers carri- 
ed him some distance, but, seeing it was impossible for 
them to get him otF, he desired them to set him down, and 
make the best of their way to the fort. Just after this, a 
British officer, captain M'Kee, came up to Hartshorn, and 
told him if he would surrender he should be well treated* 
As he had always determined never to fall alive into the 
hands of the savages, he made a blow at M'Kee with his ri- 
fle, and knocked him off his horse; before M'Kee recovered, 
his Negro and an Indian had put an end to Hartshorn. 
This account was given by M'Kee himself to some of the A- 
merican officers at Detroit in 1797. Lieutenant Hastings 
Marks, of Capt. Hartshorn's company, was surrounded and 
alone. He fought with his espontoon until he broke it to 
pieces, and then jumped over some of their heads. Just 
after, he was seized by an Indian, whom however he knock-, 
ed down with his fist, and escaped. Captain Gibson, thes 
commanding officer of the fort, sent out Lieutenant Drake 
with a party of men to cover the retreat. Drake and a few 
of his men were wounded, but got safe to the fort. The 
enemy pursued, surrounded the fort, and commenced a 
close attack, which lasted during the remaining part of the 
day, and during the whole night. The enemy made several 
unsuccessful attempts on a small block house, which was 
erected across the river in order to cover the watering' 
place, and was defended by a corporal and six privates 
whom captain Gibson had furnished, together with a keg of 
cartridges and sixty muskets. These were kept loaded, so 
that Capt. "White and his party were prepared to give the en- 
emy a warm reception in case of an attack, and to maintain. 
Lis post in spite of every effort of the enemy. It is thought 
this small party destroyed more of the enemy than were 


killed from the fort, although it was supplied with twelve 
pieces of cannon. The Indians carried oif their dead and 
Xvounded that night, and drew off their forces next morn- 
ing. From recent information it appeared that their army 
consisted of upwards of two thousand, besides a company 
of British regulars, who had come, prepared with ammu- 
nitioE, to make use of the cannon, which had been taken 
from St. Clair, to batter down the fort. General Wayne 
however had previously recovered them as before stated . 
The loss on our side was one major, one captain, one lieu- 
tenant, one cornet, five non-commissioned officers, and 
nineteen privates killed, besides one captain, one lieutenant^ 
and twenty or thirty wounded. The enemy left eleven dead 
on the groud. From the best information obtained after 
the conclusion of peace, they had about ninety killed and 
mortally wounded in the contest. 


In the year 1790 Mr. Fred-erick Bough arrived in Ken- 
tucky, and being on the 13th of October, in that year, in 
company with a young man of his acquaintcnce, near Ja- 
cob Vanmater's fort, in that part of Nelson, which is now 
Hardin County, about twenty five miles from Bardstown, 
fell in Avith a party of savages. As they approached, he 
observed to his companion that he thoughthe saw an Indian, 
but the young man ridiculed the idea and coolly replying, 
"you are a fool for having such thoughts," kept on his way. 
They soon however discovered a party ot Indians within 
ten yards of them. The young man, exclaiming "Good 
God, there they are," fled with the utmost precipitation, but 
taking the direction from the fort, w^as soon caught by one 
of the savages and barbarously killed. Mr. Bough, in run- 
ning towards the fort, was fired at by the whole party in 
pursuit which consistcJ of four, and was hit by three of 
of them. One ball struck him on the left arm, another on 
the right thigh, and the third, passing through his waistcoat 
and shirt, grazed the skin of his left side. He was still 
however able to run, but, in attempting to cross a creek 
on his way to the fort, he stuck in the mud, where one of 
the Indians caught him, pulled him out, and felt of his arm 
to see if it was broken. Finding it was not, he pulled out 

1820* ASTiioixoMr; ay 

a strap with a loop at the end, for the purpose of confin- 
ing Mr. Bough, but he, suddenly jerking away his hand, 
gave the savage a blow on the side of his head, which 
knocked him down. By this time two other Indians came 
up, the fourth having gone in pursuit of the horses. Mr. 
Bough kicked at the one he had knocked down, but missed 
him. Just at that moment one of the others aimed a blow 
at his head with a tomahawk, but in his eagerness struck 
too far over, and hit only with the handle, which however 
nearly felled Mr. B. to the ground, but he, instantly recov- 
ering himself, struck at the tomahawk and knocked it out 
of his antagonists hand. They both grasped at it, but the 
Indian, being quickest, picked it up, and entered into con- 
versation with his companion. The latter then struck Mr. 
Bough with a stick, and as he stepped forward to return the 
blow, they all retreated, and suddenly went off leaving on& 
of their blankets, and a kettle which Mr. B. took wdth him 
to the fort. Four or five days afterwards a gentleman, nam- 
ed Brown, w^Ounded an Indian, not far from Shepherd's 
Lick Salt Works, who remained in the woods nine days, and 
then swam the Ohio River and delivered himself up at 
Clarksville, stating that he was the person whom Mr. Bough 
had knocked down. He offered, if they would cure him, to 
deliver up two white prisoners then in possession of the In- 
dians, but, having been cured, he made his escape, and it 
was afterwards understood that the prisoners were burnt. 

Mr. Bough is now living in Bath County, and furnished 
us himself with the particulars above related. 


By Professor C. S. Rafinesque. 

1. The contemplation of the Starry Heavens, fills the 
mind of the enlightened Philosophers with w^onder and as- 
tonishment; they do not believe with the crowd of vulgar 
gazers, that Stars are mere specks of fire, dropingnow and 
then in blazing tracks, and subservient to the paltry use of 
affording them a glimmering light, in the absence of the lu- 
minary of night; but convinced by study, analogy and the 
feelings of their understanding that the Sun is a Star, and 
that Stars are Suns, Ihey attempt to enquire into their emi- 

114 ASTROKOMf. Sejti. 

sient destinies in the sublime scale of creation, and to de- 
tect the laws of their co-ordination. 

2. No where do the Stars shine with more brightness than 
on lofty Mountains or in the middle of the Ocean, in se- 
rene nights; the comparative purity of our atmosphere in 
tl)Ose situations, allows them to sparkle with increased in- 
tensity: it is then that the contemplative soul delights to 
gaze at their numberless association, and to reflect on the 
immensity of their distance, their immeasurable size and 
their other numerous properties, some of which are not e- 
ven dreamt of by common philosophers; while a few, gif- 
ted with perspicuous foresight, daring to rise on the wings 
of a sober and well regulated imagination, and delighting to 
investigate their unknown, concealed and undetected co- 
operations, dwell with pleasure and sagacity on the attri- 
butes of those mighty and splendid bodies. 

3. While benighted on the summit of the fiery Mount Et* 
na, while furrowing the surface of the deep Ocean, or while 
gliding along the gentle stream of the Ohio, my eyes fixed 
pn the celestial expanse of etherial space, I endeavoured to 
account for the apparent irregular position of the myriads 
of millions of starry Suns, scattered through it, by unequal 
v^elocities in their separate motions, compared with their 
combined and simultaneous motion. 

4. It is well known that every material body suspended 
in space has a peculiar, simple or compound motion, either 
rotary or excentric,elliptical or circular, pendular or spiral, 
&c. and that most of them circulate around common centres: 
the moons around the planets, these around the suns, &c. 
Our sun was thought to be provided with a mere rotary and 
fipicydoidal motion on himself; but Piazzi, Laplace and 
Herschell, have lately ascertained that it has a progressive 
one besides, which must form part of an orbit. 

5. Similar motions have been observed in many stars; but 
our observations on this subject are of such modern dates 
tliatour astronomers have not been able to measure with a- 
2iy degree of precision, the extent and velocity of those mo- 
lions: future observers will ascertain them now that the 
respective actual situation of all the large stars (7500) have 
been accurately fixed by Piazzi in a memoir rewarded by 
Ihe frencli institution in 1814. 

6. Whate\'er be the extent and rapidity of those motions, 
it is evident tliat they must be commensurate with the size, 
weight and mass of those huge bodies, of wliich our sun has 
been calculated to be one of the smallest; and as various 


comparatively, as those of tbe planets of our solar system* 
whence arise the multifarious appearances of starry aggre- 
gations and constellations. 

7. The most conspicuous anomaly in the disposition of 
visible stars is their peculiar accumulation beyond the lar- 
gest stars, in an irregular concentric girdle round the ethe- 
rial canopy, where by their va?t number and increased dis- 
tance they assumed a nebulous light; this second appear- 
stars being intermediate between the glittering stars and the 
invisible ones. 

8. This belt of Stars, has received the vulgar name of 
milky way, the astronomers call it the galaxy. These 
names have a reference to some ancient mythological opin- 
ions, hardly worth mentioning. Every mythology, down to 
the modern Roman mythology which calls it St. James's way, 
has taken hold of this singular appearance, and connected 
it with their superstitious opinions. 

9. The galaxy has more the appearance of a bright cloud 
than of a mass of stars; but the Telescope shows that it 
consists of numberless multitudes of stars, since Hers- 
chellhas reckoned 351 thousand of them between two stars 
of the Sican! 

10. The irregularity of its shape when compared to a girdle 
or belt IS striking, the breadth being various, the edges waw- 
ing, and there being in the northern hemisphere of our 
skies two peculiar anomalies, a hole or enclosed unstarrj 
place, between the constellations of Cepheus and the Lizard^ 
besides a large bifurcation near the Sican. 

11. The cloudy light of the galaxy,has moreover a different 
degree of intensity m many parts, which is obviously ow- 
ing to a difference in the number and distance of the stars 
included therein. 

12. The general shape galaxy in the northern hemisphere, 
approximates^ to that of an irregular bow, whose concavity- 
looks towards the polar star; it is narrow in the middle, and 
widest at the two extremities, one of which (the western) 
is divided in two forks. 

13. Names ought to be given to the different parts and ap- 
pearances of such remarkable clusters of stars: they must 
be dedicated to astronomers and philosophers. I shall now 
attempt to name some of the most remarkable among thos© 
perceptible in the northern hemisphere: the southern hem- 
isphere which has not been quite so well delineated and 
which I have never seen, will not be attempted, it may re- 
ceive similar names afterwards. 


14. But before affixiug those names, it appears necessa- 
ry to distinguish by appropriate denominations such pecu- 
liar appearances and anomalies. I proposfe theretore to 

Isthmuses, the narrowest parts of the belt, 
Dilatations, the broadest parts of the same, 
. GuLPHs and Bays, the hollow sinusses, 
Capes and Pcints, tlie projecting sinusses, 
Sinus, the projecting undulations. 
Arms, the branches surrounding ths gulfs, &c. 
Hollows, the large enclosed unshining andunstarrypla* 
Elbows, the benis, or incurved undulations. 
Clouds, the brightest cloudy spots, 
Sheets, the dullest parts, 

Veils, the transparent parts, hardly perceptible. 
Spots, the small dull specks, or hollows 

15. I shall now propose my astronomical names for some 
of those appearances, stating their respective situations. 

1. The Isthmus of Pyf/ieas, is situated south of the Goat 
■Star, in the constellation of the Driver. 

2. That of Cepheiis, at the star Cepheus, under the polar 

3. That of Halley, south of the star a of the Swan, at the 
base of the arm of Piazzi. 

4. That of .Rrchimedes, west of the above, at a small dis- 

5. That of Elder, near Ophiucus. 

6. ThedilatationofJVeiofoa, between the GeminianA Orion. 

7. " of Mairan, near the Lizard. 

8. The gulf of Leibnitz, between the arms of Piazzi and 
Herschell; which is perhaps a Mediterranean or immense 

9. The gulf of Descartes, below the dilatations oi J\ewton. 

10. The bay of Hwjghens, in the gulf of Leibnitz, near the 

isthmus of Euler. 

11. of Maskeline, outside of the isthmus of Halley. 

12. of Davy, under the dilatation of Mavran. 
IS. of Franklin, south of the isthmus of Pytheas, 

1 4. of Meton, south of Jlndromeda. 

15. The cape of Tkeodosius, at the end of tlie arm of Piazzi. 
16 of Gassendi, at the end of the arm of Lacailh. 

17. The point of Laplace, above the bay of Huighens. 

18, of Heveliusj outside of the isthmus of Halley. 

^8g0= ASTRONOMV. iSl 

19. The point of HipparchiiSj south of the isthmus of Py- 


20. The sinus of Euclid, north of the arm of Lacaille. 
%\, of Lalande, in the gulf of Leibnitz^ on the 

arm of Herschell. 

22. of Rittenhouse, below the bay of Huighens 

and point of Laplace. 

23. The arm of Lacaille^ stretching out between Orion and 

the Little Dog. 

24. of Herschell, stretching betvveen the gulf or 

sea of Leibnitz, and the Lyre, &c, 
,25. of Piazzi, on the opposite side of the gulf of 


26. of Kepler, on the northern side of the hol- 

low of Galileo. 

27. of Copernic, on its southern side, between it 

and the Ijay of Davy. 

25. The hollow of Galileo, between the two above arms, 

near Ceplieus. 
29. The elbow of Olbers, in the arm of Herschell, under the 

sinus Lalande. 
SO. of Maraldi, the istlimus of Cepheus. 

31. of Schroeter, under the point of Hipparchus, 

32. The cloud ol Flamsieed,at the base of the arm of ifen- 

83. of Bayer, in the same arm below the sinyft 

of Ritteuhouse. 

34. of Cassini, in the arm of Copernk. 

35. The sheet of Biot, in the arm of Piazzi. 

36. of Jlratus, 'above the gulf of Descartes. 

37; of Lcmonier, between the elbow of Olhers, 

and the sinus of Lalande. 
138. The veil of Clairanlt, below the cloud of Bayer. 

39. of Pythagoras, Vetween Siriiis and the gulf of 

Descartes. ' 

40. The spot of Hourcastreme, in the arm of Piazzi. 

16. Among the remarkable appearances of the southern 
hemisphere, I shall only mention a few. I find such a diver- 
sity in their delineations on planispheres that I can hardly 
he certain to which denominations some of them may belong- 
1. The arm of Lambeii, is a continuation of the arm of 
Herschell, being separated however by veils and sheets. 
it. That of ^/aw]9cr/uis, continuation of tljat of jPia^,«j ?jsf 
separated by veils. 


3. That of Brake, stretches beyond the last atgreat length. 

4. The gulf of Derham lies between the two last arms. 

5. of Bailly divides the arms of Lambert and 


6. The gulf of Belille, lays opposite the gulf of Der/iam. 

7. The hollow of jHitrnftoM^ is nearly between them. 

8. The isthmus of Confucius, below that hollow. 

9. The veil of Hermes, below the last. 

10. The cape of Condamine, at the end of the arm of Brake* 

11. of Ulloa, below the veil of Hermes. 

12. The bay of Fontenelle, under that cape. 

■'IS. of Ptolemy, above the gulf of DcZiWe, in th©^ 

arm of Lambert. 

14. of Dalembert, above the last. 

15. of Plato, above this last bay, &c. 

17. When botli hemispheres of tlie galaxy, shall have 
been accurately drawn, a complete map and more enlarged 
designation of their appearances, may be easily delineated, 

IS Since it surrounds as a belt the cluster of stars to 
which our sun belongs, it must have some peculiar connec- 
tion with it. I think that they all form a single cluster. 
Herschell has reached with his huge telescopes, to discern 
stars of the 1342d. magnitude! they are not the last certain- 
ly, and the whole is connected with those of the galaxy. 

19. Our sun is not quite in the middle of this cluster: 
but it is very far from the edges, since it is surrounded by 
stars on all sides. Thinly on each sides of the galaxy; but 
thickly in the direction of that belt: whelnce it follows that 
the shape of our cluster must be an irregular disk, compress- 
ed laterally on each side of the vertical direction of the belt, 
Tivhich forms the edge of the disk. 

20. This shape accounts for the respective disposition of 
iho stars of our cluster, since.jthe center of a disk of starrj 
particles, must be diaphanous^ while the edges, seen from 
this center must assume a cloudy appearance, nearly opaque, 
similar to that of our galaxy. 

21. The nebulosities and nebular cluster or clouds, scat- 
tered through the firmament, appear to be peculiar clusters 
of various nature; but unconnected with our own cluster. 
Some appear to be similar to our own, and even of the same 
discoidal shape. I do not mean to dwell on them at pre- 
sent, but shall proceed to state my idea* on our solar clus- 

48SO. astkonomt; i^SS' 

22. In etlierial moving bodies, the spindle shape is the re- 
sult of the slowest circulating motion, sphericity of a mod- 
erate motion, and the discoidal shape of the accelerated or 
swiftest circulation, wherefore our cluster must move with 
rapid velocity on itself, or perhaps on an unknown central 
body, imperceptible because not luminous; and together in 
another forward progressive course. 

23. As the planets and planetary comets, perform their 
revolutions in unequal times and at unequal distances from 
the sun and each other, such or somewhat similar must be 
the various respective revolutions of the stars of our cluster. 

24. The only star, the elements of whose revolution and 
motion have been calculated with probable accuracy, is Jrc- 
turns; Lalande has found that it moves in longitude at the 
rate of about 3' 2" per century, that its annual motion is 3, 
428,000 leagues in one year, and thatif it moves in a circle,, 
its circumference must measure 22 millions of millions of 
leagues, requiring 700,000 years to perform it. 

25. Notwithstanding the difference in size and density, 
this apparent velocity will appear small when compared with 
the annual motion of our earth, which moves at the rate of 
198 millions of leagues in one year; but other astronomer^; 
have ascribed to r^rcturus an annual motion of 80 millions of 
leagues, producing a circular orbit of 66 millions of mill-, 
ions of leagues. 

26. Yet such a motion is a mere fraction of the actual course^, 
since it is at best, the mere ditTerence between the velocity 
of Arcturus compared with the unknown! velocity of our sun, 
who carries the earth along while we endeavour to measure 
the road of its neighbour star! It is therefore rational to sup- 
pose that the velocity of arcturus is at least ten times great- 
er than that of the earth and its orbit commensurate. 

27. All the stars have similar rapid motions within the 
unlimited bounds of space, all different yet all in harmony, 
with their co-ordinate stars ; .^rcfwrws, the sun and the stars 
of the discoidal center of our cluster, have probably a shor- 
ter circulation to perform, while those of the galaxy and dis- 
coidal edges must perform a much enlarged revolution. 

28. From those rapid and combined motions, in a cloud of 
clustered stars, the discoidal shape of the cluster has resul- 
ted; the axisoftlie disk passing through its compressed 
sides and the circumvolution of the cluster taking place or 
the vertical plane of the disk, as ja a wheel in motioa. 


29. Thus the results of my present enquiries, are, 1st. that 
our galaxy forms the outward edge, of our cluster cf stars, 2d. that 
our cluster has an irregular discoidal shape, 3d. that it revolves 
{like u wheel) on its edges, 4th. loith the utmost velocity,, and 5th. 
that this shape is the result of that motion. 

30. Considering those millions of stars and of clusters, 
Visible and invisible, and the numberless imperceptible 
planetary bodies revolving around them; all suited to their 
peculiar scales of beings, by the mighty architect of the 
universe; let us exclaim, how wonderful are thy worksysupreme 
Lord of the creation! 


Made in Lexington by Professor Rafinesque. 

No. 7. RESULTS FOR JULY 1820. 

Temperature, The weather was warm, variable and show- 
ery. Highest temperature 87 degrees on the 8th and 86 on 
the 6th and 10th, lowest 65 degrees on the 13th. It was at 
80 and above during many days. Medium about 75 degrees. 
Greatest daily variation 12 degrees from 72 to 84 degrees. 

Atmosphere. There were twelve fair days, seven cloudy 
ones, ten showery and two rainy, the 13th^ and 27th, 

Rain. It rained all day on the 13th and aU the forenoon 
of the 27th, with a v/est wind. The showers happened on 
the 1st, wind N. E. : 4th and 5th, wind S. : 9th. with a gust 
wind W. : 12th, besides a gust afterwards, wind W. : 4th, 
wind N. W. : 22d, with a gust from N. W. : 24th, in the af- 
ternoon, wind S. : 26th, with a gust in the afternoon wind 
W. : 28l.h, wind S. W. 29th, wind W. : Total average of rain 
fallen about three inches. 

Snow and Frost. None this month. 

Winds. The prevailina: winds have been S, which blew 8 
days, S. W. 5, between ^South and West 5, N. W. 4. The 
West Wind and N. E. only blew 3 days each a S. E. 2 days. 
Many of the gusts were attended with a very high wind, but 
most of the days were nearly calm, a gentle westerly breeze 
was often perceptible at night. 

Electricity. Appearances of it happened on eleven da}'*, 
on the 1st and 6th in the afternoon the thunder was heard, 
lightnings were seen on the 3d, 7th, 12th and 24th, princi- 
pally in the evening. On the 8th, these was a great di'sphy 


of lightnings to the South and some thunder. Thunder 
gusts happened on the 12th from the W. : on the 22d morn- 
ing from N. W. and 26th afternoon from the South. On 
the 9th, a gust went by to the South in the morning f?oni 
West to East, and in the afternoon one happened from N. 
attended with vivid streight liglitnings. 

Ground. Rather dusty throughout, except after the rain. 

Vegetation. On the 2d, the wheat harvest was begun. 

Sth. Andromeda arborea (sour-wood) in blossom. 

14th. First ripe apples. 

I Sth. First green corn, fit for boiling. 

16th. Vernonia prealta (Iron-weed) in blossom. 

26th. First ripe pears. 

28th. First ripe watermelons. 


Temperature. Weather warm and dry. Highest temper- 
ature 88 degrees on the 11th, and often above 80 degrees; 
lowest 60 degrees on the 18th, in the morning, being the 
first cool morning and also on the 19th, 29th and 30th. Me- 
dium heat about 74 degrees. Greatest daily difference 15 
degrees on the 18th from 60 to 75. 

Mmospkere. There were twenty fair days, six overcast 
or cloudy and five showery or rainy. 

Rain. On the 9th a vv'csteily gust passed to the South. 
On the 13th several showers, wind N. W, : on the 20th, rail! 
in the evening and at night, wind N. E. which continued in 
the morning of the 21st. On the 30th an evening gust from 
S. W. the rain continuing in the night and next morning from 
the same quarter: average rain fallen two inches. 

Electricity. Lightnings seen on the 12tii, Hth, 15th, 16th, 
17th; thunder gusts on the 9tli and 30th. 

Snow and frost. None this month. 

Winds. The prevailings ones were S. W for 8 days, and 
W. 7 days. It blew besides four days between S. and W. 
two days from N. W. , two from South, two from East, two 
from South and one from North. Gentle breezes generally^. 

Ground. Very dusty generally. The springs begin to 
fail and dry. 

Vegetation. 1st. Hov-stonia rupeHtris\r\h\os^om. 

12th. The buck-eyes {Aesculus pallida) began to drop 
their leaves, it is the firgt tree that shoots, and the first to 
lose its foliage. 


18th. Plumbs begin to be ripe. 

25th» Peaches begin to be ripe. 

27th. Grapes begin to be ripe. 

28th. Plumb trees begin to drop their leaves.. 


Temperature. Weather fair and dry. Highest tempera- 
ture 86 degrees on the 6th, lowest 45, on the 19th and 20th.. 
Medium 74 degrees. Greatest daily variation 32 degrees,, 
from 48 to 80 on the 11th. 

Atmosphere. There were eighteen fair days, ter^ of which 
were consecutive, from the 1st to the 10th, six bvercast or 
cloudy, five showery, and one hazy, on the 18th, 

Rain. On the 11th, the v;ind being S. W. it changed sud- 
denly to N. W, by a gust, with rain and thunder, which was 
preceded by clouds of dust, and the thermometer sunk from 
W to 48; on the 19th little showers, wind N. E, ; on the 
21st a drizzling rain in the morning, wind S, E, ; on the 
28th and 29th, small showers all around the town, average- 
of rain fallen hardly one inch. 

Snow. None this month. 

Frost. The first white frost happened in the night, be- 
tween the 19th and 20tl], in the country, but was very slight. 

Winds. Prevailing N. W. seven days, Sw six days, W, five 
days, S. E, three days, N. E. two days, and two days be- 
tween South and West. Often gentle breezes. 

Electricity. A single gust on the Uth. Hardly any oth- 
«r lightnings or thunder. 

JWeteors. On the 3rd at sunset the zodiacal lights ap- 
peared in splendid beauty in the shape of two blue diverg- 
ing, reversed pyramids, contracting ov<)r the gilt horizon, 
these pyramids appeared to rest on the sun, below the hori- 
zon. The solar eclipse of the 7th was not visible here. In 
the evening of the 18th, after a hazy day, the sun and clouds 
v.'ere of a de^p liry red at sunset, the next day was over-- 
cast and shov.'ery. 

Ground. Very dry and dvisty, the springs and wells ex- 
<iecri!itgiy low, most of tlie streams are dry. 

Vegetation, l^t. The Taraxacum dais-honis (Dandelion) 
and Ferbascum thapsiis (Mullein or Moien) in blossom a se> 
cond time. 

'lOih. Eiipatoriuni urtlccfoUam (BuLterweed) in blossom. 

I2lb. Eupaloriiwi ulcstinvin (Hog weed) in blossom. 

ifegO. POETRY. 135( 

loth. Is antkus ceruleus QTid Cvpheavissiscossinmin iuWhlos- 

25th. The foliage of the forest trees beg-ins to colour, and 
assume its autumnal hue: many leaves droping. 

t^nimals. On the 28th, the first flight of wild Geese was 
seen going South. All the Swalloivs and Martins disap- 
peared with the first white frost. 

Transylvania Univenitijy October 1st, 1820. 

MALVINA. — Air, Maid of Lodi-. 

Malvina, fam'd in story, 

In Fingal's Halis of light, 
Sings to the Harp of glory 

Her hero's deeds in fight. 
Her form's the light of beauty; 

Arovmd her hero's flame. 
Her love-smile claims their duty. 

And lights their path to fame. 
See, in the land of strangers, 

There shines as bright a fair. 
Kentucky's death-armed ranger^s 

Find a Malvina there! 
Around her chieftains cluster. 

Sweet blossom of the wild ! 
Her song lends music lustre, 

She's nature's darling child. 


Why do we blush to own, what all must feel? 
What most we wish, why anxiously conceal? 
Hence, timid blush! for once I'll boldly dare 
To sing of Beauty's self— my matchless faiia 

1S8 POETRY. Sejjf. 

• A blo6m like hers attends the budding rosej 
No lilly can a purer white disclose: 
Her dove-like look a thousand charms dispense^ 
Breathing sweet joy and sweeter innocence. 

The smiling loves withinher glances play. 
And on her eyes I'd gaze the live-long day. 
For her I languish, and ray fever'd mmd 
From her removed, no joy nor rest can find. 

My transports fond, if she but deign to bear, 
To bid me hope, and banish gloomy fear! 
Let blissful bonds our happy souls unite, 
While each repeats to Heaven in sacred rite. 

Life of my soul, oh take me to thy heart! 
Soul of Biy life, no longer let us part! 

ERRATUM.— Page 79, line 5th, Instead of "JBetkle'm College is much 
letter than Bedlum-'C9lle£-e," read, £ sdlam- College is much better thm Seth'. 



^ii^c5.i»iiaK¥.o\3S MAoaziKTSi. 

Vol. III. OCTOBER, 1820. N^m 3. 

Travels through the Western Country in the summer of 1816', 
including notices of the J\''atural History^ Jlntiquities, Topo- 
graphy, Agriculture^ Coramerce^ and J\Ianufactures ; with a 
Map of the Wabash Country^ now settling: by David Thom- 
as. Auburn., N. Y. Printed by David Rumsey, 1819. 
12 mo pp. 320. 

Books of Travels, made up for sale, and abounding ia 
trash, have become so numerous, that we never lake up a 
volume professing to contain the observations of a tourist 
upon any section of country, without expecting to be dis 
gusted with egotistical descriptions of unimportant occur- 
rences, or wearied by a minute detail of facts already well 
known, and a repetition of trite, uninteresting reflections. 
"With such feelings we sat down to the perusal of the vol- 
ume under review. We expected to find it a mere catch- 
penny production, embracing information, if any, previous- 
ly before the public in other forms, and possessing no other 
merit than a fidelity in the narrative of the adventures of a 
journey. We have however been agreeably disappointed. 
The work is unpretending in its form, but is evidently the 
production of a man of science, and abounds in useful in- 
formation. The author is a quaker, and his connexioa 
with that sect is in no degree calculated to diminish our 
respect for him. As a practical farmer, a sound philo- o- 
pher, and a m( mber of a religions commumty whose woi"a 
is so universally acknowledged, he is certainly entitled lo 
our regard, and a perusal of his work Jias convince'^ us 
that he is a man of acute observation, quick aporeheni-ion, 
and discriminating judgement. He does not labour ic a- 
muse us by the mere recital of trifling incir'ents, such as 
^he names and conversation of his travelUna companions^ 


ISO Thomas's travels. Oct, 

the amount of his tavern bills, the quality of his fare and 
accommodations, &c. but he introduces valuable scientific 
information, acquaints us with the geology, botany, &c. of 
the country over which he passes, mentions important facts, 
and gives many useful hints. He is concise, sometimes al- 
most to a fault, evincing no disposition to swell his book be- 
yond the size requisite for the communication of valuable 
information. Every incident which he notices is made the 
foundation for some practical remarks. Thus, after noti- 
cing his arrival at the village of Union Springs in the wes- 
tern part of New-York, he observes: 

"We were detained half an hour at this village by a thunder 
shower from the south west. I believe no instance of theae 
storms from the north west is known except when the atmos- 
phere has been previously loaded with vapour. The latter 
wind is destitute of sensible moisture. Frequently, however, 
it condenses the exhalations from our lakes, and of those which 
have been wafted hither from other points of the compass. 
Rains, from that quarter, result from such retrograde move- 
ments, and a clear sky generally attends the calm that suc- 
ceeds." p. 4. 

Again, after crossing the outlet of the Seneca Lake, he 
proceeds — 

"Here we met an Indian man and woman. Her load was so 
Tjulky, that to support it, she held up both hands to her head, 
and yet on the top was laid a rifle^ while her lord stepped on 
•before her, unincumbered. It reminded me of Marius's mules. 
•The lot of woman has always been hard where mere animal 
force is the chief object of admiration, and this applies to all 
savages." p. 5. 

In speculating on the geology of the country about the 
Seneca lake, Mr. Thomas supports the opinion that "the 
summits of our mountains have been swept by a deluge, 
and that much of the surface of this country owes its form 
to that extraordinary movement." He maintains likewise 
that this deluge had a southward direction, and mentions, 
in support of his position, that "detached parts of every 
rocky stratum which is uncovered, from the shore of Lake 
Ontario to the north bounds of Genoa, are scattered to the 
south of these ranges, and that seldom, if ever, have any 
such fragments bten found to the North." 
In page 25 we have the following remark — 
*'The influence of the Lake breeze, in retarding vegetation, 
at this season, yesterday was rendered most strikingly visible. 


On the shore, the trees were leafless, but in the thick -woods, 
backward from the bluffs, the beaches were green. It ■will be 
recollected, that wind pressing along the surface of water, on 
striking a bold shore, whirls over it in high arches; and a sta- 
tion on it, which at first view might be deemed the most expo- 
■sed, is, in reality, the most sheltered; for air, like water, has its 

Mr. Thomas introduces some interesting reflections res- 
pecting climate, which he very justly asserts to be affected, 
not only by latitude, but by the elevation of land, and the 
prevailing winds. He considers too the sources of the riv- 
ers passing through a country as calculated very materially 
to influence its temperature. Those which arise in "snovv- 
capt" mountains, and collect their tributary streams in high 
northern regions carry with them a portion of their native 
coldness, and affect the atmosphere wherever they flow- 
Those, on the contrary, whose waters are originally warm, 
tend in some degree to soften and moderate the climate of 
those regions through which they pass. This theory, ra- 
tional in itself, appears to be supported by facts. 

"Thus the sugar cane succeeds further to the north at a dis-- 
tance from the Mississippi than on its banks; because the 
sources of that stream are in frozen mountains and its whole 
volume is collected in colder countries. The Ohio, after re- 
ceiving warm currents from the borders of Carolina, becomes 
the line where sleighing terminates on the south; and an ad- 
vancement of one month, in the progress of vegetation, might 
have been expected, if the waters of this lake had arrived from 
a campaign country in southern climates." p, 32. 

In passing through the western part of Pennsylvania Mr. 
Thomas remarked a gross inattention to agriculture, a 
carelessness in the erection of buildings, and an appearance 
of scarcity, by no means flattering to the inhabitants oral- 
luring to travellers. In some places he observed a remark- 
able phenomenon in the progress of vegetation. The trees 
in the valleys were much more backward than those on the 
high grounds, the latter being often covered with buds and 
verdure, while on the former not a leaf or a shoot had ai»- 
jeared. This difference was in some instances "so very 
distinctly marked in its height, that the lower buds of the 
same tree had not expanded, while the upper branches 
were perfectly green." The existence of a vapour unfa- 
vourable to the progress of vegetation in the low grounds 
as assigned as the prubable cause of this phenoiaenaa. 


Ihe following extract contains a remark, so just and 
rational that we wonder it has not more generally struck 
the minds and influenced the arrangements of those who 
have the management of the police in our cities. 

"The streets of Pittsburgh are lighted, and consequently the 
useful order of watchmen is estabhshed. My ears, however, 
have not becon^e reconciled to their music. It is irue, I have 
been more conversant in forests than in cities, and may not 
comprehend the advantages of these deep-mouthed tones; but 
breaking the slumbers of the invalid, and giving timely notice 
to the thief, form two iiems of much weight in my vievi' as a 
set off against them." p. 51. 

Mr. Thomas furnishes a brief account of Pittsburgh, its 
manufactories, and surrounding country. The coal which 
abounds in the neighbouring hills — and indeed all coal — 
he supposes to have been the result of vegetables deposited 
by water and compressed by the earth. This theory how- 
ever, plausible as it may appear, and popular as it un- 
doubtedly is, s<^ems to be attended with difticulties not very 
easily susceptible of removal. How could vegetables pro- 
duce fifty or sixty strata of coal, as they are sometimes 
found in Europe, one above another, separated by thick 
layers of stone? In Pennsylvania and Ohio a second stra- 
tum has in some instance been found, from two hundred to 
four hundred feet below the first, and perhaps there are ma- 
ny instances where the strata are still farther apart. Coal 
is probably a deposition of the ancient ocean, and may have 
been, as the French geologists suppose, ejected by subma- 
rine volcanoes. 

Speaking of the change in the temperature of the sea- 
sons, which was said to have become much colder than 
they formerly were, Mr. Thomas takes occasion to com- 
ment upon the too prevalent notion that they had been af- 
fected by the great eclipse of the sun in 1806. 

"This popular opinion took its rise from some cool vi^eather 
in the summer s- asons of 1806 and 1807. A retardment, in 
the average progress of vegetation for a few days, was deemed 
cause sufficient to overlook all terrestrial agents for the absorp- 
tion of heat, and to charge it directly to the moon. Of the fa- 
cility, with which errors not palpable to the senses, may be pro- 
pagated, we have long been aware; but that men of ander- 
standing should adopt this notion, — which originated in the 
grossest ignorsnce of the cause of eclipsesj— is surprising." 

p. 56, 

18S0. Thomas's travels, J^3 

This absurri idea he refutes by a view of the natural ten- 
dency of eclipses and by an appeal to facts, and then pro- 

"This reference, to which I object, comnorts well, however, 
with the operations of the hum.,n mind. Whenever two re-> 
mark-able occurrcMices, whether real or imaginary, have hap- 
pened near ihe same period, the ignorant in all ages have be- 
lievetl that one depends or the other. Ancient astronomers ai'- 
T?.nged the disasters of the times with their accounts of com- 
ets anti ec lipses; a'^ . in our own day we have had three remark- 
able illusirations of this principle. In Eastern Pennsylvania, 
the swiff and perilous lighlnmgs, from the angry clouds, were 
observed by some to be much increased on the introduction of 
plaster. To the north east the frequency of cold winds, since 
the gre^t eclipse, has been observe d beyond all former exaniple; 
but in the southwestern part of the United States, where no 
great eclipse appeared, soine of the o;d inhabitants declare, 
that this change of seasens arrived with the yankees, irom th© 
north." pp. 57, 58. 

While he thus ridicules the idea of attributing the in- 
creased coldness of the climate to an eclipse, he expresses 
a doubt whether the seasons have really changed so much 
as is generally imagined, and points out as one cause, a- 
mong other , f whatever alteration has taken place, the pro- 
gress of improvement by which the forests have been 
cleared and the country generally rendered more open. 

The tollowinu ingenious method was adopted by Mr. 
Thomas for ascertaining the height of the stratum of coal 
above the bed of the river. 

"The opposite banks of the river, equal in height, furnish 
two points in the plane of the; sensible horizon, from which 
may be determined how far back the flats co-incide with that 
plane. A line, from the coal mine on the opposite hill, passing 
through the top of a long erect piece of scant'ing, till it touch- 
es the plane, forms the hypothenuse of a right angled triangle, 
tie perpendicular of which is the height of the mine. I there- 
fore drew two horizontal .ines at right angles to the base of that 
triangle, one from the end of the hypothenuse, and one from 
the scant'ing; b'^cause, a perpendicular plane, passing through 
the mine, to the right or left of the triangle, vould cut the hor- 
izontal lines of unequal lengths; and, by Euclid B. vi. prop. 4, 
as their difference in len^h, is to their distance apart, so is the 
length of the first horizontal, to the horizontal distance of the 
nunc. And, as their distance apart, is to the height of the 
scantling, so is the distance last found, to the perpendicular 

■tS'i Thomas's travels. Oeu 

laeight of the mine. By my measuration, these proportions 
determined that height to be 470 feet above the flats." p. 64. 

Some very just remarks are introduced on the neglect 
too generally manifested in the western country to the 
state of the public roads. This is an evil of no inconside- 
Table magnitude. Much is indeed attributable to the na- 
ture of the soil, but notwithstanding all the natural obsta- 
cles, and the apologies resulting from the recent settlement 
of many parts of the western states and territories, we can- 
not but regret the existence of a culpable degree of negli- 
gence, on a subject so vitally important, not only to the con- 
venience, but to the most valuable interests of the commu- 
nity. We admit that a very considerable increase of atten- 
tion has of late been manifested to this, as well as to other 
tranches of internal improvement, and we look forward, 
with some degree of confidence, to the speeuy arrival of the 
period, when, at least in Kentucky, we shall enjoy the ben- 
efit of roads not inferior to those in any other part of the 

In page|77, Mr. Thomas suggests the enquiry whether the 
red-bird is the merula marilandka. This enquiry we should 
be inclined to answer in the negative. There are two kinds 
of red bird in the United States. One is a Loxia called al' 
«o the cardinal bird, and the other is a Tangara. 

In passing through Indiana, our traveller crossed the Knobs, 
which constitute the western boundary of the limestone re- 
gion, or ancient bason of the Ohio, and which were per- 
haps in ancient times the bank of a lake. He was howev- 
er incorrectly informed that these Knobs "do not appear 
south of the Ohio." Those of Indiana reach that stream 
below the mouth of Salt River, under the name of Silver 
Hills, and extending across it acquire, on the souih side, the 
name of Barren Hills, and, sOuth of Salt River, are called 
Muldrow's Hills, separating the waters of the latter stream 
from those of Green River, Near Danville in this state 
they take the name of Knobs again and continue to the O- 
hio River, joining, at the mouth of the Scioto, the Knobs of 
the state of Ohio, having crossed the Kentucky at the mouth 
of Black River, and the Licking River near Mud Lick. 

In the following paragraph Mr. Thomas pays a compli- 
ment to Kentucky rather at the expense of our neighbours 
in Ohio. 

"Certainly the fields are better cultivated in Kentucky than 
in Ohio round Cincinnati, where freemen only can be employ- 

iSSO. Thomas's tratels. 135 

ed. This is so different from what I have observed in Man-- 
land, that I ascribe it to the small number of slaves which are 
kept here, and to each farmer's being his own overseer. Oa 
the contrary these degraded beings, probably, have a prejudi- 
cial influence on their neighbours across the Ohio; for laboup 
is disgraceful in the vicinity of slaves. But whether this, the 
scarcity of hands, or all combined, is the cause, certain it is \va 
were surprised at many marks of slovenliness in the agricul- 
ture of that district; and noticed stacks of wheat and oats un- 
threshed, which were apparently three years old." 

Near the French Licks in Indiana there is said to be a> 
quarry of whetstones, equal in quality to the Turkey Oil 

"From the position of this quarry, on the top oi a high ridge," 
I conjectured that the sand had not been deposited by water, but 
collected by the wind, previous to its petrification; but whether 
the horizontal arrangement will form a sufficient objection to 
tliis view, must be left undetermined." p. 136. 

The following remarks are made on the prairies or barreiis, 
which are found in Indiana. 

"These openings present a striking contrast to the eastern 
parts of the continent, which were shaded by forests; and the 
cause has become a subject of general speculation- The thrif- 
ty growth of timber, which is found through this country ia 
many places, proves, that though the woodlands decrease as w« 
advance westward, the cause ought not to be attributed to cli- 
mate. Indeed we have never seen, to the eastward, more tim- 
ber on the same extent of ground than many tracts in this vi- 
cinity exhibit, if we except groves of white pine. Our search 
must therefore be confined to the soil, and to circumstances en- 
tirely incidental. 

"To me it is evident that the immediate causes of these 
wastes are fire and inundation; but the predisfio7ien( cause (if 
physicians will allow the expression) is either an impenetrable 
hard-pan, or a level rock. At page 98 1 have noticed the wet 
prairies. The same rock, extending under the drier parts, con- 
fines the roots, and intercepts the supply of moisture that sub- 
soils generally contribute. The trees, thus stunted, admit 
amongst them a luxuriant herbage; in autumn it is speedily dri- 
ed by the sun and wind, and the underbrush perishes in the an- 
nual conflagration. Near the borders sufficient evidence of 
this was often before us in the stools of oak, with shoots fronjt 
one to six feet in height, which were blasted by recert fires." 

pp. 139, 140: 

Our traveller, in proceeding westward, passes through 
Vincennes, with which he does not appear to have beea 

136 Thomas's travels. Oct. 

very well pleased. The natural situation of fne to^Tti, on 
an extensive plain, which constitutes the bank of a beauti- 
ful river, is generally admired; but th^ narrow streets, ihe 
log buildings, and the prevailing inattention to cleanliness 
and comfort, were little calculated to gratify the traveller. 
The following extract will furnish an idea of the popula- 
tion of the town at that time. 

"There are e'.ght brick houses, ninety-three frame houses, 
and one hundred and filty French houses — in all, two hundred 
and fifly-one. These are exclusive of barns, stables, and old un- 
inhabited houses, which I think are equal to the number of 
French houses, and make the whole number of buildings about 
four hundred. On the cotrimuns, east of the town, there are 
many cellars and old chimney places, which lead me to sup- 
pose that Vincennes has decreased in the number ot build- 
ings." p. 191. 

Eighteen miles above Vincennes is a settlement of Shakers- 
This sect has several establishments in the western coun- 
try, which are all conspicuous for neatness, and a high de- 
gree of improvement. Whatever may be thought of theii" 
peculiar tenets and mode of discipline, they must be allow- 
ed the credit of great industry, and uncommon ingenuity. 
Their settlements uniformly abound in well cultivated fields, 
and agreeable, convenient habitations, and every thing about 
them has an air of neatness and evinces a regard to real 
and substantial comfort. 

<«In their dealings they are esteemed as very honest and ex- 
emplarv. Until within a fevv months they entertained travel- 
lers without any compensation; but the influx has become so 
great that they have found it necessary to depart from tkat 
practice." p. 149. 

Mr. Thomas advanced, along the banks of the Wabash, 
to Fort Harrison, of which he furnishes a brief notice, and 
then, changing his course eastward, proceeded homwards. 

In the course of his narrative, which is given in the form 
of a diary, he introduces several interesting anecdotes illus- 
trative of the perils attending tl)e first settlement of a new 
country and the heroism displayed by the early emigrants; 
to the wilds of the west. Even within a few years, espe- 
cially during the late war with England, the inhabitants of 
our frontier settlements were exposed to great danger from 
savage hostility, and some instances are recorded of almost 
miraculous preservation from the most imminent hazard. 

"The case of one young man is too extraordinary to be omit 

I§g0. Thomas's travels. isy 

ted. Riding out to hunt cattle, he passed near Indians in am- 
bush, who shot him through the body, and he fell from his 
horse. As the savages advanced to scalp him, he recovered 
from the shock; ran with his utmost speed, warmly pursued; 
and in the moment of extremity when his strength and breath 
failed him, his horse, wlaich had loitered behind, came up on 
full gallop and allowed him to remount. He effected his es- 
cape, recovered from his wound, and is now living, p. 154. 

Mr. Thomas furnishes some very useful advice to emi- 
grants for the preservation of health and the promotion of 
comfort. New settlements are commonly unhealthy, but a 
great deal of the sickness which prevails is properly attri- 
butable to carelessness and bad management. The remarks 
on tliat subject in the work before us are judicious, and, if 
properly attended to, would contribute much to the pros- 
perity of a new colony. The mode of travelling, impro- 
per exposure, unwholesome diet, bad water, &c. are the 
causes of much disease, which, by the exercise of a little 
care, might frequently be avo d d. 

In the appendix our author introduces some very ji?st, 
though brief, remarks, on what he terms the ^^cant phrases^* 
prevalent in the western country. We, who are accustom- 
ed to them, are scarcely aware of their impropriety, but as 
education and improvement adv^ance among ui, we trust 
their use will decline and a greater degree of accuracy in 
conversation and writing will be introduced. 

".^ considerable number is expressed by a smart chance; and 
our hostess at Madison said, there was "a smart chance of yan- 
kees" in that village. 

^'■Rolling is a term which may be frequently heard in conver- 
sations relative to lands. We are not to understand by this 
word, a turning round, but a diversified surface. 

^^ Slashes means flat clayey land which retains w&ter on the 
surface after showers. From this comes the adjective, slashy. 
It is in rommon use, and, like the word chore Tcorruption of 
chare'^ in the eastern states, is almost an indisfien sable. 

'•''Balance is another word which is twisted from its proper 
meaning. This is made to imply ihe remainder. 'The balance 
(unappropriated residue of land) willbe sold at auction.' " p. 230. 

To these we might add a long list of prevailing impro- 
prieties equally gross; but no section of country is exempt 
from cant phrases and peculiarities of expression, and noth- 
ing would more effectually tend to remove them, than an 
improvement in our systems of education, the introdictJon 
f f accurate and careful teachers, and a eiinute atteniion tt 


138 TftOMAS'S TRAVELS. ^c1. 

those branches of instruction, which are too apt to be re- 
garded as trifling and unimportant. 

Our author does not agree with Volney in his theory of a 
great lake supposed formerly to extend over a large por- 
tion of the western country. 

. *'I submitted with regret to the disappointment of not pass- 
ing the west bank of Volney's imaginary Lake, in another 
quarter. We are wilhng to allow a wide range ot imagination 
in geological theories; but In support of such opinions, we do 
think the reader is entitled to the collection of a few facts. It 
has, indeed, been fashionable to imagine that every valley 
which pours a stream through mountainous ridges, was tormer- 
ly the bed of a lake; and some indulgence for the custom of 
the age may be allowable. We also admit that such specula- 
tions are harmless; but we consider them rather as the first ef»" 
forts of an excursive fancy, than as the sober deductions of a 
vigorous understanding. 

( How our mountains were broken to admit a passage for tha 
rivers, presents a problem of difficult solution. We have discov- 
ered no fact to she»v that these breaches were produced by th® 
pressure of water; and the remaining masses of the Blue Ridge, 
for example, are so vast as to preclude the conjecture. W» 
can conceive, indeed, that an earthquake might effect a rupture; 
"but so many rivers have been let foi th, without one unnecessary 
-opening, that we reluctantly admit the possibility. When we. 
come to reflect, however, that the surface of the valley is st? 
shaped as to guide the stream across it on a brisk current to th© 
very entrance of the mountain; and that no traces are discov- 
erable, of these waters having ever discharged through any 
-other passage, we are satisfied that such suppositions are un- 

In Volney's theory, still greater difficulties arise. 1st. H® 
has not provided sufficient materials for a dam. 2d. If such 
4am hadbeen completed, it would not explain the appearances 
•of the country to the eastward. 3d. Neither would it explain 
■the geology of the country, westward. 

1st. — The Knobs do not extend across the valley of the O- 
hio. Neither do those to the north, form any obstructions t» 
the White river, which receives the surplus waters of the great 
^lain in which Lexington is situated. 

2d. — The hills in the Ohio country are formed of strata, ap-- 
parcntly horizontal, piled up to the height)> of several hundred 
feet. Now a pond standing over this vast district, would not 
produce such appearances. The shell fash, indeed, whose re- 
mains chiefly form the limestone, might arrange themselves a- 
long the bottom; but no lake in modern times has furnished a- 
fy support to an opinion that vegetables are retained ia its vraj 

iSSO. THOMAS'S TriAvetC 1S§ 

ters as a prelude to the formation of coal; and we want evi- 
dence for the belief, that materials of this fossil were collected 
in this manner at any period since the creation. On the re- 
verse, we do not hesitate to ascribe the arrangement of all ex- 
tensive strata to tides which, like those of the present day, have 
been caused by exterior attraction; and which have swept over 
the face of every country. In no other way can we rationally 
account for the conveyance, and regular distribution of sand, 
over large districts of secondary formation. 

3d. — Much of the country westward of the Knobs abounds 
with marine shells; and it would be e?qually proper to show the 
origin of the countless millions which appear in that elevated 
xegion. This could not be done, however, on his principles; 
for HO land of sufficient height is found either on the borders of 
the Ohio, or of the Mississippi. 

To conclude, «very stone that we have examined on the 
Knobs is of the latest formation; and the whole pile apparently 
rests on strata, which, extendmg, form the surface of the lower 
country. We therefore assign it a more recent date." 

pp. 234, 235. 

On this subject there is room for a diflference of opin- 
ion. We have already mentioned that the Knobs are 
found on the south, as well on the north, side of the Ohio, 
and it is thought by some that the dam at the mouth 
of Salt River was sufficient to overflow the whole lime- 
stone region, leaving only some islands scattered threugh 
st, and he it seems probable that the narrows, instead of 
being a dam, formed an outlet communicating with the sea^ 
and that the lake was salt. Of this however our readers 
will conjecture for themselves. 

An ingenious treatise on the Deluge is introduced in the 
Appendix, in which the configuration of hills and ridges is 
attributed to external attraction, and the following remark 
is made. 

"Some eminent philosophers have been puzzled by the Mosaic' 
account of the deluge. Four and twenty oceans were com- 
puted by one writer as necessary to drown the whole eax'th; andf 
as It could not be knov.n where such a flood had ari'ived, or 
vhither it had retired, the truth of the Historian was question- 
ed. Others, more favourable to religion, supposed it was limit- 
ed by the neighbourhood of Euphrates. We havo now suffi- 
cient evidence that those who received the account as an article 
ot faith, chose their path in wisdom. Indeed we consider the 
traces of a deluge over all the Earth to be demonstrable; and 
this passage of scripture, instead of subverting our confidencej- 
Jia,s become one of tlie strongest proofs of divine revelatioja.^' 

440 »rHOMAS'S TRiTELS. Oct, 

We have likr^'ise a scientific and valuable essay on vernal 
frosts, a subject of no inconsiderable interest to tbe lovers 
of fruit, and a long dissertation on the ancient inhabitants 
of this country, in which he maintains the opinion 

"— — ihat America received her population, before the dis- 
covery of Columbus, from three differeni points of the old con- 
tinent. The resemblance in stature, features, manners, and 
language, between the Esquimaux and the Greenlanders, 
proves con-^usively that they arc branches of the same race; 
and the habits and CGmplexion of the Tartars and of some 
North- American Indians, have induced the belief, that the an- 
cestors ot the latter crossed at Behrmg's Straits." p. 282. 

In reply to the remarks of Dr. Robertson, that America 
could not have been peopled by any nation of the old con- 
tinent far advanced in civilization, because the arts were 
not well known on this continent, Mr. Thomas makes the 
following very judicious observations. 

"These remarks would apply with much proprictr and force 
to a stationary people, or to large numbers who quietly migra- 
ted in a body; but according to our view of the manner in 
which America first received its inhabitants, the whole of this 
reasoning becomes nugatory. Few indeed are the citizens of 
any country who know how to take iron from the mine and man- 
fifacturc it into common utensils; and still rarer is the individ- 
tial. who, after suffering shipwreck on a foreign coast, — while 
languishing an exile, and roaming iu tbe search of daily food,—.' 
would have courage to explore the desert, to disembosom the 
hidden ore and to determine on permanent improvements. If 
few arts were transplanted it ought not to excite our surprise. 
The class of people most likely to be stranded would be sailors 
and fishermen; neither ought we to judge of their countrymen, 
from such feeble atiempts as they might make to imitate what 
they never had practised; and if the ski.l had been acquired, 
the materials must have been wanting. Even if the cultivator 
had been thrown on shore, his knowledge would have been un- 
availing. No plant, the former object oi his culture; no beast 
to relieve his labour by participation; no implement to subdue 
the soil, — the agriculture of his country could only be remeni'- 
bered, not practised. 

Let it not be said, that if mariners from the Mediterranean 
had been stranded on the shores ot America, letters would have 
been introduced. Learning was not generally diffused among 
the sailors of ancient times. Dressed skins and the leaves of 
the Papyrus were so valuable in Greece, that bleached bones 
from the fields have been used as a substitute; nor has Nature 
disclosed materials for books to the wanderer in the desert. 


The aversion of savages ta literature is well known, and difficult 
to overcome; and the retention of the unwieldy alphabet of 
China, notwiihtitanding the opportunities ot the inhabitant* to 
acquire a belter, will illustrate these observations. Indeed the 
imperious demands for food, for clothing, and for safety, would 
supercede '^ther considerations, even with the scholar, and en- 
gross al the faculties of his mind. 

"But these remarks acquire additional force when we reflect 
on the wretched condition of some who have floated across the 
Atlantic. Every article of food has been devoured. Every 
feeling of humanity has been stifled by continual suffering. 
Neither is this recital the offspring of fancy: — in both instanc- 
es, which we have taken from the Encyclopedia, the survivors 
were Cannibals." pp. 285, 286. 

Our author does not agree with Mr. Atwater in supposing 
that the ancient inhabitants of this country migrated hence 
to Mexico, but advances many arguments against the the- 

On the whole the work before us is worthy the attention 
of the antiquary and the lover of science, as well as of the 
emigrant or explorer of new countries. It is defective in 
arrangement and seems to have been published without that 
attention to style and method, which an author ought to ob- 
serve, but it abounds in just remarks, and contains much 
useful information. 

''w2 Letter to the Trustees of the SoiUh Carolina College^ oji tht 
approaching election of a President: by a South Carolinian. 
Charleston^ printed and sold by A. E. Miller. 

We do not notice this pamphlet because we take any pe- 
culiar interest ourselves or suppose that our readers in gen- 
eral will take any in the election to which it refers. We 
are not personally acquainted with the several candidates, 
if indeed there are several, for the Presidency rendered va- 
cant by the death of the much lamented Maxcy. We per- 
ceive that the unknown author of the pamphlet before us 
zealously urges the pretensions of Mr. Stephen Elliott, 
whom he represents as a gentleman of "mild persuasive 
manners," of "well known integrity, zeal, and sense of duty'* 
and as possessed of "great talents, both natural and acquir- 
ed." Our object however in the present review is to add 
gur feeble voice to that of the Caroliniar\, in favour of clas- 


sicanearning, and in opposition to what we are sometimes 
anclined to fear is a growing- defect in our systems of edu- 
cation. The main object of this work is to maintain the 
importance of Greek and Latin literature, and an intima- 
tion is g-iven that a more elaborate treatise on the same to- 
pic will shortly be laid before the public by the same au- 
thor. He urges the necessity of regarding the instructors, 
and especially the president of a literary institution as par- 
amount among the scholars to any one else, even the board 
of trustees, and very justly remarks: 

"Dr. Busb}', it is said, v/ould not take off his hat to Charles 
•tile ild. in the school room at Westminster, lest his boys shotild 
suppose, that there was a greater man in England than him- 
»elf. Our young countrymen, gentlemen, have the same 
ffiort of feeling. They may be brought to look up to one as, 
under God, st'.fireme; but the very term ^'-sup.reme" excludes 
4he notion of participated power. Even upon the very few oc- 
casions, where you may be seen in concurrence with the Presi- 
dent, you should set a good example to the boys, by appear- 
ing to look lip to hh7i, instead of requiring that he should look 
•up to you. As regards the scheme of education, particularly, 
5et it be once for all settled betvreen you; but let the execution 
-^f it devolve upon him and his assistants," p, 4. 

We are then told that by the plan of instruction of the 
College at Columbia, an important place is assigned to the 
Crreek and Laiin languages, but that "some among the Trus- 
tees sedulously decry this study whenever an occasion of- 
fers." Such an injudicious course on the part of those who 
liave the management of a seminary of learning, is surely 
lo be deprecated as in no small degree unfavourable to the 
^progress of useful knowledge and to the literary reputation 
of our already much abused country. 

"Sometimes," says the Carolinian, "we arc assailed by a vile 
conceit, that these languages stand self-condemned, as being 
■dead languages; as i^Jigurutive words were to be iiteralhj inter- 
j^rcted. Et'ery body knows that the plirase "dead languages," 
emeans nothing more than languages no longer sfio/cen. Even 
in this sen5e, the phrase is misapnlied; for, Latin is so much 
•fipoken in some parts of Europe, that science and learning can- 
not be communicat's J there, to those .vho do not understand it; 
and modern Greece is now employed upon ievi"ing the fine di- 
alects in which Thucydides iratructed, Demosthenes thunder- 
./fid, and Homer charmed. And if this were 7io( so, can langua- 
ges hs dead that abound in immortal works, from whence the 
jjuresl , .earihiy pleasures may be exjtracled, aud by which the 


most important of earthly pursuits may be inspired and direct- 
ed. Is not "the word of life itself," written in Greek? Canany* 
candid man open an Edinburgh or Quarterly R.eview, (the most 
popular productions that ever appeared among us) without re- 
gretting his ignoiance oi Greek? Is that language iead to 
which HoRSELY and Priestly appeal in their discussion of tho 
most important points of our religion — by which Warburtoji 
crushed Bolingbroke, and Porson overwhelmed Travis? la 
it oi no consequence, whether we can judge for ourselves itx 
these mighty and all-important controversies? Must we be for- 
ever content to take things upon trust?" p. 5. 

In support of the very erioneous system which would ex- 
clude the study oi the ancient languages, great reliance haa 
been placed on the authority of two justly celebrated names^ 
— those of S^viFT and Locke. It is however conclusively 
shown, in the pamphlet before us, that neither of these emi-« 
nent scholars was disposed to undervalue classical litera- 
ture. The lives of Swift by Dr. Johnson and Sir Walter 
Scott, are quoted to prove, that he was himself well versed 
in the Latin and Greek languages and inclined to recom- 
mend the study of them to others. And as it respects^ 
Locke, extracts are given from his Essay upon Educatioa 
sufficient "to silence those who would condemn the study 
of them upon his authority." He says, that a nan "can haves 
no place among the learned who is a stranger to them," and 
that "no man can pass for a scholar who is ignorant of the> 
Greek tongue," adding "that it may be of use to gentlemeih 
too, whenever they have a mind to go deeper than the sur- 
face, and to get themselves a solid, satisfactory, and master- 
ly insight into any part of learning." 

Having thus defended the reputation of these distinguish- 
ed men, and refuted all the arguments against classical 
learning drawn from their authority, our author proceeds to 
quote, in favour of his own opinions, several American pub- 
lications, and concludes with the following remarks: 

<'I have thus, gentlemen, completed the narrow outline whicti 
I proposed to myself. I have vindicated Swift from the ca- 
lumnies of Dr. Rush; and have? defended Mr. LocrcE fron\ 
those who would represent him as an enemy to classical learn- 
ing. I have shortly stated the sentiments of Johnson, Burke, 
and Walter Scott, (men of business as well as scholars,) and, 
more fully, those of Jefferson, Miller, Cooper, Everett, 
Walsh, and the editors of the ^^JSforth American" and " IVest^ 
erri" Re-uie%vs. I have laid much stress upon these American 
ftjithoritieS) because they are ivot exposed to the charge of Epg- 


"sh pedantry, or English prejudice. I have endeavoured to 
render harmless the poor conceit springing out of the phrase 
*^dead languages." I have shown that these languages still live 
znd^ourish; and that if, in any sense, they can be said to be 
dead, yet 

"E'en from the tomb the voice of genius cries; 

E'eiim their ashes live their wonted fires." 

1 shall, in a larger work, take a far more extensive view of the 
arguments of great and wise, as well as learned men, in support 
of the utility of Latin and Greek. I shall endeavour to sho\r 
in what manner and to what extent these studies are pursued 
in the English great schools and universities; and shall, in an 
appendix, exhibit some of the literary fruits derived from an 
education so conducted: from whence it will appear that schol- 
ars/iip is, in that country, and in Europe generally, a word im- 
porting much more than it imports among us. The publication 
of that book will enable every man who reads it candidly and 
attentively, to judge for himself as to the sort of education that 
he ought to give his son; and will prevent his being misled by 
those who sometimes are themselves misled, but more fre- 
quently condemn, before they have sufflciertly investigated; 
and, like Dr. Rush, call the best things husk, because they do 
not give themselves dme and pains to reach ihe kernel and (he 
grain. By effecting this, I shall have discharged that duty to 
the rismg generation which, I am confident, they will, at some 
future day, justly appreciate, if they can be induced to devote 
to classical pursuits that period of their lives (from eight to 
eighteen) which, generally speaking, is admirably adapted to 
those studies, and to no other. In readmg the moralists, histo- 
rians, philosophers, and poets — in composing Latin and Greek 
exercises, verse as well as prose — and in committing to memo- 
ry whole pages of what they will then thoroughly understand^ 
they must become sensble how profitably these ten yea'-s may 
be thus employed, and how much a correct knowledge of ali 
modern languages and of every branch of science is facilitated 
and promoted by this course of education. It is not fanciful; 
it is experimental. It has been followed in Europe for ceiitu' 
ries; is now in daily practice th«re; and will soon be emulated^ 
and indue lime rivalled, by our Northern Brethren; to whorrij 
as we do not yield in native talent, why should we be inferior in 
acquired excellence? 

I can hardly suppose that my motives fir addressing you on 
Ihepresent occasion will be misunderstood; but, lest they should^ 
1 co'iclude by appeahng to the following remarks of one who 
seems to \YA\Qfelt the difficulty of serving those who are not 
ivilling to be served. 

"No man will ever write a book of authority on the institu* 
ions and resources of his country, whp does not add aoine o£ 


the virtues of a censor to those of z.p.atriot; or rather, who 
does not feel that ths noblest, as well as the most difficult part 
of patriotism is that which prefers his country's good to its/a- 
vour, and is more directed to reform its defects than to cherish 
the pride of its virtues." — Edinburgh Jievietv, No 66, p. 340. 

"I remain, Gentlemen, with respect for yourselves, and with 
earnest v.ishes that you may succeed in every attempt to pro- 
mote the welfare of the Institution which you have been ap- 
pointed to manage, your obedient servant, 


We cannot suffer ourselves for a moment to believe that 
classical learning is destined to fall into general disrepute. 
We trust there will always be found zeal and talent enough 
to oppose the innovating spirit of those, w^ho would exclude 
Ihe study of the ancient languages from our systems of ed- 
ucation, and we, shall be ever ready to lend our feeble aid to 
the efforts of those, who appear as the champions of the 
venerated classics. Should the time ever come, when Lat- 
in and Greek should be banished from our Universities, and 
the study of Cicero and Demosthenes, of Homer and of 
Virgil should be considered as unnecessary for the forma- 
tion of a scholar, we should regard mankind as fast sinking 
into absolute barbarism, and the gloom of mental darkness 
as likelv to increase, till it should become universal. 

The Mystery; or Forty Years ago, a J^ovel. Three Volun^s 
in two. JVetc-Forfc, James k. John Harper. 12 mo, pp. 

As this is a new novel, with a very alluring title, we have 
thought our readers might be pleased to learn something a- 
bout it, especially as the very provoking delay of our Amer- 
ican publishers has so long kept the public curiosity un- 
g-ratified by the perusal of the Abbot, the last work of the 
celebrated, though unknown author of so many admirable 
laics. It is true, the Monastery, of which the Abbot is said 
to be a continuation, did not quite equal the expectations 
of those fastidious readers, whose taste had been most high- 
ly gratified by the previous perusal of Ivanhoe. Yet this 
very circumstance has perhaps increased the desire of ano- 
ther work, in the hope that it may redeemthedecliningrepu- 
tation of the author, and prove that he has not exhausted all 


14ft '*PHE MYSTERY. Oct, 

his powevs on his former productions, but that he has yet 
the faculty and the materials for administering to the public 
gratification far beyond any other novel writer of the age. 
As however, we have not, at the present moment, any work 
of his to review, we must take such as we have, and if our 
l*eaders are not pleased, they will have no one to blame but 
the publishers, who have delayed so long furnishing them 
with the only book capable at present of exciting their cu- 
riosity or gratifying their taste. 

The three volumes under review, which are very judi- 
ciously in the present edition compressed into too, contain 
a tale, professedly very mysterious, the sequel of which 
however may, by an experienced novel reader, be very cor- 
rectly guessed, before he reaches the middle of the first 
volume. The story itself, in all its particulars, is capable 
of being comprised in a very few pages, being nothing more- 
than the common place incidents of a romance, with the 
addition of some strange adventures in the wilds of Africa. 
There are however a number of episodes ingeniously in- 
troduced for the purpose of filling out the book, and giving 
it a respectable size; and a multitude of sage reflections 
and appropriate remarks are interspersed through the 
narrative, in part, it is presumed, for the same laudable ob- 
ject. To the style we have but few objections. It is not al- 
ways correct, but its errors are neither numerous nor fla- 
grant. It is animated, but rather too diffuse; the sentence* 
being often too long and too complicated. The author is 
somewhat happy in description, but is rather fond of over- 
dfawing, and converting his pictures into carricatures. His 
characters are neither striking nor uncommon, but they are 
natural and tolerably well supported. The work, on the 
whole, is not uninteresting, but is too long for the matter 
it contains, and is apt too frequently to weary the patience 
of the reader. 

The book commences with an interview between Sir 
George Henderson, a rich old baronet,and Charles Harley, a 
young man recently returned from India, where he had spenfe 
several years, and where his parents, natives of England, still 
continued to reside. Sir George expresses a peculiar af- 
fection for Charles, enquires anxiously after his parents and 
particularly his interesting mother, offers him all the hospi- 
tality and friendship in his power to bestow, and invites hina 
to spend some time with him at his delightful residence. 
With this inyita.tion he cheerfully complies, more especially 

iS20* THE MYSTERY. 14^ 

as he is anxious to renew bis acquaintance with the com- 
panion of his youthful sports, the lovely daughter of Sir 
George. The conversation and manners of the baronet 
induce him to believe that he also is desirous the young 
couple should be, on further intimacy, well pleased, and he 
feels some anxiety lest he should not find the lady so much 
to his mind, as to enable him to comply with the supposed 
wishes of his benevolent friend. On seeing Amelia how- 
ever he is delighted to find her all that his heart could de- 
sire, and now begins to fear that he has misconstrued the 
intimations of Sir George, and was looking too high in as- 
piring to the hand of the daughter of a baronet. To her, 
at length, he avows his passion, and, finding his proposal* 
lavorably regarded, after a short interval, is presented with 
a convenient opportunity for making known his wishes to 
Sir George, when he finds his sanguine hopes and expecta- 
tions wofuily disappointed. 

" 'My dear Charles,* said the Baronet, one day after dinner 
when they were left to themselves, 'the late riots disconcerted 
my plans not a little. In consequence of the bustle \yhich pre- 
Tailed every where, I did not introduce you to hall the families 
where you would have been a welcome guest, and where it 
might have been your interest to visit. I have, however, given 
you an opportunity of knowing some of those where I thought 
there were daughters that might engage your attention, but you 
have not afforded me the pleasure of knowing that any of them 
touched your heart. You are too reserved with me. I wish 
you freely to unbosom yourself. Speak to me as you would to 
a father, who had wished, through life, to avoid exactmg that 
submission, by authority, which he could gain by kindness.* 

Charles stammered out an expression of gratitude, and ap- 
peared confused. The opportunity for disclosing to Sir George 
the passion which he had conceived for Amelia, seemed at length 
arrivedj he panted to avail himself of it, but feared to begin. 

'Come, young man, speak freely. Do not suppose that you. 
have to address a morose old fellow, who, having exhausted th« 
varieties of folly in his early days, cannot bear the ideas of youth, 
unless they exactly accord with those which disappointment, 
experience of the fleeting character of happiness, and ap- 
proaching infirmity, may have induced him to adopt for him- 
self You see not, and you dread not the vicissitudes which, 
in all probability, await you, and I have no great wish that you 
should, before your time. Too much prudent apprehension at 
your years, would damp your hope, repress ambition, and make 
you unfit for exertion in the proper day of enterprise. But, as 
much of your future comfort depends upon the deciiion y©u 

148 THE MYSTERY. Oct, 

may shortly come to on one point, I feel anxious to know youp 
feelings on that. You ki?o\v what I mean.' 

'I presume you mean— ' 

<You presume I mean — now don't be so formal. You know 
I mean to ask you, have you been thinking;- any thing at all a- 
bout a wife! Have you seen any young lady you could wish to 
become your partner for life?' 

*Why, Sir George, you are acquainted with my sentiments — ' 

*Well, and you are acquainted with mine. Now, why can't 
you give a direct answer to a plain straight-forward question! 
■Do you regret any of the beauties we left in town?* 

*I cannot say that I do.' 

'Then I think you are very particular. What, was there n® 
one of all I have introduced you to, whose beauty and accom- 
plishments could awaken your desires, and command your re- 
gret. Really you have a heart of flint, though sometimes, when 
you steal a glance at a fair face, you have an eye of fire. — Ha! 
I'm punning without intending it. Flint, steals and fire, harmo- 
nize very prettily. Well, I can only say, I am surprized that 
Ho one has yet appeared to captivate your affections.' 

<But that is not the fact, Sir George, and- ' 

«Hey! what ' 

*I only said that I regretted no lady in town.' 

*0, "Ave must speak by the card," I see; so then you sigh for 
some nymph In the country. Who is it? — I am impatient to 

<I am afraid to tell you, how high my presumption soars above 
the, humility of my condition.' 

'Presumption! nonsense! You might, without reproach, as- 
pire to the daughter of a Duke- Well, I am glad you look up- 
wards. Your former romantic speeches about humble loveli- 
ness and beauty, or something of that sort, rather disconcerted 
xne. You need not fear meeting with an unfavourable recep- 
tion, provided that her father is a man of liberality and good 
sense, and values the happiness of his daughter,' 

'I am sure that he is a man of boundless liberality, of excel- 
lent understanding, and sincerely anxious for the happiness of 
lus child.' 

<Why then it is all safe.— And the lady?' 

'Everything that man could desire, or "the pomp and prodi- 
gality of heaven" prepare, for his enjoyment.' 


<Most ample.' 

'Indeed! Why then the ufiair is as good as settled. Ah! 
Charles, you are a sly fellow. I did not think you could have 
fornied such an attachment, without my perceiving something 
of what has passing in your mind."-But, the lady, does she give 
you any encouragemenc?' 

i8;20. THE MYSTERY. 

'It my passion had the approbation of her fathdr, I do not 
think that she would prove inexoi-able.' 

'That's all right. — You rejoice me beyond measure. Her 
father, if he be the man you describe, can have no objection.* 

*0 yes, many. My want of fortane' — 

<Pooh,poohI — Never think ot that. — You have a profession, 
■and I will see that he shall not find you destitute. You may 
be assured that I will take care nothing of that sort shall stand 
in the way of your happiness.' 

«I already owe so much to your bounty' — 

«Not a word of that — we have something better to talk about. 
So as I tvas saying, her father, unless he »vere one of those 
close-fisted, crack-brained curmudgeons, who have infested the 
world so long, that they have outlived their humanity, and feel 
they have nothing in common with the younger and more in- 
teresting part of their species.' — 

<He IS not such a man.' 

<Whf then I say you may give your fears to the wind. You 
will confer an obligation on him, by declaring yourself. Sup- 
pose his case were mine. Suppose a young, well-made, well- 
disposed, well-connected sprig like yourself, were to be smitten 
fiitb my daughter. Do you think that I would make him un- 
happy, and my daughter miserable at the same time, for the 
chance of a more splendid offer at some future period? No, no, 
I should know my interest and my duty better. Who is she?' 

'Emboldened by your kindness which first taught me to pre- 
sume, I will make you acquainted with that which, but for the 
encouragement you have been so kindly anxious to give, should 
have been consigned to eternal silence; which, though des- 
pair festered in my heart, should have had no voice, but have 
passed concealed from all the world with me to that grave, from 
"which the secret could not escape.' 

'Where are you running? What! is it a Princess of the 
Blood 1' 

'No, Sir George, but it is one so far exalted above me, and 
yet more, so lovely in herself, that the language I use is not ex- 
travagant. Confess its justice when I tell you that she to whom, 
encouraged by your k'^nd partiality, I have dared to lift my eyes, 
is no other than Amelia— the dear companion of my childhood, 
your beloved, adored Amelia.' 

Sir George seemed thunderstruck. He had cordially clasp- 
ed the hand of Harley, while he was speaking, but he now re- 
leased it, and receded one step before he attempted speech. 
Then, with an air of coldness, very different from what Charles 
had been accustomed to, and with an expression of ineffable a- 
snazement, he exclaimed in a faltering accent, 

« My \melia? — Impossible.' 

<I Jsnow the teraerity of roy love. X know |Yiy «wn demeriti 

450 THE MYSTERY. Oct. 

txid. her surpassing excellence too well to believe for a ntioment 
that if justice held the scales, hope could survive her decision. 
It is on the partiality of my friend, — ray benefactor, — my more 
than father that I throw myself.' 

The baronet seemed a liitle to recover from the surprise 
which had at first overcome him, and he endeavoured to re- 
sume his wonted air of ti'anquility and cheerful good will. He 
replied with a forced smile: 

'O! my daughter! — She is but a child. She is but a little 
jnore than sixteen. She — is — is — that is — at present, quite out 
«f the question. No, no, you can do belter for yourself than 
that. I can't suffer you to throw yourself away on the daugh- 
ter of a simple Baronet.' - 

'Higher, Sir George, human vanity canhot aspire. Reject- 
«d by you, I shall never offend another father in the same way. 
Forgive, forgive, my boldness, but do not forbid me kope.* 

*Really Charles, Amelia is too young.' 

*\ do not seek,I do not desire to be made happy immediately^ 
liut by the assurance that at some fuiure period you will hot 
disdain to receive me for your son-in-law.' 

*There will be time enough to talk over this matter some 
years hence. — At present, the discussion of it is quite prema- 
ture. In fact, you yourself are too young to become a hus« 

<But, Sir George, you have repeatedly advised me to think 
«f making choice of a wife.' 

'Aye, but — but my Amelia.' 

•You have told me that I might aspire to the richest and no- 
Idlest in the land.' 

'But not — not to my daughter.' 

<That reproof for my boldness which I always expected oth- 
«rs would not fail to bestow, if I acted on your counsel, it is ray 
ynisery to receive from you. Would to Heaven that I had been 
deaf to it! — I know I am culpably daring, but trom your kind- 
ness — * 

'My dear Charles I — 1 am not angry with you. If in any 
thing else I can serve you — ' 

'No, Sir George, I am too much your debtor already. — I will 
intrude on your kindness no more. I w as weak and vain enough 
to think when you desired rne to seek the hand of some rich 
heiress — ' 

*Why, look ye Charles — When a man gives advice, he does 
not expect it to be used against himself. Present company is 
always understood to be excepted. I have advised you for your 
good, and still I say you have nothing to fear in addressing one 
who may be your superior in rank or fortune. Now there is 
Lady Dcnningville, I would have you try there. Trust me you 
jp£ed not fear xejection,* 


«T he experiment I have alreadjuiade is quite sufficient.' 
'Make your advances any where else, and my connexions^' 

xny influence, my fortune, shall support you beyond your most 

Siinguine expectations.* pp. 111---116. 

Finding himself thus strangely and unaccountably reject- 
ed, he takes himself otF, refusing to accept any pecuniary 
aid from Sir George, although he needs it exceedingly, and 
seeks his post in the navy, the appointment to which he had 
previously received. On his way however he is robbed of 
his little remamiag cash, and exposed to the evils of abso" 
lute want in a strange place, when he is relieved by the in- 
tert'erence of Sir George, who sends him money by a lotte- 
ry office clerk, under the pretext that a ticket belonging td 
him had drawn a considerable prize. Charles then repairs 
to the navy, is appointed to the command of some trans- 
ports, fitted out to annoy certain small settlements up ths 
Gambia, and, being in danger of capture, swims alone to 
the shore, while his companions suppose, and send the re- 
port home, that he had perished in the waves. On the re- 
ceipt of this intelligence, Sir George and Amelia beome al- 
most disconsolate, and the latter, notwithstanding the sup- 
posed death of her first lover, rejects every other suitor. 
Previously to his enterprise, Charles had heard of the 
death of both his parents in India, and, almost siraultaneous- 
Jy, of that of a distant relation, by the inheritance of whos© 
fortune he had become sufficiently wealthy to be in point 
of property on a level with Sir George, and to overcome all 
the supposed obstacles to his union with Amelia. In the 
wilds of Africa however he continues for a long time, ex- 
posed to the severest hardships and most imminent perils, 
all of w^hich are accurately enumerated. In the course of 
them he meets with a Missionary, who sinks under his suf- 
ferings and expires in the desert, leaving to Charles certain 
papers to be transmitted to England, should he ever return 
or have it in his power to send them. At length he escapes 
from Africa, and, after repairing again to India, and obtain- 
ing his newly acquired property, presents himself unex- 
pectedly before Sir George and Amelia. The latter he 
finds constant in her love, but the former, notwithstanding' 
the improvement of Charles' fortune, and notwithstanding 
his professions of continued affection, is intiexible in refu- 
sing to accept him as a son-in-law. At length however, and 
with great reluctance, he explains to him the mysterious 
cause of this refuse!, giving him to understand that he had 


reason to consider him as his own son, and as consequent- 
ly the brother of Amelia. This of course reconciles Charles 
to the propriety of Sir George's refusal, but leaves him 
more despondent and wretched than ever. But, fortunate- 
ly, it appears, that one of the papers brought by Charles 
from the poor missionary who expired in the deserts of Af- 
rica, was a letter from his own mother, explaining the rea- 
son why from interested motives she had attempted to in- 
duce Sir George to consider him as his son, and declaring 
that he is not so. This explanation sets all matters right. 
Charles and Amelia are married, and the book ends in the 
usual novel style. 

Such is the main story. There are however, as we have 
already stated, several episodes and underplots, some o£ 
which appear quite unnecessary, and add very little, if anyj 
to the general interest of the work. A great deal is intro- 
duced respecting the local politics of the day, and long dis- 
cussions on those and other subjects are interwoven with 
the narrative. The author is a true Englishman, as may 
be seen from the following extravagant remarks, which he 
puts into the mouth of Sir George. 

"With all the causes for discontent, which Englishmen can 
always find in abundance, I never knew an instance of one leav- 
ing this country to seek a better, or one where he could be 
more secure fi'om the intrusions of power, who did not return 
disappointed. He who most repined while at hoine, never fail- 
ed to extol its laws, its institutions, nay, even its general admin- 
istration, abroad. A beautiful picture will sometimes appear a 
miserable, uninteresting, unmeaning association of colours, laid 
coarsely, and without an object, on the canvas, t.o an eye that 
pores injudiciously close. But when the gazer begins to retire, 
order springs from chaos; distance gives every tint its juBt el- 
iect; a correct and animated representation of Nature's charms 
bursts on his view a master-piece of art, and demands involun- 
tary admiration of the head that could design, and the hand 
that could so felicitously execute, that which precipitation 
had ventured to arraign — nay more, to condemn. So it is v/ith 
the English constitution. Though in its workings among our- 
selves, we severely cridcisc its parts, yet those who contem- 
plate it at a distcmce, sec in the greatness that it has bestowed 
on an insignificant island, its value and importance as a whole; 
and hold England, as its possessor, to be entitled to the envy 
and admiration of all the world." pp.29, 3Q. 

We shall not pretend to furnish an outline of all the char- 
acters introduced and all the incidents narrated which have- 


no connexion with the general story, but which are brought 
in, apparently for no other object, hnt to relieve the tcdi- 
ousness that is too prevalent after all, and to infuse occa- 
sionally a little more than ordinary animation and spirit. 
The following scene however we may be excused for copy- 
ing, not because we think it very excellent, but because it 
is among the most amusing in the work, and may furnish a 
specimen of the liveliest manner of the writer. 

it seems there had been disorder among the populace ia 
consequence of some measure's being proposed for the re- 
lic/ of the Catholics in Ireland, and Lord Dashington, at 
wiiose house a family party was assembled, had just return- 
ed from Parliament, after having been exposed to the fury of 
the crowd. 

■"His Lordship, on coming into the apartment, seemed to 
have been a little vuflled; and a larc^e patch of mud over his 
star, attested the violence of the mob had not spared him. The 
greetings between him and Sir George were brief, and the in - 
irodiiction of Charles to his Lordship iollowed of course; but 
the impatience of all present to hear what he had seen of the 
iioters, prevented those protracted civilities from being ex- 
ch-anged, which might have been looked for under other circum- 
stances. He was ahout to commence his recital, when Mr. 
.Spanker was announced; and immediately after, that gentle- rushed in with the eagerness of a sportsman when the 
game is just started. 

'Ah! my dear D.-isliir.gtonl I'm so glad to see you safe! — I 
beg your Ladyship's pardon. I hope I have the pleasure of 
see mg you well. 1 need not inquire of Miss Henderson hovir 
&he is, as she carries a certiiicatc of health in her face. Sir 
Ccorge I am glad to see you in town. Sir, your servant.' 

Charles bov/ed, and looked at Mr. Spanker with the most ea- 
ger attention; never doulating, from his hurried and unceremo- 
jfious manner, that lie wr,s the bearer of some information eon- 
r.cctcd with tlie extraordinary proceedings of the day, that made 
him fjrget the decorum usually observed in such socjety. 

*I am very glad to see yuu returned,' continued Mr. Spanker; 
*fDr when I heard ihey were gone to attack the- Lords, I was a- 
fr.iid you would have stood but a queer chance. For my owr> 
jjart, as p,scd men grow scarce, I took care not to go to the com- 
mons to-day; though, as I am on tiie right iiide of the question, 
the Uioh v.ould have dealt more leniently with me, than you, 
who vote v.itli ministers, could expect them to do by you. Pray 
how did you get on in your House? I have not heard the par- 

<riis Lovdship v,atj just about to fiiVoQr ts with a report ©^ 

^5"^ The mystery. Oct 

what had fallen under his observation,' said Sir George, 'when, 
you came in. We are all impatient to hear'— 

'And so am I. I was extremely afraid the mob would have 
l*oughly handled my Lord; so I run down, (though I hardly ex- 
pected to find him to-night,) to shew him the plan of our new 
race-course, which I have just got completed.' 

With these words, he unfolded a roll of paper — 'Here, ray 
Lord, you will see the improvements marked in red. Sir 
George, you know the ground. This is the old starting post.* 

'Can you not favour us with a sight of it in the morning? At 
this moment I am afraid it will not be in our power to do justice 
to ils merits." 

^ 'O, it's so plain, a child might understand it! Will your Lord- 
ship look? This is the old one-mile course.' 

'Really' said his Lordship 'I participate in the apprehension 
expressed by Sir George, that we shall not be able to do justice 
to your improvements to-night.* 

'Besides,' added Sir George, 'the ladies, who perhaps have 
not paid sufficient attention to these things, are eager to hear 
the relation with which his Lordship was about to favour us." 

'So am I; I came on piu'pose. But I knew Dashington 
would not easily have pardoned me, if I had not kept my pro- 
mise, by giving him the first sight of the plan. Here you see 
was the one mile course. Just here there used to be a hollow; 
and here was a pond, where a poor old woman who sold gingei'- 
bread-nuts, was unce pushed in, basket and all, and almost 
drowned before any body could contrive to get her out.' 

While speaking thus, he passed iis finger over the paper to 
indicate the several objects that he had mentioned. Anxious 
to hear Lord Dashington, those to whom he addressed himself 
would not just then have been very much concerned, if Mr. 
Spanker and his plan had taken the place of the gingerbread- 
nut woman and herbasketj but he, mounted on his hobby, se- 
renely proceeded. 

'Now this pond I have filled up, and the course just hcie I 
have raised five feet, from those three dots to this cross; that 
is, nearly half a quarter of a mile, and ac not much more than 
two thirds of the expense the club calculated upon; so I think 
I have managed very well.' 

Here he looked at Miss Henderson for applause, and receiv- 
ed as such, a smile which a somethint; not far removed from 
derision caused to break through the disappointment of which 
he was the cause. 

'It 13 certainly a great improvement. The business could not 
have been entrusted to a person more competent to superintend 
such works. Now will your Lordship favour us.' 

While Sir George s^jokc thus, Mr, Spanker was busy mark- 

18^0. THE MYSTERY. 155 

ing on tne proof of the plan some corrections which he wished 
to have made. ^ 

<Here,' said he, just as Lord Dashington was beginning to 
speak, 'your Lordship knows,.stood a wind-mill. Its sails, you 
know, once make Brimsunck take fright, and threw Jack Tibbs 
over this rail. I've taken the mill from here, and carried it xip 
to this corner. In this nook I have built a snug little house for 
the clerk of the course.' — 

<But, Mr. Spanker,' said Sir George, <I am sure you will ex- 
cuse me, when I remind you that the ladies are impatient to hear 
how his Lordship sped to-day.' 

'To be sure they are; so are we all. I was only just going to 
show you what a bend I've got out of the course.' 

'Now will your Lordship have the goodness to proceed,' said 
Sir George, with some appearance of irritation, and in a loud- 
er voice than he had previously used. 

'Perhaps Mr. Spanker had better finish.' 

'O, no, by no means. I was only going to show what abend 
used to be here, and how I have managed — ' 

'We are all attention, my Lord,' Sir George interrupted, and 
Mr. Spanker, checked in the midst of his new heat by the per- 
emptory tone of the Baronet, was silent." pp. 54 — 57. 

In consequence of excessive fatigue, exposure to the sun, 
parching thirst, and a variety of other circumstances, the 
Missionary, whom Charles met with in Africa, becomes de- 
ranged, and at length expires in the wilderness. The scene 
is tolerably well drawn, but we have room only for a few- 

"Smithers had appeared much indisposed through the morn- 
ing, but now he grew rapidly worse. A raging fever consum- 
ed him, and though he frequently drank, he continued to rave 
for water, even the moment after he had taken a large draught, 
which could ill be spared from the slender stock which remain- 
ed to them. On a sudden, he told Harley that he discovered a 
fine broad river. Then he called to him hastily to ascend Mount 
Pisgah^ and gaze wiih him on tke promised land, which he 
could clearly descry; and he also perceived that, according to» 
the word, it was indeed flowing with milk and honey. Upon 
this refreshing vision, he sung a hymn of thanksgiving for their 
deliverance, and sharply rebuked his companion for not joiniHg 
with him in this pleasing work of devotion. At first, Charles 
reasoned with him on the delusions which floated before him, 
and endeavoured to awaken him to the realities of their situa- 
tion» but he soon found that it was wholly useless, and that mis- 
ery had at length triumphed over reason." Vol. 2, pp. 138, 139. 

After a while, he sinks down exhausted, and appears to 

i3>^ THE MYSTERT. Od. 

sleep. Charles, unwilling to disturb him, lies by his side. 

"At the end of two hours, he heard the denrious Smithers 
call out aloud, 'awake thou that sleepest.' Harley had slept 
not, but now summoned to proceed, he considered that poliry 
and humanity concurred in requiring him to obey the call. 
The sun was fast declining, and the anguish attendant on aii 
attennpt to walk was less insurmountable than it had been. 
Smithers advanced with a rapidity that frequently lefc Charles, 
V'ho ivas charged with the conveyance of the little means of re- 
freshment that remained to them, considerably in the rear. The 
Missionary was evidently bereft of reason, but the most bliss- 
ful illusions gladdened his delirious moments. Frequently 
ivould he exhort his pitying friend <to press forward with joy 
and thankfulness, since their painful wandermgs were so nearly 
at an end, that he could now not only see the river which bound- 
ed their thorny path, but he could also perceive the shining' 
Ones wailing to welcome and receive them on the farther 
shore, as they hr.ddone Christian and Hopeful before, and the 
thrones on which the faithful were to be exalted, to sing glory 
to the Lamb, and all the joys of the New Jerusalem lay open 
to his ravished view.' 

<'It was the last effort of the kind, that religious enthusiasm 
could gain from exhausted nature. The strong impulse that 
had lifted the feeble MiBsionary above the consciousness of pain 
and fatigue was no move, and he suddenly sunk to the ground. 
Jie attempted to speak, but articulation failed. The purport 
of what he wished to say it was impossible for Charles to com- 
prehend. Smithers pointed to his heart, and seemed anxious 
to express what he had now no power to utter. Harley was 
persuaded th-at in the instant his speech failed him, he had an 
interval of reason, but it expired with the struggle to give it 
language. His animate form lay extended on the sands, and a 
flush of unubual colour in the face, and short mterrupted b-^eath- 
ings, alone indicated that the sufferer still lingered within the 
precincts ot life. 

It was ill vain that Harley r.ttc:r:ptcd to cvdminister the slight- 
est relief to the prostrate antl perishing Missionary. Incapable 
of receiving nou)ishraent, or of listcningto the soothing language 
of friendship, he knew nothing of what passed around. Respira- 
tion became more difilcult,it was plain that he was dying, but ma- 
ny hours might elapse before he would breathe his last. Charles 
reflected that ihose from whom they had escaped, by this time 
informed of the route their laic capti^-cs had taken, and guess- 
ing the direction in which they would subsequently travel, might 
be rapidly approaching the place Mherc he v/atched over the 
unconscious form of one, who in all probability would never 
again wake to sense and reccllectiou; 'diid whO; if he could do 

1830. THE MYSTERY. iSf 

80 for a moment, coijld profit nothing from cares, which in alt 
probability would endanger his own life. Would it then be 
well because one could not escape, to devote both to destruc- 
tion? Acting thus, he was sure that he should do that against 
which the poor Missionary would not have failed to remon- 
strate, had he retained the poAver of thinking, and uselessly to 
sacrifice his own existence, was (o do that which could hardly 
be justified. Ought he not then to take the course which poli- 
cy would recommend; exert tlie little strength that remained 
to him, to extricate himself if possible, from the desert, and 
leave his unhappy friend, whom no human power could snatch 
from the jaws of death, to perish alone? 

Such were the suggestions which the feeling designated by 
the inuhitnde, firudence, strove to press upon Harley for the 
regulation of his future conduct. In the busy world, how ma- 
ny men are there who are called '^good," even in the city of 
London, who v/ould rejoice if they had so fair an opportunity 
of breaking from calamity, so plausible an excuse for abandon- 
ing the unhappy! Memory and sensibility, faithful to virtue, 
forbade Charles to avail himself of such ideas; the former re- 
minded him of the demoted generosity with which the bene-vo- 
lent being, now about to escape from pain forever, had risked 
his life by affording him such relief and consolation as he had 
the powerof imparting, in the presence of the ferocious Moors; 
and the latter whispered, that a gleam of reason flitting across 
the mind of the expiring Smithers, might aggravate the bitter- 
ness of the final struggle, by the reflection that his countryman 
had deserted him in the last stage of his distress. No; he 
could not act such a part. Though the probability was, that 
Smithers would never revive to thank him for, or even to recog- 
nize this last resolve of friendship; though far i-emoved from, 
the haunts of men, no admiring spectators could witness the 
virtuous act, and sustain the effort by their applause; though 
none could reproach if he did it not, still xlid Charles feel, that 
one All-seeing eye watched his path through the desert, and he 
considered that it would have been the height of presumption to 
provoke the wrath of that power which had thus far supported 
him, by neglecting the poor, unconscious, dying Missionary. 
'I will,' he exclaimed, 'I will remain till the vital spai^k has 
fled to its eternal home. Perhaps it may be mine to allay his 
pain by a cooling diaught! — by suggesting some topic of con- 
solation in the last sad hour, or by receiving some word of com- 
fort, which he may be anxious to bestow. Thus I would not 
leave him, though mevitable death were the consequence of my 
stay. Under circumstances of greater immediate peril, he 
would not desist from aiding Tne, fiecause it ivas hia duty. Let 
me now prove that I hay© learnt one lesson of virtue from him! 

^8 tllE MYSTERV, Oct 

'Alas! if I quit him, escape seems almost impdsslble. Expos- 
ing myself to attend him, I make but a mean, a worthless of- 
fering at the shrine of humanityl' " pp. 141 — 144. 

Previor.]y to his clissaluiion, the Missionary recovers-his 
J^ason aliu entrusts to Charles the papers w'nich afterwards 
j^rove so important to him. Having made liis last request, 
he begins to sing, with his dying breatli, a hymn which he 
had himself composed. 

''His voice failed him at the close of the secand verse, and 
instead of singin,^, he but faintly repeated the concUuling. stan- 
zas. He then strove to utter a prayer, of which but few words 
could be heard by Charles, The sounds were so faint as to be 
TVholly uninteliigi'Dle — they ceaacd — He was no more. 

"Bending with unaffected g)ief over the cold remains of hi& 
countryman, Harley saw the iirst ray of returning light fall on 
the ghastly countenance of the lifeless Smithers. No bird, no 
insect fl'jttered near to announce the opening of a new day. All 
created beings seemed to shrink from the solitude and silence 
that prevailed. No iifc but that which yet lingered in his own 
■emaciated frame appeared to have withstood the baleful influ- 
ence of the climate, and the blasts which hurled in showers the 
ambient sands ovci the living and dead, alone disturbed 'the aw- 
ful repose of the desert,' 

"The spectacle was sad, but tae melancholy survivor did 
yiot fail to reflect that the scene he had beheld, was less appal- 
ling than that which is often v/itnessed in the splendid cham- 
bers of the great, beneath the superbly decorated canopy sur- 
mounted by the dazzling coronet. True, he had watched the 
last strug?,k'S of a human being, but the agonizing throbs of a 
J2;uiliy conscience pondering with horror over scenes of, recol- 
lected crime, — shrinkmg from the terrible change which must 
snatch av/ay forever all the dearly prized objects of earthly 
grandeur, — and shuddering at the contemplation of eternal pun- 
ishment — these he had not seen. On the contrary, the cheer- 
ful resignation with which he had observed piety yield its peace- 
ful spirit, to him from whom it emanated, cheered the forlorn, 
■mourner in the midst of his regrets, brightened the dreary 
scene in which be was now the sole remaining actor, and dispo- 
sed him to e;;claim in the spirit of scriptural quotation which 
Jhe had in some degree imbibed from his intercourse with the 
jVIisslonary, — '-I^ei me die ths death of Ihe righteous, and may 
TVj end be like his.' " 

• Wh.en Charles is suhscqucatly made acquainted with the 
contents of tlic important paper entrusted to lum by Smith- 
era he maiies the following appropriate refkction. 

^'Forgive' n-,?, Sir George. My thoug-hts were raised to the 



Giver of all good, and wholly occupied wilh admiration of his 
mysterious dispensations; for it just then occurred to me, that 
when bending over the unconscieus, inanimate Smithers in the 
desert, had 1 attended to the cold suggestions of selfish re'>son, 
and left him to expire alone, that precious packet, which has re- 
stored me to life, joy, and Amelia, would never have been put 
into my hand; the despair, in which you plunged me yesterday, 
would have been perpetuated to the last hour of my life; the 
prospect of earthly happiness liad been closed against me forev- 
er, and the remaining days of my existence, blasted by sordid 
prudence, had proved but a cold, cheerless, uninteresting void." 

"The reflection becomes you, Charles, and you will do well 
to remember itthrough all yourfuture life, and to believe, trom 
what you now feel, that he only is true lo his real interest who 
is faithful to his duty." pp, 240,241. 

Ent we must forbecr. IVe have already made more ex- 
tracts than we intended, and more, perhaps our readers 
will think, than the work deserves. We will dismiss it 
therefore with a few remarks. The moral tendency of the 
story is such as we cannot admire. Tice, it is true, in eve- 
ry shape, is condemned^ and fine sentiments are express- 
ed, but the impression, we fear, left on the youthful mind 
by the perusal of the tale is on the whole unfavourable. 
Sir George is a character, whom most readers, especial- 
ly at the commencem.ent of the story, would regjard with 
much respect and esteem, and when afterwards they find 
that lie confesses, although it be wifli contrition, the 
baseness of wliich, in early life, he had been guilty, they 
can scarcely cease to admrre the man, but are naturally led 
to apologize for his crimes. Such a train of thought and 
feeling is certainly unfavourable to that abhorrence of vice 
and that strictness of m.oral feeling so important to be pre- 
served. The belief that a man maybe guilty of one of the 
i^-rossest derelictions from principle, and yet not only sustain 
a respectable reputation but be regarded vvJtl) the highest es- 
teem and veneration, is certainly calculated to diminish the 
learcf vice and to remove one of the greatest obstacles to 
llie unrestrained indulgence of hunian passions. We da 
not however suspect the author of a laxity of principle or of 
any unvvorthy motive, and, while we cannot but think the 
tendency of his book to be rather unfavourable, we adrmt 
that it does not in any instance directly give its sanclion to 
'immorali'y orofi^T an apology for the con-nrii^siQs of criiae. 



'J mching RusselPs Cave^ from a toutist in Kentucky to his 
frimd in Philadelphia. 

Lexington, August, 1820. 

I remember the promise, my dear Sir, which I made to 
you at parting, that I would occasionally let you hear from 
Hie at different points of my western excursion. You will 
have reason, I fear, to regret the politeness, which led you 
to ask of me as a favor what is too likely to prove only an 
unwelcome interruption of your studies. My miscellaneous 
and mixed manner of writing can afford little pleasure to 
your discerning mind and cultivated taste. A letter how- 
ever, may be compounded of what is serious and sportive, 
without being absolutely unworthy of a perusal on this ac- 
count, and may possibly amuse you for a moment, in a very 
moderate degree, when you are pre-disposed to relaxation^ 
and are contented v/ith a small share of entertainment. 

It is well known that the soil of this western country 
rests upon immense masses of limestone, Avhich are so dis- 
posed as to form numerous caverns, and to allow very ex- 
tensive communications between them. Air, sound, and 
water show, by the easy passage whicli they find from cave 
to cave, how loosely the stones beneath us are laid together, 
or how much they are crumbled and v/asted by time. Wa- 
ter is continually percolating through the soil, and finding 
its v^ay to subterraneous streams wliich are murmuring in 
ihese dark palaces of limestone, and vdiich are employed ia 
cooling grottos for no one to iuhabit, or at least for none 
but gnomes that know not how to enjoy them. Much of the 
finest and richest mould is thus carried away to form allu- 
vial deposits whict nobody can cultivate, and which none 
but bats, lizards, and their companions can claim as their 
possessions. iJow many years or centuries will be requir- 
ed to decompose the stones, v/hich bar communication, ex- 
cept for air, sound, and water, bet'.veen tliese subterraneao 
apartments, and to permit an uninterrupted passage for tra- 
vellers to any of the latitudes or settlements of the lower 
regions, I leave to the dislinguisl^.ed philosopher Mr. 
Symmes to determine. For myself I liavc no disposition to 
make an excursion to the North Pole in any v\'ay, and par- 
ticularly in this, but have become quite satisfied with a very 
few liundred ya.-ds of travel in this novel and wonderful 
style. Good carriages and roads, navigable rivers and 


steam boats, the great ocean and ships, day light and green 
fields with ilowers and fruit, are, I acknowledge, more a- 
greeable to my taste than the labors and privations of the 
more marvellous passage under ground. I cannot say that 
I have yet arrived at such a degree of perfection in philo- 
sophical enterprize as to be anxious to give up comfortable 
inns, warm meals, and good beds, above the earth, for dis- 
mal caves, a dirty allowance of cold food with snakes and 
bats, and a pallet of mortar or a bed of rocks, beneath it, 
even to inherit Symmesiajn glory and immortality. 

I have had an hour's experience to day, much to the an- 
noyance of my bones and muscles, in traversing Russell's 
Cave in the vicinity of Lexington. The exterior of this 
mansion is so imposing that I was tempted to explore the 
wonders within. The party consisted of Mr A, Mr F, Mr 
Y, and Mr L. Mr A, having as much judgement as curios- 
ity, and choosing the more discreet and comfortable course 
of relying upon our testimony in regard to the discoveries 
•we sliould make, calmly seated himself in the vestibule of 
the cavern, with the famous novel 'VVirt's life of Henry in 
his hand, while Mr F and myself, with Mr L for our guide, 
prepared to pay our respects to Pluto in this, one of his re- 
moter dominions. Understanding that it was neither cus- 
tomary, nor acceptable to him, to be visited in full dress, but 
that he had a vulgar taste in regard to the costume of his 
court and his guests, we stripped off our coats, tied hand- 
kerchiefs round our heads, girded our waists, and looked 
like French cooks, or like wu-estlers and boxers at a country 
sBuster of militia. Some of us adopted the oriental custom 
jf paying our homage barefooted, and left our shoes behind. 
As it was a very warm day, and the w'ater, through which 
we were obligsd to pass, was as cold as that of a well, our 
outset in this chilling element, notwithstanding the copi- 
ous draughts which we had made from a bottle of madeira, 
was more agitating than agreeable. Bare feet too furnish 
by no means the most comfortable soles, with which to meet 
sharp and rugged stones; nor is the povv^r to guard against 
falling aided by being compelled to hold a greasy candle in 
one's hnnd, vvhose li-ht ia to he. most cautiously preserved 
underttie certain alternative of ourbeiagotherw^i-:e bewilder- 
ed and lost. A death and burii.1 under such circumstances 
present not the most agreeable prospect. After going about 
two hundred yards in a circuitous and chaoging direction, 
:fi.imhing over rude fragments of rock, and sc[\ieezing- oubK 


I6i BUS sell's cats. 6ct» 

Ijodies througii n-arrow straits, we reached a wide portion of 
the cave with an immense flat surface of limestone above 
118, and a shallow lake under our feet with a bottom of mud 
varying from the depth of the knee to that of the whole leg 
or limb. Walking with our bodies bent double, our heads 
and backs striking the jauged and dripping roof, our noses 
nearly in contact with the water and occasionally plough- 
ing its surface, our legs drawn out of the mud at every step 
with great difficulty, our candles in danger of a ducking 
which would not much increase their usefulness,- the possi- 
})ility that we might meet with some deep hole in the way 
aud suddenly plunge entirely under water at the hazard of 
disowning, and being at the same time told t]}at we had only 
sixty yards to traverse in this position, we could not, (so per- 
verse were our impressions at the moment,) consider as 
perfectly delightful. A laborious respiration, a complain- 
ing back, and necks which were cramped under the neces- 
sity of looking forward in a tortuous disposition of the 
cervical vertebrss, we were not able to persuade ourselves 
were as agreeable as a free play of the lungs, an upright 
and unconstrained posture, and the natift-al easy motion of 
the head and neck in all tlie liberty of space and the open 
air. The feebleness of candle light in such a breadth of 
tl^rkness, the figure that we made in our dress and position, 
the line that we formed while tracking each other in mud 
and water, and the panting laugh that we could not resist afc 
our own ridiculous situation and at the burlesque accom- 
paniments of our hard labour with some real danger, could 
not but make Pluto and his courtiers grin at our approach. 
This part of the erterprize over, we came to the proper pal- 
€ice of his infernal majesty, high, rugged, and gloomy. lift 
echoed our voices as we offered our salutations and as we 
paid our devotions. We felt the awe of his presence an^ 
dignity when we found his replies cease the moment that we 
ceased our addresses. We were invited no further; no 
hospitable board was spread for our refreshment; not even. 
the cheerless splendours of stalactitical walls, wliich are 
usually furnished to adorn the apartments of tliis grisly- 
king, were offered for our gratification, or for the reward, 
of our curiosity, our anxiety, and our homage. I had be- 
fore visited him in one of his possessions in the Ancient 
Dominion, in the palace of Wkr^ near to the deserted one. 
of Madison, where he keeps a dazzling court, and admits of 
dance and song, of beauty and fashion, of mirth and ele- 

i820. Russell's cave; 16S 

gance. But here all was dark, and dismal, and naked, and 
grim. With trembling and disappointed courtesy we bade 
the frowning" monarch farewell, fearing that we might per-- 
chance offend him and be drowned before we could retrace 
our steps, and escape from his appalling region?. Our as- 
cent to the upper air, though laborious and piiinful, was 
with increased alacrity, as it was animated by a better hope. 
Our dripping faces, the ardent glow of our cheeks, the ra- 
pid and audible action of our lungs, and the agitation of 
our frames, bore ample testimony to the interest Avhich had 
been excite-^ by tliis initiation into the mysteries of Pluto's 
western court. Mr A hailed our return with the joy of one 
receiving his friends from the grave, and we offered togeth- 
er copious libations of wine to the infernal goJ that he had 
granted us a safe retreat from his empire, and allowed us, 
as we trusted, many years of absence from every part of 
his dominioni. 

To be for a moment serious, I may safely inform you, my 
dear friend, should you ever visit this part of the country, 
that you need not indulge )our curiosity to go into this cave. 
The most interesting part of it is that which you see as yoii 
stand at its mouth. Tiie dry apartment is spacious, and 
ihe composition of the stone is curious, though not singu- 
lar. It is evidently secondary, and contains shells and pet' 
rifactions. The opening on the other side, at which a beau- 
tiful st'-eam of water issues from under a low roof of rock, 
furnishes an agreeable and refreshing cooliiess, and at this 
season strongly tempts one by its invitation to enter. The 
general course of the cave is south east, and has been fol- 
lowed, and accurately surveyed, for three quarters of a mile. 
Although we went but two hundred and fifty yards, wc 
were amused, when we came out, to see, as v»'e were shown 
above ground, where we had been, the trees, fences, emi- 
nences, and rocks under which we had passed. There is 
nothing however in the cave to reward avvisitor for his la- 
bour and hazard. Wier's cave in Virginia, which is in the 
same hill with that of MadL> jo, to both of which I have al- 
ready referred, is exi;'c.>iely ir, '.cresting, and fully repaid me 
for a visit of five hours. The stalactites and stalagmites 
are innumerable, splendid^ and 0/ i»exhaustible variety. 
The apartments are spacious, high, and magnificent. Tiie 
fret work of the walls and ceilings is '-xtremely complica- 
ted and curious, wliile from many points the prismatic col- 
Qxs are brilliantly reflected. That is a cave worthy of Uar-^ 

164* __ LETTER FROM HUDSON. C?e«A«^4 

sng a sacrifice made to be traversed and examined; but ai& 
it regards this one near Lexington, it is best to stop, witS* ' 
Mr A, at the vestibule, and content yourself with a cooling, 
draught of its ivatcr and a comfortable seal under its sliade. 

zMn extract from a Letter written at Hudsotk, State qfJVeto York^ 
Jiugust 2Sth, 1820, in answer to inquiries concerning the ex- 
penses of living in that city. 

*'Good brick houses, which, with the lot and appurtenan- 
ces could be bought for a sum between ^6,000 and $8,000, 
rent for ^250 per annum, and from that to $350, according 
to the situation, and the use intended. Those, which are 
next lower in rank, rent, as dwelling houses, for S150 or 
^200. Wood, consisting of a fair mixture of hickory, ma^ 
pie, oak, &c, is about $4 a cord. Labor, during the sum- 
mery is from $10 to $12 a month, and during the winter 
from $6 to $8. Mechanical labor is, for a carpenter, $1,25 
a day, and for a mason $1,50. Pasturage for horn-cattle 
is from 60 to 62 cents a month, and for horses from 75 cents 
to $1. Beef is from 1 to 7 cents a pound; veal and lamb 
from 4 to 5 cents; pig 8 cents; fresh pork from 6 to 8 cents; 
barrelled pork from 5 to 8 cents; butter 10 cents; cheese 
from 4 to 6 cents; lard 8 cents; fowls from G to 8 cents a 
piece; potatoes and turnips from 25 to 37 1-2 cents a bush- 
el; corn 50 cents; wheat 87 1-2 cents; rye 50 cents; wheat 
flour $3,50 a hundred; and hay froui 37 1-2 to 50 cents. The 
average price of farms in Columbia county, which is a good 
tract for agriculture, and is near to market, is not far from 
$30 an acre, irxludiug buildings. This is probably 30 per 
centum lower than it was five years ago, but every thing is 
diminished in price, so that I think the value of land is as 
high as ever, though nsen, wlio got into debt at high prices, 
find it difflcult to get out at low. The prices of meats I ob- 
tained from butcisers, and irHlce.! most of the prices are pre- 
dicated of the market in this city. I believe however, as 
it regards the retail price, there is little difference between 
the city and the country." 

In this estimate, one's attention is attracted to tlie price 
ef butter, cheese, fowls, and potatoes. Why should these 
articles -be so much higher in Lexington, where the coun- 
ito^y is fertile almost beyond a comparison, than tkey are in 


Hudson? What a difference between 10 cents a pound for 
butter, and 2h cents; between 4 or 6 cents for cheese, and 
20 or 25 cents; between 6 or 8 cents for a fowl, and 12 1-2 
or 18 cents; and between 26 or 37 1-2 cents for potatoes, 
and 50 cents! Many things in our market are sufficiently 
cheap, but these are too dear. When our groceries are so 
expensive, we ought to be able to find a compensation in 
the facility with which we can obtain the articles of home 


Frofesior of Botany and JVatural History in TransylvanitL 

(continued from vol. 2 PAGE 363) 

XXVI Genus. Ribeoxfish. Sarchirus. Sarchire. 

Body scaleless slender cylindrical, slightly compressed. Vent 
posterior. Head nearly square. Jaws elongated narrow flat^ 
with four rows of small unequal teeth, the lower one shorter 
and moveable, the upper one longer immobile, with an obtuse 
knob atthe end. Pectoral fins round without rays, but with a thin 
circular membrane surrounding an adipose base. Abdominal 
fins antsrior with six rays. Dorsal fin posterior nearer to the 
tail than the anal. Caudal fiii lanceolate, decurrent beneath. 

A very distinct genus of the family Esoxida, differing from 
all the genera oi it by its fleshy pectoral fins: It differs besides 
from Lepisosteus by the naked body, and from Esox by tixe 
tail &c. The name means fleshy arms.- 

83 Species. Ohio Ribbokfish. Sarchirus vittatus. SajQ.r 
chire rubanne. 

Back olivaceous brown, and with three longitudinal furrows, a 
black lateral band from the mouth to the end of the tail, n« lat- 
eral hne. Belly with a lateral row of black dots on each side* 
Jaws obtuse longer than the head. Anal and dorsal fins ovate 
acute with two transverse black bands, the anal with ten rayS; tht 
4«r5al with nine. Tail wnequilateral acuminate. 


Sarchirus vittatus. Raf. in Journ. Ac. Nat. 5c. Philadel- 
phw, V. l,page 41S, tab. 17. fig. 2. 

In the lower parts of the Ohio and at the falls; length from 
sis. to twelve inches. Vulgar names Ribbonfish and G3.rnsh. 
Xot used as food. Abdornina! fins narrow almost linear aciitc- 
and with two transverse black bands, situated half Vt'p.y between 
the pectoral and anal fins. This last far from the tail. 
XXVII Genus. Pike. Esox. Brochet. 

Body cylindrical or very long covered with small scales, vent 
posterior. One dorsal fin behind the abdominal fins.- Mouth 
large, jaws long and flattened with very strong teeth: opening 
•f the gills very large. Head bony scaleless. Tail not obli- 
qual. All the fins with rays. 

There are several species ol Pikes in the Ohio, ivlississippij 
"^Vabash, Kentucky, Sec- I have not yet been able to observe 
them thoroughly. I have however procured correct accounts, 
and figures of two species; but there are more. They appear 
io belong to a peculiar subgenus distinguished by a long dorsal 
Sn, a forked tail, and the abdominal fins anterior, being remov- 
ed from the vent. It may be called Picorcllw^. The French 
settlers of the Wabash and Missoari call them I'iconeau, and 
the American settlers Pikes or Pickerels. They are perma- 
"aent but rare fishes, retiring however in deep vvaters in wi»tei\ 
,TUey prefer thelarg* strean^s, are very voracious, and grow to 
a Jarge size. They pr-cy on ail the other fishes exjc^t the Gar- 
Sshes, &c. They iirc easily taken -H'ith the hook, ftiid affprd a 
-very good food, having a delicate fleah. 

S4th Species. SxREAKr^D Pike. Esox vittatus. Brochet 

White, with two blacklih longitudinal streaks on each side, 
T)ack brownish: jaws nearly equal, very obtu&e, eyes large and 
behind the mouth: dorsal lins longUudinal between the abdomi- 
nal and anal fins; tail forked. 

E. vittatus. Raf. in American Monthly Ma.g!i2ine, 1818, 
Volume 3, page 447'. 

This fish is rare in the Ohio, (although it Las been seen at 
Pittsburgh,) butniore common in the Wabash and Ujptper Mis- 
-sissippi. It is called Ficineau or. Picaneau- by the Cauadiaus 

i8S0 riSHSS Of the eitek ohio. 1^ 

and Missourians. It reaches the length of from three to five 
feet. The pectoral and abdominal fins are trapezoidal, the anal 
and dorsal longitudinal with many rays and nearly equal. It is 
sometimes called Jack or Jackfish. Lateral line straight. 

85th Species. Salmon Pike. Escx salmoneus. Brochet 

White, with many narrow transversal brown bands, sottie- 
vvhat curved: jaws nearly equal, rery obtuse: dorsal fins brown 
longitudinal and extending over the anal fins: tail forked and 

It is one of the best fishes in the Ohio, its flesh is very dell" 
eate, and divides easily, as in Salmon, into large plates as whito 
as snow. It is called Salmon Pike, White Pike, White Jacfe 
or White Pickerel, and Picaneau blanc by the Missourians. It 
has a short and thick head, eyes not very large, and situated 
ifpwards. Pectoral and abdominal fins trapezoidal. Dorsal fia 
beginning behind these last and extending over the anal. The 
number ol transversal bands is twelve or more, rather distant 
and with the concavity towards the head. It reaches the lengtk 
of five feet. Lateral line nearly straight. 

XXVIII. Genus. G.vnnsu. Lepisosteus. Lepisoste 

Body cylindrical or fusiform, covered with hard b«ny scalesj 
Vent posterior. Iltad bony gcaleless. Jaws very long, and 
with strong unequal teeth. Opening of the gills very large. 
Tail obliqual. All the fins with rays. One dorsal fin behind 
the abdominal fins whicli are removed from the vent. 

The Garfishes or Gars, are easily knov/n from the Pikes by 
their large and hard scales. This fine genus had been over^ 
looked byLinneufi and united with the Pikes. Lacepede was 
the first to distinguish it; but he bas not been able to ascertain 
nor elucidate its numerous species. He has blended all the 
North American species under the name of Lefntcsteus gavial^ 
\Ue type of which was the Esox osseus of Linneus, or rathec 
the Alligator fish cf Catesby. I find tkat Dr. Mitchil], in a. 
late publication, describes another species quite new under th« 
obsolete name of Eacnc ssseus. I shall describe and distia- 
guidi accurately five species living in the Ohio or Mississippi^ 
i-^hich must be divided intQ tw« subgenera. To this nambe^ 


jnust be added three other known species. 1. L. g'avial, ihs 
Garfish or Alligator fish of the Southern Atlantic gtates. 2. L. 
afiatula or the Gar of Chili. 3. L. indicus or the East Indian 
Gar. I suspect however that there are more than ten species 
of these fishes ia the United States, and many others in South 
America, &c. The Gars of the Ohi» partake ot the inclina- 
tions and properties of the Pikes; but they are still more dan- 
gerous and vo;;acious. Their flesh may be eaten; but is often 
rejected owing to the difficulty of skinning them, the operation 
may however be performed by splitting the skin beneath in zig- 
zag. Their scales are very singular, they are not embricated 
as in all other fishes; but lay over the skin in oblique rows, and 
are as hard as bones. They have many other peculiarities in 
common which have been stated by Cuvier, or may be collec- 
ted from the follov/ing descriptions, 

I Subgenus. Cylindrosteus. 

Body cylindrical, dorsal fin beginning behind the anal fin. 
The name means bo7iy cylinder, 

86th Species. Duckbill Garfish. Lejiisosteus filatosta- 
■muB. Lcpisoste platostome. 

Jaws nearly equal, as long as the head, about one ninth of to- 
tal length, and flattened; body cylindrical olivaceous brown a- 
bove, white beneath: fins vellowish, dorsal and anal spotted with 
eight rays, abdominal fins with seven rays, tail obtuse oboval 
and spotted with brown: lateral line nearly obsolete. 

This species is not uncomm.on in the Ohio, Miami, Scioto^ 
Wabash, Mississippi, Missouri, Tennessee, Cumberland, &c. 
and other tributary stream.s. It reaches the length of four feet. 
It is taken with the seine, the hook, and even with the gig «p 
harpoon. It is found as far as Pittsburgh and in the Alleghany 
River. Its flesh is as good as that of the Streaked Pike; but is 
erroneously thought poisonous by some persons. I shall give a 
full description of it, which will preclude the necessity of repe- 
titions in describing the others. The individuals v.'hich I ob- 
served were 26 inches long, the head 5*, the jaws 2£' inches?' 
the dimension Irom the end of the javvs to the abdominal fins. 
was 12 inches, and to the vent 18, The body was 2 inches 
fetrizontaTly and 2^ vertically; nearly cylindrical, but slightij'; 


flattened en the back and belly, with convex sides slightly yel- 
lowish: the whole bod/ is covered with hard bony scales, some 
^vhat unequal and obliquely rhomboidal, but with the two inner 
sides concave and the two outward sides convex, lying in ob- 
iique rows, surface smooth and convex. Head scaleless, hard, 
and bony, eyes behind the base oi the jaws, iris large gilt with 
a brown stripe across, centre or real eyes small and black. Jaws 
short, broad, fiat and obtuse, breadih about one fifth of the 
length, the upper one putting over the lower one and with four 
sn-sall nostriis at the cud, mc'.Ionless and with three longitudinal 
iiH-rows. The lower jaw moveable, soft in the middle. Teeth. 
white, unequal, acute, strong, and upon a single row. To'ngue 
bllobsd cartilaginous and rough. Branchial with 8 rays, jut- 
ting cut and giit. Pectoral fins yellow with 12 rays, situated 
Jirectly behind the gill covers and elliptical acute. Abdomi, 
=ial fins yellow, obliquely cboval obtuse and with 7 rays. Anal 
and dorsal fins oval nearly equal and acute, each with S rays 
the anterior of which is serrated, yelluwlsh oliva-^eous and spot- 
led with brown, tb.e dorsal beginning behind the beginning of 
the anal. Space between those fins and the tail attenuated. 
Tail or caudal fin four inches long, oblong oboval, entire ob- 
tuse, bascobliqua!, the lower part decurrent, with twelve rays, 
the upper one serrated, yellowish olivaceous spotted with small 
unequal brown spots. Lateral line concealed under the scales, 
hardly visible outside. This fish bears (together with the fol- 
lov.-ing) the names of Gar, Garfish, Aliigator Gar, Alligator 
fish, Jack or Gar Pike, &c. and on the Mississippi the French 
naraes of Brochetsau^ Picamau^ Poisson caymon. Sec. 

87lh Species. White Garfish. Lejtisosteus Aldus. Lep- 
- .isoste blaac. 

Jtuvs nearly equal, as long as the head, about one eighth of to- 
lal length, and very broad; body cylindrical and white, fins oli- 
vaceous unspotted, tail obtuse oblong, lateral line obsolete. 

This fish resembles very much the foregoing, and has the 
ger.eral shape of a Pike. It is covered all over with whits shin- 
ing obllquai elliptical smooth and convex scales. It reaches 
the lengiu of six feet, and is often called Garpike or Pike-gar. 



it is a rare fish in the Ohio, Jaws shorter and broader than ib 
the foregoing^, breadth one fourth of the length. 

SSth Species. Ohio Garfish. Lejiisosleus oxyurus. Lep- 
isoste oxyure. 

Upper jaw longer, longer than the head, one sixth of total 
length, flat and narrow: body cylindrical olivaceous brown a- 
bove, white beneath: dorsal fin with eight rays, anal fin with 
ten, abdominal with six, lanceolate acute, spotted with black; 
lateral line straight, but raised upwards at the base. 

This is a very distinct species by the shape of the jaws and 
tail. It is found in the Ohio; but is by no means common. It 
teaches six feet in length. Its flesh is not yery good to eat, ra- 
ther toagh and strong smelling, like that of some strong stur- 
geons. The individual which I observed was caught at the falls,, 
and was 30 inche^jn length, with the upper jaw 5 inches Jong, 
while the lower jaw was only four inches: the upper one has 
ihree furrows and juts over the lower by a thick curved obtuse. 
j)oint with four small openings or nostrils, although there were- 
two other oblong nostrils in obliqual furrows, at the base before 
the eyes. This does not appear in L. platostomns. Lower ja\ic 
straight with a membrane between the lateral lines. Teeth 
unequal straight very sharp and on a row. Breadth oC 
the jaws one eighth of Uie length. Iris large and gilt. Head 
Tough nearly square, covered with six broad plates, two of 
^vhich on each side, and of a fulvous grey colour. Body cylin- 
<?rical cov«red v/ith the usual hard scales in oblique rows; but 
iiot two scales ex?.ctly alike either in shape or size; they arc 
generally elongated obliquely with the two longest lateral sides- 
straight, the upper one concave and the lower one convex, but 
these is a row of obcordated ones on the back. All the fin& 
fulvous, the pectoral lanceolate acute with 12 rays, the abdom- 
inal lanceolate acute and with only 6 rays. Dorsal and anal 
trapezoidal elongated, serrated by scaly rays anteriorly. Cau- 
dal fins with 12 i-ays, one sixth ol total length, covered with « 
few large black spots, of a lanceolate shape, with an oblique* 
flexuose base decurrcnt beneath and acute at the end, serrated 
V«th upwards ^^d downwardS; and serratures extending on the 

'iS^* FiSHES OF THE RitER OHIO^ i^i 

body. Lateral line not obsolete, qnite straight, but raised a lit-* 
tie upwards at the base. 

89th Species. Longbill Garfish. Lejiisosteus longirostrisl 
Lepisoste longirostre. 

£s9x osseus. Mitchill in Araer. Monthly Magazine, Vol. 2^ 
page 321. 

Upper jaw longer than the lower and the head one fourth of 
total length and narrow: body cylindrical, dorsal and anal fins 
with 8 rays, abdominal fins with 6, tail unspotted nearly trun- 
cate, lateral line obsolete. 

I hava •niy seen the head of this fish, which was taken in the 
Mtskingum. It is evidently the same fish described at length 
by Dr. Mitchill under the old Linnean name of Esox osseus and 
found in Lake Oneida; although his description is very minute 
in acme respects, he has omitted to mention the colour of the 
body, shape of the fins, and many other peculiarities. I refer 
to hih description, and shall merely add its most striking dis- 
crepancies from the former species. Length forty inches, up- 
per ja\r ten inches with two cr«oked teeth at th» end, lower jaw 
nine inches, teeth of three sizes crowded on the jaws. Scales 
Thomboidal. Abdominal fins nearly medial. Tail with 13 
rays, serrated above and below. 

2d Subgenus. AxftACTOsxEus. 
Body fusiform or spindle shaped, dorsal and anal fins quite op= 
Tposite. The name means dony sfiindle. 

90th Species. Alligatok Garfish. Le.sisosteus ferox. 
Lepisoste feroce. 

Jaws nearly equal, as long as the head, about one eighthof 
total len3;th and broad: body fusiform and brownish; dorsal 
and anal fins opposite, tail obliqual oval, lateral line obsolete. 

This is a formidable fish living in the Mississippi, principally 
in the lower parts, also in Lake Pontchartrain, the Mobile, Redt 
Biyer, &c. It has been seen sometimes in tlie lower parts of 
the Ohio. It reaches the length of eight to twelve feet, and 
preys upon all other fishes, even Gars and Alligators. Mr. 
John D. ClifTord told me that he saw one of them fight with aa 
alligator five feet long and succeed in devouring him, after cut- 
.ting hiai in two ia its povverfuJjaws. My description is mads 


irnm a sketch dnm-n by Mr, CliiTorci, and a jaw bone preserv- 
ed in his Muscam. These jaws are from twelve to eighteen 
inches long-, and from four to six inches broad. They are crowd- 
ed wiUi teeth, uue^ually set, not two of which are alike in size, 
the largest lie towurds the end, and have many small ones be- 
tween theitii; they arc however all of the same structure, im- 
planted in* sockets and conical, base grey, striated and hollow^ 
top while smooth, curved and very sharp. The longest meas- 
ure one and a half inch, and arc three ciuarters of un inch thick 
at the base. The diameter of the body is nearly one sixth of 
the total lengtli. The anal and dorsal fins are small and with 
few rays. It is called the Alligator fish or Alligator gar, and 
by the Louisiunians Pohso^i Cayinoji. The scales arfc largCj 
convex, and rhomboidal. 

XXIX Genus. Diajiond Frsa. Litholei'is. Litholcpc. 

Body fusiform, covered with hard stony pentaedral scales,, 
vent nearly medial. Abdominal fin near the vent. One dorsal 
nn opposite to the anal. Head bony scalclcss protruded anteri- 
orly in a long snout, mouth beneath the head, jaws not elonga- 
ted, v/ilh strong unequal teeth. Opening of the gills very large. 
Tail not obliqual. All the fins with rc.ys. 

A very singular 'genus, which comes very near to the last sub- 
genus; but differs by the snout, mouth, tail, scales, Sec. It 
raust belong hov/ever to the same family. The name means 
Stony scales. 

9 ist Species. Devil-Jack DiArioNn-FiSH- Lithole/ils ad- 
amantinus, Litholepe adamantm. 

Snout obtuse as long as t!ie head; head one fourth of tota^ 
length; body fusiform blackish: dorsal and anal fins equal and 
with many rays: tail bilobcd, later?.l line obsolete. 

Liiholejiis adaincmtinus. Raf. in American Monthly Mag- 
azine, 1818, Vol. 3, p.4-1-7, and in Journal dc Plujs'ujue et Ilisl. 
JVat. 70 .Y. G. d\i/d:;iau:v, G. 20. 

This may be I'eckoned the wonder of the Ohio. It is only 
found as iar up as the ialls, an.d probably lives also in the Mis- 
sissippi. I iuive seen it, bv;t o'.;ly at auislance, and have bceu 
shov. n some of its singular t>caics. Vv'cfnucriui stories are re- 
lated conccrriing Lhii> li^ih, but i have principally vt\i:'\ upoa 

1820^ THE ABBOT ; l^tf 

Uie description and fipjure given me by Mr. Audubon. Its. 
length is from 4 to 10 feet. One v/as caught which weighed 
400!b3. It lies sometimes asleep or motionless on the surface 
of ihe water, and may be mistaken for a log or a siwg. It i» 
impossible to take it in any other way than with the seine or a 
Very strong hook^ the prongs of the gig cannot pierce the scales, 
which are as hard as flint, and also'proof lead balls! It» 
flesh is not good to eat. It is a voracious fish. Its vulgar namps 
are Diarnond-fish, (owing to its scales being cut like diamonds,) 
Devil-fish, Jack-fish, Gar-jack, Devil-jack, l<.c. The snout ia 
large, convex above, very obtuse, the eyes small and black, nos- 
trils small round before the eyes, transversa! with large angular 
teeth. Pectoral and abdomiiial fis trapezoidal. Dorsal and a- 
nal fin equal longitudinal with many rays. Tail obtusely and 
regularly bilobed. The v/hole body covered with large stony 
scales lying in oblique rows, they are conical pentagonal and 
pentaedral with equal sides, from half an inch to one inch in di- 
ameter, brown at first, but becoming of the colour of turtl* 
shell when dry: they strike fire with steel, and arc ball proot! 

THE ABBOT, by the Author of Waverley. 

Our readers have already been informed that the new nov- 
el, Avhich we are persuaded is, like the rest of the series, 
from the pen of Sir Walter Scott, and which is just pub- 
lislicd under the title of the AbbcT, is a continuation of the 
Monastery, of" whicli we gave some account in our num- 
ber for July. We have not yet had an opportunity to peruse 
this last work, but we find, from the criticisms and extracts 
in the Bvitlsli Reviews, that it is much superior to its im- 
mediate predecessor, and is, on the whole, well calculated 
to sustain the exalted reputation of its author. Oitr fellow 
citizen, Mr. W^alsh, has likewise, in a brief article contain- 
ed in the National Gazette, expressed an opinion highly fa- 
vourable of it. The first volume indeed he pronounces 
''dull and tedious in some of the dialogues; oppressively- 
circumstantial in parts of the narrative and descriptions; 
extravagant in several of the situations and characters, and 
■jaot altogether free froai sheer puerilities and absurdities^" 


13111 the excellencies of the second volunie, he thinks, am- 
ply atone for all these defects. "Tiie inspiration of the au- 
thor is here in full play through many pages; his suhject ac- 
quires the highest dignity and interest; his touches are 
anorc nalttral, rapid, and delicate; attention cannot he fa- 
tigued with his picturesfjue and animated details, and 
'the rich eloquence of parts of the dialogue must be fell by 
tlie raost phlegraatic reader." Y/e will endeavour to fur- 
aiisli an epitome of the story and a few extracts such as we 
can ^^lean f om tlie notices we have met with. 

TJio readers of tho. flonastery are aware tliat Ilalbert 
Glendinning and tlie Lady of Avenel were united in raar- 
fiage. This work commences at the expiration of tea 
years from the period of their union. They have no chil- 
dren, and Halbcrt, being often absent from home, engaged 
in the political turmoils and contentions of the day, Icavesi 
3iis wife, with no other company but her domesLics, and ths 
2)reacher, Warden. At length she obtains an addition to 
tier family in the person of a youth, then about ten years of 
age, who aflevward.3 becomes somewhat conspicuous in the 
"jsarrative. This youth is Holand Grcemc, who is rescued 
from drowning through the agency of a dog, and whose on- 
ly relative, an aged grandmother, consents, with some hesi- 
tation, tokis being made the page of Lady Avcncl. He is 
xeceived as such, and soon becoming, from his many inter- 
esting qualities, a peculiar favorite, is indulged,. especially 
hy his Lady, to an extent that renders him insolent and o- 
verbearing to the rest of the household, and induces a covn- 
spiracy against him which results in his dismissal from the 
family. lie is then consecrated by his grandmotiier, Mag- 
<lalen Grasme, to Bome important service in Rome, and soon 
aftervvirds m.eets witii the heroine, Catharine )Seyton, who 
-appears to be inlimr/iely connec'.ed with the far-famed Mary 
Stuart, Queen of Scots. Thus the author, in the present 
•work, adepts his usual practice ofconriecting his fictitious 
narrative with well known historical incidents, and Mary 
becomes a prominent character. Roland also is a partizan 
of the unfortunate qijeen, and, after the flight of George 
.Dougluss, whose zed in her behalf is attested by histoiy, 
becomes tlie principal ageiit for eiTeciing her escape. The 
Abbot, who is no other than Edward Glcndinning, althougii 
he gives title to the vrark, appears to talce but little part in it, 
and contrihi-tes SQarcely any to the interest of the narrative. 
Yoixu^j; Ilcm-y Scylon, the l?roth«?r of CathiiiinCy detects a. 

1810. THB AEEOT. i7* 

plot of Dryfesdale, the steward of the Queeu, to effect her 
destruction, and kills him in a personal conflict. He i* 
however himself subsequently slain, and so is George Doug- 
lass, in a manner truly aftccting, in sight of the alllicted Ma- 
ry. Roland Greeme turns out^o he the child of Julian Ave- 
nel and his wife, mentioned in the Monastery as havingbeen 
found on the field of oattle, and rescued by Haibert Glendin- 
ning, after the death of both its parents. He is at length 
married to Catharine Scyton, "who was compelled to leave 
her sovereign Avhen lier imprisonment in England was ren- 
dered more straiglit by the dissembling Elizabeth and hec 
crafty counsellors." We will now proceed to make a few- 
selections from such parts of the work, as we have mets- 
V/ith in the foreign reviews, and, following the order of the 
narrative, we wijl introduce first the spirited account of the 
pre^^ervat'lon of Pxland from drowningby t'.ic dog, Wolf, and 
the description of Magdalene Grceme, whom Mr. Walsh calls 
''another Meg- iSIerrilies, varied also, but not so liappihy, by 
jeligious fervor heightened to frenzy." Lady Avenel is 
descrihed as pensively walking on the battlements, and no- 
ticing some boys wdio were amusing themselves on tlia 
ijanks of a ncighbsuving lake. 

"A larQ;e stag-hound of tho grey-hound species, approached 
at this moment, and, attracted perhaps by the gesture, licketi 
her hands and pressed his large head against them. He 
ed the desired caress in vctv.rn, but sliil the sad impressions 

" 'Wolf,' she saitl, as if the anim:d could have understood her 
complaints, 'thou art a noble and beautiful animal; but alast 
the Icve and aflection that I long to bestov,'', is of a quality liigU-_ 
•r than can Tall to thy share, thouc:h I love thee much.' 

"And as if she were apologizing to Wolf for withholding 
from him any part of her regard, she caressed his proud head 
and crest, while looking in her eyes he seemed to ask her what 
she v/anted, or what he could do to sho\y his attachment. At 
this moment a shriek of distress was heard on the shore, from 
the playful group which had been so jovial. The lady looked 
and saw the cause v.ith great anxiety. 

"The little ship, the object of the children's delighted atten- 
tion, had Btruck among seme tufts of the plant which bears 
the water-Uly, that marked a litde shoal in th^ lake about an ar- 
row's flight from the shore. A hardy little boy, who had taken 
the lead in the race round the margin of the lake, did not hesi- 
tate a moment to strip oft his 'wylie-coau plunge into the water, 
and sumi towards the object of their common solicitude. The 
Isrst nf;ovem,5Ut of thf Lady was to call for help; but she o^^ 

i76 THE ABBOT. Oct, 

served that the boj- swam strongly and fearlessly, and as she 
saw that one ur two villagers, who were distant spectators of the 
incident, seemed to give themselves no uneasiness on his account^ 
she supposed lliat he was accustomed to the exercise, and that 
there was no danger. But whether, in swimming, the boy had 
Struck his breast against a sunken rock, or v/hether he was sud- 
denly taken with tlic cramp, or whether he had over-calculated 
liis own strength, it so happened that when he had disembar- 
rassed the little plaything from the flags in v/hich it was entan- 
gled and sent it forward on its course, he had scarce swam a 
few yaids in his way to the shore, than ho raised himself sud- 
denly from the water and screamed aloud, clapping his hands 
at the same time with an expression of fear and jjain. 

"The Lady of Avenel instantly taking the alarm, called hasti- 
ly to the attendants to get the boat ready. But this was an af- 
fair of some time. The only boat permitted to be used on the 
lake was moored within the second cut which intersected the 
canal, and it was scveri'il minutes before it could be got under 
way. Meanwhile the Lady of Avenel with agonizing anxiety, 
saw that the efforts which the poor boy made to keep himself 
afloat, were now exchanged for a faint struggling, which would 
soon have been over, but for aid equally prompt and unhoped 
for. Wolf, who, like some of that large species of grey-hound, 
was a pi-actised water dog, had marked the object of their anx- 
iety, and, quitting his mistress's side, had sought the nearest 
point from which he could with safety pkinge into the lake. 
With the wonderful instinct which these noble animals have so 
often displayed in the like circumstances, he swam straight to 
the spot where his assistance was so much wanted, and, seizing 
the child's under dress in his mouth, he not only kept him afloat, 
but towed him tovv^ards the causeway. The boat having put 
off with a couple of men, met the dog halfway and rcheved hin^ 
of his burthen. They landed on the causeway by the entrance 
to the castle, with their yet lifekss burthen, and were met at 
the entrance of the gate by the Lady of Avenel, attended by 
one or two of her maidens, eagerly waiting to administer assis- 
tance to the suflerer. 

«He was borne into the castle, deposited upon a bed, and ev- 
ery mode of recovery resorted to which the knowledge of the 
^Imes, and the skill of Henry Y/arden, wlfo professed some 
medical knowledge, could dictate. For some time it was all in 
vain, and the lady watched with unspeakable earnestness the 
naliid countenance of the beautiful child. He seemed about 
*en yeavs old. His dress was of the meanest sort, but his long, 
curled hair, and the noble cast of his fcatvires, partook not of 
that poverty- of appearance. The proudest noble in bcollana 
mio-ht have been yet prouder coukl he have called that child his 
keir. While, with brcathle^r. .in:>iety, the Lady of Avenel ga- 

iS^G. THl ABBOT. iff 

ared on ihe well -formed and expressive features, a slight shade 
of colour returned gradually to his cheekj suspended animation 
became restored by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened 
his eyes, -which to the human countenance produces the effe.ct 
of light upon the natural landscape, stretched his arms towards 
the Lady and muttered the \Tord 'mother,' that epithet, which is 
dearest to the female ear. 

" «God, madam,* said the preacher, 'has restored the child to 
your wishes; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may 
cot one day wish that he l^iad perished in his innocence.' 

" <It shall be my charge,' said the lady; and again throwing 
>!er arm around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and 
caresses, so much was she agitated by the terror arising troirx 
the danger in which he had been just placed, and by joy at his 
unexpected deliverance. 

" 'But you are not my mother,' said the boy, collecting his 
recollection, and endeavouring, though faintly, to escape from 
the caresses of the Lady of Avenel, 'you are not my mother— 
alasl I have no mother — only I have dreamt that I had one.' 

" 'I will read the dream for you, my love, answered the Lady 
©f Avenel; 'and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has 
heard my wishes, and in his own marvellous manner, hath sent 
me an object on which my affections may expand themselves?' 
She looked towards Warden ss she spoke. The preacher hes- 
itated what he should reply to a burst of passionate feeling, 
-which perhaps seemed to hirh more enthusiastic than the occa- 
sion demanded. In the meanwhile, the large stag-hound, Wolf, 
which, dropping wet as he was, had followed his mistress into 
the apartment, and had sate by the bed-side a patient and quiet 
spectator of all the means used for the resurrection of the be- 
ing whom he had preserved, now became impatient of remain- 
ing any longer unnoticed, and began to whine and fawn upon 
the La^y with his great rough paws. 

" 'Yes,' she said, 'good Wolf, and you shall be remembered 
also for your day's work, and I will think ihe more of you for 
having preserved the life of a creature so beautiful.' " 

The presence of Warden, who disapproved the sudden 
warmth of aflection, operated as a restraint upon the ex^ 
pression of her emotions; but when — 

"K-e left the apartment, the Lady of Avenel gave way to the 
feelings of tenderness, whick the sight of the boy, his sudden 
danger, and his recent escape, had inspired; and no longer aw- 
ed hy iiie sternness, as she deemed it, of the preacher, heaped 
•with caresses the lovely and interesting child. He was no^vr, ia 
sonic measure, recovered from the consequences of his acci- 
dent, and received passively, though not without wonf^er, th» 
tstkens of kindness with which ho wus thus io»d«4. Ike fac« 

2i ' 

tTB THE ABBor. Oct» 

•Ot Ihe lady was strange to him, and her dress different and far 
more sumptuous than any he remembered. But the boy was 
naturally of an undaunted temper; and indeed children are gen- 
erally acute physiognomists, and not only pleased by that which 
is bi-autiful in itself, but peculiarly acute in dislinguishuig and 
replying to the attentions of those who really love them. If 
they see a person in company, though a perfect stranger, who 
is by nature fond oi children, the little imps seem to discover it 
by a sort of free-masonry, while the awkward attempts of those 
■who make advances to Ihem for the puipose of recommendmg 
themselves to their parents isually fai in attracting their rtcip- 
xocal attention. The Utile boy, therefore, appeared in some de- 
gree sensible of the lady's caresses, and it was with diffii ulty 
she withdrew herself from his pillow, to afford him leisure lor 
necessary repose. 

" 'To whom belongs our little rescued varlet?' was the first 
qv.estion which the Lady of Avenel put to her hand-maiden 
Lilias, when ihey had retired to the hall. 

" 'To an old woman in the Hamlet, said Lilias, 'who is even 
now come so far as the porter's lodge to enqure concerning 
Ills safety. Is it your pleasure that she be admitted?' 'Is it 
my pleasure?' said the Lady of Avenel, echoing the question 
■with strong accents of pleasure and surprise; 'can you make a- 
ny doubt of it? What woman but must pity the agony of the 
mother, whose heart is throbbing for the safety of a child so 
lovely!' 'Nay, but madam,' said Lilias, this woman is too old t» 
be the mother of the child; I rathoi think she must be kis 
giand inother, or some more distant relation.* 

" 'Be she who she will, Li ias,' replied the Lady, 'she must 
have a sore heart while the safety of a creature so lovely is un- 
certain. Go instantly and bring her hither. Besides; I would 
■willingly learn something concerning his birth.' 

"Lilias left the hall,and presenily afterwards returned, ushering; 
in a tall female very poorly dressed, yet with more pretension to 
decency and cleanliness than was usually combined with such, 
coarse garments." 

This stranger is by no means backward in introducing 

" 'Magdalen Graeme is my name,' s^id the woman; 'I come 
of the Grsenies of Heatherhiil, in Nicol forest, a people of 
ancient blood.' 

'"Ai d what make you,' continued the lady, 'so far distant 
from your home?' 

*' 'I have no home,' said Magdalen Gra3me, 'it was burnt by 
your Borderriders — my husband and my son were slain — there 
is not a drop's blood left in the veins of any, one which is of 
Jtin to mine»' 

1820. THE ABBOT. 179 

« 'That is no uncommon fate in these wild times, and in this 
unsettled land,* said "he lady; the Eng ish hands have been as 
deeply dyed in our blood as those of Scotsmen ever have been in 

" You have a right to say it, lady,* answered Ma~dalen 
Graeme; 'for men tel' of a time when this castle was not strong 
enough to save your father's lifr*, or to afford your mother and 
her infant a place of refuge — And why ask ye me, then, where- 
fore 1 dwell not in my own home, and with my own people?' 'It 
was indeed an idle question, wh re misery so often makes 
wanderers; but wherefore take refuge in a hostile country?' 'My 
neighbours were popish and mass-mongers, 'said th"^ old woman; 
it has pleased heaven to give me a clearer sight of the gospel, 
and I have tarried here to enjoy the ministry of that worthy 
man Henry Warden, who to he praise and comfort of many, 
teacaeth the Evangel in truth and in >"incerity.' 'Are you poor?* 
again demanded the Lady of Arenel. -You hear me ask alms 
of no one,' answered the Englishwoman. 

"Here there was a pause. The manner of the woman was, if 
not disrespectful, at least much less than gracious, and she ap- 
peared to give no encouragement to farther communication. 
The Lady of Avenel renewed the conversation on a different 

" 'You have heard of the danger in which your boy has been 
placed?' <I have. latJy, and how by an especial providence he 
was rescued from death. May heaven make him thankful and 
me!' 'What relation do you bear to him?' »l am his grand'no- 
ther, lady, if it so please you; the only relation he has left upon 
earth to take charge of him.' 'The burthen of his maintenance 
must necessarily be grievous to you in your deserted situ;ition,' 
pursued the lady. 'I have complained of it to no one,' said 
Magdalen Graeme, with the same unmoved, dry, and uncon- 
cerned tone of voice in which she had answered all the former 

" 'If,' said the Lady of Avenel, 'your grandchild could be re- 
ceived into a noble family, would it not advantage both him and 
you?' 'Received into a noble familyl' said the old woman, 
drawing herself up, and bending her brows until her forehead 
wrinkled into a frown ot unusual severity; 'and for what pur- 
pose, I pray you? — to be my lady's page, or my lord's jackman, 
to eat broken victuals, and contend with other menials for the 
remnants of the master's meal? W"ould you have him to fan 
the flies from my lady's face while she sleeps, to carry her train 
while she walks, to hand her trencher when she feeds, to ride 
before her o:i horseback, to \^alk after heron foot, to sing when 
she lists and to be silent when she bids? — a very weathercock, 
which, though furni-^hed in appearance with wiags and plu. 
TOutje, caaiioi; st»ar iaio the air— -fiaanot fly from the spot 

ibO THE ABBOT. 0ct 

■where it is perched, but receiyes all its impnUes, and performs 
all its revolutions, obedient to the changeful breath of a vain 
woman? When the eagle of Helveliyn perches on the tower 
of Lanecost, and turns and changes to shew you how the wind 
»it8, Roland Graeme shall be what you would make him.' 

'*The woman spoke with a rapidity and a vehemence which 
seemed to have in it a touch of insanitv; and a sudden sense of 
the djng;er to which the child must necessarily be exposed in 
the charge of such a keeper, increased the lady's desire to keep 
him in the castle if possible. 

«' *You mistake me, dame,' she said, addressing the old wo- 
Ilian in a soothing; manner; 'I do n't wish your boy to be in at- 
tendance on myself, but upon the ^ood knight my husband. 
Were he himself the son of a belted earl, he could not better 
be trained to arms, and all that befits a gentleman, than by tho 
instructions and discipime of SirHalbert Glenditming.' 

*"Ayej*'ansvvered the old woman in the same style of bitter 
irony, 'I know the wages of that service; — a curse- when the 
corslet is hot sufficiently brightened, — a blow when the girth is 
not tightly drawn; to be beaien because the hounds are at fault, 
—to be reviled because the foray is unsuccessful, — to stain his 
hands, for his master's bidding, in ihe blood alike of beast and 
man, — to be a buttherer of harmless deer, a murderer and de- 
facer of God's own image, not at his oven pleasure, but at that 
of hi» lord; to live a brawling ruffian and common stabber,— • 
exposed to heat to cold, to want of food, to all the privations of 
an anchoret, not for the love et God, but for the Service of Sa- 
tan, — to die by the gibbet, or in some obscure skirmish, — to 
sleep out his life in carnal security, and to awake in the eternal 
fire, whi h is never quenched.' 

•< 'Nay/ said the Lady of Avenel, *but to such unhallowed 
course of liie your grandson will pot be here exposed. My 
husband is just and kind to those who 'ive under his banner: 
and you yourself well know, that youth have here a strict as 
well as a i.>-ood preceptor in the person of our chaplain.' 

"The old woman appeared to pause. 

•' 'You have named,' sh« said, 'the only circumstance which 
can move me. I must soon onward, the vision has said it — I 
jnust not tarry in the same spot — 1 must on, it is my weird. 
Swear, then, that you A'ill protect the boy as if he were your 
own, until 1 return hitiier and claim him, and I will consent for 
a space to part with him. But especially swear, he shall not 
lack the instructions of the godly man who hath placed the 
gospel truth high above these idolatrous shavcllings, the raonk« 
and friars.' 'Be satisfied, danie,' said the Lady of Avenel; 'the 
boy shall have as much care as if he were born of inv own 
blood. Will you see him nov/?' 'No,' answered the old woman 
siernly, *to part is enough. I go forth on my own mission, I 

38^0; THE ABBOT. I8i 

Tvill not soften my heart by useless tears and wailing*, as on* 
thai ib not tailed to a duty.' " 

The following is the account of the first interview of Rol- 
and and Catharine. As he entered, with his grandmother, 
fht house whei-e she was sitting, 

"She adj'isled a veil which hung back over her shoulders, so 
as t'^ b 'ing it over her fact ; an op ration which she performed 
■^vith much modesty, but without either affected haste or em- 
barrassed timidity. 

"During this manoeuvre Roland had time to observe, that the 
face was that of a girl not much past sixteen apparently, and 
that the eyes w-re at once bolt and brilliant. To these very fa- 
favourable observations was sdded the certainty, that the 
1 ir ol)ject to whom they refi-ned possessed an excellent 
shape, bordering on embonfioint^ and theretore rather that of a 
Hebe than that of a Sylph, but beautifully formed, and shewn to 
great advan'age by the close jaciiet and petticoat, which she 
xvore after a foreign fashion, the last not quite long enough abr 
solulely to conceal a very pretty foot, which rested on a bar of 
the table, at wliich she sale; her round arms and taper fingers 
were busilv employeu in repairing the piece of tapestry which. 
>vas spread on it, which exhibited several deplorabie fissures, e- 
xioui^h to demand the utmost skill oi the most expert seam- 

"It is to be remarked, that it was by stolen glances that Roland 
Graeme contrived to ascertain these interesting particulars; and 
he thought he could once or twice, notwithstanding the tex- 
ture of the veil, detect the damsel in the act of taking similar 
cognisan e of his own person. The matrons in ihe meanwhile 
Continued iheir separate conversation, eyeing from time to time 
the young people, in a manner which left Roland in no doubt 
that they were the subject of *heir conversation. At length h© 
distinctly heard Magdalen Graeme say these words; 'Nay, my 
sister, we must give them opportunity to speuk together, and to 
become acquainted; they must be personally knovvn to each 
other.' " 

The following is a picturesque and admirable descriptiot^ 
of the Regent's palace in Edinburgh, at that season of com- 

"It was indeed no common sight to Roland, the vestibule of & 
palace, traversed by its various groupes, — some radiant with 
gaiety,— some pensive, and apparently weighed down by af- 
fairs, conceining the state, or concerning themselves. Here 
the hoary statesman, with his cautious, yet commanding look, 
his furred cloak and sable pantoufles, there the soldier in buff 
and steelj his long sword jaxTJng against the pavement, a^d his 

±82 THE ABBOT. Oct„ 

"wrhiskereci upper lip and frowning brow; thefs again pissed my 
lord's sei'vin;^ man, high of heart and bloody ot hand, humble- 
to his master and his mast r's equals, inso ent to all others. To 
th^se might be added the toor suitor, with his anxious look, 
and depressed mien — the officer, fuil of his brief authority, el- 
bowing his belters, and probably his benefactors, out of ih* 
road — the proud priest, who sought a better benefic-^. — the 
proud baron, who sought a grant of church lands — the robber 
chief, who came to solicit a pardon for the injuries ^e had in- 
flicted on his neighbours — the plundered franklin, who came to 
seek vengeance for that which he had received, Bjsides, there 
•u'as the mustering and disposition of guards, and ot soldiers— 
the dispatching of messengers, and the receiving of them — the 
trampliHg and neighing of horses without the gates — the flash- 
ing of arms, and rustling of plumes, and jingling of spurs with- 
in it. In short, it was that gay and splendid confusion, in which 
the eye of youth sees all that is brave and brilliant, and that of 
experience much that is doubtful, deceitful, false, and hollov?— 
Jhopcs that will never be gratified— promises which will never 
be fulfilled — pride in the disguise of humility — and insolence ia 
that of frank and generous bounty." 

The manner in which Mary Stuart is introduced and 
made so prominent an object in this fictitious narrative, is 
considered by the critics as the chef cfmivre of the author in 
this last work. On this subject Mr. Walsh remarks — "The 
confidence of original powers is shewn in his choice of Ma- 
ry Queen of Scots as his leading character. She had been 
the theme of so many romances, of such admirable histo- 
iries, of dramas of so much excellence, that the most fertile 
mind might have de-paired of investing her, even in a pro- 
fessed romance, with any new attraction, or perhaps of ri- 
valling the picture which had been left in most imaginations 
by her regular biography. It must be confessed, however, 
that the autlior has justified his boldness by the enchant- 
ing grace and graphic distinctness of his delineation. Ma- 
ry excites under his hands a new sympathy: we are brought 
nearer to her, and enlisted on her side in spite of the pre- 
pt>ssessions against her which we may have received from 
the severe investigation of history," After this high enco- 
mium from so respectable a source, let us endeavour to af- 
ford our readers a specimen, by which they may be enabled 
to form some opinion for themselves. The traits, it is true, 
of Mary's character as drawn by our author, are said to be 
♦'closely blended Vv^ith the greater portion of the work," but 
some parts of the description may be selected, as a speci- 

1830, THE ABBOT. 18S 

men of the enchanting manner of the writer. The follow- 
ing-, for example, presents at once to the mind's eye thcs 
lovely figure of the unfortunate queen. 

<*Her fa' e, her form, have been so deeply impressed upon 
the imagination, thai, even at the distance of three centuries, 
it is unnecessary to remind the most ignorant and uninformed 
reader of the striking traits which characterise that remarka- 
ble cotmtenance which seems at once to combine our ideas of 
the majestic, the pleasinfr, and the brilliant, leavinj? us to doubt 
>vheth> r they express most happily the queen, the beauty, or 
the accomplished woman. 

"Who is there, at ihe very mention of Mary Stuart's name 
that has not her countenance before him familiar as that of the 
mistress of his youth, or the favourite daughter of his advanc- 
ed age? Even those who feel themselves compelled to believe 
all, or much of what her enemies laid to her charge, cannot 
think without a sigh upon a countenance expressive ot any 
thing rather than the foul crimes with which she was charged 
when living, and which still continue to shade, if not to blacken 
her memory. That brow so truly open and regal — those eye- 
brows, so regvilarly graceful, which yet were saved from the 
charge of regular insipidity by the beautiful effect of the hazel 
eyes which they overarthed, and which seem to utter a thous- 
and histories — the nose with all its Grecian precision oi outline 
—the mouth so well proportioned, so sweetly formed, as if de- 
«igned to speak nothing but what was delightful to hear — the 
dimpled chin, the stalely swan-likeneck, form a countenance, the 
iike of which we know not to have existed in any other charac- 
ter moving in that high class of life, where the actresses as 
well as the actors command general and undivided attention. It 
is in vain to say that the portraits which exist of this remarka- 
ble woman are not like each other; for amidst their decrepancy, 
each possesses general features which the eye at once acknow- 
ledges as peculiar to the vision our imagination has raised while 
we read her history for the first lime, and which has been im- 
pressed upon it by the numerous prints and pictures which we 
have seen. Indeed we cannot look on the v/orst of them, how- 
ever deficient in point of execution, without saying it is meant 
for Queen Mary; and no small instance it is of the power of 
beauty, that her charms should have remained the subject not 
merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous interest, af- 
ter the laps2 of such a length of time. We know that by far 
the most acute of those who, in later days, have adopted the un- 
favourable view of Mary's character, longed, like the execu- 
tioner before his dreadful office was performed, to kiss the fair 
hand of her on whoyi^ he was absut to perfeim &u horribid 9, 

184 THE ABBOT. 0ct 

The follovvinsj too furnishes a full length portrait of the 
character of Mary. She is represented as giving audienea 
to the adverse Lords. 

«' 'And IS this all my loving subjects require of me, my lord?* 
s-^id Mary, in a tone of bitter irony. 'Do they really stint them- 
selves to the easy boon that I should yield up the crown, which 
is mine by birthright, to an infant, which is scarcely more than a 
year eld — fling down my sceptre, and take up a distaif — O no! 
it IS too little for them to ask — that other roll of parchment co.i- 
tai'iS something harder to be complied with, and which Ma.xy 
more highly tax my readiness to comply with the petition of my 

" 'This parchment,' answered Ruthven, in the same tone of 
inflexibe gravity, and unfolding the instrument as he spoke, 'is 
one by whi^h your Grace constitutes your nearest in b ood, and 
the most honourable and ti'ustworthy of your subjects, James, 
Earl of Murray, Regent of the Kingdom during the minority 
of the young Kmg. He already holds the appointment from 
the Secret Council.' 

"The Queen gave a sort of shriek, and clasping her hands 
together, exclaimed, 'Comes the arrow out of his quiver? — out 
ot my brother's bow? Alas! I looked for his return from France 
as my sol?, at least my readiest chanc<^ of deliverance. And 
yet, when I heard thai he had assumed ihe government, I gutss- 
ed he would shame to wield it in my name.' 

" •! must pray your answer, madam,' said Lord Ruthven, 't» 
the demand of the Council!' 

« 'The demand of the Council!' said the Queen; 'say rather 
the demand of a set of robbers, impatient to divide the spoil 
Ihey have seized. To such a demand, and sent by the mouth 
of a traitor, whose scalp, but for my womanish mercy should 
long since have stood on the city gates, Mary of ScotJard has 
no answer.' 

" 'I trust, madatr.,' said Ruthven, 'my being unacceptable to 
your presence will not add to your obduracy of resolution. It 
may well become you to remember that the death of the miii- 
ion,Rizzio, cost the house of Ruthven 7ts head and leader. My 
father, more worthy than a whole province of such vile syco- 
phants, died in exile, and broken hearted.' 

"The Queen clasped he^ hands on her face, and resting her 
arms on the table stooped down her head and wept so bitterly 
that the tears were seen to ftnd their way in streams between 
the white and slender fingers with which she endeavoured ta 
conceal them. 

" 'My lords,' said Sir Robert Melville, 'this is too much rig- 
our. Under your lordshins' favour, vve came hither, not te re« 
^ivc old griefs, biu to find the mode ot avoiding new ones.' 'Sir 


l?obert Melville/ said Ruthven, <we best know for what pur- 
pose we were delegated hither, and wherefore you were some- 
what unnect'^sarily sent to attend us.' 'Nay, by my hand,' said 
Lord Lyndesay, 'I know not why we were cumbered by the geod 
knight, unless he comes in place of the lump of sugar which 
pothicars put into their wholesome bui bitter medicaments, to 
please a forward child — a neer'less labour, methinks, where 
men have the means to make them swallow the physic other- 
wise.' *Nay, my lords,' said Melville, 'you best know your own 
secret instructions, I conceive I shall best obey mine in striv- 
ing to mediate between her grace and you.' 'Be silent, Su' Ro- 
bert Melville,' said the Queen, arising, and her face still glow- 
ing with agication as she spoke. 'My kerchief, Fleming — I 
^hame, that traitors shoulci have power to move me thus. — Tell 
me, proud lords,' she added, wiping away the tears as she 
spcke, 'by what earthly warrant can liege subjects pretend to 
challenge the rights of an anointed sovereign—to throw off the 
allegiance they have vowed, and to take away the crov.n from 
the hand on which Divine warrant hath placed it?' 

•' 'Madam.' said Ruthven, 'I will deal plainly with you. Youv 
reign, from the dismal field of Pinkie-cleuch, when you were a 
babe in the cradle, till now, that ye stand a grown dame before 
•us, hath been such a tragedy of lossps, disasters, civil dissen- 
sions, and foreign wars, that the like is not to be found in our 
chronicles. The French ai d English have, of one consent, 
jnade Scotland the battle-field on which to fight out their own 
ancient quarrel. For ourselves, every man's hand has been a- 
gainst his brother, nor hath a jear passed over without rebel- 
lion and slaughter, ex le of nobles, and oppressing of the com- 
mons. We may endure it no longer, and therefore as a prince, 
to whom God hath refused tfie gift of hearkening to wise coun- 
sei, and on whose dealings and projects no blessing hath ever 
descended, we pray you to give way to ether rule and govern- 
ance of the land, that a remnant may yet be saved to this dis- 
^acted realm.' " 

She is at length persuaded to sign the documents. 

" 'My lords,' said Mary, with inexpressible grace and digni- 
ty, 'the evils we cannot resist, we must submit to — I will sub- 
scribe these parchments with such liberty as my condition per- 
mits me. Were I en yonder shore, with a fleet jennet, and ten 
good ard loya! knights around me, I would subscribe my sen- 
tence of eternal condemnation as soon c.s the resignation of my 
throne. But herr, in the castle of Lochleven, with dc-p water 
around me, — and you my lords beside me, — I have no freedom 
«t choice. Give me the pen, Melviile, and bear witness to 
what I do, and why I do it.' 'It is our hope, your Grace will 
ml suppose yourself compelled, by any apprshegsign from us,* 


i8{^ THE ABBOT. OcU, 

suid the Lord Ruthven, 'to execute •what must be your own vol- 
untary deed.* The Queen had ahxiidy stooped towards the ta- 
ble, and placed the pare hment before her, wilh the pen between 
her fingers, ready for the important act of signature. But when 
Lord Ruthven had done speaking, she looked up, stopped short, 
and threw down the pen. 'If,' said she, 'I an', expected to de- 
clare I give away my crown of free will, or other ,vise than be- 
cause I am compelled to renounce it by the threat of worse e- 
vils to myself and my subjects, I will not put my name to such 
an untruth — not to gain full possession of England, France, and 
Scotland, all once my own, in possession, or by right.' 

"'Beware, m^dam,' said Lyndesay; and s.-atching hold of the 
Queen's arm with his own gaunlletted hand, he pressed it, in 
the rudeness of his passion, more close y perhaps than he was 
himself aware of, — 'beware how you contend with th«se who are 
stronger, and have the mastery of your fate ' Ke held his 
grasp on her arm, bending his eyes on her wiih a stern and in- 
timidating look, till both Ruthven and Melville cried shame; 
and Douglas, who had hitherto remained in a state of apparent 
apathy, had made a stride from the door as if tn interfere. Tho 
rude baron then quitted his hold, disguising the confusion which 
he really felt, at having indulged his passion to such extent, 
under a sullen and contemptuous smile. The Queen imme- 
diately began, with an expression of pain, to bare the arm which 
he had grasped, by drawina; up the sleeve of her gown, and it 
appeared that his grasp had left the purple marks of his iron 
fingers upon her flesh, 'My lord,' she said, 'as a knight and 
gentleman, you might have spared my frail arm so severe a 
proof that you have the greater strength on your side, and are 
resolved to use it. But 1 ihank you for it — it is the most deci- 
sive token of the terms on which this day's business is to rest. 
I draw you to witness, bolh lords and ladies,' she said, shewing 
the marks of the grasp on her arm, 'that I subscribe these in- 
struments in obedience to the sign manual of my Lord of Lind- 
esay, which you see imprinted on mine arm.' " 

The following is an interesting scene between the Queem 
and Catherine Seyton, just before her escape from confine- 

■ « 'For God's sake, madam, droop not now — sink not now.'— 
'Call upon Our Lady, my Liege,' said the Lady Fleming — 'call 
xipon vour tutelar saint.' 'Cal the spirits of the hundred kings 
vou are descended from,' exclaimed the page, 'in this hour of 
r.pcd, the resolution of a monarch were worth the aid of a hun- 
tiicd sain'5.' '01 Roland Grseme,' said Mary, in a tone of deep 
dc'jpondency, 'to be trus to me — many have been false to me. 
Ahiy! I h:n-e not always been true to myself My mind mis- 
-^ives me, that 1 shall die in uoadagC; and that this bold attempt 

iS30. THE ABBOT. iSf 

will cost all our lives. It was foretold me by a soothsayer in 
France, that I sliould die in prison, and by a violent death, and 
here comes the hour— O, would to God, it had foundmc pre. 
pared!' 'Madam, said Catherine Seyton, 'remen.ber you are a 
queen. Better we had all died, in bravely attempting- 'o gain our 
freedom, thian remained here to be poisoned, as men rid them ot 
the noxious vermin that haunt old houses.' 'You are right, 
Catherine,' said the Queen,' 'and Vlary will bear her like her- 
self. But, alas! your young and buoyant spirit can ill si>eli the 
causes which have broken mine. Forgive me, my children, 
and farewell for a while — I will piepare both mind and body for 
this awful sentence.' " 

We will conclude with (he animated description of the 
partinfj interview between Malcolm Greeme and her grand- 

"Seizing Roland's hand, she led him to the Queen's feet, 
kneeling herself upon one knee, and causing him to kneel oft 
both. 'Mighty princess,' she said, 'look on this flower — it was 
found by a kind y stranger on a bloody field of battle, and lon^ 
it was ere my anxious eyes saw, and my arms pressed all that 
was left of my only daughtei-. P'or your sake, and for that of 
the holy faith we profess, I could leave this plant, while it was 
yet tender, to the nurture of strangers — ay^, of enemies, to 
whom, perchance, his blood would have beeA' as wine, had the 
heretic Giendinning known that he had in his house the heir of 
of Julian Avenel. Since then I have seen him only in a lew hours 
doubt and I now part with the child of my love — fjrever — forev- 
er. O for every v/cary step I have made in your rightful cause, 
in this and m foreign lands, give protection to the child whom I 
must no more call mine!' 'I swear to you, mother,' said the 
Queen, deeply affected, 'that for your sake and his own, his 
happiness and fortunes shall be our charge!' «I thank you, 
daughter of princes,' said Magdalen, and pressed her lips, first 
to the Queen's hand, then to the brow of l>er grandson. 'And 
no>v,' she said, drying her tears, and rising with dignity; 'Earth 
has had its own, and Heaven claims the rest. Lioness of Scot- 
land, go forth and conquer, and if the prayers of a devoted vo- 
taress can avail thee, they will rise in many a land, and from 
many a distant shrine. I will glide like a ghost from land t6 
land, from temple to temple; and where the ^cvy name of my 
country is unknown, the priests shall ask who Is the Queen of 
that distant northern land, for whom the aged pilgrim was so 
fervent in prayer. Farewell, honour be thine, and earthly pros- 
perity, if i: be the will ot God — if not, may the penance thou 
Shalt do here, ensure thee happiness hereafter. Let no one 
speak or follow me — my resolution is taken— my vow cannot be 
cancelled.' " ' 



A vrork has lately been published by Louis Buonaparte, 
ex king of Holland, which has excited a great interest in Eu- 
rope, and has been translated into German, English, Dutch, 
and Italian. It contains a history of the events which led 
to his nomination of the crown of Holland, an account of 
his administration and abdication, and of the efforts which 
he afterwards made to re establish himself on the throne. 
As the work is official it is interesting. It contains many un- 
published lettf rs of considerable length written by the 
Emperor Napoleon. It appears that Louis acted from con- 
scientious principles in the government of the country to 
which his brother had assigned him. This he did to sucli 
an extent as to draw upon him the Emperor's indignation^ 
who levied a non intercourse between France and Hol- 
land, and threatened an occupation of the latter. As Lou- 
is considered the prosperity of Holland dependent on her 
commerce, it would seem that he persisted in refusing to 
give his entire compliance with tlije continental system till 
his abdication. After this event he lived in obscurity till 
the reverses of the northern campaign, when he made art 
offer to his brother to take Holland out of his way by re- 
suming the government, and was pretty harshly treated in 
return. The whole book is an amusing specimen of the 
manner in which Napoleon arranged at a word the vital in- 
terests of the vast governments of Europe. During the 
campaign of Paris, Louis wrote a most elaborate letter to 
the magistrates of Amsterdam to attempt to obtain their 
nomination of him to the crown. It must have been a sin- 
gular delusion, which led him to think it practicable to op- 
pose the policy of his brother, which alone placed him on 
the throne, and alone could keep him there. The book has 
no pretensions to literary merit. 

A volume of poems has lately been published in Boston 
of rather more claims to nolice than usual. It consists of 
two pieces of some length, Judith and Esther, and a large 
number of minor poems. It is evidently by a lady, and is 
pretty, lady-like poetry. The author seems to have drawn 
considerably on tlie inspiration of Chateaubriand, and to 
have (ravelled considerably in our northern forests. A good 
deal of the beauty of some ol the ir.inor pieces depends on 
the botanical allusions, which sound appropriately on a la- 
dy's lips. On the whoic, if the author has neglected no 


more important pursuits, it is pleasant to have her succeed 
«o well in this. 

Mr. Gould, principal of the Latin School in Boston, ha« 
published a "Prize Book," containing some Englisli Essays, 
and some Latin and English Poen s, to which prizes have 
been adjudged. It seems that there is a fund of $110 an- 
nually for five years, which has been raised by subscription. 
Sonic of the Latin poetry is excellent, and the English not 

An American novel, said to be by the autlior of the Sketch 
Book, has been published at New York, "Giovanni Sbogar- 
ro." It is pretty well written, greatly superior to the usual 
quality of the productions which load the Minerva Press at 
London. The story is next to nothing, but some of the al» 
lusions, and the descriptions of scenery, are not without 

A new Literary Journal, larger in dimensions at least thaa 
any periodical work we know, has just commenced at New 
York, the "Quarterly Repository." It professes to contain 
extracts from English Reviews, with some original articles. 
In the number, which we have seen, the original matter 
bears a very small proportion to the foreign. The editor is 
said to be Colonel Gardner, lately, or still, of the United 
States' army, who was engaged at Chippewa, &c. 

Dr. Ware, Professor at Cambridge, has published Letter* 
to Calvinists and Trinitarians, a balance for Dr. Wood's 
Letters to Unitarians. We have not had an opportunity of 
reading this pamphlet, but it is said to be written in a man- 
ner worthy of the temper and talents of the aniiable and 
sensible author, 

A young American has published a poem called Percy'g 
Masque, which is certainly very charming. A considera- 
ble knowledge of English history is displayed with great 
simplicity, propriety, and sweetness of execution. Some 
of the poetry in it is really good, and all pretty. It shows 
at least a well cultivated taste, and is the evidence of an ac- 
complished mind, if not of a brilliant genius. It reminds 
one of Leigh Hunt's Descent of Liberty. 

A new work of some value, not only to the lawyer, but 
to the scholar and the citizen, is proposed to be published 
semiannually under the superintendence of the Hon. Wil- 
liam Griffith of New-Jersey. It is to be entitled "The Lawr 
Hegisterof the United States," and is to contain, according 
to the plan laid down in the prospectus, a great variety of 


valuable and interesting matter. Among other heads, it 
will compriae notices of the national and state constitutions; 
of statute icws and judicial decisions in relation to proper- 
ty, the riglits of aliens, bankrupts and insolvents, commer- 
cial ti^.n tactions &.c: — also of such Law Reports as are of 
general importance, with references to the hooks in which 
they may be found at large; and indeed of law books in 
general. It is to be published in Burlinjiton, New Jersey, 
in half volumes of at least 250 pages, at five dollars per an- 
num. The editor is said to be "an industrious and learned 
lawyer, whose professional repute and general character ar& 
such as to inspire confidence in the execution of the useful 
enterprise which he announceis." 

Tlie following poem of Lord Byron has never, to our 
knowledge, been reprinted in America. 

When we two parted 
In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted 
To sever for years, 
Pale gTew thy cheek and cold, 

Cold was thy kiss; 
Surely that hour foretold 
Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning^ 
Fell chill on my brow; 
It felt like tiie warning 
Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all bioken^ 
And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spckcn 
And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 
A spell to mine ear: 
A shuddi^r comes o>.r me, 
Why wert Ihou so dear? 
Tlie/ know not I knew thee, 
y/lio knew thee too well; 
Long, long, sliall I rue the© 
• Too^do-epiy to tcJL 

iSftO. POETRY. dL#i 

In bJlencewe met, 

In silence I grieve 

Til at thy heart could forget, 

And thy spirit deceive. 

If I should meet thee 

After long years. 

How should I greet thee? [ 

In silence and tears. 

Thefollaimng Lines were presented, miong those from several oth- 
er persons^ en the ISth of May^ to an accomplished married 
Ladi/j as a Birth Day compliment to her Firiiies, 

An ode, a Birth -Day ode prepare, 
It is Louisa's nalal day; 
The Muses to her court repair, 
And join to sing their choicest lay. 
Prophetic on her birth they smiPd, . 
Her future worth in vision shone, 
They saw and inark'd the lovely childj 
Her parents' favorite and their own. 
Delighted, they Apollo hear; 
The god's own voice speaks in the lyre: 
"This child henceforth be yours to rear, 
"Her soul with every grace inspire. 
"Her mind with wisdom's light illumCj 
"Her breast with pure affection^ warm, 
*'Let joys maternal round her bloom, 
"And lend to life its sweetest charm- 
"Divine Philosophy's bright page 
"To her inquiring eye disclose, 
"To youth impart the fruits of age, 
''Immortal youth on wisdom grows." 

Thus spake the god; the Sisters fair. 
In choral song descending move. 
To Pier us the infant bear, 
The adopted daughter of their love. 
. Grave Ctio taught, with fiaitbfwl toiiS'ue> 

i9t PftfeTRY. Octr. 

And accent slow, historic lore; 
Calliope^s heroic sor-. 
Unlock'd the glorious epic's store. 
Melpomene, with tearful eye, , 

With trembling lips and aching breast, 
UnveiPd the woes of tragedy, 
And Pity's melting soul address'd. 
Thalia next all mirth appears, , 

With comic mask and wit to play, 
To charm our grief, beguile our tears, 
And make e'en cherish'd sorrow gay. 
The harp of fair Terpsichore, 
Euterpe's flute of magic sound, 
Imbued her soul with melody. 
And drew enchanted spirits round. 
Sweet Erato, the heart's fond power, 
Breath'd o'er her breast love's hallow'd air 
And, joyous, haiPd the future hour, 
When love an eq"al love might share. 
PoLYMNiA, with skill rcil.ied, 
Ingenuous truth's persuasion taught, 
Just views with sentiment combined, v 

The useful with the taste/ul wrought. v' 

But chief Urania, chosen Muse, 
Most sacred of the sacred Nine, 
Whose lips Castalia's holiest dews 
Have touch'd with incense more divine. 
Who would immortal minds inspire 
With hopes and aims immortal too, 
Who warms the breast with heavenly fire. 
And leads to pleasures ever new, — 
This muse of mind, of moral truth, 
• Urania chief Louisa taught. 
To wisdom joined the heart of youth, 
Simplicity with knowledge brought. 

Instructed thus, behold her now 
A wife and mother's station fill; 
Around her, social friendships glow; 
The Muses lend their favors still. 
Joy then to this her Natal Day, 
We hail it with a grateful song; 
This Eighteenth Day of merry May, 
Shall i^anv a cheerful ode prolong. 




Vol. 111. NO^ EMBER, 1820. Num. 4. 

-Remarks made on a sJwrt Tour between Hartford and Quebec in 
the Auhmn of 1819, by the author, ot a Journal of Tra- 
vels in England, Holland, and Scotland. JSTew Haven, 
printed aad published by S Converse, 1820. pp, 407, 
duodecimo. ^ 

This book is a lively and entertaining record of first im- 
pressions. For a work of this kinJ, the author in his for- 
eign tour, proved himself to be as happily constituted as, in 
l\is American Journal of Science, he has shewn himself 
qualified to make liberal contributions to our present stock 
of knowledge in experimental philosophy. A book of first 
impressions, written by a man of cultivation and taste, can- 
not fail to be both instructive and agreeable. Talent, though 
of a different sort, is as indispensable to seize and, preserve 
such irapresiions with fidelity and vivacity, as to collect 
and arrange the slow and patient operations of the mind ia 
a more formal and imposing course of inquiry. Indeed, a 
man may become eminent for attainments in physical sci- 
ence, who has little of what is appropriately called genius^ 
or even of what is necessary to the study of his own facul* 
ties. To us. Professor Silliman appears as advantageously 
in discerning, feeling, catching, and describing the beau- 
ties of a morning at Lake George, as in giving the geologj 
of its inounta^,ns. We thick in fact, that mental powers of" 
& superior kind are required for the first. Although we are 
ardent admirers and supporters of all the sciences, whose 
object is to explain the phenomena of matter, we are far 
from allowing more glory to success in any of these than t« 
success in explaining the phenomena of mind. 

W« havQ heaird soi»e readers speak ©f tJi» T#ur to Que* 

49^ tlLLIMAN^S TOUR. iA^OtJ. 

"bee as containing too much that is light and unimportant; 
but we do not in the least assent to the propriety of tliis re- 
presentation. The book meets its pretensions, and is a 
useful and most agreeable manual for all persons taking the 
same journey. Were we about to travel over the ground, 
ive should feel ourselves peculiarly obliged to the author 
for having collected, in so pleasing a manner,. the most in- 
teresting facts and observations connected with the great e- 
Vents which have happened there, and which cannot fail to 
engage the attention and sympathy of every American reader. 
The historical details are happily selected, and well conden- 
sed. We have indeed often been over them before, but we 
are willing to go over them again, and as many times more in 
succession as they shall be combined and presented anew 
with as much feeling and judgement as this gentleman 
brings to the task. We should think but poorly of our pa- 
triotism and sensibility if we could not say this with cordial- 
ity. Mr. Silliman writes with so much simplicity, with mo- 
ral feelings so pure and excellent, with such freedom from 
artifice and affectation, and lays open the emotions of hi» 
Iieart with so little fear of ridicule, that we are not only en- 
tertained as we read, but find ourselves attached to the man, 
and improved by our sympathy with his affections. It is de- 
lightful to be let into the familiar operations of a benevolent 
and cultivated mind in regard to the common occurrences 
of life, and the perpetually changing incidents of a journey. 
There is a degree of naivete in these Remarks, with which 
we are gratified and refreshed. Minuti^, both of feeling 
and of circumstances, are accasionally mentioned in a man- 
lier that at first amuses, but immediately afterward pleases 
MS in a higher form, and excites our approbation and esteem. 
There is great felicity in his mode of letting out his slight 
personal anxieties and gratifications. There is just enough 
of local habits ofthinking/eeling, and judging, occasionally 
exhibited, to satisfy us of the sincerity and genuineness of 
the writer's claims to tlie gratitude of bis native state, and 
to show us that travelling and science have not perfectly 
generalized his affections. He is, in nearly all instances, lib- 
eral and fair; and even when he makes some remarks about. 
cards, theatres, and races, which may be considered as 
somev/liat too puritanical for the age, or for his own intel- 
ligence, he still preserves the benevolent cast of his mind, 
and appe?TS no less amiable and excellent than before. We 
approve hie delicacy in the limits, which he has obserred m 

1S20, silliman's tour* 49J» 

relating anecdotes of private character, and in giving praise 
to living persons; but we -should, have justified him in car- 
rying this part of his journal considerably further. We 
are, from reflection, convinced, that much useful instruc- 
tion and innocent enjoy inent are withheld from tiie commu- 
nity by a too cautious fear that the sense of propriety, which 
hospitable and enlightened persons wish to cherish, may b& 
wounded even by a judicious publication of the observations 
made in our itineraries in praise of their manners and vir- 
tues. Let us curtail the licentious freedom of our news- 
papers in regard to the sanctity of private character, and 
add to the li!)erty of amiable, discreet, and scientific tour- 
ists. Every reader rejoices in the admirable use, that Pe- 
ter, in his "Letters to his Kinsfolk," has made of this liber- 
ty in reference to the distinguished personages of Scotland. 
We are aware that the wish, which we here express, may be 
easily interpreted so as to justify excess and abuse; but the 
same danger attends the expression of every important 
sentiment. Discretion must invariably be called in to reg- 
ulate the application of all advice and of every principle to 
practice. Qualifications and guards are endless, and can 
never be detailed in writing. 

We intend to select some parts of Mr. Silliman's work 
as specimens of its character, and shall gratify our readers 
with the extracts; but at present, we turn our attention, for 
a moment, to the engravings. When we consider that Mr. 
Jocelyn is very young and self taught, it must be allowed 
that these are delicate and beautiful, particularly the two 
devoted to Monte Video. The most striking, that which 
has the most relief and character, which marks the most 
freedom, and which most excites the mind, is the view of 
Quebec from the Chaudiere. It is a good subject, and is 
well managed both by the painter and the engraver. It has 
many excellent points, a bold outline, fine contrasts, deep 
shadows and strong lights, and a great variety of objects. 
The clear obscure, in which the Chaudiere and the hill are 
given, is an advantageous exhibition of its importance and 
utility, and the eye loves to retire into it from the blaze 
of the illuminated stream and the high castellated rock of 
Quebec. Soon however it is invited away by the peculiar- 
ly well drawn and venerable tree, through which it eagerly 
contemplates the brilliant evening aky and the consecrated 
plains of Abraham. 

The sk<itche§ of Lake George are no,t so interesting a» 


several others, which we, have seen. The Falls of Mont- 
morenci fail to inspire us with the feelings, which ought to 
be produced by their height, their vapour, and the boldness 
of the cliffs. The second print of Monte Video, to which 
tve have already referred, is a chatming subject. The hill 
and tower appear to very great advantage, as well as the 
grounds about the mansion. The lake is rendered much 
more lively than in the first engraving, by the sequestered 
summer house on its shore embowered amid trees, and by 
the distinctness of the persons and pennons in the barge. 
\Ve as9e»t to all that Mr. Silliraan has said of this romantic 
and singular villa, and do not think that the beauty, gran- 
deur, and interest of its scenery can easily be exaggerated 
by description. We should like much to see a view of it 
taken from the valley on the west. We want some aid to 
give us a just idea of its height and seclusion. Were such 
a villain any part of Europe, views of it would be indefi- 
nitely multiplied from all points and under all aspects. 

The talent of sketching natural scenery with fidelity and 
taste is one of the most enviable, that an accomplished gen- 
tleman or lady can possess as a qualification for travelling. 
We felicitate Mr. Wadsworth upon his skill in this art, and 
upon his habit of employing it. The readers of the Jour- 
Hal are greatly indebted to him for the interest thus added 
to the work. We are enabled to feel as though we had per- 
sonally seen Quebec, and sailed upon the river to the most 
remf rkable points in its vicinity. We wish that it v/ere in 
our power to persuade those of both sexes, who are pursu- 
ing liberal studies, and who make any pretensions to the 
cultivation of taste and the fine arts, early to devote their 
attention to drawing, and to the laws of perspective. We 
are satiated wiUi the bad copies of European pictures, 
which are so assiduously and laboriously made by our chil- 
dren at boarding schools, and which put us to a great ex- 
pense for a frivolous accomplishment, when even less ex- 
pense, properly applied, might have obtained for them an 
accomplishment of real utility and of great dignity and val- 
ue. We wish to be emphatic and urgent upon this sub- 
ject, and to effect, if possible, some change in the course of 
our education as it respects the employment of the pencil. 
We have, in every part of the United States, natural scene- 
ry of the finest kind, and wc are accustomed to travel as 
much as any people in the world. But how few of these 
scenes are presenter] to m on caavags, and how much is 


our country dishonoured by this persevering neglect! Sbrae 
individuals have indeed put into colours American Scenery, 
or filled their private port folios with excellent and animat- 
ed drawings in lead. These however, rarely get into the 
engraver's hands, and the public are never benefitted by 
them. They will be lost, or eftaced, or forgotten. Let us 
encourage genius and taste, industry and skill, both in the 
painter and the engraver, and have books of American 
Views in the libraries and parlours of the rich and the cul- 
tivated, instead of the loads of newspapers, and the piles of 
magazines of stale selections, vrhich row so constantly 
meet our eye, and balk our desire for amusement and grati- 
fication. Our own state of Kentucky has already furnish- 
ed many admira'jle subjects for the pencil, which have 
been happily selected and celebrated by the talents of an 
artist who was equally distinguished for his classical and 
mathematical attainments, aad for his devotion to the grand, 
the beautiful, and the picturesque, in the w^orks of nature. 
Few events, in relation to this class of interests, would de- 
light us more than to see the views, whic'i the late George 
Beck, Esq. took of various points of the Kentucky River 
end its clitfs, engraved in our ow-n country, on a scale, and 
in a style, worthy of the sketches and of their subjects. It 
mortifies us to see the best efforts of our artists exhausted 
upon the engraving of bank bills, and a degree of talent 
wasted upon this mercenary subject, which would, had it 
been as strenuously devoted to the fine arts, have made 
some of our countrymen the rivals of the great Florentine, 
Raphael Morghen. Our western youth, daughters as well as 
sons, ought particularly to learn and practise the art of 
raaking sketches from nature. The world of landscape a- 
bout us is almost, as yet, untouched. What a treasure have 
we in the Ohio, the Mississippi, and innumerable points of 
the picturesque on the Missouri; in such high and rocky 
eliffs, for instance, as those which are crowned with shot 
towers at Herculaneum; in the range of imposing walls 
along the American Bottom now deserted by the Father of 
Floods; and in the scenery spread out before the Mammelles 
to the Illinois and to the junction ©f the two greatest 
rivers in the world! No tourists will make themselves mor« 
interesting to the public, both at home and abroad, than 
those, who will present to our eyes select portion* of thit 
"inexhaustible store of beauty and sublimity. 

SILLIMAN's tour. JVoTTa 

We now return to Mr. Silliman, and take up a variety of 
particulars, which we noted as we perused his Remarks. 

Monte Video, the two interesting- prints of which we have 
already introduced to the attention cf our readers, is char- 
acterized by such wild and uncommon features, that we 
jnake no eifbrt to resist our inclination to extract the des- 
cription of it, both for itself, and as a favorable specimen 
of the author's manner of v/ritin^ia this department of his 

''After constantly ascending, for nearly three miles, we reach- 
ed the highest ridge of the mountain, from which a steep de- 
clivity of a few rods brou?-ht us to a small rude plain, termina- 
ted at a short distance by the western brow, down which the 
same fine turnpike is continued. From this plain, the travel- 
ler who wishes to visit a spot called Monte Video, remarkable 
for the extraordinary beauty of its natural scenery, will turn di- 
rectly to the north, into an obscure road, cut through the 
ivoods by the proprietor of the place to which it conducts. The 
2'oad is roiigh,^ and ihe view bounded on the east by the ridge, 
ivhich, in many places, rises in perpendicular cliffs to more thiin 
<>nc hundred iuet above the general surlace of the summit of 
the mountain. On the west, you are so shut in by trees, that 
it is only occasionally, and for a moment, that you perceive 
tshere is a valley immediately below you. 

At the end of a mile and a half,t! the road terminates at a 
tenant's house, built in the Gothic style, and thi'ough a gate of 
the same description you enter the cultivated part of this very 
■lingular country residence. 

Here the scene is immediately changed. The trees no 
longer intercept your view upon the left, and you look almost 
perpendicularly into a valley of extreme beauty, and great ex- 
tent, in the highest state of cultivation, and which, although 
apparently within reach, is six hundred and forty feet below 
you. At the right, the ridge, which has, until nov/, been your 
boundary, and seemed an impassable barrier, suddenly breaks 
off and disappears, but rises again at the distance of half a mile 
in bold grey masses to the height of one hundred and twenty 
.feet, citowned by forest trees, above which appears a tower of 
the same colour as the rocks. 

The space er hollow, caused by the absence of the ridge, or 
%vhat may very pr<vperly be called the hach^bone of the moun- 
tain, 13 occupied by a deep lake of the purest water, nearly half 
a mile in length, and somcvhat less than half that width. Di- 
rectly before you, to the north, fro'ii the cottage or tenant's 
house and extending half a mile, is a scene of cultivation, un- 
Inclosed, ^nd interspersed v/ith tress, in the centre of which. 


stands the house. The ground is gently undulating, bounded. 
on the west by the precipice which overlooks the Farmington 
valley, and inclining; gently to the east, where it is terminated 
by the fine margin of trees, that skirt the lake. After entering 
the gate, a broad foot-path leaving the carriage road passes oiT 
to the left, and is carried along the western brow of the n.oun- 
tain, until, passing the house, and reaching the northern extre- 
mity of this little domain, it conducts you, almost impercepti- 
bly, round to the foot of the cliffs on ivhich the Tower stands. 
It then gradually passes down to the northern extiemity of the 
lake, where it unites with other paths, at a white picturesque? 
building, overshadowed M'ith trees standing on the edge of thes 
watc, commanding a view of the whole of it, and open on eve- 
ry side during the warm weather, forming at that season a de- 
lightful summer house, and in the winter, being closed, it serves 
as a shelter for the boat. There is also another path which, 
beginning at the gate, but leading in a contrary direction and 
passing to the right, conducts you up the ridge to what is no\'^ 
the summit of the south rock, whose top, having fallen off, lies 
scattered in huge fragments and massy ruins around and below 

From this place you have a view of the lake; of the boat aS 
anchor on its surface, gay with its streamers and snowy awning; 
of the white building at the north extremity; and, (rising imme- 
diately above it,) of forest trees, and bold rorks, intermingled 
with each other, and siuunounted by the Tovver. 

To the west the lawn rises gradually from the water until [i 
reaches the portico of the house, near the brow of the moun- 
tain, beyond which the western valley is again seen. 

To the east and north the eye wanders over the great valley 
of Connecticut river, to an almost boundless distance, until tlie 
scene fades av;ay among the blue and indistinct mountains of 

The carriage road, leaving the two foot-paths, just describ- 
ed, at the gate, passes the cottage and its appendages, incliniuc^ 
at first down towards tLe water, and then following the undula- 
tions of the ground, where the ascent is the easiest, winds gen- 
tly up to the flat on which the house stands. Along this houe 
the tower, the lake, 8cc. occasionally appetir and disappeac 
through the openings in the trees; in some parts of it all tliesa 
objects are shut from your view, and in no part is the di$ta»js 
view seen, until passing through the last, group of shrubbery- 
near the house, you suddenly find yourself within a few yards cf 
the brow of the mountain, and the valley with ail its distinct mi- 
nuteness immediately below, where every object is as perfectly- 
visible as if placed upon a map. Through the whole of this 
levely scene, Vflii^h appears a perfect garden, the Farmingt»B 

^f silliman's tous. JVb^„ 

river pursues its course, sometimes sparkling through irnbov/- 
^ering trees, then stretching in a direct line, bordered with 
shrubberyj blue, and still like a clear canal, or bending in grace- 
ful sweeps round white farm houses or through meadows ot 
the deepest green. 

The view from the house towards the east, presents nothing 
l)ut the lake at the foot of the lawn, bounded on the north and 
south by lofty cliffs, and on the opposite shore by a lower barri- 
er of rocks, intermixed with foreigri trees, from amongst which 
a road is seen to issue passing to the south along the brink of 
the water, and, although perfectly safe, appears to form, from 
that quarter, a dangerous entrance to this retired spot. 

Every thing in this view is calculated to make an impression 
of the most entire seclusion; for, beyond the water and the open 
ground in the immediate neighbourhood of the house, rocks 
and forests alone meet the eye, and appear to separate you from 
all the rest of the world. But at the same moment that you 
are contemplating this picture of the deepest solitude, you may 
without leaving your place, merely by changing your position, 
see through one of the long Gothic windows of the same room, 
which reach to a level with the turf, the glowing western valleyp 
©ne vast sheet of cultivation, filled with inhabitants, and so near 
that with the aid only of a common spy-glass you distinguish 
the motions of every individual who is abroad in the neighbour- 
ing village, even to the frolicks of the children, and the active 
industry of the domestic fowls seeking their food or watching 
ever, and providing for their young. And from the same win- 
dow, when the morning mist, shrouding the world below and 
frequently hiding it completely from view, still leaves the sum- 
mit of the mountain in clear sunshine, you may hear through 
the dense medium the mmgled sounds, occasioned by prepara- 
tion for the rural occupations of the day. 

From the boat or suir.mer house several paths diverge; one 
•f which, leading to the northeast, after passing through a nar- 
row defile, is divided into Uvo branches; the first passes round 
the lake and generally out of sight of it for a quarter of a mile, 
Until, descending a very steep bank through a grove of ever- 
greens, so dark as to be almost impervious to the rays of th» 
9un even at noon day, it brings you suddenly and unexpectedif 
put upon the eastern margin of the water, into the same read 
which was seen from the opposite side, and-from thence along 
it to the cottage beyond the foot of the south rock. The oth- 
er branch of the path, after leaving the defile, passes to the c?.3t 
•ide of the northern ridg?, and thence you ascend through th» 
woods to its summit, where it terminates at the Tower, standing 
within a few rods of the ed^re of the precipixe. The tower is- 
a hexagon, of sixteen feet diameter and fifty five feet hign; the, 
a6c§et, of abow,t eighty steps oa the inside, is easy, and from the. 

1820. silliman's tovr, SOi 

top, which is nine hundred and sixty feet above the level of 
Connecticut river, you have at one view all those objects which 
have been seen separately from the different stations below. 
The diameter r.t the view in two directions is more than ninety 
miles, extending into the neiglibouring states of Massachusetts 
and New York, and comprising; the spires of more than thirty 
of the nearest towns and villages. The little spot of cultiva' 
lion surrounding the house, and the lake at your feet with its 
picturesque appendages of boats, winding paths, and Gothic 
buildings, shut m by roclis and forests, compose the foreground 
of this grand Panorama. 

On the western side, the Farmington valley appears in still 
greater beauty than even from the lower brow, and is seen to a 
greater extent, presenting many objects which were not visible 
from ai;y other quarter. On the east is spread before you the 
great plain through which the Connecticut river winds its 
course, and upon the borders of which the towns and villages 
are traced for more than forty miles. The most considerable 
place within sight is Hartford, where, although at the distance 
of eight miles in a direct line, you see, with the aid of a glass, 
the carriages passing at the intersection of the streets, and dis- 
tinctly trace the motion and position of tlie vessels, as they ap- 
pear and vanish upon the river, whose broad sweeps are seea 
tike a succession ot lakes extending through the valley. The 
whole of this magnificent picture, including, in its vast extent, 
cultivated plains and rugged mountains, rivers, towns, and vil- 
lages, is encircled by a distant outline of blue mountains, rising 
in shapes of endless variety." (pp, 10 — 16.) 

The connexion, which subsists betvreen the visible land- 
scape and the geology of the region, is happily illustrated, 
and furnishes an occasion for an additional notice of Mr 
Wadsworth's country seat. 

"Such are the outlines of the scenery, and of the rocks upon 
•which it depends in the micMle regions of Connecticut. 

It enables us to understand the peculiarities of the beautiful 
and grand scenery of Monte Video, which makes this villa, 
with its surrounding objects, quite without a parallel in Ameri- 
ca, and probably w ith few in the world. 

To advert again, briefly, to a few of its leading peculiarities." 
It stands upon the very top of one of the highest of the green 
stone ridges of Connecticut, at an elevation of more than one 
thousand two hundred feet above the sea, and of nearly seven 
hundred above the contiguous valley. The villa is almost up- 
on the brow of the precipice; and a traveller in the Farming- 
ton valley sees it a solitary tenement, and in a place apparently 
koth comfortless and inacccessiblcj standing wpon the summit, 


SOS silliman's tour. Mv, 

ready, he would almost imagine, to be sv/ept away by the first 
blast from the mountain. The beautiful lake is on the top of 
the same loity greenstone ridge, and \\ithin a few yards of the 
house; it pours its superfluous waters in a limpid stream down 
the mountain's side, and affords in winter the most pellucid ice 
that can be imagined. Arrived on the top of the mountain, 
and confining his attention to the scene at his feet, the traveller 
scarcely realizes tha^ he is elevated above the common surface. 
The lake, the Gothic villa, farm house and ofilces, the gardens, 
orchards, and serpentine walks, conducting the stranger through 
all the varieties of mountain shade, and to the most interesting 
points of view, indicate a beautiful but peaceful scene; but, if 
he lift his eyes, he sees siill above him on the north bold preci- 
pices of naked rock frowning like ancient battlements, and on 
one of the highest peaks the tall tower, rising above the trees, 
and bidding defiance to the storms. If he ascend to its top, he 
contemplates an extent of country that might constitute a king- 
dom, populous and beautiful, with villages, turrets, and towns;, 
at one time he sees the massy magnificence of condensed va- 
pour, which reposes, in a vast extent of fog and mist, on the 
Farmington and Connecticut rivers, and defines, with perfect 
exactness, all their windings-, at another, the clouds roll below 
him, in wild grandeur, through the contiguous valley, and, 
should a thunder storm occur at evening, (an incident which 
every season presents,) he would view with delight, chastened 
by awe, the illuminated hills and corresponding hollows, which 
every where fill the vale west of the Talcot Mountain, and al- 
ternately appear and disappear with the flashes of lightning." 

pp, 25, 27. 

The unnecessary multiplication of houses for public 
worship in small parishes is justly, though not severely, 
censured, (p, 31.) This is an evil which is felt extensively 
in New England. The salaries, given to ministers of sev- 
eral rival and alienated congregations, would, if united, be 
a fair support for one well educated man, and would enable 
him to devote his whole time to his tlock, unembarrassed by 
occupations foreign to his profession. In this manner his 
public services would be worthy of the dignity and import- 
ance of the station, and might be rendered deeply interest- 
ing to the community. The clerical character is very much 
injured, not only when the individual is in debt and unable 
to pay, but when he is cramped and harrassed by his want of 
means, and cannot meet the multiplied demands which 
must always come upon a professional man, and especially 
upon one who is considered as the property of the people. 
The ministers of relis^ion in oair country, out of the large- 


towns, very generally suffer, to an immense extent, for the 
want of books, and of the leisure necessary to study them 
with fulellfy and success. At last also, the people sutler, 
for, if the teachers be ignorant and narrow minded, how can 
the taught, or those who ought to be taught, be enlighten- 
ed and liberal? 

On the subject of "American Inns," and the families who 
are found in tliem, (p, 32,) we agree with Mr. Silliman and 
w^ith all sensible people. We have had occasion already, 
in our first volume, (pp, 243 — 245,) to express our senti- 
ments with distinctness and animation, concerning "the fol- 
ly and impudence of many English tourists" in their re- 
marks upon our houses of entertainment, and upon the per- 
sons by v/hom they are kept. Such is the state o( society 
among us at present, and such it will long continue to be, 
that our inn-keepers are in the most intelligent and repect- 
able part of our population, especially when our cities are 
not included. 

The account of the Sliakers near New Lebanon in New 
York, (pp, 41 — 5«,) is written, in the main, with a benevo- 
lent and an apologetical spirit. We were however sorry to 
see the word ^'blasphemous'''' applied, by so intelligent a cas- 
uist as our author, even with the softening note of interro- 
gation that accompanies it. The essence of blasphemy is 
in the intention, in the state of the mind; and Mr. Silliman 
can have no design to deny the reality of a sincere Sha- 
ker's piety when he is singing his sacred songs. We think 
that the doctrines of this sect of Christians, although capa- 
ble of an explanation which removes much of their appa- 
rent absurdity, are still burdened with a very large remain- 
der, and are liable to insurmountable objections. We should 
not be entirely satisfied however with the analysis of Sha- 
kerfsm, as we find it in this Tour, were we at all inclined to 
join the sect, or to become its defenders. The writer does 
not appear to us to have read the large work, called "Christ's 
Second Appearing," or "Dunlavy's Manifesto," an octavo 
volume, when he says, in reference to the Shakers, "They 
rarely publish any thing respecting their own principles 
and habits." They have in fact given very full statements 
of their principles, and have labored, like other believers, 
to fortify their creed by numerous quotations from the Bi- 
ble, and even by criticisms on the Hebrew and Greek origi- 
nals. They do not drffer so much, as is supposed, from the 
«ther followers of Christ, when we go beyond their exoteri' 


cal faith, and enter fully into the esoterical. Their Christ 
is the redeeming-, anointing, and consecrating operation of 
the spirit of God upon liunian nature, and is not limited to 
either sex, nor to any age or country. They believe that 
the Divine Being imparts this hlessing, in greater or less de- 
grees, to all the truly religious; and they worship Christ, 
apparently with great sincerity and zeal, wherever they find 
satisfactory manifestations of the Divine Gift or Operation. 
They do not consider the sex as affecting this question, nor 
do they attempt or wish to justify any of tlie acknowledged 
errors or sins of Ann Lee. While she was without the a- 
nointing grace of God, she was like othej- persons in the 
flesh, and served the world in the same manner. Her 
marriage and her children only prove, that she was one? 
the property of Antichirst, but afterward, she was turned lo 
God and received the First Gift a-ranted, during her lile, to 
any individual on earth. The Divine Spirit is not contami- 
nated by takiag any portion of human nature, which it may 
select, into union with itself. Even unregenorate persons 
may be used by God as instruments to accomplisli his pur- 
poses, to convey his truth, to work miracles, to utter pro- 
phecies, and to show his power. Those, who were once 
kicked, maybe sanctified, and may furnish a fit residence 
for a heavenly guest. Ann Lee was thus hallowed and hon- 
ored. She is called Mother^ not merely because she was a 
woman, but because she had the First Gift of the Holy Spi- 
rit at the time, and because the Holy Spirit, in its sanctify- 
ing influences, as distinguished from the creative or pro- 
ductive power of God the Father, is considered as mater- 
nal, as sustaining a character analogous to that of the Mo- 
ther of the faitliful. Properly speaking, God as creator is 
our Father, but as sanctifter and cherisher, is our mother. 
The Shakers do not appear to believe that God is actually 
and literally male and female, but that he has the affections 
and performs the oiliccs both of Father and Mother in re- 
gard to his children. Jesus, being a male, and united to 
God, was a son, while Ann, being a female, and enjoying a 
similar union, was a daughter. Jesus however, when con- 
sidered in relation to his disciples whom he has spiritually 
begotten in his church, may be denominated Father, as Ann, 
■when considered in relation to her disciples, whom she has 
•brought forth in her church, may be dcnominalod Mother. 
The highest sense, in which a shaker uses Father, carries 
fcim to God as creator,^ while the liighcst sense, iu which he 

iS£0. 9iLLiMA\''s Touiei 20y 

■uses Mother, carries him to God as sanctifier. It is not our 
duty to ^efci:d thepe ideas and distinctions, but to state them 
as an ai ".'le oi justice lOward the singular people, to whom 
they rel&tf-. Mr. Si]I"air.n seems not to have been perfectly 
initiated into the esoteric of their faith. 

Anoti-er point in their creed, -which it is somewhat inter- 
esting to know, is this, that New Lebanon in New-York is 
destined to be always the Metropolitan See, and its church 
the Vatican of Shakerism. The head or Pope, the individu- 
al or individuals having the First Gift on earth, enjoying 
the most intimate union with God, and appointed to give 
infallible directions to the people of the true faith, must 
always reside at New-Lebanon. This person, when the Gift 
falls upon one, may be either male or female; when the Gift 
falls jointly and equally on two, as it may, and they are of 
different sexes, they are then the Father and the Mother of 
believers. The common idea, that there is always an Elect 
Lady, who is the lawful successor of Ann Lee, is erroneous. 
It happens at this time that Lucy Wright of New-Lebanon 
is the Elect Lady, or has, as it may be otherwise expressed, 
the First Gift. But where the Gift is bestowed jointly and 
equally upon a male and a female, and the female should 
die first, the male would then be the Elect, and the will of 
Christ would be made known, by way of eminence, through 
him. Christ may be called if, as well as /is, or she; and it 
depends on the circumstances of the particular application 
of the term, whether one of these pronouns, or another, shall 
be used. When the reference is to Jesus, it is proper to use 
the pronoun he for Christ; when to Ann, the pronoun she; 
and when to the operation of the Holy Spirit, without in- 
cluding any individual person as the instrument, the pro-- 
noun it. 

We do not suppose it to be necessary for us as review- 
ers to go into further details upon this mystical subject. \V« 
only wish to furnish a clue to carry such of our readers 
through this theological labyrmth as may desire to gratify 
their curiosity in so great an extent. No faith is more ea- 
sily misunderstood and misrepresented than that of the 
Shakers. The metaphysical explanation of it is sodiffereat 
from popular apprehension, that great pains, and some ta- 
lent in conducting a moral analysis, are necessary to do jus- 
tice to this remarkable sect. We may be in an error in 
what we have said, but we have given our impressions fair- 
ly, after having read their books and talked much with their 

S06 «illiman"s tour. jV*j», 

teachers. We nif^hl easily go on to siiow, that the doc- 
trine of the trinity is c^Dsiderably mo'lified by them in 
comparison with the common form in which it is held, and 
that several other doctrines of t'leirs, besides the absurd one 
of celibacy, are not strictly orthodox; but we have not time 
.to follow out such a plan of exposition. We can only say^ 
that we admire the industry, temperance, neatness, syste- 
matic arranr^em-ent, and efiicienc; , of the clusters of Shak- 
ers, which we have visited. 

We are happy to find, thgit as nvich justice, as words will 
.allow, 13 done to the "scenery of New Lebanon." (p, 58.) 
The prospect from the gaUery of the public house at the 
jiprin;^ is deli'd^tful beyond the power of description. 

Wh(n our author visits the capitol at Albany, his admira- 
ti'^'n is interrupted hy the marks of a fjllhj' practice, which 
lie thus mentions in a note. 

"I couUl nol bul r':grct th?.t the te35clatc;I marble pivement 
•f the vestilxiie, otherwise very handsome, was shamefully dir- 
iicd by obacr.o spitv!.?: hi.irh a thin ;5 would not be sufTered in 
Eiirape. It is hov/evcr, unfortunately, only a feamplcof the U>f> 
general trcatr-ient of public buildings, and places in the United 
States, and ronstituces no /leculiar topic of reproach ia this in- 
«tance; but it is particularly oiTensivc in so fine a building-" 

pp, 65 67. 

V/e agree entirely with Mr. Silliman in reprobating this 
■vulgar habit, and in ^?ishing for its speedy abolition. It is 
^national stain, which we ought to washout of our manners, 
or it v.'iii be of liiile use to wash it out of our houses and 

We pr,^sume, that tlic ibiiowjii^ ei;;tract contains a com- 
pliment to Chancellor Kent, wdiich is not the less accept-- 
able because it is offered as an apology for one. 

^'Among the gentry and professional antl literary men of Al- 
Ibany, there are individuals of distinguished eminence. But 
eminent men, of our own time and country, are rather loo near 
for much minuteness of delineation. Were it not for the res- 
traint thus im nosed by delicacy, it would bs a task, by no means 
■anp-rafeful, to draw likenesses frum the life, and to exhibit the 
■combined effect of talent, learning, and social vi:tues. An A- 
mericanin Europe is free from this embarrassment, and should 
iie there discover a mind of amazing vigor and activity — al- 
svsvs p-lowing — always on the wing — replete with various and 
extensive knowledge, flowing out in the most rapid, ardent, ami 
Lniorcisi-'e eloquence, while simplicity and i'amiliai'ity ct 

1S20. SILLIMAX'S TOUIt, g()7 

iiers wei'e associated with a high nsinded inles^rity and indcpea- 
deuce, he v.or.ld fearlciisly pronounce the posscssoi- of such 
qualities an original and captivating- man." (pp) 69, 70.) 

Another notice of this gentleiciin on the same leaf easily 
guides and fixes our conjecture. 

•'The private library of Chancellor Kent does honour to hint 
and to learning. It contains between two and three thou- 
sand volumes ot choice books, 'i'he collection on jurispru'- 
dcnce embraces not only the English, but the Civil and French. 
law. It contains Latin, Greek, English and French Classics, 
belles lettrcs, history, biography, travels, and books in most 
branches of human learning. The numerous manusciipt re- 
marks and annotations, on the bkmk leaves and margins of tho 
books, evince that they are not a mere pageant, and at a future 
day will form soaxe of the most interesting of oar literary relics-. 

p, 70. 

In the tribute of respect lo this distinguished scholar and 
ahle jurist we cordially unite. 

The description of a singular horse ferry-boat may not 
only gratify our readers, but >may be of practical use t» 
some of them upon our western waters. 

"The ferry boat is of most singular construction. A plat- 
form covers a wide flat boat. Underneath the platform there 
is a large horizonial solid wheel, which extends lo the sides of 
the boat; and there the platform or deck is cut through and re- 
moved, so as to afford sufficient room for two horses to stand ou 
the flat surface of the wheel, one horse on each side and paral- 
lel to the gunwale of the boat. The horses arc harnessed, in 
the usual manner for teams, the whilHe trees being attached la 
stout iron bars, fixed horizontally at a proper height into posts, 
which are a part of the fixed portion of the boat. The horses 
look in opposite directions, one to the bovv and ihe other to the 
stern; their feet take hold of channels, or groves, cut in the 
wheels in, the direction of radii; they press forward, and, al- 
though th-^y advance not, any more than a squirrel in a revoU- *' 
ing cage or than a spit dog at his work, their feet cause tlie hor- 
izontal wheel to revolve in a direction opposite to that of their 
own apparent motion; tlus, by a connection of cogs, moves VAftj 
verticil wheels, one on e;/;h wing of the boat, and these, bein;:; 
constructed like the paddle wheels of steam boats, produce the 
same effect, and propel the boat forward. The horses are cov- 
ered by aroof, furnished with curtains, to protect then] in bad 
weather; and do not oppear to labour hardc:^ th:>a common draft 
■Jiorses with a heavy load. 

The iavenioi of this boat is ]Mr. Laxgdo:.', of Whitehall, and 

S80 silliman's tour. ^ovi. 

it claims the important advantages of simplicity, cheapness, 
and eflect. At first view the labour appears like a hardship up- 
on the horses, but probably this is an illusion, as it seems very 
immaterial to their comfort whether they advance with their' 
load, or cause the basis, on which they labour, to recede." 

pp, 75, 76. 

The anecdote concerning lady Acldand, (p, 96,) tliougk 
often told, will continue to be read with interest and admi- 
ration. The extracts from the letters of the Baroness Reid- 
esel are well adapted to enlist all our sympathies. We se* 
lect the following. 

<'The Baroness Reidesel, the lady of Major General the Bar- 
on Reidesel, in some very interesting letters of hers, pnbli.-.hed 
at Berlin in 1800, and in part republished in translation in Wil- 
kinson's memoirs, states that she, with her three little children, 
(for she had, with this tender charge, followed the fortunes of 
her husband across the Atlantic, and through the horrors of the 
campaign,) occupied this house, which was the only refuge 
vrithin protection of the British army. The rooms which it 
contained remain to this d^y as they then were, although some 
other rooms have been since added. 

The house stood at that time, perhaps, one hundred yards 
from the river, at the foot of the hill; it was afterwards remov- 
ed to the road side, close by the river, where it now stands. 

The Baroness, with her little children, occupied the room in 
TPhich we took tea, and General Frazer, when bi-ought in wound- 
ed, was laid in the other room.. In fact, as it was the only shel- 
ter that remained standing, it was soon converted into a hospi- 
tal, and many other wounded and dying officers were brought to 
this melancholy refuge. 

Thus a refined and delicate lady, educated in the elegance of 
affluence and of elevated rank, with her little children, was com- 
pelled to witness the agonies of bleeding and dying men, among 
whom some of her husband's and of her own particular friends 
expired before her eyes. She imparted to them of her few re- 
maining comforts, and soothed them by offices of kindness. 
This distinguished lady was not without female companions, 
who shared her distresses, or felt with keenness their own mis- 
fortunes. Among them was lady Harriet Ackland, the wife of 
Major Ackland, who commanded the British grenadiers. Eve- 
ry thing that has been said of the Baroness Reidesel will ap- 
ply to her. News came from time to time, from the heights, 
that one ofhccr and another was killed, and among the rest that 
Major Ackland was desperately wounded, and a prisoner with 
the enemy. 

Major (called in General Burgoyne's narrative Colonel) Ack- 

tSEO. sillimah's tour. 809 

land had been wounded in the battle of Hubberton, but had rg? 
covered and resumed the command of the Grenadiers. H« 
was wounded the second time, in the battle of October 7, and 
found by Genera! (then Colonel) Wilkinson, who gives the fol- 

Io^vino; interesting statement of the occurrence: "With the 

troops I pursued the hard pressed, fiying enemy, passing over 
killed and wounded, until I heard one exclaim, 'protect me, Sir, 
against this boy.'* Turning my eyes, it was my fortune to ar-? 
rest the purpose of a lad, thirteen or fourteen years old, in the 
act of taking aim cit a wounded officer, who lay Ik the angle of 
a worm fence. Inquiring his rank, he answered, 'I had the hon- 
our to command the Grenadiers;'of course Iknew himtobe Ma* 
jor Ackland, who had been brought from the field to this place, 
on the back of Captain Shrimpton, of his or,n corps, under a 
heavy fire, and was deposited here to save the lives of both." 

"I dismounted, took him by the hand and expressed hopes 
that he was not badly wounded; 'not badly,* replied this gallant 
officer and accomplished gentleman, 'but very inconvenientlyi I 
am shot through both legs; will you, Sir, have the goodness to 
have me conveyed to your camp?' I directed my servant to a- 
Ijght, and we lifted Ackland into his (the servant's) seat, and 
ordered him to be conducted to head quarters." 

Two other ladies, who were in the same house with madaiji 
IReidesel, received news, the one that her husband was wound- 
ed, and the other that hers was slain; and the Baroness heiv 
self expected every moment lo hear similar tidings; for the bar- 
on's duties, as commandei' in chief of the German troops, re- 
<iuired him to be frequently exposed to the most imminent per- 

The Baroness Reidesel gives, in her narrative, the following 
recital respecting General Frazer's death: — "Severe trials a- 
waited us, and on the "ih of October our misfortunes began; i, 
was at breakfast with my husband, and heard that something 
Tvas intended. On the same day I expected the Generals Bur- 
goyne, Philips, and Frazer to dine with us, I saw a great 
movement among the troops, my husband told me it was a re- 
connoisance, which gave me no concern as it often happened, 
I walked out of the house, and met several Indians, in their 
war dresses, with guns in their hands. When I asked them, 
where they were goin^, they cried out War! War! (mean- 
ing that they were going to battle.) — This filled me with ap- 
prehensions, and I had scarcely got home before I heard reports 
of cannon and musketry, which grew louder by degrees till at 
la&t the noise became excessive. About four o'clock in the 
afternoon, instead of the guests, whom 1 expected, General Fra- 
zer was brought, on a litter, mortal y wounded. The table, 
^^hich was already set, was instantly removed, and a bed placed 
in its stead for the wpunded General. I sat trembling in a cor- 


ner; the noise grew louder and the alarm increased: the thought' 
that my husband might, perhaps, be brought in, wounded in 
the same manner, was terrible to me and distressed me exceed- 

Genera! Frazer said to the surgeon, 'tell me if my wound is 
mortal, do not flatter me.' The ball had passed through his 
body, and, unhappily for the General, he had eaten a very hearty 
breakfast, by which the stomach was distended, and the ball, as 
the surgeon said, had passed through it. I heard him often ex- 
claim, with a sigh, <0 fatal ambition! Poor General Bxjr- 
goyneI O my poor wife!' He was asked if he had any request 
to make, to which he replied, that 'if General Burgoyne 


"WHICH HAD BEEN BUILT THERE.' Towards evening I saw my 
husband coming; then I forgot all my sorrows, and thanked God 
that he was spared to me." 

The German Baroness spent much of the night in comfort- 
ing lady Harriet Ackland, and in taking care of her children, 
whom she had put to bed. Of herselt she says — "I could not 
go to sleep) as I had General Frazer and all the other wounded 
gentlemen in my room, and I was sadly afraid my children 
would awake, and by their crying, disturb the dying man, ia 
his last moments, who often addresed me, and apologised [for 
the trouble he gave me.' About three o'clock in the morning, I 
was told, he could not hold out much longer; I had desired to 
be informed of the near approach of this sad crisis, and I then 
wrapped up my children in their clothes, and went with thent 
into the room below. About eight o'clock in the morning he 
died. After he was laid out, and his corspe wrapped up in a, 
•heet, we came again into the room, and we had this sorrowful 
&ight before us the whole day; and, to add to the melancholy 
scene, almost every moment some officer of my acquaintance 
was brought in woundec\" 

What a situation for delicate females — a small house, filled 
with bleeding and expiring men — the battle roaring and raging 
all around — little children to be soothed and protected, and fe- 
male domestics, in despair, to be comforted — cordials and aids, 
Buch as were attainable, to be administered to the wounded and 
dying — ruin impending over the army, and they knew not what 
insults, worse than death, might await themselves, from those 
whom they had been taught to consider as base, as well as cow- 

Both these illustrious females learned, not long after, a dif- 
ferent lesson. I have already remarked, that Major Ackland 
was wounded and taken prisoner. His lady, with heroic cour- 
age, and exemplary conjugal tenderness, passed down the river, 
t9 our army, with a letter from General Burgoyne t» Generaj: 

1830. ^illiman's rotrn: tii 

Gates, and althouj^h somewhat detained on the river, because 
it was night when she arrived, and the centinel could not per- 
mit her to land, till he had received orders from his superior, 
ahe was, as soon as her errand was made known, received by 
the Americans, with the litmost respect, kindness, and delicacy. 
Her husband, many years after the war, even lost. his life ia «. 
duel, which he iought with an officer, who called the Ameri- 
cans cowards. Ackland espoused their cause, and vindicated 
it in this quarter*" (pp, 90 — 96.) 

The record of General Schuyler's humanity embalms hit 
Bieraory for ever. 

«' After the surrender, and the officer had gone oTcr to Gene-' 
ral Gates' army, General Reidesel sent a message to his lady, 
to come to him with her children. She says in her narrative, "t 
seated myself once more in my dear ralash,andthen rode through' 
the American camp. As I passed on, I observed, ^and this was a 
great consolation to me,) that no one eyed me with looks of re- 
sentment, but they all greeted us, and even shewed compassion 
in their countenances, at the sight of a woman with small chiU, 
dren. I was, I confess, afraid to go over to the enemy, as ib 
was quite a new situation to me. When I drew near the tents, 
a handsome man approached and met me, took my childrerv 
fr%Tn the calash^ and hugged a?id kissed them, which affected- 
me almost to tears. 'You tremble,' said he, addressing him- 
self to me, «be not afraid-' 'No,' I answered, 'you seem so 
kind and tender to my children, it inspires me with courage.* 

He now led me to the tent of General Gatei." "All the 

Generals remained to dine with General Gates." 

"The same gentleman who received me so kindly, now came 
and said to me, 'You will be very much embarrassed to eat with, 
all these gentlemenj come with your children to my tent, where T 
will prepare for you a frugal dinner, and give it with a free will/ 
I «aid, 'you *lRE certainly a husband and a »ather, you hava 
shewn me so much kindness.' 

"I now iound that he was General Schuyler. He treated 
xne with excellent smoked tongue, be«f steaks, potatoes, and 
good bread and butter! Never could I have wished to eat a bet- 
ter dinner: I was content; I saw all around me were so like- 
wise; and what was better than all, my husband was out of dan- 
ger! When we had dined, he told me his residence was at Al- 
bany, and that General Burgoyne intended to honour him as 
his guest, and invited myself and children to do so likewise. I 
asked my husband how I should act; he told me to accept th« 

invitation." "Some days after this, we arrived at Albany, 

where we often wished ourselves; but, we did not enter it, as 
•we expected we should, victors! We were received by the 
S«od General Schtyler, his wife, iind daughters, not ^% ene- 

jYiies, but kind friends; and they treated us with the most mark- 
ed attention and iX)Utenes8, as ihcy did General Burgoyne, who 
had caused General Schuyler's beautifully finished houss to be 
burnt; in fact they behaved like persons of exalted minds, who 
determined to bury all recollection of their own injuries in the 
c6ntempIation of o«r misfortunes. General Burgoyne was 
struck with General Schuyler's generosity., and said to him» 
*You she\7 me great kindness, although I have done you much 
injury.' '77iat was the fate of war y replied the brave man, 
'let us say no more about it.' " 

Thus, not only General Burgoyne, but a number of the most 
distinguished officers of the army, including Baron Reideael 
and Major Ackland, and their la'^ies, were actually lodged for 
weeks, and most hospitably entertained, in the house of the 
tinan, whose elegant villa at Saratoga, they had wantonly buritt, 
and whose fine estate there they had spoiled." (pp, 99—101.) 

What a situation have we, in which this same baroness 
was placed during the battle ! 

<»To protect his family from shot, General Reidesel, soon af- 
tfer their arrival at Saratoga, directed them to take shelter in a 
house not far off. They had scarcely reached it, before a terri- 
ble cannonade was directed against that very house, upon the 
Jtiistafcen idea that all the Generals were assembled in it. 'Alas,* 
adds the Baroness, 'it contained none but wounded and women; 
ye were at last obliged to resort to the cellar for refuge, and, 
iti one corner of this, I remained the whole day, my children 
sleeping on the earth, with their heads in my lap, and, in the 
same situation, I passed a sleepless night. Eleven cannon 
balls passed through the house, and we could distinctly hear 
them roll away. One poor soldier, who was lying on a table 
for the purpose of having; his leg amputated, was struck by a 
•hot which carried away his other; his comrades had left him, 
and when we went to his assistance we foand him in a corner of 
the room, into which he had crept, more dead than alive, scarce- 
ly breathing. My reflections on the danger to which my hus- 
band was' exposed, now agonized me exceedingly, and the 
thoughts of my children, and the necessity of struggling for 
their preservation, alone sustained me.' A horse of General 
^eidesal was in constant readiness for his lady to mount, in 
case of a sudden retreat, and three wounded English officers, 
who lodged in the same house, had tnade her a solemn promise 
that they would, each of them, take one of her children upon 
a horse, and fly with them, whgnsuch a measure should become 
necessary. She was in a state of wretchedness on account of 
b^r husband, who was in constant danger, exposed all day to 
the shot, and never entcrinrjhis tent to sleep, but, notwithstand- 
ing the great sold, lying down yhole nights by the watch fires. 

iS20. STLLmAK^S tour; glS 

<In this horrid situation,' they remained six days, till the cessa- 
tion of hostilities, which ended in a convention for the surren- 
der of the army; the treaty .. as signed oo the sixteenth, and the 
army surrendered the next day." (pp, 119 — 120.) 

We would pass over the massacre of Miss McCrea, with- 
out calling the attention of our readers to it, were it not that 
every motive, which can be furnished against employing 
Indians in our wars, ought to be added to the common mass 
of dissuasives both among Europeans and Americans. 

"The story of this unfortunate young lady is well known, 
jior should I mention it now, but for the fact, that the place of 
her murder was pointed out to us near Fort Edward. 

♦We saw and conversed with a person, who was acquainted 
■with her, and with her family; ihey resided in the village of 
Fort Edward. 

It seems she was betrothed to a Mr. Jones, an American ref- 
ugee, who was with Burgoyne's army, and being anxious to ob- 
tain possession of his expected bride, he dispatched a party of 
Indians to escort her to the British army. Where were his af- 
fection and his gallantry, that he did not go himself, or at least 
that he did not accompany his savage emissaries! 

Sorely against the wishes and remonstrances of her friends, 
she committed herself to the care of these fiends; — strange in- 
fatuation in her lover, to solicit such a confidence — stranger 
presumption in her, to yield to his wishes; what treatment had 
sh© not a right to expect from such guardians! 

The party set forward, and she oa horseback; they had pro. 
ceeded not more than half a mile from Fort Edward, when they 
arrived at a spring and halted to drink. The impatient lover 
had, in the mean time, dispat;:hed a second party of Indians on 
the same errand; they came, at the unfortunate moment, to the 
same spring, and a collision immediately ensued as to th» 
promised reward. 

Both parties were now attacked by the whites, and at the end 
of the conflict the unhappy yuving woman was found tomahawk- 
ed, scalped, and (as is said) tied fast to a pine tree just by the 
spring. Tradition reports, that the Indians divided the scalp, 
and that each party carried half of it to the agonized lover. 

This beautiful spring, which still flows limpid and cool from 
a bank near the road side, and this fatal tree, we saw. The 
tree, which is a large and ancient pine, 'fit for the mast of some 
tall admiral' is wounded,^ in many places, by the balls of the 
whites fired at the Indians; they have been dug out as far aa 
they could be reached, but others still remain in this ancient 
tree, %yhich seems a striking emblem of wounded innocence, 
and the trunk, twisted off at a considerable elevation by som© 

^14 siIliman'3 fou*; J\*ov: 

Tiolent wind that has left only a few mutilated branches, is a 
happy, althouE^h painful memorial of thefateof Jenne M'Crea. 

Her name is inscribed on the tree, with the date 1777, and 
no traveller passes this spot withovit spending a plaintive mo- 
ntifent in contemplating the untimely late of youth and loveli- 

The murder ol Miss M'Crea, a deed of such atrocity an;l 
cruelty as scarcely to admit of aggravation) occurring as it did, 
•at the moment when General Burgoye, whose army was then 
at Fort Anne, was bringing with him to the invasion of the A- 
inerican States hordes of savages, 'those hell hounds of war,* 
whose known ar:d established modes of warfare were those of 
promiscuous massacre, electrified the whole continent, and in- 
deed the civilised world, producing an universal burst of horror 
/and indignation. Genera! Gates did not fail to profit by the 
circuiTistance, and in a severe, but too j'lernorial remonstrance, 
vhich he addressed to Genei al Burgoyne, charged him with 
the guilt of the murder, and with that of many other similar a* 
trocilies. His real guilt, or that of his government, was in cm- 
ploijing the savaj^-es at all in the war; in other respects he ap- 
pears to have had no concern wi\h the transaction; in his reply 
to General Gates, he thus vindicates himself: 'In regard to Miss 
M'Crea, her fall wanted not the tragic display you have labour- 
ed to give it, to make it as smcerely lamented and abhorred by 
■me as it can be by the tenderest of her friends. The fact was 
no premeditated barbarity. On the conti-ary, tvro chiefs who 
had brought her off for the purpose of security, not of violence 
to her person, disputed which should be her guard, and in a fit 
of savage passion in one, from whose hands she was snatched, 
the unhappy woman became the victim. Upon the first intelli- 
gence of this event, I obliged the Indians to deliver the mur- 
derer into my hands, and though to have punished him by our 
laws, or prir?ciples of justice, would have been perhaps unpre- 
cedented, he certainly should have suffered an ignominious 
death, had I not been convinced by my circumstances and ob- 
servation, beyond the possibility ot a d6ubt, that a pardon un- 
der the terms which I presented, and they accepted, would be 
more efficacious than an execution, to prevent similar mis- 
chiefs.'" (pp, 134—138.) 

A note, concerning the massacre at Fort William Henrj 
fey Indians, (p, 161,) is almost too horrible to be put in 
print, but it may aid tlie object of the story above. 

«Men and womeni had their throats rut, their bodies ripped 
open, and their bowels, with insult, thrown in their faces. In- 
fants and children were barbarously taken by the heels; and 

tkeir brrdns dtished out against stones and trees. The Indians 

18S0. silliman's toub. S13 

pursued the English nearly half the way to Fort Edward, wher* 
the greatest number of them arrived in a most forlorn condi- 

From these seenes of ferocity and blood, vre are delighted 
to turn to the beauties of nature and the charms of tlie land- 
scape. We have already alluded to Mr. Silliman's morn- 
ing at Lake George. We now give a 'part of the descrip- 
tion of it as it was witnessed by himself and Mr. Wads- 

"Anxious to witness, from the surlace of the lake, the fii-st 
appearance of the sun's orb, we regained our boat, and, in a 
few moments, attained the desired position. Opposite to us, 
in the direction towards the rising sun, was a place or notch, 
lower than the general ridge cf the mountains, and formed by 
the intersecdng curves of two declivities. 

F Precisely through this place, wore poured upon us the Hrsfe 
rays, which darted down, as if in lines of burnished gold, diverg- 
ing and distinct, as in a diagram; the ridge of the eastern moun- 
tains was fringed with fire, for many a miie; the numerous isl- 
ands, so elegantly sprinkled through the lake, and which re- 
cently appeared and disappeared through the i-olling clouds of 
mist, now received the direct rays of the sun, and formed so 
many gilded gardens; at last came the sun, 'rejoicing in hi& 
strength;' and, as he raised the upper edge of his burning disk 
into view in a circle of celestial fire, the sight was too glorious 
to behold; — it seemed, as the full orb was disclosed, as if he 
looked down with complacency, into one of the most beautiful 
spots in this lower world, and, as if gloriously representing hia 
great creator, he pronounced 'it all very good.* I certainly 
never before saw the sun rise with such majesty. I have noC 
exaggerated the effect, and, without doubt, it arises principally 
from the fact, that Lake George is so completely environed by 
a barrier of high mountains that it is in deep shade, while the 
world around is in light, and the sun, already risen for soma 
time, does not dart a single ray upon this imprisoned lake, til!, 
having gained a considerable elevation, he bursts, all at once, o- 
ver the fiery ridge of the eastern mountains, and pours, not a 
horizontal, but a descending flood of light, which, instantly 
piercing the deep shadows, that rest on the lake, and on the wes- 
tern side of the eastern barrier, thus produces the finest possi- 
ble effects of contrast. When the sun had attained a little height 
above the mountain, we observed a curious effect; a perfect cona 
•f light, with its base towards the sun, lay upon the water, and, 
from the vertex of the cone, which reached half across the lake, 
there shot out a delicate line of parallel rays, which reached the 
western shore, and the whole perfettl/ represented a glided. 

*16 silliman's tour. J^Tov. 

steeple. As this effect is opposite to the common form of the 
sun's effulgence, it must probably depend upon some peculi- 
arities in the shape of the summits of the mountains at this 
place." (pp, 146, 147.) 

The note in praise of General Hoyt (p, 157,) is devoted to 
a good object, and we earnestly wish, that, in our own state, 
all those, who can give us accurate information of the bat- 
tles which have been fought here, of the places where 
they were fought, and of other interesting points of our 
past history, may not be allowed to die, before we secure 
their evidence by any faithful and durable record. 

The old man of the age of Louis XIV, whom Mr. Silli- 
man saw on his tour, we learn by the newspapers, has very 
recently died.* The longevity is so remarkable, and the cir- 
cumstances are so striking, that we shall be excused fot 
copying the statement of our author. 

^ "Two miles from Whitehall, on the Salem road to Albany, 
lives Henry Francisco, a native of France, and of a placa 
which he pronounced Jisssjc, but doubtless not the orthogra- ■ 
phy, andthe place was, probably, some obscure village, which 
may not be noticed in maps and Gazetteers. 

Having a few hours to spare, before the departure of thesteana 
boat for St. John's in Canada, we rode out to see (probably) the 
oldest man in America. He believes himself to be one hun- 
dred and thirty-four yars old, and the country around believe 
him to be of this great age. When we arrived at his residence^ 
(a plain farmer's house, not painted, rather out of repair, and 
much open to the wind,) he was up stairs, at his daily work, ot 
spooling and winding yarn. Thib cccupatiou is auxiliary to that 
of his wife, who is a weaver, and although more than eighty 
years old, she weaves six yards a day, and the old man can su2>- 
ply her with more yarn 'han she can weave. Supposing he 
must be very fctb!e, we offered to go up stairs to him, but h» 
soon came down, v/aJking sonicwhat stooping, and supported by 
a staff, but with less appaient inconvenience than most persons 
exhibit at eighty-five or ninety. His str.t'.:rc is of the middle 
size, and, although he/Is r-tier delicate and slender, he stoops 
but little eren when unrut-p. ;ted. His complexion is very fair 
and delicate, and his expression bright, cheerful, and intelligent; 
his features handsome, and, considering that they have en- 
dured through one third part of ,a second century, ihoy are 
regular, comely, find wonderfully undisligored by the hand of 
tirnej his eyes are of a lively biue; his profile is Grecian and 
veiyfine; his head is completely covered with the most beauti- 
ful and delicate white Iqcks iinaginable; they are s» I on g^ and 

•October 25tb, 1820, 


1-620. «i.limak's tour; 1819 

abundant as to full gracefully from the crowu of his head; part- 
ing regularty from a central point, and reaching down to his. 
shoulders; his hair is perfectly snow white, except where it is 
thick in his neck; "when parted there, it shews some few dark 
shades the renmants of a former century. 

He still retains the front teeth of his upper jaw, his mouth 
is not fallen in, like that of old people generally, and his lips, 
^particularly, are \ike those oi middle life; his voice is strong 
and sweet toned, although a little tremulous; his hearing very 
iiltle impaired, so that a voice of usual strength, with distinct 
articulation, enables him to understand; his eyesight is suffi- 
cient for his work, and he distinguishes large print, such as the 
title page of the Bible, without glasses; his health is good, and 
has always been so, except that he has now a cough and expec- 

He informed us that his father, driven out of France by re=." 
ligious persecution, tied to Amsterdam; by his account it must 
have been on account of the persecutions of the French pro*» 
testants, or Hugonots, in the latter part of the reign of Louis 
XIV. At Amsterdam, his father married his mother, a Dutch 
woman, five years before he was born, and, before that event, re- 
turned with her into France. When he was five years old, his 
father again fled on account of 'de religion,' as he expressed it, 
(for his language, although very intelligible English, is marked 
by French peculiarities ) He says he -vk^II remembers their 
flight, and that it was in the winter; for he recollects that, as 
they were descending a hill which was covered with snow, he 
cried out to his father, 'O fader, do go back and get my little 
©ariole,' — (a little boy's sliding sledge or sleigh.) 

From these dates we are enabled to fix th-e time of his birth, 
provided he is correct in the main fact, for he says he was pres- 
ent at Queen Anne's coronation, and was then sixteen years 
eld the 3lEt of May, old style. His father, (as heassertsj) af- 
ter his return from Holland, had again been driven from France 
by persecution, and the second time took refuge in Holland, 
and afterwards in England, where he resided, with his family, 
at the time of the coronation of Queen Anne, in 1702. This 
Kiakes Francisco to have been born in 1685; to have been ex- 
pelled from France in 1691, and therefore to have cofnpleted 
his hundred and thirty-third year on the eleventh of last June; 
OI course he is now more than three months advanced in his 
hundred and thirty-fourth year. It is notorious, that about this 
time, multitudes of French protestants fled, on account of the 
persecutions of Louis XIV, resulting from the revocation of 
the edict of Nantz, which occurred October 12, 1685, and, not- 
▼ iihstanding the guards upon the frontiers, and other measures 
of precaution or rigor to prevent emigration, it is well known 
(hat for y^jirs multitudes continued to make their escape; ani 

OjD - . - . — 

that thus Louis lost six hundred thousand of his best and most' 
useful subjects. I asked Francisco if he saw Queen Anne 
crowned; he replied, with great animation, and with an elevated 
voice, *Ah! dati did, and a fine looking woman she was too, as 
any dat you will see now-a-days.' 

He said he fought in all Queen Anne's wars, and was at many- 
battles, and under many commanders, but his memory fails, and 
he cannot remember their names, except the Duke of Marlbor 
rough, who was one of them. 

He has been much cut up by wounds, which he shewed us, 
but cannot always give a very distinct account of his warfare. 

He came out with his father, from England to New- York, 
probably early in the last century, but cannot remember th« 

He said, pathetically, when pressed for accounts of his mili- 
tary experience, 'O, I was in all Queen Anne's wars; I was at 
Niagara, at Oswego, on the Ohio, (in Braddock's defeat, in 17 5 Si 
where he was wounded.) I was carried prisoner to Quebec, 
(in the revolutionary war, when k^e must have been at least nine- 
ty years old.) I fight in all sorts ofwars, allmy life; I see 
dreadful trouble; and den to have dem, we tought our friends, 
turn tories; and the British too, and fight ourseUcs, O, dat was 
de worst of all." 

He here seemed much affected, and almost too full for ut- 
terance. It seemsyidiat, during the revolutionary war, he kept, 
a tavern at Fort Edward, and he lamented, in a very animated, 
•jnarvner, that the tories burnt his house and barn, and four hun- 
dred bushels of grain; this, his wife said, was the same year that" 
Miss M'Crea was murdered. 

He has had two wives, and tv/enty-one children; the young- 
est child is the daughter, in whose house he now lives, and she 
is fifty-two years old; of -course, he was eighy-two when she 
Titvas boin; they suppose several of the older children are still 
living, at a very advanced age, beyond the Ohio, but fhey have 
jiot heard of thsm in several years. The family were neigh- 
bours to the family of Miss M'Crea, and were acquainted with 
the circumstances of her tragical death. 

They said that the lover, Mr. Jones, vowed vengeance against 
the Indians, but, on counting the cost, wisely gave it up. 

Henry Francisco has been, all his life, a yery active and en-' 
crgetic, although not a stout framed man. He was formerly 
fond of spirits, and did, for a certain period, drink more thaa< 
was proper, but that hakit appears to have been long abandon- 

In other respects, he has been remarkably abstemious, eat- 
ing but little, and particularly abstaining, almost entirely, from, 
animal food; his favourite articles being tea, bread and butler, 
aind t?alj||ft^pples. His wife said^ that, after such a breakfast^' 

i8<30. silliman's tour. SSI 

he would go out and work till noon; then dine upon the same, 
if he could get it, and then take the same at night, and particu- 
larly that he always drank tea whenever he could obtain it, three • 
cups at a time, three times a day. 

The old man manifested a great deal of feeling, and even of 
tenderness, which increased as we treated him with respect and 
kindness; he often shed tears, and particularly when, on com- 
ing away, we gave him money; he looked up to heaven, and 
fervently thanked God, but did not thank us; he however pres- 
sed our hands very warmly, wept, and wished us every bless- 
ing, and expressed something serious with respect to our meet- 
ing in another world. Ke appeared to have religious impres- 
sions on his mind, notwithstanding his pretty frequent exclama- 
mations, when animated, of Good GodI O, my God! which 
appeared, however, not to ])e used in levity, and were prob- 
ably acquired in childhood, frem the almost colloquial 'Mon 
Dieu,' &c. of the French. The oldest people in the vicinity- 
remember Francisco, as being always, from their earliest recol- 
lection, much older than themselves; and a Mr. Fuller who re- 
cently died here between eighty and niuety years of age, thought 
Francisco was one hundred and forty. 

On the whole, although the evidence rests, in a degree, on 
his own credibility, still, as many things corroborate it, and as 
Iris character appears remarkably bincei'e, guileless, and affec- 
tionate, I am inclined to believe that he is as old as he is stated 
to be. He is really a most remarkable and interesting old man^ 
there is nothing, either in his person or dress, of the negligence 
and squalidness of extreme age, especially when not in elevat- 
ed circumstances.; on the contrary, he is agreeable and attrac- 
tive, and were he dressed in a superior manner, and placed in. 
a handsome and \?ell furnished apartment, lie would be a most 
beautiful old man. 

Little could I have expected to converse and shake hands 
with a man, who has been a soldier in most of the wars of this 
countiy for one hundred years — who, more than a century a^-o, 
fought under INIarlborough, in the wars of Queen Anne, anci- 
■who, (already grown up to manhood,) saw her crowned one 
hundred and seventeen years since; who, one hundred and twen- 
ty-eight years ago, and in the century before la^t, was driven 
from France by the proud, magnifirent, and intolerant Louis 
XIV, and who has lived a forty -fourth part of all the time that 
the hinntin race have occupied tli^ globe! 

What an intervievd It is like seeing one back from the dead 
to relate the events oT centuries now swallowed up in the abyss 
ot timel Except his cough, v/hich, thsy told us, had not been of 
long standing, we saw nothing- in Franrisco's appearance, that 
might indicate a speedy dissolution, and he seemed to have suf- 

i&SS sillisian's tock» ./Vo^. 

ficient mental and bodily powers to endure for years yet to 

To this maybe added two other instances of longevity in 
the north; and the whole, taken with very numerous cases, 
which might easily be collected, from the history of life m 
high latitudes, may serve to remind us of the system of com- 
pensation in Providence, by which evils are balanced by 
blessings. A fair comparison shows that the South has no 
right to boast over the North, as it respects climate, or the' 
enjoyments which it brings. 

•'I was assured, by an officer of the Brilish army at Quebec, 
that this very Freach Captain, who commanded the guard at 
this place, is stiil linng on the river Sorel, and more than offe 
hundred years old. I saw, at Montreal, an old officer, who was 
with Wolfe on this occasionj he was over four score." (p, 263.)- 

The death of the Duke of Richmond, the late Governor 
General of the Canadas, was sudden and singular. Some 
circumstances are detailed which we knew not before. 

<'It is well known that the duke died of Hydrophobia; ■ and it 
seems impossible to obtain in Canada, nay, even in Quebec,, 
and in the palace itself, a correct account of the circumstances 
that attended the calamity. As the subject, being of very re- 
cent Occurrence, has been much spoken of in our presence «nd 
in all circles, I trust it will not be indelicate with respect to the 
friends of the deceased, or to the people recently under his- 
government, if I proceed to repeat some of the statements 
which we have heard. 

The person who shewed us the castle, and who, as we were 
informed, belonged to the Duke's household, gave us the fol- 
lowing account. It seems that the duke had a little dog, to 
"which he was immoderately attached; the dog's name was B!u- 
cher, and Blucher, we were told, was caressed with such fond- 
ness that ho slept with his master, and was afi«ctioa:itely ad- 
dressed by the appellation of <my dear Blticher.' 

This idolized animal w«s bitten iu the neck by another doi^, 
ofterwards ascertained to be mad — the rencounter took place in 
the court yard of the palace, and the duke, in whose presence 
it occurred, full of compassion for his poor dog, caught him up 
in his arms, and applied his own lips to the part bitten:, others^ 
•is well as this man, have informed us that it was tisus the duke 
imbibed the poison, some say through a cut in his lip made by 
iiis razor, or through an accidenial crack. The duke continu- 
ed to sleep w ith the doa', v^hicli had not then, hovfever, exhibit- 
dd signs of madness. ^.v';;;;^' ..■t-f^u\->'i\ 

There are ©th^r peis»3is, Su.d^oRg; IheiR some highly res- 

48g0i sillimak's^ toIjk. SS3 

pectable men, attached to the army, who deny the above, and 
say that the duke wa-i billen by a rabid fox, on board the steam- 
boat; the fox and dog, it is said, were quarrelling, and the duke 
interfered to part them. Others assert that the duke put his 
hand into the cage, where the fox was confined; and all who im- 
pute it to the fox declare that the hurt, which was on a fingerr, 
was so extremely slight, as not to be noticed at the time, nor 
thought of afterwards, till the hydrophobia came on. 

At the mansion house in Montreal, where the duke always' 
lodged when in that city, we were assured, by a respectable per- 
son in the house, that the duke certainly got his poison from his 
©wn dog; that this story was told him by the servants of the 
duke, when they returned with the dead body; and, what is 
more, that he saw the letter which the duke wrote to his own 
daughter, the lady Mary, after his symptoms had manifested 
themselves, and when he %vas in immediate expeciation of death. 
In this letter the duke reminded his daughter of the incident 
•which was related to us at the palace. Which ever st(n*y is 
true, it would appear that the duke came by his death in con- 
sequence of his attachment to his dog, and surely nerer was a 
raluabJe life more unhappily sacrificed. 

The duke was up the country, near the Ottov/a river, when 
the fatal symptoms appeared, but he persevered in his expedi- 
tion — travelled thirty miles on fact the day before he died — con- 
cealed his complaint, and opposed it as long as possible — wrote 
his Bnal farewell to the lady Mary, and the other children, in a 
long letter, which contained particular directions as to the dispo- 
sition of the family — and met death, we must say, at least, like ti 
soldier, for a soldier he had been the greater part of his life. 

His complaint manifested itself, in the first instai:ce, by an 
uneasiness at being upon the water, in the tour which he was 
taking into the interior, and they were obligjed to land him. A 
glass of w:ne, presented to him, produced his spasms, although 
it is said that, by covering his eyes with one hand, and holding; 
the glass with the. other, he succeeded in swallowing the wine;- 
but afterwards he could bear no liquids, and even the latheY 
used in shaving distressed him. 

In the intervals of his spasms, he was wonderfully cool and 
collected — gave every necessary order to his servants, and (o 
the officers of his suite — opposed the sending for a physiciaa 
from Montreal, because, he said, the distance from it to Rich- 
mond, v/bere he died, being eighty miles, he should be a dead 
man before the physi«ian could anive, and seemed to contem- 
plate the dreadful fate before him, with the heroism^ at least of 
a martyr. 

In his turns of delirium, instead of barking pnd raving, as 
such patients are said usually to do, he employed hin:self in at;- 
wnging his imaginary troop«, forming a line of battle, (for h« 

'^M silliman's tour. JVov, 

liad been present at many baUles, and, last of all, at Wateiloo it- 
self,) aiKl gave particular command to a Caplain in the navy^ 
tvlio war, not present, but whom he called by name, to fire — and 
the command was often and vehemently rei>eated. -In a solilo- 
quy, overheard but a few minutes before his death, he said. 
*bhajle3 Lenox, duke of Richmond! — die like a man! — Sliall 
it be said that Richmond was afiaid to meet death — no, neverl' 

I kno-,y not what were his Grace's views on topics, more im- 
portant at such a crisis, than what our fellow men will think of 
lis; but, there was a degree of grandeur, of the heroic kind, 
in finding a military nobicman, cool and forecasting, in con- 
templation of one of the most awful d,eath3, and, even in his 
■moments of delirium, like king Lear, I'avmg in a style of sub-* 

"VVc were informed that, even in death, he did not forget Blu- 
clicr, but ordered that he should be caged, and the event await- 
ed. The dog wag carried av/ay with the family, when they 
sailed for England, although he had previously begun to sunp 
and fly at people." (pp, 294— 29S.) 

We are happy to find that closes are of use in any of cur 
cities. In our own town, as ncU as \\\ all others, wliicli we 
liave visited, they are upon the whole a great annoyance. 
They not only disturb the tranquility of our nights, espe- 
cially in summer, and alarm our friends who wish (o enter 
our doors, but they are expensive in the keeping, and bring 
considerable danger upon the intercourse of society. 

"There are a great many dogs in Quebec, and they are not kept 
merely for parade: they are made to work, and it is not un- 
common in Quebec to see dogs harnessed to little carts, and 
drawing meat, merchandise, and even wood, up and down the 
hills; they pull with all tWir little might, and seem pleased 
•with their employment.'* (p. 304.) 

The note coacerning Mr. Pursh has inucli interest, and 
will gratify our readers, not niai:y of whom are likely to ob- 
tain the origiual- 

"July 3!st, 15?.0* The' papers have just informed us of the 
• death of tiie celebrated botanist, Frederick Puusii. He died 
at Montreal on the 1 Ithanst. after a lingei-ing illness. 

When the cj/'orts and /lur/ioses of a nian who has, by useful 
or splendid labours, attracted tlis attei:;|^on of the world, are cut 
off by death, and his mortal toil li ovevythe mind dwells with 
un increased interest on circumstances, v.hich ir.ight hot other- 
wise have attracted cur aUention. This i^ my apology for the 

At tire town of Sor^^l, wiien wc v.'cre returning to Biontreal 


ill the steam boat, Mr. Pursh came on board, Jird w?.s \vltli us 
the remainder of the passage. His scientific labours are well 
known, and the public have pronounced their decided approba- 
tion of his beautiful work, the American Flora, published in 
London in 1814. Mr. Pursh expressed himscli very \Yan-nly, 
on the subject of the liberal aid which he received in Europe 
from scientific men, in the use of their libraries and herbariums, 
and in the tender of their private advice and information; hd 
mentioned, particularly, his obligations to Sir Joseph Banks 
and PiiESiDE>iT Smith. He iiiformed m« that he contemplated 
anotlier tour to Europe, for ihc purpose of publishing iiis Flo- 
ra of Canada, upon which he had been already several year* 
occupied, and expected to be still occupied for several years 
more. These researches led him much among the savage na- 
tions of the northwesi, and around the g"reat lakes. He wen', 
first among them in company with the exploring and trading 
parties of the North West Company, but learing to be involv- 
ed in the consequences of their quarrels, he abandoned theit; 
protection, and threw himself, alone and unprotected, upon the; 
generosity of the aborigines. He pursued his toilsome re^ 
searches, month after month, travelling on foot, relying often, 
on the Indians for support, and, of course, experiencing fre- 
quently the hunger, exposuie, and perils of savage life. But 
such was the chthusiasm of his mind, and his complete devo- 
tion to the rilling passion^ that he thought little of marching, 
day after day, often with a pack weighing sixty pounds en his 
shoulderb, through forests and swamps, and over rocks and 
mountains, provided he -ould discover a yjew/j/arz*; great num- 
bers of such he assured me he had fouad, and that he intended 
to publish the drawings and descriptions of them in his Canadi- 
an Flora, From the Indians he said he experienced nothing" 
but kindness, and he often derived from them important assist- 
ance: he thought that had thoy been treated with uniformy«*- 
tice and humanity by the whites, they would have always re- 
turned the same treatment, He said he much preferred theic 
protection to that of the wandering whites, who, unrestrained 
,by almost any huraan law, prowl tkrough those immense for- 
ests in quest of furs and game. Possibly f without however in- 
tending any thing disrespectful by the remark,^ some mutual 
sympathies might have been excited, by the fact that Mr. Pursh 
was himself a 1 artar, born and educated in Siberia, near To- 
boltski, and, indeed, he possessed a physiognomy and manner 
diifeient from that of Europeans, and highly characteristic oj^ 
his country. 

His conversation was full of fire, point, and energy; and, al- 
though not polished, he was good humoured, frank, and gene- 
rous. He complained that he could not endure the habits of 
civilized life, and that his health be^an to be impaired as 6oo5> 

silliman's tour. JV"j4?» 

as he kecame quiet, and was comfortably fed and lodged. He 
«aid he must soon 'be off again' into the wilderness. His health 
was then declining, and unfortunately it was but too apparent 
that some of the measures, to which he resorted to sustain it, 
must eventually prostrate his remaining vigour. 

It is to be hoped that his unfinished labours will not be lost, 
and that, although incomplete, they may be published; since, if 
sufficiently matured, they must add to our stock of knowledge." 

pp, 323 — 325. 

We find a passage on the geology of Montreal, which 
furnishes an instance of the contradiction, that we so often 
find between the technical and the popular meaning of a 

"Still it contains numerous shells, and other organized re- 
mains, of which the impressions and forms are very distinct. 
Shells and organized remains in a highly crystallized lime- 
stone! Is it transition limestone just on the verge of becoming; 
pvimitiveV (p, 329.) 

Without regarding the technical import of the term 'pri- 
mitive^ we should think it a solecism to talk of making a 
stone, or any thing else, become primitive. Whatever is 
produced by a trmisition, we should naturally call, at least, 
secondary. This kind of difficulty, however, in the use of 
words for scientific purposes, in an apparently paradoxical 
sense, is not peculiar to geology. 

The observations upon the course, which the commerce 
«f our country is destined to take, are true and judicious. 

"Montreal is evidently one of the three great channels by 
which the trade oi North America will be principally carried 
«n. It is obvious t'nat New-Yo'.k and New-Orleans are the 
other two places, and it is of litUe consequence that other ci- 
ties may engross a considerable share of trade, or that by canals 
and oiher internal improvements smaller rills of commerce 
miaybemade to flo-.v towards one city or another. The great 
natural basins, and water courses and mountain ranges of this 
continent, will still control the course of trade, and direct its 
most gigantic currents towards these three towns, one of which 
is already a great and noble city, and the two others are ad- 
vancing with great rapidity. The sickly climate of New-Or- 
leans will somewhat retard its growth, but will not prf;vent it; 
Montreal enjoys a climate extremely favourable to health, but 
it is locked up by ice four or fi/e months in the ye^ir. Thst 
rarriole howc/er triumphs over the ice, and the Canadian, 
when he can no longer push or paddle his canoe on the wateri 
of -^he St. Lawreuge, g;aily careers over its frost-bound surtacq. 

tsso. mlliman's Tounc ssy 

and, well wrapped in woollen and in furs, defies the severity of 
winter." Cpp, 336, $27. J 

That "the sickly climate of New-Orleans will somewhat 
retard its growth, but tcill not prevent it^" we fully believe, 
and we attach to this remark perhaps even more importance 
than Mr. Silliman does. Cities are not destroyed by sick- 
ness, but by the want of motives to call in, or to retain popu- 
lation. Furnish the motives, and people will flock to New 
Orleans in defiance of sickness, or of any other menacing 
circumstance. But the sickness of the climate, in that 
great emporium of western trade, is much magnified by 
popular error and loose reports. The natives are said to be 
healthy and long-lived; and foreigners will probably be so 
too, after they have become, as physicians term it, acclimat- 
ed. At least, there is so much of truth, we think, in the ar- 
gument to prove New Orleans not to be necessarily as un- 
healthy as the effects of epidemical disease for a few seasons 
seem to have pursuaded a portion of the public it is, that 
we have no fear of a depopulation and abandonment of tL© 
mouth of the Mississippi, or of its contiguous ports. The 
remarks of our author himself, concerning diarrhoea in 
Canada, assist us in our conclusion, that disease is owing 
to the change of climate rather than to climate itself, es- 
pecially when this cause is assisted by a change of habits. 
We find the following testimony from the pen of Mr. Silli- 
man, a testimony worthy of the regard of our readers. 

t'Soon after arriving on the St. Lawrence, almost every stran- 
ger finds his stomach and bowels deranged, and a diarrho^a, 
more or less severe, succeeds. The fact is admitted on all 
hands; and sometimes the complaint becomes very serious, and 
is said, in a few cases, (very peculiar ones I presume) to have 
become dangerous, and even fatal. It is imputed to the lime, 
supposed lo be dissolved by the St. I^awrence, whose waters 
are generally used for culinary purposes. I have never heard 
that any chemical examination of the waters has been perform- 
ed, but it is evident that it contains something foreign, because 
it curdles soap. It is said that boiling makes it harmless. Th© 
aame thing is asserted of the waters in Holland, virhich pro- 
duce similar effects upon strangers. I have experienced it both 

in Holland and in Canada; and Mr. W- - ■■ was, in the 

latter country, mors severely afiected than myself. 

Strangers from th^. United States coming here, should b« 
very cautious of their diet, especially as the hours are so differ- 
ent from those that prevail in most of the states, and as they 

S28 eiLLIMAlf's TOUR. JVblfc 

are even much laler than those of our cities. The late din" 
ners, and tin u conviviality of Canada, subject a stranger, (es- 
pecially from the eastern states) to be eating meats, and drink- 
ing wine, when he usually dtinks tea, and his stomach has been, 
perhaps, befoi'e enfeebled by fasting, and is then enfeebled a- 
gain by repletion. The sour bread also appears to have its 
share in producing a derangement of the stomach." 

pp, 356, 35r. 

We were not altogether prepared to expect this effect in 
a high latitude so late in the season. We have often felt it 
in warm weather, and in low latitudes; and we draw from 
it a consolation for ourselveSjin our more southern region. 
We perceive how apt we are to be local and partial in our 
conclusions, and we are fortified in our determination to be 
more just and catholic in our processes and in our resultts. 

We derive from the following an inference, which the. 
writer has not expressed. 

"I know nothing that has excited my surprise more in Cana- 
da, than the number, extent, and variety of the French insti- 
tutions, many of them intrinsically of the highest importance; 
and all of them (according to their views) possessing that char- 
acter. They are the more extraordinary when we consider that, 
most of them are more than a century old, and that at the time 
of their foundation the Colony was feeble, and almost constant-. 
ly engaged in war. It would seem from these facts, as if th© 
French must have contemplated the establishment of a perma- 
nent and eventually of a great empire in America, and this is 
the more probable as most of these institutions were founded 
during the ambitious, splendid, and enterprising reign of Louis 
XIV." (p, 344.J 

The French have lost their enterprise, in a measure, as 
they lost their power. We find this same effect in the west. 
At St. Louis, and in all other French settlements, the Ame- 
ricans are far more inventive and efficient than the French. 
We can repeat about thera, from our own observation, what 
we find in another part of our author's remarks. '-'■They are 
generally loithout entei^rise, and are satisfied to go on without 
change from generation to generation^ (p, 354.) The valuable 
institutions of the French, being ^'■more than a century old,''^ 
sshow us how little improvement they have made since, and 
liow much their condition as colonists must affect their 

Our tourists attended an agricultural dinner in Canada.' 
We cannot help bein^f e, little amused with their caution in 

{820. silliman's tour. §29 

letting their friends at home know, that they did not "sif 
out the dinner'''' till the next day. 

"The dinner hour in Quebec and Montreal is five o'clock, 
but as it is always five till it is six, Xhe time of sitting down is 
usually delayed to near the latter hour, and dinner is actually 
served, for the most part, ijetween six and seven o'clock. By 
invitation we attended, and in the present instance sat down at 
seven o'clock; the dinner, however, with all its appendages, 
was not over iili (he next day; viz. till between twelve and one 
o'clock in the morning. I need hardly say that nve did not sii 
it out; we stayed long enough tasee the peculiarities of a great 
dinner in Montreal." 

This course was not pursued by Peter, alias Dr. Morris^ 
when he was at Burns's dinner at Edinburgh. The best part 
of that was after all the stiff speeches were over, and the 
columns of snuoke and the streams of inspiration accom- 
panied each other in the last hours of ease and enjoyment. 

We are gratiied to learn, what we were not assured of 
before, that grapes are so abundant and so line in Canada, 
though we have none in Lexington. We are disinterested 
enough to rejoice in the attention of the north to this de- 
licious fruit. 

<'The table was spread and decorated in a very handsome man- 
ner, and all the meat-e, poultry, wild fowl, and vegetables, which 
are in season in the United States, at this tinte, were laid be- 
iore us, in the greatest perfection, both in the articles them- 
selves and in the cookery. The desert was equally haridsome, 
and of the same kind as is usual in the United States. Who, 
however, that is unacquainted with Canada, would expect to see 
the finest cantelopes, and the most delicious grapes, the pro- 
duce of the country, and that in the middle of October? The 
grapes are raised in the open air, but in winter the vines are 
not only covered with straw, as with us, but with clay more 
than a foot thick, and in the summer a great proportion of the 
leaves, except near the cluster, is taken off, and the vines are 
prevented from running by twisting them. Peaches from the 
Genesee country were on the table, but they were not particut- 
larly good; apples however, cantelopes, and grafies of the fin- 
est kind and in the greatest profusion have been constantly be- 
fore us in Canada, and have formed a part of almost every des- 
ert, even in the public houses and in the steam boats. <AII the 
usual garden fruits, as gooseberries, currants, strawberries, 
raspberries, peaches, apricots, and plums are produced in plen- 
ty, and it may be asserted truly in as much perfection as in ma- 
ny southern climates, or even in greater.' It is said that the- 
orihards produce apples not surpassed in any country." 

pp, 350, 351, 

2S0 silliman's tour* JV*of. 

We do not think it any recommendation to the Roman 
Catholic priests in Canada, that they "'do not permit their 
people to attend theatres." (p, 359.) We thought that this 
narrowness and folly had not extended to this ancient 
church. It were better to have such nonsense confined to 
our rightful fanatics, as it does not appear well among men 
or churches ef intelligence and a just knowledge of the 
wants and laws of human nature. 

"Nine tenths of all the population here are Calholics, and ift. 
every village the cross is seen displayed in some conspicuous 
place; it is commonly made of wood, and is frequently sur- 
mounted by a crown of thorns. The Catholic clergy of Cana- 
da are highly spoken of by the Protestants, and, although there 
may be exceptions, they are said generally to exert a salutary 
influence over the common people. Articles of property, whicli 
have been stolen, are frequently returned, unsolicited, to the 
proper owner, and that that through the intervention ot the 
priests." (p, 360.) 

It would be abetter compliment to the religion, if it would 
teach men, not only to return stolen goods, but not to steal. 
We think that this is more the tendency of protestantism 
than of popery. At the same time, we have much respect 
for the devotion which Catholic's show in their churches. 

"It is conceded, I believe, that the French gentry in Canada 
speak and write the language with purity. We heard an emi- 
nent French gentleman, at the agricultural dinner, sing 'God 
save the King' in French; but it is often said, that the common 
French Canadians speak only a spurious and corrupted French, 
having only a remote resemblance to ihat of France. But there 
seems reason to doubt the correctness of this opinion. Mro 

W ^, who, in jouth, learned to speak the French language 

in France., not only found no difficui'cy in conversing with the 
common people— ^and we had considerable mtercourse with 
them) — but he gives it as his opinion that the French spoken 
by them is, if any thing, more pure than that used by the coun- 
try peo.ple of France, and that it is as good as the English spo- 
ien by the common classes of society in the United States. In 
many instances, the phraseology of the country people was con- 
sidered as remarkably apposite, and even, occasionally, elegant. 
1 have alrear'y quoted the opinion of Charlevoix on this poin'.; 
and there seems to have been, m this respect, very little change 
since his time." (pp, 352, 363.) 

The same remark" are said to be irne about New Orleans 
in regard to the language. Th.^'j certainly apply with great 
Jbrce to the English lang-uage in the United Stales, which is 

iS20, silliman's tour, gtl 

spoken, by the majority of our people, with more purity 
than it is in England. We do not abandon the hope, that 
we shall hereafter dictate to England rathe i' than receive her 
dictations, even in polite literature. 

The spirit of the following quotation may be applied to 
intercourse between ali parts of our country. We cherish 
our foolish local jeak usies and prejudices, because we do 
not kno^v each other well enough, and do not see'each oth- 
er with sufficient frequency. 

"A more correct knowledge of Canada is now fast diffusing 
itself through the American States, since the intercourse is 
become so easy, and I believe few Americans from the State* 
now visit this country without returning more favourably im- 
pressed respecting it than they expected to be. It will be hap- 
py if friendly sentiments and the interchange of mutual courte- 
sies shall do away the unfounded impressions and prejudice* 
of both communities. Commercial intercourse between the 
two countries is also important, and, I presuine, mutually ad- 
rantageoiis, and will probably continue to increase. The com- 
mercial men of Canada are principady British and Ameri- 
tans." (pp, 369, 370.) 

We should like to be perfectly satisfied df the truth of 
the statement concerning the comparative rapidity with 
which the wounds of the Americans and the British healed 
at Plattsburgh. 

"One remarkable fact I shall mention, on the authority of an 
American surgeon, who attended upon the v/ounded of both, 
fleets. The Americans recovered much faster than the British, 
Avhere their injuries were similar; healthy granulations formed, 
and the parts united and healed more readily. This was impu- 
ted to the different stats of mind, in the victors and in the van- 
quished." (p, 375.) 

The anecdote of Captain Hull (p, 377,) is honorable to 
his magnanimity. Commodore Barclay's toast to Commo- 
dore Perry (p, 378,) is equally honorable to both. 

The reflections upon the State of Vermont, in regard to 
her two chief literary institutions, are as true as important, 
and are thus given. 

<«It is v.'ell known that, in the Vermont republic of letters, 
there is a divisum imperium,, and that the two rival institutions 
of Middlebury and Burlington, have long contended for pre- 
eminence. It does not become a stranger to make any other 
remark, than that, in a state of no greater population, the unit- 
ed efforts of all the friends of learning are not more than suffix 


cient to sustain one institution, as it ought to be supported; it 
is to be hoped therefore, that Vermont may, in due time, com- 
bine all her efforts, and blend her two i'ustitutions into one." 

p, 381. 

Nothing can be more absurd than the attempt in such a 
small state, or in any of our largest states, to have two Uni- 
versities, or what we often call Colleges. The utmost, that 
ought ever to be desired, is one University for each com- 
monwealth. This is too much, but beyond thiS) the whole" 
is folly and injury. 

The delicate notice of the aged minister in one of tho 
towns of Vermont is too valuable to be omitted. 

"But, the most interesting'object in Brattleborough is its ven- 
erable pastor, with whom, at his pler.sant rural abode, we had 
the honor of an evening interviciv. At the age of 75, he has 
■recently returned from England, his native country, after a vis- 
it of eighteen nioiiths. He had been absent from England 
twenty-five years, and found, on returning to his native town, 
•■which, except occasional visits, he left sixty three years since, 
that but one fierson remembered him^ Even the monu- 
ments of his cotemporaries in the grave yard were so moss- 
^rown that he could not read the inscriptions, and those of the 
persons who had died more recently he did not know. He foundj 
however, many friends in various parts of England, who re- 
membered him with affection. The country appeared to him 
■|*reatiy improved, and to exhibit the most decided proofs of a 
xhriving condition; bu'i his adopted country he greatly prefers, 
and gladly returned to end his days in it. 

The venerable man, at once an instructive and delightful 
Meijtorj entertained us with many of the incidents of his 
^tour, the relation of which was enlivened by the most interest- 
ing remarks. 

He is like the aged oclc, whose boughs are still adorned with 
leaves, and whose root is still firm in the ground, although it 
lias endured the vicissitudes of many revolving summers and 
winters/' (pp, 397, 398.) 

The anecdote of Indian warfare, which we now give, is 
much like some we have Already printed in our Review. 

"In the early periods of the history of the NewEngland colo. 
\iies, Deerfield, being for a long course of years a frontier town, 
was very often attacked by the French and Indians from Cana- 
da, and its inhabitants were frequently slain or carried into cap- 

To guard aa.'aiji.'it these attacks, an extensive fort was eatab! 
Kshed, includii^g within its limits many of tiie houses, and 


forming a place of retreat and of security for the Inhabitants." 

In February, 1704, this fort was, by the negligence of ther 
sentinel, surprised and taken just before day light, and the in- 
habitants were aroused from their slumbers by the furious at- 
tacks of cruel enemies upon their defenceless dwellings. Most 
of the houses were burnt, and their wretched tenants were ei- 
ther dragged away into captivity or slaughtered in their own 
habitations or near them. Men, wo^ien, and children were in- 
discriminately slain, and parents saw their little ones butchered 
before their eyes. 

'(£■■ One house still remains, as a painful momento to posterity . 
The front door v/as hacked and hewn with hatchets, until the- 
savages had cut a hole through it; through this hole they fired 
into the house; this door, which still bears its ancient wounds, 
and the hole, (closed only by a board tacked on within,) remains, 
now as the savages left it, and is a most interesting monument. 

Through the windows they also fired, and one bullet killed' 
the female head of the family, sitting up in bed, and the mark 
of that bullet, as well as of four others, is visible in the room; 
in one of the holes in a joist another bullet remains to this 
day. This family was all killed, or carried into captivity. In 
the same attack, the clergyman of the place, the Rev. John 
Williams, and his family, shaved a similar fate. Two of the 
children were killed at the door, Mrs. Williams, their mother, 
in the meadows a little way out of town, and Mr. Williams and 
the rest of the lamily were carried prisoners to Canada. 

We saw, in the museum in Deerfield academy, the pistol 
which he snapped at the Indians vrhen they rushed into his bed 

Mr. Williams lived many years after his return, and I saw 
his grave, and that of his murdered wife. On the latter is a ve- 
vy proper inscription, which I regret that I omitted to copy."^ 

pp, 402, 404, ' 

There are many defects in the punctuation of this l>ook. 
The comfort of reading- it is often disturbed by misplaced 
points, and by an excessive multiplication of them. We 
lYill give some specimens, 

"Quebec, was our ultimate destination, but, we were not 
disposed to neglect interesting intervening objects." (p, 9,) 
There should be no comma after Quebec, and none alter 

"A blustering equinoctial, bad been howling." (p, 9,) 
There should be no comma after equinoctial. 

"It brings you suddenly and unexpectedly, out, upon the. 
eastern margin." (p, 1$,) No comma should bg found after 


"We almost drop down upon the port all, on a sudden." 
(p, 179.) This comma is probably a typographical error, 
but there is evidently a disposition to an excessive use of 
points through the book. We are serry that the Professor 
gives his sajiction to the constant employment of dashes, 
where there ought to be commas or semicolons, after the 
fashion of the corrupt and abominable pointing of the Edin- 
burgh Review. We give but one instance. "This scene 
is very fine, an J the whole outline of the ipot — the moun- 
tains near, and the mountains ct a distance — the shores — 
the bay — and the ruins, all unite to make a very grand 
landscape." (p, 185.) It would be vastly more correct and 
agreeable, according to the old and authorized punctuation, 
thus: "This scene is very fine; and the whole outline of the 
spot, the mountains near and the mountains at a distance, 
the shores, the bay, and the ruins, all unite to make a very 
agreeable landscape." 

Before we part with Mr. Silliraan, which we do with 
regret, for we owe him much entertainment, we will ex- 
tract his closing remark as a favorable evidence of his ex- 
cellent temper and practical benevolence, by which he is 
$0 well adapted to travel agreeably and profitably. 

"I have said very little of the public houses and accornmo-. 
dalions on the journey. Should this be thought a deficiency, 
it is easily supplied; for, we tcund them, almost without excep- 
tion, so comlortable, quiet, and agreeable, that we had neither 
occasion nor inclination to find fault. 

Great civility, and a disposition to please their guests, were 
generally conspicuous at the inns; almost every where, when 
we wished it, we found a private parlour and a separate table, 
and rarely did we hear any profane or coarse language, or ob- 
serve any rude and boisterous deportment." (p, 407.) 

Let others imitate this kindness, this unostentatious phi- 



^%i Extract f rem a Letter, loritten in October 1820, to one, uKq 
had returned from a Tour among the Prairies and Rivers of 
the West. 

*'Your journey through the ivUds must have been pecu- 
liarly interesting. The vastness, the antiquity, the majes- 
ty, and the solemn repose, of nature must present a string 
contrast with the individual diminutiveness, newness, fluc- 
tuation, industrious bustle, and progressiveness, of our own 
species. Deeply indeed must the mind, under such circum- 
stances, be impressed. You are, as I think, undoubtedly 
correct in speaking of the source, to which you suppose 
Lord Byron to have resorted for inspiration. I wish that 
he would come to America; that he would travel through 
the forests of the West; that he would contemplate the migh- 
ty Mississippi, and the mightier Missouri, and fill his ima- 
gination with the vastness of our wildernesses, and get a 
true idea of the North American Indian. What a contrast 
would he furnish to Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming! 
No scenes of pastoral tranquility and domestic love would 
be sung on oaten pipes. A picture would be given of the 
grand, and gloomy, and terrible, in physical as well as in 
human nature, sketched in giant outlines. Cataracts and 
rivers, to which the Velinos and Arnos of Italy are but jets 
and threads of w^ater trickling through a quill, would form 
appropriate decorations for the theatre, on which would be 
eiljibited the exploits of those mysterious red men, before 
whose fierce and lofty spirits, and their capacity to endure, 
even his own Giaours and Corsairs would grow tame. 
*~Biit of all the tracts of darkness in our broad land, I sus- 
pect that the imagination of Byron would be most peculiar- 
ly struck with the Dismal Swamp. With what thrilling sen- 
sations would his adventurous Fancy tread the chill ooze 
of its miry soil, and explore its thickets of hemlock and 
coverts of poison, while the horrible Alligator wheeled his 
scaly strength in sight, tiid the -'"copper snake breathed ia 
kis ear!" 



The view from the Mammelles, however, would also b© 
B grand one for him. The meeting of those floods in that 
realm-like valley, if compared with the meeting of the wa- 
ters in the vale of Ovoca, would furnish an apt contrast to 
illustrate the difference of character between the genius of 
Byron and another of his contemporaries, Moore. As his 
eye looked up the rivers, and his imagination pressed on- 
ward to their sources, and the castled cliffs rose in awlul 
dignity before him, how would his soul dilate! The sug- 
gestive character of the scene would filLhijtn with the bold- 
est conceptions, and the stream of song would rival the ma- 
jestic floods. 

But the time will come, whether Byron come or not, when 
this magnificent country will be sung by poets of her own 
nurturing. The Genius Loci is, after all, the true Muse, 
and the inspiration of that Divinity cannot be thoroughly 
felt by a foreigner. There is more of idioni in thought and 
feeling than in language. The enthusiasm, that character- 
izes genuine poetry, is excited most naturally and success- 
fully, if not exclusively, by sentiments and considerations, 
which can belong only to natives, and which are the result 
of all the impressions of life from the cradle to the grave. 
Strangers may in part understand them, when they are well 
expressed, for the great traits of human nature are doubt- 
less every where the same; but such sentiments cannot ori- 
ginate with strangers, cannot spring up spontaneously in 
their bosoms, and radiate from them as from the fountains 
of light and heat. The splendour of a foreigner's poetry 
is too much like that which is borrowed and reflected; it 
may be bright, but it is cold; it has not heart enough to give 
the proper warmth of tone and color to the pictures of the- 

I have several reasons for what I have last said, which my 
time and paper will not consent to my giving, and they must 
be deferred, like Dr. Drowsy's sermon, to a more conve- 
nient season. The reasons are, however, intimately con- 
nected with my own ideas of the principles of taste, and of 
the source of the pleasures of imagination. So far as I have- 
read, they are neio. But I must take another opportunity t« 
ask your opinion of them." 




The situation and prospects of Teanstlvania Uwivehsitt must afford 
to every friend of science in the west the highest gratification. The 
success, which has attended the efforts of those connected with it, gives 
an earnest of its attaining, at no distant period, especially if they receive 
the aid they have a right to expect, to the highest degree of eminence 
and useftilness. The prosperity of its medical department has equalled 
the most sanguine expectations. The second course of lectures under 
its present organization has just commenced amidst circumstances the 
most auspicious, and we could not perhaps afford our readers a more in- 
teresting article, than a brief notice of the public introductory lectures. 
A friend has furnished us with the following extracts from that of Dr. 
Benjamin W. Dodlbt, Professor of Anatomy and Surgery, which we 
gladly insert as we have received them, omitting, for the present at least, 
the comments which we had contemplated making on all those we had an 
opportunity to hear. The style of the following, our readers will per- 
ceive, although generally good, is not very carefully elaborated. Some 
of its sentences are too long and complicated. Its topics however are pe- 
culiarly appropriate and its sentiments are at once just and happily illus- 
trated. Akliough our readers may not generally admire discourses so 
metaphysical, yet the professor ha6 rendered his speculations so agreea- 
ble, as well as practically useful, that all, we think, must accompany him 
with emotions of pleasure. It appears to have been his principal objecf 
to point out the talents and acquirements requisite to constitute the ac- 
complished physician. After having made aome preliminary remarks in 
relation to this object, he proceeds as follows: 

*'A variety in the human character appears to have been 
necessary, in order to furnish the various avocations in ci- 
vilized society, with temperaments and capacities adapted 
to each particular calling. The character of the soldier 
combines cool and deliberate courage with promptitude 
and celerity of action. The successful divine associates 
the powers of a luxuriant imagination with the subtile rea- 
sonings ot a theological metaphysician, the charms of elo- 
quence with the meek virtues of christian charity. The- 
statesman, the politician, and the lawyer, wield those pow- 
ers of the mmd which qualify them to reach the passioas 
and convince the understanding. The practitioner of the 
healing art is thrown into a very different sphere of intel- 
lectual exertion: with him it is not the brilliancy of wit, nor 
is it the achievement of eloquence, to attract the gaze of a 


crowd, or command the admiration of the public. His in- 
fellectual efforts are of a silent and retiring character; and 
Tvhile he may-possess the merits of a Sj^denham, a Cuilen^ 
or a Rush; a Petit, a Hunter, or an Abernathy; it is not by 
any public demonstration of intellectual superiority, that 
the medical chtiracter rises in the estimation of the com- 
munity; but it is by the constant and uniform application of 
sound principles, wherein their truth is proclaimed by suc- 
cessful practice. 

In taking a review of the faculties and operations of the 
mind, and of its qualifications so far as they are morelmme- 
diately concerned in the character of a surgeon, it appear* 
that personal intrepidity constitutes a very important item. 
This virtue is more universally conducive to the aggran- 
dizement of character, than any other quality by which the 
liuman mind is distinguished. Personal intrepidity is uni- 
formly associated with the finer feelings of our nature. Ge- 
nei-osity is a quality as invariably observed in the character 
of an intrepid enemy, as merciless inhumanity is the knowu 
characteristic of the coward. If personal intrepidity be not 
indispensably necessary to the practitioner of the healing 
art, in all cases of extreme emergency, wherein the life of a 
human being is suspended betvven hope, and a threat of im- 
mediate dissolution; it can at least be made clear, that ti- 
midity and Indecision constitute its greatest disqualifica- 
tions. Under ordinary circumstances, the common routine 
of professional business may be executed by those who are 
eminently deficient in personal firmness. But in the e- 
vent of great excitement and alarm, on the part of the pa- 
tient and friends; if despair lias perched herself on the phy- 
siognomy of the sick, while the attendants are pleading for 
something to be done; it is then, that under emotions of 
wild and thoughtless alarm, the timid and nerveless prac- 
titioner catches by sympathy, the feelings of those around 
him, and too often makes an effort irrational and fatal in its 
tendency. It is under such circumstances as these that the 
patient often falls a victim to disease, which, under the 
management of a bold and decisive practitioner, Avould be 
rendered mild and harmless. It is, therefore, essential to 
the success and usefulness of a pliysician, to possess a mind 
incapable of being reached by the effeminate and imbecile 
feelings of timidity and alarm, whereby tlie capacity for 
rational ejiort is destroyed. 

It must DOt lie un^lsrstood, kowevrr, that wc arc required 


to cultivate a cold indifference on subjects wherein the life 
of a human being is at hazen-d. On the other liand, a deli- 
cate sensibility, and feelings of sympathy tantamount to 
the.siim of human miseries, constitute the characteristic, 
traits of a mind originally endowed for the highly re- 
sponsible and painful duties of a practitioner of ihc heal- 
ing art. 

There are other qualifications in addition to these, that 
are highly necessary to the professional character. Among 
these is an lionest and wi 11 directed ambition for eminence 
in the profession; an ambition which elevates the mind a- 
bove the h©pes of one who builds his visionary castle of 
fame, on the fleeting opinion of tJiose, who by incapacity are 
as ready to bestow applause upon trick, management, 
and cunning, as upon great worth and modest merit. With- 
out pride and ambition, a professional man would languish 
in obscurity, while those talents m.ight expire whicli, with a 
proper direction, would have been iiaportant to the interest 
of society, and honorable to the individs'al possessing them. 
Without pride and ambition he would fail to make those 
scientific acquirements which constitute at once the plea- 
sure and delight of an intelligent society; and be would fail 
in the most important duty which human nature owes her- 
self, to develop the talents and energies by which the Great 
Parent has most particularly distinguished our species." 

After making- some very appropriate and 'judicious remurks on the 
degrading practice of flattery and deception, as frequently exercised on 
the sick, he adds as follows. 

"All the occasions on which (his deception is practised ia 
the profession, would admit of a reference to facts and cir- 
cumstances, to dwell on which, would afford a consolation 
much more exquisite, than the flimsy chimera presented the 
imagination, by aa outrage agaiast truth. 

The intelligent practitioner always has it in his power, bj 
an imperceptible srttraction, to draw the n inds of the sick 
from reflections that depress, and calculations that hurry 
onto despair; while he settles them on subjects that are ra. 
tional, and objects that are attainable. To dwell on the 
favourable appearances of a case, and to occupy the mind 
of the patient about these, at a period when it might be in- 
jurious to present the imagination with frightful forebod- 
ings, is not only a professional, biit in a very nigh decree a 
moral duty." 

240 ifEtticAt discotjrsk; JVoif: 

The following^ observations on the proper course to be pvirsued in ac- 
quiring medical knowledge, are peculiarly deserving the attention of 
those vi^ho devote themselves to the study of physic. 

"Memory is a faculty of the mind of peculiar importance 
in acquiring a knowledge of the healing art, a branch of 
learning that is, and from its nature must be, under the con- 
trol of incidental circumstances in regard to time, place, 
and the habits and constitutions of the sick; circumstances 
that forbid any thing like a reduction of all its facts under 
any general law or systematic arrangement. Hence the ne- 
cessity for the exertion of the powers of casual or insulated 
memory. But as system does appertain to the healing art, 
notwithstanding the variety of facts as yet unreduced to any 
general principle, it affords matter of peculiar importance, 
to know how far this faculty shall be cultivated, in order to 
become usefully and profitably informed. The cultivation 
of casual memory, or that species of occupation which con- 
sists in treasuring up an extensive mass of facts, insulated 
in character, and irrelevant in regard to the established prin- 
ciples of medical science, is an error too generally commit- 
ted by those engaged in the profession. Hence we find 
tquackery even amorig practitioners of celebrity, diffusing; 
its poison among the most enlightened circles. It is the 
province of a physician like NEWxoNin philosophy, or Hun- 
ter in medicine, t© collate insulated facts and render them 
sulsservient to the great purposes of science, by reducing 
them to systematic order, and thus conferring on them the 
importance wliich new and correct theories necessarily be- 
stow. It is in this way alone that an attention to insulated 
f3,cts becomes useful in general science. The arduous du- 
ties of the medical pupil should, therefore, be well defined; 
•fend while he is encouraged to store his mind with all those 
facts upon which the importance and usefulness of medical 
science are at present founded; it is in a much higher degree 
incumbent on. him to become familiarised wtth the broad 
Drinciples of the profession; with morbid and healthy phy- 
siology, and with the laws of organic life. It is by an ac- 
quaintance with these, that under every variety of circum- 
stances, whether in regard to time, place, climate or con- 
stitution, he is enabled to modify the general character of 
his practice; and the success of his professional exertions 
will be in a direct ratio with his discriminating powers, in 
Miakiug an application of those means,, which, from expc- 


rience, and according to correct principles, are found most 
efficient under like circumstances. 

The memory of association, or that species of memory 
which is exerted in treasuring up a knowledge of causes 
and eifects, is an effort of the mind which in place of being 
succeeded by lassitude, develops new energies, and holds 
with increasing fidelity the acquisition of each day's labor. 
The power of this faculty of the mind, when directed to ob- 
jects involving the rational connection of effects and causes, 
is increased with every discovery of connection and simili- 
tude of idea between them, and the various branches of 
learning: hence it must appear plain, that every new fact 
will be impressed on the mind, just as we discover its rela- 
tionship with our former knowledge, or in other w^ords, just 
as it may be subservient to useful purposes in life. Whea 
memory has performed its duties in furnishing the mind 
with materials for intellectual effort, other faculties are cal- 
led into a state of activity. While the poet, the orator, audi 
the divine, rest much of their success on the cultivation of 
a vivid and fertile imagination; the philosopher and the phy- 
sician are required to suppress the gay sportings of fancy, 
and to subject every idea, and every reflection, to the se- 
vere scrutiny of cautious reasoning, and dispassionate judg- 
ment. After all these acquisitions have been made, however 
extensively the memory may have been exercised in storing 
the mind with the learning of Medicine, and the various tri- 
butary branches of knowledge; he will succeed the best, 
who, with all his erudition, enjoys the largest share of prac- 
tical common sense; whose discriminating and rational pow- 
ers enable him to distinguish quickly the difference be- 
tween cause and effect; and who is prepared to address ap- 
propriate remedies to the seat, and not to tlie distant conse- 
quences of disease. For it should be clearly understood, 
that the superficial and thoughtless too often prescribe for 
the effects, while the disease itself is entirely overlooked- 
Such practical errors are not unfrequently committed in 
treating the various forms of local disease, arising from con-- 
stitutional causes; of systematic Hydrocephalus internus, 
proceeding from the digestive organs, and of consumption, 
sympathetic in character. 

In the acquisition of medical science, a series of study 
confined to no definite limits, but as extensive as nature, and 
as comprehensive as philosophy, one of the first principles 
Wbich should be developed in th^ mind, is that of dcubting; 


Tiotthe ''■dubitatio slerilis'''' of logicians, but that species of 
doubting Avbich is so congenial with the true spirit of phi- 
losophy. In the illimitable field of investigation which is 
thrown o])en before us, there is almost as much to do in the 
correction of error, as in the discovery and propagtion of 
truth. It was by doubting. the supremacy of the Pope, that 
we now" enjoy the benefits of religious freedom; it was by 
doubting, that Newton was l?cl to the discovery of the laws 
of gravitation, and of the motions of the heavenly bodies; it 
was by doubting-, that Lord Bacon first conceived the grand 
project of changing the whole face of rational philosophy; 
and it is by doubting the infallibility of our predecessors, 
that the healing art is progressively advancing towards an 
honorable position among the demonstrable and useful parts 
of general science. But unfortunately for society, the ele- 
mentary principles of a medical education are so far re- 
moved from the intelligence of the great mass of popula- 
tion, that impositions are more frequently practiced in this, 
than in any other profession. The most enlightened socie- 
ty is not prepared to appreciate medical talents, except so 
far as they may be associated v»fith general intelligence, with 
sound discriminating judgment, with professional zeal, with 
a mind at once proiDpt and energetic, and with personal in- 
trepidity. These quaiirications form a medical character 
before the public, and while each successful effort extends 
the sphere of its reputation, it suffers but little in public 
estimation from a«i occasional want of success. This is a 
consolation unknovvn to the quack, a being more remark- , 
able for etfrontery, than niodest intelligence; but one who, 
by accidental successes in the profession, too often com- 
mands the temporary patronage of the most influential part 
ot society. Yet while the reputation of a man of real merit is 
distinguished by an uniform accession of professional fame, 
the ephemeral quack scarcely begins a character before it 
commences its decay; and at a period when he should resc 
his prospects on public faith, the rotten principles upon 
which his pretensions are founded, are crumbling to pieces^ 
imder the weight of his ignorance and folly." 

The Doctor proceeds in the next place, to point out some of tlie prin- 
cipal brrvHches of education which seem necessarj' to constitute the ac- 
eomplished, scientific' physician. 

"Since the. language of science, at least so far as rergardjs 
laaxims, definiiiojis, and general technical iiy, is derived injt- 


mediately from those that have long since ceased to be the 
common medium of communication; it would appear that 
the pu|iil is at once furnished with an ample apology for the 
ordinary period bestowed in the acquisition of those radi- 
cals of our own tongue. The simple fact tliat our own lan- 
guage is indebted to those of Greece and Rome, would 
seem to urge the necessity of an acquaintance somewhat 
familiar with these, for the purpose of expanding the views 
and generalising the principles of a pupil, whose ambition 
is directed to the philosophy of his own language. The 
German, the French, the Spanish, and the Italian contri- 
bute largely to facilitating the labours of the American pu- 
pil in any and all the different departments of science. The 
German and French, two European tongues in which there 
is published much the largest proportion of valuable books, 
while at tlie same time they bear the closest analogy to our 
own language, are more particularly deserving of attention. 
The French has even appeared as if it Avould become a uni- 
versal language among the learned and intelligent. With a 
knov.'ledge of it we are enabled to consult every authority, 
and to pass through almost every civilized nation on the 

A knowledge of the French is equally necessary to the 
polite scholar, as to the professional character. The ori- 
ginal works in this language are extensive and of the high- 
est authority in every department of learning. In the va- 
rious branch.cs of Natural History, in Mineralogy, in Botany, 
in Chemistry, Anatomy, Physiology and Surgery, the pro- 
ductions of the French are the most numerous, and perhaps, 
more valuable than those of any other country. The trans- 
lations of French works which are generally presented to 
the public, are the efforts of haste and inattention; and not 
11 n frequently, they are made obscure, from a want of capa- 
city in the translator to render the spirit of the original. This 
remark is more particularly applicable to professional and 
scientific works; but independent of all objections to imper- 
fect translations the pupil of surgery is amply rewarded, for 
the time taken up in acquiring a knowledge of the French, 
were it only to enable him to peruse some rare and valuable 
works, of which no translation has been attempted. But 
little has been said of the usefulness of the Italian, or of 
the important Vvorks that have been published in that lan- 
guage. It is cpmmonly represented as the language of mu- 
sic and love, to acquire which,- few inducements are t# 



"be found, either of a scientific or professional kind. In the 
productions of Alfini, the orator will meet with a bold, vi- 
gorous, and comprehensive expression not unworthy g com- 
parison with the highest etforts of English eloquehce. The 
politician will find principles of liberty clothed in expres- 
sion that are at once calculated to astonish and to irapart 
feelings of enthusiasm, while the lover of poetry enjoys a 
sweetness and delicacy of expression which can scarcely be 
equalled in any other language. The Naturalists, the Che- 
mists, the Anatomists, and Surgeons of Italy, have given am- 
ple testimony of successful efforts in these various depart- 
jnents of knowledge. The claims of Fontana for !iis im- 
portant invention of wax preparations, whereby all the ad- 
. vantages of an anatomical Museum can be multiplied at 
pleasure, will increase in a due ratio with the diffusion of 
Anatomical and Surgical knowledge; Avhile the age in which 
he lived will constitute a very important era, in the history 
of those branches of learning. His celebrated works, to- 
gether with those of Scarpa, of Mascagni, and many others 
of Italy, make it desirable to the p\ipil in surgery, to con- 
sult those authors in the original tongue. 

To attempt to enter into a detail c f the various branch- 
es of science, tributary or subservient to the interests of 
a mind, engaged in the study of the healing art, would be 
to take an entire range through every art and every science 
in which the taste, the virtues, and the vices of mankind 
have been involved. 

A discovery or an improvement in any art or science, is 
not confined in its consequences within the narrow pale of 
its original operation; but like the principle of attraction 
that exerts itself on every species of matter; like the source 
of heat and light, the ameliorating influence of which is ex- 
tended to the whole planetary system, a discovery in anj 
one of these arts or sciences, reflects a lustre, and offers a 
new stimulus to every faculty and every operation of the 
human mind. 

It would scarcely have been imagined that the Naturalist, 
in prosecuting his researches into the fossil remains of ex- 
tinct animals, should have furnished the Geologist with facts 
and principles upon which is founded the most rational 
theory of the earth that has hitherto appeared in print. This 
connection between Ostiology, (a department of surgical 
education,) and the new and obscure science of Geology, 
■would seem almost to unite the opposite ends oftbeintel- 


lectual chain: at the same *ime it furnishes an unanswerable 
argument, in favour of a cultivation of the sciences in gene- 
ral, by all those engaged in the improvement of the mind, 
either as an object of rational pleasure,or of practical utility." 

After having given us a brief sketch of the origin of medicine among 
the Egyptians, and of its progress from the time of Hippocrates to the 
period of the French revolution, the professor makes^the following ob- 

"Since the French revolution, surgery and the practice of 
physic have been united in the Unive':'sity of Paris, and the 
candidate for professional honors is required to be equally 
well informed, in each department of the profession. This 
regulation is much more happily calculated to promote the 
interest of the profession than the o'd forms which require 
pupils to graduate in Physic in one institution, and in Surge- 
ry in another. Within the last half century, very great im- 
provements in the practice of the healing art, including 
both Surgery and the practice of Physic, are made manifest 
by examining the bills of mortality of the large cities of Eu- 
rope. This advancement in the profession is scarcely at all 
the result of any discovery in regard to new remedies. Spe- 
cifics and nostrums engage the attention of the superficial, 
and those who are fond of novelty; while their influence on 
the substantial interests of the profession, must be to check 
the ardour of meritorious pursuit. Within the last half cen- 
tury, the subjects of Anatomy and Physiology, with the laws 
of organic life, have engaged more particularly the atten- 
tion of professional men; and it is from these sources that 
we have derived our great and unerring improvements. To 
be minute in our knowledge of the structure of the human 
body in a healthy state; to understand the actions peculiar- 
to each part; to comprehend the various associations sub- 
sisting between the different organs of the body in health; 
to be familiarly acquainted with the changes of diseased 
parts, and with the new and morbid associations wirch are 
the consequence of disease more or less extensive, r^ to of- 
fer the surest guaranty to society, cf qualifications most 
eminently useful. 

At a period when surgery consisted simply in dressing 
wounds, and in performing operations, such a knowledge 
©f the laws of the animal economy was unnecessary; but; 
now, when the surgeon is made responsible to society; 
since he is required to prescribe the time and the mode^ 


and to take under his Cinrge the medical direction of his 
paLJent, it becomes clear, that upon the most extensive me- 
dical acquirements; upon the most liberal and correct quali- 
fications as a physician, are founded his best hopes as a 
practical surgeon. 

In the pursuit of Medicine, no small share of our success 
proceeds irom the capacity of our teachers. The pupil is 
sometimes conducted into the fair fields of science, through 
avenues so interesting and attractive, that labour becomes 
an amuseipent; while the acquisition of knowledge affords 
a permanent source of pleasure and happiness. On the con- 
trary, it is very common to witness a sentiment of disgust^ 
with a disinclination for study, among those pupils who are 
so unfortunate, as to be placed under the care of instructors 
destitute of the faculty of enlisting the feelings, and of di- 
recting the attention to subjects that interest and amuse, 
while they alFord the most substantial improvement to the 
mind. In the branches of Anatomy and Surgery, our high- 
est ambition will be to excite the spirit of inquiry; while 
our unceasing eiforts shall be directed V\^ith aviewtothe- 
exposition of those fdcts and principles that of themselves 
invite to a prosecution of studies so eminently useful to so- 
ciety in general." 

It m.iy he prqper here to remark, tliat in consequence of our inability 
to insert the whole of the address, it has necessarily lost much of its 
interest. By merely making- extracts from it, we have impaired it3con„ 
nection. As this could not be well avoided however, wc hope it v/ill be 



Professor of Botany and jYatural History in Transylvanin, 

(concluded from page 172.) 

. ■» 

Having complete gills, -with a gill cover and a branchial 

n-iembranc. No or v ontral lins. 


XX%^. Genus. Eel. Anguilla. Anguille. 
Body scaleless, elongated. Mouth wiiji small teeth. Pec- 
toral fins. Dorsal and anal fins very long and united with th« 
caudal fins. Vent nearly medial. Gill covers bridled. 

It is remarkable that there is only this apodial g;enus of fish, 
and not a single jugular genus, in the Ohio, while there are so' 
many abdominal and thoracic genera. Th' Eels of the Ohio 
of wh.ich I have already ascertained four specie^ belong all to 
the subgenus Conger^ having the jav.s rearly equal and ob- 
tuse. They are permanen', but rare, and reach a large size. 
They are taken with the hook, seines, &;c» They feed on small 
fishes, shells, and lobsters, and afford a good food. 

92d Species. Broadtail Eel, Anguilla laticauda. An- 
guille largequeue. 

Black above, white beneath, head flattened, jaws nearly equal, 
the upper somewhat longer, obtuse and broad. Dorsal fin be- 
ginning above the pectorals, which ^re small and oboval: late- 
ral line beginning before the pectorals; tail large rounded and 

It is found in the Ohio in deep and muddy bottoms. Length 
from two to four feet. Forehead sloping, eyes very small. Dor. 
sal fin and tail black. One individual of this species poisoned 
once slightly a whole family, causing violent colicks, which was 
ascribed to its having been taken in the vitriolic slate rocks of 
Silver creek near the falls. 

9 3d Species. Black Eel. Auguilla aierrima. Anguille 

Entirely black, jaws nearly equal, flat and obtuse: dorsal fin 
beginning above the pectoral. Tail obtuse. 

This species is found in the Tennessee, Cumberland, Sec. It 
differs from the foregoing by being totally bla«k, and not having 
a broad tail. The body is also somewhat rounded. It reaches 
the same length. Very good to eat.- 

94th Species. Yellow-bellt Eel. Anguilla xanthome- 
las. Anguille xanthromele. 

Black above, yellow beneath, jaws nearly equal, flat and ob- 
tuse; dorsal fin beginning over the pectorals. Tail obtuse. 

This species is also very much like A. laticauda^ but it has 


not the broad tail, the body is thicker, the belly yellow and thick 
&c. It is found but seldom as high as Pittsburgh. Length 
two or three feet, 
95th Species. Y-eXlow Ekl. Anguilla luiea. ATiguil'e jaune^ 

Body entirely yellowish; back slightly brownish; throat pale: 
jaws nearly equal, obiuse, dorsal fin beginning behind the pec- 
torals: tail obtuse, marginated with brown. 

It is found in the Cumberland, Green River, Licking River, 
&c. Length commonly two feet, very good to eat. The hiteral 
Lne begins over the pectorals, while the dorsal fin begins much 
ibehind and pretty near the vent. 


Having incomplete gills, without a gill cover, or a branchial 
membrane, or without both. 

XXXI. Genus. Sturgeon. Accipenser. Eturgeon. 

A gill cover without branchial membrane. Body elongated 
with three or five rows of large bony scales. Abdominal. Vent 
posterior. One dorsal and one anal fin Tail obliqual and un- 
equal. Mouth beneath the snout, toothless, retractible; snout 
feearded by four appendages before the mouth. 

A very interesting: and extensive genus, inhabiting all the 
jiarge rivers of the northern hemisphere; many species ai-e an- 
adromic and live in the sea in the winter. There are six spe- 
cies in the Ohio and its branches, which appear very early in 
the sprmg, and must therefore winter in the deep waters of the 
3>lississippi. They are al) good to eat and are used as food. 
They are taken with the seines and harpoons. They spawn in 
J.he Ohio, Sec- Linneus, Lacepede, Shaw, and Schneider knew 
very few species of this genus. I have proved, in a Mnnograpiiy, 
that it must contain about 40 species, of which I have ascer- 
tained 20. Seven of then^ belong to the Old Continent; 1. A. 
sturioy Linneus. 2. ^. hi:so, L., 3. ./?. rtitkenus, L. 4. ^. Stel- 
ladts, L. 5. ^, lichtensteini^ Schn. 6. A. lutescens^ Raf. 7. 
til. aiiilun, Raf. ; while thirteen are peculiar to North America; 
8. .5. atlanticicsjRaL (A. sCurio, Mitchili.J 9. A. oxyrinchu^^ 
^'/itchilL 10;v/. 7-«6ffzm(/?is. Lesueur; 11. A. mui-icatus,^.^^ 


(var. prec. Lesueur.) 12. A. marginatus^ Raf. 13. Jl. breviras- 
trum, Les. (His three varieties are probably distinct species,) 
14. A. hudsoniusy Raf. ; besides the six following ones. 
1st Subgenus. Sturio. 

Five rows of scales on the body, one dorsal, two lateral, and 
twc abdoii.inal. 

96th Species. Spotted Sturgeon. Accipen&er viaculosun. 
Eturgcon tachete. 

A. juaculosus. Lesueur in Transactions of the American 
Philosophical Society; New Series vol I, page 393, 

Head one fourth of total length cliannelled between the eyes, 
•which are oblong, snout elongated obtuse. Body pentagonal 
olive, with biark spots and small asperities: 13 dorsal scales, 
lateral rows with 35 scales, abdominal rows with 10. 

It is found in the Ohio as far as Pittsburgh. Size small, not 
exceeding two feet. Mouth and pectoral fins large. Scales 
rugose, radiated, keeled ard spini. scent behind. Ii'is yellow, 
oblong. See Lesueur's description. 

97th Species. Shovelfish Sturgeon. Acci/ienser /ilateryn- 
ehus. Eturgeon pelle. 

Head one fifth of total length, flattened, snout flat oval, hard- 
ly obtuse, rough above, eyes round. Body pentagonal smooth^ 
pale fulvous above, white beneath. Tail elongated mucronate; 
16 dorsal scales, lateral rows with 40, abdominal rows with 12. 

A singular species, very common in the Ohio, Wabash, and 
Cumberland in the spring and summer, but seldom reaching as 
high as Pittsburgh. It appears in shoals in March, and disap- 
pears in August. It is very good to eat and bears many names, 
such as Spade-fish, Shovel-fish, Shovel-head, Flat-head, Flat- 
nose, &c. having reference to the shape of its head, which is 
flattened somewhat like a spade. It is also found in the Mis- 
sissippi and Missouri, where the French call it La fielle or Pm- 
son fielie^ which has the same meaning. Size from two to three 
feet, greatest weight 20 lb. Body rather slender, with small 
bluish dots on the back and whitish on the sides. Dorsal scales 
brownish, radiated, punctuated, and spinescent. Lateral scales 
dimidiated, serratel ..'.ind, the, posterior sm-^Uer: the abdom- 
inal nearly similar, kardly serrated. Twu nosuik on -.Ach side 


before the eyes, the posterior larger oblong obliqual. Eyes 
round black, iris roppered. Moiith with eight lobes and ver- 
rucose. Tail very long, one fifth of total length, the upper lobe 
scaly above, slender and with a lung filiform terminal process. 
AH the fins trapezoidal, the dorsal falcated with 25 rays and 
nearly opposite to the anal. Pectoral large 45 rays. Abdom- 
inal 20. Anal 14. Tail, inferior lobe 18, superior 60. 
2d Subgenus. Sterletus. 

Only three roNVS of scales, one dorsal and two lateral. 

98th Species. Fall Sturgesn'. Accip.enser serotimus. E- 
turgeon tardif. 

Head conical two ninths of total length, snout short obtuse, 
eyes somewhat oblong. Body cylindrical entirely fulvous brown, 
belly white. Tail short and truncate obliquely. Dorsal scales 
17, two of which behind the dorsal fiin, lateral rows with about 
SO scales. 

A large species reaching 5 and 6 feet in length. It appears 
in June and disappears in November, but is seldom caught, ex- 
cept in ihc fall, when attempting to go down the river. It is 
sometimes caught in the Kentucky as late as November. It 
affords a tolerably good food. Snout .very short yet somewhat 
attenuated, barbs trown, eyes nearly round, head with a depres. 
sion above, lips very thick. Scales radiated knobby behind. 
Pectoral and anal fin somewhat oboval, the abdominal and dor- 
sal trapezoidal. 

99th Species. Ohio Sturgeox. Accifieneer ohiensis. Etuf- 
geon del' Ohio. 

Head conical one fifth of total length, snout sloping short 
nearly acute, eyes round. Body cylindrical rough olivaceous, 
fubous, belly white. Tail short lunulate falcate. Dorsai 
scales 14 carinated, the lateral rows with 34 dimidiated and un- 

Somewhat similar to th(5 foregoing. Length from three to 
four feet. Found z% far as Pittsburgh, romes in the spring, and 
goes away in September. Head convex above, with a protuber- 
ance on the top. All the fins trapezoidal but somewhat falcate. 
The tail rcniai l:ably so, and obliquely lanulate, the lobes not di- 
vided by a notc'i ns usual in the other species. It has beeJi 


mfentioned by Lesueur as a variety of his A. riibicundus^ page 
S90 of the Trans. Am. Phil. Society, buUt differs widely from 

100th Species. Bigmouth Sturgeon. Jiccipenser macros*- 
tomus. Eturgeon beaut. 

Head one fourth of total length, snout elongated, sometVhat 
flattened, eyes round, Baiy cyliu 'rical deep brown above, 
white beneath. Tail elongn'^l; about 20 dorsal scales, seve- 
ral between the dorsal and an ;i fin, about SO scales in each lat- 
eral row. 

I have not seen this species, but Mr. Audubon has commu- 
nicated me a drawing of it. It is c i!y found in the lower part* 
of the Ohio, and reaches four f. et in length. Good food. 
Mouth large gaping, hanging down, retractible. Gill cover 
oblong;. Tail slender, the lower lobe very small. Fins trape- 
zoidal, the dorsal and anal somewhc:. falcated and more distant 
from the tail than usual. Lateral scales dimidiated. 

XXXII Genus. Double fin, Dinectus. Dinecte. 
Differs from Sturgeon, by having two dorsal and no abdom- 
inal fins. First dorsal anterior, the second opposed to the anal. 
Three rows of scales as in Sterletua. 

This genus rests altogether upon the authority of Mr. Audu- 
•feon, who has presented me a drawing of the only species be- 
longing to it. It appears very distinct if his drawing be cor- 
rect; but it requires to be examined again. Is it only a Stur- 
geon incorrectly drawn? 

lOlst Species. Flatnose Doublefin. Dinectus truncalusl 
Dinecte camus. 

Head one fifth of total length, conical, snout very short trua- 
Cated, eyes round. Body cylindrical deep brown above, silve- 
ry white beneath, tail elongated: dorsal scales, 4 before the first 
dorsal fin, 5 between the fins, and 4 behind the second, lateral 
yows with about 30 small dimidiated scales. 

This fish was taken with the seine near Hendersonville in 
the spring of 18 18 by Mr. Audubon. Length two feet, skin 
very tJtiick and leathery. Mouth very large and hangmg down 
as in the foregoing, somewhat like a probos' .. Pectoral and 
anal fina trapezoidal, 4or»a.l fins nearly triangular, the first iaj-^ 


er and standing immediately behind the pectoral. Gill cover 
rounded. Tail somewhat forked, the upper lobe thrice as lon?^' 
as the lower. Four long white barbs, very near the end of the 
♦snout, eyes above the mouth. 

XXXIII Genus. Spadefish. Polyodon. Polyodon. 

Differs Irom Sturgeon, by having a tranversal mouth with 
teeth, no barbs and no scales. Snout protruded in a long flat 
process, gill cover elongated by a membraceous appen 'age. 

This singular genus was first described by Lacepede. It be- 
longs to the family of Sturicnia, along with the two foregoing 
and the following. Only qne species is known as yet. 

102d Species. Western Spadefish. Polyodon folium. 
Polyodon f-uille. 

Head longer than the body, snout as long as the head, cunei- 
form obtuse thin and veined with one main nerve. Brown a^ 
hove, white beneath. 

Sguulus spathula Lacep. Poiss. 1, p. 403, tab. I2jfig. 3. 

Poly odon folium Lacep. and Auc . mod. 

Spatularia, Schneider's Ichthyology. 

This singular fish has often been described and figured, but 
I ha»re not seen a single figure of it perfectly correct It is a 
rare fish, occasionally seen in the Mississippi, Mis'-ouri, Ohio, 
&c. It disappears in winter. I saw several at the falls in Sep- 
tember 1818. It is caught m the seines and sometimes biteS 
at the hook. It is not eaten. Length from one to three feet. I 
shall add an exact description of it. An oblong redish spot at 
the base ot the snout, which is brown membranaceous, with a 
thick rartilagmous nerve in the middle and many veins, broader 
and obtuse at the end. Eyes round small black, before the 
mouth, a small nostril in front of them. Mouth large, similar 
to that of a shark, with small crowded teeth on the jaws and 
the tongue, this is large thick and similar to a fi'e. Gill cover 
very long membranaceous reaching the abdominal fins. A lat- 
eral line following the curve of the back. All the fins brown, 
nearly rbomboidal, with an obliqua' redish band, and a multi- 
tude of small crowded rays, inserted on a thick fleshy 
lump: the dorsal fin larger and rather more anterior than the 
au?,l. Tail very obliqual^ serrated above: lobes not very differ- 


ent in size, but extremely in shape and situation, the louver one 
broader, shorter, and nearly triangular. 
XXXIV Genus. Paddlefish. Planirostra. Planirostre. • 
Differs from Polyodon^ by ha- ing no teeth whatever and the 
gill-cover radiated with a short appendage. 

By the want of teeth this genus is in'ermediate between P6- 
lyodon and Jiccipenser. It was first described by Lesueur, un* 
derthe name of Ftatirostra (by mistake) instead of Planirostra^ 
I had called it in manuscript Megarhinus paradoxus. 

103d Species. Toothless Paddlefish. Planinostraeden- 
iula. Planirostre edente. 

Head as long as the body, snout longer than the head, some- 
"whac cuneiform, obtuse, and thin, with two longitudinal nerves 
nd reticulated veins forming an hexagonal network. Body en- 
tirely olive broMn. 

Platinostra edentula^ Lesueur in Journ. Ac. Nat. Sc. Phila- 
delphia, Volume 1, page 229. 

This fish is still more rare than the foregoing, but found oc- 
casionally as far as Pittsburgh- It is larger, reaching from 3 to 
5 feet and 50!bs weight. Not very good to eat. It has been so 
fully described by Lesueur, that I need not do it again. The 
individual which I s iw was 40 inches long, head 20 inches, 
snout 1 1 inches long and 2| wide at the end, hardly cuniform.. 
Eyes exceedingly small and round. Gill cover oval radiated 
as in the Sturgeons, wi h a short membranaceous flap, reaching 
only beyond the pectoral fins, Sec. It is also called, along with 
the foregoing, Oar fish and Spatula fish, 

XXXV Genus. Lamprey. Petromyzon. Lamproie. 
Body cylindrical scaleless, vent posterior. Two dorsal fins 
and a caudal fin, no other fins. Seven branchial round holes on 
each side of the neck. Mouth terminal inferior acutifarm, 

There are two or three species of Lampreys in the Ohio; but 
they are very scarce and I have only seen one as yet. 

104th Species. Black Lauprby. Petromyzon nigri^ii 
Lamproie noire. 

Entirely blackish, tail oval acute; second dorsal over tho veat, 
several rows of teeth. 


A very small species, from four to five inches long; it Is foutid 
as high as Pittsburgh. Dorsal fins shallow, and distant from 
each oilier and the tail. Eyes round and large. Branchial 
holes small. No lateral line. Mouth oval, teeth "vvhite and 
yellow. It torments sometimes the Buffaloefish and Sturgean?j^ 
upon which it fastens itself. It is never found in sufficient, 
iljuantity to be used as food. 

E7id of the Fishes^ 


It is said that the original manuscript of Ossian's Poem^ 
has been discovered, enclosed in a strong oaken chest, in a 
vault where stood the cloisters of an old catholic Abbey in 
Connor, Ireland, and that it was written in 1463 by an Irish 
Friar, named Terence O'Neal, a branch of the noble family 
of the Earl of O'Neal. This story however is not well at- 
tested and has been contradicted. 

A volume of poetry, said to be excellent, has been re- 
cently published in England, with the title of "T/ie Angel of 
the World, an Arabian tale; Sebastian, a Spanish tale, with 
other poems." It is written by the Rev. George Croley, 
and is spoken of in the highest terras by the Reviewers. 
The Arabian tale is pronounced "an emanation of genius, 
which sports amidst the effulgence of its own glorious ima- 
ges, till the mind is almost overcome by the radiance of 
angelical and natural imagery." Sebastian too is said to 
be a charming romance, and the criilcs thus strongly express 
themselves in relation to it. "The pomp and chivalry of 
Spain are inwoven on a sweet tissue of distressed and de- 
voted love, and we can scarcely tell whether we most ad- 
fnire the web or the embroidery. The poet displays more 
of the ciiversity of his powers: war and festival, and nature 
and passion alternate, till we arrive at a happy termination, 
Tvhen, as if pleased with his own conclusion, he assumes a 
playful tone, and dismisses us in measureless content." Se- 
bastian, it appears, is deeply enamoured of a fair one, to 
Tvhomhe is at length affianced, and her sister, who is also 
in love Vv-itli Sebastian, enters a convent in despair. His in- 
tended bride however meets wilh a fatal accident which 
destroys her life, and Sebastian; in the utmost melancholy, 


and indeed almost frantic with grief, rushes to the field of 
battle. Here he is haunted by a "fair, half visionary pur- 
suer," with whom he at length falls deeply in love, and the 
effect of her appearance upon him is thus finely described, 

■ 'Sebastian wandered forth; the garden air 

Hush'd on his cheek, nor'cool'd the fever there: 
He gasp'd for breath. A sparry fountain shot 
Its waters in the moonlight; by its grot 
He stood, as if the sounds his heart would lull; 
His face so sad, so pale, so beautiful, 
Fixed on the moon that in her zenith Iieight 
Pour'd on his naked brow a flood of light; 
Shrined, moveless, silent, in the splendid beam, 
He look'd the marble Genius of the stream. 
Silence all round; but when the night-wind sway'd, 
Or some roused bird dash'd fluttering thro' the shadey 
Tor those he had no ear; tiie starry vault, 
The grove, the fount, but fed one whelming throught; 
Time, fate, the earth, the glorious heaven above, 
Breath'd but one mighty dream — that dream was love, 
Sebastian had seen beauty, and his name 
Had lighted many a lady's cheek vpith flame, 
Kich, high born, graceful; such may woo and win. 
While courteous words conceal the chill within. 
But the warrior burning in his blood, 
He left the fair pursuer unpursu6d: 
Bound to Sidonia's daughter from his birth, 
Laugh'd at the little tyrant of the earth; 
Could lalkas others talk, of hope and fear. 
But never arave the. a'od a sigh or tear. 


But now the world was chang'd,'the die was cast* 
How had he slept so long, to wake at last? 
What hid the feelings that now shook his sout? 
Where was the cloud that gave the thunder rolL'* 
This, this was life, at last he walk'd in light, 
Tke veil of years was rent before his sight. 
'Twas not her beauty, tho' the loveliest thero 
Was lifeless, soulless, featureless to her; 
No, nor her melting voice, nor that slight hand 
That her sweet harp with such swift beauty fann'd, 
Like magic'8 silver sceptre, hovering. 
To wake enchantment from the untouch'd string. 
^ ^ # ^ * ^ 

i8#4 AKTicnoTE* •DT&ffi 

A sudden meteor sail'd across the heaven, 
He hail'd its sign; to him, to him 'twas given^ 
Omen of joy; bright promise of bright years, 
'l^et fear and fdlly have their 'vale of tears,' 
Let him be blest with that unequall'd one, 
Whoe'er she was, she shouhl, she must be won; 
Life would roll on, one calm and bloBsom'd spring; 
But if the tempest came, they would hut cling 
With arms and hearts the closer, till 'twas o'er; 
Life a long joy, and death a pang no more.' 
Out burst in speech the lover's ecstacy, 
A sudden bugle pierced the morning sky. 

Ho started from his dream. The yellow dawn 
Wander'd along night's borders, like the fawn, 
First venturing from its dappled mother's side — 
A timid bound on darkness, swift withdrawn, 
Then bolder tried again. The starlight died!' 


Madame De Stael, during her visit to England, went to 
Sir Humphrey Davy's house, and said to Lady Davy, "I- 
love your husband, and I love you because he is your hus- 
band, and f tiave come to stay with you alone." Lady Da- 
vy, proud of her illustrious guest, shut the doors and passed 
the time en famille. Lord Byron however ^''happened m." 
Madame De Stael and he immediately began to converse, 
were pleased, delighted, enraptured with each otiier; talk- 
ed long and late, of evci-y thing, and every bod}'. At last 
ihe Baroness could restrain herself no more, and cried out 
in ecstacy, *' Eft, bien, Byron, que pensez vous de DieuT'' His 
Lordship, who is not used to '■Hoik religion''^ with his friends, 
started at the abruptness, and replied gravely, '■^Madame, je 
V admire, etje le revere." 

We may judge how far Lord Byron was attached to Ma- 
dame De Stael by his description of her, and his lamenta- 
tions over her death, under the name of Corinna, in the 
Notes to Childc Harold. 


Froni a Husband to a Wife, on seeing their daughter^ a IMe 
girl, at play. 

See, see, my Love, where Harriette goes 

With rosy cheek and sparkling eye; 

Her fairest gifts fond health bestows, 
4$ And balmy breezes round her fly. 

See Innocence her breast adorn, 

And infant Mirth her steps attend; 

Young life now hails her rising morn, 

And golden hues their radiance lend. 

See Hope along the future dance 

Her fairy visions to disclose; "^• 

Eager we seize each brilliant trance, 

That brighter as we view it grows. 

In Fancy's plastic eye, we trace 

A mind with wisdom's precepts fraught, 

A heart refin'd with every grace, 

A soul enlarg'd with various thought. 

Benevolence her plans will form, 

Beneficence her hands will guide, 

Religion will her bosom warm, 

And love with virtue be allied. 

Our days with pleasure she will crown. 

Our cares with duteous deeds repay, 

Her gratitude our claims will own, . - . 

And cheer with smiles our evening ray. 

Then let us now indulge our joy, 

Nor damp with fears the present hour; 

Her heavenly art let Hope employ, 

And o'er us wave her mystic power. 


ODE 23. 

OH would the power of sh'ning gold 
Our race preserve from growing- old, 

POETRY. JV<?1?» 

Or e'en postpone tlie dying hour, — 
Oh! how I'd woo that guardian pow'r! 
When Death stood beckoning at my door 
I'd bribe him thence to come no more. 
But, if bright gold this boon deny, 
For stores of riches what care I? 
All I ask, ye pow'rs divine, 
Is wine abundant: Give me wine! 
"Wine's the genuine braid that binds, 

In union sweet, congenial minds; 

The soul to heavenly converse moves, 

And softens beauty's breast, and love's. I^fc 


As tlie last light fair evening sheds 
Enkindles to a Warmer hue, 
And tips with gold the mountain's head, 
And leaves the misty vallies blue: 

So may life's evening shine more bright! 
Enraptured may my spirit find 
Pure bliss in realms of purer light, 
And leave this mortal part behind! 


I'ftg'e 239, 7th line from bottom, for systematic read symptomatk. 

Page 242, 2 J line, for Mfini read Alfierl. 

Same page, '3d line from bcl torn, for Ostiolo^y read Osteology, 

Some of the pages also ar* erroneously nyaiibered, as tJje render mof 



Vol. ill. DECEMBER, 1820. Num. 5. 

The Jihhol^ being the sequel of the Monastery , by the Author of 
W"averIey,Ivanhoe,&:c, &c, two vols, 12 mo. Philadelphia, 
published by M. Carey and Son, 1&20. pp, 568. 

We took some notice of this novel in our number for Oc- 
tober, (p, 163,) but we bad not then, as was stated at the 
time, seen the work except in "criticisms and extracts." 
We have now repd it for ourselves, and are not disposed to 
suppress our feeling:s upon tiie occasion, nor to keep from 
our friends the opinion which we have formed of its mer- 
its. It is not our intention to make any more extracts from 
it, nor to repeat the outlines of the story. We shall not oc- 
cupy our pages with a new analysis, nor fill them up with 
any remarks but our own. These observations are our a- 
pology for taking notice of the Abbot a second time. 

The novels of this author are a proof that the best tal- 
ents and learning of the age are not degraded by this kind 
of employment, and that the indiscriminate declamation 
against the utility of reading works under this name is no 
longer to be indulged, if indeed it were ever indulged with 
any tolerable degree of propriety. We do not hesitate to 
avow the seatiment of congratulation, which we cherish 
toward the present period of the world on accouut of the- 
appearance of Wavsrley and its successors. There is no 
thing in ancient literature, which the classical scholar can 
bring forward as an offset for these delightful and masterly 
productions of modern genius. Here at least, we have a 
decided superiority over Greece and Rome, and indeed over 
all the old nations, and may well enjoy, in the unrestrained 
flow of our hearts, the pleasure of this wonderful improve- 
ment in learning and invention. History assumes Ihe most 


S96 THE ABBOT. Dec. 

interesting shape, as well as the most instructive. No 
clelineations of character were ever more striking, vari- 
ous, or useful. The passions, the selfish interests of men, 
the true nature and real tendencies of parties and sects, the 
spirit of bigotry and fanaticism, the malevolent character 
of the monstrous compound of political power and religious 
intolerance united with ignorance and superstition, the de- 
testable features of hypocrisy contrasted with the charm ©f 
sincerity, portraits of the mean and the mercenary placed 
by the side of those Avhich are inimitably drawn from origi- 
nals of genuine virtue and disinterestedness, are all pre- 
sented to the inquisitive reader in the most distinct and 
glowing manner, and teach and impress the invaluable les- 
sens of morality and piety with at least as much force as 
the best sermons from the pulpit, and with far greater ver- 
satility and interest. The gallery of pictures by this artist 
is furnished from every department of civilized life. No 
scene, nor remarkable personage, is omitted. The invention 
of the enchanter is as various and -inexhaustible as that of 
Shakespeare himself. 

No country could be selected, where a better opportuni- 
ty is afforded than in Scotland to show both the bright and 
the dark side of our common religion. Its energy and its 
abuses are equally conspicuous in the history of this remark- 
able people. The controversies between the Romanists and 
the Protestants, the alternate success and defeat of the par- 
ties, the revolution which finally put down the Papal See and 
established the Genevan, and the bitter and unsparing per- 
secutions among all the sects as they in turn acquired pow- 
er, enable the student in Scottish character to contemplate 
Christianity under all its aspects, and to draw its actual fea^ 
tures, whether of beauty or deformity, in every possible 
variety of color, proportion, tone, and expression. Ortho- 
doxy and heresy; the embroidery of the vestments of St Pe- 
ter and the proud nakedness of the surly disciples of Knox; 
episcopacy and presbyterianism; high church and low; the: 
ferocious cameronian and the accomplished moderate; the 
strong, coarse, raw material of Calvinism, rudely formed 
into belted and weather proof fear-naughts, and the same 
when slightly yielding to the arts and improvements of mod- 
ern manufacture, but still retaining its essential roughness 
and liardness of texture; the skepticism of Hume, the ele- 
gance of Robertson, the ardor of Erskine, and the original- 
ity of the liberal Campbell; have all been found in Scot- 

1S20. THE ABBOT. ^^7 

land, and have been adorned by the talents and viitues of 
the ablest and most determined champions. Gifted Gilfil- 
lan, Old Mortality, Balfour of Burley, Kettledruramle, Hen- 
ry Warden, and Dryfesdale, are specimens of tlie author's 
knowledge of the characteristic traits and peculiarities of 
one of the parties; and Boniface, the friar of Copmanhurst, 
Eustathius, and Ambrose, of his acquaintance with those 
of the other. The mixture of cunning, bigotry, selfishness, 
canting inhumanity, and the affectation of gospel purity, in 
Gilfillan, is inimitably described. The fatalism of Dryfes- 
dale is an admirable satire upon this absurd faith, and shows 
the monstrous consequences of mingling it with Christian- 
ity, or rather what the consequences would be, if the faith 
were actually applied to practice. 

In regard to characters at large, we may refer, as proofs 
of our author's versatility of talents and observation, to the 
Laird of Bradwardrne, Donald Bean Lean, Fergus Mc Ivor, 
Pleydell, Dandy Dinmont, Dirk Hatteraick, Claverhouse, 
Montrose, Fitz Allan, Dalgetty, Prince John, Lockesley, 
Brian Bois Guilbert, Cedric the Saxon, his slave Gurth, 
Front De Bosuf, Isaac, and Richard Coeur De Lion. Pley- 
•dell is a master piece; Dandy Dinmont is perfectly sustain- 
ed throughout, and highly interesting; Claverhouse is a 
chef d'oeuvre; and Dalgetty is an unrivalled portrait. 

We have heard it said, that there is not equal skill in the 
delineation of female characters. We are surprised at this 
remark when we remember the number and variety of per- 
sonages of this sex, which are introduced to our attention. 
Flora Mc Ivor is drawn with very great ability, and with 
the finest pencil. Jeanie Deans is justly pronounced to be 
one of the most perfect descriptions of female excellence 
known in any book of prose or poetry. Annot Lyle, as a 
child of fancy, is peculiarly happy, and plays upon our im- 
agination with colors that never fade, and with an interest 
that never tires. In the Monastery, Mysie, the miller's 
daughter, though not entirely consistent, affords great relief 
and animation to the story, and will be as long remembered 
as Sir Piercie Shafton, or as the title of the book. Meg 
Merrilies, Ulrica, and Magdalen Graeme, are unparalleled 
in their kinds, and are portraits perfectly distinct from each 
other. One of the finest pictures ever drawn out with the 
pen, the most graphical, a picture actually present to the 
€ye while we read, is that of Ulrica in the midst of the 
flames, on one. of the turrets of Front Pe Bceuf's castle, io 


the moment of death exulting in the completeness of her 
revenge upon lier despoiler and tyrant. Meg Merrilier 
will be henceforth the model of the class of beings, a 
"whose head she ranks, as long as Raphael's Eiymas the sor 
cerer will be the model of all blind men Of Lady Rowe< 
na we do not think much, but Rebecca will never fade from 
our memory, nor her virtues from the impressions engraved 
on our hearts. The Abbot abounds with female characters, 
all of which are portrayed by the hand of a master, and 
supported by an untiring invention. Mary is sustained 
throughout in a manner worthy of her royalty, beauty, wit, 
and accomplishments, and in agreement with the testi- 
mony of history. The Lady of Lochleven is sufficiently 
dry, formal, hard, proud, bigotted, and unrelenting to be al- 
lowed her full claim to be a genuine follower of John Knox. 
Her integrity, at the same time, is so well mingled with her 
superstition and severity, that it presents, with her parental 
agony, altogether an object of gloomy, but strong admira- 
tion for the reader. Caroline Seyton is kept up in a style 
of unbounded animation and wit, gooS sense and levity, 
pesrvering attachment and irresistible humor. 

The Abbot is one of the best productions of the author 
of Waverley, and is happy in following so indifferent a 
work as the Monastery. Its reception would hardly have 
been as cordial as it now is, if it had immediately succeed- 
ed Ivanhce. Thf; Monastery was a great falling-off, and 
well prepared the public mind to be pleased with the Ab- 
bot. This novel however does not require any adventi- 
tious circumstance of this nature to recommend it The 
characters, the incidents, the management of the story, the 
dignity of the principal personages, the fidelity lo history, 
and the result, command the attention of the reader, and 
call out his liveliest sympathies. The book might be called 
Mary, or Roland Grceme, with more propriety than the Ab- 
bot. Roland Grasme is the object of chief interest in the 
first volume, and Mary in the second. The Abbot is no 
where the principal figure, except for a moment at the peri- 
od of his election, and at the boat, where Mary puts off for 
England. He however is so excellent a man that we are not 
unwilling to have him retain the honor of giving his name 
to the stor3% We earnestly wish that his advice to Mary 
had been taken, and that she had never put herself in the 
pow"er of that female fiend in the shape of Queen Elizabeth. 
The detestation, with which this English woman ought tob« 

18S0. THE ABBOT. J859 

viewed, can hardly be carried to excess. Her conduct to- 
ward the beautiful and unfortunate Mary is an everlasting 
disgrace to her sex and her country, as well as to lierself 
and human nature. Let her memory never survive it. 

In regard to Roland Grime's character, we have already 
said, by implication, that it is well supported and happily 
conceived. We regret however, that he was not allowed 
to perform more military achievements, and carry nito exe- 
cution more of the promises made by his conversation and 
general temperament. In cutting down the eneiiiies, who 
surrounded Henry Seyton, he acted bravely, and as he should; 
but we felt, on closing the volume, that we should have 
been more gratified if he had enjoyed more frequently such, 
occasions to distinguish himself. We are not indeed lelt 
with the impression that he shrunk at any time from danger, 
for we know that he always courted it; and we are satisfied 
that he would always have appeared as advantageously af 
in his first rencontre in the affray of the Seytons and tho 
Leslies. Had he taken however the life of the old brute 
Lindesay on the spot, at the moment when the queen show- 
ed the marks of his savage grasp upon her fair arm, we 
should be content. As it is, we rejoice in finding him tiia 
son of Julian Avenel and the husband of Catherine Sey- 

George Douglas too has interested us extremely. Kia 
deep, silent, and inextinguishable passion for Mary receives 
our highest admiration, and his fate commands our wann- 
est sympathy. The work would lose half its charm, if he 
were not in it. Being ourselves made to love the same ob- 
ject with all our hearts, and to believe her the rightful 
queen of Scotland, we enter at once into all the feelings of 
Douglas, and approve of the sacrifice he made of the world 
and of his connexions in obedience to a passion so pure 
and exalted. We are wrought up by the story, not only to 
wish every thing for Mary, but to hate and denounce her 
enemies with all the zeal of Magdalen Grasme. The fiend- 
ish spirit ascribed to the followers of Knox, their beauty- 
hating, psalm singing, image breaking, and art-destroying 
piety, appear to us as they did to the elegant and unfortu- 
nate queen, and well deserve the reproaches that accom- 
plished minds are ever ready to unite in bestowing upon 
them. Convinced as we are, that papacy is hostile to the 
fair advancement of human improvement and happiness, 
ve should infinitely prefer it to the morose and savage bigot- 


Ty tliat called itself at that time evangelical. We should 
have been Roman Catholics with Mary; and even now bow 
before her portrait with a depth and sincerity of homage 
that we are unwilling to pay to the memory of any other wo- 
man in the history of thrones, or in tlie circle of royal 
beauty and accomplishment. Long will it be ere our hearts 
cease to beat with the emotions, which the Abbot has excit- 
ed in them for this unrivalled woman, this victim of fanati- 
cism and of the jealousy and hati-ed of a base English ri- 

We do not think it necessary for us to go further in our 
remarks upon the characters. In the course of the work 
there are some exquisite descriptions, which w^e would se- 
lect, had we not determined to make no extracts for this ar- 
ticle. The escape from Lochleven kept us breathless with 
interest and anxiety, until the party were fairly landed in 
garden of old Boniface, and indeed till the queen s found 
«afely lodged in the castle which is protected by her faith- 
ful nobles. The shot from the fort at the boat on the lake 
made us spring from our seat while reading, and almost 
drop the book, lest the next discharge should hit and des- 
troy the precious crew, and sink them with our sympathiei 
ftnd hopes to the bottom. 

Vv^e cannot dismiss our miscellaneous comments upon 
the Abbot, without expressing our gratitude to the author 
for the reiterated and accumulating pleasure, Avhich his 
v/orks afford us. If this man be Walter Scott, it is his own 
fault that we are made to forget his poetry m the superior 
interest of his prose. We would rather have the fame, ac- 
quired by tliese novels and justly due to them, than that of 
any living bard whatever; not that talents equal to Byron's 
are shown, hut the former are pure and holy, while the lat~ 
ter are corrupt and damninsr. 

A Sermon^ delivered October 12th 1830, at the ordination of 
llieReverend William B O Peabody tothe pastoral charge 
of the Third Congregational Church in Springfield, by 
Henry Ware, D, D, Professor of Divinity in Harvard U- 
niversity. Springfield, MassachuseUs^ A G Tannatt and 
Co, printers, pp, 38, 8 vo. 

This discourse is characterized by good sense, clearness, 
candcr, and catliolicism. The text i» happily chosen, " Wt 

4820. PROFESSOR ware's sermon. 561 

know in part.'''' (I Cor: xiii, 10.) Tlie object is to point out 
the causes of diversity in religious opinions, and, by show- 
ing that they are innocent and natural, to check arrogance 
and intolerance on the one hand, and to prevent indolencs 
and despondency on the otlier. The man, who thinks that 
he sees all religious truth in the light of noon-day, is very 
impatient of the doubts and caution of one, who finds him- 
self walking in a dim twilight, and liable to stumble at ev- 
ery step. The man, who believes that there is no ligbt, op 
none which is sufficient to guide him, will be tempted to 
yield himself a victim to sljOth or chance, and to follow 
wherever ease or impulse may lead the way. Those, who 
pretend to have supernatural and miraculous communica- 
tions to guide tiiem, independently of reason, experience, 
coramou sense and observation, and a natural interpreta- 
tion of the bible according to our knowledge of ancient 
customs and modes of writing, are usually more blind and 
perverse than tiieir neigh "jors, and are among the most un- 
manageable, uncomfortable, unamiable, and discourteous 
people in civilized society. They are severe, censorious, 
selfish, and exclusive. 

The dimness, wliich we are to acknov/ledge and regard, 
surrounds only th-e abstruse and speculative parts of our re- 
ligion, while those, which are of great importance in prac- 
tice, and which are essential to individual and social virtue, 
are clear and distinct. We know, from irresistible evi- 
dence, that we are accountable beings; that we are mem- 
bers of a great moral system; that virtue is rewarded and 
vice punished; that prudence, wisdom, and benevolence are 
the foundation of our happiness; that the amiable affections 
are enjoined, and the unamiable forbidden; that philan- 
thropy and piety are equally necessary to the perfection of tlie 
christian character; that selfishness and impiety are the cer- 
tain parents of misery by subjecting us to the condemnation, 
hatred, and opposition of our fellow creatures; that we are 
bound to unfold, use, and improve the faculties of our 
minds; that idleness and barrenness are criminal; that we 
must not wrap our talents in a napkin; that the virtues, 
which make men and women faithful and happy, and fami- 
lies and communities peaceable and benevolent, and church- 
es and states just and prospero»is,are commanded by the will 
of God, or rather are identieal with it. w'lile their opposites 
are, by the same will, proscribed; that Christianity, when lib- 
erally interpreted and benevolently followedj is the bestforcj 


of religion granted to man ; that the moral instructions and pi- 
ous hopes furnished by Jesus are adapted to our nature and 
wants, and are of infinite dignity and value; that the immor- 
tality of the soul is a most desirable, consoling, and useful 
faith; that the individual is wise and happy, who makes this 
doctrine the rule of his actions and the source of his highest 
motives and expectations; that to consider the world father- 
less is to plunge it into darkness and horror; that a moral 
governor of the universe is essential to analogy, and to the 
symmetry of ©ur system; that no end of this moral govern- 
ment is to be supposed or desired; and that we gain noth- 
ing, while we lose much, by substituting skepticism and in- 
difference for faith, hope, and charity. The practical and 
most important instructions of the bible are so plain that he, 
who runs, may read. We never contend and divide about 
Buch truths and duties as these: — Do to others as you loould 
that they should do to you; — Honor thy father and thy mother; — 
Thou shalt not lie; — Thou shalt not steal; — Thou shalt do no 
murder; — Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy hearty 
and thy neighbor as thyself; — Md to your faith virtue, and to vir- 
tue knoioledge, and to knowledge brotherly kiyidness, and to broth' 
erly kindness charity; — Whatsoever things are honest, just, lovely, 
and of good report, think upon and practise. 

It is worthy of remark that religious quarrels and perse- 
cutions are about speculative questions, and not about good 
morals, or even about a sincere and useful piety. The ques- 
tions are such as these; — Shall ice icorship at Jerusalem or at 
J\Iount Gerizzim? — Shall we keep Easter in one month, or in a- 
Hotherl — ^re toe guilty of tdam'^s sin, or in consequence of Jld- 
ani's sin? — Is salvation general or particular? — J[Iust a man be 
mlling to be damned as a test of his fitness to be saved? — Do you 
believe in the infallibility of the Pope? — Do you receive or reject 
the doctrine of proximate poioer? — ^re you a Jansenist or a Mo- 
linist'? — Do you hail fro^n Rome^ or frmn Geneva"? — On which 
side of the Five Points are you? — Which gives a commission from 
heaven, the hand of a Presbyter, oi' that of a Bishop"? — *Rre you 
for crape and lawn, or for crape only, or for neither? — Jlre you for 
pictures, or for whitexcash; for Raphael, or for John Knox? Jlre 
you for round windows, or for square? One can hardly avoid 
thinking of a great point made in the trial of Socrates, a tri- 
al that ended in his death, ^'■Did you, or did you not, laugh at 
Jilincrva''s OwVP'' 

Dr Ware illustrates, with great candor and success, the 
propriety, and oven necessity, of mutual kindness and for- 

4820. PROFESSOR ware's SERMON". 865 

bearance among christians, in regard to all the speculative 
parts of the religion. It is thus introduced. 

«Of the limited number of topics, which sccra to be suitable 
for this occasion, I have selected that which is sui^ges^ied by 
the text just read, and which relates to the limitation and m- 
jierfection of our religious knowledge. — We know in part. 

It is remarkable, that this declaration of its incompleteness 
relates to the primitive teachers of Christianity themselves.— 
it may not be useless for us to consider, what lessons of in- 
struction this should bring to the ordinary teachers of the gos- 
pel, and to all christians at the present day. 

If it could be said of Paul and James, of Peter and John, who 
received the gospel dii'ectly from the lips of the heavenly in- 
structor himself; how much more is it true of the wisest and 
the best instructed no^v, that "they know but in part!" 

Closely connected with this partial and imperfect knowledge, 
and a necessary consequence of it, is another circumstance, 
which >ve sometimes regard with solicitude as an evil; as a 
blemish in the scheme of our religion, or a defect in its publi- 
cation. I mean diversity of opinion in those who embrace it. 
It is a necessary consequence of the imperfection of wliich we 
speak, because, if our knowledge were perfect, no such diversi- 
ty could exist. But a ceilain degree of imperfection in the 
knowledge that is communicated, meeting with an infinite va- 
riety in the faculties of men, and in the opportunities and mo- 
tives, and means they enjoy, the unavoidable result is a wide 
difference in their views and opinions. It is a result too, which, 
though it will in no degree lessen the obligation of a faithful 
endeavour to knovv^the truth, nor excuse that ignorance or er- 
ror which are the effect of carelessness, or indifference, or ob- 
stinacy, may yet teach us, that neither ignorance nor error are 
in themselves any certain evidence of guilt; and that although 
opposite opinions cannot be both true, they may be both inno- 

Now the light in which it is proper, and m which it will be 
most instructive for us to view this imperfection of our reli- 
gious knowledge, and its natural consequence, diversity of 
opinion among those, who derive their knowledge from the 
^ame source, appeal to the same standard, and profess the same 
common faith, is as it constitutes a very important part of the. 
disci/iline of the present life. 

It is in this light, that I shall present it to your contempla- 
tion in this discourse. 

The condition of our life is a probation, and every part of 
the divine administration in the government of the world is de- 
signed to try and to improve our virtue. How this part of it in 
particular operates as a salutary discipline, and is therefore not 


a reasonable subject of complaint, but of submissive and cheer- 
ful acquiescence, it will not, 1 think, be tliPiicult to perceive. 

pp, 3—5. 

The following- is the division. 

"It is in the first place, a salutary discipline, as it brings the 
faculties into a more vigorous exercise, than would be other- 
wise required; as it demands a more active and faithful use of 
them in order to disduguish truth from error, and justly to esti- 
mate the value and the evidence of different opinions. Thus» 
with those who will make a right use of it, does this necessity 
of constant attention, arising from the liability to fall into error, 
and the vigorous exercise of the faculties requisite in order to 
distinguish truth and avoid deception, serve to sharpen the fac- 
ulties, to strengthen them, and exalt them to higher perfection, 
than they would have attained under a less severe discipline." 

p, 5. 

"We are to show in the second place, that its moral design^ 
and the moral effects it produces, make a still more interesting 
consideration; because it gives a larger scope, and presents 
new occasions for the exercise of good affections. It gives op- 
portunity tor some virtues, which could otherwise have no ex- 
istence; and of others it enlarges the sphere of their exercise." 

p, r. 

Under the first head we extract two paragraphs. 

"Of such a scheme of intelle^:tual discipline, imperfection of 
knowledge, and what naturally follows from it, diversity of opin- 
ion, seem to make a necessary part. This diversity however 
must have its limits. For if it were otherwise, if it wei'e total, 
it would imply, not the imperfection of our knowledge, but en- 
tire destitution of it; not that "we know in part," but that we 
know nothing at all. In that case truth and knowledge and cer- 
tainty would be names without a meaning." 

"But that degree of imperfection, which, after all the efforts 
of human reason, and ail the light which divine revelation has 
given, still accompanies our knowledge of divine things, and is 
the occasion of so great diversity in our manner of thinking, 
our articles of faitli, and the light in which the same truths 
are seen; by the stimulus it gives to the spirit of inquiry, and 
by its demand upon the vigorous and faithful and patient exer- 
cise of the faculties, for the discovery of truth, and in order to 
distinguish it from error, is a most salutary discipline; and 
serves more than any other to strengthen the faculties, and to 
giye elevation and enlargement to our views." (pp, 6. 7.) 

Under the second head, we find this illustration. 
"What is it but the kcompleteness of our knowledge and 

4320. PROFESSOR ware's SERMOif. S67 

consequent diversit;^ of our views upon subjects, which are 
tleemed interesting, that furnishes the grounds for distinguish- 
ing the dispositions and true character of men, by giving to good 
• men the opportunity of exercising all the kind affections, pre- 
serving their mutual good opin:on, and expressing their good 
will under circumstances, which in bad men produce only alien- 
ation, mutual dislike, and harsh reproaches? 

He who has something of the mild and gentle spirit of his 
master, and some just notions of the temper and character, 
which his religion is intended to form, finds the opportunity, 
and has the disposition to exercise forbearance, and to practice 
moderation. Upon those persons, whose opinions he believes 
lo be wrong, and therefore finds himself obliged to condemn, he 
yet passes a charitable judgm.ent, not thinking it necessary to 
attribute eiiher to defect of undersianding, or to pervcrseness 
of will, or to any bad m.otivc, that others, with apparently the 
same means of judging with himself, and the same grounds up- 
on which to foini their opinions, are yet led to ditiferent con- 
clusions, and embrace vvith decision different opinions, and ad- 
here to them with firmness and zeal." (pp, 7, 8.) 

"By this discipline men may be trained to the exercise and. 
expression of the most enlarged liberality of mind, without los- 
ing in any degree their reverence for truth, their ardor in its 
pursuit, or zea! in its defence. i''or nothing can be more false, 
or of more mischievous tendency, tlian the supposition, that the 
spirit for which we plead implies indifference respecting reli- 
gious truth. It were nearer the fact to say, that it implies the 
contrary, a deep concern for the truth. It is a disposition suited ta 
the imperfection of our nature, and the limits of our knowledge. 
Those circumstances, vfhich call a fair and good mind to the 
exercise of this virtue, are those, which also show the necessi- 
ty and importance of the most diligent and faithful use of eve- 
ry opportunity in the pursuit of truth. And he is surely the 
most likely to pass a liberal judgment upon those opinions of 
others, to which he cannot subscribe himself, who is fully sen- 
sible of the value of truth, and has experienced the labour and 
difficulty, with which, on many subjects, the mind is brought to 
rest with satisfaction on its own decisions. 

Those, a:^ain, who are led to right conclusions, and who 
make a right use of this circumstance in our make and condi- 
tion, perceive what little ground there is to l;ope for success in 
any attempts to produce uniformity of opinion among christians 
by any other means, than by giving them clearer light, and 
teaching them how to use it. Uniformity of profession may in- 
deed be effected by coercive measures. So it may also by the 
skilful application of almost any of those powerful motives, by 
which human conduct is influenced in other cases. Interest, 

S68 PROFESSOR Ware's sermon. Dec, 

passion, the love of power may be addressed with success. Ei- 
ther of them may be so applied, as to go far toward destroying 
the freedom of the mind, and bringing it to acquiesce in au- 
thority. But to accomplish this end i"ul!y, to bring about an en- 
tire uniformity of religious opinion, as well as of profession, 
would require a degree of coercion injpossible to be exerted in 
the present state of the christian woald, especially in protestant 
countries. It was the privilege, if you will call it a privilege, 
of a darker period than that, in which it is our lot to live, to ap- 
proach nearer to a uniformity of faiih, than it is in our power to 
do. And it was effected by the same means, of which we have 
been speaking; by demanding submission to authority, preclu- 
ding all enquiiy, and preventing the accession of light, which 
might lead to new views, and awaken doubts, which were not 
felt before. Now the deeper the darkness, that at any period 
was spread over the christian world, and the nearer christians 
approached to absolute and total ignorance, the more practica- 
ble was the scheme of effecting the desired uniformity by such 
means. In the darkness of midnight all men see alike; but if 
you let in the light, they will see differently; and no coercion, 
and no authority will make those see alike, to whom God has 
given organs, which introduce the light in different proportions, 
and whose situation is such, as to have objects presented to 
them in different positions. 

Nor is it only that all such attempts to produce uniformity of 
faith are vain and ineffectual. They are something worse, and 
deserve a higher censure. We regard with abhorrence every 
act of tyranny over the persons of men. But of all tyranny, 
that most deserves our reprobation, which is attempted to be 
exercised over the mind. To fetter and enslave the mind is au- 
daciousiy to rob men of that liberty, with v/hich the Creator, 
when he gave them reason, and the Saviour, v/hen he enlight- 
ened that reason, made them free." (pp, 9, 1 1.) 

"The doctrine that shrinks from examination, that calls for 
the support of authority, that requires to be received without 
evidence or without being understood, if it be true, exposes it- 
self, or is rather exposed by its friends to suspicion. It incurs 
a reproach, which can only be wiped away by taking away the 
fences, with which it is thus officiously and presumptuously- 
surrounded. I Siiy officiously and presumliiuous/.y surround' 
ed^ for the author of reason and God of truth has neither ap- 
pointed nor anthorizetl, as he has not needed any such means to 
secure and tp maintain his truth in the world.*' (p 13) 

The following remarks are worthy of very particular at- 

"The absurdity, it must be seen, is equal to the arrogance of 

1830. PROFESSOR Ware's sermon. ^60 

assuming, that the particular scheme of cioctrine which we have 
adopted contains the whole of christian truth, from which noth- 
ing may be taken, and to which nothing is to be added, and any 
departure from which must be a corruption of the faith. Espe- 
cially can nothing be more improbable, than that the first re- 
turn from the errors and superstition of the dark ages, was at 
once into the full lustre and pe-^fection of chrislian knowledge; 
that those who first emerged from the deep daikness, which 
preceded the reformation in the 16th century, saw as clearly 
and distinguished as accurately, as those may do, whose lot it 13 
to enjoy the advantages, which three centuries of unexampled 
improvement, have added to the light, that was then enjoyed. 
For this is implied in establishing as a permanent standard of 
christian faith, a system founded upon interpretations of that 
period, and adopted by the Fathers of that age. To suppose 
this, I say, is to suppose that, which is contrary to all the known 
laws in the natural, intellectual, and mo>'al v/ortd. Change, 
that is salutary, is gradual. Improvement is rot sudden and ut 
a single effort, but slow, advancing toward perfection by suc- 
cessive degrees. Revolution indeed may be sudden, and vio- 
lent, and accomplished at once; but its character is equivocal, 
and its effects uncertain, till they have had the test of time. 

Christianity itself has been best supported, when the evidence 
by which it is supported has been most freely discussed and 
fully examined; and its nature and design will undoubtedly be 
best understood, and it will come nearest in its form to its prim- 
itive beauty and simplicity, v.hen it shall be studied with unres- 
trained freedom, and the result of free enquiry can be express- 
ed without reserve and without fear. 

The early reformers are entitled to our admiration for that 
free and bold spirit of enquiry, which enabled them to begin 
the recovery of our holy religion from the tyraimy, under which 
it had been bound; and our gratitude for disincumbering it of 
so mvich as they did of the errors of a darker age. That any 
were retained, has a claim on our indulgence, but no demand 
upon our imitation. It is no reproach to them, that, living at 
they did under the inSuence of an education in an extremely 
corrupt church, at a very dark period, and particularly under 
the influence of those false principles o^ the interpretation of 
scripture, which had first introduced and perpetuated all tliose 
corruptions and abuses; — it was no reproach that, under these 
cirrumstances; theirknowiedye of the truem.eaning of the scrip- 
tures was inferior to that of men neither greater nor better, nor 
more failhful students than they, who live in a more enlighten- 
ed age, and have access to means, which were wantirg to them. 

Let vis then imitate those great and good men, the first re- 
formers; not by adopting i-oplicitly their opinions, but by im- 
bibing Uieir spirit,— by having the &ame love of truth, the same 


spirit of freetlum, the same resolute i-esistance of all human au- 
thority in matters of faith, and the same ardent zeal and pious 
devotedncss in the cause of our Lord and Master." (pp, 25, 25.) 

We should be happy to see many more discourses so calm, 
dispassionate and use{ul, published and circulated among 
our fellow citizens. They vvtsuld aid us in removing bigot- 
ry and intolerance, and in giV^ing us, in their stead, the spi- 
rit and practice of our religion. 

The Charge to tlie Pastor was delivered by the Rev: Dr. 
Prince, and is printed with the Sermon, We make one ex- 
tract from it as a specimen of its good sense and fidelity to 
the protestant cause. 

"We stand on protestant ground. We respect and cherish 
the great principle of protestantism, 'the right of private judg- 
ment in matters of religion, and of taking the holy scriptures 
as the rule of our faith and practice.' We claim the privilege 
of acting upon this right. You will exercise it yourself, and al- 
low the free exercise of it to others. You will put no obstruc- 
tion in the way of your brethren to prevent the exercise ol this 
rightj either by misrepresenting their doctrine, or exciting air 
TinduG prejudice against them, to destroy their usefulness. As 
proteslants, wc disclaim the doctrine of infallibility. You will 
therefore be careful not to practise upon the spirit of it in decid- 
ing upon the opinions of your brethren, and stigmatize those as 
damnable heresies, which are not so called in the scriptures. 
While in the way which some call heresy you worship the God 
of your fathers, you wall leave others to form their own opin- 
ions and mode of worship as they think right; founded upon 
their own serious euquiry; especially Avhen you find their senti- 
ments and worship as beneficial in promoting christian piety 
and virtue as your'owxi." (pp, 35, 36.) 

We find in a note (p, 37,) that "i/iis elegant tneeting house 
was presented^ completeJ'j finished, to the sociely by Jonathan 
Biowht, Esquire.^'' Such liberality, in such a cause, deserves 
to be recorded, published, praised, remembered, and, (where 
fortune and circumstances permit,) imitated. 

American Bards, a Satire. Philadelphia^, published for the 
" author, by M. Thomas, 1 820. 8vo. pp, 80. 

WE have now before us a poem with the above title pub- 
lished a few months since in Philadelphia. So rarely does 
any thing of the kind issue from the American Press wor- 


thy to rank above mediocrity, that we hail this with un- 
feigned pleasure. Not that we can for a moment give the 
slightest countenance to the hayings of those currish spir- 
its, whose spleen has been so long directed against us from 
the other side of the Atlantic; but, though gifted with the 
liighest natural endowments, our countrymen, with very 
few exceptions, have not directed their efforts to those pur- 
sr>i(S which tend to the acquirement of literary fame. We 
repeat therefore, that we cannot but view with gratified 
feelings any work which may have an influence in refut- 
ing the calumnies that have been so liberally heaped upon 

The present production is intended as an imitation of 
Lord Byron's ^^English Bards and Scottish Reviewers;'''' and the 
spirit whicli pervades it, is not unworthy of its prototype. 
Its object is, to place in a proper point of view, and to a'fe- 
sign suitable ranks to the different American Poets who 
have at various periods made their appearance. In gene- 
ral, though not in every instance, the author of the "Ameri- 
can Bards" has, we think, done them justice. A few ex- 
tr&,cts will however give a better idea of the poem than our 
own remarks. 

After refusing to call to his aid the usual patrons of Poesy, 
Apollo and the Muses, under their various titles, our bard 
commences with an invocation to tlie Genius of Columbia. 
Possessed as it is of merit, and evincing at least an ardour 
of patriotism worthy of an American, we will present it to 
Gur readers. 

"No: such the invocations thai arise 
From rhyming scribblers to the fabled skies: 
Mine be a guardian nobler than the gods 
Who revel in Olympian abodes: 
O! Genius of Columbia! bright-eyed maid, 
Whose varied form is never doom'd to fade, 
To thee, those notes of uncorrupted praise, 

Simply, but decently adorned, 1 raise: 

Thine be the will to shield, but not rewaixl, 
A young, but proud; a poor, but native bard. 
Teach me, though critics snarl, and fools condemn, 
To roam unscath'd among the haunts of shame, 
And spite of hackney'd verse, and vile reviews, 
Protect my song, and guard my feeble muse. 
Let not ihe pen that labours to amend, 
By needless satire, venture to offend, 
Nor, like the transatlantic wolves, (which prey 
Ungorged in blood, on all that cross their way;) 


CondeTnn in one exterminating curse, 

The mangled beauties ol our sons of verse: 

But though its voice be harsh, and strains uncouth> 

Let it not swerve from honest paths of truth, 

Or warmly boasting of it,-; nniive hind, 

Bid one foe fall, or friend unjustly stand: 

Ko; by the noble land that gave me birth, 

Hove but her; 1 know no other earth! 

There 's not a heart that warms a patriot's breast 

More dearly loves this Eden of the West; 

There *s not a man, no matter what his famej 

Who feels more glory in his native name; 

And all that love and all that glory's light, 

Are brilliant stars to guide the mind aright: 

But, from the realms where Purity is throned, 

A mandate rolls superior to that bond; 

This be my motto, wheresoe'er it flows. 

Justice and Truth to all men! — friends or foesI" pp, 7, 8. 

Having given a brief description of different kinds of po- 
ets, he pays the following handsome tribute to the raemorj 
•of Payne and Clifton. 

"Is not thy banner, Poetry, unfurled, 
To shade the poets of the Western World? 
Alas! in graceful curls it proudly waves. 
O'er Payne's lamented, — Clifton's early, graves. 

Clifton! the dirge that tolt'd thy funeral knell 
To years unborn its proudest notes shall swell! 
Un( rring Truth, to thy immortal name. 
Shall raise a statue in the domes of Fame; 
There, by its side, Wit's vestal fire shall burn, 
And Fancy weep, and Genius there shall mourn; 
To thee shall Taste her holiest anthems raise, 
And teach her sons to venerate thy lays, 
Our soaring eagle bear thy fame afar, 
^ For bright, yet sinking, was thy natat star: 
Proudly at first, a blazing fire it rose, 
A steadier light, its rising beams disclose, 
AtUniring Wisdom greets the coming flame, 
The fires that genius lights, her honours claim, 
'Till a dark gloom thy beaming soul invades. 
Scowls o'er thy fate and thy bright spirit shades; 
Thy genius envious" Fate denies our shore 
And Fancy weeps her Clifton is no more! 
But see another son ot Geniiis rise. 
And ask for fame where Merit gives the piiae; 


He claims another niche in Glory's fane, 

To deck its splendour with the name of Payne. 

lU-fated bard, dootn'd to a hapless grave. 

Had fortune given thee, but what nature q;ave, 

Had gloomy, witheiing Melancholy spared. 

Had Fancy nur ed the \igorous plant she rear'd, 

Honouring to virtue as to wit, 'twould prove, 

And grow immortal, like Apollo's love." pp, 10, 11. 

After pouring forth a stream of invective against the rhy- 
ming mania of the day, he addresses the " bards of Colum- 
bia" and proceeds to enumerate the principal of our native 
sons of song, with their respective merits. 

Dr. DwiGHT he introduces in the following complimen' 
tory manner : 

« In troubled times which tried the souls of men, 
Nerved the strong arm, and trim'd the patriot's pen, 
The star of Dwight arose and pierced the gloom 
That clothed his country and his native home : 
If small its magnitude, a steady beam, 
Flowed in a pure and undiminished stream, 
And not like meteors, flashing to expire. 
Dwelt long and cioudless, in its native fire. 
The minister of Him enthroned on high. 
Friend of that Jhan whose name sliall never die, 
M hat brighter gems can deck an earthly crown, 
Preacher of God, and Friend of Washington P' pp, 14. 

In the same strain of commendation he dwells somewhat 
on the productions of this gentleman. Then follow Fre- 
NEAU and Humphreys, who though not of elevated standing 
as poets, are however, spoken of with marked delicacy and 
respect, in consideration of their characters as patriots and 
heroes of our revolution. A short and handsome notice of 
Trumbull succeeds: 

" Humphreys farewell ! ' the warrior's fight is o'er 1* 
And worth and honor sleep, to wake no more. 

Long as the blessings, by our fathers won 
When struggling freemen hail'd the rising sun 
Of god -like Liberty , — which proudly rose 
A warning beacon to our earliest foes ; — 
Long as her name shall thrill the patriot heart 
With all the joys her attributes impart, 
Tbumbull shall live ! — and memory's warmest sigh 
Shall waft his spirit to its kindred sky." pp, 18. 

Barlow next appears to receive his meed of censure, for 


talents of a high ord r, perverted by false taste and ill di- 
rected poetic ambition. With a slight mention of Mrs. 
Gordon, our Satirist proceeds to introduce to our favor Al- 
sop and Shaw. His pathetic and spirited etfusion on the 
premature death and productions of the latter we beg leave 
to insert: 

" O ! that the noble spirit oft should soar 
Through clouds of fancy never pierc'd before, 
To till exhausted by that heavenly flight, 
In self-destruction from the giddy height ! 
Like the proud Eugle, who with tearful eye 
Falls from his trembling throne of ai- on high, 
And sees the dart that quivers in his breast, 
Wiuii'd by the plume that glisten'd in his crest: 
Thus Shaw, though Science fed the brilliant flame. 
That shed ils lustre round thy youthful fame, 
Its wasting fires commingling brighten'd thine, 
'Till their united blaze consumed the shrine. 

Who has not gazed on that pale orb of night, 
Which sfTenis o slumber in hi''' silver light, 
So calm, — so still, — like fond AA'cction's eye, 
Beaming its charms m noiseess sympathy ? 
Like Friendship's holiest glance, so softly pure^ 
That not one sparkle twinkles to obscure ? 
Who has not felt that language has no charm 
To make that moonlight thought more dearly warm ? 
The poet's fancy has the power to print 
On Nature's loveliest scenes, a lovelier tint, 
And that pa'e moon, bO splendid, yet serene, 
May li\ein words still brighter than the scene." 

pp, 21 & 22. 

Tliese are the principal poets enumerated, who have left 
posthumous testimonials of their merits. 

Next come the bards of the present day. Pierpoint is 
introduced in a strain of eulogy, to which we do not think 
his poem entitles him. Although not devoid of merit, we 
cannot consent to place him in so high a rank as Mr. Atall 
(for such we bebeve is the assumed name of our author,) 
assigns him. Sargent is brought before us in style similar 
to that in which Jlmos Cottle is introduced by Lord Byron: 
" C* ! Lucius Manlius Sargent ! what a name 
To hi tl\e i^ounding trump of future fame, &c." 

A well (Reserved censure is bestowed on the moral ten- 
dency of his '• Hubert and Ellen:'''' — 

i830. AMERICAN UARDS; ^^9 

" Lives there the parent in this virtuous land 
Would place thy volume in his daughter's hand ? 
• Or bid his favorite son. avoid the snare 
So sweetly baited with temptation there ?" , 

At the same time a compliment is paid to the talents of 
this writer as displayed in another production, entitled, 
" The Trial of the HaVp." 

Next come Knight, Davis, and the author of a little poem, 
which was printed in Philadelphia some years since, enti- 
tled the "Serenade," the insignitictince of which might 
have shielded it from the shafts of Satire. It is too contemp- 
tible to liave been noticed at all in the " American Bards." 
Knight's " jRrofcen //«rp" displays not a little eccentricity, 
but is not entirely destitute of poetical merit. Of Davis 
we can say nothing, being unacquainted with his writings. 
The " Backwoodsman'''' which, we know' not why, has been 
considered by some as entitled to hi^h commendation, is 
treated in the manner which we think it deserves. We 
would address its author in the words of our bard. 

" Paulding ! awake ! let not the dream of verse 
Thy livi"g rays of waken'd taste ciibperse, 
Curb in ihy fancy with its ti amelhng reins, 
And bind thy genius i : its cramping chains ! 

" O 1 pen perverted 1" pen that erst has hurled 
Its venom'd shafts against the bloated world, 
Where self elected lords ofi- wit and sense, 
Have cowering croucli'd, in want of self-defence; 
W'here Gifford's gall, — -apostate Southey's brain,— 
Prostrated fell and strove to rise in vain ! 
Shall such a pen forsake its genial clime, 
And hide its honors in the clouds of rhyme ? . 
No ; — Paulding ! let the " sober, woking bliss" 
Of living honored in a land like this, 
To nobler efforts guide your caustic pen, 
And leave the muses to less gifted men." pp, 3t. 

Tappan is sf)oken of in terms of praise, at the same time 
that the following lines of advice are directed to him; 

" Then let ihy genius with its warming rays, 
Shed its full splendour o'er thy future lays, 
Not fe biy shine in desu'tory song, 
To fall forgotten in the rhyming throng ; 
Let not the Fancy that adorns thy lyre, 
Exhaust the fervour of its native fire, 


But soaring nroiully for a nobler prize, 
Bid some prood monument of fame arise, — - 
Some solid proof; — Ambition points the road, 
And spurns the beaten track of • Hymn' and ' Ode.' " 

pp, 36. 

The sentiments here expressed in relation to New Eng* 
land, evince the warmest and most patriotic feelings. 

After noticing the " Recluse of Locust Rif/ire" and the Rev. 
Benj. Allen with contemptuous severity, Mr, Atall goes on 
to speak of Dabney, whose poems, few in number, are but 
little known in proportion to their excellence, in the follow^ 
ing happy strain: 

<' From whence those pensive notes of sorrow flow ? 
From some proud spirit broken down by wo ? 
From some lone heart where l-'eelinj^'s empire sits, 
And Pleasure's glance, like lightning, only flits 
Across the gloom, to make it darker still, 
And give to pain a more ' onvulsive thrill ? 
Where cold Neglect, freezing like polar snow, 
Has bid t'.e streams of mind no longer flow ? 

Hushed be their source ; oblivion be their pyre,— 

While happy Dabney strikes his waken'd lyre." pp, 40. 

Our Satirist seems to have taken pains to arrange the dif- 
ferent poets, so ^ to give us alternately specmjens of his 
powers of eulogy and censure. Accordingly we now have 
Mr. Maxwell and the authors of " The Field of Orleans'''' and 
of " Crystalina,'''' bards of an inferior order treated with con- 
siderable severity. Allston and Payne claim a much high- 
er standing — They are thus mentioned: 

*' Who strikes the lyre again, in tones that steal 
Their warbling sound to hearts that love to feel ? 
Listen ! 'tis Allsion tunes thai vocal strain. 
Pealing its distant notes along the main : 
A native minstrel, forced by Fate to roam 
Far from his birth-nghl and his mvich-loved home. 
Where arts, unsheltered by the hand of age, 
Falter in youth and wani of patronage : 
*' Sylphs of the Season^," many a year shall guard 
The growing honors of their favoured bard ; 
Even " The Pair.t King," humbled in his song, 
Shall court his favor, ard his Fame prolong. 

Payne, though tliy lot be cast on othe*" shores. 
This country nurseci \hy bright puotic powers; 


The inspiration that has honored thect 

Flowed from this favored land of Liberty, 

And all the laurels that adorn ihy brow , 

Root in this soil, from whence their branches grow." 

pp, 45, 46. 

Several others are now brought to view, of whom either 
little notice is taken, or who are made to feel the lasli of 
criticism. The anxiety of a younji; rhymer to see his own 
productions in print is portrayed with some effect in this 
part of the poem. To" Fanny,'''' a production which lately 
appeared in New York, the following well deserved com- 
pliment is paid: 

»' Fanny ! I love t ly soft and simple song, 
Trilling its wild and varied notes along ; 
A thousand charms, the wandering mind engage, 
And shed their blossoms o'er the po ish'd page. 
Spurning the bounds to plodding rhymesters dear, 
To bloom and wanton in a happier sphere : 
"What though the dull and pompous book-worm frown 
To see his measured metre trampled down, 
"Who taught by rote, amid the dust of schools, 
Would trammel Nature with his paltry rules : 
Let him rail on : — thy sportive notes shall raise 
A nobler ph lianx to deltnd thy lays, 
"Who, scorning laws that bind the fancy's flight, 
Will bid thee flourish in thy native light." ppi 55, 56. 

Having noticed a few others not in the most favorable 
terms, our bard after a brief advice to Mr. Burtt, with a 
tribute of respect to his genius, closes with the following 


*« Hushed be the strain ! my joyless task is done : 
And if the rugged course be ruddy run, 
If one wrong censure, or dishonest thought, 
If one expression with injustice fraught, 
If one harsh word has shed its venom here, 
Show me the line ;— I'll blot it with a tear ; 
< Show me a vicious thought, however brief, 
A thought immoral, — and I'll tear the leaf.' '* pp, 62. 

We have thus given a hasty view of the " American 
Bards." from the perusal of which, as already stated, we 
have derived no small degree of pleasure. Displaying con- 
siderable thought and reflection, and in general a cultivated 
and correct taste, the poem leads us to hope that its author 
may r.^alize those expectations of future celebrity, which 
it has contributed to awaken. 



Of JSTeioburyport^ J\'Iassachusetts. 

We have recently been permitted to run over a collection 
of letters in manuscript, in the possession of a friend, 
which contain various notices of persons and places in the 
eastern states. They are of different dates through the last 
twenty-tive years, and give us no inconsiderable pleasure 
by calling up to our recollection characters and events, 
which more modern interests had pushed from our thoughts. 
We mean occasionally to present selections to our readers, 
while we are allov\ed the privilege, and trust that their judg- 
ment will coincide with our own in regard to this source of 
entertainment, among the misceUflwies of our Magazine. 
For the present month we extract a letter which relates 
to a very singular personage. 

'■^ JSTeioburyporf, Oct. 1,-1804. 

" We are ^again iu the principal oY the New England 
states. The general appearance of this town pleases me 
more than any one we have visited, since w^e left 
North Hampton, on our excursion through Vermont and 
3Vew Hampshire. It is more neat and fresh than Portsmouth, 
and seems to be more prosperous in its enterprize * High 
Street, which is the most considerable one in the place, is 
long, wide, well made, and entirely finished. The last 
quality is a peculiar recommendation in a country like ours, 
where plans are so numerous, and execution so lame. 
The houses upon this main passage through the town ate 
spacious, and the grounds about them liberal and ornamen- 

Timothy Dexter, of wliom you have often heard, the fa- 
ther-in-law of A. B — , who is famous for his oration on De- 
lusion, and for the political part he has taken in Connecticut, 
lives upon this street, and has a place as extraordinary as 

* This remark is not applicable, it is believed, to tlie present condition 
of ■^these towns . " .. 


himself. The eccentricity of tMs man, and his pecuniary 
success in life, render him tru'y remarkable. His house 
may be denominated a palace, although the most absurd 
taste lias been employed to render it ridiculous. The body 
of it is white, while the weather-boards, the window frames, 
andjthe ornaments of the cupola, are green, i combination 
which, you knovv, produces a very bad effect upon the eye. 
The fore grounds are sufficiently extensive, and the garden 
includes several acres. The court yard, and the enclosure 
near to the street, are covered with pedestals ten or twelve 
feet high, upon each of which is a statue of wood as large 
as life, or rather colossal, giving representations of distin- 
guished characters, generally our own countrymen. They 
are variously dressed, as the profession of the individual 
may require, in civil, military, and ecclesiastical costumes. 
Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Jay, King, Hamilton, George 
the Third and Pitt, are among the crowd, some of tlipm 
bare-headed, and exposed thus to all the severities of wind 
and weather. To crown the whole, Timothy Dexter him- 
self, the first in the west^ and the greatest in the icorld^ as the la- 
bel at his feet intimates, presents his erect image to the eyes 
of his visiters, and claims thcur homage. He wears a cock- 
ed hat, and has a half-military appear ince. The effect of 
the whole is excessively ludicrous., Four lions, as we en- 
ter the gate, open their mouths upon us from liieir pedestals, 
and are just ready to leap upon our defenceless heads with 
teeth and claws. that promise little mercy. An Indian at a 
small distance from tliem, as we pass on, and have made 
our escape from their jaws, lifts his tomahawk, with a fe- 
rocious countenance, to give us the fatal blow. 

While we were viewing this singular exiiibition, the own- 
er himself came from his house, and, without any preface 
or apology, inim.ediately accosted us in a sort of soliloquy, 
and in his own strange manner, putting his finger to his 
forehead, said, '■'■ J\'\iture^ jYature^ I worship J^ature ; Reason, 
Reason is my God The old man has not been well these few days 
— lost a little strength — memory affected — head work gmie — have 
done a great deal i-f head-work in my day — never mind — hoio do 
you like it — will show. you much more yet — &c. &c." 

Knowing his chpracter, we let him have his own way, 
and he soon conducted us into his house and over his 
grounds. These were not carefully kept, though they were 
agreeable from their natural beauties. He showed us his 
tomb in the garden, not such as is commonly found, but a 


neat white building with a cheerful aspect, the room with 
windows abbve the earth like a parlour, where he has his 
coffin ready made, and pair ted, like his house,, white, with 
green edges. This coffin he has had for several years, and 
once caused himself to be put into it, and carried, as to his 
grave, in a formal f)rocession, in order to know how he 
should feel when near to being called out in earnest, or, if 
you please, how he should feel when he was dead. 

The plan of his tomb I like much, far better than the 
common one in darkness and under ground. I have al- 
ways hated the idea of bemg shut out from the air and the 
light, and of being closely confined in a box without the 
liberty of sight and of motion. Death itself is not so dread- 
ful as the circumstances of it, and particularly the mode 
of interment The idea of this event would be much less 
harrassing, if it were always associated with as cheerful a 
house, and as much room, light, and air, as Mr. Dexter has 
provided for his body. This is a subject too of no small in- 
terest, when we consider it merely in reference to our com- 
fort in the anticipations which we must have in the present 
life; but its interest is wonderfully increased when we takft 
into view the immortality of the soul, and suppose that the 
mind still retains its attachment to its old companion the 
body, and continues the exercise of its consciousness and 
its other powers, immediately after its separation. Funerals 
have always app -ared to me, at least ever since I have 
thought upon t'em at all, to be among tTie afFai.s of our 
community, which are as badly managed as they can be, 
and as little adapted to produce good eff cts of any sort on 
the mind. They harrow the feelings, and offend the spec- 
tators, without being accom ^anied by any salutary influence 
to compensate for the s^tiffncss, hypocrisy, and pageantry, 
to which they force us to submit. But enough of this di- 
gression; I only wish to say, that it would gratify me to 
have my bodv at death laid in as good and pleasant a room 
as this of Mr. Dexter, though with companions of a different 
character from his, such as would talk cheerfully and sen- 
sibly over my corpse, and entertain my spirit, hovering about 
it, as when living on earth. I know no good reason why 
we should treat liberated minds with a kind of conduct and 
conversation, which we are certain they would condemn 
as unu^orthy of ourselves and of them, were they still in- 
habiting their old tenements. 

We were at length introduced to Mrg. Dexter, a fat old 


lady, with whom we took tea. She has no conversation, 
or at least had none for us, and apoeared to care very lit- 
tle for her husband or his guests. She aimed to sit in 
state, and to put on a degree of di,;. nity which would raise 
her somewhat higlier in our opinion than her eccentric yoke 
fellow. He however was much the most interesting of the 
two. Dignity and dulness are bad enough in the most res- 
pectably and the most elevated, but are insupportable in 
those who have no claims or external privileges to permit 
them to be stupid and oppressive with impunity. 

The old man brought out a bottle of spirits, and we were 
compelled to drink with him on pain of giving offence, and 
of failing to call him forth. At this time, his son SajI 
entered, a tall, ill looking, vain, and vulgar fellow, to whom 
we were quite laconically introduced. The three persona- 
ges, husband, wife, and son, are said to have been found in- 
toxicated and lying on the floor together. They occasion- 
ally contend with great fierceness and pertinacity. The 
son is unmarried. He had little disposition to disguise his 
folly, and, had he been so disposed, would hardly have suc- 
ceeded in the attempt. Oddity however excited our atten- 
tion to some of his remarks. He observed, that he often 
wore ragged clothes to make the world take notice of him, 
and to call out the compliment, '•'■There goes the son oftherich 
Tim Dexter; see how ragged and mean his clothes are, and how 
little he cares for his appearance. He is not above the people, and 
is not proud of his wealth, but looks like a poor man, and is as for-' 
getful of his dress as a poet or a philosopher.^^ This is not an 
iincommo'' species of vanity and affectation in wiser persons; 
than silly Sam. Many a candidate for popular favor, in our 
good republic, has tried the effect of a similar calculation 
for a more important end than the gratification of the feel- 
ings of the moment. This legitimate son of a foolish fath- 
er, or one that is commonly thought foolish, led me up to 
an engraving, which was hanging over the chimney piece, 
the resurrection of a pious family from the tomb, and asked 
me, if I believed such ta es, or expected ever to witness such 
scenes. Not wishing to discuss a question of this nature 
with a character of his standing, and under si c'l circumstan- 
ces, I replied so as to leave him to speak his own thoughts, 
if he had any. He said, that when he died, he supposed a 
pig-weed would grow out of his grave, and that would be 
the end of him. The plant was certainly not chosen badly 
for an emblematical ornament of his tomb stone, or a vig- 



nette for his epitaph. The metempsychosis scarcely a- 
mounts to a change ot the associated ideas suggested by 
the name of the weed. 

The sister of this man, now the divorced wife o( A — « 

B , is in a mad house at Ipswich. The father detailed 

many of the particulars of Mr B's acquaintance in his fam- 
ily, and of the courtship and marriage of his daughter. 
The life of Mr B must have been one of no small diversity, 
both in Europe and America. By the aid of the sympathy, 
which his politics have excited, an1 by the change of the 
administration of our general government, he is likely to 
make a better finish of it than was at one time anticipated, 
even by his friends. Success softens asperities and pro- 
motes courtesy of manners. A faithful biography of this 
gentleman, including an account of his political writings 
and labours, of the presentation to Yale College of the shoes 
with which he travelled over the old continent, and of the 
fair prospects now before him, would afford a curious col" 
lection of paradoxes in his opinions, speculations, plans, in- 
cidents, and vicissitudes. Good, after all, would greatly 
predominate over evil, and praise over censure. As person- 
al and party prejudices go down, the virtues of the charac- 
ter will be seen and acknowledged, and the shades of the 
picture be found to be no more than are necessary to relieve 
the lights and render them agreeable to the eye. 

We could, with difficulty, get away from Mr Dexter's, even, 
at bed time. The old man and Sam were both loquacious, 
and a little mellow. We were shown into the principal apart- 
ments, and even into the chambers of the house; the plate 
was exhibited; and we heard many anecdotes of the family 
history. The rooms were in a singular condition. In some 
of the elegant chambers, potatoes were spread over the floop 
in some, nuts and dried herbs; and in others, old barrels 
and various sorts of ;efuse articles. The clock stood upon 
the flight of stairs, and the furniture generally was placed 
witli a characteristic eccentricity. 

Amusing account are circulated in the vicinity, concern- | 
ing tr,e manner, in which this singular man made his for- 
tune. He was building a ship, and the carpenter said that 
stays were wanting for it. Dexter, not knowing any other 
than those which he had seen on the body of his wife, and 
supposing that whalebone^ was as proper a material to 
be woikcd inio a ship as into corsets, bought a very large 
quantity. When he discovered his mistake, and found out 


that a ship's stays are notof whale bone he threw it aside, and 
was considered as having sacrificed the amount of hU pur- 
chase, or at least a great part of it. Whale bone however 
became exceedingly scarce by this monopoly; the demand 
for 'it increased; the price was proportionally advanced; 
and the lucky man sold his whole stock for such a sum as 
left him a very great profit. 

When Soldier^s JS'^otes, after the war, bore the small value 
of only two shillings and three pence in the pound, he 
bought a large quantity of them, and ultimately received of 
the government the full sum according to their nominal 
amount. They were called /aci7ifie5, but Dexter went about 
inquiring of the dealers in this article if they had any felici- 
ties to sell. 

In a conversation about trade, foreign markets, and good 
voyages, he was advised, as a koax^ to send a cargo of warm- 
ing pans to the West Indies. He freighted a vessel accord- 
ingly, and immediately followed up the advice. Contrary 
to all sober expectation, the issue was fortunate. The sugar 
manufacturers discovered that the pans w'ere excellent /a= 
dles^ and the lids good skimmers, and bought the whole at a 
very advanced price upon the cost. 

It is in this way, that Mr. Dexter is said to have blunder- 
ed into a fortune. The common impression is, that the 
ivhole is the effect of accident or luck, but I am not in the 
habit of ascribing such effects to chance, effects which are 
so often produced, and so capable of being analogically 
traced to design, and to the proper means of its accomplish- 
ment. This man must have had much more shrewdness 
than the world has allowed him. There is little doubt in. 
my mind, that no small part of his eccentricity was affect- 
ed, and that he often seemed to yield to the impositions 
which others thought they were playing off on him, when 
he was in fact making calculations that duped his ap- 
parent superiors. He had cunning enough to know, that 
the reputation of being cunning would be a disadvantage to 
hira in making a bargain, and that the great business of 
art is to cover art. Appearing to be foolish enabled him to 
overreach his competitors, and turn to profit all their re- 
liance upon his ignorance and simplicity. He may easily 
have made all the calculations necessary to show that 
warming pans would be as useful in the West Indies, in the 
process of making sugar, as in a cold climate for the use of 
beds in indulging the luxury of the lovers of warmth and 


comfort. It was ingenious to secure a monopoly of whale 
bone, and to collect it, without suspicion, under the idea 
that he wanted to make stays or corsets for a ship. Noth- 
ing is more natural than for sucli a man to affect ignorance 
and simplicity, and to q,q\\ facilities felicities^ not only for the 
Waggery and apparent naivete of the blunder, but to carry 
on a system of low cunning and of shrewd bargain-making. 
All sorts of jockies understand this, and it is a little aston- 
ishing that the world should so long have given Dexter 
credit lor being literally a fool. Pecuniary arithmetic he 
understood very well, and, if success be any evidence of 
talents, as it often is, he accomplished, with great uniformi- 
ty and completeness, the objects which he proposed to him- 
self, and to which he directed his powers. Such regular 
results force the conclusion, that considerable intelligence 
must have been employed. 

He has written a pamphlet entitled '■'•A Pickle for the Know- 
ing Ones.^'' This is a curious production, and gives us a fur- 
ther insight into his real character. The orthography and 
the punctuation are his own, and accord with the oddity of 
the whole work. That he knew what he was about, I am 
satisfied, and it is evident that he made the impressions he 
intended. He had money enough, and he wanted to amuse 
his old age by calling the attention of the world to himself 
and his concerns, and he adopted the only mode of doing 
it that was suited to his education and circumstances. Af- 
ter all however, our visit to this house was melancholy. 
The cunning, which I consider as mingling with the other 
qualities of the principal personage, by no means relieved 
the mind of the spectator, and it afforded little to excite 
feelings of ultimate complacency. Folly, egotism, intem- 
perance, wealth, meanness, pride, vacuity, and ennui, are 
not rendered either agreeable, or even tolerable, by the de- 
gree of native shrewdness, with which, in this instance, 
they were accompanied. The exhibition, taken as a whole, 
was shocking. The defects of character are too great to 
be fit subjects for humor. The useless waste of property is 
a robbery from the public. 

Were one disposed to moralize this visit it would be a 
fruitful theme; but I forbear. My letter is already too ex- 
tended fcr yo«r patience, and nothing but the singularity of 
the subject induces me to hope that you will read it through. 

On our return to the inn, we were made acquainted with 
Mr C — of Exeter, father to C — , \rho was a fellow-student 

wit' - L'ir of 

th> : Imse 

charm- n^ s- ■.>■ nades^ w;jBich d- • i jy 

a '"•'.-..:. - -i..ur. The son i... . e 

V V pressed to ^o bom e 

01 Te ;■ "^ '" ■ '^ " ■ ;e- 

sisieo 3 iNis 

to\vr> to-uiv-rrwrv '>-n. 

Ar tlii^ n- -^;' -"■. . ^■;e 

streer, & . ^n by a • < le 


' '» 

tot- ie. 

T',- - !0 

cipai J , 


,^/ plynnyip- 



to . 

as (^ ; . 

O':. hearts dehght to- acfc: 

In 'v^'-rsver country " 

c'im- ""t^jes, our svrri' 

scu ■<-^- '■•'" 

ed 'u ""•■ 

ins; *tis litie oi or? to t 

es'.-'d, and mag' - men, vv 

mc'.ith Rock in pursuit of Liberty, Re 

who f'^\'-''--^^!v encountered feverv ^ 

and *' ^ : > " nation, we sho 

scovn ■-•" ■ ■■-■p'jed spirits, as '.\-; 

their (jJs n ^ ngle fibre of o»'r - 

vibrate '>: - -y the magic ! 

ted day. '■'• orgrt to respr : - 

pect u?, and we oecome excommun!C:;.rj'3 frorr 

ship, a lelio^'-^';^'" -f ^h-5 ?\':'' *•-' -^r"-:^ :^" :^ ^ ri+Te 



prosperity, wliich are secured to their sons by the energy 
of the virtues and institutions they have transmitted, render 
it a JUBILEE, not of noisy mirth, or military paa:eantry, 
but of the triumphs of moral excellence, the victories and 
rewards of principle and truth. Never did a p-ople of a 
more pure and elevated character than the pilgrims of Ply- 
mouth, settle a country, or establish an empire. The learn- 
ing, the moral sentiments, the piety, the patience and per- 
severance, the forecast and intellectual vigour, of the early 
emigrants from the shores of Old England to those of the 
Now ca.j be unknown or undervalued by none but such as 
never look into their history. Their gf-nuineness and effi- 
cacy are proved by the fruits, and by the gradual progress 
of the institutions through our common country. Their 
views were a$ comprehensive as their means would justify, 
and they never generalized without a reference to the par- 
ticulars whicl*^ their situation demanded. Their plans ai- 
ivays included the details necessary to execution, and they 
"tvasted nottheif' talents or resources upon projects beyond 
their age and condition. Never were men more discreetly 
cautious, or more wisely bold. What they designed, they 
accomplished, and all that could be accomplished, their de- 
signs embraced, "^fhey knew no timidity, but were well ac* 
quainted with tlie value of prudence, and into every enter- 
prize they infus -d the soul of moral courage. It may be 
doubted, whether greatness of this kind ever was as con- 
spicuous in any band of adventurers, for so long a period, 
and through so many generations. Every new perusal of 
their story gives, with increasing wonder and admiration, a 
new impression of their judgment, prescience, practical 
knowledge, mental hardinood, unconquerable zeal, and tri- 
umphant piety. 

It is equally useful and pleasing occasionally to ^ all up 
the prominent events of their history, and the striking fea- 
tures of their character. Even the antiquated language of 
i3ome of their primitive writers has a charm peculiarly suit- 
ed to the subject, the actors, and the scenes. Wo always 
ci^perience a gratification in reading the annals of the ven- 
erable Hubbard, whicli scarcely yields to any enjoyment 
that we derive from Ihe best productions of modern genius, 
in his General History ot New England, we have the fol- 
lowing account of several unsuccessful attempts to mak® 


settlements in that portion of country then called North 
Virginia. These attempts were preparatory to the perma- 
nent establishment, which was finally made at Plymouth, 
and from which so many communities have since been sup- 

« And thus was the /rst* plantation at old Virginia, after 
much time, labour and charge broUi:;ht to confusion, and fi ally 
deserted in the yeare 1590 : nor was there ever any plantation 
attempted m ihat place or carr/erf on with prosperous success 
to this day, the reason of which is not yet rendered : The plan- 
ling of any place about Florida being thus n pped in the bud, if 
not blasted with some severer curse, like Jericho of old, all 
hopes uf settling onother plantation in that part of the world 
were for the present abandoned, and lay dead for the space of 
twelve yeares next fo//owing, when they were revived again by 
the valiant i-esolution and industry of Capt. Bartholmew Gos- 
nold and Capt. Bartholmew GWbert, and divers other gentlemen, 
their associates, who in the ijear 1602 attempted a more exact 
discovery of the whole coast of F/rginia. The first vovage, 
Capt. Gosnold in a small bark ivith a comfiany set sayle from 
Dartmouth Marci. 26, the sarae yeare a sotilh west course from 
the Azores, made his passage shorter by several degrees then 
ever the tormer adventurers found it, who had always fetched a 
compasse round by the West Indies, and by that course felt 
upon Florida. But Capt. Gosnold. possibly more by the guU 
dance of providence then any specidl art acquired of ra««, on, 
the \Uh May follon'mg m^de land in the lat. of 43,° where 
Capt. Gos7iold was /n-esently welcomed by eight of the 
salvages i one of their shallofis. who came boldly aboard them, 
which considered with * * « shew made the other 
conjecture some beseamers had been wrecked in fishing there: 
the Captain, how well soever hee liked his » * * 

weather whi, h made him soone after weigh and * * * 
* ward into the sea ; the next morning, finding himselfe draw- 
ing nigh a mighty head land, let fall his anchor againe * « 
nigh the shore, and then himselfe with foure men went on shore 
presently ; marching up the highest hill next morning, they dis- 
cerned the headland to bee part of the mayn, round whicft 
we7-e many islands : in five or six houres time his compa?zi/ 
caught more codfish then they well knew what to do with. 
And this promontory hach ever since borne the name of Cape 

* "Of the MS. copy a few pages at the beginning and end are mutilated 
and the writing in some places is scaicely legible. These passages are 
given, as far as the editors could spell them out. Where they have sup- 
plied words, or portions of words, conjecturally, such are nrinted in 
italics. "Where they were at a loss, they have used asterisks.' 

^89 Dec. 

C-yd, Hvon ■■^■"'^v iviiiii icyal name, 
that Cap* er bad .^it»en ; fAe fishing 
vhich;' ei'-,^ r cuncd^ to this day. it ap- 
p^:^:--^ ' CapT Joh« BrJtrton in the same 
voyii^, ,: r.ii: ;,..,. ^ t was upon the south side 
cfC'pe.' e"^shnds :-> retaine the same iiames 
vh>oh rit - I thetn ; vir. Mhrtpas or 
JUMrlini. .iijds, being rcplr-nisned 
Vi'h 'hf -i'ys, and ijooaebe'yes, ■'.nd 
d'v.-rsou ;s of liing ereatMres, as 
dec e, i.rures, nen cow), which made them 
c?]i ine \bi-! ' \'^ "iD the saoT/e place they 
tLckup -rmayned in the coun- 
try. '• -^ ■■--■>■ ^--.''iy, oaies, 
p' p- .rtx\<i days. 
All •• 5 r(-Mimg courie- 
si s ' ! ijipany to thinke 
•/ .'C;.' u' j,vnr coTisiderinff how 
w i.< idterkd «A^ resolution, and re- 
tu r 1, vhere they arrived. •A.bout the 
2/ J;, ifA rieAves us enducel the aidermen 
[or?. Mristoli t;. • ocke of [lOOOl.] 
tuhic :rf;i^'ini7 » iTiiore the 
n^xt iriui Pring or Pin and Ro- 
beri ne veere bef«tre. In the 
yeert --osnold made noe. relation, butt 
* fe!) w th the land * * 
of 4;: 2' ihe comury was then 
c'f.lleC - ;oast along till they cam© 
to a p ■ bay. Huw long they 
tai rie- - ---.' .turned, is not mentioned 
ill Sa< ^ti. it seems the report they carried home 
■Wiis n'." "h<- 1 •? -.; uic unbelievme spyes, for it p-ave encour- 
as^emetit to '^■iie Ritaht flooorabie Sir Thomas Arrundal Barron 
cf VVari ' '' ■ 'css-illln the ycare 1605, with 
29 stou^ :i:ad of (3ipt. Thomas Wey- 
n^oui!" .' • - Uiem make ano ht^r discovery of the 
coast Si.' '-sj'-f-.fs. ' Butt by reason of cross winds 
thev fesi . 41 by 20 minutes, where they 
iovrA luT 'bayed by shoals, so that in the 
r'.inTjinp,- oi '•; . 'f' come from 100 fathom to 
ii>e, yet Sit ■ ')ie next tbroiv they should 
Jj. v-e i6 •• ::!cl> coDStrayned ihem to putt 
6uc/t agai •: ■' .uvtits nere as fayre as they 
could desire '' water made them take 
the best udv. :,,-.,. . . :;e next to fall with th© 
shore. On the U: v oast anchor within a league 


of the shore, which proved an island, though at first it appear- 
ed as some high land of the mayne , and here they took five of 
the salvages, as saith Capt. Smith, page 20, whom they found 
like all of that sort, kinde till they had ofifiortunity to doe mis- 
chiefe, butt soone after found a place fitter for the purpose, 
which they caUed Penterost Haibor, from White Sunday, on 
vihich they disco-veredm. The isles thereabouts in the ent 
* * • * Itt se * * * * of St, 
Georges Isles. this time they rf/scovered a great river m 
those parts, suppose to bee Kennibecke, neere unto Pemaquid, 
which they found navigable 40 miles up into the country, and 7, 
8, 9, or [10] fathome deepe, as Capt. Weymouth reports. Ic 
was one mayn end of all the forementioned adventurers, as well 
as t^hose that first discovered itt, to plant the Gospell there. 
The whole country from Florida to Nova Francia went at first 
tinder the name of Virginia, (yett distinguished by the Northern 
and Southern parts:) that which is now famously known by the 
name of Virginia, (where since the yeare 1605 have severall 
English Colonies been planted,) is a country within the two 
Capes, where the sea runneth in 200 miles north and south 
under the Deg. 37, 38, 39 of north lat. first discovered, as is 
generally believed, by Capt. John Smith, sometimes Governour 
of the country, in:o which there is but one entrance by sea, and 
that is at the mouth of a very goodly bay 20 miles broad be- 
tween those two Capes, of which that on the south is called 
Cape Henry, that on the north Cape Charles, in honor of the 
two famous princes, branches of the Rovall Oak. The first 
planting of that country was begun in th-^ yeare 1606; and car- 
ried on by various changes and by sundry steps and degrees, as 
is described at large from the first beginning of the enterprise to 
the year 1627, by Capt. Smith, one of the first discoverers, and 
so a chief founder of the plantation from that time. That whole 
country, extending from the 34lh to the 44th degrees of North 
lat. and called Virginia upon the accident mentioned beforCj 
formerly Norumbe^a, came afterwards to be divided into two 
colonyes — the first and the second. The former was to the 
honrble city of London, as saith Capt. Smith, and such as 
Tvould adventure with them, to discover and take their choyce 
whei'e they would, betwixt the degrees of 34 and 41: the latter 
was appropriated to the cityes of Bristoll, Plymouth, and Exe- 
ter, and the west parts of England, and all those that would ad- 
venture and joyn with them; and they might take their choice 
any where betwixt the degrees of [3] 8 and 44, provided there. 
should bee at least an 100 miles distant betwixt the two coio?»yes, 
each of which had lawes, priviledges, and authority for ^o-yern- 
ment, and advancing their plantations alike. After this time 
several exempts were made for the planting and peopling of 
this JV, part, of Vira:inia, called afterwards New England by 
1 ' 37 ^ 


Capi. Smith in the yeare 1614, who took a draught of z7 the 
same yeare. Thishe on his return presented to the q/i^rwards 
famous Prince Charles, of blessed memor)', humbly inreating 
jhim to adopt it for his own, and make a confirmation thereof, 
by applying Cl ristian names upon the several places first dis- 
covered, many of which were ever after retayned; the whole coiin- 
trey being on that reason called New England to this day. In 
the year 1606, Sir John Popham, who was a principal underta- 
ker, as saith Capt. Smith, and 1607, tound men and means to 
make the beginning of a plantation about the mouth of a great 
river called Kennibe^k, to the northward of 43 deg. but with 
•what successe shall be seen afterward. In the yeares next fol- 
lowing, other attempts of further discovery were made by the 
industry and endea\oursof Capt- Edward Harlow, Capt. Hob- 
son of the Isle of Wight, Mr John Mathews, Mr. Sturton, and 
especially Capt Henry Hudson, who searched severall rivers a- 
longe the coatst from Delaware Bay up towards the frozen ocean; 
in honor of whose memory, the great river where afterward the 
Dutch seated themselves and laid the foundation of their Novum 
Belgium, was called after his nanae, Hudson's river; as another 
place, the utmost bounds of his discoverye* northward, is like- 
wise ca'led after the manner of elder times, Hudson's streight. 
Probably every year's experience might adde something to a 
fuller knowledge of the havens, rivers, and most desirable pla- 
ces of the (ouiitry, by such as came yearly to make fish upon 
the coast, eastward about the island of Monheggin, Damerille 
Cove, Casco Bay, Cape Porpuise, Accomentitus, and although 
no colony was ever settled in any of those places till the yeare 
1620, when New Plymouth was first planted within Cape Cod, 
of which more in what followeth, when there will be just occa- 
sion to mention the incredible successe of those plantations of 
New England, that from so small and meane beginnings, did in 
so few yeares overspread sd large a tract of land by the industry 
and diligent paines of a poor people, to which alone, next under 
the blessing of Almighty God, must the success of the whole 
business be ascribed: it being the declared intent of the adven- 
turers and others that ingaged in this designe since Capt. Gos- 
nold's voyage in the year 1602, as one Mr. Rosier, that came a- 
l«iige with Capt. Weymouth, doth expressly mention after, viz. 
1605, to propagate God's holy church, hy planting Christianity 
ill these dark corners of the earth, which was the publick good 
theyaymedat. n. ore than the advancing their own privat or 
particular ends." pp, 9, 14. 

No colony was established in North Virginia, or New 
England, lili the landing of the Fathers at Plymouth. The 
crew of the May flower are destined to be remembered and 
celebrated while history lasts, and virtue endures. The 


friendly offices of the two savages, Samoset and Squanto, 
are proofs ot ihe native kindness of the human heart, and 
of the power of the social affections over the influence of 
occasional provocation. The villain Hunt, whom Captain 
Smith had left in command of one of his vessels, in 
1614, r.ear Pituxet, (the Indian name for Plymouth,) com- 
mitted such an outrage upon the aborigines as would have 
justified immediate war against the pilgrims when they took 
possession of territory for their colony. Irritated as the In- 
dians were, and disposed to revenge as the history of the 
time shows them to be, the pilgrims found little diffi- 
culty in making a treaty of peace with Massassoit, and in 
preserving it for many years. The account of the theft, 
which carried to Europe a number of the natives by vio- 
lence, is detailed by Hubbard. 

"When the said Smith returned for England, he left one 
Thomas Hunt master of the bigger vessel, with order to sail 
directly with the fish he made upon the coast, for Malaga, but 
he, like a wicked varlet, having gotten twenty four of the natives 
aboard his ship, from Patuxet, (who, in confidence of his hon- 
esty, had thus innocently put themselves into his hands) clapped 
them under hatches, with intent to seil them tor slaves among 
the Spaniards; but they not permitting him to make sale of the 
poor wretches in any of their ports, some of them found means 
lo escape back to their own country: but in the year following^ 
some that had conceived better hopes . f goo 1 that might ensue, 
by prosecuting the former honourable and pious work, ha-ing 
dispatched Capt. Hobson from the Isle of Wight, with some 
others, to make a farther attempt for planting the country, they 
carried with them two of the aforesaid natives to facilitate ttiJe 
work These, contrary lo expectation, find their design as good 
as overthrown, before it was well begun, by that treacherous 
practice of Hunt; for, the two natives coming ashore, and un- 
derstanding »vhat had beftiHen their countrymen in theirabsence, 
contracted such a hatred against the whole nation, that they stu- 
died nothing but how to be revenged of them, contriving se- 
cretly with their friends how to bring it to pass, which no doubt 
thev might easily have done, had not one of them, Manowet by- 
name, been taken away by death soon after the ship's arrival 
there: but the other, called Epenow, observing the good order 
and strong guard tHe people kept, studied only for the present 
how to free himself from the Englishmen's h tnds; and laid his 
plot so cunningly that he effected his purj)0se; although with 
so great hazard to himself and those his friends, who laboured 
his rescue, that the Captain and his company imagined he had 
been slain. Their design, not being well compassed, wrought 


the slaughter of fcome of their own people ; as well as 
the hurt of some of the English, as appeared afterwards. This 
company, together with Capt. Hobson, looking upon the end of 
their attempt as wholly frustrate by the cross accident, resolved, 
without more ado, to I'eturn home, carrying back nothing with 
them but the news of therr bad success. And a war novv began 
between the mhabitants of these parts and the English. Thus 
■was this little spark of their hopes, raked up in the embers of 
those long and tedious delays, fay this misfortune almost quite 
extinguished. But this is not all, for another occurrence feil in 
here, which was as disastrous in a manner as the former. The 
company of New England had in the return of the year 1615, 
found means likewise to set out Capt. Smith, with Mr. Dermer, 
JRocraft and others, with a ship from Plymouth; either to lay 
the foundation of a new plantation, or strengthen and se- ond. 
that of Capt Hobson; but they being scarce free of tlie Esiglish 
coast, were suddenly attacked by a violent storm; shaking his 
mast overboard, whi. h forced him back into the harbour, where 
the undertakers furnishing them with another ship, they put to 
sea ii second time; but after they got to the height of the Wes- 
tern Islands, they were chased by a small pirate, who took them 
prisoners, and detained them so long that their voyage was 
wholly overthrown; nor do we find that ever Capt. Smith had aa 
opportunity in his own person afterwards to visit these coasts 
of New England, though his inclination and purpose ran strong- 
ly that way. However, Capt. Deriner. meeting with some one 
or more of those natives transported by Hunt, and encouraged 
by Capt. Mason at that time Governour of New England, car- 
ried them to Plymouth, from wheuf e he was sent again to Eng- 
land, where, about the year 16 19, iy his prudence and great 
diligence, he procured a peace between our men and the sava- 
ges of the place that had been so exasperated against them by 
the wrongs they had received," pp, 38, 40. 

Squanto, or Tisquantum, was one of those whom Hunt 
had stolen. He made his escape from Spain, and retumed 
to his native country. From him, Samoset, who is so inter- 
esting a personage in a well known historical painting of 
Colonel Sargent, learned the English language, and was a- 
ble to be of essential service to the pilgrims. The incidents, 
connected with this benevolent savage, will never tire by 
repetition. Hubbard mentions him thus: 

"About the middle of the said month of March, an Indian, 
called Samoset came to ihem, and soon after another, whose 
name was Squanto, or Tisquantumj (for he is called in several 
authors by these several names,) came boldly in amongst them, 
and said in a brokeu dtialcct of our language, " Welcome Eng- 


lishmcn." Within a day or two came tlie other, and spake in 
the like diahict, to the same purpose or eff^^ct; at u huh the 
planters were surprised with no small amazement; but they pre- 
sently understood that the said Indians had been acquainted 
•with our English mariners, that had of late yearly frequented 
the coast, upon account of making fibh at the Lastv^ard, and 
could tell the names of the masers of ships, and mariners that 
were commonly there; yea, one ot those natives, Tisquantum, 
that came last among them, was one of them that had been 
carried away by Hunt, and had afterward escaped from Spain, 
and was carried to London, where he had lived with one Mr. 
Slany, a merchant, about two years. These were by that means 
so we 1 acquainted with our language, that they were ptelty 
well able to discourse with them, and acquaint them with many- 
matters needful for the carrying on their design — as now to. 
plant their corn — after what manner to order ii — whe e to get 
fish, and such other things as the country afforded, about which 
they would have been very much to seel<. wihout their instruc- 
tion. They gave them likewise information of the number of 
the Indians, tht ir strength, situation, and distance from them; 
acquainting "ihem also with the estate and affairs at the eastward; 
but the principal benefit obtained by their means was acquain- 
tance with an Indian of the chiefest note in that side of the 
country, tailed Massasoit. Him they brought down to the 
English, though his place was at forty miles distance, called 
Sowans, his country called Pokanoket, and one that had the 
greatest command of the country betwixt Massachusetts ftnd 
Narraganset. And vvithin four or five days came the said Sa- 
chem, with his friends and chiefest attendants, to welcome them 
to his country; and not only giving them liberty there to take up 
their habitation, but likewise acknowledging himself willing to 
become the subject of their sovereign Lord, King James. Fur- 
ther also he was willing to enter into a league of friendship 
i^ith our pilgrims, which continued very firm with him and his 
people during the term of his own life, and some considerable 
time with his two sons, his successors, until that unhappy quar- 
rel began by the second of them, by the English called Philip, 
in the year 1675, which ended in the loss of his own life, and 
the extirpation of all his friends and adherents, within a few 
months after they began it, as is declared in the narrative, which 
may be hereunto annexed." pp, 58, 60. 

But we cannot pursue this chain of history, however gr<»t- 
ifying it would be. Our intention is only to take such a 
notice of the anniversary of the landing as our short allow- 
ance of time will permit. 

The first settlers of Plymouth were from an English con- 
gregation at Leyden, which was under the care of the Rev. 


John Robinson, a name, that as Dr Eliot says, in his Bio- 
graphical Dictionary, '■'will he had in everlasting remembrance.''^ 
This good man intended soon to follow his people to Ameri- 
ca, but death prevented the execution of his design. The 
character and virtues of Mr Robinson, however, continued 
to produce the best efiects upon his flock, notwithstanding 
his death. The liberality of his senliments in an age, which 
was so unfavorable to g -nuine Catholicism, is worthy of the 
highest praise, and should be imitated by every christian. 
A few months before the pilgrims sailed from Europe, he 
addressed them in the following remarkable strain. 

"Brethren, we a'-e now quickly to part from one another, and 
whether I may ever live to see your face on earth any more, the 
God of Heaven only knows; but whether the Lord hath appoin= 
ted that or not, I chars^e you before God and his blessed an- 
gels, that you follow vie no further than you have seen me fol' 
loiD the Lord Jesus Christ." I{ God reveal any thing to you 
by any other instrument of his, be as ready to receive it as ever 
you were to receive any truth by my ministry; for I am verily 
persuaded, I am very confident, that the Lord has more truth 
yet to break forth out of his holy word. For my part, I cannot 
sufficiently bewail the condition of the reformed churches, who 
are come to a fieriod in religion, and will go no further than the 
instruments of their reformation. The Lutherans cannot be 
drawn to ^o beyond wh^it Luther saw. Whatever part of his 
will our good God has revealed to Calvin, they will rather die 
than embrace it. And the Calvinists, you see, stick fast ivhere 
they were left by that great man of God, who yet saw not all 
things. This is a misery much to be lamented, for though 
they were burning and shininir lights in their times, yet they 
penetrated not into the whole counsel of God, but were they now 
living, would be as willing to embrace yV.r/A^r light as that 
which they at first received." 

In connexion with this extract from the discourse of Mr. 
Robinson, we may introduce a few paragraphs fi'om "the 
first sermon ever preached in New England, and probably 
the first ever preached in America." This was by Mr. 
Robert Cushman in 1G21, a gentleman who "was cho- 
sen agent with Mr. Carver to treat with the Virginia Com- 
pany when our fathers had fixed their purpose to make a 
settlement in North America." The dedict tion prefixed i's 
singular, and runs thus: '•'•To Ms loving friends the adventurers 
for JVew England, together with all well-willers and well-wishers 
thereunto, Grace and Peace, &c." 

The following sentiments of Mr. Cushman are as noble 


as they were appropriate to tlie wants of the audience. 
They were not a rhetorical flourish, but were delivered when 
required to be put into immediate practice. 

**Now, brethrep, I pray you 'remember yourselves, and know, 
that you are not in a retired Monastical course, but have given 
your names and promises one to another, and convenanted here 
to cleave together in the service of God, and the King. What 
then must you do? May you live as retired hermits? and look, 
after nobody? Nay you must seek still the wealth of one ano- 
ther, and enquire as David, How liveth such a man? how is he 
clad? how is he fed? he is my brother, my associate? we ven- 
tured our lives together here, and had a hard brunt of it, and 
we are in league logether. Is his labour harder than mine? 
surely I will ease him; hath he no bed to lie on? why, I have two, 
I'll lend him one; ha:h he no apparel? why, I have two suits, I'll 
give him one of them; eats he coarse fare, bread and water, and 
I have better; why, surely we will part &t<*kes; he is as good a 
man as I, and we are bound each to other, so that his wants 
must be my wants, his sorrows my sorrows, his sickness my 
sickness, and his welfare my welfare* for I am as he is, And 
such a sweet sympathy were excellent, comfortable, yea, hca-- 
venly, and is the only maker and conserver of churches and 
commonwealths; and where this is wanting, ruin comes on quick- 
ly, as it did here in Corinth." p, 23. 

"The country is yet raw, the land untilled, the cities not budd- 
ed, the cattle not settled; we are compassed about with a help- 
less and idle people, the natives of the country, which cannot 
in any comely or comfortable manner help themselves, mucli 
less us. V/e also have been very chargeable to many of our 
loving friends, which helped us hither, and now again supplied 
us; so that before wc think >i gathering riches, we must evens 
in conscience think of requiting their charge, love and labour; 
and cursed be that profit and gain which aimeth not at this. Be- 
sides, how many of our dear friends did here die at our first en- 
trance; many of them no doubt for the want of good lodging, 
shelter, and comfortable things, and many more may go after 
them quick y, if care be not taken. Is this then a time for men 
to begin to seek themselves? Paul saith, that men in the last 
days shall be lovers of themselves, 2. Tim. iii. 2, but it is here 
yet but the first duys, and (as it »vere) the dawning of this new 
world; it is now tberefare no time for men to look to get riches, 
brave cloathes, dainty fare, but to look to present necessities; it 
is now no time to pamper the flesh, live at ease, snatch, catch, 
scrape and pill, and hoard up, but rather to open the doors, the 
chests and vessels, and say, brother, neighbor, friend, what want 
ye, any thing that I have? make bold with it, it is yours to com- 


raiand, to do you srood, to comfort and cherish you, and glad I 
am that I have it for you." pp, 24, 25. 

"And as you are a body together, so hang not together by 
skins and gymocks, but labour td be jointed together and knit 
by flesh and sinews; away with envy at the good of others, and 
rejoice in his good, and sorrow for his evil. Let this day be thy 
joy, and his sorrow thy sorrow,- let his sickness be thy sickness: 
his hunger thy hunger: his poverty thy poverty: and it you pro- 
fess friendship, tie friends in adversity: for then a friend is 
known and tried, and not before." p, 29. 

The success of the colony was such as we should expect 
from such sentiments and sucli people From them many 
of the best men and the best institutions in our country 
have sprung. Their praises will never cease to be celebra- 
ted by their descendants. The stone, upon which the pil- 
grims stepped at Plymouth, is called '■'•Forefatheis' Rock,'''' and 
is thus spoken of in the Massachusetts Historical Collec- 

^'•Forefathers Rock: The face of this rock was, in the year 
1775, taken from its original bed, and placed by the side of a 
♦'liberty pole," which at that time was erected near the Court 
House, and where the rock still remains. The base of the rock 
yet continues, in op^n view, in its original situation, at the head 
of the longest wharf in Plymouth, built on the prei ise spot 
ivhich uniform tradition assigns as its s?ite. There is a tradi- 
tion, as to the person who lirst leaped upon this rock, when the 
families came on shore, Dec. 1 1, 1920: it is said to have been a 
young woman, Mary Chilton, This information comes Irom a 
source so correct; as induces us to admit it; and it is a very prob- 
able circumstance, from the natural impatience in a young per- 
son, or any one, on ship-board, to reach the land, and to escape 
froin the crowded boat. We leave it therefore, as we find it, in 
the hands of history, and the fine arts." p, 1.74. 

In the same work, it is asserted that ^'■Forefathers Day was 
first publicly noticed in Plymouth, December 22, 1769, by 
the Old Colony Club, which consisted of seven original 
members, and live elected, and was instituted January 13th 
1769, *for mutual edification and instruction.' The Club 
dined in public, and invited a number of the priacipal cit- 
izens to pass their evening at their hall." 

, "The Plymouth Journal, edited and printed by N, Coverly, 
began at Plymouth, March 1785; and continued till June, 1786. 
A confined circulauon, and nearness to the metropolis, [Boston"} 
led to its failure. The Old Colony arms, "Fourmen kneeling, 


implumed hearts in their hands, on a field quarterly, were its 
head ornamei ts : Legend, Plymouth, Novanglia, sigillum so- 
cietatis, 1620. Motto of the paper, Patrum pietate ortxim Ji- 
liorum virtute servandum." p, 177. 

The gentlemen, who have been selected in succession to 
deliver the anniversary discourse at Plymouth, since the 
public notice of the day began, are among the most distin- 
guished of New England, both clergymen and laymen. The 
interest of the occasion increases with the progress of time, 
and with the spread of the people and the institutions, 
\yhose origin is traced back to the Old Colony. The Hon: 
Daniel Webster, as we learn by the papers, is appointed to 
deliver the discourse on the present anniversary, the two 
hundredth, and on that account the most important that has 
ever yet occurred. A better selection could not be made, 
whether we consider the personal virtues of the man, the 
talents which distinguish him in his profession, or the at- 
tainments and abilities which he displayed in Congress, and 
by which he merited the place he received in the iirst rank 
of our eminent statesmen. No man is better qualified to 
trace the influence of the Fathers and their policy through 
successive generations down to the present hour. The tri- 
bute he may pay to their greatness as well as goodness will 
be as sincere as it will be intelligent and just. We have 
room tor only a few remarks from ourselves in honor of 
their characters, but these few may serve to show the depth 
and ardor of our admiration. 

1. What'kind of men were the first and early settlers of 
New England, in their own country, before their emigra- 
tion? They were precisely in the rank of life, and had the 
sort of education, which were best adapted to make them 
truly wise, and extensively efficient. They were not of the 
nobility, though several were descended from youngev 
branches of noble families. They Avere not needy, nor de- 
pendent, but had good estates, good connexions, good rep- 
utations, and good habits. They were under no necessity 
to become adventurers, but could choose their situation and 
mode of life at home, and secure all that they desired except 
the free exercise of iheir religion. Many of them were ed- 
ucated at the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and 
were distinguished as scholars among the first literati of 
their time. Charles Chauncey, afterwards President of 
Harvard College in Massachusetts, was graduated at Cam- 
bridge in England, and was so distinguished in classical 



iearning, and in oriental lan-uages, as well as in scif nee- 
generally, that he received the praise at home of beiw^- 
known and called ''VIR DOCTISSIMUS " William Brad- 
ford, thoug;h he never took degrees at a university, was 
\\q]\ acquainted with Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, and spoke 
iluently French and Dutch. John Checkley, Thomas Cob- 
J)ett, John Lathrop, Samuel Lee, Samuel Newman, Roger 
Williams, Francis Barnard, and a number of others, were 
graduates of Oxford, while from the sister university of 
CaiYibridce we received Tliomos Allen, Simon Bradstreet, 
William Brewster, Peter Buckley, John Cotton, John Elliot, 
John Fisk, Francis Higginson, Thomas Hooker, John Nor- 
ton, John Oxenbridge, Nathaniel Rogers, Thomas Shepherd, 
and many others. All of these came to New-England be- 
tween 1600 and 1700. In the languages, no scholars of our 
country have been equal to them since, although some of 
their descendants have been extremely well educated. One 
of the pupils of the celebrated Archbishop Usher, like his 
master an eminent litcraiiis^^ emigrated to Massachusetts 
from Dublin, and became an ornament of the new world. 
We speak of none, who arrived after 1700, although we 
might Avith propriety do it for the sake of illustrating the 
characters of the founders of New England. We ask for 
a parallel instance of men equally learned and pious, who 
have at the first settled a country, and deliberately arranged 
all its institutions. Respected and meritorious in the high- 
est degree among all who knew them at home, they had 
nothing but principle, philanthropy, and religion to lead 
them from their native country, and to found. a new one. 
Unlike too many adventurers, they fled neither from jus- 
?! (oc noY poverty, neither from embarrassment, nor from ri- 
vaN of superior worth and talent. They were the favour- 
ites of virtue and learning, and enjoyed the highest confi- 
cieiiur cliat man gives to man. 

2 Tlicir reasons for their emigration xverp of the noblest 
and most disinterested character. They sought not to amass 
wealth, to acquire power, to get fame, to make conquests, 
to sJiine in arms, to command in courts, to rule in senates, 
to riot in luxury, to liv^e in indulgence, or to gratify anyone 
of the sordid and selfish passions of the soul; but civil and 
religious hherty, the freedom of thought and action, of con- 
science and virtue, the iisterest of the mind, of learning and. 
science, of improvement and Christianity, were their mo- 
tives to leave one of the finest portions of Europe, and en- 
* Thomas Parker, , "* 


counter all the hardships of a iviiclerness in a country but 
recently discovered. No niotix'es could be more elevated, 
and none have been more signally blessed by Heaven. 
• 3. The means-, which they adopted to carry into cfiect 
their magnanimous designs, were of an equally honorable 
kind. Before the crew of the Mayflower landed, we find 
them entering into asolen:!n covenant on board, with all the 
sanctions of religiou-s j)rinciplc, to pursue their common, 
objects in a spirit of benevolence and perseverance, by the 
purest methods, and with an cntiie submission to the will 
of God. We see them, after their arrival at Plymouth, 
marking out their town with a perfect regard to the rights 
and convenience of all, bearing each others burdens, and 
devoting all their possessions to th.e common good. ^Ve- 
see them making peace and establishing treaties with the 
natives on the most equitable terms, and setting a wonder- 
ful example of integrity in conscientiously making payment 
to the Indians for the corn vrhich they found deserted on. 
the coast. We trace their wisdom and foresiglit througk 
their literary, civil, military, and religious establishments, 
and enquire, if there ever were wiser and bettei- people in. 
such an age, and under such circumstances. We have seen 
a calculation and report, hiahing a comparison between the 
state of education in district schools in tlie metropolis of 
Old England and in that of tlie New. In this it appeared, 
if our memory serves us faithfully, tliat while 126,000 chil- 
dren, between the ages of six and sixteen, were uneducated 
in London, and exposed to all t'ne evils of ignorance and 
vice, only 240 children of the same ages were found in Bos- 
ton in a similar condition. The relative popukition of the 
two to^vns required that the number of 126,000 should be 
leduced to 6000. The valuable compliment, which this 
fact pays to the descendants of the pilgrims, asks not to be 
stated in words. 

The New England fathers settled themselves in towns 
and villages, and did not scatter over a large territory, and 
occupy immense plantations, which must be ei tirely ne- 
glected, or cultivated in a slovenly and inetl^ectual mamer, 
Their ideas of the necessity of social religious worship, 
and their estimate of the value of schools, made them col- 
lect and keep together, and preserved among them a densi- 
ty of population, which was never the natural fruit of the 
primitive institutions of the other colonies- In this respect, 
a remarkable diftercr\ce has shown itself from the first hc^ 


tween them and the adventurers to South Virginia. The 
latter spread themselves over the country, and paid but lit- 
tle attention to the formation of towns and villages, and to 
this day experience the effects of this early mistake in re- 
tarding the facility and perfection with which the details of 
society ought always to be carried on. The actual amount 
of comfort in a community must depend on attention to mi» 
nute arrangements, and the exactness with which they are 
applied to practice. He, who despises the details, that a 
plan requires for its execution, shows but little talent, less 
wisdom, and no consistency. The praise of a vigorous and 
effectual intellect belongs to him only, who makes his 
thoughts and designs produce the ends which he intended, 
and which constitute the value of his whole system of spec- 

If we measure the pilgrims by this standard, we shall find 
no community surpass them in wisdom or talent. 

Since the above was written, and laid aside tatake its turn 
among the papers for our Miscellany, so long a time has e- 
lapsed, that we find ourselves advanced into January before 
our nuinberforDeccmbercan make its appearance, and have, 
in consequence, had an opportunity to read, in the newspa- 
pers, an account of the celebration at Plymouth for the pre- 
sent wnnter. It seems to have been all that its friends could 
have anticipated, if not much more. We are delighted, 
beyond what we can easily express, at the interest, which 
has been so generally manifested on this occasion, and at 
the apparent success, wiih which all the arrangements of 
the day have been carried into effect. The orator has, as 
the papers tell us, met public expectation, and to do this is 
assuredly no small task. Some of the toasts at the dinnes 
are excellent. Mr. Gray's is peculiarly happy, and we give 
it to our readers. 

*»7Vie May-Jiotoer, nvhich brought forth fruit in ivinter; vie 
the stock never fail." 

Professor Everett's also is good, but more laboured. Iti; 
appropriate to the day, and the antiquated word therefrom 
with which it closes, is in keeping with t!ie quotation. Thi 
toast is as follows. 

*-Mr. President. Ai'ow vie to jirofione as a toast the ex- 
press,iQn of Governor Sionghtoii: ''God sifted a whole king 
dom for ibe wheat to sow in this western land," Blessed ^^ 
the harvest ivhich has sprung thcrefro,m'' 


The addresses from the representatives of the several Lit- 
erary and Patriotic Societies, and the interchange of gene- 
rous sentiments between tnem, cannot fail to interest tlie 
hearts of benevolent readers, and to excite r flections in 
the minds of all, which must be favourable to the persons, 
the principles, and the institutions, that have produced such 
valuable results. A more extensive inquiry ought to b& 
made into the moral causes of the excellent state of society 
in New England; or ratlier, the conclusions, to which that 
inquiry leads, ought to be more particularly detailed, and 
more generally circulated, for the benefit of those who are 
studying political economy, as connected with moral philos- 
ophy, letters, and religion. 

There are undoubtedly defects in the character and poli- 
cy of the pilgrims and of their descendants, a concession 
which every community has to make, but which none can 
better afford to make than those who are the subject of this 
article. The religious errors of our forefathers were those 
of the age, and such as naturally arise from great zeal and 
conscientiousness in the cause of piety. Their persecu- 
tions ot sects, who differed from them in opinions and mode 
of worship, were, after all, not very numerous, nor very ex- 
tensive, hew persons actually suffered much on account 
of their creed. Even the Quakers, who are at this day so 
peaceable, and w^ho were so unjustifiably harrassed for 
their faith, offered many provocations to the Congregation- 
alists, and were by no means free from the charge of fanati- 
cism, denunciation, and exclusion. All sects have, without 
exception, persecuted others, in different ages, vvlien they 
obtained tlie power. No class of protestants are free from 
this species of guilt, any more than Roman Catholics. And 
political parties are no more capable, than religious sects, 
of proving tlieir innocence on the score of persecution. In- 
tolerance is very natuial to those, who have power, who are 
the majority, and who are impatient of contradiction, or of 
opposition. '•'-To feel power and forget righV has become a 
proverbial expression even in our own country, free and 
happy as it is Our forefathers ask and need no more than 
a fair analysis of their whole character; and he is not a gen^ 
uine son, who refuses, after full inquiry and a candid and 
liberal trial, lo admire and applaud. 



Although language is one of the best gifts of heaven to 
man, it is inadequate to express all our conceptions and 
emotions. Such thoughts and feelings as arise in the ordi- 
nary intercourse of society, it enables us to communicate 
to each other with tolerable success, though not with abso- 
lute precision. Mutual mistakes are constantly springing 
from the ambiguity and insufticiency of the words, which 
we are compelled to use in our social transactions. It is 
not in the nature of language to exclude ambiguity, or to su- 
persede the necessity of employing our faculties attentively 
and candidly in order to ascertain the real meaning of dis- 
cour e in speech or in writing. It was never designed that 
this great instrument of our improvement should be an en- 
courager of mental sloth, as it would be, were it without 
ambiguity, or diversity of meaning. The ideas, conveyed 
by words, are many or few, in proportion to the degree of 
literary intelligence which may be possessed by the individ- 
uals concerned The same sentences suggest a pro~'igiou» 
diversity of thoughts to different readers or hearers. Some- 
times a book is full of meaning to one man, and is yet a 
blank to another. 

Language is indeed a mean oi thinking, as well as of 
communicating thoughts; still, we have both thoughts and 
feelings before we have words. It is doubtful whether lan- 
guage would be developed in a human creature raised in 
such a degree of solitude as to have no fellow being with 
with whom to converse and sympathize; but there is no 
doubt that a multitude of thoughts and feelings would be 
developed in his mind. Things themselves would furnish 
conceptions and call out emotions, with which his faculties 
could act, and from which he could derive a great variety 
of results. Systematic reasoning, the abstractions neces- 
sary to classification, and the arrangement of scientific in- 
vestigations, demand words tliat they may be recorded and 
communicated to others, and even tiiat the mind itself may 
go far in t'lis kind of labour. Of sensible objects, howev- 
er, we can liave ideas without words, and can compare 
them, and perform many operations concerning them, v»'ith 
nothing but our unnamed conceptions. Innumerable mis- 
cellaneous thoughts and feelings pass through the mind, 
which are never defined by n'ords, never reduced to a visi- 
Mn or audible character in language. The habit of putting' 


our thoughts and feelings into words is acquired, and does 
not, in its most perfect state, extend to all our conceptions 
and emotions. The most we can expect from words is, 
that they shall serve as hints, or occasions, to call out in oth- 
er minds similar operations to those which are going on in 
our own. The delicate and exact parts of our meaning or 
feeling must be left to be gathered from expression? of a gen- 
eral nature, which may or may not lead our fellow creatures 
to the precise results that we wish. There are some arts, 
which have so little connexion with words, that their pleas- 
ures are enjoyed through life by such as never undertake in 
any way to define them. The tongue and the pen are limit- 
ed to the dictionary, but sounds, colors, odors, sensations, 
and associations, can speak to the soul, even with rapture, 
where the terms of the vocabulary can say nothing. 

Words ae arbitrary signs of id^as, and of course can be 
of no sfrvice to him who has not learned the connexion, 
which is established by custom, or who has hot had within 
himself the experience necessary to feel their power. Such 
words as gratitude, love, revenge, jealousy, remorse, home- 
sickness, the loss of a parent, wife, or first born, convey im- 
pressions, and excite emotions, which are immensely differ- 
ent in different minds, according to the actual experience 
of one, or the mere speculative knowledge of another. Un- 
der the influence of strong feeling, words are always tame, 
and frequently offensive. We must become calm, at least 
comparatively, before we can employ them with compla- 
cency. We may trace many of the disputes of the world 
to the incompetency of language to express accurately and 
fully the meanings of the mind. All the subjects of taste, 
of moral sentiment, and of religious feeling, are eminently 
exposed to difficulty on this account. Refined people can 
never agree with those who are coarse; the pure and deli- 
cate can never be understood by the sensual and obscene; 
and tender consciences can never make the hardened and 
seared enter into their scruples and distresses. 

In their best state, words may be compared to the keys 
of a musical instrument with strings If the strings are 
perfect, and in harmony, a tune will be produced when the 
keys are properly struck; but if the strings are imperfect 
either in quality or number, or are not in harmony, th& 
keys may be struck in vain by the most skilful hand; no mu» 
sic can be produced upon them. Words bear a similar re- 
lation to the mind. If the capacities, the experienees, the 


feeling's, are within, words wnll excite them; but if the feel* 
in; s ore not there, if the capacities of one mind fail far short 
or iliose of another, if the same sort of emotions or experi- 
ences be not found in the breasts of those who wish to in- 
terciiange ideas, the words must be sounds without mean- 
ing, and meet the ear in vain. The mere mathematician 
cannot talk with the mere poet. The mere man of avarice 
has no niedium,by which he may understand the pleasures 
«f the man of generosity. The sectarian, who sees truth 
only under a given aspect in the definitions of his party, 
cannot conceive of the propriety and excellence of the men- 
tal operations of a philosopher, who penetrates into the es- 
sence of all sects, and draws out of our common nature the 
princ ipies and motives which make all the forms of religion 
poini io the same end, and require nearly the same virtues. 
Many a plain and honest, but unenlightened christian might 
be found, at this hour, weeping over the supposed errors of 
profound and philosophical minds, which are distinguished 
for a successful pursuit of truth, but whose views require 
great enlargement cf the mental vision in others to be clear- 
ly seen in their proper character, and in all their interest- 
ing relations. The difficulty, which minds of this sort find 
,in conveying their thoughts to the weak and ignorant, is il- 
lustrated by its analogy to the parental forbearance of the. 
Author of Nature. Even this great and good Being shows 
us that it is necessary for him, with all his wisdom and skill. 
to wait long, as we do with our children, for time ai.d expe- 
Tience to unfold the capacities of his creatures, to enable 
them to understand and apply principles and discoveries, 
Wnich the System is calculated to furnish. These difficul- 
ties extend, not only to the works of the Creator, but also 
to bis word. Parents will easily assent to this, when they 
remember, that in their dailyintercoarse with their children, 
important and luminous explanations of the most interest- 
ing points must be d-ferred till the elements of the expla- 
nations may be unfolded in the minds of their children, and 
ba capable of being combined by words in a manner adapt- 
ed to their understandings. Th'e whole frame of nature is 
abook, in which sentences and discoursesof exquisite beau- 
ty and' perfection are v*^ritten, but which time, philosophy, 
and virtue, can alone enable us to read and rightly inter- 
pret. How different are the instructions, which different 
tninds draw from the same page! The man of misanthropy 
or superstition sees only defects, sufferings, or terrors. 


where the man of benevolence and piety finds wisdom to a- 
dore, power and goodness to trust, gratitude to warm and 
elevate his soul, and happiness to enjoy. The ignorant and 
unreflecting stop and rest upon the outward forms of mate- 
rial nature, while the cultivated, the scientific, and the wise, 
penetrate into the all-pervading spirit that animates the visi- 
ble forms, and makes them speak to the intellectual behold- 
er in the accents of heaven and the Divinity. 

Although we must have within us perceptions, feelings, 
and experience, before we can understand the language, 
which is designed to act upon them, yet the signs and the 
things, the words and the ideas, may iiave a reciprocal influ- 
ence, and promote their mutual progress. The elements of 
an illustration by words may often exist in the mind in a 
miscellaneous and unconnected state, and their affinity be 
too feeble, or the intellect too inactive, lo bring them to- 
gether, and to make them a useful and consistent whole, 
without foreign aid and excitement. Such a mind may be 
able to follow the luminous discourse of another, which is 
already disciplined and informed, and may thus be led to 
call together the scattered elements of the illustration, and 
to rejoice in the result with equal surprise and delight. If 
the strings and all the essential parts of the musical instru- 
ment are found within it, notwithstanding they may be un- 
wound, or loosened, or transposed, or out of harmony, or in 
anyway disordered,the skilful artist may soon arrange them, 
and make the keys discourse excellent music. In one res- 
pect, however, the musical instrument fails to illustrate the 
nature of the connexion between words and the operations 
of the mind. Tlie keys touch all the strings and produce all 
:he sounds, which the instrument is calculated to receive 
and furnisli; but words reach a part only of our concep- 
tions and emotions, v/hile there are others still more nume- 
sous which consciousness alone can touch and enjoy. If 
the instrument were endowed with life and a soul, and, af- 
ter the keys had played their limited number of changes, 
could, by lis own internal jiower, move the strings as the 
mind moves the nerves, and produce an infinite variety of 
exquisite m.elodies in moiai sentiment, it would then afford 
a full and perfect illustration. 

In all the arts and sciences, the difficulty, which arises 
from the imperl'ection of language, from its inadequateness, 
even in its most perfect state, to meet all the wants of the 
mind, is felt and acknowledged. We borrow from each 



Other; we go from niinJ to matter, and from matter to mind; 
we range through all the professions, and all the mechani- 
cal employments; and we adopt all modes, literal and figu- 
rative, to make our- thoughts intelligible to others; and, af- 
ter all, we are completely understood but by a few, and by 
none who suppose that words are to do the whole, that 
language is omnipotent, and that activity and candor are 
not necessary in the minds of those, who read or hear, who 
write or explain. The moral teacher, the expounder of the 
principles of taste, the ablest investigator of the human 
head and heart, the best interpreter of religious sentiment 
and hope, is compelled to resort to every variety of experi- 
ence, observation, and pursuit, in order to illustrate anden» 
force the principles of truth, the beauties of virtue, the 
pleasures of benevolence, and the affections of the chris- 
tian. From the physician we learn, as moralists and theo- 
logians, to speak of the health and diseases of the mindj stimu- 
lants for the phlegmatic and slothful^ lenitives for the irrita- 
ble, and the balm of consolation for the afflicted. From tho 
lawyer we borrow the language of tribunals, sanctions, pen- 
alties, acquittal, justijication, or sentence of condemnation from 
our supreme Jwc^^e. P'rom the musician we take the tone 
and harmony of feeling and sentiment, or the discords of jeal- 
ousy and hatred; from the natural philosopher, motive for 
the will, gravity lor demeanor, a prop for the aged and fee- 
ble, and a balance for the passions of all. To the painter we 
are indebted for the light and shade of character, for rich-* 
ness of color and delicacy of touch, while from the sculptor 
we learn to chip and chisel the rough marble of our nature 
till we produce, by time and art, the finished Apollo of the 
moral world. From gardening and agriculture we have 
drawn out an immense vocabulary for the use of moral sci- 
ence. We cultivate the mind, we sow the seeds of virtue, we 
ingraft good and pious sentiments, and we reap a harvest of 
happiness in the fields of benevolence. 

But with all our expedients we do not advance a step be- 
yond those capacities of the mind which experience has 
unfolded, and which, so far as verbal illustrations are con» 
cerned, are an indispensable p eliminary to the knowledge 
that kijiguage can aid in exciting. Words may be taught 
first, and the mind beleft to apply them aiterward to ideas 
and feelings as they are gradually evolved. But as words 
re arbitrary signs of ideas, and have many different appli- 
^ions, their definitions become exceedingly multiplied 


Each word must depend upon its connexion in a sentence 
or discoursf for its meaning in the given instance. Few 
words can be named, each of winch has but a single mean- 
ing, or more properly an unchanging application, the same 
force at all times, in our own language, the number of 
modifications varies from two or three to two or three score, 
according to the enumeration in a standard authority.* The 
meanings are still more multiplied, when we consider the 
different countries and smaller districts where the same 
language is spoken. To this variety we have to add the 
peculiarities which grow out ot sects and parties. Their 
watch words, though heard without any other than com- 
mon emotions by the enlightened and catholic, will be as- 
aociated with violent passions and the whole train of party 
interests among the initiated. 

The study of words is the study of the operations of the 
mind to a certain extiint, the study of the analogies by which 
it proceeds, the study of such of its results as it has been 
able to arrive at for common use. But the homonymy of' 
language is inconceivably various, and continually increas- 
ing as long as it lives, and as rapidly as it becomes copious. 
Many words (to use a term introduced by Coleridge) are now 
completely desynonymized^ which were originally identical, 
or the same in the root. Literary power is gained in this 
manner, and the ingenuity of the mind thus extends its con- 
quests to new territories of philosophy, and gains new re- 
sources for the supply of its vocabulary. Both synonymes 
and homonymes enrich a language for the purposes of the 
philosopher, the poet, and the ©rator, although they never 
can bring all the operations of the soul under the dominion 
of the dictionary. Much must be left to the activity of the 
mind, and to the candor and integrity of readers and hea-- 
ers. The transitive or derivative meanings of words indefi- 
ilitely outnumber the primitive. Our most literal senten- 
ces constantly introduce figures, as we find whenever we 
enter upon the curious and ample field of etymology. Ev- 
ery important word is a tune with variations, and the varia- 
tions, although preserving the original air, are so numerous, 
■a v.l lead us so far from the original order of notes,tiiat great 
talent and a fine tact are necessary to follow out the changes 
and subtile analogies. 

We are not to expect from language a degree of precis- 

• In Johnson, the word make, in all its changes as a noun and a \ erb, and 
Jn^sonnexion with prepositions, has, as he numbers them, 71 application;; 


ion and ceftainty, either when used by others or by our- 
selves, which, from its nj ture, it evidently can 'Ot atTord. 
Our expressions partake of the peculiarities of our modes of 
thinking, and an- rarely viewed under precisely the same as» 
pi c{, in which ihey present themselves to our own attention. 
Common sense and common equity direct us to supply all 
the qualifications and ellipses, with which every discourse 
inust be accompanied. However important words may be 
m the management of our reasoning powers, we are always 
to remember that tficy do not precede, but follow the ope- 
rations of the mind. It is enough to satisfy us of this truth, 
if we reflect a moment upon the manner in which childien 
acquire ideas, and afterwards get the command of language^ 
It is manifestly contrary to the fact to suppose that the words 
are first, or that words excite the first connected idea& 
which are found in tlieir minds. Sensible objects first act 
upon the intellectual powers, and produce the first diss of 
perceptions. Both thoughts and feelings are, for a. long 
time, in the mind, before words are distinguished from in- 
articulate sounds and unmeaning cries.. The testimony of 
deaf and dumb persons, who in adult years, learn to write 
language, is, as we have had frequent occasions to know, 
that they had many ideas about reason, sentiment, duty, re- 
sponsibility, mind and matter, before they obtained any 
knowledge of words. We see them communicate their 
thoughts and sentiments to each other by visible signs, en- 
tirely without the intervention of words. 

It is rather astonishing that any body should ascribe to 
words ihe power of creating ideas in a mind where the el- 
ements of the ideas do not exist, and where of course the 
means of understanding the definitions of the terms are not 
to be found. Definitions are offered in vain to such as have 
not beforehand a knowledge of the terms in which the de- 
finitions are conveyed. lie who has never seen any of the 
simple colors, who has not had the sensations which they 
excite by means of the eye, can never arrive at any concep- 
tion of them by tiie aid of language. The spirit of this OD- 
servation extcMvJ:^ to all subjects, ,with which words are 
connected. Taey are jiot})ing more than instruments of act- 
in"^ u}ion materials already in the mind. They enable us to 
work up the materials into any shape we wish, but they 
create nothing. They multiply our speculative powers, and 
arc analogous' to the eilccts of the lever, the wheel, the 
screw, and the pul!y, upon irsatter, in enabling a given de- 


gree of mental strength to accomplish, by their aid, what 
could not have been accomplished withoat it. The mechan- 
ical powers create no force, uiiich i.s not in the sabsiunces 
employed, but make such applications of the force as 
tiply the efiect. Words are not the creators of mind, but 
call it out, and furnish a lever to its powers, by \vhich ihey 
can ra^.se, not the material world of Archimedes, but the uoild 
of science, phiiosophy, and imagination. Mind however uw.'^t 
act upon the lever, and must furnish the fulcrum,or ratlier must 
discover where the fulcrum is placed in our nature, and must 
put the lev rupon it. Wordsalone,it is obvious, are as useless 
as the lever would be without the fulcrum, and without the 
power to act upon its appropriate end. They, wiio give up 
tlie use and employment of the mind, because they have 
written words to inform them of all tliey most wish to know, 
forget that even the mechanical powers cannot act alone, 
but must have a director and guide. Tiie screw must have 
some one to turn it, the wheel must have a hand to give it 
motion, the pully must have an ag*^nt to draw its cords, and 
the inclined platie requires a weight to be placed upon its 
surface before its laws can show their force. Whatever dis- 
coveries our books may contain, and however valuabh they 
maybe, our minds must be kept alive, and our faculties 
employed in amassing the knowledge, upon which the words 
rest for their nieaning, or the discoveries are nothing to us, 
and the language is an unknown tongue. Those, who rely 
upon words for their opinions, dispute as much with eack 
other as those do who rely upon things. And it is a benev- 
©lent provision in nature, that nothing shall supersede the 
necessity of using the faculties of our minds in gaining or 
preserving all real knowledge, and in enjoying all the genu- 
ine and lasting pleasures of moral improvement and reli- 
gious sentiment. A revelation by words is of most value to 
him, who attends to the revelation by thingr, and wl.'o uses 
the capacities of his nature to make each illustrate the oth- 
er. Articulate sounds are the privileges of man above the 
animals around him, and language is no doubt one of tlie 
principal means of his superior improvement. Many of 
the intellectual powers, and of the aifections too, belong to 
him and to them in common. Both think and feel, but he 
alone can talk, read, write, abstract, generalize, and im})rove 
himself, generation upon generation, and this chiefly b\ the 
aid of that wonderful instrument language, the worker of 
so many intellectual miracles. All tins praise it deserves, 


but still let its imperfections, its ambiguities, and its inade- 
quateness, b'? fairly acknowledged, and as fuil a guard a» 
possible placed against unnecessary errors from these sour- 
ces. It is delightful to address ourselves; to minds, which 
«ire so cultivated and elastic that every idea we present to 
them, not only is received, but rebounds attended by a crowd 
of others of a kindred nature and spirit. On the other 
hand, deliver us from an intercourse with those, on whom 
the best and most' brilliant conceptions fall like balls upon 
lead. We are to excite and exalt ourselves, or we shall not 
be permanently excited and exalted.* The gods give every 
thing to labor, and nothing to ir dolence. We are to mul- 
tiply the power and variety of consciousness. If our minds 
will not take up the trains of thought, which the words of 
others are designed to produce, and if we will not follow 
them out with our own activity, we must not expect to learri 
much truth, or to get much wisdom and enjoyment, either 
from men ©r the gods. We must be instruments of music 
with neither defective, nor broken and disordered strings, 
but must keep the nerves of our minds in constant harmony 
land elasticity, that whenever the keys of our souls are struck, 
tliey may pour forth celestial sounds. 


Our readers may be gratified with the following tabular 
view of Languages, which we have taken from a work 
that is very rare in our country, and that is evidence of ve- 
ry great learning and of most laborious research. This 
work is entitled '•'•Monde PrimitiJ\ analise et compare av'c It 
JS'Iondc Modenie^ considere dans son Genie Allegorique et dans Us 
allegories aitx quelles conduisit ce Genie; Sic; par M. Court d% 
■Gebelin, a Paris^ llSl.''^ Nine volumes 4 to. 



f Arabc. Samaritain. 

j Syriaque. Mede et Perse, 

L'Hebrew et J Chaldaique. Armenien. 

ses Dialectes. \ Ethiopen. Maltois. 

Egyptirn. Sil'iaie, Showiah. 

\ Phcnicicn-. Maiais. 




[^L'EscLAVON et 
5es Dialectes. 

Le Celte et 
ses Dialectes. 

^ Russe. 
I Polonois. 


Langue de Mona. 

Les Langues Filles des { Phrygien. 
Oiientales 2c du Celte. ) Grec. 


Langue Erse. 
Bas Breton. 


Le Cimbre, ou RtJ- 

KIQUE d' Od 

Dano-Gothique, ou 
ancien Danois. 

jScano Gothique, ou 
ancien Suedois 


Le Thueto.n, 
ou ancien 

lAnglo-Saxon, d'ou 
lAnglois &,Ecossois, 
Le vieux Frison. 

d'ou PAllemand mod? 
Flamand & HoUandoia^ 

Les Langues Modernes, 
Filles du Latin &.du Celte 

Direrses Langues d'Asie. 

Francois. Langue d'Oc & 
Italien. ses branches. 

Espagnol. Valdois. 

Portugais. Grison. 

Chinois. Persatt, 

\ Indien & ses Dialectes. Turc. 

Et tout autant de Vocabularies que j'ai pu analyser. 
Tartaree. Huron. 

Hongrois. Caraibe. 

Lapon. Taitien et autres d'Amerique 


Monde Primitif, torn: I, p, 35. 


In Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, volume VI, nnm» 
ber III, for December 1819, we find a notice of a work en- 
titled the '■^Literary Pocket Book.^^ Although Blackwood's 
writers are, or attempt to be, extremely severe upon Leigh 
Hunt and his friends, who appear to be the author? of the 
Pocket Book, yet the extracts, which are made from it, are 
of so peculiarly interesting a character, that we have a very 


earnest desire to see the whole work. Thp design of it i& 
to furnish an almnnac and memorandum book, arranged in 
a convcnioit manner to receive any notices, which the own- 
er mvtv ivcord with the time and the circumstances, whil© 
instructive and amusing matter is provided for tlie reader, 
both in prose and poetry. Observations are made upon the 
months and their names, which are food for the naturalist, 
the scholar, the antiquary, and the moralist. Some of the 
most exquisite thinking and feeling are found in this little 
work, f'lat we have met with for a long period. The fol- 
lowing is a specimen. 

"But the very Irost itself is a world of pleasure and fairy 
bep.oty. 1 he snow dant es down to earth, filling all the airy va- 
can-. y with a giddy whiteness; and, minutely inspected, every 
p iilide IS a crystal-star, ih. delit^ht tjerhaps of myriads of in- 
visible eyes. Tne ice, hereafter destined to temper dulcet 
ceams for us in the hen of summer, affords a new and rare 
pastime for the skaiter, almost next to flying; or, suddenly suc- 
ceeding to rain, strikes the trees and the grasses into silver. 
But what can be more delicately beautiful than the spectacle, 
\vhich Sometimes salutes the eye at the bieakfast-room-window, 
occasioned by th? hoar frost, or frozen dew? II a jeweller had 
come to dress every plant over night to surprise an eastern sul- 
tan, lie conic! lun produ e atv thing like the pearly drops, or 
the. s)h ery plumage. An ci dinary bed of greens, to those who 
are n<it at the niert v of thtirown vulgar association*, will some- 
limes l.)ok like crisp and corrugated emerald, powdered with 

Nothing was ever more inimitably touched by the pencil 
of genius than tliis. Of all persons, who are known to us 
by their writings, Leigh Hunt has, in our opinion, the most 
perfect scnsibiiiiy to the delicate beauties of nature, and 
the less obvious but refined sentiments of the soid. He 
strikes upon more ofour heartstrings than any modern au- 
thor, and makes them vibrate more exquisitely to his won- 
derful touch. He has a remarkably ftoncsf mind and heart, 
and is tr<.f fo his feelings even beyond a parallel among his 
contf ,i; •, jries. A set of coarse' fellows are attacking him 
in EiacKwood, and in the Quarterly Kevicw, but all of thein 
togcuier ctfiild not produce any thing equal to his "Story of 
Rimini."'" Hnch a creature as GiiTord,' late editor of thr: 
Quarj'-.iy, had 'no part of the p^stgtf^, and no single endow- 
icck. o'' soui, requisite to enter into the conceptions cf a 
minu Hunt's. The brain and heart ot Gilford must 


have bad an organization like an elephant's hide, and have 
been as impenetrable as brass. The witlings of Blackwood 
attempt to fix upon Hunt and his friends a charge, which 
belongs remarkabh' to themselves, that of forming the 
^'•Cockney School.'''' Never were there better specimens of 
^^ Cockney Cridcism'^^ than all the articles of Blackwood in 
derision of Hunt. 

But our purpose is not to defend the author of the Sto« 
ry of Rimini, but to express our pleasure in reading the ex- 
tracts from the Pocket Book. We mean hereafter, if our 
leisure will permit, to review Rimini, and make an attempt 
to do justice to a poem, which so many blockheads have as- 
sailed with stupid malevolence At present, we turn to 
this uncommon but agreeable and amusing almanac and 
receiver of memoranda. 

The "Calender of Observers" is admirably made out, and 
is designed to give "specimens of tie greater or less enjoy- 
ment which people derive from tlie world they live in, ac- 
cou'd'mg to the number and healthiness of their perceptions.'*'' The 
observers are six, the Mere Lourig-r, t^>e Mere Man of Busi- 
ness, the Bigot, the Mere Sportsman, the Mere Sedentary 
Live', and the Observer of Nature. We will give to our 
readers only two, the Bigot and the Observer of Nature. 
Both are presented in the finest style, and are equally just 
in reference to beings who actually exist, 


" 1 he Bigot sees the sunshine, and thinks how happy he and 
his friends will be in Heaven exclusively. Sees a party going 
toward the country laughing and s^»ily dressed. Sees in them 
only so many devoted victims to eternal fire; calls the world a 
vi e world, and sees his debtor sent to prison. Sees the build- 
ing ot his chapel going on, and counts up his profits monied 
and eternal. Sees his servient bring in a green goose for dinner, 
and says, with an air of delighted regret, that he fears his friend 
the gun maker is too late." 

"T/.'e Observer of J^fature sees the first fine spring day, and 
leaps up with transport. Sees a world full of beauty and plea- 
sure even in towns. Sees the young and iair abroad, and sees 
their lovely countenances and minds. Sees the white pigeons 
careeiing round the steep'e, the horses issuing forth with new 
strength and sorightliness, the dog scampering before his mas- 
ter in hopes he is going towards the fields, and hyacinths, and 
narcissuses, and vioiels in the green markets, and, seeing these, 
he cannot but hasten the faster to see the country. Instead ot 
reading his book st home, he takes it v'ith him- and sccr, wba!; 


Sliterakv pocket book. f)e9^ 

the poets describe. He sees the returning blue of the sky, the 
birds all in moiion, the glancing showers, the after-laughing 
sun, the maiden blossom" in the gaidens, the thickening leafi- 
ness o' th' hedges the perfect young green of the meadows, the 
bustling farn) yards, the fair prospects, the neat and odorous 
bowers, the bee bounding forth with his deep song through the 
lirrhtsone atmosphere, the kids leaping, the cattle placidly gra- 
zing, the rainbow spanning the hills in its beauty and power, 
the showers ag un, the sun triumphmg over the moisture like 
bright eyes above dewy lips, the perfumed rvening, the gentle 
and the virgin moon. Going home, he sees every thing again 
with the united transport of health and imagination, and in his 
dreams sees his friend and his mistress as happy as himself.'* 


*iT/te Bigot sees the beauty of the country, but thinks it 
Wrong to be moved by earthly delights, and hastens home to 
his roist pig. Sees nothing in the world after dinner but a 
fleeting show. Fines it very hot; sees a kind of horrid look in 
the sunshine; and is not quite easy in thinking that nisety nine 
hundredths of bib fellow creatures are to be burnt foieverj 
thinks it impious to suppose his Maker loo kind to suffer it, and 
comtorts himself with c allousness." 

" The Observer of Kature sees the early sun striking raagnifi-' 
cently into the warm mists in the streets, as if it measured them 
with its mighty rule. Sees other effects of this kind, worthy of 
the i CiK il of Canuletto. Sees a thousand shapes and colours 
of be uty as the day advances. Sees he full multitude of 
summer flowers with all their gorgeous hue> of scarlet, purplcj 
and gold; roses, carnations, amaranths, wall flowers, lupins, 
larkspurs, campanulas, golden rods, orchis, nasturtiums, aiid 
the VUirtagon lily or Greek hyacinth And then he sees the 
world wiih a Greek sight, as well as his own, and enj ys his 
books over again. And then he sees the world in a philosophi- 
cal light, and (hen again in a purely imaginative ov.e, and then 
in one purely simple and childlike; and every way, in which he 
turns the face of nature, he finds some new charm of feature OP 
expression, something woudcifil to admire, something aftVc- 
tionate to love. Sees or fancies in some green and watery ■ pot 
the while shceivshearing. Sees the odorous- hay making. Sfc..s 
the landscape with a more intent perfectness from the silence 
of the birds. Sees the insects at their tangleiand dizzy play, 
and fancies what he wel knows, how beautiful they must look, 
some ,\'ith their painted and transpare.u wings, others witfi 
their little trumpets and airy-noddiiig plumes. Sees the sh idy 
richness of the trees, the swallows darting about like winged 
thoughts, the cattie standi ig with cool feet in the water, tli» 
young buiiiers trailing themselves along the stream, or flitting 

i?2«. PeETRY. diB- 

about the sward amidst the breathing air. Sees the silver clouds 
\\hich seem to look out their way far through th^; sky. Sees 
the bees ai work in iheir hurrying communities, or wandering 
ones rushing into the honied arms of the flowers. Sees th« 
storm coTiing up in awful beau y to refresh the world, the an- 
gel-like leaps of the fiery lightning, and the gentle and full 
rain following the thunder like love ushered by mightiness." 

''Divine Nature! And tl'ou, (when the touch of sympathy 
has Ilia e thee wise,) diviner Human Nature! How is he strick- 
en dumb who would attempt to record the Sinallest part of the 
innumerable jo\ s of your intercourse! He becomes as muie a« 
your own delight, when mind hangs enamoured over beauty." 

It cannot be denied that Leigh Hunt has some afifectatioM, 
some false taste, some disagreeable peculiarities of style, 
and a good deal of ba 1 versification, but he has a truth, and 
simplicit}-, and feeling, and patho« about him, that compen- 
•ate for all. He makes us acquainted uiih ourselves so 
muc'i better than we were before, and lets us into so many 
new beauties of character, that we forgive him all his fol- 
lies and weaknesses, and render to him the full and joyoui 
tribute of our gratitude and praise. He shows u. how to 
read the book of nature, and make every creature and eve- 
ry scene an inexhaustible mine of wealth in sentiment aftd 


in our number for .Tune 1820^ volume IT, page 320, we published transfe- 
tions of two Latin Enigmas, the originals of which were extracted from 
the Journal of Belles Lettres, formerly edited in this town by VIessieurs 
Mariano and Everett. We have since seen other translations from the 
pen of a lady, which are particularly beautiful and happy, and with 
which we are permitted by the indulgence of a friend, to adorn our 
miscellany. We should be not a little gratified, as well as our readers, 
could the same playful and elegant fancy be induced to allow more of 
its productions to meet the public eye in the pages of our work. 


"Est Graium nomen. Charites risere, Venusque, • 
Nascentique, scio, fidit Amor pharetram. 

^nni terseuijam: excultum mentis acumen: 
Dnlcia verba melos; conspice, — nosce,— cave**' 

His PQETBY. !>««. 


Shall hot the Muses give to future fame 

The maid of classic taste and Grecian name? 

At the blest birth of this their favorite child, 

Celestial Venus and the Graces sniil'd: 

Love gave his quiver^ rich with sparkling darts, 

And pleas'd proclaim'd her Queen of subject hearts! 

Scarce eighteen years o'er her fair head have flown, 

And yet each grace, each science, is her own. 

A nectar'd sweetness from her lip distills. 

Behold, beware, unconsciously she kills, 


"Virgineum ut mores nomen, sed nupta. Camoenae 

Donarunt citharam; Jupiter ingenium. 
Dulce-loquens et dulce-canit, licet Anglica verba. 

Os faciesque vocant oscula — sed vetitura." 


Of wedded life, hers are the joys and cares, 
Yet pure as she, whose virgin name she bears. 
Her to their sacred bower the Muses lod. 
And gave their harp; while o'er her. Genius shed 
His inspiration, and, at Jove's command, 
Hi« choicest gifts bestow'd with lavish hand. 
When in seraphic tones she speaks or sings, 
What deep enchantment o'er our souls she flings^ 
But he, who rashly dares her beauty's blaze. 
Or on that vermeil'd lip entranc'd shall gaze. 
Like our first mother on the fatal tree. 
Thinks error sweet, transgression ecstacy. 
Oh, from the fair temptation quickly fly, 
1'is the forbiddca fruit, who tastes must die 

Lines written on the dmih of Lieutenant Yarnall, who was tost 
in the sloop of loar Epemier, returning from a cruize in the 
Mediterranean, to Philadelphia. 

Strike! Strike the string to sorrow dear. 
From nature call the melting tear, 
Yarnall, the firm, liie gay, the brave^ 
Has found, in youth, a watery grave. 

48S0. POETRY. Sljf 

Serene the sky, and mute the blaf?t, 
The flajjging canvass sv^ept the mast, 
Tlie crew tojoy the moments siave, 
fsoT thou, ht upon a leatery grave. 

But hark! the distant thunders roll, 
A sudden ni^hf invest'^ the pole, 
The tempest bursts: the mountain wave 
Presents a yawning tcatery grave. 

itines written by a Gentleman on lea'ing the York SpringSy Pem^ 

ADDRESSED TO MRS. **=^^***** 
Friendship, thou good without alloy, 
That doubiest evfiy hunuxn joy; 

At thy dear shrine I bow. 
When pleasures varied bliss impart, 
Or grief and sorrows wound the heart, 
A radiant Angel thou! 

Oh ! Lady, let me boast the power, 
Whose sweet illusiotis charm'd the hour, 

And sooth'd with magic spell. 
Swift passed the moments, whilst I knew 
The valued cause by which they flew. 

And treasur'd it full welK 

Without alloy! twas rashly said; 
Friendship alas, was never made 

With steady s-tream to flew; 
I priz'd it wandering by thy side, 
But now, the social joy denied. 

Its pleasure turns to woe. 


Lines written after perusing Dugald Steicart^s interesting Essaij 
on '"''The BeautifnV* in his philosophical essays. 


Away with PJiilosopher's rules 

With the trash £^Qd the dogmas of schools! 

tl8 METRY. ' J^ec] 

Which teach of true heauty the nature. 
And distinguish each line and each feature^ 
lor why should they puzzle the hrain, 
And in searching employ so much pain. 
When the whole in dear woman is found, 
Though we search the wide universe round .^ 
Let Burke and let Stewart excel 
In the art of explaining so well, 
How colours first dazzle the sight, 
Whether slraignt lines or flowing are right, 
The beauty of music's sweet note. 
The voice in the nightingale's throat; 
The smoothness and soitness of things, 
And the pleasure that symmetry brings, 
The sweet blushing rose wet with dew^ 
The various landscape in view, 
The sound of the raurmunn? rill. 
And the smooth placid water when still; 
The perfection of forms, and the art 
Which perfection and strength can impaft: 
The combining of all, it is true, 
May belong, my dear creature, to you. 
Thy cheek has the blush of the rose, 
And thy veins the blue bare bells disclosre^ 
As white as the snow is thy skin, 
The emblem of Heaven within; 
Thy form the most perff^ct we know, 
Let the Venus-de-Medici shew! 
How sweet is the beam from thine eye; 
The charm of that languishing sigh! 
Jtn expression which pours forth thy mind 
Where each grace and each virtue we find. 
More sweet thin the dew drop that tear. 
And the smile that like Heaven can cheery 
The accents that fall from thy lip, 
Are like honey for mortals to sip! 
T/iTS, this is true beauty I say, 
Away with your rvle^ then, away! 

i8S#» POETRY. Hil 


Come, soothing sleep, 
My balm, my solace, and my joy, 

In oblivion steep 
Each active sense; each nerve destroy; 
^et no rude thoughts my mind employ. 

Sweet is thy death; 
Centle as dews upon the flowers, 

I feel thy breath 
Suspend the busy active powers. 
And languor seize the passing hours. 

When thou art mine, 
I never wisii thee gone again; 

Nor would repine 
Should'st thou forever kind remain, 
And free my soul from ceaseless pain? 

' 4 
The world no more, 
Its foolish pride and nonsense all, 
N Should I deplore; 
But let ambition rise and fall, 
And fools its miseries, pleasures call. 


Not Love himself, 
Tho' all his ecstacies were mine. 

Nor sordid Pelf 
Would make me more incline 
On this vex'd globe to wander and repine, 


And what is sleep, 
But death to all our woes? 

No wretches weep 
When she around her mantle throws, 
And casual bliss the victim knows. 


SSO yoETRT, Dec. 

Inscription for a targe Bepch tree^ filled withnames carvei 
on the bark. 

Since by \is fruit the tree is known; 

And names ate signs of things, 

And since, by outward traits is show» 

Tt.<' •s^'/cfc from 'vlicnce it springs; 

How Hig'^ified naist bt' the root 

Of this surprising free, 

Th;H hf.iists the variegated /rm't 

Of liuir' ■■! family! 

And to increase the wonder still 

^Tis cii: lous to rf^mfiik, 

"Wt-iii. virtues rai'St tlie branches fiU^ 

It jjuch rare fruit the bark. 


'Midst the toils, and contentions, and tumults of life, 
"When worn down by care, or emb't'er'd by strife; 
O vhitr-f-r sliall man for true ccmfoit repair? — 
T<^ 'hiv'.e sweetest of blessings, the smiles of the Fair. 

"Vv f- t le world looks enchanting, and prospects are brigb^ 
V' ; ■■!< Hope's gayest virion 's unclouoed in light; 
Tm'-Ti, too, 'i-s dr'it;; if;j] our raptures to share 
"^Viih some friend of the heart, some favorite Fair. 


By SdLOMCN Splendid, Esq. Novelist, Poet, &c. &c 

Nig^i^t in her sable car, now seeks the western main, 
And biight Aurora's beams the spangled plain; 
The burnisii'd morning-clouds o'er disi nt liills arise, 
And Sol's resplendent chariot gilds the orient skies; 
Man, from h>& sluaib'rmg couch, r joicins: Nature calls^ 
And qudck, quack, cj^uiiek, the duck responsive squalls' 



mi., 'M' ^sseass= s ,' . , .' . ' . sj m 

\o.. HI. JANUARY, 1821. Num.6. 

The, Lift of Wesley^ and the Rise and Progress of Methodism, by 
Robert Scuthev, Poet Laureate, &e, Jn two volumes, 
8vo pp. 40$, 436, ;V«u) Ym'k, 1820. 

In the notice we are about to take of these interesting 
volumes, we shall carefully fivoid any infringement of the 
rule vre originally prescribed to ourselves, respecting partj 
and sectarian controversy. The volumes under review re- 
late to the origin of a large and growing sect, but they were 
written by a zealous supporter of another sect at least e- 
qually important. While therefore we would not he con- 
sidered, on the one hand, as the advocates of Methodism, 
neither do we, on the other hand, enter into the sympathi ^s 
cf the writer, or appear as the condemners of any religious 
denomination. We would not have it understood however 
that we consider Mr. Southey in any great degree illiberal 
or uncandid. On the contrary we give him credit for the 
display of much impartiality, as well a; pa'.ience and judg- 
ment. We shall have occasion indeed to exercise our pre- 
rogative of finding fault, but, on the whole, we are much 
more disposed to praise than to blame, and while we can- 
pot assent to all the opinions of the writer, or regard with- 
out censure all his remarks, we have no hesitation in say- 
ing that his work is a valuable acquisition to the literary, as 
well as the religious community. It is a collection of im- 
portant and interesting facts, related in a lively and agreea- 
ble manner. To the Methodists, a denomination of Chris- 
tians already numerous and constantly increasing, it cannot 
fail of being an object of curiosity, if not of approbationy 
as it contains the most full account extant of the origin of 
;>lethodism, and of the lives of the distinguished men by 

whom it was founded. Whatever may be their scntim-n^^ 

41 .... 

i^ tiPB OF WFSLEY. jTafii 

Ivith regard to the writer, they will not dispute the general 
accuracy of his narrative, or the authenticity of the sou ces 
from whicli he derived iiis information. To persons of oth- 
©r denominations likewise, the work must be interesting, 
as there is something so remarkable in the opinions and 
©ustoms of this zealous class of people as cannot fail to at- 
tract the notice and rivet the attention of every considerate 
observer. Wesley and his co-adjutors were certainly 
remarkable men, and their labours have had an extensive 
and permanent influence, especially in England and the U- 
nited States. Who then, that has a spark of curiosity, who, 
that loves to trace the lise and progress of sentiments a- 
mong men, and observe the reciprocal influence of condi- 
tion upon opinion, aod of opinion upon condition, can fail 
to read with interest the volumes before us? Moral and in- 
tellectual changes are often of more consequence than po- 
litical revolutions. They are commonly indeed more grad- 
ual in their progress, but they are commonly also more ex- 
tensive and permanent in their effects. Without further 
preface therefore we shall proceed to give a brief epitome, 
(and brief it must necessarily be,) of the contents of the 
tvork under review. 

We are carried back, in the first chapter, to the great 
grandfather of John Wesley, who was a clergyman, but 
having been ejected from his living, resorted to the practice 
of physic, which, according to the custom of the times, he 
had studied as well as theology. His son John , grandfather of 
the founder of Methodism, was also an ejec ed minister, and 
died at the age of thirty three, leaving two sons, the younger 
of whom, Samuel, was only eight or nine years old when he 
lost his parent. Notwithstanding the persecutions of his 
father and grandfather, Samuel became a zealous church- 
man, and being on that account cast oif by his friends, went 
on foot to Oxford, with only two pounds, sixteen shillings^ 
and continued to support himself with great industry and c- 
conomy. At length he took orders, and, having obtained acu-. 
racy in ♦he metropolis, married Susannah Annesley, daugh- 
ter of an ejected minister. 

"She was an admirable woman, of highly improved mind, and 
of a stroni^ and masculine understanding, anexamplary mother, 
a fervent Christian. The marriage was blest in all its circum- 
stances: it was contracted in the prime of their yoiith: it was 
fruitful; and death did not divide them till they .vere both full 
of days. They had no less than nineteen children; but onljs 

i83i. LDFE OP WESLE-f* 

three sons and three daugh-ers seem to have gro\Y» up; and i^ 
is probably to the loss of the others that the father refers in one 
of his letters, where he says, that he had suffered thint>s more 
grievous than death. The manner in which these children 
vere taught to read is remarkable: the mother never began with 
them till they were five years old, and then she mjde them Icara 
the alphabet perfectly in oi.e day: on the next they were put to 
spell and to read one line, and then a verse, never leaving it till 
they were perfect in the lesson." pp 40, 41. 

Mr. Wesley was more fortunate than some of his ances* 
tors, having obtained the living at Epworth as a reward fot 
his zeal in support of the revolution, and the office of chap- 
lain to a regiment for a poem which he published on the- 
batMe of Blenheim. 

His second son, John, the subject of the biography, was 
born at Epworth on the llthof June 1703. When he was 
about six years old, his father's house was burnt, and he 
narrowly escaped being consumed in it. Amidst the hurry 
and confusion of the scene he was forgotten till it was dif- 
ficult and hazardous to attempt his rescue. 

"The father ran to the stairs, but they were so nearly con> 
sumed that they could not bear his weight, and being utterly in 
despair, he fell upon his knees in the hall, and in agony com- 
mended the soul of the child to God. John had been awaken- 
ed by the liglit, and thinking it was day, called to the maid to 
take him up; but as no one answered, he opened the curtains 
a::d saw streaks of fire upon the top of the room. He ran to 
the door, and finding it impossible to escape that way, climbed 
upon a chest which stood near the window, and he was then 
seen from the yard. There was no time to procure a ladder, 
but It was happily a low house: one man was hoist, d on the shoul- 
ders of another, and could then reach the window, so as to 'ake 
him out: a moment later and it would have been too late: the 
vhole roof fell in, and had it not fallen inward, they must all 
have been crushed together. When the child was carried out 
to where his parents were, the father cried out, *Come, neigh- 
bours, let us kneel down: let us give thanks to Godl he has giv- 
en me all my eight children: let the house go, 1 am ri. h enough.' 
John Wesley remembered this providential delivt ry through 
life with the deepest gratitude. In reference to it he had a house 
in flames engraved as an emblem unaer one of his portraits, 
with th'^se words for the motto, 'Is not this a brand plucke4 
out of the burning?* 

The third son, Charles, the zealous and able associate of his 
brother in his future labours, was at this time scarcely two 
^Qths old." pp. 43, 44. 

J?/* LIFE OF WESLBt. /ff«. 

Both these children, as well as iheir elder brother Samu- 
el, received from their mother a strictly religious education;; 
but to John, whos? temarkable preservation had strongly 
impressed her mind, she devoted her chief attention. 

During his conti'riualice at school, we tute told, certain 
■wonderful occurrences tdok pltice, trhidh We are surpris- 
ed to find Mr. Southey has the credulity to regard as su- 
pernatural. For the arnasement of our readers we will co- 
py his account of them. 

"At the latter end of the year 1^15, the maidservant wae 
terrified by hearing at tlie dining-room door several dismal 
groans, as of a person at the point of death. The family gave> 
little heed to her story, and endeavoured to la»jgh her out of her 
fears; but a few nights afterward they began to hear strange 
tno kings, usually three or four at a time, in different parts of 
the house: eVery person heard these noises except Mr. W*'sley 
himself, and as, according to vulgar opinion, such sounds were 
not audible by the individual to w horn they foreboded evil, they 
refrained from telling him, lest he snould suppose that it beto- 
kened his own death, as they indeed all apprehended. At; 
length, however, the disturbance became so great and so fre- 
quent; that few or none of the family durst be alone, and Mrs. 
Wesley thought it better to inform her husband; for it ^a as not 
possible that the matter could long be concealed from him; and 
moreover, as she says, she was minded he should speak to it. 
The noises were now various as well as strange, loud rumblings 
above stairs or below, a clatter amorg a number of bottles, as if 
they had all at once been dashed to pieces, footsteps as of a man 
going up and down stairs at a:ll hours of the night, sounds like 
that of dancing in an empty room the door of which was lock- 
ed, gobbling like a turkey cock, but most frequently a knocking 
about the beds at night, and in difterent parts of the house. 
Mrs. Wefeley wbuld at^first have persuaded the children and 
Servants 'that it was occasioned by rats within doors, and mis- 
ci ievou's persons without, dnd her husband had rt course to the 
satiie ready soliitibn; or some of his daughters, he supposed, sate 
rx\) jate and made a noise; and a hiiit that their lovers might have 
sotiiething to do with the mystery, mdde the young ladies heartily 
hop* be might soon be convinced that there was more in the 
matter than he Vvas i-.isposed to believe. In this they V^ere not 
disappointed, for on <he next night» a little after midnight, he 
■was awaketied by nine loud and distind knocks, which seemed 
to be in the next room, with a pause at every third stroike. He 
rose and went to see if he could discover the cause, but could 
perceive nothing; still he thought it might be some persdn out 
of dctol's, ianU relied tipon a stout mastiff torid them of this mi 


sance. But the dog, which upon the first disturbance had bark- 
ed violently, vvas ever afterwards cowed by it. and seeming more 
terrified than any of the children, came whining himscif to his 
master and mistress, as if to seek protection in a human pres- 
ence. And hen the man servant, Robin Brown, took the mas- 
tiff at night into his room, to be at on e a guard ar d oonipanion, 
as soon as the latch began to jar as usual, the dog crept into bed, 
and barked and howled so as to alarm the house. 

The fears of the family for Mr. Wesley's life being removed 
as soon as he had heard the misterious noises, they began to ap- 
prehend that one of the sons had .tiet wiih a violent death, and 
more particularly Samuel the eldest. The father, therefore, 
one night after several deep groans had been heard, adjured it 
to speak if it had power, and tell him why it troubled the house; 
and upon this three distinct knockings were made. He then 
questioned it if it were Samuel his son, bidding it, if it were, 
and could not speak, to knock again; but to their great comfort 
there was no further knocking that night; and when they heard 
that Samuel and the two boys were safe and well, the visitations 
of the goblin became rather a matter of curiosity and amuse- 
ment than alarm. Emilia gave it the name of old J'^ffery, and 
by this name he vvas now known as a harmless, though by no 
means an agreeable inmate of the parsonage. JeiTery was not 
a malicious goblin, but he was easily offended. Before Mrs. 
Wesley was satisfied that there was something supernatural in 
the noises, she recollc cted that one of her neighbours had fright- 
ened the rats from his dwelling by blowing a horn there: the 
horn, therefore, was borrowed, and blown stoutly about the house 
for half a day, greatly against the judgment of one of the sis- 
ters, who maintained that if it was any thing supernatural it 
Vould certainly be very angry and more troublesome. Her o- 
pinion was verified by the event; Jeffery had never till then be- 
gun his operations during the day; from that lime he came by 
day as well as by night, and vvas louder than before. And he 
never entered Mr. Wesley's study till the owner one day rebuked 
him sharply, called him a deaf and dumb devil, and bade him 
cease to disturb the innocent children, and come to him in his 
study, if he had any thing to say. This was a sort of defiance, 
and Jeffery therefore took him at his word. No other person 
in the family ever felt the goblin, but Mr. Wesley was thric© 
pushed by it with considerable force. 

So he himself relates, and his evidence is clear and distinct. 
He says also, that once or twice when he spoke to it, he heard 
two or three feeble squeaks, a liitle louder tha:, the chirping of 
a bird, but not like the noise of rats. What is said of an actual 
appearance is not so well confirmed. Mrs. W^esley thought 
she saiv something v\\n from under the bed, and thought it most 
Mk© a badger, but she could not well say of what shapej and 

/326 l,iPK OF XVESLB?* Wan. 

the man saw something like a white rabbit, which came from 
behind the oven, with its ears flat iijion the neck, and its little 
scut stcndiui? straight up. A shadow may possibly explain the 
first of these appearances; the other may be imputed to that 
pronencss which ignorant persons so commonly evince to ck- 
aggerate in all uncommon cases. Tiiese circumstances, there- 
fore, though apparently silly in themselves, in no degree invali- 
date the other parts of the story, which rest upon the concur- 
rent testimony of many intelligent witnesses The door was 
once violently pushed aga nst Emilia, when there was no per- 
son on the o'ltsi e; the latches were frequently lifted up; the 
windovTs clattered always before Jeffery entered a room, and 
■whatever iroU'OF brass was there, rung and j irred ex eedingly. 
It was observed a^so, that the wind commonly rose after any of 
his noises, and increased with it, and whistled around the house. 
Ml . Wesley's trencher (for it was efore our potteries had push- 
ed their ware into every village throughout the kingdom) danced 
tipon the table, to his no small amazement; and the hand of 
Robin's hand-mill, at anovhcr time, was turned with great 
swiftness: unluckily Robin had just done grinding; nothing vex- 
ed him, he s;iid, but that the mill was empty; if there had been 
corn in it, Jeffery might have ground his heart out before he 
would have disturbed hirn. It was plainly a Jacobite goblini 
and seldom suffered Mr. Wesley to pray for the King and Prince 
of Wales without disturbing the family prayers. Mr. Wesley 
vas sore upon fsis subject, and became angry, and therefrre re- 
peated the prayer. But when Samuel was informed of this, his 
remark v-as, 'As to the devil's being an enemy to king George^ 
were I the king niyse f, I should rather Old Nick should be my 
enemy than my friend.' The children were the only persons 
M'ho were distressed by those visitations; the manner in which 
they were affected is remarkable: when the noises began they 
appeared to be frightened in their sleep, a sweat came over 
them, and they panted and trembled till the disturbance was so 
loud as to awaken them. Before it ceased, the family had be- 
come quite accustomed to it, and were tired with hearing or 
speaking ot it. 'Send me some news,' said one of the sisters 
to her brother Samuel, 'for we are secluded from the sight or 
licaring of any versal thing, except Jeffery.' " pp. 49 — 53. 

Is it not surprising that, at the present time of day, after 
so many impositions upon weak minds have been practiced 
and detected, a man of Mr. Soiitbey's intelligence and 
knowledge of the world, should seriously relate such ridic- 
Tilous stories, and gravely argue in favour of their truth? 
We cannot agree with him that the importance of the end 
ihey miglit be designed to accomplishj could require or i^- 

1821. LIFE OP WBSLE't. 837 

diicc the employment of such means. God does not unne* 
cessarily or liglitly interrupt the established course of na- 
ture, nor is it consistent with his wisdom to warn and alarm 
the thoughtless or profane by visiters from the world of spi- 
rits. We had supposed that a belief in stories of ghosts 
and hobgoblins v?as confined in our day to the weak and il- 
literate, and ittle did we expect to find a man of learning 
and talents disposed to give credit to them. We suspect, 
h'^wever, notwithstanding all the testimony by whicli Mr. 
Southey may think them supported, and notwithstanding all 
the authority they may derive from his belief, he will have 
few readers, who will regard them as any thing more than 
creatures of imagination, the offspring of credulity and su- 

Wesley was educated at Oxford, where he obtained a rep- 
utation for industry and acquirements, and was particularly 
noticed for his skill in logic, and his dexterity in reasoning. 
Having completed his regular course as an undergraduate, he 
hesitated about assuming the responsible office of a clergy- 
man, and applied himself with diligence to his preparatory 
studies. Two books that he read at this time made a deep 
impression on his mind, the one entitled De Imitatione Chris- 
tie attributed to Thomas A. Kempis, and the other Rules of 
Hohj Living and Dying, by Jeremy Taylor. 

<*It is curious to observe the opinions of the young theolog-iaii 
at this time upon some of those topics, whereon he enlarged 
.so copiously, and acted so decisively in after-life, Jeremy 
Taylor had remarked that we ought, »in some sense or other, 
to think ourselves the worst in every company where we come.* 
The duly of absolute humility Wesley at once acknowledged; 
Init he denied that this comparative humility, as he called it, 
Avas in our power; it could not be reasonable, or sincere, and 
therefore it could not be a virtue. The bishop had affirmed, 
that we know not whether God has forgiven us. Wesley rould 
not assent to this position. 'If,' said he, 'we dwell in Christ 
and Christ in us, which he will not do un ess we are regenerate, 
certainly we tnust be sensible of it. If we can n ver have any 
eertainty of our being in a state of salvation, good reason it is 
that every moment should be spent, not in joy, but in fear and 
trembling; and then undoabledly in this life we are of all mea 
most miserable. God deliver us from such a fearful expecta- 
tion! Humility is undoubtedly necessary to salvation, and if 
•all these things are essential to humility, who can be humble? 
who can be .saved? That we can never be so certain of the 
j»ardon of our sins, as to be assured they will never rise up a:- 


gainst us, I firmly believe. We know that they will infallibl;^ 
do so it we apostatize; and I am not satisfied what evidence 
there can be of our final perseverance, till we hav- finished our 
course. But I am persuaded we may know if we are now in a 
state of salvation, sime that is expressly promised in the Holy 
Scriptures to our sincere endeavours, and we are surely able to 
judii:e of our own sincerity.' He was startled at that part of 
our articles which bears a Calvinistic anpearance 'As I undei*- 
stand faith,' said he, Ho be an assent to any truth upon rational 
grounds, I do not think it possible, without perjury, to swear X 
believe any thing, unless I have reasonable grounds for the per- 
suasion. Now, that which contradicts reason cannot be said 
to stand upon reasonable grounds, and such, undoubtedly, is 
every proposition which is incompatible with the divine justice 
or mercy. What then shall I say of predestination? If it was 
inevitably decreed from eten.ity that a determinate part of man- 
kind should be sailed, and none beside them, a vast part of the 
world were only born to death, without so much as a pos- 
fibility of avoiding it. How is this consistent with the divine 
•justice or mercy? Is it merciful to ordain a creature to ever- 
lasting misery? Is it just to punish man for crimes which he 
could not but commit? That God should be the author of sin 
and injustice, which must. I think, be the consequence of main- 
taining this opinion, is a contradiction to the clearest ideas w® 
have ot the divine nature and perfectious.' His mother, to 
■whom these feelings were imparted, agreed with him that the 
Cavinistic doctrine of predestination was shocking, and ought 
utterly to be abhorred. The church doctrine, she argued, if it 
were properly understood, in no wise derogated from God's free 
grace, nor impaired the liberty of man; for there could be no 
more reason to suppose that the prescience of God is the cause 
vhy so many finally perish, than that our knowing the sun will 
rise to-morrow is the cause of its rising. But she wondered 
why men S'lould amuse themselves with searching into the de- 
crees of God, which no human an could fathom, and not rathe» 
employ their time and powers in making their own election 
sure. 'Such studies,' she said, 'tended more to confound thaa 
to inform the understanding: but as he had entered upon it, if 
her thoughts did notsatisfy him, he had better consult his father, 
who was surely much better qualified for a casuist than her- 
»elf.'" pp. 60—62. 

Wesley now resolved to change his whole course of life, 
T\'ent into retirement, and, together with his brother Charles 
and a few undergraduates, formed a religious society, which 
»oon became an object of derision at Oxford, and was nick- 
named the Poly or the Gocily Club, its members, from their 


fystematic and methodical course of life, being sarcastical- 
ly called Methodists. Among them was George VVhiu field, 
who afterwards became so conspicuous as an empassioned 
and popular preacher. 

"He describes himself as froward from his mother's womb; 
so brutish as to hate instruction, stealing from h s mother's pock- 
et, and frequently appropriating to his own use the money that 
he took in the house. 'If I trace myself,' he says, 'from my 
cradle to my manhood, I can see nothing in me hut a fitness to 
be damned; and if the Almighty had not prevented me by his 
grace, I had now either been sitting in darkness and in the shad- 
ow of death, or condemned, as the due reward of my crimes, 
to bt forever lifting up my eyes in torments.' Yet Whitefield 
could recollect early nvovings of the heart, which satisfied him 
in afterlife, that 'God loved him w th an everlasting love, and 
had separated him even from his mother's womb, for the work 
to which he afterwards was pleased to call him.' He had a de- 
vout disposition, anc' a tender heart." pp. 70,71. 

Wesley now "began to doubt the utility, and even the 
lawfulness, of carnal studies," and seriously argued against 
die acquisition of knowledge. We have already expressed 
©ur opinions, very much at large, upon this subject, and 
have endeavoured to point out the inestimable value of 
learning to a divine.* We shall not therefore occupy any 
space at present with remarks upoa the dangerous senti- 
ment advanced by Wesley, and embraced, both in theory 
and practice, by too many of his followers. 

He was urged by his friends to apply for the succession to 
his father's living at Epworth, but obstinately persisted in 
preferring his situalion at Oxford. After the death of his 
father however, he left this favourite situation and went out, 
in company with bis brother Charles, as a missionary to 
Georgia, where he subaiitted himself to the direction of the 
Moravians, and by the austerity of his manners and doc- 
trine became exceedingly unpopular. Here too he fell in 
love, and being dissuaded from marrying by his spiritual 
guides, the Mcra^ians, was soon afterwards convinced that 
he had made a fortunate escape. Indeed so dissatisfied 
was he with the character and conduct of the lady, that he 
excluded her from the communion, by which means he gain- 
ed many bitter enemies, and for which he was prosecuted 
by her relations as a defamer. Under these circumstances^, 
being convinced that he could no longer b© useful; he rd" 

»VoIunie I, No. 5, pag-e 337, 



turned to England, where he arrived just as Whitefield set 
sail for Georgia. 

During the absence of Wesley, Whitefield had made 
great progress in the attainment of popularity and influence. 
When he went to Bristol 

"Multitudes came out en foot to meet him, and some in coach- 
es, a mile without the city; and the people saluted and blessed 
him as he passed alonf> the street. He preached about five 
times a week to such congregations, that it was with great diffi- 
<PuIty he could make way along the crowded aisles to the reud- 
ine-desk. <Some hung upon the rails of the organ loft, others 
climbed upon the leads ot the church, and all togener made 
the chu ch so hot with their breath, that the steam would fall 
from the pillars like drops of rain.' When he preached his 
farewell sermon, and said to the people that perhaps they might 
sec his ia e no more, high and low, you tg and old, burst into 
tears. Multitudes after the sermoi foliowed him home weep- 
ing: the next day he was employed f om seven in the morning 
till midnight in talking and giving spiritual advice to awakened 
hearers; and he left Bristol secjetly in the mi die of the night, 
to avoid the ceremony of being escorted by horsemen and 
coaches out of the town." p. 146, 

In London too his popularity was equally great, so much 
so, that on Sunday morning "long before day you might see 
the streets filled with people going to hear him with lanthorns 
in their hands." Here Weslpy arrived just in time to take 
the place of Whitefield, and meeting with an enthusiastic 
Moravian, named Peter Boehler, became his pupil; for, see- 
ing Boehler in a h; ppier state of mmd than himself, he re- 
garded him as having attained nearer to Christian pertec- 
tion. By his advice he formed a religious society in Lon- 
don, which was divided into bands or classes, and had con- 
ferences once a week, and love feasts about once a month. 
He now began to think himself destitute of faith, and, as ho 
exp'essed it, "sold under sin." In tins state of mmd he 
continued till Wednesday, May 24, 1738, about a quarter 
before nine o'clock, when he felt his heart strangely ^oarmed 
and became convinced that he was regenerated, and had 
for the first time becom«" a christian With this conversion 
his brother Samuel was not very well pleased, for he saye 
in a letter, 

"What Jack means by his not being a Christian till last 
month, 1 understand not. Had he never been in covenant with 
God? — 'then/ as Mr. Hutton observed, 'bsptisra was nothing.^ 


Had he totolly apostatized from r? I dare say not: and yet he 
iniist either be unbapiized, or an apostate, to make his v ord» 
ti'iie. Perhaps it might come into his crown, hat he was in a 
«tc;te of mortal sin unrepented oi, and had long lived in such a 
course. This I do not believe; however he must answer for 
himse'f. liui where is the sense of requiring every body e'^e 
to confess that of themselveb, in order to commence Ch>"istians? 
Must ihfcy confes- it whether it be so or no? Be^i<les, a smful 
course is not an abolit'on of the Covenant; for that very reason 
because it is a bieach of it. If it ivere not, it would not t>o 

Renoun ing every thing but faith, may be rvery evil, as the 
world, the flesh, and the deiil: this is a vp>-y orthodox sense, but 
no great discovery. It may mean »^jecting all merit of our 
own good works. What Protestant does not do so? Even 
Beliarmine on his death b^ is said to have renounced all meriw. 
but those of Christ. If ihis renouncing regard's good works in 
any other sense. "» being unnecessary, or the like. U is wretch- 
edly wicke<^- '' P- 163. 

In the same letter too he says, 

<«I do not hold it at all unlikeb') that perpetual intenseness of 
thought, and want of sleep, may have disordered niy brocher. 
I have been told that the Quakers' introversion of thought has 
ended in madness.- it is a studious stopping of eery *hought a» 
fast as it arises, in order to receive the Spirit I wish the cant- 
ing fellows had never had any followers imong us, who ta k of 
in-dwellings, experiences, getting mto Christ, &c. &c.; as 1 re- 
member assura ces used to make a great noise, which were 
carried to such a length, that (as far as nonsense can be under- 
Stood) they rose to fruition; in utter defiance of Christian hope, 
since the question is unanswerable, V\ hat a man ba^h, why does 
be yet hope for? But 1 will believe none, without a miraclcj 
who shall pretend to be wrapped up into the third heaven." 

pp. 163, 164. 

Wesley, soon after his conversion, went to Germany, 
a,nd visited the settlement of Moravians at Hernnliut. Re- 
maining however but a short time he retujiied to England, 
apd in company with his friend Whitefield, who soon after- 
wards arrived from Georgia, prosecuted with his min- 
isterial labours there. Now commenced those raptures and 
violent paroxysms" of the converts which Wesley afterwards 
discouraged, but of which we have such copious details in 
the volumes before us. On this subject the following ex- 
tracts must suffice. 

" <Wh^/ he says, <I was earnestly inviting all men to enter 


into the Holiest by ihitt neiD and living loay, many of those 
that heard began ti) call upon God with strong cries and learsj 
Bome sunk down, and there remained no strength in them; oth- 
ers exieedingly tren.bled and quaked; some were torn with a 
kind of convulsive motion in every part of iheir bodies, and 
that so violently, that often four or five persons could not hold 
one of them. I have seen many hvbteric al and epileptic fits, but 
none of them were like these in many respects. I immediately 
prayed that God would not suffer those who were weak to be 
offended; but one woman was t;;reatly, being bure they might 
help it if they would, no one should persuade her to the coor 
trary; and she was got three or four yards, when she also dropt 
down in as violent an jigony as the rest. Twenty-six of those 
who had been thus afftcied (most of whom, during the prayers 
vhirh were made f .r them, w^re in a moment fillecl withjpeac© 
a-id joy,) promised to call upon me ihe next day; but only eigh- 
teen carae, by talking closely with wiioin 1 found reason to be- 
lieve that some of them had gone home to ihsir houses justified^ 
the rest seemed to be patiently waiting for it.' " pp. 239, 240. 

<'She wasninetfcen or twenty years old, but could not writs or 
Tead. I found her on the bed, two or three persons holding 
lier. It was a terrible sight. Angaibb, horror, and despair a- 
bove all description, appeared in her pale face. The thousand 
distortions of her whole body showed how the dogs of hell were 
giidwingat heart. The shrieks intermixed were scarce to 
be enduied; but her stony eyes could -lot wesp- She screa '.erf 
out, as words could find their way, 'I am damned, damned; lost 
fur ever! Six days ago you might have helped me— but it ib 
past — I am the Devil's now — I have given myself to him — his 
I am — him I must serve — with him 1 must go to hell — I will 
be his— I will serve him — I will go with him to hell — I cannot 
be saved — I will not be saved — I must, I will, I will be damn- 
ed!' She then began praying to ihe devil: we began, '^rm of 
the Lord, awake, awake!' She immediately :>unk doun as a- 
sleep; but as soon as we left off, broke out again with inexpres- 
sible vehemence. 'Stony hearts, breal.! I am a warning to 
you. Break; break, poor stony hearts! Will you not break? 
What can be done more for stony hearts? I am damned that 
you may be saved! Now break, now break, poor stoiiv hearts! 
You need not be damned, though 1 must.' She then fixed hei" 
eyes on the corner of the ceiling, and said, ♦There he is. yc, 
there he is! Come, good devil, come! Take me away! \'ou 
«aid you would dash my brains out: come, do it quickly! I am 
your's— I will be your's! take me awayl' We interrupted her 
by calling again upon God.* on which she sunk own as before, 
and another young v/oman began to roar as loud as she had 
done. My brother cow came inj it being about nine o'clocji? 

1881. LIFE OF WESLEY. 83{5 

Wecontinued in prayer tiil past eleven, whert God, in R moment, 
spoke peace into the soul; first, of the first tormented, and then 
of fhe other; and they both joined in sinsjing praise to Him 
who had stilled the enemy and the avenger." pp 260, 261. 

On the 17lh of February 1739 Whitefield began the prac- 
tice of field preaching To this step he was induced at 
first by the crowds which flocked to hear him, and which no 
cliuich could contain, but he was afterwards encouraged to 
continue it by the ditficulty of procuring admission to the 
pulpits of the established clergy. Wesley was at first op- 
posed to the practice, but at length, for the same reasons, a- 
dopted it. The first Methodist preaching house was com- 
menced on the 12th of May 1739, and Wesley "took the 
"whole trust, as well as the whole management, into his own 

Another innovation was introduced about this time. Wes- 
ley Jiad long since resolved not to be confined to forms of 
prayer, nor to exercise liis ministrations within any partic- 
ular parish, or JimHed tract of country. His followers now 
contended for the propriety of lay preachings and he was re- 
luctantly compelled to submit to it. 

The conversion of Wesley's mother to Methodism, which 
took place in the same year, when she was seventy years of 
age, vvas a great affliction to his brother Samuel. Soon af- 
ter this, however, Samuel died, having been ill only about 
iour hours. 

Tlie author here introduces a retrospect of the religious 
history of England, in order to point out the circumstances 
that prepared the way for W'esley and his co-adjutors; but 
this interesting chapter we have not room to epitomize. 

At length Wesley engaged in controversy with the Mo- 
ravians, and separated from them,chiefly on account of their 
insisting on the sufficiency of faith without works, and re- 
fusing their assent to the doctrine, which he taught, of chris- 
tian perfection. Many efforts were made by his old friend 
and religiou"? teacher, Peter Boehler, and by Count Zinzer- 
dorf, the leader of the Moravians in Germany, to produce a 
re-union, but they were all ineffectual. Whitefield also sep- 
arated from them, and soon afterwards a breach was made 
between the hitherto staunch friends and cordial co-opera- 
tors, Whitefield and Wesley. This arose from a difference 
of opinion on two points of doctrine. Whitefield, as well 
as the Moravians, denied the existence of christian perfec- 
tion on earth; he likewise zealously contended for the CaK 

S34 Li¥E OP WESLBt. San. 

Tinistic doctrine of election, Tvhich Wesley as< zealously 
opposed. A correspondence commenced between them iu 
which Whitetield defended his opinion with great zeal. 

*' 'I am sorry,' he savs fo him, 'honoured sir, to hear by ma- 
ny tetters, that you speni to own & sinless fierfection in this life 
attainVole. I think I cannot answer you better than a venerable 
old mimster in these parts answered a Quaker, 'bring me a man 
that has really arrived to tliis, and I Avill pay his expenses let 
lim come from whence he will * Besides, dear Sir, what a 
fond con eit is it to cry up perfection, and yet cry down 
the doctrine of final perseverance? But thi- and many otner 
absurdities you will run into, because you will not own election; 
and you will not own election because you rannot own it with- 
out ownmg the doctrine of reprobation. What then is there in 
reprobation so horrid?' That question might easily have been 
answered. The doctrine implies that an Almiiajhty and All- 
wise Creator has called into fxistence the greater part of the 
liuman race to the end that after a short sinful, and miserable 
Jife, they should pass into an eternity of incoriceivabie torments; 
it being the pleasure of their Creator that th y should not be 
able to obey his commands, and yet incur the penalty of ever- 
lastinrr 'lamnation for disobedience. In the words of Mr. Wes- 
ley, who has stated the case with equal f irre and truth, 'the sum 
lof all is this- one in twenty (sujjpose) of mankind, are electedi 
nineteen in twenty are refirobated! The e ect shall be saved, 
•do ivhat they tvill; the reprobate shall be damned, do what they 
can.'* This is the doctrine of Calvinism, for which DiaboU'im 
•wouid be a belter name; and in the worst and bloodiest ido>atrf 
that ever defiled the earth, there is nothing so horrid, so mons- 
trous, so impious ^s this." pp, 314, 315. 

In consequence of this difference, most unpleasant dis- 
sentions arose among the followers ot these enthusiastic 
leaders. Each had his adherents, and two parties weje 
thus created among the Methodists. 

"One uf the leading members in London, by name Acourt, 
had disturbed the society by introducing his disputed tenets, till 
Charles Wesley gave orders that he should no longer be admit- 
ted. John was present when next he presented himself, and 
demanded v^hether they refuse: admitting a person (.nly because 
Jie differed from them in opinion. Wesley answered no, but 
asked what opinion he meant. He replied, 'that of election I 
liold that a certain number are elected from eternity, and these 
mivst and shall be saved, and the rest of mankind must and shall 
Ti^e damned." And he affirmed that many of the society held 
'!he same; \jpon which Wesley observed that he never asked 

i9^i, LIFE OF "WESLEY. 335 

whether they did or not; <only let them not trouble others by 
disputing about it.' Acourt replied, 'Nay, but I will dispute a- 
bout it.' — 'Why then,' said Wesley, 'would you come among 
us, who you know are ot" another mind?' — 'Because you are all 
wrong, and I am resolved to set you all right.' — 'I fear,' said 
Wesley, 'your coming with this view would neither profit you 
nor us.* — Then,' rejoined Acourt, 'I will go and tell all the 
•word that you and your brother are false prophets. And I tell 
you in one fortnight you will all be in confusion.' " 

pp. 310, oil. 
In another place we are told that 

"The Calvinists affirmed that Mr. Wesley denied the faith of 
the Gospel, which was predestination and election. He hap- 
pened to reprove one of these comfortable believers for swear- 
ing, and the man replied that he .vas predestinated to it, and did 
not trouble himself about it at all, for if he were one of the e- 
lect he should be saved, but if he were not, all he could do 
would not alter God's decree." p. 346. 

Notwithstanding this division, the adherents of Wesley 
constituted a society well organized and systematically ar- 
ranged. Regular classes were formed and placed under the 
inspection of trusty leaders, and the contribution of class- 
money afforded ample funds to the society. Itinerant, field, 
a;id lay preaching, which had be« n at first resorted to by ac- 
cident, or from a regard to temporary expediency, became 
a part of the system of methodism. 

"The first example of lay preaching appears to have been set 
by a Mr. Boviers, who is not otherwise named in the history of 
Methodism. One Saturday, after Whitefield had finished a ser- 
mon in Islington Church-yard, Bow-rs got up to address che 
people; Chares Wesley entreated him to desist, but finding that 
his entreaties were disregarded, he withdrew, and drew with 
him many of the persons present. Bowers afterwards confess- 
ed that he had doi e wrong, mit the inclination which he mistook 
for the spirit soon returned upon him; he chose to preach in the 
streets at Oxford, and was laid hold of bv the be.dle. Charles 
Wesley just at that time came to Oxford, Bovvers was brought 
to him, and promising after a reproof to do so no more, 
tvas set at liberty. The fitness of this innovation naturally ex- 
cited much d s ussiou in the society, and the Wesleys strongly 
opposed it; but a sort of ompromise seems to have been made, 
for the laymen were permitted tt» expound the Scriptures, 
■which, as Law justly observed to Charles, was the very worst 
thing both for themselves and otl^crs." pp. 337, 338, , 

Sr36 LIFE 01' WESLEY, #a»K 

The progress was natural from expounding to preaching;, 
and lay preachers soon became numerous. 

"Methodism had now taken root in the land. Meetings-hou- 
ses had been erected in various parts of the kingdom, and settled 
not upon trustees, (which would liave destroyed the unity of 
Wesley's schem.e, by making tiie preachers dependent iipoa 
the peop e, as among- the Dissenters,) but upon himself, the ac- 
knowledged head and sole director of the society which he had 
I'aised and organized. Funds were provided by a financial reg- 
ulation so well devised, that the revenues would increase in ex- 
act proportion to the increase of the members. Assistant 
preachers were ready, in any number that might be required, 
■whose zeal and activity compensated, in no slight degree, for 
their want of learning; and whose inferiority of rank and edu- 
cation disposed them to look up to Mr. Wes ey wuh defererice 
as well as respect, and fitted them for the privations which they 
yveve to endure, at d the company with whici) they were 
to associt't . A system of minute inspection had been es- 
tablished, which was at once so constrived as to gratify every 
individual, by giving him a sense of his own importance, and 
to give the prea her a most perfect knowledge of those who 
were under his charge. No confession of faith was required 
from any person who desired to become a member; in this Wes- 
ley displayed that consummyte prudence which distinguis icd 
lim whenever he was not :ed astray by some darling opinion. 
The door was thus left open to the orthodox of all descriptions, 
Churchmen and Dissen ers, Baptists or Paedobaptists, Presby- 
terians or Independents, Calvinists or Arminians; no profession, 
no sacrifice of any kind was exacted The person who joined 
the new society was not expected to separate r imself from the 
community to which he preuously bt='longed. He was only 
called upon to renounce his vices, and follies which are near a- 
kin to them." vol. ^. pp. 3. 4. 

At this time Wesley lost his mother, who died, calm and 
serene, in a good old age. Two of Iiis sisters had been 
most unfortunately married; and one died single of a bro- 
ken heart. The fourth had married a regular clergyman 
of excellent character. Wesley, returning to his native 
town, and being refused admission to the pulpit once occu- 
pied by bis father, retired to the church yard, stood ujion 
the tomb-stone over his father's grave and preached lostch 
a numerous congregation as "Epworth never saw before." 

"Some remarkable circumstances attended Wes.'ey's preach- 
ing in these parts. Some of his opponents, in the ex ess of 
ttieir zeal against enthusiasm, took up a whole wagon load cf 

1821. LIFE OP WESLE¥. 387 

Methodists, and carried them before a justice, When they 
were asked what these persons had done, there was an awkward 
silence; at Icist one of the accusers said, 'Why, they pretended 
to be better than other people; and, besides, they prayed from 
morning till night.' The magistrate asked if they I. ad done 
n thing else. — 'Yes, Sir,' said an old man, «an't please your 
worship, they have convarted my wife. Till she went among 
them, she had such a tongue! and now she is as quiet as a lamb!' 
'Carry them back, carry them back,' said the magistrate, 'and 
let them convert all the scolds in the town.' " p. 17. 

Soon aftervrards however Wesley and his followers were 
more violently assailed. 

'»He was himself repelled at Bristol, with circumstances of 
indecent violence. 'Wives and children,' he says, 'are beaten 
and turned out of doors, and the persecutors are the complain- 
ers: it is always the lamb that t 'oubles the water!' A maid-ser- 
vant was turned away by her master, 'because,' he said, *he 
would have none in his house who had received the Holj^ Ghostl* 
She had been thrown into the convulsions of Methodism, and 
continued in ihem fourteen hours. This happened at Bath, 
where, as Charles expresses himself, 'Satan took it ill to be at- 
tacked in his head quarters.' ■ John had a curious interview 
there with Beau Nash, for it was in his reign. While he was 
preaching, this remarkable personage entered the room, came 
close to the preacher, and demanded of him by what authority 
he was acting. Wesley made answer, 'By that of Jesus Christ, 
conveyed to me by the present Archbishop of Canterbury, 
when he laid his hands upon me and said, 'Take thou authority 
to preach the Gospel.' ' — Nash then affirmed that he was act- 
ing contrary to the laws: 'Besides,* said he, 'your preaching 
frightens people out of their wits.* 'Sir,' replied Wesley, 'did 
you ever hear me preach?' — 'No,* said the Master oi the Cer- 
emonies. 'How then can you judge of what you never heard.* 
.Nash made answer, 'By common report.' — 'Sir,' said Wesley, 
*is not your name Nash? I dare not judge of you by commoa 
report: I think it not enough to judge by.' However accurate 
common report might have been, and however rightly Nash. 
night ha%e judged of the extravagance of Methodism, he was 
lelivering opinions in the wrong place; and when he desired to 
mow what th'; people came there for, one of the congrt- 
.;^ation cried out, 'Let an old woman answer him: — you, Mr. 
Nash, take care of your body, we take care our souls, and for 
the food of our souls we came here.* He found himself a very 
different "[jerson in the meeting-house from what he was in the 
pump-room or the assembly, and thought it beat to withdraw.'* 

pp, 33,22. 



In soiMe places the clergy and the magistrates instigat-ed 
the populace to the most scandalous outrages. At Wednes- 
bury, wliere a number of Methodists were found, 

<'Mobs were collected by ihe sound of a horn, windows were 
demolished, houses broken open, goods dcsrroyed or stolen, 
men, women, and child en beaten, pelted, and dragged into ken- 
nels, rnd even pregnant women outraged, to the imminent dan- 
ger of their lives, and the disgrace of humanity. The mob 
said they would make a lav/, and that all the MeUiodists should 
set their bands to it; and they nearly murdered those who would 
not sign a paper of recantation. When they had had the law 
in their own hands for four o' five months, (such in those days 
was the state of the poiice!) Wesley came to Birmingham on 
bis way to Newcastle; an;i hearmg of the state of things at 
Wednesbury, went there; like a man whose maxim it was al- 
ways to look danger in the face. He preached in mid-day, and 
in the middle of the town, to a large assemblage of people, 
without the slightest molestation either going or coming, or 
tvhile he was on the ground. But in the evening the mob be- 
set the house in which he was lodged: they were in great 
strength, and their cry was, 'Bring out the minister! we will 
iave the ministerl' Wesley, who never, on any occasion, lost 
his calmness or his self-possessioii, desired one of his friends to 
take the captain of the mob by the hand, and lead him into the 
Louse. The fellow was either soothed or awed by Wesley's ap- 
pearance and serenity. He was desired to bring ni one or two 
of the most angry of his companionb: they were appeased in the 
same manner, and made way forlhe man whom, five minutes 
before, they would fain have palled to pieces, that he might go 
■out to the people. Wesley then called for a chair, got upon it, 
and demanded of the multitude what they wanted with him? 
Some of them made answer, they \\anted him to go with them 
to the justice. He replied, with all his heart; and added a few 
sentences, which had such an effect, that a cry arose, 'The gen- 
tleman IS an honest gentleman, and we will spill our blood in 
his defence.' But when he asked whether they should go to 
the justice immediately, or in ihe morning, (for it was in the 
month of October, and evening was closing in,) most ot them 
cried, 'To-night, to-nightl' Accordingly they set out for the- 
nearest magistrate's, Mr. Lane, of Bentley-Ha)l, His house 
was about two miles distant: night came on before they had 
■walked half the way: it began to rain heavily: the greater part 
of the senseless multitude dispersed, but two or three hundred 
still kept together; and as they approached the house, some 
of them ran forward to tell Mr. Lanethey had brought Mr. Wes- 
ley before his worship. — 'What have i to do with Mr. Wesley?" 
was the reply: '^o and carry him back again.' By this time tht 

1-821. LIFB OF WESLEY^ S'S9 * 

main bodyccmc up, ?.nd knocked at the door- They were told 
that Mr. Lane was not to be siioken with; but the son of that 
gentleman came out aod inquired what was the matter. 'Why, 
an't please you.' said the spokesman, 'they sinj^ psalms all day; 
nay, and make fo'ks rise at five in the morning. And what 
wou'd your worship advise us to do?' 'To go home,' said Mr. 
Lane, 'and be quiet.' 

Upon this they were at a stand, till some one advised that they 
should go to Justice Persehousc, at Walsal. To Walsal there- 
fore they went: it was ab )Ut seven when they arrived, and the 
magistrate sent out word that he was in bed and could not be 
spoken with. Here they were at a stand again: at last they 
thought the wisest thing tliey could do would be to make the 
best of their way home; and about fifry undertook to escort ?\Tr. 
Wesley; not as their prisoner, but for the purpose of protcctin.^ 
him, so much had he won upon them by his commanding and 
yet conciliating manner. But the cry had arisen in Walsal that 
Wesley was there, and a fresh fierce rabble rushed out in pur- 
suit of their vict m. They presently camo up with him. His 
es' ort stood manfuliy in his defence, and a woman, who was one 
of their leade s, knocked down three or four Walsvl men. be- 
fore she was knocked dovvn herself :ind very nearly murdered. 
His friends ivcre soon overpowered, and he was left in the viands 
of a I'abble too much infjriited to hear him speak. 'Indeed,* 
he si.ys, 'it was in vain to attempt it, for the noise on every side 
was like the roaring of the sea.' The entrance to the towd was 
down a steep hill, and the path was slippery, because of the 
rain. Some of the ruffian"^ endeavoured to throw him down, 
and, if they had accomplished their purpose, it was not likely 
thit he would ever have risen again: but he kept his feet. Part 
of his c'othes was torn off; blows were aimed at him with a 
bludgeon, which, had ihey taken effect, would have fractured, 
his scull; and one cowardly viliain gave him a blow on the moutJi 
which made the blood gasii out. With such outrages they 
dragged him into the town Seeing the door of a large house 
open, he attempted to go in, but was caught by the hair, and' 
pulled back into the middle cf the crowd. They hauled hina 
toward the end of the main street, and there he made toward a 
shop door, which was half open, and would have gone in, but 
the shopkeeper would not let him, saying, that, if he did, they 
would pall the house down to the ground. He made a stand, 
however, at the door, and asked if they would hear him speak* 
Many cried out, 'No, no! knock his brains out! down with him! 
kill him at once!' A more atrocious exc'amation was uttered 
bv one or two wretches. "I almost tremble," says Wesley, "to 
relate it! — •'Crucify the dog! crucify him!' " Others insisted 
tjjat he should be h«ard. Even in mobs that opinion will pre- 


vail ^vhich has the show of justice on its side, if it i}e supported 
boldiy. He obtained a hearing, i-nd began by asking, 'What 
evil liave I done? which of you all have i wronged in word of 
deed?' His powerful and persuasive voire his ready utterance, 
and his perfect self-command, stood him on this perilous emer- 
gency in good stead. A cry was raised, » Bring him away! brin^-^ 
!him away!' When it ceased, he then broke out i"to prayer; and 
the very man who had just before headed the rabble, turned and 
said, 'Sir, I will spend my life for you! follow me, and not one 
soul here shall touch a hair of your head!' This man had been 
a prize-fighter at a bear-garden; his declaration, therefore, car- 
lied authority with it; and when one man declares himself on 
the right side, others will second him who might ha\e wanted 
courage to take the lead. A feeling in Wesley's favour was now 
ananifested, and the shopkeeper, who happened to be the mayor 
of the town, ventured to cry out, 'For shame! for shame! let him 
go,* having, perhaps, some sense of humanity, and of shame 
for his own conduct. The man who took his part condufted 
him through the mob, and brought him, ab -ut ten o'clock, 
back to Wednesbury in "safety, with no other injury than some 
slight bruises. The populace seemed to have spent their fury 
in this explosion; and when, or the followii g morning, he rode 
through the town on his departure, some kindness was express- 
ed by all whom he met. A few days afterwards, the veiy magis- 
trates who refused to see him when he was in 'he hands of the 
rabble, issued a curious warrant, commanding diligent search 
to be made after certain 'disoruerly persons, styling themselves 
IMethodist preachers, who were going about raising routs and 
riots, to the great damage of His Majesty's liege people, a-id 
against the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King.' 

It was only at Wednesbury that advantage was taken of the 
popular cry against the Methodists to break open their doors 
aind plunder their houses; but greater personal barbarities were 
exercised in other places. Some of the preachers received se- 
xious injury; others were held under water till they were nearly 
dead; and of the women who attended them, some were so treat- 
ed by the cowardly and brutal populace, that they never tho- 
roughly recovered. In some places they daubed the preachei^ 
all over wih paint. In others they pelted t!ie people in the 
meetings with egg-shells, which they had filled with blood and 
stopt with pilch. The progress of Methodism was rather fur- 
thered than impeded by this kind of persecution, for it rendered 
the Methoditts objects of curiosity and compassion; and in ev- 
ery instance the preachers displayed that fearlessness which en- 
thusiasm inspires, and which, when the madness of the mo 
■ment was over, trsadc even t'lcir cnc:r.ies respect them." 

pT5_ 25—29 

jiSSl. LIFE OF WE3LEY. 34* 

This is but a specimen of the persecutions and outrageg 
to which Wesley and his adherents were at that time expo- 
sed; and the reader may find in the volumes under review 
many details of the kind, equally interesting with the above. 
Nor were these the only difficulties to which he was subject- 
ed. His tours for preaciiing were often through the most 
unsettled tracts of country. Avhere comforts and convenien- 
ces were not to be procured, and he was frequently depend- 
ent on the hospitality of those who had little disposition to 
exercise it. 

♦'Returning one day in autumn from one of these hungry ex- 
cursions, W'esley stopt his horse at some brambles to pick the 
fruit. 'Brother Nelson,' said he, 'we ought to be thankful that 
there are plenty of blackberries, for this is the best country I 
ever saw for getting a sto.iiach, but the worst I ever s w for get- 
ting food. Do the people think we can live by preaching?' 
They were detained some time at St. Ives, becnise of the ill- 
ness of one of their companions; and their lodging Wc.s little 
better than their fare. 'AH that time,' saystJohn, 'Mr. Wesley 
and I lay on the floor; he had my great coat for his pillow, and 
1 had Burkett's Notes on the New Testamen;. for mine. After 
being here near three weeks, one, about three o'clock, 
3Vlr. N\ esley *urned over, and finding me awake, clapped me oti 
the side, saying, 'Brother NeLon, 1 t us be of good cheer, I 
have one whole; side yet; tor tlie skin is off but on one side.' " 

p. 41. 

But wherever he travelled he commonly found attentive, 
if not hospitable, people, and seldom received from his hear- 
ers any marks of indignity or contempt. 

♦'Sometimes when he hari finished the discourse, and pro- 
nounced the blessing, not a person offered to move: — the charm 
•was upon them still; and every man, woman, and child remained 
vhere they were, till he set the example of leaving the ground. 
One day many of his hearers were seated on a long wall, built, 
as is common in the northern countries, of loose stones. In the 
middle of the sermon it fell with them. 'I never saw, heard, 
nor read of such a thing before,' he says. *The whole wall, and 
the persons sitting upon it, sunk down together, none of them 
screaming out, and very few altering iheir posture, "^nc' not one 
was hurt at all; but they appeared sitting at the bottom, just as 
they sate at the top. Nor was there any interruption either of 
my speaking or of the attention oi the hearers." p. 47". 

Wesley was particularly attached to the poorer classes of 
society, whom he considered more unaffected, warm-heart- 
tdj and sincere than people of quality and fashion. Yet he 


exceedingly disliked the farmers. He could not agree to 
the correctness of the encomiums so generally passed upon 
rural life. He could see no joys in rising with tl)e sun, 
feeding swine and cows, ploughing in the damp, mowing 
and reaping in the intense heat, and then sitting down to a 
repast of bacon and cabbage. This was not bliss according . 
to his taste. It was his pleasure to ride through bogs and 
ovt-r fells, feed upon blackbe-ries, and sleep on the floor, 
in order to make converts, and thus, as he believed, to do 
good. His dislike of the farmers probably arose from their 
being less susceptible than others of imbibing his doctrine. 
Methodism requires close association and frecjuent meetings, 
which cannot well take place among a scattered, agricultu- 
ral people. Large towns are most favourable to the growth 
and prosperity of this society, and there the gay and polish- 
ed are least of all likely to unite themselves to it 

Wesley, as we liave already said, did not encourage, but 
merely tolerated lay-preaching. Finding however that it 
was impossible to suppress it, he undertook itg regulation, 
assigning the preachers their respective spheres of opera- 
tion and giving them much judicious counsel and advice. 
By this m^'ar s he repdered them subservient to him, and se- 
cured their co-operation in a manner the most likely to pro- 
mote what he considered the interests of truth. They were 
uniformly men of great enthusiasm, and pursued their 
course with the utmost zeal. Some of them were convert- 
ed to Methodism by unpremeditated and apparently trivial 
circumstances. The following is a remarkable instance of 
•sudden and undesigned conversion. 

"A party of men v/ere amusing themselves at an alehouse in 
Rolherham, by mimicking the Methodists. It was disputed 
which succeeded best, and this led to a wager. There were four 
performers, arid the rest of the company was to decide, after a 
fair spe imen from each. A Bible wasprodared, and threeof the 
rivals, each in turn mounted the table, and held forth, in a style 
of irreverent buffoonery, wherein the scriptures were not spared, 
John Thorpe, who was the last exhibitor, got upon the tuble m 
high spirits, exclaiming, I shall beat you ali! He opened the 
book for a text, and his eyes rested upon these words, '■Except 
■ye rehent ye shall all likewise /lerishl' These words, at such 
a moment, and in such a place, struck him to the heart. He 
became serious, he preached in earnest, and he affirmed after- 
wards, that his own hair stood erect at the feelings which then 
came upon him, and the awful denunciations, which he uttered. 
Mis companions heard him with the deepest silence. Whej^ 


Jie came down, not a word was said concerning the wager; he 
left the room inknicdiatclvi wiilmut speaking to anv one, went 
home in a state of great agitation, and resigned himself to the 
impulse which had thus strangely been produced. In conse- 
quence, he joined the Methodists, and became an itinerant 
preacher: but he would often s. y, when he related this story, 
that if ever he preached by the assistance of the Spirit of God, 
it was at that time." p. 64. 

Mr. Southey furnishes us a series of very interesting nar- 
ratives embracing what is called the "Experience" of some 
of the most eminent of Wesley's lay-co-adjutors. Among 
these was John Oliver, who embraced Methodism at about 
sixteen years of age, and strictly adhered to it, notwithstand- 
ing the tears, the threats, and actual severities of his fativ 
er. When he was first touched with a sense of his sinftil 
character, so excessive was his distress, and so complete his 
despair, that he several times attempted to commit suicide, 
but was always prevented, as he afterwards supposed, by a 
special interposition of Heaven. Another of these preach- 
ers was John Pawson, who likewise offended his relations by 
fbining the Methodists, and lost a legacy which a rich un- 
cle had promised to leave him. Hi: father too was 
highly incensed against him, but being induced by the argu- 
ments of the son to hear the preacher whom he so violently 
condemned, was convinced also, and the whole family fol- 
lowed. Alexander Mather, another lay preacher, was a 
journeyman baker, wlio had been religiously brought np, 
but joined the rebels in 1745, and was with difficulty again 
received by his father. When he aspired to become a 
preacher, Wesley endeavoured to dissuade him, by repre- 
senting to him the hardships to which he would be exposed, 
and the difficulties he must encounter, but he was resolved^ 
and from his own account, pursued his new employment 
with an excessive zeal, but without neglecting his duty as 
a mechanic. He says, 

"I have frequently put off my shirts as wet with sweat as if 
they had been dipt in water. After hastening to finish my bu- 
siness abroad, I have come home all in a sweat in the evening, 
changed my clothes, and run to preach at one or another chapel; 
then walked or run back, changed my clothes, and gone to work 
at ten, wrought hard all night, and preached at five the next 
morning. I ran back to draw the bread at a quarter, or half aa 
iiour past six; wrought hard in the bake-house till eight; then 
hurried about with bread till the afterno«nj and perhaps at night 
setoff agiun." p. 79. 

34!'i LIFE OP WESLEV. 3^(in. 

We have not room to give even a brief outline of the re* 
maining narratives which Mr. Wesley has furnished, con- 
cerning Thomas Olivers, a profligate youth, who was af- 
fected by hearing Whitefield; John Haime, who, in the act 
of committing blasphemy, was Irightened by a bustard; 
Sampson Staniforth, who was converted through the means 
of a comrade in the army; and George Story, who having 
been infected by infidel books, was converted by sober re- 
flection and became less of an enthusiast than the others. 
Thesf;? narratives however constitute a most interesting part 
of the work. Speaking of the last case, Mr. Southey says, 

"There is not, in the whole hagiography of Methodism amore 
interesting or more remarkable case than this: — livini^ among 
the most enthusiastic Methodists, enrolled among them, and 
acting and preaching with them for more than fitty years, George 
Story never became an enthusiast: his nature seems not to have 
been susceptible ot the roniagion." p. 113. 

At first the lay preachers submitted to ail the toils and 
difficulties incident to their office, without any pecuniary 
allowance whatever, but at length it Vv^as found necessary 
to make some provision for their support and that of their 
families. It was agreed therefore, that each circuit should 
allow its preacher three pounds a quarter as a means of 
procuring books and clothes, four sijillings a week for the 
support of his wife, if he had one, and twenty shillings a 
quarter for every cliild. When he was at home likewise, 
his wife was allowed eighteen pence a day for his board, 
"with the condition, that whenever he was invited out, a de- 
duction was to be made for the meal." 

By the bounty of Lady Maxwell, "one of the few con- 
verts in high life," Wesley was enabled to establish a school, 
principally for the instruction of children of the pieachers. 
It appears however to have been badly managed, and con- 
sequently to have been productive of but little good. 

In the year 1744, Wesley "invited his brother Charles, 
four other clergymen, who co-operated with him, and four 
of his lay preachers" to a Conference on the affairs of the 
society; after which time similar con.erences were held an- 
nually, to consult "what to teach, how to teach, and what 
to do; in other words, how to regulale iheir doctrines, dis- 
cipline, and practice." and Mr Southey here introduces a 
chapter containing a systematic account of each, as the^ 
»;?.xisted at that time. 

i8'2i, LIFE OP WESLfiC? i4f 

It cannot be expected, that within the narrow compass 
of this review, we can give any thing like a complete out- 
line of the doctrines of Wesley. We can only glance at 
tlie most prominent among tlieni as they are enumerated by 
iVIr. Southey. He believed that the death, with which God 
threatened Adam, as a punishment for disobedience, was, 
not merely temporal death, but what he calls spiritual death; 
or, in other words, a separation from God, and a "loss of 
the life and image of God." Hence he inferred the neces- 
sity of a new birth, as a pre-requisite to salvation, as well as 
of justification, which he considered always simultaneous 
with regeneration, although essentially different from it. * 
Sanctification he regarded' as having the same relation to 
the new birth, as our growth has to our natural birth. Re- 
generation he believed to be commonly, but not invariably 
instantaneous: and he insisted with great zeal on the doc- 
trine of justification by faith. "Without faith," he said, "a 
man cannot be justified, even though he should have every 
thing else; with faith, he cannot but be justified, though eve- 
ry thing else should be wanting." But he considered faith, 
not merely a belief, but a peculiar gift of God, enabling the 
christian to discern things which otherwise would be to 
him both invisible and inconceivable. "A string of opin- 
ions," he affirmed, "is no more christian faith, than a string 
-of beads is christian holiness." With respect to assurance^ 
his opinion was, that a few christians have an assurance 
from God of everlasting salvation, but that all, who fear God 
and work righteousness, have "a consciousness of being in 
the favour of God." The doctrine of Christian Perfection, 
as we have already said, he maintained v/ith great zeal, but 
at length so modified and explained it, as to render it ob- 
noxious to scarcely any objection. He averred that "to set 
perfection too high is the most effectual way to drive it out 
of the world." The perfection) of which alone he consid- 
ered man capable on earth, is the loving of the Lord his God, 
with all his heart, soul, and mind. He believed in a chain 
or regular progression of beings, "from an atom of unor- 
ganized matter, to the nighest of the archangels." He be- 
lieved also in the influence of good and evil spirits, to whom 
he attributed many of the comforts and evils of life. He 
supposed that the day of judgment is to continue a thousand 
years, during which time all the thoughts, words, and ac- 
tions of every individual shall be brought forth to full view, 
and displayed before the universe. He believed that brutes 


^46 x<if£ OP WESLEY. Jan* 

■existed in Paradise, happy to the extent of their respective 
capacities, and each perfect in its kind. All the evils they 
endure he attributed to the fall of man. He supposed them, 
as well as man, destined to a more exalted state of being, 
iand thought it probable that when we attained to the con- 
dition of glorified spirits ii heaven, they might be raised to 
pur present rank in the scale of being. 

"Some teacher of materialism had asserted, that if man had 
an immaterial soul, so had the brutes; as if this conclusionf 
reduced that opmion to manifest absurdity. *I will not quar- 
rel,' said Wesley, 'with any that think they have. Nay, 1 wish 
he could prove it; and surely I would rather allow them soulsj 
than I would give up my own.' " p. 140. 

Such were the sentiments of Wesley, and such, we pre- 
sume, with little if any variation continue to be the prevail- 
ing sentiments of the Methodists; but Wesley, it seems, 
notwithstanding the zeal with which he maintained his own 
opinions, was not wanting in charity to others. We cannot 
deny ourselves the pleasure of making the following extract, 
which displays a spirit worthy of a christian, and expresses 
sentiments that must ensure respect for the man, whatever 
may be thought o^ his peculiar doctrines. 

"'We may die,' he says, 'without the knowledge of many 
truths, and vet be carried into Abraham's bosom- but if we die 
without love, what will knowledge avail? Just as much as it a* 
vails the devil and his angels'. I will not quarrel with you a- 
bout any opinion; only see that you know and love the Lord 
Jesus Christ, that you love your neighbour, and walk as your 
Master walked, and I desire no moic. I am sirk of opinions: 
lam weary to bear them: my soul loathes this frothy food. 
Give me solid and substantial religion: give me an humble, gen- 
tle lover of God and man; a man full of mercy and good fdith, 
-wiihoui partiality, and without hypocrisy; a man laying himself 
out in the work of faith, the patience of hope, the labour of 
love. Let my soul be with these Christians, wheresoever they 
are, and whatsoever opinion they are of. 'Whosoever' thus 
*doth the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my 
brother, and sister, and mother.' This temper of mind led hitn 
to judge kindly of the Romanists, and of heretics of every de- 
scription, wherever a Christian disposition and a virtuous lif© 
were found. He published the lives of several Catholics, an(i 
of one Socinian, for the edification ot his followers. He be- 
lieved not only that heathens, who did their duty according to 
their knowledge, vvere capable of eternal life; but even that a 
communion with the spiritual world had sometimes been vouch- 

i831. UFB OF WESLEY. §4^ 

«afcd them. Thus, he affirmed, that the demon of Socrate^ 
was a ministering angel, and that Marcus Antoninus received 
good inspirations, as he has asserted of himself. And wherf 
there was no such individual excellence, as in these signal in- 
starces, he refused to believe that any man could be pfecluded 
from salvation by thesccident of his birth place. Upon this 
point he vindicated divine justice, by-considering the different 
relation in which the Almighty stands to his creatures, as a crea» 
tor and as a governor. As a creator, he acts in all things ac- 
cording to his own soveteign w 11: in that exercise of his pow- 
er, justice can have no place; for nothing is due to what has no 
being. According, therefore, to his own good pleasure, he al>- 
lots the time, the place, the circumstanresfor the birth of each 
individual, and gives them various degrees of understanding 
and of knowledge, diversified in numberless ways. It is hard 
to say how far it extends: what an amazing 'difference there ia 
between one born and bred up in a pious Englisn family, and 
one born and bred among the Hottentots, * Only we are sure 
the difference cannot be so great, as to necessitate one to be 
good, or the other to be evil; to force one into everlasting giory, 
or the other into eve'lasting burnings.* For, as a governor, the 
Almighty cannot possibly act accordi; g to his own mere sov- 
ereign will,' but, as he has ex.pressly told us, accord ng to the 
invariable rules both of justice and mercy. Whatsoever, there- 
fore it hath pleased him to do of his sovereign pleasure as 
Creator, he will judge the world in righteousness; and every 
man therein, according to the strictest justice. He will punish 
no man for doing any thing which he could not possibly avoid; 
neither for omitting any thing which he could not possibly do.' " 

pp. 141 — 144. 

We have next a chapter on the Discipline of the Metho- 
dists, which was rendered by their founder quite systematic 
and complete. He prescribed a number of rules to the 
helpers, or preachers, whom he did not admit to that impor- 
tant office without a conviction of the soundness of their o- 
pinions and the sufficiency of their knowledge. He had 
g ven up, it appears, the absurd idea, to which we alluded 
in a former part of this article, that human learning is unne- 
cessary to a teacher of religion. A fund was provided, by 
the contributions ot the preachers, for the support of those 
who lived to be disabled, and of the widows of those who 
died in the ministry. The preachers were forbidden by the 
Conference to engage in trade, or to publish any thing with- 
out Mr. Wesley's consent. They were required to be quite 
abstemious in their mode of living, and were specially pro- 
iijibited from using snuflf; or tasting spirituous liquors. They 


Were directed likewise to change frequently their places of 
preaching, for, said Wesley, "I know, were I to preach one 
whole year in one place, I should preach both myself and 
my congregation asleep." Preaching was enjoined occa- 
sionally at five in the morning, as it promoted early risings 
and might thus benefit at once body and soul. The follow- 
ing advice to his helpers contains much sound sense and 
is not inappropriate at the present day. 

"He advised his nrearhers to begin and end alv/ays precisely 
at the lime appointed; and always to conclude the service in a< 
bout an hour: to suit their subject to the audience, to choose 
the plainest texts, and keep close to the text; neither rambling 
from it, nor allegorizing, nor spiritualizing too much. More 
than onre in his Journal he has recorded the death of men who 
were martyrs to long and loud preaching, and he frequently 
cautioned his followej's against it. To one of them he says, in 
a curious letter of advice, which he desired mgbt be taken as 
the surest markof love, "Scream no more, at the peril of your 
soul. God now warns you by me, whom he has set over you. 
Speak as earnestly as you can, but do not scream. Speak with 
all your heart, but with a moderate voice. It was said of our 
Lord, 'He shall not cry:* the word properly means, He shall 
not scream.' I often speak loud, often vehemently; but I never 
scream. I never strain myself: I dare not I know it would 
fce a sin against God and my own soul." They were instructed 
also not to pray above eight or ten minutes at most, without in- 
termission, unless for some pressing reason." pp. 153, 154. 

Helper was the name given by Wpsley to his itinerant 
preachers generally, and those amon., them who had the 
superintendence of circuits were by him called assistants. 
Every circuit had a certain number of helpers, all of whom 
were under the direction of one assistant. Some of the 
preachers however were merely local, who never left their 
families, but attended to their ordinary business diiring the 
week, and preached on the sabbath: and this course was 
^.mmonfy pursued by all at first as preparatory to becomi- 
J r; a; itinerant. 

•♦A still more important part was performed by the leaders, 
Viho are to Methodism what the non-commissioned officers are 
in an army'. The leader was appointed by the assistant: it was 
liis business regularly io meet his class, question them, in order, 
as to their religious afiu< tions and practice, and advise, caudon, 
or reprove, as the case might require. If any members absent- 
ed themselves from ihe class-niccting, he was to visit them, and 
inquire into the cause; z:M. he was to Tender an account to th^ 

1881. LIFE OF WESLEY, S49 

officiating preacher of those whose conduct appeared suspicious, 
or was in any way reprehensiole. By this means, and by the 
class-paper for every week, which the leaders were required to 
keep, and regularly produce, the preachers obtained a k'^osvl- 
edge of every individual member within their circuit; and, by 
the class-tickets which were renewed every quarter, a regular 
census of the society wis effected. — The leaders not only per- 
formed the office of drilling the young recruits, they acted also 
as the tax-gatl,ere's, and received the weekly contributions of 
the r class, which they paid to the local stewards, and the local 
stewards to the steward of the circuit." p-p. 154, 155. 

The subdivision of classes into bands Southey considers 
the most exceptionable part of the systeni. These bands 
met once a week at least, and each member was re- 
quired to confess without reserve at the meeting all the 
faults he had committed in thought, word, and deed, and all 
the temptations he had experienced. This unreserved confi- 
dence led to some unhappy consequences and afforded ad-' 
ditional temptations to tiie members. The select bands 
were not so objectionable, b^^ing composed only of those 
who were supposed to have attained a considerable share 
of the favour of God. But this did not become a regular 
part of the system. VVatchnights were held once a month, 
during which all who could assemble spent the night togeth- 
er, prayii.g and singing; and there were three love feasts, 
which took place each once a quarter, one being for the 
men, another for the women, and a third for both together. 
Great attention was paid to the musical part of their devo- 
tion, and the Methodists generally have ever since been re- 
markable for the excellence of their singing. 

Such is a brief outline of Methodism as establislied by 
its founder. The correctness of the account given by Mr. 
Southey, will not, it is presumed, in its most im ortant par- 
ticulars, be denied by any. The authenticity of his infor- 
mation cannot be questioned. In many instances he quotes 
the language of Mr. Wesley, and however he may differ from 
him in sentiment, he appears always disposed to represent 
his opinions with fairness and impartiality. 

Wesley was not very successful in his efforts to extend 
Methodism in Wales. His ignorance of the language of 
that country formed a serious obstacle. Nor was his pro- 
gress very considerable in Scotland. Whitefield had labor- 
ed there before him, and advised him, (for they had now 
become reconciled; not to go there. But Wesley reulied, 

350 LIFE OP WESLEY. /a«, 

*'If God sends me, people will hear." He went therefore, 
considering himself sent of God, but experiencfd much op- 

«'An old Burgher minister at Dalkeith preached against him, 
affirming that, if he died in his present senuments, he would be 
damned; and the fanatic declared that he would stake his own 
salvation upon it. It was well for him that these people were 
not armed with temporal authority. 'The Seceders,' s ys Wes- 
ley, 'who have fallen in my way, are more uncharitable than the 
Papists themselves. 1 never yet met a Papist who avowed the 
principle of murdering heretics. But a Seceding minister be- 
ing asked, 'Would not you, if it was in your power, cut the 
throats of all the Methodists?' replied dirscMy. 'Why, dir' not 
Samuel hew Agagin pieces before the Lord?' I have not yet 
met a Papist in this kingdom trho would tell me to my face, all 
but themselves must be damned; but I have seen Seceders e- 
Bough who make no scruple to affirm, none but themselves 
could be saved. And this is the natural consequence of their 
doctrine; for, as they hold that we are saved by faith alone, and 
4hat faith is the holding such and such opinions, it follows, all 
who do not hold those opinions have no faith, and therefore 
cannr t be saved.' Even Whitefield, predestinarian as he was, 
was regarded as an abomination by the Se<.eders: how, then, 
was it possible that they should tolerate Wesley, who taught 
that redemption vvasofiFeredto all mankind? A Method'st one 
day comforted a poor woman, whose child appeared to be dying, 
by assuring her that, for an infant, death would only be the ex- 
change of this miserable life for a happy eternity; and the Se- 
ceder, to whose flock she be'onged, was so shocked at this doc- 
trine, that the' deep-dyed Calvinist devoted the next Sabbath to 
the task of lonvincing his people, that the souls of all non-elect 
infants were doomed to certain and inevitable damnation," 

p. 179, 

The soft, persuasive eloquence of Wesley made less im- 
pression in Scotland, than the vehement and overpowering 
oratory of Whitefield. But the effects produced by them 
both were small. Methodism gained but little influence 
with the cold blooded Scotch, and "Wesley groaned over 
the manner in whicli the Reformation had been effected" 
among them. For the violence of the early reformers, and 
especially (or the character of John Knox, he would admit 
of no apology. 

" 'I know,' 1)0 says, «it is comfhonly said, the work to be done 
needed such a spirit. Not so: the work of God does not, can- 
ii-)t need the work of the Devil to forward it. And a calm even 
epirit goes through rough ivcrk far better than a furiou* one. 

Ift^l. LIFE OF WESLEY. 391 

AlthougR, therefore, God did use, at the time of the reforma- 
tion, sour, overbearing, passionate men, yet he did not use them 
because they were scch; but notwithstanding they were so. 
And there is no doubt he would have used them much mo^e^ 
had they been of an humbler and milder spirit.' " p. 183. 

In Ireland Methodism met with a more favourable recep- 
Hion than either in Wales or Scotland; but there, as in oth- 
er places, it was, at first, most bitterly persecuted. 

"It happened that Cennick, preaching on Christmas-day, 
took tor his text these words from St. Luke's Gospel: 'And this 
shall be a sign unto you: ye shall find the babe, wrapped in 
swaddling clothes lying in a manger.' — A Catholic who was 
present, and to whom the language of Scripture was a novelty, 
thought this so ludicrous, that he called the preacher a Swad- 
dler, in derision; and this unmeaning word became the nick- 
name of the Methodists, and had all the effect of the moat op- 
probious appellation." p. 192. 

Both Wesley and Whitefield were at different times ex- 
posed to most imminent danger of personal injury from the 
mobs in Ireland. These outrages likewise were winked at 
and sometimes encouraged by the magistrates. 

<'Some person had said, in reply to ©ne who observed that 
the Methodists were tolerated by the king, they should find that 
the mayor was king of Cork; and Mr. VV esley now found, that 
there was more meaning in this than he had been disposed to 
allow. When next he began preaching in the Methodist roomj 
the mayor sent the drummers to drum before ihe door. A 
great mob was by this means collected, and when Wesley came 
out of the house, they closed him in. He appealed to one of 
the Serjeants to protect him; but the man replied, he had no or- 
ders to do so; and the rabble began to p^lt him: by pushing on, 
however, and looking them fairly in the face, with his wonted 
composure, he made way, and they opened to let him pass> 
But a cry was set up. Hey for the Romansl the congregation 
did not escape so well as the leader; many of them were rough- 
ly handled, and covered with mud, the house was presently gut- 
ted, the floors were torn up, and, with the window-frames and 
doors, carried into the street and burnt: and the next day the 
mob made a grand procession, and burnt Mr. Wesley in effigy. 
The house was a second time attacked, and the boards demol- 
ished, which had been nailed against the windows, and a fellow 
posted up a notice at the public exchange, with his name affix- 
ed, that he was ready to head any mob, in order to pull down 
any house that should harbour a Swaddler." pp. 195, 196. 

On another occasion Whitefield preached in Oxminton 


Green, Dublin, and had like to have paid dear for his au- 

"The Ormond Boys, and the Liberty Boys, (these were the 
current denominations of the mob fai tions at that time,) gene- 
rally assembled there every Sunday — lO fight; and Whitefield, 
mindful, no doubt, of his success in a former enierprise, under 
like circumbtances, determined to take the field on that day, re- 
lying upon the inteiference of the officers ana soldiers, whose 
barracks were close by, if he should stand in need of protec- 
tion. The singing, praying, and preaching went On without 
much interruption, only now and then a few stones, and a few 
clods of dirt, were thrown. After the sermon, he prayed for 
success to the Prussian arras, it being in time of war. Wheth- 
er this prayer offended the party spirit of his hearers, or wheth- 
er the mere fact of his bemg a heretic, who went about seeking 
to make proselytes, had excited, in the catholic part of the mob, 
a d^'termined spirit of vengeance; or whether, without any pim- 
ciple of haired or personal dislike, they considered him as a 
bear, bull, or badger, whom they had an opportunity of tor- 
menting, the barracks, through which he Intended to return as 
he had come, were closed against him; ard when he endeavor- 
ed to make his way across the green, the rabble assailed him, 
♦Many atta'-ks,' says he, 'have I had from Satan'b children, but 
nowvou would have thought he had been permitted to give me 
an effectual parting blow.' Vollies of stones came from all 
quarters, while he reeled to and fro undev the blows, till he was 
almost breathless, and covered with blood. A strong beaver 
hat, '.vhich served him for a while as a skuil-cap. was knocked 
off at last, and he theii received many blows and wounds on the 
head, and one large one near the temple. I thought of Ste- 
phen,' says he, 'and was in great hopes that, like him, I should 
be despatched, and go off, in this bloody triumph, to the imme- 
diate presence of my Master.' The door of a minister's house 
Wcis opened for him in tinie, and he staggered in, and was shel- 
tered there, till a coach could be brought, and he was conveyed 
safely away." pp. 198, 199. 

But. notwithstanding all these persecutions, Methodism 
gained ground in Ireland, and perhaps the persecutions 
themselves tended to promote its success. The following 
occurrence shows that the mobs did not always go off tri- 

"The Methodists at Wexford mec in a long barn, and used 
to fasten the door, because they were annoyed by a Catholic 
jnob. Being thus excluded from the meetiiig, the mob became 
curious to know \\ hat was done there; and taking counsel togeth- 
er, they agreed that a fellow should get io 5\nd secrete himself 

iS2i, LIFE OF WESLEY. 43$ 

■J)efofe the congregation assembled, so that he' might see all that 
was going on, and, at a proper time; let in his companions. The 
advemurcr could find no better means of concealment than by 
getting into a sack which he found there, and lying down in a 
situation near the entrance. The people collected, secured the 
door as usual, and, as usual, began their service by singing. 
The mob collected also, and, growing impatient, called repeat- 
edly upon their f'iend Patrick to open the door; but Pat hap. 
pened to have a taste for music, and he liked the singing so 
well, that he thought, as he afterwards said, it would be a thous- 
and pities to disturb it. And when the hymn was done, and 
the itinerant began to pray, in spite of all the vociferations of 
his comrades, he thought that, as he had been so well pleased 
v/ith the singing, he would see how he liked the prayer; but, 
when the prayer proceeded, 'the power of God,' says the rela- 
ter, 'did so confound him, that he rosred out with might and 
mam; and not having power to get out of the sack, lay bawling 
and screaming, to the astonishment and dismay of the congre- 
gation, who probably supposed that Satan himself was in the 
barn. Somebody at last ventured to see what was in the sack; 
and helping him out, brought him up, confessing his sjns, and 
crying for mercy.' This is the most comical case of instanta- 
neous conversion that ever was recorded, and yet the man is 
said to have been thoroughly converted." pp. 212, 213. 

f Notwithstanding Wesley had written a treatise in favour 
of celibacy, he married a widow, named Vizelle, with four 
children, and an independent fortune. She proved howev- 
er a complete termagant, was jealous, ill-natured, and over- 

"It is said that she frequently travelled a hundred miles, for 
the purpose of watching, from a window, who was in the car- 
riage with him when he entered a town. She searched his pock- 
ets, opened his letters, put his letters and papers into the hands 
of his enemies, in hopes that they might be made use of to 
blast his character; and sometimes laid violent hands upon him, 
and tore his hair. She Irequently left his house, and upon his 
earnest entreaties, returned again; till, after having thus disqui- 
eted twenty years of his life, as far as it was possible for any 
domestic vexations to disquiet a man whose life was passed in 
loco-motion, she seized on part of his Journals, and many other 
papers, which were never restored, and depa ted, leaving word 
that she never intended to return." pp. 219 — 221. 

We have already extended this review to so unexpected 
a length, that we have no room to follow Mr. Southey in his 
details of the schisms which arose among the followers of 


g54i I-IFE OF WESLEY. JflW. 

Wesley. That commenced by James Rally was among the 
most oonsid- rable and was the foundation of a sect, still 
Icnown by the name of Rellyan Universalists, "and it is said, 
that Washington's Chaplain w^as a preacher of that denomi- 
nation." George Bell was excommunicated for some 
strange, mad conduct, such as prophecying that the end of 
the world was athand, thus alarming the credulous through- 
out the country: and other divisions took place of a more 
serious character. 

We have now an account of the courtship, marriage, in- 
creasing popularity, and death of Whitefield. This last e- 
Tent took place in 1769, at Newburyport, Massachusetts, and 
according to his own desire, he was buried before the pulpit 
in the Presbyterian church of that town. 

Wesley engaged in some serious controversies wnth the 
Calvinists, and, notwithstanding the number and length of 
the quotations we have already made, we trust we shall be 
excused for extracting some of his arguments used on these 
occasions. In the Conference of 1771, he said, 

i'We have received it as a maxim, that a man is to do nothing- 
s' order to justification. Nothing can be more false. Who- 
ever desires to find favour with God, should cease to do evil, and 
learn to do ivell. Whoever rejjents, should do works meet for 
■repentance. And if this is not in order to find favour, what 
does he do them for? Is not this salvation by works? Not by 
the merit of works, but by works as a condition. What have we 
then been disputing about for these thirty years? I am afraid 
about words. As to merit itself, of which we have been so 
dreadfully yfraid, we are rewarded according to our ivorks, yea, 
because of our works. Hovv does this differ irum for the sake 
of our works? And hovv differs this from secundum merita 
o/2e7-wm, as our works deserve? Can yr)U split this hair? I 
doubt I cannot. — Does not talking of a justified or sanctified 
itate tend to mislead men? almost naturally leading them to 
trust in what was done in one moment; whereas we are every 
hour, and every moment, pleasing or displeasing to God, accor- 
ding to our works; according to the whole of our inward tern-- 
pers, and our outward behaviour." p. 266. 

Perhaps the following will not be considered as a very 
dignified mode of controversy, though it is certainly calcu- 
lated to produce a powerful effect; and, we may add, it is 
not beneath the productions of some of his opponents eve^ 
3n point of dignity. 

-''A little before that Conference which. brought out the \yhole. 

1-S21. LIFE OP WESLEY. 856 

Calvinistic force against Wesley, Mr. Toplacly pu' lished % 
Treatise upon absolute Predestination, chiefly translated from 
ttie Latin of Zanchius Mr. Wesley set forth an ana'ysis of 
this treatise, fv)r the purpose of exposing its monstrous doctrine, 
and concluded in these words: 'The suni of all this: — one in 
t^venty (suppuse) of mankind are elected; nineteen in twenty 
are reprobated. The elect shall be saved, do what they will; 
the reprobate shall be damned, do what they can. Reader. l)e- 

lieve this, or be damned. Witness my hand, A T .'* 

Topl'cdy denied the consequences, and accused Mr. Weslev o£ 
intending to palm the paragraph on the world as his." p. 272. 

The sermon upon Free Grace, which exceedingly exas- 
perated the Calvinists, contains some passages, quoted by 
Mr. Southey, which are certainly in a highly wrought straiii 
of eloquence. By way of showing what he considered the 
absurdity and dangerous tendency of Predestination, he ap- 
peals, as it were, to the powers of darkness, and represents 
them as rejoicing in the decrees of God, which have des- 
tined to their infernal contro . so many of the human family. 
After asserting, in bold and awful language, that this doc- 
trme would, if followed out to its consequences, make Christ 
a hypocrite, and God worse than the devil, he thus pro- 

<'This is the blasphemy for which I abhor the doctrine of 
Predestination; a doctrine, upon the supposition of which, if 
one could possibly suppose it for a moment, call it election, rep- 
robation, or what you please, (for all comes to the same thing,) 
one might say to our adversary the devil, 'Thou fool, why dost 
thou roar about any longer? Thy lying in wait for suuls is a» 
needless and useless as our preaching. — Hearestthou not, that 
God hath taken thy work out of thy hands, and that he doth it 
more effectually? Thou, with all thy prmcipalitiestmd powers, 
canst only so assault that we may resist thee; but he can irresis- 
tibly destroy both body and soul in hell! Thou canst only en- 
tice; but his unchangeable decree to leave thousands of souls ia 
death, compels them to continue in sin, till they drop into ever- 
lasting burnings. Thou temptest; he forceth us to be damned, 
for we cannot resist his will. Thou fool! why goesi thou about 
any longer, seekmg whom thou mayest devour? Hearest thoa 
not that God is the devouring lion, the des royer of souls, the 
rnurderer of men? Moloch caused only children to pass through 
the fire, and that fire was soon quenched; or, the corruptible 
body being consumed, its torments were at an end; but God, 
thou art told, by his eternal decree, fixed before they had done 
good or evil, causes not only children of a span long, but the 
f arents also;i to pass throu§;h the fire of hell; that fire whick 

30§ MFE OF wiTSLEY, Jan. 

never shall be quenrhed: and the body which is cast thereintOy 
being nov/ Incorruptible and immortal, will be ever consuming 
and never consumed; but the smoke of their torment, because 
it is God's good pleasure, ascendeth up far ever." pp, 281, 282. 

It had been the tlesire of Wesley to effect a friendly u- 
nion with the regular English clergy, and without regard 
to theii differenee of sentiment, to live in harmony with 
them. He found however very {cw ready to meet him on 
the ground of mutual forbearance, and being desirous of 
having more clerical co-adjutors, suffered some of his lay 
preachers to receive ordination from a man who styled him- 
self Erasmus, Bishop of Arcadia, This plan however was 
not approved by his brethren in the ministry, and was not, 
to any great extent, pursued. In the year 1780 he com- 
menced the publication of the Arminian MagazinCjin which, 
besides defending his peculiar doctrines, we are told he 
furnished much interesting and useful matter. 

We come now to the history of Methodism in the United 
States. Whitelield had preached with great zeal and great 
momentary effect, in almost every part of the country, but 
he had not attempted to organize a society. This was com- 
menced at New York by Philip Embury, who had been a 
local preacher in England, with the aid of Captain Weob^ 
who had been converted by Wesley at Bristol. 

"Webb hearing of Embury's beginning, paid him a visit from 
Albany, where he then held the appointment of I arrack-mas* 
ter, preached in his uniform, attracted auditors by the novelty 
of such an exhibition, and made proselytes by his zeal. A reg- 
ular society was formed in the year 1768, and they resolved to 
build a preaching-house." p. 304. 

Wesley sent preachers to aid them, and they were mak- 
ing considerable progress at the commencement of the.Rev'- 
olutionary War. On thi occasion Wesley took an active 
part, preache"', and published pamphlets, in favour of the 
English government. He advised his preachers in Ameri- 
ca however not to inlerCere with political concerns, and, 
fortunately for tlie interests of Methodism in this country, 
they not only followed liis advice, but some of them got pos- 
session of alt the copies of his political pamphhts which 
\vere sent to New York, and destroyed them. It seems 
however that the part he took against the American cause 
was no secret in this country, and his preachers generally 
were on thataccourU ccniDc'Icd to from the violence of 
the populijce. 


"Asbury alone remained: he was less obnoxious than his col- 
leagues, because, having chosen the less frequented parts of 
the country for the scene of his exertions, he had been less 
conspicuous, and less exposes' to provocation and to danger. 
Yet even he found it necessary to withdraw from public uevv, 
and conceal himself in the house of a friend, till after two years 
of this confinemcut, he obtained credentials from the governor 
of Pennsylvania, which enabled him to appear abroad again with 
safety." pp. 314, 315. 

Finding it impracticable to procure Episcopal ordination 
in America, Wesley came to the conclusion that he was him- 
self empowered to ordain, and under this impression con- 
stituted Dr. Coke Superintendent or Bishop for this coun- 
try, who immediately proceeded to New York; but, not 
finding Mr. Asbury there, he went southward to seek him, 
and, meeting with him in Delaware, they proceed d lo Bal- 
timore, where a general Conference w^as held, rules and 
regulations for the government of the church were estab- 
lished, and Mr. Asbury was consecrated by Dr. Coke, as 
Bishop of the Methodis* Episcopal Church in the United 
States. A Methodist Seminary was then established, about 
28 miles from Baltimore, called Cokesbury College, which 
flourished for many years, but having been twice burnt 
down, it was at length concluded "that it was not the will of 
God for them to undertake such expensive buildings, nor 
to attempt such popular establishments." Dr. Coke is re- 
presented as a man of liberal manners and amiable charac- 
ter, who soon obtained a large stock of popularity. He 
was not however prudent enough to retain it, for both he 
and Bishop Asbury rendered themselves exceedingly ob- 
noxious by inveighing against the established system of 

"They proceeded so far themselves, that they required the 
members of the society to set their slaves free; and '^everal per- 
sons were found who made ibis sacrifice from a sense of duty. 
One planter in Virginia emancipated twenty-two, who were, at 
that time, worth from thirty to forty pounds each. His name 
was Kennon, and it deserves to be honourably recorded. But 
such instances were rare, and Dr. Coke, who had much of the 
national ardour in his character, proceeded in such an intolerant 
spirit of philanthropy, that he soon provoked a violent opposi- 
tion, and incurred no small degree of personal danger. One 
of his sermons upon this topic incensed some of his hearers so 
much, that they withdrew, for the purpose ol way-laying him; 
aad a lady negro-owner promised them fifty pounds, if they 

358 LIFE OP WESLEY. ' Jan, 

would give 'that little Doctor' an hundred lashes. But the bet- 
ter part of his congregation protecled him, and that same ser- 
mon produced the emancipation of twenty-four slaves. In one 
county the s ave owners presented a bill afsjainst him, whirh was 
found by the grand jury, and no less than ninety p rsons set out 
in pursuit of him; but he was got beyond their reach. A more 
ferocious enemy followed him, with an intention of shooting 
him; this the man himself confessed, when some time after- 
wards, he became a member of the Methodist Society. On his 
second visit to America, Coke ivas convinced that he had acted 
indiscreetly, and he consented to let the question of emancipa- 
tion rest, rather than stir up an opposition which so greatly im- 
peded the progress of Methodism." pp. 328, 329. 

By the efforts of these men, and of their co-adjutors, 
which Ihey soon obtained in America, Methodism spread 
with astonishing rapidity, and notwithstanding all the dif-. 
ficulties which the preachers had to encoOnter in a country 
comparatively new, where there were swamps to pass, riv- 
ers to ford, and often to swim, and where, for want of roads, 
the danger was sometimes great of losing one's way in the 
xvilderness, they prosecuted their course with undiminished 
zeal, and in the short space of less than sixty years the little 
band organized at New York under Embury and Webb, has 
grown into a society of two hundred and sixty thousand per- 
sons. So much for genuine ardor and perseverance. 

We have next an interesting chapter on the progress of 
Methodism in the West Indies, but the alarming length to 
Avhich this article has already extended, admonishes us to 
forbear. We can only refer those, who have a curiosity to 
pursue these details, to the book itself. 

In the year 1784 "the legal settlement of the Conference 
■was effected," and permanent provisions made for the gov- 
ernment of the society. This Conference was originally 
composed of one hundred preachers named by Wesley, who 
were required to meet annually, and empowered to fill va- 
cancies, as they should occur. In them, as a body, was 
vested the property of the society, in trust for the public 

Wesley lived to a good old age, having survived most of 
his early disciples, and enjoying remarkable health andspi-/ 

"After his eightieth year, he went twice to Holland, a coun-1 
try m which Methodism, as Quakerism had done before it, met 
M^ith a certain degree of success. Upon completing his eigh> 


ty second year, he says, *is any thing too hard for God? It is 
now eleven ye&rs since I have felt any such thing as weariness. 
Many times 1 speak till my voice fails, and I ran speak no long- 
er. Frequently I walk till my strength fails, and I can walk 
no further, yet, eren then, I feel no sensation ol weariness, but 
am perfectly easy from head to foot. I dare not impute this to 
natural causes. It is the will of God.' A year afterwards he 
says, *I am a wonder to myself! I am never tired (such is the 
goodness of God,) either with writing, preaching, or travelling. 
One natural cause, undoubtedly, is, my continual exercise, and 
change of air. How the latter contributes to health J. know 
not; but it certamly does.' " pp. 404, 405. 

He first began to feel decay in his eighty-fourth year, and 
died on the 2d of March 1791, in the eighty eighth year of 
his age, and the sixty fifth of his ministry. Notwithstand- 
ing he had directed that his funeral should be private, and 
it was therefore determined that it should take place be- 
tween five and six o'clock in the morning, the arrangement 
could not be kept secret, and hundreds assembled on the 
melancholy occasion. 

The remarks of Mr. Southey en the manners and effects 
ot Methodism, will probably be considered by its professors 
as the most objectionable part of his work. He has indeed, 
throughout the whole, interspersed occasional expressions 
of hi« own feelings and opinions, which of course are not 
very favourable to all the doctrines of Wesley. But here he 
has undertaken to give a summary view of the character 
and tendency of Methodism, and, although he admits that it 
has been productive of much good, yet it can hardly be ex- 
pected that his remarks on the subject can be satisfactory to 
its professors, from whom he so radically differs. Making 
all due allowance however for his attachment to the doc- 
trines and discipline of the Church of England, we do not 
think even they can consider him very illiberal. He might 
indeed with propriety, from a regard to tlie feelings of those 
whom he had reason to suppose would take an interest in 
his work, have spared some of the severity of his remarks; 
and perhaps he has sometimes tinged with the dye of his 
own prejudice, his narrative of facts, as well as his state- 
ment of doctrires. His Vv^ork will doubtless be assailed by 
the defenders of Methodism, and his opinions c©ntroverted 
with talent as well as zeal. But it is neither our inclina- 
tion, nor our province to take part in the controversy. We 
will readily give credit to both sides for sincerity, and we 

360 LIFE OF WESLEY. ilttB. 

think the inost enthusiastic. Methodist can scarcely peruse, 
the following quotation, with which Mr. Southey concludes 
his work, without admitting, that if his views are not al- 
ways just, he is not entirely destitute of candour and liberal' 

5'Such was the life, and such the labours of John Wesley; a 
man of t>;reat views, great energy, and great ^rlrtues. That he 
aw akened a zealous spirit, not only in his own community, but 
in a Chuv( h whi; h needed something to quicken it, is acknow- 
ledged by the members of that Church itself; that he encour- 
aged enthusiasm and extravagance, lent a reac'y ear to false and 
impossible relations, and spread superstition as well as piecy, 
would hardly be denied by the candid and judicious, among his 
own people. In its immediate effects the powerful pri^-ciple of 
religion, which he and his preachers diffused, has reclaimed ma- 
uy from a course of sin, has supported many in poverty, sick- 
ness, and affliction, and hns imparted to many a triumphant joy 
in death. What Wesley says of the miracles wrought at the 
tomb ..f the Abbe Paris, may filly be applied here; 'In many of 
these instances, I see great superstition, as well as strong faith: 
but God makes allowance for invincible ignorance, and blesses 
the faith, notwithstanding the superstition.' Concerning the 
general a d remoter consequences of Methodism, opinions will 
differ. They who consider the wide spreading schism to which 
it has led, and who know that the welfare of the country is vi- 
tally cornected with its church-establishment, may think that 
the evil overbalances the good. But the good may endure, 
and the evil be only for a time. In every other sect there is 
an inherent spirit of hostility to the Church of England, too of- 
ten and too naturally connected with diseased political opinions. 
So it was in the beginning, and'^o it will continue to be, as long 
as those sects endure. But Methodism is free from this. The 
extravagancies which accompanied its growth are no longer en- 
couraged, and will altogether be discountenanced, as their real 
nature is understood. This cannot be doubted It is in the 
natural •ourse of things that it should purify itself gradually 
from whatever is objectionable in its institutions. Nor is it be- 
yond the bounds of reasonable hope, that conforming itself to 
the original intention of its founders, it may again draw to\^ ards 
the establishment from which it has seced'-d, and deserve to be 
recognized as an auxiliary institution, its ministers being analo- 
gous to the regulars, and its members to the tertiaries and va- 
rious confraternities of the Romish Church. The obstacles to 
this are surely not insuperable, perhaps not so difflcuk as they 
■may appear. And were this effected, John Wesley \yould then 
be ranked, not only among the most remarkable ana influential 

4821. LIPB OP "WESLEY. S64 

men of his age, but among the great benefactors of his coun-. 
try and his kind." pp. 410, 41 1. 

The opinion of Mr. Southey, expressed in the above quo- 
tation, respecting a Church Establishment, it is hardly ne- 
cessary in this country to notice. We have ascertainea by 
experience, the surest and safest of all instructors, .that 
such an establishment is not necessary, and we needed no 
experience to teach us that it is grossly inconsistent with 
the freedom of opinion, and the unalienable rights of con- 
science. The importance of religion to a community, as 
well as to an individual, we feel in all its force, and we ad- 
mit that religious instruction and regular public worship 
are essential to the prosperity of any people. But we have 
shown that all these may be preserved without fettering tlie 
conscience, and we have the glory, as well as the satisfac- 
tion, of furnishing an example to the world, in this as in 
$QBie other particulars, worthy of universal imitation. 



INDIANS, IN 1778. 

In our Number for January 1820, we furnished an inter- 
esting narrative of an adventure with the Indians, in which 
Major William B. Smith bore a conspicuous part. The 
following account of the attack upon Boonsborougb in 1778, 
is derived from a statement made by that officer in 1815, 
of whith notes were carefully taken at the time by a gen- 
tleman of Lexington. 

Colonel Gecrge Rogers Clarke, who had been sent out 
from Virginia, with a regiment of soldiers, to defend the 
Western Country, believing Kentucky to be less exposed at 
that time than many other places, had gone to Indiana and 
Illinois, and had taken with him not only the regular troops, 
but a number of the most active and enterprising young 
men from Kentucky. Smith was left to defend this part of 
the country, and wa<? ordered to be particularly attentive to 
the protection of Boonsborough, which was the earliest, and 
at that time the most important settlement in Kentucky. He 
repaired therefore to that post, and with much labour and 
fatigue rebuilt the fort. Learning however from some pri- 
soners, who had escaped, that the Indians were about to 
make inroads into the settlement, and deeming it best to 
anticipate their movements, and unexpectedly to attack 
them on their own ground, he left about twenty youth to 
defend the fort, and marched, with thirty of his most active 
men, towards the Shawanee towns. When they reached the 
Blue Licks, eleven of the number, being anxious for their 
families whom they had left behind, and considering the 
force too small to accomplish the object in view, resolved 
to abandon the enterprise, and returned to the fort. The 
other nineteen, not discouraged by the irresolution of their 
companions, but rather animated by the reflection that th© 
glory of success would be increased by the diminution of 
their number, heroically persevered. When they reached 
the mouth of Licking, they were compelled to build rafts, 
upon which to cross the Ohio. Having then painted their 
faces, and assumed the disguise of savages, they advanced 


toward the Indian towns, and had arrived within about twen- 
ty five miles of their destination, when they met a party of 
nearly two hundred and fitty Indians, principally on horse- 
back, going to make an attack upon the settlements in Ken- 
tucky Major Smith and his men had the good fortune to 
see this formidable party, before they were themselves ob* 
served, but, instead of instantly endeavouring to make good 
their retreat, they fired, and killed two of the enemy who 
were mounted. This unexpected attack alarmed the In» 
dians, and, without stopping to examine the number or 
strength of their assailants, they precipitately retreated. 
The heroic adventurers, flushed by their success, advanced 
and repeated their fire. The savages however at length re- 
covered their self-possession, and after deliberately holding 
a council of war, resolved to turn upon their pursuers, of 
whose character and design, in consequence of their dis- 
guise, they were probably ignorant. Meantime, Major 
Smith, perceiving the imminent hazard to which he and 
his little army were exposed, advised a retreat, and before 
the Indians had concluded their council, they had advanced 
too far to be easily overtaken, and in the course of that 
night and the next morning, all arrived safe at Boonsbo- 
rough. About an hour after the last of their number had 
entered he fort, not less than six hundred Indians, in three 
divisions of about two hundred each, appeared with col- 
ours, and took their stations on different sides of the fort. It 
was deemed prudent not to fire upon them until they should 
commence the attack. Their tirst step however was to 
send a flag, with a request that the commander of the fort 
would come out and treat with them. A council was held 
and it was at first determined, contrary to the opinion of 
Major Smith, not to comply with the request. They sent 
however a second time, stating that they had letters from 
Detroit for the commanding officer, and it was then resolv- 
ed that Major Smith and Colonel Daniel Boone should ven- 
ture out, and hear what they had to say. Three chiefs met 
them with great parade about fifty yards from the fort, con- 
ducted them to the spot designated for their consultation, 
and spread a panther skin for their seat, while two other In- 
dians held bushes over their heads to protect them from the 
sun. Here the chief addressed them for about five minutes 
assuring them of the most friendly disposition, and a part 
of the men grounded their arms, and advanced to shake 
hands with them. The chief then produced a lettej and; 


proclamation from Governor Hamilton at Detroit, proposing 
io them the most favourable terms, if they would emove 
thither. Major Smith replied that the proposition was a 
kind one, but that it was impossible to effect the removal of 
all their women and children. The Indian assured him 
that that was no obstacle, as he bad brought forty hors- 
es for their accommodation. After a long and apparently 
friendly consultation, during which they smoked together, 
and the Indians gave assurances that they had abstained 
from killing hogs and cattle, from a wish not to offend the 
whites, Major Smith and Colonel Boone returned to make 
tnown the proposals, and to consult upon the course to be 
pursued. On their retur-), they were accompt nied by twen- 
ty Indians, as far as the limits beyond which it was agreed 
they should not go. Smith then called together all the 
men, wbo were within the fort, read to them the letter and 
enquired what was to be done. They asked his opinion, 
and he frankly told them, that the only course he considered 
judicious and safe, was to decline the terms proposed and 
to resolve to defend the fort against any attack that might 
be made. The Indiatis had ho cannon, and th< re was plen- 
ty of ammunition within the fort, so that he conceived there 
was little danger to be apprehended in the result. His 
counsel was approved and the course resolved on. 

In a short time the Indians sent another flag, in order, as 
as they said, to ascertain the result of the consultation with- 
in the fort. Major Smith sent them word, that he had told 
them all he could say on the subject, but if they wished to 
hold a treaty^ as it is called, they must come forward, and a 
place would be selected for the purpose. Thirty chiefs 
came forward accordingly, but could not be induced to ap- 
proach within less than eighty yards of the fort. Major 
Smith, Colonel Boone, and four men went out to meet them, 
and continued in close conference with them upwards of 
two days, and a treaty was Rt last agreed upon, with the 
condition that neither party should cross the Ohio, till it was 
regularly ratified by the authority of the state. This, Major 
Smith considered as a deception, as he placed no confi- 
dence in the negotiators. On the third day of the confer- 
ei^ce, vvliich was the 9th day of September 1778, when the 
treaty was prepared for sic;nature, iUe old chief, who seem- 
ed to regulate all the proceedings, stepped aside to speak to 
some y^ung men at a distance, observing that he would re- 
turn shortly and sign the treaty. On his return Major 

1821. ATTACK upon liOONSBOROUGtt. 865 

Smith remarked that he had substituted young warriors for 
some of the older men around the council board, and enquir- 
ing the cause, the chief assured him that the change had 
been made to gratify some of the young men, who wished to 
be present on the occasion. It was then proposed to sh.ike 
hands, and as Major Smith arose for the purpose two In- 
dians seized him behind. Previously to his leaving th^' K;:t, 
the major, suspecting some treacherous design, had piu.- d 
twenty five men in a bastion, with orders to tire unhesitating- 
ly at the council, so soon as any violence should be at;em])t- 
ed by them. The instant he was seized, about six hunrin d 
guns were discharged by the Indians in the neighbourhood, 
and the fire was promptly returned by the men in the bas- 
tion. Major Smith, who was then liberated from tiie grasp 
of his first assailants, attempted to seize the man, with 
whom he had been in the act of shaking hands, but just 
then a ball from the fort mortally wounding fhe savage, he 
fell, and major Smith upon him. A scene of terrible, con- 
fusion ensued. The firing was kept up with vehemence on 
both sides. Colonel Boone was slightly wounded, and as 
an uplifted tomahawk was just about for the second time to 
fall upon his head, he dexterously avoided it, and Major 
Smith, who was that instant passing rapidly by, on his way 
to the fort, received the blow, the force of which however 
being almost spent, it did not inflict a very violent wound. 
All the whites then fled with the utmost possible expedition 
to the fort, and the Indians continued firir-g at them as th' y 
ran. They all reached the fort however without receiving 
any fatal wound. The firing continued on both sides with- 
out intermission, from early in the morning till dark. The 
Indians then procured a quantity of faggots, to which they 
set fire, and threw them thus lighted upon the houses and 
into the fort, but as those within were provided with ma- 
chinery for throwing water they were enabled to extinguish 
the faggots as they fell. Finding their efforts to destroy the^ 
fort in this way unsuccessful, the savages returned again to 
their arms, and kept up a brisk fire with musketry, with but 
little intermission, for three day . On the morning of the 
third day, Major Smith discovered them digging a mine, in 
©rder to make a way, under the walls, into the fort. To de- 
feat this object, he cut a hole under his kitchen, through 
which he went out, and dug a ditch between them and the 
wall, in a spot completely within the command of the guns 
of the fort. Before they reached tlie ditch however, the 

366 THE ZEND-AVESTA. •^a»?» 

mine fell in, and all tlieir labour was lost. They then again 
returned to their fire arms, and poured continual vollies a- 
gainst the fort, without reaching however the persons with- 
in. During this firing, which continued, in all, about eight 
days, they repeatedly called to Major Smith to surrender, ' 
and p'^omised, in that event, to treat him and his compan- 
ions with the utmost humanity and kindness. But, notwith- 
standing their perseverance was not a little alarming, it was 
tmanimously concluded not to surrender, but to await the 
event with fortitude and resolution. On the morning of 
the 17th of September, the ninth day from the commence- 
ment of the siege, the Indians killed a r umber of the cattle 
belonging to the fort, and in the course of that day, they 
made thei*" retreat. 

This seige proved a serious affair to the Indians, who lost 
about TWO HUNDRED killed, besides a great number wound- 
ed The wnites, on the contrary^ being protected by the 
fort, behind which they could remain in almost perfect 
safety, while they deliberately picked off their assailants, 
lost only two killed, and six wounded. 

The escape of Smith, Boone, and their companions, who 
attended the Indian council, was indeed almost miraculous; 
and can only be accounted for by the confusion into which 
the Indians were thrown by the prompt, unexpected, and 
destructive fire, which was poured in upon them from the 
men stationed by Smith in the bastion. Two of the savages 
who first seized him, were almost instantaneously kiljedj 
and the wonderuil accuracy of the marksmen avoided him 
although in close contact with them. The rest, seeing their 
comrades thus unexpectedly f^ll, had not presence of mind 
sufficient to prevent the escape of their intended prisoners, 
who, regardless of every thing but flight, made their way, a- 
midst the confusion which reigned around them, wit;i but 
little injury, to the fort. 


Our readers may be gratified to know the whole title 
page of Du Perron's French Tianslation of tlic Sacred 
Writings of Zoroaster, whose name is so conspicuous in 
the history of the religion of the East, We have seen thlE 

1821. THE ZF,ND-AVE9TA. 367 

translation in three volumes, quarto, and have been very 
deeply interested in studying it The title runs thus: 

'-'•Zend-Jhesta^ the work of Zoroaster, containing the the- 
ological, physical, and moral ideas of this leg slator; the 
ceremonies of the religious worship, which he establislied; 
and many important treatises relative to the ancient history 
of the Persians; translated into French from the original 
Zend, with some remarks, and accompanied by many tracts 
adapted to illustrate the subjects which are introduced, by 
M Anquetil Du Perron. Paris, 3 vols, 4to." 

The first volume consists of the Introduction to the Zend- 
Avesta, containing some account of the translator's prepar- 
atory labours, a plan of the work, and an appendix concern- 
ing the moneys and weights of India, objects of natural 
history and commerce, and the oriental manuscripts of the 

The second volume contains the Vendidad Sade, i,e, the 
Izeschne, the Vispered, and the Vendidad properly so call- 
ed, preceded by some notices of the Zend Manuscripts, the 
Pehlvis, Persian and Indian; titles and summaries of the 
articles; and the life of Zoroaster. 

The third volume contains the Isechtes Sades; the Si 
Rouze; the Boun-Dehesch, translated from the original 
Pehlvi; two vocabularies, the first Zend, Pehlvi, and French, 
and the second Pehlvi, Persian, and French; an exposition 
of the civil and religion? usages of the Persians, and the 
moral and ceremonial system of the Zend and Pehlvi books. 

The name of the Vendidad is Pa-Zend. This word is 
formed from the Zend Videeouae datae, translated into Pehl- 
vi by djed dew dad^ and which signifies donne oppose an Deic^ 
or ddnne contre U Dew^ that is to say, "The true name ot the 
legislator of the Persians is Zerethoschtro, a Zend word." 
From this the Greeks made Zoroastre by taking away tk. 
(vol: II, p, 2.) 

"I suppose that Zoroaster appeared about 550 years be- 
fore Jesus Christ." (p, 6.) 

The following is an extract from the work, and shows 
how exalted were the religious sentiments of this great 

"To the name of God, the just judge, I pray with fervour. 
I pray with purity of thought, with purity of speech, with 
purity of action. I devote myself to every good thought, to 
every good word, to every good action. I renounce every- 



bad thought, every bad word, every bad action. I devote 
myself to the first and best celestial spirits. I celebrate them, 
I supplicate them, with all my thoughts, with all my words, 
with all my actions. In this world I consecrate to them my 
body and my soul; I invoke them with fervour." (p, 79.) 

"■Abundance, and the place where God and good spirits 
reside, are for the just." 

It would not be easy to conceive of thoughts more de- 
vout and^rational than these. 'I here are however many, 
who say, that Natural Religion teaches nothini', or next to- 
nothing, and that its results are of too little value to be re- 
garded in our history of man, and in our system of mean^ 
for his improvement and happiness. 


There is no subject perhaps, in which the people of a 
country are more deeply concerned than in the advance- 
ment among them of Internal Improvements. It not only 
contributes to their convenience and comfort, but is essen- 
tial to the promotion of their most important, their vital in- 
terests. It cannot indeed, in any community, be entirely 
neglected. As population advances, the forests will be 
cleared, the soil cultivated, rorids opened, mills erected, and 
manufactures to some extent promoted. But these things, 
if left entirely to indiviuual enterprise, will advance but 
slowly: and that state, whose legislatu.e looks with cold in- 
difference on the progress of its improvement, or extends 
the means of advancement 'vith a niggardly parsimony, 
will long continue the abode of poverty and weakness. In- 
dividuals, it is true, do sometimes arise, all of whose efforts- 
seem directed to the public good. But such individuals are 
rare, and from the nature of things, cannot produce a suffi- 
ciently extensive or iPSMtig effect. Within their little cir- 
cle of connection and influence, the happiest re>iults may 
be visible. A tx)wn may be enlarged or beautified, valuable 
improvements in the mechanic ans may be made, a small 
canal may be cut, or a pi ce of robd maybe rendered con- 
venient and comfortable; hut individuals never can, except 
by mutual co-operation, accomplish very extensive public 
improvement. This must be done either by the government. 


or by large and well directed associations. We wish there* 
fore to call the public attention to a subject, on which the 
public prosperity so essentially depends. Wc wish to see 
something done, witli prudence and economy indeed, but 
yet something done effectually, and upon a scale commen- 
surate with the wants and abilities of this powerful commu- 

We sliail perhaps be met in the outset with the popular 
cry of hard times. A moment like this, when almost every 
body IS embarrassed, when ingenuity is on the rack to de- 
vise means of reliefs and when banks are manufactured 
without capital, only to m.ake something plenty which may 
for a time be called mojiey — such a moment we may be told 
is pecuiiary inauspicious for the suggestion of any plan to 
exhaust the public treasury, and impose taxes on the peo- 
ple. But let it not be forgotten, that our wish is to promote 
the public interests, and to ailbrd, by the prudent expendi- 
ture of what litlle wc have left as a community, the most 
effectual and permanent rcliet from the embarrassments of 
the times. We wish to improve our agriculture, to open the 
channels for our commerce, to encourage our manufactures, 
to give employment to our poor, and to provide a mode, at 
once cheap and effectual, for the education of our children, 
and the formati:)n of our scliolars, professional men, jurists, 
and statesmen. Nor do we deem the present moment in 
any respect inauspicious for enterprises like these. Not- 
withstanding all our complaints, we have yet the essential 
requisites of a prosperous people. We have a soil of unri- 
valled fertility, and by means of the purity of our air and 
the general healthiness of our climate, we have the bone 
and muscle with which to dravv forth its resources. It is 
true, we are embarrassed: it is time therefore to search for 
the causes of our embarrassments, and by a judicious course 
of internal improvements to endeavour to remove them. By 
industry and economy alone can we repair our ruined for- 
tunes. But that industry and economy must be properly 
directed and judiciously exercised. If we have much to 
accomplish, so much the more necessary is it to devise la- 
bour-saving machinery, and lo know how to use it. Econ- 
omy does not consist in the hoarding of money, but in laying- 
it out with judgment and caution Now is the time when 
we most sensibly feel the importance of those internal im- 
provements, which a small sum contributed by every indi- 
vidual would be amply sufficient to effect, and which, if ef- 



fected, would afford to almost every individual new facilities 
for the transaction of business, and thus in a short time 
would far more than repay the expense they would ori- 
ginally create. 

It is indeed a popular error to be afraid to spend the pub- 
lic money for the common good. The public funds are de- 
rived principally from the cofters of the rich, and the poor 
man contributes only in proportion to his humble means. 
When therefore an important improvement is made at the 
public expense, it is the rich man who bears the principal 
proportion of the burden, while the poor man commonly 
enjoys an equal share of the benefit. The great mass of 
the community is thus peculiarly interested in the promotion 
of public improvement. Nor let it be imagined, because we 
admit that the times are hard, that we therefore consider 
the state of Kentucky, in a collective capacity, as either 
poor or embarrassed. Her treasury is far from being ex- 
ha-.sted, and her other resources are still abundant. Now 
then, we repeat it, is the very time to prosecute internal im-. 
provements. Now, when our produce is low, we ought to 
facilitate tlie means of transporting it to market; when im- 
portations from abroad are peculiarly difficult, we ought to 
encourage manufactures at home; when labour is cheap, and 
many persons are unemployed, we ought to men«- our roads, 
open canals, and clear out our navigable streams. 

It has been too much the fashion in this country, to look 
to Congress for the promotion of internal improvement. 
Congress, we admit, ought to do something. But there is 
certainly some justice in the idea that the state legislatures 
are most competent to judge of the wants of their respect- 
ive communities. Besides, it is no easy matter so to recon- 
cile the jarring views, and apparently conflicting interests 
of tlie different sections of this extensive country, as to pro- 
duce an harmonious and efficient co-operation in any gene- 
ral scheme of internal improvement. The state legislatures 
however, and the people of the several states, are beginning 
to awaken to a sense of the importance of the object, and 
to apply their resources with judgment and effect. The 
state of New York has set a glorious example. Pennsylva- 
nia, North and South Carolina, and Virginia, have done 
themselves grea* credit by their liberal and enlightened pol- 
icy in this respect. We have not room at present to enter 
into a detail of the measures these states have resp xtively 
adopted, but perhaps on some future occasion we may fur? 


nish an account of them. It is our principal object now to 
enquire what has been clone, and what yet remains to be 
done by the state of Kentucky. We wish the catalogue of 
her exploits in this u'ay were long and splendid, but really 
we are at a loss for any to enumerate. VVe wish we could 
point to her Board of public works, show a long and inter- 
esting report of contemplated improvements, refer to the 
excellent roads which have been made, to the important ca- 
nals wliich have been commenced, to the obstructions re- 
moved from our rivers, and the valuanle institutions reared 
for the public good in every part of the state. But we must 
comfort ourselves with the reflection that we are a young 
commonwealth, that forty years ago our flourishing towns 
and fertile fields were a forest or a cane brake, that we have 
just begun the career of improvement, yet we have already 
done a great deal in spreading civilization, and industry, and 
comfort over so uide a tract of country, and that there still 
remains room, with the utmost confidence, to hope for a 
degree of attention in future to our public interest^, pro- 
portioned to the increase of our wants and the enlargement 
of our resources. 

A turnpike road has indeed been projected from Louis* 
ville to Maysville, and a small portion of it is actually com- 
pleted: a canal has long been talked of around the Falls of 
Ohio; and, a year or two since, an appropriation was made 
by the legislature for the special purpose of removing ob- 
structions from our navigable streams. Yet how little lias 
been effected! The truth is, no well devised and extensive 
system of operations has yet been commenced. Every thing 
has been done by piece-meal, without reference to any con- 
nection with other parts of a general plan. Consequently 
nothing has been done efficiently. The money expended in 
th? attempt to clear otit our rivers has not effected the de- 
sired object in a single stream, because enough could not 
be appropriated for the clearing out of all. Under the in- 
fluence of a momentary excitement, our legislature acts 
liberally, but its efforts are too much scattered and its lib- 
erality is thereby wasted. Is it not time then for Kentucky 
to follow the example of some of its elder sisters, bv com'- 
mencinga regular system of internal improvements? Let 
a plan of operations be devised, which it will take years to 
accomplish. Let trusty commissioners be appointed, let 
capable engineers be consulted; anr! let no work be under- 
taken, till it is satisfactorily ascertained whether we have 


the means of completing it, whether if completed it will be 
worth the expense, and whether it will form a consistent 
part of one compkie and beautiful whole. Let us not be 
mortified with seeing a wall erected and then falling to pie- 
ces for want of the covering which would protect it from 
the weather. 

We intend to devote our attention to this subject hereaf- 
ter, and to enter into those details, which our readers per-- 
haps may expect of us. It is our main object, in tlvis essay, 
to suggest the importance of the subject, and to urge th& 
propriety of attention to it at the present time. While how- 
ever we are upon the subject of internal improvement, it 
may not be inappropriate to suggest the vast importance of 
cultivating a public spirit. No community can flourish, 
where it does not exist. Where every individual is entirely 
engrossed with his own jjrivate affairs, and never casts an 
eye upon any matter of public interest, the most unhappy 
consequences must ensue. Where every man who aspires 
to public office, thinks more of his own popularity than of 
the good of his constituents, and tries to humour every pre- 
vailing prejudice, instead of endeavouring to enlighten the 
public mind, no progress can be expected in internal im- 
provement or general prosperity. How different is the con- 
dition of a community, where public spirit prevails! There 
no effort is seen, to shuflie off responsibility: no disposition 
is manifested, under the specious garb of prudence and e- 
conomy, to retard the growth of the state, or to impede the 
progress of public improvement. The welfare of the town, 
the county, and t! e commonwealtn, is regarded as an object 
of primary importance, and every man feels his obligation, 
in proportion to his ability, individually to promote it. 

There is one species of internal improvement to which 
we cannot forbear, even now, to allude. We are eminently 
an agricultural people. The produce of our soil is the 
•wealth upon whi^h vrc must rely. Yet how little attention 
is paid to improvement in agriculture! Hitherto indeed we 
have been enabled to raise an abundance from our fertile 
soil, without paying any regard to the mode of its cultiva- 
tion. If the s 'ed was planted, it would come up. It is time 
liowevcr that we should consider the means by which the 
largest quantity may be produced at the least possible ex- 
pense and with the smallest aiiiount of labour. Our farm- 
ers ought to read, and endeavour to proHtby the experience 
of those who have gone beforo thein. They ought to trea- 


sure up likewise the results of their own experience, and to 
communicate to the public such tacts within their own ob- 
servation as may be useful to others. For this purpose tlie 
pages of our Miscellany will always be open, and we shall 
be happy to furnish the channel of communication for any- 
original articles, worthy of publication, on the interesting* 
subject of Agriculture. We have indeed, in KeniucUy, an 
Agricultural Society, and we wish the public could witness 
more of its useful operations. It seems however to be lan- 
guishing, we will not say for want of that public sp.rit, 
which we have just pronounced so essential, but from some 
cause unknown to us. We have farmers among us, whose 
skill in agriculture, and wO.ose general attainments wou d da 
honour to any country; and they are m n, whom we cannot 
think wanting in public spirit. It would perhaps be invidi- 
ous to attempt an enumeration of them, but we surely may 
be excused for mentioning, as among the foremost, the ven- 
erable Colonel Shelby, who has so justly been denominated 
the Cincinnatus of Kentucky. What might not be accom- 
plished by the zealous and hearty co-operation of men like 
him? Wliat might not an Agricultural Socievy effect, com- 
posed of such men, and conducted with all the prdour its 
objects de erve.'' We trust that the institution already in 
existence among us, will revive its operations, and will con- 
vince us, by the results, what important improvements may 
be made in the art and science of Agriculture. 

We cannot close this article without inviting the atten- 
tion of oflr readers to one other subject, too intimately 
connected with the vital interests of the community, to be 
lost sight of in any plan for internal improvement. As the 
mind is superior to the body, as the liberties of a people are 
more important than their pecuniary interests, so is educa- 
tion more deserving of attention than roads and canals. It 
is indeed unnecessary, at the present time of day, to say 
any thing of the value of a gei eral diffusion of knowledge. 
Why then is it necessary to urge the importance of a well 
digested system of public education? Shall we be told that 
every man is able to educate his own ctiiklren? Alas, mel- 
ancholy experience contradicts the assertion. But even 
were it true, that no man is too poor to furnish the means 
for the instruction of his children, is it not still obvious, 
that we must have suitable seminaries and compe'ent in- 
structers, or we cannot have well educated youth? To what 
object can a state direct its attention, more worthy of ite 


regard, or more loudly calling for its patronage, than to the 
establishment cf schools, and the support of a Universityr 
Much exertion has been made by some of our ablest and 
best men, to induce the people of Kentucky to imitate the 
example of some of the older states, and scatter throughout 
her territory a competent number of free schools. Yet, 
strange to tell! the object is unaccomplislied. Fortunately 
we have a University, and its beneficial efiects are, we triist, 
discerned by the whole community. Yet how miserably is 
that University patronized! The state, to which it belongs, 
and which has the deepest interest in its prosperity, has not 
only spen it want without coming forward to its assistance, 
but has refused it even a tritling loan! It wants books, and 
has notth" means of procuring them. It wants apparatus, but 
is compelled to do without it. Its funds are exhausted and it 
therefore lays a heavier tax than it wis'ies upon its students, 
in order to meet its current expenses. Yet the enlightened 
state of Kentucky has refused to place it in a situation wor- 
thy of the state. Are we then content that our young men 
should enjoy advantages inferior to those of other states.' 
Hive we no a-nbition to render our University as respecta- 
ble as those in other parts of the country? Look at New- 
York, at Virginia, at South Carolina, and at the little states 
in New England, and see what they have done for the inter- 
ests of learning. All their efforts indeed have fallen far 
short of what is desirable, and they can only be considered 
as having just begun the career of improvement. Shall 
Kentucky then be content to lag behind? Surely not. Tran- 
sylvania University may, with a little public spirit, be ren- 
dered pre-eminently, what to a certain extent it already is, 
the glory of the state. Let its library be increased so far as 
its immediate necessities require; let a complete apparatus 
be procured; and let the state make it an annual appropri- 
ation, so that it may diminish its tuition fees, and educate 
some poor scholars gratis; and it will amply reward all the 
care and expense that may be bestowed upon it. Even now. 
it may enable us to form scholars not inferior to those of the 
best institutions in our country. With adequate patronage, 
it will furnisli the means of instruction to every citizen in 
the state, and it will more than ever become the resort of 
young men seeking an education from a vast extent of 
country around us. 

We have long intended to lay before the public, so far as 
Tre can collect the necessary inforraQtioii, a succinct hi?!©- 


ry of tlie origin and gradual advancemonl of this institution, 
with a correct view of its present condition and prospects. 
We have said, it requires public patronage; and we need 
only allude to its promising situation, to the course of in- 
struction it furnishes, to the hopeful young men it has al- 
ready sent abroad and is still nurturing within its walls, to 
pi ove that it is worthy of patronage. But we forbear. We 
have already extended this article far beyond its intended 
limits, and \ull therefore conclude with the expression of 
our confident hopes, that many years will not pass over our 
heads before Kentucky will stand pre-eminent among her 
sisters of the Union, as she already does in many other res- 
pects, for her liberal and judicious appropriations for In- 
ternal Improvement and the Encouragement of Learn- 



Made in Lexington by Professor Rafincsque. 


Temperature. The weaHier was pleasant, fair and cool. 
Greatest heat, 70 degrees on the 4th, 60 d. on the 6th, 9th, 
and 19th. Lowest heat, 30 degrees on the 26th, 35 on the 
14th, ZQ on the llt'.i, 15th, 16th, Uth, &c. Medium 50 de- 
grees. Greatest daily variation 15 degrees on the lOtli, 
from 45 to 60, and 14 degrees on the 14th, from 36 to 50 
degrees. Greatest monthly variation 46 degrees. 

Mmnspkere. There were eighteen fair days, among which 
were nine in succession from the 22d to the 30th, eight 
cloudy or overcast ones, and five rainy ones. There were 
dry fogs on the mornings of the 18th and 24th. 

Rain. It rained all day on the 2d and 8th, wind East, alsa 
on the 5tli and 10th, wind West. It rained also w^ith a wes- 
terly wind on the 31st, and on the evening of the 21st, wind 
N. E. Average of rain fallen this month nearly two inches. 

Snoic. None this month. 

Frost. The first white frost happened on the 11th, and 
appeared again on the mornings of the 13th, 14th, 15th, 16th, 
17th, 19th, 20th, 22d, 23d, 25th to 30th, during 16 days. 
The first ice was seen on the 26th October, and not again. 


Winds. The prevail'mg wind was We'^t, since it bl< w 20 
days between N. W. and S. W. The East wind blew three 
i3ays, N. E. one day, N. W. two days, S. W. one day, South 
three days, and one day partly South and Wsst. A very stormy West wind happened only on the 24th. 

Electricity. There was only one thunder gust, on the 
morning of the 5lh, before daylight, from the west. 

Ground. Generally dry, but muddy from the 5th to the 
llih, and after the rains. 

Vegetation. 7th. The Larkspur and Pansey were in blos- 
som a second time in gardens. 

12th. The following plants were in blossom in gardens; 
Tagetes^ Zinnia., Phlox panimlata., 8ic. 

15ih. All the forest trees had lost their leaves. 

22d. The Locust trees had dropped their leaves; they 
are the last native trees to drop Ihera. 


Temperature. The weather was fair, dry, and cool. The 
greatest heat was 56 degrees on the 17th and 24th; the 
greatest cold was 22 degrees on the 27th and 30th, and 23 
degrees on the 26th. Greatest monthly variation 34 de- 
grees; average medium 39 degrees. Greatest daily varia- 
tion 16 degrees, on the 24th, from 40 to 56 degrees. 

Mmospkere. There were seventeen fair days, of which 
thirteen were nearly in succession, from the 12th to the 24th, 
forming the 2d Indian Summer. Besides six cloudy or over- 
cast days, there were two hazy days ^ the 20th and 29th, (ma- 
ny of the mornings vvere also hazy during the Indian Sum- 
mer,) one -snowy day, the 29th, and fuur days partly rainy. 

Rain. The 1st, there; was a mist and drizzling rain with 
wind W. ; the 1 !th rain and sleet, wind N. E. ; and a little 
rain ©n the evenings of the 20tli and 25th, wind S. VV. Ave- 
irage of rain fallen hardly one inch 

Snoic. The first snow fell on the 10th, about an inch 
deep, wind N. E. and again on the 29th, three inches deep, 
with the wind N. E. and S. E. 

Frost. There vvere seven days of white frost, and five 
days of black frost from the 26th to the 30th, when the 
ground was frozen. 

Winds, The prevailing winds were W, and S. W. ; the 


West wind blew 13 days, and nearly twelve days in succes- 
aion the 22d October to the 4th November, the S. W. 
eight days, N. E. three days, and S. E. one day. 

Electricity. No appearance of it in this month. 

Ground. Generally dry, Ihe snow was on the ground 
four days, and the ground was frozen during the last five 

Vegetation. On the 12th, the last leaves fell from the 
Weeping Willows, the last trees to drop them. 


Temperature. The greatest heat was 62 degrees on the 
4fi; the greatest cold 24 degrees on the 2d. Monthly va- 
riation 28 degrees; average medium 38 deg ees. Greatest 
daily variation 12 degrees, from 28 to 40 degrees on the 3d. 

Jltmosphere. Weather variable, disagreeable, and cold. 
There were fifteen fair fiays, s-even cloudy or overcast 
days, five rainy days, and four snowy days. 

Rain. It rained on the 3d, wind South, and in the even- 
ing with thunder, wind S. W, on the 7th and 8th, wind S. E, 
and on the 28th and 29th, wind N. E. Average of rain fall- 
en two inches. 

Snow. It snowed on tlie 15th, two inches deep, wind S. 
W. ; on the 25th and 26th, six inches, wind N. E. ; and on 
the 30th, four inches, wind North. 

Fros'. It was pretty general this month, at least every 
night; there were only eight days of gener; 1 thaw, from the 
3d to the 8th, and from the 18th to the 20th. There were 
beautiful icicles on all the trees on the 1st and 2d. The 
trees were covered with a coat of ice all over the branches, 
and apneared transparent and dazzling in the Sun. 

Winds. The prevailing wind was S. W. which blew ten 
days; the West wind blew six days. South four days. North, 
]N. VV. and N. E. each three days, S. E. two days. 

Electricity. There was a thunder gust with lightning on 
the evening of the 3d, from the S. W. 

Vegetation. The grass keeps partly green, and in gardens 
Cabbages, Flags, &c. show some green leaves. 



We have had the pleasure of perusing, in manuscript, some of thepeft' 
etical effusions of the late Geobse Beck Esq. a gentleman, whose learn- 
ing', taste, and talents are well known in Kentucky; and have been per- 
mitted to make a few selections among them for the pages of our Mis* 
cellany. They consist of translations of Anacreon, Horace, Virgil, &c. 
and of a considerable variety of original pieces. We have selected the 
first of the following articles, because it to Kentucky. The second 
is descriptive of some beautiful scenery on the banks of the SchuylkiU.neap 
Philadelphia, and will therefore be relished by all the admirers of Nature 


By George Beck, Esq. 

Ye grand enchanting wilds, how few yet touched 
By human hand, of all your boundless stoies! 
Untaught by man, the clustering vines climb up, 
And, mantling round the monarch oak, spread wide 
Their green festoons, with flowers embroidered rich. 
Deep musing here, might Homer sit, and tune 
H'S golden harp to Ilium fallen; or Pope 
Such forests sing as Windsor never waved. 

As swelling breezes o'er the iEolian chordt 
Bring the full tide of rapturous delight, 
So too, assembled sweets awake the soul 
To harmony through every tingling nerve; 
And sensibility to rapture warms. 
Oh, busy fancy, rest thee here a while, 
Call down the Genius ol these reverend woods! 
To thy blest shades, O fair Columbia, come! 
Or bear me hence, upon thine Eagle wing. 
To where, if yet with lavish ha d thou pour'st 
More blooming beauties, in some hidden wild 
Than these more fair — fairer than human eye 
Has e'er beheld, then thy Kentucky yields. 
Beside Ohio's wide, expanding stream, 

iSSi. POETRt. 87^ 

Perhaps of aged oaks, and maples "bigli, 

Full charged with liquid sweets, thou twin's! a bower,- 

Full opening pendent o'er the silvery maze! 

Oh, thither bear me, where the crystal pours 

O'er Louisville's bright marble bed its streams. 

Here first in toam it thunders o'er the rocks, 

Andliideous sweeps the trembling vessels down, 

Which thence some hundred tranquil miles had sailed, 

And down may gently sail some hundred more, 

And kiss the Mississippi's golden wave — 

That wondrous stream, flowing from thousand founts 

Which burst, unseen, in wilds untrod by man, 

'Midst piny mountains yet unknown in sofg, 

Though everlasting verdure crowns their heads. 

Not e'en bright Italy, boast of ivery muse. 

Smiles 'ueath a faijer sky. Columbia, say 

What thrilling rapture met the sparkling view 

Of thine adventurous son, with sight of land! 

How swell'd his breast! Sweet sympathy yet brings 

Mine eye, mine ears, the tears and loud huzzas 

Of late desponding sailors. Almighty power, 

Who from high heaven in prescient vision beamed 

O'er unknown seas to this new smiling world, 

Pour bright o'er me thine all-enlivening ray, 

That I its worth to distant realms may spread. 

Thou star-girt Virgin, deign thy kindling glances! 

Stay on yon amber cloud thy glittering wing, 

While I thy constellations number o'er! 

Increasing star by star, unfolding states, 

Ye beam in prospect on my wondering sight. 

Your torest<» open, young plantations shine, 

New towns rear up their walls; gay Plenty reigns, 

And Peace in her right hand her ensign waves. 

Already has this smiling, infant land 

Great Britain's proud dominion quash'd, and sent 

Her Lion howling o'er the Atlantic waves. 

So young Alcides; — when the serpent dread * 

Hissed round his cradle, and his limbs embraced, 

The waking boy their hideous volumes crushed; 

They hissed no more, nor darted forked stings. 

Thus may this last found world show all the oid 

How godlike Liberty ennobles man, 

And humble Worth outshines an empty nanae* 

380 POETRY. Jam 



How oft, fair Schuylkill, win^'d by airy dreands, 

My fprvid fancy haunts thy windin. strearas, 

Sees all the beaufi»'S of thy flowery shores. 

And meets those friends my glowing soul adores! 

The well known seats with kindling warmth I vieWy 

Look round thy banks, and still imagine new; 

The stately bridge, which spans thy azure tide, 

The rival barks, that o'er thy billows ride, 

'Mid blue mist see so gently glide away 

To Delaware's far-off refulgent bay. 

But ah,.fair stream, when o'er thy meadows green. 

On breezy heights the Woodland bowers* are seen^ 

Those domes so dear to every feeling muse, 

What tears of joy my streaming eyes suffuse! 

Glad Memory then recording rolls unwinds, 

And shows the treasures of congenial minds. 

Shows there how blest the precious moments roll^ 

While Hamilton commingles soul with soul. ^- 

Enamoured dreams! could you but realize 

These rapturous visions to my waking eyes, 

With what new bliss on those bright gems I'd gaze^ 

That line his walls, and round his mansion blaze! 

Thou peerless Queen of all Columbia's seats. 

With bim, how sweet to trace thy green retreats; 

Round hill and fountain, fanned by breezy air, 

With him who bid thee rise so passing fair. 

To wander round, and drink the balmy gales, 

His ever-blooming world of sweets exhales! 

Erotics rare his ceaseless bounty brings 

From Gades, round the world, to Ganges' springs. 

What Orient sweets his numerous bowers distill, 

And fragrance waft o'er Anna's sacred hill! 

Through vistas thence, bow many a prospect sbinefe 

Of hills, dales, streams, and undulating lines! 

Bright Art with Nature round the distance plays; 

Here Art invites you, through her devious maze, 

Wliich,stepby step, the wanderer's footbeguiles: 

Bewildering long, he tries her tangling wiles; 

In wild amaze now turns him round and rounds 

And hears the city's tinkling bells resound; 

*T!ie scat of the late Williara ilarailton, Esq. 

!fS2l. fOETRT. S81 

Now, listening, hears the hird's love-warhling charm, 
The flock's wild murmur from the distant farm, 
And chariots thundering o'er the ridgre be.Iow. 
Lost, and more lost, he knows not where to'go; 
Still wondering more, when once he sees the skies, 
Where all the magic length of labyrinth lies. 

How sweet from this fair hill the wide survey, 
When evening's golden light the domes display, 
When Philadelphia's turrets seem to burn, 
And glittering sashes back the light return! 
Far down the stream the wildered eye beguileSj 
And seems to encircle round its hundred isles. 
As on you trace tlie lawn's long shaven maze, 
Delusive change her thousand scenes displays. 
Here all is gloomy, solemn, wild, and still, 
Save the soft murmur of yon busy mill; 
And, bursting from the rocks in gurgling sighs, 
A living stream the herniitage supplies, 
With sweet embrace a lovely island laves. 
Falls o'er its brim, and joins with Schuylkill's waves. 
Fair scenes of bliss, where oft, while Nature sleeps, 
My Fancy wild, her loveliest vigiU keeps! 
Delusions fair, — alas, too soon the morn 
Your charm dissolves, and leaves me here forlorn. 
Were Hamilton, like me, in wilds like these to mournj 
Oh, with what rapture would his eyes return. 
To see those domes, his own creation, shine! 
And oh, to see once more such bliss, be mine! 



O, were my love this fragrant Rose, 
In all its modest blushes drest, 

Were I the Dew cool eve bestows. 
To glisten on her downy breast, 


Then blest! to breathe etherial joys 
Amidst the silky crimson blooms, 

And with the precious sweets arise, 
When morn my seat of bliss illumes! 

38ft XnJBTRY. «l0ttv 


Then, 'mid the limpid realms of light, 

With Morn's soft blusii those sweets I'd bler^ 

And, stealing through the veil of Night, 
On that dear breast again descend. 


Boileaui when malignity pointed its satire against him, said, 
«'I think myself an enchanted hero, on whom the enemy's darts^ 
make little or no impression, for they do not reach my vulnera- 
ble part," meaning perhaps his prefaces and other prose writ- 
ings. He calls him a poet, who can, by his manner, dignify tri- 
fles, and gives us, as a specimen of this happy faculty, the fol- 
lowing selection from an unknown writer. 

La charmante Bergere, ' 

Ecoutant ses dseours, 
D' une main menagere 

Alloit filant toujours; 
Et doucement atteinte 
D' une si tendre plainte, 
Fit tomber, par trois fois, 
Le fuseau de ses doigts. 


The Shepherdess so fair. 

His plaintive murmurs hearing, 
Kept whirling, void of care, 

Her bobbins, nothing fearing. 
But ah, how soon his thrilling sighs 
Won her soft soul by sweet surprize,. 
And thrice, as by some magic spell, 
The spindle from her fingers fell 



I have done; nor the loss of a friend car> regret, 
Who even i(j favouring managed to fret me — 

Do you think I'm a <ime-piece, to click hovve'er set' 
If ! am, I'll be hissed if an Idiot shall set me! 



To E, 

God bless you! with solicitude, 

Breath'd from a heart that's kind and good, 

Might melt, methinks, the very prude, 

And touch e'en her with feelings human — 
Then why should not E**** know 
A friendly heart salutes her so, 
And warmly wishes — God bless you! 

-And keep you ! noble, generous woman! 


A dream I had the other day, 
'Twill make you laugh, my love, to hear it; 
So strangely wild was fancy's play, 
No maniac's vision e'er came near it. 

I dreamt (how weak!) I might confide 
With unsuspectmg, fond reliance, 
Upon the Friend I long had tried, 
And bid the power of change defiance. 


I thought that truth the world possest. 
That honour was not quite a notion: 
I thought the hand that warmly prest, 
Was prompted by some kind emotion. 


I thought the smile Ihat lights the /ace, 
Had with the /learf some slight connexion*. 
I fancied that the fond embrace^ 
Was still the offspring of affection. 


I thought that tcoman'^s heart was made 
The seat of kind and generous^ passion, 
And not by envious feelings swayed, 
The cheated fool of icedth d^nd fashion. 

I thought the glance from Mfred^s eye, 
The SI) die o'er every feature stealing, 
The houest Mush — the deep-drawn s\gh-^ 
Betray'd a soul oi noWtsJ/ceiwi^. 



Conspired to form my dream Elysian; 
And long did vagrant fancy rove, 
And revel in the blissful vision. 


But dreams, of texture all too slight,, , 

Soon by lealit}' are banished; 

The happy phantoms took their flight, 

I woke to truth — and all were vanished! 


I look'd in lost despondence round. 

To seek the forms my dreams had painted; 

A cold and hearthss world'l found, 

By love unblest, by fahehood tainted, 


To friendship and to feeling dead, 
A waste of folly and confusion. 
I sorrowed o'er the vision fled, 
And wished again my blest delusion. 


And shall it not return a|.ain? 
Return to cheat and bless me? JsTever