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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e566811 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69387 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69387) diff --git a/old/69387-0.txt b/old/69387-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 563e677..0000000 --- a/old/69387-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7232 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The southern literary messenger, Vol. -II., No. 7, June, 1836, by Various Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The southern literary messenger, Vol. II., No. 7, June, 1836 - -Author: Various Various - -Editor: Edgar Allan Poe - -Release Date: November 19, 2022 [eBook #69387] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Ron Swanson - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUTHERN LITERARY -MESSENGER, VOL. II., NO. 7, JUNE, 1836 *** - - -THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER: - -DEVOTED TO EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS. - - -Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents. - _Crebillon's Electre_. - -As _we_ will, and not as the winds will. - - -RICHMOND: -T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR. -1835-6. - - -{405} - - -SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER. - -VOL. II. RICHMOND, JUNE, 1836. NO. VII. - -T. W. WHITE, PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. - - - - -RIGHT OF INSTRUCTION[1] - -[Footnote 1: Some months ago a number of the “Richmond Enquirer,” -containing an argument in favor of the mandatory right of a State -Legislature to instruct a Senator of the United States, was forwarded -to the author of this article. That argument was supported by the -alleged opinions of Messrs. King, Jay and Hamilton, as expressed in -the Convention of New York—and we think this reply well deserves -publication. It is from the pen of a ripe scholar and a profound -jurist.] - - -The receipt of your letter afforded me much pleasure, not only on -account of the interesting subject it treats of, but as a gratifying -evidence of your remembrance of me. I fear, however, that you will -have reason to repent of your kindness, as I shall presume upon it to -task your patience with some observations in defence of my old federal -notions upon your doctrine of instructions. I will endeavor to show -that the extracts made in the Enquirer from the speeches of Messrs. -King, Jay and Hamilton, in the New York Convention, do not sustain -(even if we are to take the report of them to be verbally correct) the -doctrine or right as it is contended for in Virginia. I understand -that doctrine to be, that the instructions of a State Legislature to a -Senator of the United States, are an authoritative, constitutional, -lawful _command_, which he is bound implicitly to obey, and which he -cannot disobey without a violation of his official duty as a Senator, -imposing upon him the obligation to resign his place if he cannot, or -will not, conform to the will of his Legislature. I confess that this -doctrine appears to me to be absolutely incompatible with the cardinal -principles of our Constitution, as a representative government; to -break up the foundations which were intended to give it strength and -stability, and to impart to it a consistent, uniform and harmonious -action; and, virtually, to bring us back to a simple, turbulent -democracy, the worst of all governments—or rather, no government at -all. I do not mean to enter upon the broad ground of argument of this -question, with which you are so well acquainted, but to examine, as -briefly as I can, but probably not so much so as your patience would -require, the _federal_ authorities which the writer in the Enquirer -believes he has brought to the support of his opinions. - -I cannot put out of the discussion, although I will not insist upon, -the objection to the authority of the reports of the speeches alluded -to, especially when it turns upon a question of extreme accuracy in -the use of certain precise words and phrases, any departure from which -would materially affect the sense of the speaker. We see daily in the -reports of congressional debates, the most important mistakes or -misrepresentations, unintentionally made, not of expressions merely, -but of the very substance and meaning of the speakers; sometimes -reporting the very reverse of what they actually said. I have occasion -to know the carelessness with which these reports are frequently made, -and, indeed, the impossibility of making them with accuracy. What a -man _writes_ he must abide by, in its fair and legitimate meaning; but -what another writes for him, however honest in the intention, cannot -be so strictly imputed to him. There is also an objection to -_extracts_, even truly recited, inasmuch as they are often qualified -or modified by other parts of the writing or speech. As I have not, -immediately at hand, the debates of the New York Convention, I am -unable, just now, to see how far this may have been the case in the -speeches from which the quotations are made. I must, therefore, at -present, be content to take them as they are given in the Enquirer, -and even then it appears to me that they are far from covering the -Virginia doctrine of instructions. Let us see. Mr. King is represented -to have said, that “the Senators will have a _powerful check_ in those -_who wish for their seats_.” This is most true—and in fact it is to -this struggle for place that we owe much of the zeal for doctrines -calculated to create vacancies. Mr. King proceeds—“And the State -Legislatures, if they find their delegates erring, can and will -_instruct them_. Will this be no check?” The two checks proposed, in -the same sentence and put upon the same footing, are the vigilance of -those who want the places of the Senators, and the instructions which -the State Legislatures can and will give to them. They are said to be, -as they truly are, _powerful checks_, operating with a strong -influence on the will and discretion of the Senator, but not as -subjecting him, _as a matter of duty_, either to the reproaches of his -rivals or the opinions of the Legislature. To do this, a check must be -something more than powerful; it must be irresistible, or, at least, -attended by some means of carrying it out to submission—some penalty -or remedy for disobedience. I consider the term _instruct_, as here -used, to mean no more than counsel, advise, recommend—because Mr. King -does not intimate that any right or power is vested in the Legislature -to compel obedience to their instructions, or to punish a refractory -Senator as an official delinquent. It is left to his option to obey or -not, which is altogether inconsistent with every idea of a _right to -command_. Such a right is at once met and nullified by a right to -refuse. They are equal and contrary rights. As we are upon a question -of verbal criticism, and it is so treated in the Enquirer, we may look -for information to our dictionaries. To instruct, in its primitive or -most appropriate meaning, is simply to _teach_—and instruction is the -act of _teaching_, or _information_. It is true that Johnson gives, as -a more remote meaning, “to inform authoritatively.” Certainly, the -Legislature may instruct, may teach, may inform a Senator, and -whenever they do so it will be with no small degree of authority from -the relation in which they stand to each other; but the great question -is, not whether this would be an impertinent or improper interference -on the part of the Legislature, but whether the Senator is bound, by -his official oath or duty, implicitly to obey such instructions; -whether he violates a duty he ought to observe, or usurps a power -which does not belong to him, if he declines to submit to these -directions, if he cannot receive the lesson thus taught, or adopt the -information thus imparted to him. Does {406} the spirit of our -Constitution (for clearly in terms it does not) intend to make a -Senator of the _United States_ a mere passive instrument or agent in -the hands of a _State Legislature_. Is he required by any legal or -moral duty or obligation, to surrender into the hands of any man or -body of men, his honest judgment and conscientious convictions of -right? To act on _their_ dictation and _his own_ responsibility; -responsible to his country for the consequences of his vote, and to -his own conscience and his God for the disregard of his oath of -office, which bound him to support that Constitution which his -instructions may call upon him to violate, _as he conscientiously -believes_. It will be a miserable apology for him to say, that he has -done this because he was so ordered by a body of men, who may have -thought or cared very little about it, and may hold a different -opinion the next year without remorse or responsibility. But if he -cannot obey, must he save his conscience by resigning his seat? This -is the most unsound and untenable of all the grounds assumed in this -discussion. If it is the _official duty_ of the Senator to do and -perform the will of his constituents, or rather of those who gave him -his office, then he violates or evades that duty by resigning; and he -may, in this way, not only abandon his duty, but as effectually defeat -the will and intention of his Legislature as by actually voting -against it. To return to Mr. King—how does he propose or expect that -this check of legislative instructions is to act upon the Senator? -What is the nature of the obligation he considers to rest upon the -Senator to obey them? He does not pretend that there is any power in -the Legislature to enforce their instructions or cause them to be -respected. He does not suggest that disobedience is a violation of -duty on the part of the Senator, or the assumption of any right that -does not practically and constitutionally belong to him; that he falls -under any just odium or reproach, if after an honest and respectful -consideration of the instructions, he shall believe it to be his duty -to disregard them. Mr. King does not, by the most remote implication, -intimate, that a State Legislature may, through the medium of -instructions, directly or indirectly, put a limitation on the _term of -service_ of a Senator, which they will do if it is his duty to resign -whenever they shall choose to require of him to do what, as an honest -man, a good citizen, and faithful officer, he cannot do. If -instructions have the authority contended for, there is no exception; -it is a perfect right or it is no right. The Senator cannot withdraw -himself from it, however imperious the requisition may be, or however -iniquitous the design in making it. The Senator has a discretion to -judge of it in all cases or in no case. He may take counsel of his own -conscience and judgment in every call upon him—or in none. The check -that Mr. King promises from the State Legislatures upon their -Senators, is nothing more than the natural influence they will have -upon the minds and conduct of the Senators, and this, in my -apprehension, is more likely to be too much than too little. What does -Mr. K. say will be the consequence of a refusal on the part of a -Senator to obey? Not that he is corrupt—or unfaithful—or ought to -resign—but simply that they will be “_hardy men_.” Assuredly they will -be so; I wish we had more of these hardy men, for certainly there are -occasions on which public men, holding the destinies of their country -in their hands, ought to be hardy, and must be so in opposition to the -apparent and immediate, but transient, will of the people; and it is -such hardy men who have deserved and received the gratitude and thanks -of the people they saved by opposing them. The brightest names on the -pages of history are those of such hardy men. The same answer meets -the commentary on the word “dictating”—used, or said to be used, by -Mr. King. - -I would here make a remark upon this report of Mr. King's speech, -which shows how carelessly the report was made, or how loose Mr. King -was in his choice of words. In the beginning of the passage quoted, he -refers to the _State Legislatures_, as the bodies who are to check, by -their instructions, the wanderings of the Senators. In the conclusion -he is made to say—“When they (the Senators) hear the voice of the -_people_ dictating to them their duty,” &c. Now, it can hardly be -pretended that the _Legislature_ and the _people_ are identically the -same; or that a vote of the Legislature by a majority of one—or by any -majority, can always be said to be the voice of the people. It is as -probable that they may misrepresent the people, as that the Senators -should misrepresent them. It is not uncommon for the people to -repudiate the acts of their Legislature. It was understood to be so in -Virginia, on the late question on the conduct of her Senators. The -solemn and deliberate opinion upon any subject, of the body from which -an officer derives his appointment, will always be received with great -respect, as coming from a high source and with much authority, but the -Senator, acting on the responsibility he owes to the _whole country_, -must take into his view of the case the effect of his instructions -upon the whole; he must not shut his eyes from examining the occasion -which produced the instructions—the circumstances attending them—the -means by which they were obtained—the errors, or passions, or -prejudices which may have influenced and deceived those who voted for -them; in short, he must carefully and conscientiously examine the -whole ground, and finally decide for himself on the double -responsibility he owes to his _own State_ and to the _United States_; -to those who appointed him to office and to himself, and his own -character. There is no doubt that this examination will be made with a -disposition sufficiently inclined to conform himself to the wishes of -his constituents. - -Mr. Jay expressed himself with more discrimination and caution than -Mr. King; and no inference can be drawn from what he says, that there -is any right or power in a State Legislature to demand obedience or -resignation from a Senator, to their instructions. He considers their -instructions to be, what in truth and practice they have always been, -nothing more than advice or information coming from a high source and -entitled to great respect. He says, “the Senate is to be composed of -men appointed by the State Legislatures. They will certainly choose -those who are most distinguished for their general knowledge. I -_presume_ they will also instruct them.” - -In these reported debates, _Hamilton_ is represented to have said—that -“it would be a _standing instruction_ of the larger States to increase -the representation.” Observe, this is not applied to the _Senators_ -only, but to the delegates or representatives of the States in {407} -Congress, in both Houses, and has no reference to any right of -instruction by the State Legislatures to their Senators; _that_ was -not the subject of the debate; nor is it intimated _by whom_ or in -what manner these standing instructions are to be given. The meaning -of General Hamilton, I think, is obvious, and has no bearing on our -question. The phrase, _standing instruction_, means that it is so -clearly the interest of the larger States to increase their -representation, that their delegates will always consider themselves -to be bound, to be _instructed_ by that _interest_, by their duty to -their States, to vote for such increase. They will so _stand -instructed_, at all times and without any particular direction from -their States; they will always take it for granted, that it is their -duty to increase the representation. The very phrase distinguishes it -from the case of _specific instructions_ made, from time to time, on -particular measures as they shall arise for deliberation and decision -in the national legislature. But General Hamilton, as quoted, proceeds -to say—“The _people_ have it in their power to _instruct_ their -representatives, and the State Legislatures which appoint their -Senators may enjoin _it_ (that is the increase of the representation) -also upon them.” I may here repeat that all this is true; but by no -means reaches the point to which this right of instruction is now -carried. The people may instruct, and the legislatures may enjoin, and -both will always, doubtless, be attended to with a deep respect and a -powerful influence; but if with all this respect and under this -influence, the representative or the Senator cannot, in his honest and -conscientious judgment, submit himself to them, does he violate his -official duty, and is he bound to relinquish his office? This is the -question, and no affirmative answer to it, or any thing that implies -it, can be found in any of the writings or speeches of the gentleman -alluded to; nor, as I believe, in any of the writings or speeches of -any of the distinguished men at that time. The doctrine is of a later -date; it is not coeval with the Constitution, nor with the men who -formed it. Much reliance is placed, by the writer in the Enquirer, on -the strict meaning of the word _enjoin_; it is thought to be -peculiarly imperative. Conceding, for the argument, that this precise -word was really used by the speaker, it is certain that in speaking, -and even in writing, this word is not always used in the strict sense -attributed to it. Cases of common parlance are familiar and of daily -occurrence, in which it is used only to mean a strong, emphatic -recommendation or advice—or a forcible expression of a wish, and not -an absolute right to command. If, however, we turn to the dictionary, -Johnson tells us that to enjoin is “to direct—to order—to prescribe; -it is more authoritative than direct, and _less imperious than -command_.” Not one of his illustrations or examples employ it in the -strong sense of power now contended for. - - “To satisfy the good old man, - I would bend under any heavy weight - That he'll _enjoin_ me to.” - -Here the submission or obedience is altogether voluntary; with no -right or power in the “good old man” to require or compel it. Again, - - “Monks and philosophers, and such as do continually _enjoin_ - themselves.” - -The extracts from the speeches in the New York Convention, even if -accurately reported, and strictly construed, do not seem to me to -maintain the present Virginia doctrine of instructions. Allow me to -repeat it, for it is _that_, and not something which may approach it, -which is our subject of difference and argument. It is—whether a -Senator of the United States is under any moral or constitutional -obligation—whether he is bound as a faithful and true officer, or as a -good citizen of the _Republic of the United States_, to obey the -instructions of the Legislature of _his State_, when they require him -to do an act which in his deliberate judgment and conscientious -conviction, is contrary to his duty to his country, to all the States, -and to _his own State_; to the Constitution, under and by which he -holds his office and his power, and to the oath he has taken to -support that Constitution? This is the question truly stated—can the -power or authority of a changing, irresponsible body, which directs -one thing this year (as we have repeatedly seen) and another the next, -or, if it were not this changeling—force him to violate his oath, or -absolve him from the responsibility, if he do so? If a Senator of -Virginia or Delaware were to receive instructions to give a vote which -he truly believed would be a violation of the rights, and injurious to -the interests, of every other state of the confederacy, as secured to -them by the Constitution, although it might be of some local advantage -to Virginia or Delaware, should that Senator, acting as he does as a -Senator, not for his particular State only, but for the States also -whose rights he violates, obey such instructions? Can there be a doubt -of the reply to this question? Will you say he should obey or -resign—that another may come who will obey? I deny that his duty -imposes any such alternative upon him. On the contrary, it is -particularly his duty _not to resign_ for such a reason or such an -object. It would be to abandon the duty he owes to the Constitution -and the other States, at the very moment when they need his services -in their defence; and not only to abandon them, but to surrender his -post and his power to one who, in his estimation, is so far their -enemy as to take the post for the very purpose of violating them. It -would be to desert “the general welfare” which he has sworn to defend -and promote, in order to give his place and power to one who will -sacrifice the general welfare to some local and particular interest or -object. To desert it in such circumstances, may produce the same evils -and consequences, as if he were to remain and obey his instructions. -His vote or his absence may turn the question. - -As the incidental arguments, not upon the direct question, attributed -to Messrs. Jay and Hamilton, are now relied upon to support this -doctrine of instructions, I will cheerfully refer to these great men, -adding to them the name of Mr. Madison, and endeavor to show, from -better evidence than reported debates, what were really their opinions -upon this asserted power of the State Legislatures, and in what manner -they thought Senators were amenable to their Legislatures for their -acts and votes in the National Congress. I shall do this, not on the -authority of reported speeches, but by adverting to what they have -written and published, as the true spirit and doctrines of the -Constitution. To be brief, I will give you the summing up of the -argument in the “_Federalist_,” in favor of the powers of the Senate -under the Constitution. I refer to the numbers 62 and 63, written by -Mr. Madison; but, {408} as it is understood, giving the opinions and -views of the illustrious triumvirate. Their whole argument and -exposition of the powers, duties, and responsibilities of the -Senators, are utterly inconsistent with the control upon them now set -up on the part of the State Legislatures. It is not merely that this -right of instruction is no where mentioned or alluded to, as one of -the means by which the Senators are to be kept to their duty, but such -a right cannot be reconciled with the benefits intended by the -Constitution to be derived from the permanency of that body—from its -independence and its elevation above, or protection from, the caprices -and fluctuations of popular feeling, often improperly called popular -opinion. Allow me particularly to turn your attention to a few -passages from Mr. Madison's examination of the “Constitution of the -Senate.” His second reason for having a Senate, or second branch of -the Legislative Assembly, is thus stated: “The necessity of a Senate -is not less indicated by the propensity of all single and numerous -assemblies to yield to the impulse of sudden and violent passions, and -to be seduced by factious leaders into intemperate and pernicious -resolutions.” If this is true of the House of Representatives of the -United States; if their intemperate and pernicious resolutions are to -be guarded against and controlled by the more sedate and permanent -power of the Senate, how much stronger is the reason when applied to -the Legislatures of the States? Having their narrow views of national -questions, and their local designs and interests as the first objects -of their attention, it seems to me to be a strange absurdity to put -the Senate as a guard and control over the House of Representatives, -and then to have that Senate under the direction and control of the -Legislatures of the States—or it may be, on a vital question, under -the direction of the Legislature of the smallest State in the Union. -Are there no local impulses and passions to agitate these -Legislatures? no factious leaders to seduce them into intemperate and -pernicious resolutions—and to induce them to prefer some little, local -advantage, to “the general welfare.” To give to the Senate the power, -the will, and the courage to oppose and control these sudden and -violent passions in the more popular branch of our national -legislature, Mr. Madison says, “It ought moreover to possess _great -firmness_, and consequently ought to hold _its authority_ by a tenure -of considerable duration.” But what can that firmness avail, how will -it be shaken, of what possible use will it be, if the Senator is bound -to follow the dictates of a changing body, subject, emphatically to -sudden impulses and seductions, at a distance from the scene of his -deliberations, and deprived of the sources of information which he -possesses, and acting in a _different sphere of duty_ from that he -moves in? Firmness in an agent who has no will of his own, no right to -act but on the dictation of another, would not only be superfluous, -but a positive evil and disqualification. It would produce struggles -and perhaps refusal, where his duty was to submit. The more pliable -the instrument in such a case, the better would it answer the purposes -it was designed for. To be firm, says Mr. Madison, the Senator must -_hold his authority_ by a tenure of considerable duration. But how can -this be, if he is to hold it from year to year as the Legislature of -his State may change its opinion on the same subject, and require him -to follow these changes or to resign his place? The tenure of the -Constitution, as Mr. Madison understood it, is essentially changed by -this doctrine. These changes of opinions and measures are, in the -opinion of Mr. Madison, a great and dangerous evil in any government, -and show “the necessity of some stable institution”—such as our Senate -was intended to be—but such as it cannot be on this doctrine of -instructions. - -But this great man and enlightened statesman, jealous enough of the -rights and liberties of the people, does not stop here in explaining -the uses of the Senate. It is not the passions of Legislatures only -that are to be guarded against by the conservative power of that body. -He thinks that it “may be sometimes necessary as a defence _to the -people_ against _their own temporary errors and delusions_;” he justly -applauds the _salutary interference_ in critical moments, of some -respectable and temperate body of citizens, “to check the misguided -career, and to suspend the blow meditated by _the people against -themselves_, until reason, justice, and truth can regain their -authority over the public mind.” He considers the Senate as “an anchor -against popular fluctuations;” and he certainly never imagined that -the capstan and cable were in the hands of the State Legislatures, to -remove the anchor at their pleasure. He truly says, that in all free -governments, the cool and deliberate sense of the community ought and -_ultimately_ will prevail; but he did not believe that this cool and -deliberate sense would be found, on the spur of the occasion, in a -popular body liable to intemperate and sudden passions and impulses, -and the seductions of factious leaders. It was to control and check -such movements, and not to be controlled by them, that the Senate was -constituted; and to check and suspend them until the deliberate and -cool sense of the community can be obtained; which, when fairly -ascertained, will be recognized and respected by the Senate as fully -and certainly as by the Legislatures of the States. The members of -these Legislatures have no means of knowing the public sentiments, -which are not equally open to the Senators; nor are their inducements -to conform to them more persuasive or strong. Mr. Madison goes so far -as to say, that as our governments are entirely _representative_, -there is “a total exclusion of the people in their collective -capacity, _from any share_ in them.” If then, the will of the people, -declared by themselves, should not move a Senator from his own -conviction of his duty, when he believes the act required of him is -contrary to that duty, and such is the constitutional right and -obligation of his office, shall he be driven to a violation of that -duty or a relinquishment of that right, by a second-hand, doubtful, -equivocal, and, perhaps, false, expression of that will, by and -through an intermediate body, no better informed of the cool and -deliberate sense of the community than he is himself—no better -disposed than he is to satisfy the public sentiment, and not half so -well informed as he is of the tendency and consequences of the measure -in question? - -To meet the objections to the dangerous power of the Senate, continued -for so long a period as six years, and to quiet the alarm that had -been raised on that subject, Mr. Madison states what he supposed to be -the check or protection provided by the Constitution against their -usurpations, and which he thought amply sufficient. What is that -check? Is it any right in the appointing {409} Legislatures to direct -his conduct and his votes, and to revoke his powers, directly or -indirectly, if he refuse his obedience? If for any cause, justifiable -and honest or not so, they wish to deprive him of his office, to annul -the appointment made by a preceding legislature or by themselves, may -they do so by giving him instructions at their pleasure, desiring -nothing but to accomplish their own objects, and in a total disregard -of his judgment, conscience, and duties, and then say to him, knowing -that he would not and could not obey their mandate, resign your place, -and put it at our disposal, that we may gratify some new favorite, or -promote some design of our own. The next Legislature may choose to -drive out the new favorite and reinstate the old one; and thus this -Senate, instead of being an anchor to the State, a stable and -permanent body to save us from sudden gales and storms, will in -practice, be floating on the surface, fixed to nothing, and driven to -and fro by every change of the wind. _Instruction and resignation_ are -not the means proposed by Mr. Madison to protect us from the -corruption or tyranny of the Senate. He suggests no interference, in -any way, on the part of the State Legislatures with their Senators, -nor any control over them, during their continuance in office; but -finds all the safety he thought necessary, and all that the -Constitution gives, in the “_periodical change_ of its members.” In -addition to this, much reliance, no doubt, was placed, and ought to be -so, on the expectation, that the State Legislatures would appoint to -this high and responsible office, only men of known and tried -character and patriotism, having themselves a deep stake in the -liberties of their country, and bound by all the ties of integrity and -honor to a faithful discharge of their trust. - -If the Constitution—for that is our _government_, and by that must -this question be decided—intended to reserve this great controlling -power to the State Legislatures, over the Legislature of the United -States, for such it is as now claimed, we should have found some -provision to this effect, some evidence of this intention, either -expressed, or by a fair and clear implication, in the instrument -itself. Nothing of the kind appears. We should have further found some -form of proceeding to compel a refractory Senator to obey the lawful, -authoritative mandate of his State Legislature. It is an anomaly in -any government to give an authority to a man or body of men, without -any power to enforce it, to carry it out into practice and action, to -make it effectual. To give a right to command, and to furnish no means -to compel obedience, no process to punish a disregard to the order, is -indeed like Glendower's power to _call_ spirits, but not to _make them -come_. To say that I have a right to order another to do or not to do -an act, but that it is left to his discretion to obey me or not, is a -contradiction in terms. It is no right, or at least no more than one -of those imperfect rights which create no obligation of respect. If I -give to my agent a command which, by the terms and tenure of his -agency, by the limitations of his authority, he is bound to obey, and -he refuses to do so, I may revoke his power, or rather he had no power -for the act in question; he is not my agent, and cannot bind me beyond -his lawful authority, or in contradiction to my lawful command. On the -other hand, _that I am bound by his acts_ is a full and unquestionable -proof that he has acted _by and within his powers_, and that I had _no -right_ to give the command which he has disobeyed. There cannot be a -lawful command, and a lawful disobedience on the same subject. If by -the terms of the power of attorney, which is the contract between the -principal and his agent, certain matters are left to the judgment and -discretion of the attorney, or are within the scope of his -appointment, without any reservation of control on the part of the -principal; then no such control exists, and this is most especially -the case when the rights and interests of other parties are concerned -in the execution of the power and trust. - -Will it be said that the obligation of a Senator to obey the -instructions of his Legislature, although not found in the -Constitution, results from the circumstance that he received his -appointment and power from that body? It is impossible to sustain this -ground. I recur to the case of a common agent to whom a full and -general power is given, irrevocable for six years; and, to make the -case more apposite, in the execution of which power the rights and -interests of other parties are deeply concerned, so that, in fact, the -agent is the attorney of those parties as well as of the one from whom -he receives his appointment. Will any one pretend that an agent so -constituted and thus becoming the attorney of _all_, with the right -and power _to bind all_ by his acts, is afterwards to be subject to -the direction of any one of the parties in any proposed measure -bearing on the general interest, merely because his immediate -appointment came from that party? When he is appointed, his powers and -his duties extend far beyond the source of his authority, and are, -consequently, placed beyond that control. His responsibility is to -_all_ for whom he is the agent, and he is false to his trust if he -surrenders himself to the dictates of any one, or sacrifices the -general to a particular interest. The President and Senate appoint the -judges, but it does not result from this that judges are to be under -the dictation and control of the executive. So of any other officer -acting within the sphere of his authority. The President by his -general power may remove him, for that or for any other cause, or for -no cause, but while he holds the office, he exercises its powers at -his own discretion, and is not bound to obey the appointing power. In -a despotism the master holds the bridle and the lash over every slave -he appoints to _execute his will_, but in a free representative -government it is the _law_ that is to be executed and obeyed, and the -officer, in performing his prescribed duties, is independent of every -power but that of the law. This is indispensable to the harmonious -action of the whole system. - -I do not know whether the advocates of this doctrine of instructions -extend it to trials or impeachments before the Senate. If they do not, -I would ask on what distinct principle do they exempt such cases from -this legislative right of dictation? The claim is broad and general, -covering all the powers, duties, and acts of a Senator. Who is -authorized to make the exceptions? By what known rule are they to be -made, or do they depend upon an arbitrary will? Is this will or power -lodged in the State Legislatures? Then they make the exception or not, -at their pleasure; they may forbear to interfere in one -impeachment—and they may send in their dictation in another, according -as, in their discretion, it may or may not be a case calling for their -interference. Their power over their Senator, to compel him {410} to -obey or resign, is in their own hands, and they may issue their -mandate to him to condemn or acquit the accused, or they may leave him -to his own judgment and conscience as they may deem it to be -expedient. Such is the state of the case, if the right of -discrimination, of making exceptions from the general power of -control, is vested in the Legislatures themselves. Is it then given to -the other party, that is, to the Senator? Then the power resolves -itself into an empty name; or rather into just what I say it should -be, a recommendation entitled to great deference and respect, but with -no obligation to obedience. If the Senator has an admitted discretion -to obey or not to obey the instructions of his Legislature, _according -to the nature of the case in which they are given_, then the right of -the Legislature to give them is not absolute in any case, but it is -left to the judgment of the Senator to decide for himself whether the -case be one in which he can and ought to follow their instructions or -not. There is no special exception of impeachments, and the right to -exempt them from this legislative control, if it exist at all, must -depend upon the nature of the case, and, of consequence, what is the -nature of a case which entitles it to this exemption must be decided -by the Legislature or by their Senator. We have seen the effect of -either alternative. In truth, this power of control must be -co-extensive with the powers and duties of the Senator, or it is -nothing. - -To give you the strongest case against my argument, I will suppose -that the Constitution had said—“The State Legislatures may _instruct_ -their Senators,” and had said no more; would this have created an -imperious obligation on the Senator implicitly to obey the -instructions? Would disobedience forfeit his office directly, or -virtually by making it his _duty_ to resign it? I think not. It would -have been no more than a constitutional, perhaps a superfluous, -recognition of the right of the State Legislatures to interfere so far -and in this way, with the measures of the federal government, to give -their opinions, their recommendation, their counsel, to their -Senators; but the Senators would afterwards be at liberty, nay it -would be their duty, to act and vote according to their own judgment -and consciences, on the responsibility which they _constitutionally_ -owe to their constituents, which is found, as Mr. Madison says, _in -the periodical change_ of the members of the Senate. The Constitution -knows no other check upon the Senators; no other responsibility to the -State Legislature, while the Senator acts within and by the admitted -powers of his office. - -But I am wearying you to death. Let me conclude this interminable -epistle by referring to an authority which no man living holds in -higher reverence than you do. About a week or ten days before the -death of that great and pure man, a true and fearless patriot, _Chief -Justice Marshall_, I called to see him. This question of instructions -was then in high debate in your papers. I said to him that I thought -the Virginia doctrine of instructions was inconsistent with all the -principles of our government, and subversive of the stability of its -foundations. He replied in these words—“It is so; indeed the Virginia -doctrines are incompatible not only with the government of the United -States, but with _any_ government.” These were the last words I heard -from the lips of _John Marshall_. - -H. - - - - -PERDICARIS. - - -_Mr. Editor_,—In introducing the following pieces to your notice, -permit me to say a few words of the gentleman whose lectures on the -condition and prospects of his native Greece have occasioned them to -be offered to you. Perdicaris is a native of Berea in Macedonia, a -place memorable not only for classic but for sacred associations. He -left his country while a youth, about the commencement of the Greek -revolution; and after travelling for some time in Syria and Egypt, was -brought off by an American vessel of war, from Smyrna, where his -situation as a Greek was extremely perilous. His education having been -completed in this country, he engaged as a teacher of the Greek -language, first at the Mount Pleasant Institution, Amherst, -Massachusetts, and subsequently at Washington College, Hartford, -Connecticut. Being now about to return to his native country, he is -perfecting his acquaintance with the United States and their -institutions, by travel; while at the same time he aims by lectures -delivered in the various cities, to excite an interest in the public -mind in the prospects and condition of his own country. It appears to -be his most earnest wish, to remove some false ideas with respect to -his native land, which have been too generally prevalent, and which -even the tone of Byron's poetry—friend of Greece as he was—has tended -to confirm. In the accounts of Perdicaris, we discover that his -country is still worthy of her ancient fame, that she possesses, and -has possessed for years, numerous and eminent scholars, noble -institutions of learning, a national poetry of no ordinary merit, an -active and intelligent population, and a general diffusion of -enlightened public spirit, of which it is as gratifying as it is -unexpected, to be informed. - -Of the two following pieces, the one is a translation, executed with -Mr. Perdicaris's assistance, from Christopoulos, who has been styled -the Modern Anacreon. It has in the original, an amusing and touching -simplicity, which I have not, I fear, succeeded in preserving. The -second piece must speak for itself. - - -FROM THE ROMAIC OF CHRISTOPOULOS. - - Orb of day, thus rising splendid, - Through the glowing realms of air! - Be thy course for once suspended, - For a message to my fair. - Two of thy bright rays be darted; - Let them, as the maid they greet, - Say, her lover, faithful-hearted, - Worships humbly at her feet. - He, of late so full of pleasure, - Tell her, now can scarce draw breath; - Living parted from his treasure, - He is like one sick to death. - Hour by hour, his pain enhancing, - Brings the final struggle near; - Death, with stealthy tread advancing, - Claims the spirit lingering here. - If he die, let her lament him; - Let her not forget the dead; - Let a message kind be sent him, - To the shores he now must tread. - If perchance where he is resting - In the cold and dreamless sleep, {411} - She should pass, her steps arresting, - One soft tear there let her weep. - These, dear Sun, for me repeating, - Then pursue thy brilliant way; - But the words of this sad greeting, - O forget them not, I pray! - - * * * * * - -TO G. A. PERDICARIS. - - We hail thee, Greek, from that far shore, - Young Freedom's chosen land of yore! - There were her first high Pæans poured— - There proved in fight her virgin sword— - There fell her eldest-martyr'd brave, - The heroes of the mount and wave! - We hail thee! Not a breast that burns - With but a spark of patriot fire, - But to thy country's altar turns, - And listens to thy country's lyre. - Grecian, forgive the idle thought! - We deemed old Hellas' spirit fled. - Yes! when thy brethren bravely fought - On plains where rest the immortal dead, - We scarce cast off the unworthy fear, - Scarce hoped that Greece might yet be free: - It seemed a boon too bright, too dear - For our degenerate age to see - A newly-won Thermopylæ. - And e'en if Grecian valor burst - Its chains, we little deemed thy clime - That generous _intellect_ had nursed - That shone so bright in elder time. - But who could catch thy burning words, - The changes of thy speaking eye, - And deem that time, or tyrant swords - Could bid the Grecian spirit die? - Thanks for the lesson thou hast given! - It shows, where Freedom once hath dwelt, - Though every bolt of angry Heaven - Age after age should there be dealt, - There is a power they cannot kill; - The proud, free spirit of the race - Lives on through woe and bondage still, - The eternal Genius of the place. - Yes! Hear the lesson, distant lands, - Where Goth and Russ with iron rod - Press down and cramp in servile bands - The living images of God! - Hear, Poland! soon shall dawn the day - Of liberty and peace for thee! - And thou, where Rhine's blue waters play! - And thou, once glorious Italy! - And thou, my country, be thou true! - The great of former days arise, - The same bright path again pursue - That marked their ancient victories. - Greece is thy rival for renown! - Arouse thee to the noble strife! - Thou must not lose thy glory's crown, - Well won by many a hero's life! - No! Onward still, ye noble pair, - Each mindful of the illustrious past, - The struggle and the triumph share, - And ever may that triumph last! - -B. - - - - -MS.S. OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.[1] - -[Footnote 1: These pieces, from the pen of Dr. Franklin, have never -appeared in any edition of his works, and are from the manuscript book -which contains the Lecture and Essays published in former numbers of -the Messenger.] - - -PROPOSALS - -That P. S. and A. N. be immediately invited into the Junto. - -That all new members be qualified by the four qualifications, and all -the old ones take it. - -That these queries copied at the beginning of a book, be read -distinctly each meeting, a pause between each while one might fill and -drink a glass of wine. - -That if they cannot all be gone through in one night, we begin the -next where we left off, only, such as particularly regard the funds to -be read every night. - -That it be not hereafter the duty of any member to bring queries, but -left to his discretion. - -That an old declamation be, without fail, read every night when there -is no new one. - -That Mr. Brientnal's Poem on the Junto be read over once a month, and -hum'd in consort[2] by as many as can hum it. - -[Footnote 2: Concert was thus spelt in the beginning of the last -century. See many examples in the Tatler, etc.] - -That once a month in spring, summer and fall, the Junto meet in the -afternoon in some proper place across the river for bodily exercise. - -That in the aforesaid book be kept minutes thus: - -_Friday, June 30, 1732._ - -Present A, B, C, D, E, F, etc. - -Figure denotes the queries answered. - -1. H. P. read this maxim, viz. or this experiment, viz. or etc. - -5. Lately arrived one —— of such a profession or such a science, etc. - -7. X. Y. grew rich by this means, etc. - -That these minutes be read once a year at the anniversary. - -That all fines due be immediately paid in, and the penal laws for -queries and declamations abolished, only he who is absent above ten -times in the year, to pay 10_s._ towards the anniversary -entertainment. - -That the secretary, for keeping the minutes, be allowed one shilling -per night, to be paid out of the money already in his hands. - -That after the queries are begun reading, all discourse foreign to -them shall be deemed impertinent. - -When any thing from reading an author is mentioned, if it exceed a -line, and the Junto require it, the person shall bring the passage or -an abstract of it in writing the next night, if he has it not with -him. - -When the books of the library come, every member shall undertake some -author, that he may not be without observations to communicate. - - * * * * * - -How shall we judge of the goodness of a writing? or what qualities -should a writing on any subject have, to be good and perfect in its -kind? - -Answer 1. To be good it ought to have a tendency to benefit the reader -by improving his virtue or his knowledge. - -The method should be just, that is, it should proceed regularly from -things known to things unknown, distinctly and clearly, without -confusion. - -{412} The words used should be the most expressive that the language -affords, provided they are the most generally understood. - -Nothing should be expressed in two words that can as well be expressed -in one; i.e. no synonymes should be used or very rarely, but the whole -be as short as possible, consistent with clearness. - -The words should be so placed as to be agreeable to the ear in -reading. - - Summarily,—It should be smooth, - clear, and - short, - - For the contrary qualities are displeasing. - -But taking the query otherwise: - -An ill man may write an ill thing well; that is, having an ill design -he may use the properest style and arguments (considering who are to -be readers) to attain his ends. - -In this sense, that is best wrote which is best adapted for attaining -the end of the writer. - - * * * * * - -Can a man arrive at perfection in this life, as some believe; or is it -impossible, as others believe? - -Perhaps they differ in the meaning of the word perfection. - -I suppose the perfection of any thing to be only the greatest the -nature of that thing is capable of. - -Thus a horse is more perfect than an oyster, yet the oyster may be a -perfect oyster, as well as the horse a perfect horse. - -And an egg is not so perfect as a chicken, nor a chicken as a hen; for -the hen has more strength than the chicken, and the chicken more life -than the egg—yet it may be a perfect egg, chicken, and hen. - -If they mean a man cannot in this life be so perfect as an angel, it -is true, for an angel by being incorporeal, is allowed some -perfections we are at present incapable of, and less liable to some -imperfections that we are liable to. If they mean a man is not capable -of being so perfect here as he is capable of being in heaven, that may -be true likewise. - -But that a man is not capable of being so perfect here as he is -capable of being here, is not sense; it is as if I should say, a -chicken in the state of a chicken is not capable of being so perfect -as a chicken is capable of being in that state. - -In the above sense there may be a perfect oyster, a perfect horse, a -perfect ship, why not a perfect man? that is, as perfect as his -present nature and circumstances admit? - - * * * * * - -_Question_. Wherein consists the happiness of a rational creature? - -_Answer_. In having a sound mind and a healthy body, a sufficiency of -the necessaries and conveniences of life, together with the favor of -God and the love of mankind. - -_Q_. What do you mean by a sound mind? - -_A_. A faculty of reasoning justly and truly, in searching after such -truths as relate to my happiness. Which faculty is the gift of God, -capable of being improved by experience and instruction into wisdom. - -_Q_. What is wisdom? - -_A_. The knowledge of what will be best for us on all occasions and -the best ways of attaining it. - -_Q_. Is any man wise at all times and in all things? - -_A_. No: but some are much more frequently wise than others. - -_Q_. What do you mean by the necessaries of life? - -_A_. Having wholesome food and drink wherewith to satisfy hunger and -thirst, clothing, and a place of habitation fit to secure against the -inclemencies of the weather. - -_Q_. What do you mean by the conveniences of life? - -_A_. Such a plenty * * * * * - - * * * * * - -_Query_.—Whether it is worth a rational man's while to forego the -pleasure arising from the present luxury of the age in eating and -drinking and artful cookery, studying to gratify the appetite, for the -sake of enjoying a healthy old age, a sound mind and a sound body, -which are the advantages reasonably to be expected from a more simple -and temperate diet? - -Whether those meats and drinks are not the best that contain -everything in their natural tastes, nor have any thing added by art so -pleasing as to induce us to eat or drink when we are not athirst or -hungry, or after thirst and hunger are satisfied; water, for instance, -for drink, and bread, or the like, for meat? - -Is there any difference between knowledge and prudence? - -If there is any, which of the two is most eligible? - -Is it justifiable to put private men to death for the sake of the -public safety or tranquillity, who have committed no crime? As in case -of the plague to stop infection, or as in the case of the Welshmen -here executed. - -If the sovereign power attempts to deprive a subject of his right, -(or, what is the same thing, of what he thinks his right,) is it -justifiable in him to resist if he is able? - -What general conduct of life is most suitable for men in such -circumstances as most of the members of the Junto are? or of the many -schemes of living which are in our power to pursue, which will be most -probably conducive to our happiness? - -Which is the best to make a friend of, a wise and good man that is -poor, or a rich man that is neither wise nor good? - -Which of the two is the greatest loss to a country, if they both die? - -Which of the two is happiest in life? - -Does it not, in a general way, require great study and intense -application for a poor man to become rich and powerful, if he would do -it without the forfeiture of his honesty? - -Does it not require as much pains, study and application, to become -truly wise and strictly good and virtuous, as to become rich? - -Can a man of common capacity pursue both views with success at the -same time? - -If not, which of the two is it best for him to make his whole -application to? - - * * * * * - -The great secret of succeeding in conversation, is to admire little, -to hear much, always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of -our friends; never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others -appear as much as possibly we can; to hearken to what is said and to -answer to the purpose. - - Ut jam nunc dicat jam nunc debentia dici. - - -{413} - - -LOSING AND WINNING. - -_By the author of the “Cottage in the Glen,” “Sensibility,”_ &c. - - Think not, the husband gained, that all is done; - The prize of happiness must still be won; - And, oft, the careless find it to their cost, - The lover in the husband may be lost; - The graces might, alone, his heart allure— - They and the virtues, meeting, must secure. - _Lord Lyttleton_. - - Can I not win his love? - Is not his heart of “penetrable stuff?” - Will not submission, meekness, patience, truth, - Win his esteem?—a sole desire to please, - Conquer indifference?—they must—they will! - Aid me, kind heaven—I'll try! - _Anon._ - - -It was a bright and beautiful autumnal evening. The earth was clad in -a garb of the richest and brightest hues; and the clear cerulean of -the heavens, gave place, near the setting sun, to a glowing ‘saffron -color,’ over which was hung a most magnificent drapery of crimson -clouds. Farther towards both the north and south, was suspended here -and there a sable curtain, fringed with gold, folded as but one hand -could fold them. They seemed fitting drapery to shroud the feet of -Him, who “maketh the clouds his chariot, who rideth upon the wings of -the wind.” - -Such was the evening on which Edward Cunningham conducted his fair -bride into the mansion prepared for her reception. But had both earth -and heaven been decked with ten-fold splendor, their beauty and -magnificence would have been lost on him; for his thoughts, his -affections, his whole being were centered in the graceful creature -that leaned on his arm, and whom he again and again welcomed to her -new abode—her future home. He forgot that he still moved in a world -that was groaning under the pressure of unnumbered evils; forgot that -earthly joy is oft-times but a dream, a fantasy, that vanishes like -the shadow of a summer cloud, that flits across the landscape, or, as -the morning vapor before the rising sun; forgot that all on this side -heaven, is fleeting, and changeable, and false. In his bride, the -object of his fondest love, he felt that he possessed a treasure whose -smile would be unclouded sunshine to his soul; whose society would -make another Eden bloom for him. It was but six short months since he -first saw her who was now his wife; and for nearly that entire period -he had been in ‘the delirium of love,’ intent only on securing her as -his own. He had attained his object, and life seemed spread before -him, a paradise of delight, blooming with roses, unaccompanied by -thorns. - -Joy and sorrow, in this world, dwell side by side. In a stately -mansion, two doors only from the one that had just received the joyful -bridegroom and happy bride, dwelt one who had been four weeks a wife. -On that same bright evening she was sitting in the solitude of her -richly furnished chamber, her elbows resting on a table, her hands -supporting her head, while a letter lay spread before her, on which -her eyes, blinded by tears, were rivetted. The letter was from her -husband. He had been from home nearly three weeks, in which time she -had heard from him but once, and then only by a brief verbal message. -The letter that lay before her had just arrived; it was the first she -had ever received from her husband, and ran thus:— - - -_Mrs. Westbury_—Thinking you might possibly expect to see me at home -this week, I write to inform you that business will detain me in New -York some time longer. - - Yours, &c. - FREDERIC WESTBURY. - - -For a long time the gentle, the feeling Julia, indulged her tears and -her grief without restraint. Again, and again, she read the laconic -epistle before her, to ascertain what more might be made of it than at -first met the eye. But nothing could be clothed in plainer language, -or be more easily understood. It was as brief, and as much to the -point as those interesting letters which debtors sometimes receive -from their creditors, through the agency of an attorney. “Did ever -youthful bride,” thought she, “receive from her husband such a letter -as this? He _strives_ to show me the complete indifference and -coldness of his heart toward me. O, why did I accept his hand, which -was rather his father's offering than his own? Why did I not listen to -my reason, rather than to my fond and foolish heart, and resist the -kind old man's reasonings and pleadings? Why did I believe him when he -told me I should win his son's affections? Did I not know that his -heart was given to another? Dear old man, he fondly believed his -Frederic's affections could not long be withheld from one whom he -himself loved so tenderly—and how eagerly I drank in his assurances! -Amid all the sorrow that I felt, while kneeling by his dying bed, how -did my heart swell with undefinable pleasure, as he laid his hand, -already chilled by death, upon my head, gave me his parting blessing, -and said that his son would love me! Mistaken assurance! ah, why did I -fondly trust it? Were I now free!—free!—would I then have the knot -untied that makes me his for life? Not for a world like this! No, he -is mine and I am his; by the laws of God and man, _we are one_. He -_must_ sometimes be at home; and an occasional hour in his society, -will be a dearer bliss than aught this world can bestow beside. His -father's blessing is still warm at my heart! I still feel his hand on -my head! Let me act as he trusted I should act, and all may yet be -well! Duties are mine—and thine, heavenly Father, are results. -Overlook my infirmities, forgive all that needs forgiveness, sustain -my weakness, and guide me by thine unerring wisdom.” She fell on her -knees to continue her supplications, and pour out her full soul before -her Father in heaven; and when she arose, her heart, if not happy, was -calm; her brow, if not cheerful, was serene. - -Frederic Westbury was an only child. He never enjoyed the advantages -of maternal instruction, impressed on the heart by maternal -tenderness—for his mother died before he was three years old, and all -recollection of her had faded from his memory. Judge Westbury was one -of the most amiable, one of the best of men; but with regard to the -management of his son, he was too much like the venerable Israelitish -priest. His son, like other sons, often did that which was wrong, ‘and -he restrained him not.’ He was neither negligent in teaching, nor in -warning; but instruction and discipline did not, as they ever should -do, go hand-in-hand; and for want of this discipline, Frederic grew up -with passions uncontrolled—with a will unsubdued. He received a -finished education, and his mind, which was of a high order, was -richly stored with knowledge. His pride of character was great, and he -looked down with contempt on all that was dishonorable or vicious. He -had a chivalrous generosity, and a frankness of {414} disposition that -led him to detest concealment or deceit. He loved or hated with his -whole soul. In person he was elegant; his countenance was marked with -high intellect and strong feeling; and he had the bearing of a prince. -Such was Frederic Westbury at the age of four-and-twenty. - -About a year before his marriage, Frederic became acquainted with -Maria Eldon, a young lady of great beauty of person, and fascination -of manner, who at once enslaved his affections. But against Miss -Eldon, Judge Westbury had conceived a prejudice, and for once in his -life was _obstinate_ in refusing to indulge his son in the wish of his -heart. He foresaw, or thought he did so, the utter ruin of that son's -happiness, should he so ally himself. He had selected a wife for his -son, a daughter-in-law for himself, more to his own taste. Julia -Horton was possessed of all that he thought valuable or fascinating in -woman. Possibly Frederic might have thought so too, had he known her, -ere his heart was in possession of another; but being pointed out to -him as the one to whom he must transfer his affections, he looked on -her with aversion as the chief obstacle to the realization of his -wishes. Julia was born, and had been educated, in a place remote from -Judge Westbury's residence; but from her infancy he had seen her from -time to time, as business led him into that part of the country in -which her parents resided. In her childhood she entwined herself -around the heart of the Judge; and from that period he had looked on -her as the future wife of his son. His views and wishes, however, were -strictly confined to his own breast, until, to his dismay, he found -that his son's affections were entangled. This discovery was no sooner -made than he wrote a pressing letter to Julia, who was now an orphan, -to come and make him a visit of a few weeks. The reason he gave for -inviting her was, that his health was rapidly declining, (which was -indeed too true,) and he felt that her society would be a solace to -his heart. Julia came; she saw Frederic; heard his enlightened -conversation; observed his polished manners; remarked the lofty tone -of his feelings; and giving the reins to her fancy, without consulting -reason or prudence, she loved him. Too late for her security, but too -soon for her peace, she learned that he loved another. Dreading lest -she should betray her folly to the object of her unsought affection, -she wished immediately to return to her native place. But to this -Judge Westbury would not listen. He soon discovered the state of her -feelings, and it gave him unmingled satisfaction. It augured well for -the success of his dearest earthly hope; and as his strength was -rapidly declining, consumption having fastened her deadly fangs upon -him, to hasten him to the grave, he gave his whole mind to the -accomplishment of his design. At first his son listened to the subject -with undisguised impatience; but his feelings softened as he saw his -father sinking to the tomb; and, in an unguarded hour, he promised him -that he would make Julia his wife. Judge Westbury next exerted himself -to obtain a promise from Julia that she would accept the hand of his -son; and he rested not until they had mutually plighted their faith at -his bed-side. To Frederic this was a moment of unmingled misery. He -saw that his father was dying, and felt himself constrained to promise -his hand to one woman, while his heart was in possession of another. - -Julia's emotions were of the most conflicting character. To be the -plighted bride of the man she loved, made her heart throb with joy, -and her faith in his father's assurance that she would win his -affections, sustained her hope, that his prediction would be verified. -Yet when she marked the countenance of her future husband, her heart -sank within her. She could not flatter herself into the belief, that -its unmingled gloom arose solely from grief at the approaching death -of his father. She felt that he was making a sacrifice of his fondest -wishes at the shrine of filial duty. - -Judge Westbury died; and with almost his parting breath, he pronounced -a blessing upon Julia as his daughter—the wife of his son—most -solemnly repeating his conviction that she would soon secure the heart -of her husband! - -Immediately on the decease of her friend and father, Julia returned -home, and in three months Frederic followed her to fulfil his promise. -He was wretched, and would have given a world, had he possessed it, to -be free from his engagement. But that could never be. His word had -been given to his father, and must be religiously redeemed. “I will -make her my wife,” thought he; “I promised my father that I would. -Thank heaven, I never promised him that I would love her!” Repugnant -as such an union was to his feelings, he was really impatient to have -it completed; for as his idea of his duty and obligation went not -beyond the bare act of making her his wife, he felt that, that once -done, he should be comparatively a free man. - -“I am come,” said he to Julia, “to fulfil my engagement. Will you name -a day for the ceremony?” - -His countenance was so gloomy, his manners so cold—so utterly -destitute of tenderness or kindly feeling, that something like terror -seized Julia's heart; and without making any reply, she burst into -tears. - -“Why these tears, Miss Horton?” said he. “Our mutual promise was given -to my father; it is fit we redeem it.” - -“No particular time was specified,” said Julia timidly, and with a -faltering voice. “Is so much haste necessary?” - -“My father wished that no unnecessary delay should be made,” said -Frederic, “and I can see no reason why we should not as well be -married now, as at any future period. If you consult my wishes, you -will name an early day.” - -The day was fixed, and at length arrived, presenting the singular -anomaly of a man eagerly hastening to the altar, to utter vows from -which his heart recoiled, and a woman going to it with trembling and -reluctance, though about to be united to him who possessed her -undivided affections. - -The wedding ceremony over, Mr. Westbury immediately took his bride to -his elegantly furnished house; threw it open for a week, to receive -bridal visits; and then gladly obeyed a summons to New York, to attend -to some affairs of importance. On leaving home, he felt as if released -from bondage. A sense of propriety had constrained him to pay some -little attention to his bride, and to receive the congratulations of -his friends with an air of satisfaction, at least; while those very -congratulations congealed his heart, by bringing to mind the ties he -had formed with one he could not love, to the impossibility of his -forming them with the one whom he idolized. When he had been absent -about ten days, {415} he availed himself of an opportunity to send a -verbal message to his wife, informing her that he was well, and should -probably be at home in the course of two weeks; but when that period -was drawing toward a close, his business was not completed, and as -home was the last place he wished to visit, he resolved to protract -his absence, so long as he had a reasonable excuse. “I must write, and -inform her of the change in my plan,” thought he, “decency demands it, -yet how can I write? My dear Julia!—my dear wife! No such thing—she is -not dear to me! - - ‘Ce cœur au moins, difficile à domter, - Ne peut aimer ni par ordre d'un père, - Ni par raison.’ - -She is my wife—she is Mrs. Westbury—she is mistress of my house, and -must share my fortune—let that suffice her! It must have been for -these that she married me. A name! a fortune! an elegant -establishment! Mean! ambitious! heartless! Thou, Maria—bright, -beautiful, and tender—thou wouldest have married me for myself! Alas, -I am undone! O, my father!” Under the influence of feelings like -these, he wrote the laconic epistle which cost his bride so many -bitter tears. - -It was at the close of about two weeks from this, that Julia was -sitting one evening in her parlor, dividing the time betwixt her work -and a book, when the door-bell rang, and a minute after the parlor -door opened, and Mr. Westbury entered. With sparkling eyes and glowing -cheeks, she sprang forward, her hand half extended to meet his—but his -ceremonious bow, and cold “good evening Mrs. Westbury,” recalled her -recollection; and scarcely able to reply to his civility, she sank -back on her chair. She thought she was prepared to see him cold and -distant—thought she expected it—but she had deceived herself. -Notwithstanding all her bitter ruminations on her husband's -indifference toward her, there had been a little under current of -hope, playing at the bottom of her heart, and telling her he might -return more cordial than he went. His cold salutation, and colder eye, -sent her to her seat, disappointed, sick at heart, and nearly -fainting. In a minute, however, she recovered her self-possession, and -made those inquiries concerning his health and journey, that propriety -dictated. In spite of himself, she succeeded in some degree in drawing -him out. She was gentle, modest, and unobtrusive—and good sense and -propriety were conspicuous in all she said. Beside, she looked very -pretty. Her figure, though rather below the medium size, was very -fine, her hand and foot of unrivalled beauty. She was dressed with -great simplicity, but good taste was betrayed in every thing about her -person. She wore her dress, too, with a peculiar grace, equally remote -from precision and negligence. Her features were regular, and her -complexion delicate; but the greatest attraction of her face, was the -facility and truth with which it expressed every feeling of the heart. -When Mr. Westbury first entered the parlor, an observer might have -pronounced her beautiful; but the bright glow of transient joy that -then kindled her cheek, had faded away, and left her pale—so pale, -that Mr. Westbury inquired, even with some little appearance of -interest, “whether her health was as good as usual?” Her voice, which -was always soft and melodious, was even softer and sweeter than usual, -as she answered “that it was.” Mr. Westbury at length went so far as -to make some inquiries relative to her occupations during his absence, -whether she had called on the new bride, Mrs. Cunningham, and other -questions of similar consequence. For the time he forgot Maria Eldon; -was half unconscious that Julia was his wife—and viewing her only as a -companion, he passed an hour or two very comfortably. - - * * * * * - -One day when Mr. Westbury came in to dinner, Julia handed him a card -of compliments from Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who were about giving a -splendid party. - -“I have returned no answer,” said Julia, “not knowing whether you -would wish to accept the invitation or not.” - -“For yourself, you can do as you please, Mrs. Westbury—but I shall -certainly attend it.” - -“I am quite indifferent about the party,” said Julia, “as such scenes -afford me little pleasure; but should be pleased to do as you think -proper—as you think best.” Her voice trembled a little, as she spoke; -for she had not yet become sufficiently accustomed to Mr. Westbury's -_brusque_ manner toward herself, to hear it with perfect firmness. “I -should think it very suitable that you pay Mr. and Mrs. Brooks this -attention,” Mr. Westbury replied. - -Nothing more was said on the subject, and Julia returned an answer -agreeable to the wishes of her husband. - -The evening to visit Mrs. Brooks at length arrived, and Julia repaired -to her chamber to dress for the occasion. To render herself pleasing -in the eyes of her husband was the sole wish of her heart, but how to -do this was the question. She would have given the world to know his -taste, his favorite colors, and other trifles of the like nature—but -of these she was completely ignorant, and must therefore be guided by -her own fancy. “Simplicity,” thought she—“simplicity is the surest -way; for it never disgusts—never offends, if it does not captivate.” -Accordingly, she arrayed herself in a plain white satin—and over her -shoulders was thrown a white blond mantle, with an azure border, while -a girdle of the same hue encircled her waist. Her toilet completed, -Julia descended to the parlor, her shawl and calash in her hand. Mr. -Westbury was waiting for her, and just casting his eyes over her -person, he said—“If you are ready, Mrs. Westbury, we will go -immediately, as it is now late.” Most of the guests were already -assembled when they arrived at the mansion opened for their reception, -and it was not quite easy to get access to the lady of the house, to -make their compliments. This important duty, however, was at length -happily accomplished, and Mr. Westbury's next effort was to obtain a -seat for his wife. She would have preferred retaining his arm, at -least for a while, as few persons present were known to her, and she -felt somewhat embarrassed and confused; but she durst not say so, as, -from her husband's manner, she saw that he wished to be free from such -attendance. In such matters the heart of a delicate and sensitive -woman seldom deceives her. Is it that her instincts are superior to -those of men? - -Julia had been seated but a short time before Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham -approached her, and entered into a lively conversation. This was a -great relief to Julia, who could have wept at her solitary and -neglected situation, alone, in the midst of a crowd. Mrs. Cunningham -{416} was in fine spirits, and her husband appeared the happiest of -the happy. Not that he appeared particularly to enjoy society—but his -blooming wife was by his side, and his eyes rested on her with looks -of the tenderest love—while the sound of her voice seemed constantly -to awaken a thrill of pleasure in his heart. After conversing with -Julia awhile, Mrs. Cunningham said— - -“Do you prefer sitting to walking, Mrs. Westbury? Pray take my arm, -and move about with us a little—it looks so dull for a person to sit -through a party.” - -Julia gladly accepted the offer, and was soon drawn away from herself, -in listening to the lively rattle of her companion, who, although only -a resident of a few weeks in the city, seemed already acquainted with -all the gentlemen, and half the ladies present. An hour had been -passed in this manner, and in partaking of the various refreshments -that were provided—to which Julia did little honor, though this was of -no consequence, as Mrs. Cunningham amply made up all her deficiencies -of this kind—when the sound of music in another room attracted their -attention. Julia was extremely fond of music, and as their present -situation, amid the confusion of tongues, was very unfavorable for its -enjoyment, Mr. Cunningham proposed that they should endeavor to make -their way to the music room. After considerable detention, they -succeeded in accomplishing their object, so far at least as to get -fairly within the door. Considering the number of persons present, and -how few there are that do not prefer the music of their own tongues to -any other melody, the room was remarkably still—a compliment deserved -by the young lady who sat to the piano, who played and sang with great -skill and feeling. Julia's attention was soon attracted to her -husband, who was standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning -against the wall, his arms folded across his breast, his eyes resting -on the performer with an expression of warm admiration, while a deep -shade of melancholy was cast over his features. Julia's heart beat -tumultuously. “Is it the music,” thought she, “or the musician that -thus rivets his attention? Would I knew who it is that plays and sings -so sweetly!” She did not remain long in doubt. The song finished, all -voices were warm in its praise. - -“How delightfully Miss Eldon plays! and with what feeling she sings!” -exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham. “I never listened to a sweeter voice!” - -The blood rushed to Julia's head, and back again to her heart, like a -torrent; a vertigo seized her; and all the objects before her, were, -for a moment, an indistinct, whirling mass. But she did not faint; she -did not even betray her feelings, though she took the first -opportunity to leave the room, and obtain a seat. For a long time she -was unconscious of all that was passing around her; she could not even -think—she only felt. Her husband's voice was the first thing that -aroused her attention. He was standing near her with another -gentleman; but it was evident that neither of them were aware of her -proximity. - -“Mrs. Brooks looks uncommonly well to-night,” said Mr. Westbury's -companion; “her dress is peculiarly becoming.” - -“It would be,” said Mr. Westbury, “were it not for those blue -ribbands; but I can think no lady looks well who has any of that -odious color about her.” - -“It is one of the most beautiful and delicate colors in the world,” -said the other gentleman. “I wonder at your taste.” - -“It does finely in its place,” said Mr. Westbury—“that is—in the -heavens above our heads—but never about the person of a lady.” - -Julia wished her mantle and her girdle in Africa—“Yet why?” thought -she. “I dare say he is ignorant that I have any of the color he so -much dislikes, about me! His heart belongs to another, and he cares -not—minds not, how she is clad whom he calls wife.” - -Mr. Westbury and his friend now moved to another part of the room, and -it was as much as Julia could do, to answer with propriety the few -remarks that a passing acquaintance now and then made to her. At -length the company began to disperse, and presently Julia saw Mr. -Westbury leading Miss Eldon from the room. His head was inclined -toward her; a bright hectic spot was on his cheek, and he was speaking -to her in the softest tone, as they passed near where Julia was -sitting. Miss Eldon's eyes were raised to his face, while her -countenance wore a mingled expression of pain and pleasure. Julia had -just time enough to remark all this, ere they left the room. “O, that -I were away!” thought she—“that I were at home!—that I were—in my -grave!” She sat perfectly still—perfectly unconscious of all that was -going forward, until Mr. Westbury came to her, inquiring “whether she -meant to be the last to take leave?” Julia mechanically arose, -mechanically made her parting compliments to Mrs. Brooks—and scarcely -knew any thing till she arrived at her own door. Just touching her -husband's hand, she sprung from the carriage, and flew to her chamber. -For a while she walked the floor in an agony of feeling. The -constraint under which she had labored, served but to increase the -violence of her emotion, now that she was free to indulge it. “O, why -did I attend this party?” at length thought she—“O, what have I not -suffered!” After a while, however, her reason began to operate. “What -have I seen, that I ought not to have expected?” she asked herself. -“What have I learned that I knew not before? except,” she added, “a -trifling fact concerning my husband's taste.” Julia thought long and -deeply; her spirits became calm; she renewed former resolutions; -looked to heaven for wisdom to guide, and strength to sustain her—and -casting aside the mantle, which would henceforth be useless to her, -she instinctively threw a shawl over her shoulders to conceal the -unlucky girdle, and, though the hour was late, descended to the -parlor. Mr. Westbury was sitting by a table, leaning his head on his -hand. It was not easy for Julia to address him on any subject not too -exciting to her feelings—and still more difficult perfectly to command -her voice, that its tones might be those of ease and cheerfulness; yet -she succeeded in doing both. The question she asked, led Mr. Westbury -to look up, and he was struck by the death-like paleness on her cheek. -Julia could by an effort control her voice; she could in a degree -subdue her feelings; but she could not command the expression of her -countenance—could not bid the blood visit or recede from her cheeks at -her will. She knew not, indeed, that at this time she was pale; her -own face was the last thing in her mind. Mr. Westbury had no sooner -answered her question, than he added—“You had better retire, Mrs. -Westbury. You look as if the fatigues of the evening had been too much -for you.” - -{417} “_Fatigues_ of the evening!—_Agonies_ rather,” thought Julia; -but thanking him for his “kind” advice, she immediately retreated to -her chamber. - -Until this evening, Mr. Westbury had scarcely seen Miss Eldon since -his marriage. He had avoided seeing her, being conscious that she -retained her full power over his heart; and his sense of rectitude -forbade his indulging a passion for one woman, while the husband of -another. Miss Eldon suspected this, and felt piqued at his power over -himself. Her heart fluttered with satisfaction when she saw him enter -Mrs. Brooks's drawing-room; and she resolved to ascertain whether her -influence over his affections were diminished. She was mortified and -chagrined, that even here he kept aloof from her, giving her only a -passing bow, as he walked to another part of the room. It was with -unusual pleasure that she complied with a request to sit to the piano, -for she well knew the power of music—_of her own music_ over his -heart. Never before had she touched the keys with so much interest. -She did her best—that best was pre-eminently good—and she soon found -that she had fixed the attention of him whom alone she cared to -please. After singing one or two modern songs, she began one that she -had learned at Mr. Westbury's request, at the period when he used to -visit her almost daily. It was Burns's “Ye banks and braes o' bonnie -Doon,” and was with him a great favorite. When Miss Eldon came to the -lines— - - “Thou mind'st me of departed joys, - Departed, never to return”— - -she raised her eyes to his face, and in an instant he forgot every -thing but herself. “Her happiness is sacrificed as well as my own,” -thought he; and leaning his head against the wall of the room, he gave -himself up, for the time, to love and melancholy. The song concluded, -however, he regained some control over his feelings, and still kept at -a distance from her; nay—conquered himself, so far as to repair to the -drawing-room, to escape from her dangerous vicinity. He saw her not -again until she was equipped for her departure. Then she contrived to -get near him, and threw so much sweetness and melancholy into her -voice, as she said “good night, Mr. Westbury,” that he was instantly -disarmed—and drawing her arm within his, conducted her from the room. - -“How,” said he, in a low and tremulous tone, “how, Maria, could you -sing _that song_, to harrow up my feelings? Time was, when to be near -thee—to listen to thee, was my felicity; but now, duty forbids that I -indulge in the dangerous delight.” - -Miss Eldon replied not—but raised her eyes to his face, while she -repressed a half-drawn sigh. Not another word was uttered until they -exchanged “adieus” at her carriage door. - - * * * * * - -Two or three weeks passed away without the occurrence of any incident -calculated to excite peculiar uneasiness in the heart of Julia. True, -her husband was still the cold, the ceremonious, and occasionally the -abrupt Mr. Westbury; he passed but little even of his leisure time at -home; and she had never met his eye when it expressed pleasure, or -even approbation. But he did not grow more cold—more ceremonious; the -time he passed at his own fireside, rather increased than -diminished—and for all this she was thankful. Her efforts to please -were unceasing. Her house was kept in perfect order, and every thing -was done in time, and well done. Good taste and good judgment were -displayed in every arrangement. Her table was always spread with great -care, and if her husband partook of any dish with peculiar relish, she -was careful to have it repeated, but at such intervals as to gratify -rather than cloy the appetite. In her dress she was peculiarly neat -and simple, carefully avoiding every article of apparel that was -tinctured with the “odious color.” She had naturally a fine mind, -which had had the advantage of high cultivation; and without being -obtrusive, or aiming at display, she strove to be entertaining and -companionable. Above all, she constantly endeavored to maintain a -placid, if not a cheerful brow, knowing that nothing is so repulsive -as a discontented, frowning face. She felt that nothing was -unimportant that might either please or displease her husband; his -heart was the prize she was endeavoring to win; and the happiness of -her life depended on the sentiments he should ultimately entertain -toward her. Every thing she did was done not only properly, but -gracefully; and though she never wearied in her efforts, she would -oftentimes sigh that they were so unsuccessful. She sometimes feared -that her very anxiety to please, blinded her as to the best manner of -doing so; and would often repeat with a sigh, after some new, and -apparently useless effort— - - “Je le servirais mieux, si je l'eusse aimé moins.” - -The first thing to disturb the kind of quiet that Julia enjoyed, was -the prospect of another party. One morning, while at the breakfast -table, a card was brought in from Mr. and Mrs. Parker, who were to be -“at home” on Friday evening. After looking at the card, Julia handed -it to Mr. Westbury in silence. - -“It will be proper that we accept the invitation,” said Mr. Westbury. - -The remembrance of the agony she endured at the last party she -attended, caused Julia's voice to tremble a little, as she said— - -“Just as you think best—but for my own part, I should seldom attend a -party for the sake of enjoyment.” - -“If Mrs. Westbury thinks it proper to immure herself as if in a -convent, she can,” said Mr. Westbury; “for myself, I feel that society -has claims upon me that I wish to discharge.” - -“I will go if you think there would be any impropriety in my staying -away,” said Julia. - -“Situated as you are, I think there would,” said Mr. Westbury. - -“Situated as I am!” thought Julia; “what does he mean? Does he refer -to my station in society? or does he fear that the world will think me -an unhappy wife, that wishes to seclude herself from observation?” - -In the course of the morning, Julia called on Mrs. Cunningham, and -found that lady and her husband discussing the point, whether or not -they should attend Mrs. Parker's party. - -“Are you going, Mrs. Westbury?” asked Mrs. Cunningham. - -“Yes—Mr. Westbury thinks we had better do so,” Julia replied. - -“Hear that, Edward!” said Mrs. Cunningham. “You perceive that Mr. -Westbury likes that his wife should enjoy the pleasures of society.” - -{418} Mr. Cunningham looked a little hurt, as he said—“my dear Lucy, -am I not _more than willing_ to indulge you in every thing that will -add to your happiness? I have only been trying to convince you how -much more comfortable we should be by our own fireside, than in such a -crowd as must be encountered at Mrs. Parker's. For myself, the society -of my wife is my highest enjoyment, and of her conversation I never -grow weary.” - -“Thank you for the compliment, dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham—“and we -will settle the question at another time.” - -One of the first persons Julia distinguished amid the company, as she -entered Mrs. Parker's drawing-room, was Mrs. Cunningham, who gave her -a nod, and an exulting smile, as much as to say—“you see I have -carried the day!” Julia had endeavored to arm herself for this -evening's trial, should Miss Eldon make one of the company; and -accordingly she was not surprised, and not much moved, when she saw -her husband conversing with that young lady. She was too delicate in -feeling, too refined in manner, to watch them, even long enough to -catch the expression of Mr. Westbury's face; but resolutely turning -her eyes another way, she endeavored to enter into conversation with -the persons near her. - -Mr. Westbury had not been in Mrs. Parker's drawing-room half an hour, -ere Miss Eldon contrived to place herself in such a situation as to -render it impossible for him to avoid addressing her; and this point -once gained, to escape from her was impracticable. A strong sense of -honor alone led him to wish to escape, as to be near her was to him -the most exquisite happiness; but the greater the delight, the more -imminent the danger; of this he was sensible, and it was not without -some resistance that he yielded to her fascination. Could she once -secure his attention, Miss Eldon well knew how to get at his heart; -and at those moments when she was sure that no ear heard, and no eye -observed her but his own, she let an occasional touch of the -_penserosa_ mingle so naturally with her half subdued sprightliness, -as to awaken, in all their original strength, those feelings, and -those regrets, he was striving to subdue. For the time he forgot every -thing but that they mutually loved, and were mutually unhappy. They -had been standing together a considerable length of time when they -were joined by Mr. Cunningham, who abruptly remarked— - -“You don't enjoy yourself this evening, Westbury.” - -“What makes you think so?” Mr. Westbury inquired. - -“You look worn out, just as I feel,” answered Mr. Cunningham. “How -strange it is,” he added, “that married men will ever suffer -themselves to be drawn into such crowds!” - -“Why not married men, as well as bachelors?” asked Miss Eldon. - -“Because they relinquish real happiness and comfort, for a fatiguing -pleasure—if pleasure it can be called,” answered Cunningham. “One's -own hearth and one's own wife, is the place, and the society, for -unalloyed enjoyment. Am I not right, Westbury?” - -Miss Eldon turned her eyes on Mr. Westbury, as she waited to hear his -answer, and an expression, compounded of curiosity, contempt, and -satisfaction, met his eye. It was the first time he had ever remarked -an unlovely, an unamiable expression on her countenance. He calmly -replied to Mr. Cunningham— - -“Unquestionably the pleasures of domestic life are the most pure, the -most rational, that can be enjoyed.” - -“O, it is strange,” said Mr. Cunningham, “that any one can willingly -exchange them for crowded rooms, and pestilential vapors, such as we -are now inhaling! There is nothing to be gained in such a company as -this. Take any dozen, or half dozen of them by themselves, and you -might stand some chance to be entertained and instructed; but bring -them all together, and each one seems to think it a _duty_ to give -himself up to frivolity and nonsense. I doubt whether there have been -a hundred sensible words uttered here to-night, except by yonder -circle, of which Mrs. Westbury seems to be the centre. There seems to -be something like rational conversation _there_.” - -Mr. Westbury turned his eyes, and saw that Julia was surrounded by the -_elite_ of the party—who all seemed to be listening with pleased -attention to a conversation that was evidently carried on between -herself and Mr. Eveleth, a gentleman who was universally acknowledged -as one of the first in rank and talent in the city. For a minute Mr. -Westbury suffered his eyes to rest on Julia. Her cheek was suffused -with the beautiful carmine tint of modesty, and her eyes were beaming -with intellectual light—while over her features was spread a slight -shade of care, as if the heart were not perfectly at ease. “She -certainly looks very well,” was Mr. Westbury's thought; and his -feeling was one of gratified pride, that she who was inevitably his -wife, did not find her proper level amongst the light, the vain, and -the frivolous. - - * * * * * - -“You have been delightfully attentive to your wife, this evening, my -dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham to her husband, as soon as they were -seated in their carriage on their way home. - -“I am not sensible of having neglected you, Lucy,” said Mr. -Cunningham. - -“No—I suppose not; nor of having been very attentive to another!” - -“I certainly am not. To whom do you allude?” - -“I suppose,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “that Mr. Westbury is equally -unconscious of having had his attention engrossed by any particular -individual.” - -“You surely cannot mean that I was particularly attentive to Miss -Eldon, Lucy?” - -“O, how could I mean so?” said Mrs. Cunningham, with a kind of laugh -that expressed any thing rather than pleasure, or good humor. “I -really wonder how you came to recollect having seen such a person as -Miss Eldon to-night!” - -“Your remark concerning Westbury brought her to my mind,” said Mr. -Cunningham. - -“How strange!” said his wife, “And how extreme that young lady's -mortification must have been, that she could not detain two newly -married gentlemen near her for more than an hour and a half at one -time! Seriously, Mr. Cunningham, the company must have thought that -you and Westbury were striving which should do her most homage.” - -“And seriously, my dear Lucy,” said Mr. Cunningham, taking the hand of -his wife, which she reluctantly permitted him to detain—“seriously, it -was merely {419} accidental that I spoke to Miss Eldon this evening. -There is not a person on earth to whose society and conversation I am -more completely indifferent—so, take no offence, love, where none was -meant. There is no one whose conversation can compensate me for the -loss of yours; and it is one reason why I so much dislike these -crowds, that, for a time, they necessarily separate us from each -other.” - - * * * * * - -The following morning, Mrs. Cunningham called on Mrs. Westbury, who, -at the moment of her arrival happened to be in her chamber—but she -instantly descended to receive her visitor. When Mrs. Westbury left -the parlor a short time previous, her husband was there; but he had -disappeared, and she supposed he had gone out. He was, however, in the -library, which adjoined the parlor, and the door between the two rooms -was not quite closed. After the compliments of the morning, Mrs. -Westbury remarked— - -“I was somewhat surprised to see you at Mrs. Parker's last evening.” - -“Surprised! why so?” - -“You recollect the conversation that took place on the subject, the -morning I was at your house?” - -“O, yes—I remember that Mr. Cunningham was giving a kind of -dissertation on the superior pleasures of one's own chimney-corner. -Really, I wish he did not love home quite so well—though I don't -despair of teaching him, by and by, to love society.” - -“Can it be possible that you really regret your husband's attachment -to home?” asked Mrs. Westbury. - -“Yes, certainly—when it interferes with my going out. A man and his -wife may surely enjoy enough of each other's society, and yet see -something of the world. At any rate, I shall teach Ned, that I am not -to be made a recluse for any man!” - -“Have you no fears, my dear Mrs. Cunningham,” said Mrs. Westbury, -“that your want of conformity to your husband's taste, will lessen -your influence over him?” - -“And of what use is this influence,” asked Mrs. Cunningham, “unless it -be exerted to obtain the enjoyments I love?” - -“O, pray beware,” said Mrs. Westbury, with much feeling,—“beware lest -you sacrifice your happiness for a chimera! Beware how you trifle with -so invaluable a treasure as the heart of a husband!” - -“Pho—pho—how serious you are growing,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Actually -warning and exhorting at twenty years of age! What a preacher you will -be, by the time you are forty! But now be honest, and confess that -you, yourself, would prefer a ball or a party, to sitting alone here -through a stupid evening with Westbury.” - -“Then to speak truth,” said Julia, “I should prefer an evening at home -to all the parties in the world—balls I never attend, and do not think -stupidity necessary, even with no other companion than one's own -husband.” - -“Then why do you attend parties if you do not like them?” - -“Because Mr. Westbury thinks it proper that I should.” - -“And so you go to him, like miss to her papa and mamma to ask him what -you must do?” said Mrs. Cunningham, laughing. “This is delightful, -truly! But for my part, I cannot see why I have not as good a right to -expect Edward to conform to my taste and wishes, as he has to expect -me to conform to his. And so Westbury makes you go, whether you like -to or not?” - -“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Westbury. “I never expressed to him my -aversion to going, not wishing him to feel as if I were making a great -sacrifice, in complying with his wishes.” - -“Well, that is pretty, and dutiful, and delicate,” said Mrs. -Cunningham, laughing again. “But I don't set up for a _pattern_ wife, -and if Edward and I get along as well as people in general, I shall be -satisfied. But to turn to something else. How do you like Miss Eldon?” - -“I am not at all acquainted with her,” said Julia. - -“You have met her several times,” said Mrs. Cunningham. - -“Yes, but have never conversed with her. Her appearance is greatly in -her favor; I think her very beautiful.” - -“She is called so,” said Mrs. Cunningham; “but some how I don't like -her looks. To tell the plain truth, I can't endure her, she is so -vain, and artful, and self-complacent.” - -“I have not the least acquaintance with her,” repeated Julia; “but it -were a pity so lovely a face should not be accompanied by an amiable -heart. Are _you_ much acquainted with her?” - -“Not personally. Indeed I never conversed with her for ten minutes in -my life.” - -“Then you may be mistaken in thinking her vain and artful,” said Mrs. -Westbury. - -“O, I've seen enough to satisfy me fully as to that point,” said Mrs. -Cunningham. “When a young lady exerts herself to engross the attention -of newly married men, and when she looks so self-satisfied at success, -I want nothing more. She can have no delicacy of feeling—she must be a -coquette of the worst kind.” - -It was now Mrs. Westbury's turn to change the subject of conversation, -and simply remarking—“that we should be extremely careful how we judge -of character hastily”—she asked some question that drove Miss Eldon -from Mrs. Cunningham's mind. Soon after the visitor departed, and -Julia returned to her chamber. - - * * * * * - -In the evening when Mr. Westbury came in, he found Julia reading, but -she immediately laid down her book, and resumed her work. She thought -it quite as impolite to pursue the solitary pleasure of reading while -her husband was sitting by, as to have done so with any other -companion; and she knew no reason why he was not as much entitled to -civility as a stranger, or common acquaintance. It was not long before -Mr. Westbury inquired “what book had engaged her attention.” It was -Dr. Russel's Palestine. - -“It is a delightful work,” said Julia. “I have just read an extract -from Chateaubriand, that I think one of the most elegant passages I -ever met with.” - -“I should like to hear it,” said Mr. Westbury. Julia opened her book, -and the passage lost none of its beauty by her reading. She read the -following:— - -“When you travel in Judea the heart is at first filled with profound -melancholy. But when, passing from solitude to solitude, boundless -space opens before you, this feeling wears off by degrees, and you -experience a {420} secret awe, which, so far from depressing the soul, -imparts life, and elevates the genius. Extraordinary appearances -everywhere proclaim a land teeming with miracles. The burning sun, the -towering eagle, the barren fig-tree, all the poetry, all the pictures -of Scripture are here. Every name commemorates a mystery, every grotto -announces a prediction, every hill re-echoes the accents of a prophet. -God himself has spoken in these regions, dried up rivers, rent the -rocks, and opened the grave. The desert still appears mute with -terror, and you would imagine that it had never presumed to interrupt -the silence, since it heard the awful voice of the Eternal.” - -Julia closed the volume, and Mr. Westbury, after bestowing just praise -on the extract she had read, took up the work, and proposed to read to -her if she would like it. She thanked him, and an hour was very -pleasantly spent in this manner. A little time was occupied in -remarking on what had been read, when, after a short silence, Mr. -Westbury inquired of Julia, “whether she saw much of Mrs. Cunningham.” - -“Not a great deal,” was Julia's answer. - -“She was here this morning?” said Mr. Westbury. “She was,” replied -Julia. - -“Do you intend to be intimate with her?” inquired Mr. Westbury. - -“I have no intention about it;” said Julia—“but presume I never shall, -as I fear our views and tastes will prove very discordant.” - -“I am happy to hear you say so,” said Mr. Westbury. “I am not -prepossessed in her favor, and greatly doubt whether an intimacy with -her would be salutary. Such a person as I conceive her to be, should -be nothing more than an acquaintance.” - -Nothing more was added on the subject, and Julia wondered, though she -did not ask, what had given her husband so unfavorable an impression -of Mrs. Cunningham's character. The truth was, he overheard the -conversation of the morning, which he would have frankly confessed to -his wife, but for a kind of delicacy to her feelings, as he had heard -her remarks as well as those of Mrs. Cunningham. He knew that it was -not quite honorable to listen to a conversation without the knowledge -of the parties; but he could not close the library door without -betraying his proximity; he wished not to see Mrs. Cunningham; he -therefore remained quiet, and heard their whole colloquy. - -A few days after this circumstance occurred, an invitation to another -party was received. Mr. Westbury looked at the card first, and handing -it to Julia, said: - -“I would have you act your pleasure with regard to accepting this -invitation.” - -“It will be my pleasure,” said Julia, hesitating and coloring a -little—“it will be my pleasure to consult yours.” - -“I have little choice about it,” said Mr. Westbury, “and if you prefer -declining to accepting it, I would have you do so.” - -“Shall you attend it?” asked Julia, while a shade of anxiety passed -over her features. - -“Certainly not unless you do,” Mr. Westbury replied. - -“Then,” said Julia, “if it be quite as agreeable to you, I had a -thousand times rather spend it at home, alone with”—she checked -herself, colored crimson, and left the sentence unfinished. - -The morning after the levee, Mrs. Westbury was favored with another -call from Mrs. Cunningham. - -“Why, on earth were you not at Mrs. B——'s last night?” asked she -almost as soon as she entered the house. “You can imagine nothing more -splendid and delightful than every thing was.” - -“You were there then?” said Julia. - -“Yes, certainly—though I went quite late. Edward was sick of a violent -head-ache, and I was obliged to see him safely in bed before I could -go; but nothing would have tempted me to miss it.” - -“How is Mr. Cunningham this morning?” Julia inquired. - -“Much better—though rather languid, as is usual after such an attack. -But I came in on an errand this morning, and must despatch business, -as I am somewhat in haste. Mrs. T—— is to give a splendid party next -week—by the way, have you received a card yet?” - -“I have not,” said Julia. - -“Neither have I—but we both shall. I want to prepare a dress for the -occasion, and came in to look at the one you wore to Mrs. Parker's, as -I think of having something like it.” - -Mrs. Westbury was about to ring the bell, and have the dress brought -for her visitor's inspection, but Mrs. Cunningham stopt her by saying, - -“No, no—do not send for it. Let me go with you to your wardrobe, I may -see something else that I like.” - -Mrs. Westbury complied, and they went up stairs together. Mrs. -Cunningham was delightfully free in examining the articles exposed to -her view, and expressed such warm admiration of many of them, such an -ardent desire to possess the like, that it was rather difficult to -forbear telling her they were at her service. The blond mantle, with a -blue border, struck her fancy particularly, and Mrs. Westbury begged -her to accept it, saying “that she should probably never wear it -again, as the color was not a favorite with her husband.” - -Mrs. Cunningham hastened home, delighted with her acquisition, and -immediately hastened to the chamber, to which her husband was still -confined by indisposition, to display to him her prize. - -“See what a beautiful little affair that dear Mrs. Westbury has given -me,” she cried. “How lucky for me that Mr. Westbury don't like blue, -else I should not have got it, I suppose, though, she could spare -this, and fifty other things, as well as not. Why, Edward, you don't -know what a delightful wardrobe she has! Really, you must indulge me a -little more in this way, I believe.” - -“I am sure no one looks better dressed than yourself, Lucy,” said Mr. -Cunningham, in a languid voice. - -“O, I try to make the most of every thing I have,” said Mrs. -Cunningham; “but really, Edward, Mrs. Westbury has twice as much of -all sorts of apparel as I have.” - -“And her husband has more than four times as much property as I have,” -answered Mr. Cunningham. - -“Supposing he has,” said his wife, “that need make no difference in -the article of dress. And then her house is so charmingly -furnished—every part of it! I was in her chamber, just now, and it -looks elegantly. Every thing in it is of the richest and most -beautiful kind, I declare I almost envied her so many luxuries.” - -{421} “We surely have every thing necessary to comfort, my dear Lucy,” -said Mr. Cunningham. “Our happiness does not depend on the splendor of -our furniture, but on our affection for each other. You would be no -dearer to my heart, in the paraphernalia of a duchess, diamonds and -all, than you are in your simple morning dress; and I hope you do not -love me the less, for not being able to furnish my house in the style -of Mr. Westbury's.” - -“O, no—of course not,” said Mrs. Cunningham, in a tone utterly devoid -of all tenderness or feeling; “but then I should not love you the less -for having beautiful things, I suppose. And, really, Edward, I think -one of the best ways in which a husband can show his love to his wife, -is by gratifying her in dress, furniture, company, and so-forth. -Talking about love don't amount to much after all!” - -“He must ruin himself, then, to show his love,” said Mr. Cunningham, -throwing his head back on the easy-chair, with a mingled expression of -mental and bodily pain on his features. - -Mrs. Cunningham, however did not look up to mark the expression of his -countenance, but half-muttered in reply to his remark— - -“I never knew a man who was too _stingy_ to dress his wife decently, -fail to excuse himself on the ground of necessity. How I do detest to -hear a man talk of _ruin_, if his wife only asks for a new pair of -shoes!” - -Mr. Cunningham was too deeply wounded to attempt a reply; and Mrs. -Cunningham, having vented something of her discontent in this gentle -ebullition, flirted out of the chamber, without even casting a glance -toward her sick, and now afflicted husband. - - * * * * * - -In due time Mrs. T——'s invitation was received, and this it was Mr. -Westbury's wish that Julia should accept. Without manifesting the -least reluctance she consented, and Mr. Westbury went so far as to -thank her for her cheerful compliance with his wishes. This was a very -slight courtesy, but there was something in Mr. Westbury's voice when -he spoke, that went straight to Julia's heart, and she left the room -to conceal the strong emotion excited by so very trivial a cause. “She -certainly strives to please me, be the motive what it may,” thought -Mr. Westbury, when left alone—“and though _I cannot love her_, -honor—nay, gratitude demands that I make her as happy as circumstances -will allow.” He took a pen, and hastily writing a few lines, enclosed -a bank note of considerable value, and left the little packet on her -work-table, that she might see it as soon as she returned. He then -left the house. When Julia resumed her seat by her table, the packet -was the first thing that attracted her notice. She hastily opened it, -and read as follows:— - -“As Mrs. Westbury is too delicate and reserved ever to make known a -want, she may have many which are unthought of by him who is bound to -supply them. Will she receive the enclosed, not as a gift, but as her -right? Perhaps a new dress may be wanted for Mrs. T——'s levee; if not, -the enclosed can meet some of those calls on benevolence, to which -report says Mrs. Westbury's ear is ever open. And if Mrs. Westbury -will so far overcome her timid delicacy, as freely to make known her -wants whenever they occur, she will greatly oblige her husband.” - -Julia pondered long on this note. It was ceremonious and cold—cold -enough!—yet not so _frozen_ as the only letter she had ever received -from him. Perhaps it was his way of letting her know that he wished -her to dress more elegantly and expensively. “I will not remain in -doubt; I will know explicitly,” thought she—and taking a pen in her -turn, she wrote the following: - -“Mr. Westbury is so munificient in supplying every want, that his wife -has none to make known. If there is any particular dress that would -gratify Mr. Westbury's taste, Mrs. Westbury would esteem it a great -favor would he name it, and it would be her delight to furnish herself -accordingly. She accepts with gratitude, _not as her right_, but as a -gift, the very liberal sum enclosed in Mr. Westbury's note.” - -Julia placed her note on Mr. Westbury's reading-desk in the library, -and felt an almost feverish impatience to have an answer, either -verbal or written. For more than an entire day, however, she was -doomed to remain in suspense, as her husband made no allusion either -to his note or her own, though the one she laid on his desk -disappeared on his first visit to the library. But her suspense at -length terminated. On going to her chamber she observed a little box -on her dressing-table. On raising it, she discovered a note that was -placed beneath it. The note ran thus:— - -“Mr. Westbury highly approves the elegant simplicity of Mrs. -Westbury's style of dress, and in consulting her own taste, she will -undoubtedly gratify his. He has _but once_ seen her wear an unbecoming -article. The contents of the accompanying box were selected, not for -their intrinsic value or splendor, but because they correspond so well -with Mrs. Westbury's style of dress and of beauty. If she will wear -them to Mrs. T——'s, she will gratify the giver.” - -Julia opened the box, and a set of beautiful pearls met her view. “How -delicate, how kind, and how cold he is!” thought she. “O, how trifling -the value of these gems, compared to one particle of his love!—Yet for -his sake I will wear them—not as my adorning—may _that_ ever be the -ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, but as proof of my desire in all -things to please him, and meet his approbation.” - -Mrs. T——'s rooms were well filled with the elegant and fashionable, on -the evening on which her house was opened to receive company. But the -heart of Julia was not in such scenes. The more she saw of fashionable -life the less she liked it. Emulation, envy, detraction, and -dissimulation were obtruding themselves on her notice, amid gaiety and -splendor. Her conscientious scruples as to the propriety of thus -mixing with the world, increased rather than diminished. “I promised,” -thought she, while she was surveying the gay assembly—“I promised, in -all things lawful, to obey my husband—but is this _lawful_ for me? It -is my duty—it is my _pleasure_ to comply with all his wishes, where -superior duties do not forbid; but is it allowable for me to try to -please him _thus_? His heart is the prize at which I aim, but will -‘the end sanctify the means?’ Can I expect a blessing from above on my -efforts, while my conscience is not _quite_ clear as to the rectitude -of the path I pursue? Can I not have moral courage enough to tell him -my scruples? and dare I not hazard the consequences?” Julia's -reflections were interrupted by the approach of Mrs. Cunningham. - -{422} “How serious you look, Mrs. Westbury,” said she. “Really, you -and Mr. Cunningham would do well together, for you are both more grave -in a party than any where else. Mr. Cunningham actually tries my -patience by his disrelish for society. I do believe he is now quite -well; yet he made indisposition an excuse for not coming with me -to-night! But,” said she, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I -shall show him that I can be _obstinate_ as well as he! He chooses to -stay at home—I choose to come out—and if he will not come with me, -neither will I stay with him. I should rather live in a cottage in the -country, and have done with it, for there I should have nothing to -expect but stupidity; but to live in the midst of elegant society, and -yet be constrained to immure one's self, is intolerable, and I _will -not_ submit to it!” - -Mrs. Westbury had not the pain of replying to a speech from which both -her heart and her judgment revolted, as Mr. Eveleth at that moment -addressed her. He soon engaged her in a conversation which was -continued for an hour, and would have been continued still longer, but -for a general movement of the company, which separated them. Not long -after, Mr. Eveleth found himself near Miss Eldon, who was chatting -with two or three gentlemen. Mr. Westbury was standing hard by, but -his back was toward them, and Mr. Eveleth did not observe him. - -“Are you acquainted with Mrs. Westbury, Miss Eldon?” Mr. Eveleth -inquired. - -“No, not in the least,” said Miss Eldon, “and do not wish to be. She -looks altogether too _fade_ for me.” - -“_Fade!_” said Mr. Eveleth—“I should think that the last word that -would apply to Mrs. Westbury in any way. She is certainly animated -both in countenance and manner, and she talks better than any lady I -ever conversed with. Her thoughts have something of masculine strength -and range, delightfully modified by feminine grace and delicacy. Her -manner is perfectly ladylike and gentle.” - -“Every thing she says must sound well,” remarked another gentleman. -“She has woman's most potent charm, in perfection—a voice whose tones -are all music.” - -“Perhaps it is all just as you say,” said Miss Eldon, “but really, I -never saw a lady that appeared to me more perfectly insipid, or less -attractive. I hope”—but the tone of Miss Eldon's voice contradicted -her words—“I hope her husband sees her with your eyes, rather than -mine.” - -“I do—I will!” thought Mr. Westbury, who had heard all the -conversation, with a variety of conflicting emotions. “_Fade!_” -reiterated he, as Miss Eldon uttered the word,—“'Tis false!” He -glanced his eyes towards Julia, who stood on the opposite side of the -room, talking with a lady. She was dressed in black, a color that -finely contrasted with her pearls, which proved to be very becoming. -Her cheek was a little flushed, and her whole face beaming with -animation. “_Fade!_ 'tis false!” Mr. Westbury's pride was piqued. -Julia was Mrs. Westbury—his wife! could he patiently hear her thus -unjustly spoken of? Was there any thing noble in that mind that could -thus speak of a rival? How grateful to his feelings were the remarks -of Mr. Eveleth! How clearly he read the feelings of Miss Eldon in the -tone of voice in which she uttered her last remark! He waited to hear -no more, but moving towards a table that was spread with refreshments, -filled a plate, and carried it to Julia. It was the first attention of -the kind he had ever paid her, and her face was eloquent indeed, as -she looked up with a smile, and said “thank you.” He stood by her for -a few minutes, made some common-place remarks, even took a grape or -two from her plate, and then turned away. It was one of the happiest -moments of Julia's life! There was something indescribable in his -manner, that a delicate and feeling woman could alone have seen or -appreciated, of which Julia felt the full force. - -When the party broke up, Miss Eldon contrived again to secure Mr. -Westbury's arm. She saw that he purposely avoided her, whether from -new-born indifference, or principle, she could not determine; but -having boasted to quite a number of her _confidential friends_ of his -passion for herself, and the reluctance with which he had complied -with his father's command to marry Julia, _who had made the most -indelicate advances_—she resolved, if art or manœuvering could -accomplish it, to maintain the appearance of power over him. From the -first she exulted in her conquest of Mr. Westbury's heart. She admired -his person—his fortune she _loved_; and bitter was her mortification, -unbounded her displeasure, when his hand was bestowed on another. To -make it appear that he still loved her; to wring the heart of his -wife, and detract from her character, were now the main springs of her -actions whenever she met them. The sight of Julia's pearls, which she -thought should have been her own, awakened, on this evening, -peculiarly bitter feelings. The hand—the heart even, of Mr. Westbury -were trifles, when compared with such beautiful ornaments, except as -they were the medium through which the latter were to be obtained. - -A ten-minutes conversation with her _ci-devant_ lover was all her art -could accomplish during the evening at Mrs. T——'s, until she secured -his arm on going out. In the entry they were detained by the crowd at -the door, and looking round, they saw Mrs. Westbury, together with Mr. -and Mrs. Eveleth, examining a bust of Gen. Lafayette, which stood on a -pedestal, near the foot of the staircase. With a smile on her -beautiful features, which very slightly softened a compound expression -of scorn and malignity, Miss Eldon said— - -“Really, Mrs. Westbury has made a conquest! Mr. Eveleth is devoted in -his attentions, and enthusiastic in his encomiums! Do you not begin to -be jealous?” - -“Not in the least,” Mr. Westbury replied. “The attentions and -approbation of such a man as Mr. Eveleth are an honor to any lady; and -Mrs. Westbury's rigid sense of virtue and propriety will prevent her -ever receiving improper attentions, should any one be disposed to -offer them. She has too much delicacy and refinement to court the -attentions even of her own husband, much less those of the husband of -another!” - -Miss Eldon was stung with mortification, and dropping her head, that -her face might be concealed by her hood, she said, in a voice -tremulous from conflicting passions— - -“How little did I ever expect to hear Frederic Westbury speak to me in -a severe tone!” - -“Severe! Maria—Miss Eldon? Does common justice to Mrs. Westbury sound -harshly in your ear?” - -“Certainly not—but your tone—your manner are not {423} what they were, -and I had hoped that no circumstances, no new engagements, would -prevent your retaining a kindly feeling towards one whom—” she -hesitated—“One whom I once loved,” said Mr. Westbury, finishing the -sentence for her. “Yes, you well know that I once loved you.” - -“Once?” interrupted Miss Eldon. “But this is man's fidelity!” - -“Miss Eldon, you astonish me,” said Mr. Westbury. “I am married; my -wife commands my respect—nay, my admiration; and duty, honor, every -thing commands that all former ties, however tender, should be broken. -Our happiness, our respectability demands that henceforth we be only -common acquaintance.” - -“Be it so—farewell!” said Miss Eldon, with irrepressible bitterness of -expression, and snatching her hand from beneath his arm, she sprang -forward and took that of her brother, who had just issued from the -parlor. - -“Is that—can that be Maria Eldon?” thought Mr. Westbury—“the amiable! -the feeling! the refined Maria! Where has my love, my admiration, my -passion for her gone? or rather, by what blindness were they at first -excited? Does she wish to retain—nay, does she claim the heart of the -husband of another? What perversion of principle is here!” - -The crowd at the door was by this time nearly dispersed, and Mr. -Westbury, advancing to the trio that still remained near the bust, -drew his wife's arm within his, and bidding Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth “good -night,” led her to their carriage. - -“How have you enjoyed yourself this evening?” Mr. Westbury inquired, -as soon as the carriage-door was closed, and the coachman had mounted -his box. - -“Quite as well as I ever do scenes of similar character,” Julia -answered. - -“Do you not then relish society?” - -“Not very well in such large _masses_,” said Julia. “To my -apprehension, very large parties counteract the purpose for which -social feelings were implanted within us.” - -“Then you _disapprove_, as well as disrelish, them?” said Mr. -Westbury. - -“I fear they are not quite innocent,” said Julia. “So far as my -observation has extended, they have little tendency to increase -benevolence, or any of the finer feelings of the heart. I have often -feared, that vanity and thirst for admiration, were the causes that -draw together one half of the crowd; and a vulgar love of luxuries the -other.” - -“Those causes surely do not influence all those who attend large -assemblies,” said Mr. Westbury. “Such persons as Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth, -for instance, are entirely above them.” - -“Undoubtedly,” said Julia. “Still I believe the rule as general as any -other.” - -“Does not the elegant and instructive conversation of such a man as -Mr. Eveleth reconcile you to the crowd?” Mr. Westbury inquired. - -“Certainly not,” said Julia. “How much more highly such conversation -would be enjoyed—how much greater benefit derived from it, in a small -circle. Artificial delicacy and refinement—artificial -feeling—artificial good-nature—artificial friendship, are the usual -compound that make up large companies. Had Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth spent -this evening with us, in our quiet parlor, how much greater would have -been the enjoyment! how much more profitably the time might have been -occupied!” - -“It might,” said Mr. Westbury. “Mr. Eveleth has great colloquial -powers. His conversation is at once brilliant and instructive. I know -no gentleman who equals him in this particular.” - -“I cannot say quite as much as that,” said Julia, “though he certainly -converses uncommonly well.” - -“Who can you name that is his equal?” asked Mr. Westbury. - -Julia hesitated a little, and blushed a great deal, though her blushes -were unseen, as she said—“In conversational powers, I think my present -companion is very rarely, if ever excelled. And why,” she added, “such -gentlemen should mingle in crowds, where their talents are in a great -measure lost, instead of meeting in select circles, where they could -find congenial minds—minds, at least, in some degree capable of -appreciating them, I cannot conceive. But I suppose my ideas of -rational enjoyment, of elegant society are very singular.” She stopped -short, fearing she was saying too much, but Mr. Westbury requested her -to proceed. After a minute's hesitation she said— - -“I think the crowded drawing room should be abandoned to those who are -capable of no higher enjoyment than gossip, nonsense, flirtation, and -eating oysters, confections and creams; and that people of talent, -education, principle, and refinement, should associate freely in small -circles, and with little ceremony. In such kind of intercourse, new -friendships would be formed and old ones cemented, the mind and heart -would be improved, and the demons of envy and detraction excluded. -After an evening spent in such a circle, the monitor within would be -at peace, and the blessing and protection of Heaven could be sought, -without a feeling of shame, and self-condemnation.” - -“Then your _conscience_ is really at war with large parties?” said Mr. -Westbury. - -“I cannot deny that it is,” Julia answered. “Impelled by -circumstances, I have striven to think they might _sometimes_ be -innocently attended, and perhaps they may; but I confess that the -reproaches of my own conscience are more and more severe, every time I -repeat the indulgence. Whatever they be to others, I am constrained to -believe they are not innocent for me.” - -Mr. Westbury made no reply, for at that moment the carriage stopped at -their own door, and the subject was not again resumed. - - * * * * * - -Every party was sure to procure for Mrs. Westbury the favor of a call -from Mrs. Cunningham. On the following morning, at as early an hour as -etiquette would allow, she made her appearance. - -“I could not stay away this morning,” she said, the moment she -entered. “I am so vexed, and so hurt, that I must have the sympathy of -some friendly heart; and you are a friend to every one, especially -when in trouble.” - -“What troubles you, Mrs. Cunningham?” Mrs. Westbury inquired. - -“You recollect,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “what I said to you last night -about Mr. Cunningham's indisposition. Well, as soon as I got home, I -ran up stairs, of course, you know, to see how he was, expecting to -{424} find him abed and asleep. Judge how I felt, when I found my bed -as I left it, and no husband in the chamber. I flew down stairs, and -searched every room for him, but in vain. I then rang for Peggy, and -asked ‘if she knew where Mr. Cunningham was.’ ‘La, ma'am,’ said she, -‘I'm sure I don't know. He went out just after you did. He called me -to give charge about the fires, and said he was going out. I thought -he had altered his mind and was going to Mrs. T——'s.’ I dismissed the -girl, and went to my chamber, in an agony, as you may suppose. I -declare I hardly know what I did or thought for three long hours—for -it was so long before Mr. Cunningham came home! I don't know what I -said to him when he came, but he was not the kind, affectionate -creature, that he ever has been, for he almost harshly told me ‘to -cease my upbraidings’—_upbraidings!_ think what a word—‘for if I -sought pleasure where I liked, I must not quarrel with him for doing -the same!’ My dear Mrs. Westbury, I could not make him tell me where -he had been, do all I could—and I have horrible surmises. What shall I -do? I am sick at heart, and almost distracted.” - -“Will you follow my advice, my dear Mrs. Cunningham?” said Mrs. -Westbury, who truly pitied her distress, much as she blamed her. - -“O, yes—I will do any thing to feel happier than I now do. Really my -heart is broken,” and she burst into a passion of tears. - -Mrs. Westbury attempted to soothe her, and then said— - -“Forgive me, if I wound, when I would only heal. You have been a -little imprudent, and must retrace your steps by conforming to the -taste of your husband. He does not like crowds, and you must in part -relinquish them for his sake.” - -“And is not that hard?” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Why should he not -conform to my taste, as well as I to his? Why must _men_ always have -their own way?” - -“That point it is not worth while to discuss,” said Mrs. Westbury. -“Your happiness, my friend, is at stake. Can you hesitate an instant -which to relinquish, those pleasures, which, after all, are so -unsatisfying, or the approbation, the happiness, perhaps the heart, -even, of your husband?” - -“But why,” persisted Mrs. Cunningham, “need he be so obstinate? You -see he could go out and stay till two in the morning! It seems as if -he did it on purpose to torment me,” and she again burst into tears. - -“I have not the least doubt,” said Mrs. Westbury, “that would you -yield to Mr. Cunningham's wishes—would you let him see that you care -more about pleasing him than yourself, he would cheerfully, and -_frequently_ perhaps, accommodate himself to your taste. Few men will -bear being _driven_, and they would be objects of our contempt if they -would, for authority is divinely delegated to them; but there are -_very few_ who have not _generosity_ enough to take pleasure in -gratifying the wife, who evidently strives to meet his wishes, and is -willing to sacrifice her own pleasures, that she may promote his -happiness.” - -“But I can't see,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “why my happiness is not of -as much consequence as my husband's. I can't see, why all _sacrifice_ -should be on my side!” - -“Do you not perceive,” said Mrs. Westbury, “_that the sacrifices you -make, are made to secure your happiness, and not to destroy it_?” - -“I don't know,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “I can't bear to have Ned think -to manage me as he would a little child, and then punish me, as he did -last night, if I don't do just as he says. I don't think it fair! And -I don't know as it would be of any avail, should I follow your advice. -Some men will be _ugly_, do what you will! And why should you -understand _managing_ the men better than I do? You are two or three -years younger!” - -“I never studied how to _manage_ them,” said Mrs. Westbury; “but I -have thought a good deal on the best way of securing domestic -happiness; and reason, observation, and the word of God teach me, that -would the wife be happy and beloved, she must ‘be in subjection to her -own husband.’ He may not always be reasonable, but she cannot ‘usurp -authority,’ without at once warring against Heaven, and her own peace, -and respectability. Think of it, my dear Mrs. Cunningham, ruminate -upon it, and in your decision be careful not to let _will_ influence -you to sacrifice a greater good for a less. It is not degrading for a -wife to submit to her husband. On the contrary, she never appears more -lovely than when cheerfully and gracefully yielding up her own wishes, -that she may comply with his. Women were not made to rule; and in my -view, the wife who attempts to govern, and the husband who submits to -be governed, are equally contemptible.” - -“What an admirable wife you would be for a tyrant!” exclaimed Mrs. -Cunningham. “I never heard the doctrine of _passive obedience_ more -strenuously inculcated. Indeed, you would make a tyrant of any man!” - -“If any thing would disarm the tyrant,” said Mrs. Westbury, “I think -this _passive obedience_ would do it, if at the same time, it were a -_cheerful_ obedience. But happily, _you_ have no tyrant to disarm. -Your husband, I am satisfied, would be easily pleased. Try, my friend, -for a little while, to yield to him, and see if you do not meet a rich -reward.” - -“Well, I will think of it,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “and perhaps shall -do as you advise; for really I am very wretched now. O, dear, I do -wish the men were not so obstinate! so overbearing! so selfish!” - - * * * * * - -For some time things went on very calmly with Julia. Though there was -nothing tender, or even affectionate in the manner of her husband, -there was a gradual alteration, sufficient to keep hope alive, and -stimulate her to exertion. He spent more and more of his leisure time -at home, and was at least becoming _reconciled_ to her society. -Julia's system of visiting had been partially adopted, and Mr. -Westbury enjoyed it highly. Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth, and a few other -friends of congenial minds, had been invited to drop in occasionally -without ceremony; the invitation had been complied with, and Mr. -Westbury and Julia had returned a few visits of this kind. Thus many -evenings had been pleasantly, and profitably spent. Another great -comfort to Julia, was, that her husband had cheerfully permitted her -to decline several invitations to attend large parties, and had -sometimes remained at home with her himself, and even when he had -thought best, on his own part, to accept the invitation, he had been -absent but a short {425} time, and had then returned to pass the -remainder of the evening with his wife. - -But after awhile, this faint gleam of sunshine began to fade away. A -cloud of care seemed settling on Mr. Westbury's brow, he passed less -and less time at home, till at length Julia scarcely saw him, except -at mealtimes. “What is the matter?” thought Julia. “Am I the cause? is -Miss Eldon? or is it some perplexity in his affairs?” She longed to -inquire. If she had displeased him, she wished to correct whatever had -given displeasure. If his sadness was in any way connected with Miss -Eldon, of course she could in no way interfere; but if it originated -in any cause foreign to either, she ardently desired to offer her -sympathy, and share his sorrows. Day after day passed, without -producing any favorable change, and Julia's feelings were wrought up -to agony. She resolved, at all hazards, to inquire into the cause of -his depression. - -He came in late one evening, and taking a seat near the table, beside -which Julia was sitting, leaned his head on his hand. Half an hour -passed without a word being uttered. “Now is my time,” thought Julia. -“Yet how can I do it? What can I say? A favored wife would seat -herself on his knee, entwine his neck with her arms, and penetrate his -very heart—but I, alas, should only disgust by such freedom?” She drew -a sigh, and summoning all her courage, said, in a timid voice— - -“I fear I have unwittingly offended you.” - -Mr. Westbury looked up in some surprise, and assured her “that she had -not.” - -“You have absented yourself from home so much of late,” said Julia, -“that I feared your own fireside was becoming less agreeable to you -than ever.” - -“Business of importance,” said Mr. Westbury, “has of late demanded all -my time, and to-morrow I must start for New York.” - -“For New York!” said Julia. “To be absent how long?” - -“That,” said Mr. Westbury, “must depend on circumstances. I may be -absent some time.” - -“May I not hope to hear from you occasionally?” Julia assumed courage -to ask. - -“Yes—I will certainly write, from time to time.” - -“He does not ask me to write,” thought Julia, with a sigh. “He is -quite indifferent how she fares whom he calls his wife!” - -The following morning witnessed the departure of Mr. Westbury, and -Julia was left to painful conjecture as to the cause of his dejection. -Three weeks passed away, in each of which she received a letter from -him, comporting exactly with his manner toward her—friendly and -respectful, but neither tender nor confiding. - -At the close of that period Julia was one day alarmed by the -unceremonious entrance of a sheriff's officer. He was the bearer of a -writ of attachment, with orders to seize all the furniture. - -“At whose suit do you come?” Julia asked the officer. - -“At Mr. Eldon's, madam. He holds a note of some thousands against Mr. -Westbury, and thinks no time is to be lost in making it secure. You -have jewels of value, madam, which I was ordered to include in the -attachment.” - -“Will you allow me a few minutes for reflection?” said Julia, whose -faculties seemed benumbed by the suddenness of the blow. - -“Certainly, madam, certainly—any accommodation in my power I shall be -happy to grant.” - -“What _can_ I do? what _ought_ I to do?” thought Julia. “O, that Mr. -Westbury were at home! Mr. Eveleth—yes—I will send for him; he can -advise me, if the officer will only wait.” - -“Will you suspend your operations for half an hour, sir,” asked Julia, -“that I may send for a friend to advise and assist me?” - -“Why, my time is very precious, madam, and my orders to attach were -peremptory; nevertheless, half an hour will make no great difference, -so to oblige you, I will wait.” - -The pale and trembling Julia instantly despatched a servant for Mr. -Eveleth, and in twenty minutes that gentleman arrived. He was -instantly made acquainted with the business in hand, and without -hesitation receipted for the furniture, and dismissed the officer. -Julia felt relieved of an enormous burden, when the officer left the -house—though in her trepidation she scarcely comprehended how he was -induced to go, and leave every thing as it was. As soon as she was -sufficiently composed and collected to take a pen, she wrote to her -husband, giving an account of all that had transpired. Her letter -despatched, she had nothing to do but wait in torturing suspense, till -she should either see or hear from him. On the third evening, as she -was sitting with her eyes resting on the carpet, alternately thinking -of her husband, and of her own embarrassing situation, and at times -raising her heart to heaven for strength and direction—as she was thus -sitting, in deep and melancholy musing, Mr. Westbury entered the -apartment. Quick as thought she sprang towards him, exclaiming— - -“O, my dear husband, how glad I am that you are come! But what is the -matter?” she cried, as he sank into a chair—“you are very ill!” - -“I find that I am,” said Mr. Westbury. “My strength has just sufficed -to fetch me home.” - -Julia took his hand, and found it was burning with fever, and -instantly despatching a servant for a physician, she assisted her -husband to his chamber. The medical gentleman soon arrived, and -pronounced Mr. Westbury in a confirmed fever. For twenty days, Julia -was in an agony of suspense. With intense anxiety she watched every -symptom, and administered every medicine with her own hand, lest some -mistake should be made. It was in vain that the physician entreated -her to take some care of herself; she could do nothing, think of -nothing, but that which related to her husband. When nature was -completely exhausted, she would take an hour's troubled repose, and -then be again at her post. On every account, the thought of his death -was terrible. “To be lost to me,” thought she, “is unutterably -dreadful—but, O, it is a trifle when compared to being lost to -himself! He is not fit for heaven. He has never sought the -intercession of the great Advocate, through whom alone we can enter on -eternal life.” How fervently did she pray that his life might be -prolonged! that he might come forth from his affliction like ‘gold -seven times refined!’ - -Mr. Westbury was exceedingly reduced, but there had been no symptom of -delirium, though weakness {426} and pain compelled him to remain -almost constantly silent. Occasionally, however, he expressed his -gratitude to Julia for her unremitted attentions; begged her, _for his -sake_, to take all possible care of her own health, for if her -strength should fail, such another nurse—so tender—so vigilant—could -not be found. Julia entreated him to take no thought for her, as she -doubted not that her heavenly Father would give her strength for the -discharge of every duty. Sometimes, when he was uttering a few words -of commendation, she panted to say—“_Aimez moi, au lieu de me louer;_” -but with a sigh she would bury the thought at the bottom of her heart, -and proceed in the discharge of her duties. Oftentimes she would kneel -for an hour together, at his bedside, when he appeared to be sleeping, -with his hand clasped in hers, dividing the time between counting his -fluttering pulse, and raising her heart to heaven in his behalf. - -But Julia's constitution was unequal to the task she had undertaken. -Protracted fatigue and anxiety did their work, and on the day that her -husband was pronounced convalescent, she was conveyed to a bed of -sickness. Unlike Mr. Westbury, she was in a constant state of -delirium, induced by mental anxiety, and unremitting watching. Most -touchingly would she beg to go to her husband, as he was dying for -want of her care. It was in vain that she was told he was better—was -rapidly recovering; the impression was gone in an instant, and her -mind reverted to his danger. Her physician was anxious that Mr. -Westbury should visit her chamber, as soon as he could do so with -safety, hoping that the sight of him might change the current of her -thoughts, and remove that anxiety that greatly heightened her fever. -At the end of ten days he was able to be supported to her chamber, and -advancing to the bedside, he said— - -“My dear Julia, I am able to come and see you.” - -“Thank heaven,” said Julia, clasping her hands—and then raising her -eyes, she added—“Heavenly Father, I thank thee! But how sick you -look,” she continued; “O, pray go to bed, and I will come and nurse -you. I shall very soon be _rested_, and then they will let me come.” - -“I will sit by, and watch and nurse you now, Julia,” said Mr. -Westbury—“so try to go to sleep—it will do you good.” - -“You called me _Julia_,” said she, smiling; “O, how sweetly that -sounded! But I will mind you, and try to sleep, for my head feels -strangely.” - -She closed her eyes, and Mr. Westbury sat at the head of the bed, -watching her with intense interest. Presently her lips moved, and he -leaned forward to hear what she was saying. - -“O, should he die,” she murmured in the softest tone—“O, should he die -without ever loving me!—die, without knowing how much—how fondly I -loved him! And, O,” she added, in a whisper, while an expression of -deep solemnity settled on her features—“O, should he die without ever -loving the blessed Saviour!—that would be the most dreadful of all!” - -Presently a noise in the street disturbed her, and she opened her -eyes. She did not see her husband, as she had turned her face a little -on the other side, and calling the nurse, she said— - -“Do beg them to make less noise; they will kill my dear husband—I know -just how it makes his poor head feel,” and she clasped her own with -her hands. - -Mr. Westbury's feelings were much moved, and his debility was such he -could with difficulty restrain them. He found he must return to his -own chamber, and taking his wife's hand, he said— - -“I hope to be able to come and see you now, every day, my dear Julia.” - -“O, do,” she said—“and always call me Julia, will you?—it sounds so -kindly!” - -Scenes similar to this were constantly recurring for the next ten -days. Mr. Westbury continued to gain strength, though his recovery was -somewhat retarded by his visits to Julia's chamber, while she was -gradually sinking under the violence of her disease. The hopes, -however, which her physician gave of her recovery, were not delusive. -Within three weeks of the time of her seizure, a crisis took place, -and the next day she was pronounced out of danger. - -Soon after this, Mr. Westbury was able to attend a little to business, -but all the time he was in the house, was spent in Julia's chamber. -One day, after she had so far recovered her strength as to be able to -sit up for an hour or two at a time, he chanced to be left alone with -her. - -“My dear Julia,” said he, as he took her emaciated hand, and folded it -between his own—“I can never express my gratitude to you for your kind -attentions to an unworthy husband; nor my thankfulness to heaven that -your precious life did not fall a sacrifice to your efforts to save -mine. I hope to prove by my future conduct, that I have learned to -appreciate your value.” - -He spoke in the softest tones of love, while his eyes were humid with -tears. - -“Do you, then, love me?” said Julia. - -“Love you!—yes, most tenderly—with my whole heart,” said Westbury; -“more than any thing—more than every thing else on earth!” - -Julia leaned her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears. - -“Why do you weep, Julia?” said Westbury. - -“O, I am so happy!” said Julia. “There wants but one thing to make my -cup of blessedness quite full.” - -“And what is that, dearest?” - -“That you should give your first—your best affections where alone they -are deserved—to your Creator.” - -“I trust, my dear wife,” said Mr. Westbury, with deep feeling, “I -trust that your precious intercessions for me at the throne of mercy, -have been answered. My bed of sickness was a bed of reflection, of -retrospection, of remorse, and, I hope, of true penitence. I feel as -if in a new world; ‘old things have passed away, and all things have -become new.’” - -Julia clasped her hands together, leaned her face upon them, and for a -long time remained perfectly silent. At length she raised her head, -and said— - -“Your fortune, I suppose, is gone—but what of that? It was a trifle—a -toy—compared with the blessings now bestowed. A cottage—any place will -be a paradise to me, possessing the heart of my husband, and he a -believer!” - -“My dear Julia,” said Westbury, “my fortune is unimpaired. I was in -danger of sustaining great loss, through the embarrassments of my -banker in New York, but all is now happily adjusted. The difficulty -{427} here, was the result of malice. Eldon was embittered against me, -I doubt not, through the influence of his sister—of whom it is -unnecessary to speak to you. He heard of my difficulties, and knowing -that he should be perfectly safe, purchased that note against me, that -he might avenge her, by increasing my embarrassments. I have been -recently informed that that unhappy girl looked on your _pearls_ with -peculiar malignity. Her feelings were too bitter, and too strong for -concealment. Poor girl—I fear that she and her brother are kindred in -heart, as well as blood. I now look with something like terror, at the -gulph into which I wished to plunge myself, and from which my dear -father alone saved me. I can never be sufficiently thankful, for being -turned, almost by force, from my rash and headstrong course; and for -having a wife bestowed on me, rich in every mental and moral -excellence—who loves me for myself, undeserving as I am, and not for -my wealth.” - - * * * * * - -It was now June; and as soon as Julia's strength was equal to the -fatigue, Mr. Westbury took her into the country for change of air. -They were absent from the city some months, and made, in the course of -the summer, several delightful excursions in various parts of the -country. A few days after their return to their house in town, Julia -asked Mr. Westbury “if he had seen or heard any thing of the -Cunninghams.” - -“I have seen neither of them,” said Mr. Westbury, “but hear sad -accounts of both. Mrs. Cunningham is now with a party at Nahant. She -has been extremely gay, perhaps I might say _dissipated_, during the -whole season, and her reputation is in some danger. Cunningham has -become an inveterate gamester, and I am told that his face shows but -too plainly, that temperance is not among his virtues.” - -“Poor creatures,” said Julia, “how I pity them for their folly—their -madness!” - -“I pity _him_ most sincerely,” said Mr. Westbury, “in being united to -a woman who selfishly preferred her own _pleasure_ to her husband's -_happiness_. _Her_ I have not yet learned to pity. She richly deserves -all she may suffer. Had she taken your advice, Julia—for most -touchingly did I hear you warn her!—she might now have been happy, and -her husband respectable. _Now_, they are both lost!—O, that every -woman would learn where her true strength—her true happiness lies!—O, -that she would learn, that to yield is to conquer! to submit, is to -subdue! None but the utterly ignoble and abandoned, could long resist -the genial influence of a cheerful, meek, patient, self-denying wife; -nay—instances are not wanting, in which the most profligate have been -reclaimed through the instrumentality of a _consistently_ amiable and -virtuous woman! If the whole sex, my dear Julia, would imbibe your -spirit, and follow your example, the effect would soon be manifest. -Men would be very different creatures from what they now are, and few -wives would have occasion to complain of unkind and obstinate -husbands. A vast deal is said of the influence of women on society, -and they, themselves, exult in their power; but how seldom, -comparatively, do they use it, to benefit themselves, or the world! -Let it be a woman's first desire to make her husband good, and happy, -and respectable—and seldom will she fail of attaining her object, and -at the same time, of securing her own felicity!” - - - - -THE SWAN OF LOCH OICH. - -A solitary wild swan may be seen on Loch Oich. It has sailed there for -twenty or thirty years, in summer and winter. It had a mate, but about -twenty years ago the master of a trading vessel (more wantonly -barbarous than the Duke of Cumberland when he burned the old castle of -Inverrgarry,) shot the bird. The Glengary swan, however, kept its -solitary range. Last winter three other swans lighted on the lake; -they remained a month or two, and it was thought the recluse would -depart with them, but it had apparently no desire to change its wonted -station. As swans have been known to live upwards of a century, we -hope this faithful bird will escape accident and cruelty, and live -through two or three generations more, to grace the shores of Loch -Oich. - -_Inverness Courier_. - - - Beautiful bird of the Scottish lake, - With plumage pure as the light snow-flake, - With neck of pride and a wing of grace, - And lofty air as of royal race— - Beautiful bird, may you long abide - And grace Loch Oich in your lonely pride. - - Bright was the breast of the “loch,” I ween, - Its crystal wave and its sapphire sheen; - And bright its border of shrub and tree, - And thistle-bloom in its fragrancy— - When to thy side thy fair mate prest, - Or skimm'd the lake with her tintless breast. - - But she is not! and still, to thee, - Are the sunny wave and the shadowing tree, - The mossy brink and the thistle flower, - Dear, as to thee in that blessed hour! - What is the spell o'er thy pinion thrown - That binds thee here, fair bird, alone? - - Does the vision bright of thy peerless bride - Still skim the lake and press thy side? - And haunt the nook in the fir-tree's shade? - And press the moss in the sunny glade? - And has earth nothing, to thee, so fair, - As the gentle spirit that lingers there? - - Oh, 'tis a wondrous, wizard spell! - The human bosom its force can tell; - The heart forsaken hath felt, like thine, - The mystic web with its fibres twine, - Constraining still in the scenes to stay, - Where all it treasured had passed away. - - Bird of Loch Oich, 'tis well! 'tis well! - You yield your wing to the viewless spell; - Oh, who would seek, with a stranger eye, - For blooming shores and a brilliant sky - And range the earth for the hopeless art, - To find a home for a broken heart? - - Oh, I would linger, though all alone, - Where hallowed love its light has thrown, - And hearth and streamlet and tree and flower, - Are link'd in thought with a blessed hour; - Home of my heart, those scenes should be - As thy own Loch Oich, fair bird to thee. - -ELIZA. - -_Maine_. - - - - -OTTO VENIUS. - -Otto Venius, the designer of “Le Theatre moral de la Vie Humaine,” -illustrates Horace's “Raro antecedentem scelestum deseruit _pede_ pœna -_claudo_,” by sketching Punishment with a wooden leg. - - -{428} - - -DIARY OF AN INVALID. - -NO. I. - -ULEA HOLSTEIN—A TALE OF THE NORTHERN SEAS. - - -When I was at Nantucket last summer, trying the virtue of sea-bathing -and sea-breezes, for a wearisome chronic disease, I used to resort to -every imaginable form of innocent recreation, as a relief to the pain -and ennui occasioned by my bodily indisposition. One day, as I was -sitting on one of the rocks which project into the sea, observing the -multitude of fishing craft that were plying about the island, my -attention was arrested by the very remarkable appearance of the -commander of a large whale ship. His figure was not strikingly tall or -robust; but there were an energy and determination in his look, that -seemed to turn his every sinew into iron; while, upon a closer -observation, one might read in his upright and noble countenance, a -soul of high moral bearing, and a mind unruffled by the passing -vexations of life. Such a person always awakens interest, however -transiently we may pass him; and although we may not stop, at the -time, to define our sentiments, we are struck with something like -veneration and awe, when we behold in the midst of hardship, toil, and -danger, the tranquillity which marks a mind superior to the accidents -of life. But this was not all. One acquainted with human nature, might -see under this stern exterior, the generous nature, which would scorn -to trample on the weak, or pass by the suffering. I was irresistibly -drawn to make some acquaintance with this mariner, but found some -difficulty in framing any excuse to accost one of appearance and -accent so foreign. Accident soon accomplished the introduction, for -which I had taxed my ingenuity in vain. In attempting to descend from -my eminence, my decrepid limbs refused their office, and I fell -headlong on a shoal of rocks, among which I was scrambling with much -pain, when I felt myself raised gently, but powerfully, by a muscular -arm. I turned in my distress to see by what kind hand I was assisted, -when the eye of the hardy seaman met my inquiring glance. Pity and -benevolence shone on his countenance, and I felt even in that moment -of corporeal suffering, that the kindred tie of man—yes, of -friendship, united us. His first words struck me as being of foreign -accent, but his language was that of sympathy, which is read by all -nations, and now flowed warm from the heart. After placing me -comfortably on the sand, he hastened to his boat lying near, to bring -some restoratives in which sailors have much faith. I was soon -relieved by his attentions, and desiring to make some return for his -kindness, inquired to whom I was indebted for assistance, and in what -manner I could show my gratitude. To this the stranger replied, that -the action itself brought sufficient reward, since he had been able to -relieve a fellow creature. Our acquaintance began from this time, and -I gradually drew from him a history of his past life, which had been -one of trial and adventure. His narrative was given in our own -language, which he spoke very intelligibly, having been long -conversant with our seamen. - -“In early life I lost my parents, who resided in one of the trading -ports of Denmark; and with them perished my fair hopes of ease and -affluence. When about nineteen years old, my independent spirit, being -no longer contented to owe a scanty maintenance to my paternal -relatives, I joined a whaling company, that were fitting out for a -voyage in the Northern Ocean. My feelings, when I had resolved to bid -farewell, probably forever, to all the scenes of my childhood, and -break the ties that bound my youthful heart, to home, friends, and -country, and to embark in the adventurous and toilsome life of a -whaler, were melancholy enough and calculated to daunt the heart of -the bravest; but the desire of independence nerved my courage, and I -embarked in a whale ship manned by six men, and accompanied by three -other vessels of larger size. The captain and half the hands had made -the cruise before with great success, but the rest of us were raw -recruits, and suffered much from the hardships of our new mode of -life. We steered directly towards the northwest, intending to put in -at the Shetland Islands, and wait for the breaking up of the ice at -the north pole, when the whales are most abundant, following the -increased flow of the tides. We hoped to encounter many of these -monsters between these islands and Iceland, where the plan was to -refit and spend a part of the summer in preparing our freight to take -home. But how uncertain are human calculations! Our voyage was -prosperous even beyond our hopes, for some time; we passed the stormy -isles of Scotland in safety, and rode the blue billows of the -Atlantic, looking ahead with great anxiety for the objects of our -cruise. A few days only had elapsed, when some of our experienced -harpooners saw tokens of one at a distance, and all hands were set to -make ready. It is impossible to describe the excitement this notice -produced, in minds so weary of the dullness of inaction, as ours were. -The enormous animal was now manifest, from the whirlpool he had -created around him. Our boats did not venture near until his frolic -was over, and we saw his broad back even with the water. And now the -skilful seamen with unerring aim darted the harpoon, and away launched -and roared the whale, making the ocean heave with his throes; but our -darts were in him, and after he had tried our cable's length several -times, he was exhausted and became an easy conquest. This seemed a -glorious achievement to me. I was so completely enraptured with the -bold and perilous excitement, that I lost all the tender recollections -of home, and desired only to be a renowned whaler. Our successes -continued, and we mastered several whales, before we were warned that -we were coming upon the region of ice. This was indicated by a hoarse -crashing sound and a wide heaving of the sea, as if some body of -tremendous dimensions had been thrown into it. Our commander feared we -had delayed too long, and gave orders to make speedy sail for our -destined port. For some time we made good headway, and all hearts were -cheered, when, on the utmost verge of the horizon, we discerned the -faint outline of land, which we hoped would prove to be the coast of -Iceland, for which we now steered with all our press of sail. But just -at this time, while we were making observation in the direction of our -course, a moving mountain hove in view; at first like a cloud resting -on the water, but soon the wary eye of the fisherman saw it fraught -with danger, and with dread. An iceberg! an iceberg! and the panic ran -through all the ranks, for our course was right in the track of the -{429} horrific apparition. To recede was impossible, as the wind would -be against us; our utmost exertions were strained to clear the passage -in time, for before it heaved a mountain of waters, and behind it -yawned a devouring gulph. The three hours of intense interest and -uncertainty which passed, seemed like one moment drawn out to -eternity. But we did clear its track so as to receive only a slight -shock. As soon as the danger was over a reaction followed, almost too -great for human nature; our nerves from being strained to their utmost -tension, were suddenly relaxed to the weakness of infancy; our first -desires were for stimulants which threw us into wild excitement; and -our ships exhibited one scene of revelry and recklessness. In this -situation we rushed unconsciously on a reef of rocks from which escape -seemed impossible. We were already in pitchy darkness, driving among -the breakers, which we heard with still greater force roaring ahead. -It evidently appeared that we had forsaken our passage, and were on an -unknown coast where shipwreck and death awaited us. This was the -situation of our ship; we could not hear a sound from the other -vessels amidst the roar of waters, but we supposed that they also were -beating on rocks from which it was impossible to move them. Daylight -only was necessary to confirm our despair, and its first rays shone on -a scene of horror too great for utterance. We beheld our ship just in -the jaws of destruction, while the other three had cleared a passage, -and were free of the rocks, but dared not come within the force of the -breakers. In vain we held out the signal of distress; in vain they -lowered their boats and attempted to stem the whirlpool. Instant -destruction would have been their fate. I saw my companions clinging -to the broken masts and spars; but I made no effort: I sunk under the -impending weight of that power whose bounty and mercy I had forgotten -or despised in my days of prosperity, and whose incensed justice and -vengeance I was now to feel. - -“In this state of mind, I rose up and looked calmly upon the raging -deep, feeling that the ‘sweat of its great agony’ was tranquillity to -the vortex that awaited me. One after another of the men were carried -off, as the ship split to pieces, but I remained, with two others, on -a part of the bows, which seemed rivetted to the rock. I thought a few -hours at most must terminate our existence, as the waves were gaining -upon our remaining planks. My fellow sufferers clung to life with the -tenacity of drowning men; they ascended our quivering mast, to see if -any human habitations were discernible on this unknown coast, but -nothing was visible but a girdle of steep rocks. While they were -straining their vision, and in the wildness of desperation piercing -the loud clamor of the waters with their shrieks, three little specks -appeared in the direction of the shore; they gradually came nearer, -until we perceived they were fishing-boats, each guided by two men. My -companions besought me to unite with them in making every possible -signal of distress. Our signals were understood, and we soon saw that -their object was to rescue us, for they held out a token of -recognition, and rowed fast until they came within the whirl of the -tides, which obliged them to fall back and try another channel. We -could distinctly see that they were baffled in every attempt and -almost ready to abandon us; when one of their number, with skill -nearly superhuman, darted his boat between two pointed rocks, in so -narrow a passage that we expected to see it dashed to pieces every -moment. But his fearless courage bore him through—the next instant he -sprung on our shattered planks, drew a few hurried breaths, and then -informed us, in the dialect of our own land, that they had seen our -signals while out fishing, and had come to our relief; but at the same -time told us of the danger we must run of being dashed to pieces, in -attempting to steer through the breakers. ‘But,’ said he, ‘we will -trust in God and do our best; keep up a good heart, I will lash you -firmly to the boat, and if you will put your hope in the Almighty -Deliverer in time of peril, I will try to save you.’ He then looked -fixedly in our faces to see whether we agreed to the conditions; my -companions without hesitation answered, that they would venture; death -was inevitable if they remained. But I, though fearing death most of -all, could not resolve to feign, what I did not feel, _trust and hope -in God_; on the contrary, I felt that his every attribute was justly -arrayed against me. In anguish, I exclaimed, ‘leave me to perish, God -is my enemy—I shall sink from this gulph into a lower.’ ‘Sinful dying -man,’ he said, ‘would you set bounds to the mercy of the Lord? Cry, -rather, Lord, save me or I perish, for now is the accepted time, this -is the day of salvation.’ I caught the inspiration that glowed on his -tongue—I seized his hand, saying, ‘I am ready.’ In a few moments his -little boat was amidst the boiling surge, sometimes lost in the -tumultuous waves, but the mariner grasped the helm with a firm hand, -and shot through the jagged rocks with the rapidity of lightning. Our -deliverance was hailed by the other boats with a shout of joy, which -was returned by us with all our remaining strength. Our kind -deliverers perceiving our bodies and spirits exhausted by the combined -suffering of fear, cold, and hunger, cheered us with the warmest -expressions of sympathy, and the hope of speedily enjoying all the -comforts of their hospitable homes. They steered their boats into a -little sheltered bay surrounded by overhanging hills. As we approached -the shore, they informed us that it was the coast of their own dear -Iceland, whose snow-capt mountains and green valleys, they would not -exchange for any other spot in creation. - -“As I breathed its pure atmosphere, and pressed the young verdure -which was just appearing from beneath the mantle of snow, which had -shrouded it for many long months, I felt as if I were treading the -unsullied shores of a better world. Our good fisherman conducted our -failing footsteps over the wild and slippery rocks into a beautiful -valley. The frosts which had locked up nature during the long winter, -had yielded to the influence of the returning sun, which sent the -rejoicing current through the veins of every living thing. The stunted -trees put on their garniture of green in token of joy, the lichens and -mosses brightened in the genial ray, and all blended in a smile of -love and gratitude. We reached the cottage of the fisherman, sheltered -by overhanging rocks on one side, from the icy winds; and were -welcomed by its inmates with the looks and offices of kindness. They -consisted of a mother and three children. The countenance of the -former, notwithstanding the national peculiarity of features, was -pleasing, expressing both intelligence and benevolence. {430} The -oldest of her offspring was a girl of extremely prepossessing -appearance. You would not, perhaps, in your country, call her -beautiful, for she had not the slender figure and the delicate -features which you associate with the idea of female loveliness; but -the laughing blue eye lighted up with its beam, a face which seemed -the mirror of her heart; her cheek was now mantled with rosy smiles, -now moistened with the tear of sympathy or affection. Her hair was -light, scarcely tinged with the sunny glow, but it was in unison with -her fair complexion, and curled slightly around a neck of transparent -whiteness. Her age might be fourteen, but there was so much childish -gaiety in her manner, that you would have supposed her much younger. -Her brothers were manly, noble looking boys, several years younger -than herself. Never shall I forget the compassionate look with which -the matron placed a seat near the warm fire, while with gentle voice -she chid the curiosity of her little group, saying, ‘the stranger is -cold and tired, and we must do all we can to make him comfortable.’ -They instantly retreated—but the two oldest hung over her shoulder, -earnestly whispering in her ear. I guessed that I was the subject of -their discourse, by hearing the mother reply in a low voice—‘Yes -Ulea, you may run and milk Minny, and Korner, get the potatoes ready, -and the fish too. By the time you return, he will be dry and warm, I -hope.’ With delighted countenances, they shot out of the cottage, and -the good woman busied herself in mending up the fire, and spreading a -couch of soft skins, on which she invited me to rest my weary limbs. I -attempted to speak my gratitude to heaven, and to her, but the words -were stifled by the strength of my feelings, which gushed out in -tears. She seemed to understand the nature of my emotions. Her tone -was soothing and encouraging. ‘God is good,’ she said, ‘and not only -saves us in perils, but provides a table in the desert. He puts it in -the hearts of strangers to show kindness, and makes us feel that we -are all brethren, the children of his care and bounty.’ ‘How,’ said I; -‘in this remote spot of creation, have you learned these heavenly -precepts?’ ‘Our lives,’ she answered, ‘are crowned with blessings, and -the greatest of all is, that of our dear missionary, who guides our -erring footsteps in the way of duty, as he points our hopes to a -brighter world.’ While she was speaking, Ulea returned, exclaiming, -‘Ah! mother, Minny seemed to know how much haste I was in, for she -stood right still; and here is Korner too, with the fish and -potatoes—let us set the dinner for the poor stranger.’ In a few -moments the repast was on the table, and I had scarcely taken the seat -provided, before my young hosts pressed me to eat of one and another -dish, telling me that ‘this was the richest milk because Minny gave -it, and these fish were taken by Korner's green rocks.’ I had scarcely -finished a hearty meal, when Holstein (for that was the name of the -good fisherman) came in, attended by our other deliverers and my two -comrades, who having received their hospitality, came with them to -consult whether any attempt could be made to save what remained on the -wreck. Holstein thought it probable no vestige of the wreck itself was -left. But the other fishermen said it might have drifted over the -rocks, and still contain something valuable. Under this possibility we -followed our conductors to the scene of destruction; but we found it -as Holstein had predicted; only a scattered plank here and there -marked the place of ruin. Emotions of awe and gratitude filled my -soul, when I beheld the vortex from which heaven had rescued us; but -my fellow sufferers evinced mortification and disappointment, when -their last hope was extinguished, and they saw themselves thrown on -the charity of strangers, even for a change of raiment. This was -particularly observable in the manner of Osman, a young adventurer, -who had joined our expedition from a romantic turn for novelty and -excitement. He was a singular compound of opposite qualities; -sometimes exhibiting the hardihood and bold daring of his father, who -was a Dane, then all the impassioned sentiment joined with the -frivolity of an Italian, which he was on his mother's side. Since -there remained nothing more to feed this adventurous excitement, his -mind seemed to dwell on the loss he had sustained, particularly that -of his wardrobe and musical instruments. Notwithstanding the occasion, -which was fit to call forth only feelings of a solemn nature, I could -not help being interested for him, when I heard him bewailing the loss -of these resources of dress and music. - -“His person was very striking, calculated to engage the attention of a -stranger. A tall and graceful figure was united to a face of perfect -symmetry, over which the light of full dark hazel eyes shone in -alternate fire and softness. Until this time I had only observed him -under passions of another kind, and was astonished at the pathetic -strains in which he mourned over the extinction of his prospects. The -fishermen endeavored in their sincere but homely language to comfort -him, proffering the only help in their power—a share in their fishing -spoils and a passage to Denmark, when another whaling expedition -should visit the island. His youth and apparent sensibility interested -us all in his favor, and induced us to do all in our power to promote -his happiness. - -“It was concluded that we should each remain with our hosts, and -assist in such labor as we were able to do, in making preparations for -a fishing cruise. I became more and more attached to the dear members -of Holstein's family. Their daily avocations were simple and homely, -but their minds were pure and elevated, deriving their highest -enjoyments from the contemplation of a better world. - -“Ulea engaged much of my interest. She was at that most pleasing of -all ages, when we see the simplicity of childhood blended with the -thoughts and reflections of a riper age; when the heedless word is -followed by the conscious blush, and we love while we rebuke the -tongue that speaks all the heart feels. - -“Time glided pleasantly away, even in Iceland. We spent the evenings -and inclement days in cheerful recreation, or in reading; which is a -great, and almost universal resource among these Icelanders: it is -thus they pass their long wintry nights—one ‘making vocal the poetic, -or historic page.’ - -“Osman became our constant and welcome visitor. He constructed an -instrument, on which he made very sweet music; and frequently sung the -sentimental airs of his country. This, joined to his talent for wild -and impassioned recitation, charmed the listening ear of all, but it -vibrated to the heart of Ulea. Her delight did not show itself like -her brother's in noisy ecstacy, but {431} her eyes filled with tears, -and her heart throbbed with silent emotion. ‘Mother,’ she would say, -‘Osman's singing reminds me of what I have heard about the harps of -the angels.’ ‘It is pretty, my child, but I had rather hear the -fisherman's welcome home.’ ‘That, mother, is because our father sings -it. But when Osman sings I think of a happier world than this.’ ‘You -are mistaken, my dear, if you think Osman's songs have any thing good -in them. I have listened to them, and I think they are only calculated -to make people discontented with what God has allotted them, and to -fill the mind with foolish fancies.’ ‘Ah! mother, how can you wonder -that his songs are melancholy, when he is far away from all that he -loves, and that he has nothing to console him for the beautiful world -he has left! You know he loves to climb our steep rocks, to see the -sun go down behind Hecla. I did not know how grand our volcano could -look, until he pointed to it, as the sun's last beams rested on its -snowy scalp. Then he told me of Italy his country, where the mountains -are crowned with snow, while flowers blow in the valleys—birds sing in -the branches of trees, which bear golden fruit—the air is filled with -the fragrance that breathes from the vineyards, and the bowers that -never wither. Then there are temples in every grove, and the ruins of -ancient cities, which people come to visit from every country. Do you -wonder that he was happy in that lovely land?’ ‘No doubt, the -inhabitants have much to be thankful for; but not more than we have. -Would you, Ulea, be willing to exchange our own loved island for -Italy, with all its charms?’ ‘No, dear mother, but I only wish Iceland -was like it.’ ‘This is a vain, and I fear a sinful thought, and I -shall tell Osman, when you walk with him again, to talk of something -more profitable.’ - -“The fishermen were generally occupied in building or refitting boats -for the approaching expedition, in which they were assisted by our -hardy comrade, while Osman and myself were left to occupy or amuse -ourselves as we chose. I remarked the gradual influence he was gaining -over the unconscious heart of the young Ulea. I mourned over it, for I -feared that he was incapable of a deep and lasting attachment. I saw -that her family were blinded by their artless confidence, to the -insidious poison that threatened to destroy their happiness. I could -not bear to be the first to interrupt their peace. What should I do? I -revolved in my mind the whole affair, and at last resolved that I -would watch the conduct of Osman narrowly, and without being -suspected, penetrate the secret of his soul. With this design I -mingled more frequently in his pleasures, joined the little circle -when he descanted on the scenes of his early life—beautiful Italy! -whose charms were always associated with female loveliness, whose -atmosphere breathed of love. This was the theme of his glowing -narration, and his dark eye seemed to catch inspiration from the -kindling blush of Ulea. After he had sung one or two of the most -melting Italian airs, I was roused from my ruminating fit by Ulea's -remarking—‘Steinkoff has grown very silent of late. Osman's songs, I -believe, make him sad.’ ‘Quite otherwise,’ I replied, ‘and if he will -listen, I will sing a song of the olden time myself.’ They exclaimed -in one voice, ‘he will, he shall!’ ‘No need for compulsion,’ he said, -‘I will hear it with pleasure.’ Without prelude I began— - - Soon as the wintry blasts were o'er, - The maiden roamed the vale, - To hear the cheerful robin pour - His sweet notes on the gale. - - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, - Told of his own lov'd bowers, - Where birds sing in the chequered light - To the bright opening flowers. - - And when the light of parting day - Gleamed on the distant hill, - She climbed the steep and rocky way, - Or lingered by the rill. - - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, - Sung of that region bland, - Where sunset paints with golden light, - The skies, the sea, the land. - - When down the long, long night let fall - Her curtains o'er the earth, - And nature lay in silence, all - Beneath the pall of death. - - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, - Spoke of his country fair— - How the moon walks heaven in silv'ry light, - And the breath of flowers, is the air. - - And he whispered the tale of love in her ear, - And the maiden, believing his truth, - Left the home of her childhood, but sorrow and care - Fled with her, and faded her youth. - -I kept my eye on Osman: I wished to read his conscience. As the strain -proceeded, his glance met mine; he saw my suspicions. Conscious that -they were well founded, his countenance fell—he bit his lip in anger, -and revenge fired his blood. Far differently was the innocent heart of -Ulea wrought on. ‘I could weep,’ she said ‘for the poor maiden. Who -would have thought the fair spoken knight would be false? But I hope -it is only a tale of the olden time, fair and false as the lover of -whom it sings.’ ‘It may be so,’ I said; ‘but let it serve as a warning -to young maidens, how they listen to tales of love.’ Osman left the -cottage while I was speaking. I saw the dark cloud lower on his brow, -and I resolved to bring him to an acknowledgment of his passion, while -he was under the influence of resentment—an unguarded hour with us -all. I found him walking hurriedly, and muttering the words, ‘Villain, -he shall pay dearly for this insult.’ I accosted him in a calm voice. -I told him that my design was not to irritate or insult him, but to -warn him in time of the danger of a passion which was growing upon -himself daily, while he could not be insensible to the influence he -was gaining over the affections of an unsuspecting girl. ‘And how does -it concern you, cold hearted wretch,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I have -excited the sympathy, the love of the only amiable being on this -desolate island? Know, that love scorns the interference of such -meddlers. It is enough that we can trust each other, and woe be to him -who gives his counsel unadvisedly.’ With these last words he raised -his arm in menace. ‘Osman,’ I replied, ‘you know I am superior to your -threats. Unless you openly declare your love to the parents of Ulea, I -shall consider myself bound to guard her from your arts.’ ‘Beware,’ he -exclaimed, ‘how you injure me with her, or this dagger drinks your -blood.’ Saying this, he strode away, and I returned with a heavy heart -to the cottage. Not that I was personally afraid of Osman; I never -feared the arm of man: but I had a {432} trying office to perform—to -destroy the confidence of an amiable family, to show them that they -had cherished in their bosoms a serpent, instead of a friend. It was -evident that Osman wished to conceal his passion even from her who was -the object of it. I determined before another interview, to endeavor -to awaken her to the impropriety and danger of giving any -encouragement to his attentions. The following day he did not come as -usual. ‘How long the day seems,’ said Korner, ‘when Osman does not -come. Ulea thinks so too, for she has not spoken a word to-day.’ ‘I -have been thinking,’ replied Ulea, ‘that he looked last night as if -something disturbed him. Did you observe him, Steinkoff? I hope -nothing has happened.’ I said in a low tone, ‘Nothing, I believe. -Suppose we walk: perhaps we may meet him.’ She sprang forward, -animated with the hope; and we followed the winding path by which he -generally came. I proposed that we should see which of us could first -attain the top of a picturesque eminence which hung over our path, and -from which there was a fine view of the neighboring cottages. She -readily consented to make the trial, and arriving at the goal first, -exultingly chid my loitering steps. She little knew that my real -motive was to obtain a private interview with her. I began by saying, -‘Osman's gait is fleeter than mine, Ulea.’ ‘O yes,’ she said, ‘I shall -never forget the charming evening we came here together;’ and a bright -smile irradiated her features. ‘His society is fascinating, but it may -be dangerous to you. Already he has given you a distaste to the -pleasures of your childhood, and he has presented in their place the -attractions of an ideal world. Beware how you lend your pure and -unsuspecting ear to the seductive charms of his conversation. He has -confessed to me that he loves you; that you are the only being in this -island that has power to interest him.’ ‘Oh! Steinkoff, ought you not -rather to pity than to blame him? He has told me, that were it not for -me, he would end his miserable existence—that every one else looks -coldly on him. How can I think unkindly of him? He would protect me -against all harm. When I told him of my cousin Ormond, who would not -go into the far Greenland seas, until my father promised him that his -little pet Ulea, should be his when he returned, he only said, May -that day be distant, for then you will not care for Osman. And he -asked me if I should be quite happy when I should be Ormond's wife.’ -‘And what was your answer?’ I asked anxiously. ‘I did not answer at -all; because I have not seen him for a long time, and he seems like a -stranger to me—I wish not to think of it now.’ I could no longer -repress my indignation. ‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘trust Osman no -further, he will destroy your peace, your innocence. I know him well; -for present gratification he would not scruple to involve your whole -family in wretchedness. I say this, because I will not see impending -ruin coming on the child of my benefactor, if I can avert it.’ I saw -Ulea start, while surprise and terror were painted on her countenance. -I turned to ascertain the cause, and beheld Osman within a few steps -of me. ‘Wretch,’ he cried, ‘have you dared to betray me? Revenge has -nerved my arm, and my sword shall drink your blood, even were the form -I love best between us.’ At that instant he rushed upon me; but fury -blinded his sight, and his weapon missed its aim. This redoubled his -wrath; he prepared for another thrust, and my superior muscular -strength could not have saved me from the mortal stroke, had not Ulea -in a phrenzy of despair, thrown herself between us, and received in -her side the stab that was intended for me. Time can never efface the -horror of that moment, when I saw her fall under the murderous stroke, -and the red current pouring from her side. ‘Monster!’ I exclaimed, -‘you have verified your threat. Would to God, this were my heart's -blood instead of hers!’ - -“I raised the lifeless girl—I pressed her to my bosom. In the agony of -my soul I entreated her to speak—to say that she forgave me. But all -was silent, save the ebbing pulsations of her heart. Osman had fled -the moment he saw what he had done. How should I obtain assistance, or -even get a little water to revive her, if life was not extinct? -Necessity is fruitful of invention—I lifted the pale form, and -hastened to a near rivulet—I bathed her temples—I staunched the blood -with the cooling current, and bound the wound with my handkerchief. I -heard a faint sigh—I thought it was her last. Imagine my joy, when she -opened her eyes, awaking as from a long sleep. I whispered, ‘Speak -not, it will exhaust you; I will carry you home—you will soon be -better.’ She cast her eyes towards heaven, to signify that her home -would soon be there. I was advancing with a quick step, when I heard -the voices of the children in search of us. They stopt their merry -gambols, and stood in amazement. I broke the silence by telling them -that Ulea was very ill, that they must run home and tell their mother -not to be alarmed, but endeavor as soon as possible to prepare a -cordial and a bed, for I should reach the cottage in a few minutes. I -hoped this would be some preparation for what was to follow. The -mother met me at the door, with a look of anguish and of doubt. I -motioned to her to be silent, while we administered some of the -restorative: we then laid Ulea on the bed. I watched by her a few -moments, and seeing she had fallen into a gentle sleep, I took the -hand of the agonized mother, whose suppressed sobs shook her whole -frame. I supported her to a retired spot, where the burst of her grief -might be unheard by the languid sufferer. - -“I paused to gather firmness for the disclosure; I lifted up my heart -to heaven for assistance. She seized my hand convulsively—‘Tell me -all—but my heart anticipates it before you speak. Oh Steinkoff! it is -the hand of man, yes, of a trusted villain, that has dealt the blow. -My soul has labored under a mysterious weight this day—unseen but -impending evil hung over me. Oh my God! prepare me to drink the bitter -cup, and to trust in thee though thou slay me.’ - -“I related all—my suspicions of Osman—my conversation with him, the -threat he had given, and then all the incidents of the sad -catastrophe. ‘Oh my child!’ exclaimed the transported parent, ‘art -thou then guiltless? has he not laid mine honor in the dust? If not, I -can bear all.’ I concluded by encouraging her to hope the wound was -not mortal, and that speedy medical aid might relieve it. - -“Korner was immediately despatched for his father, and the nearest -physician. We then returned to Ulea, whom we found still sleeping, but -uneasily. Her mother kissed her forehead; she waked smiling, and said, -‘Oh, mother! are you here? I thought I was passing through a dark -valley to the bright world you have so {433} often described to us. -And I was not at all afraid, for a light guided me safely through. Do -you know what it was? _I_ do—it was whispered to my heart—it was the -Saviour's presence! Mother, you must not weep; I rejoice, because I -feel that it will be so. O! yes, I shall soon join the song of the -angels—much sweeter than that I used to dream of. Mother, my heart is -sinful—I loved to hear of the beauty and love of this world; but that -is all passed away now. I hope God will forgive him who wished to lead -me astray—and you, Steinkoff, my guardian angel on earth, with what -joy shall I welcome you there.’ She saw my emotion—it excited her own: -the effect I dreaded followed—the blood gushed out from her side, and -she swooned away. - -“Her father arrived, attended by the doctor; the last with heartfelt -sorrow assured us, that all attempts to revive her were useless—that -the slumber of death was even now on the gentle girl. The father, in -his desolation of soul, sought the throne of mercy, and we united in -committing the spirit of the beloved one to the Shepherd of Israel, -and prayed that ‘his rod and staff might comfort and support her.’ Her -freed spirit winged its flight, just as the sun's last rays gleamed on -her pillow, which all with uplifted hearts blessed as the omen of that -spirit's future happiness. - -“We sorrowed, but not as those without hope. What saith the scripture? -‘The hope of the righteous is as an anchor of the soul, sure and -steadfast.’ - -“I assisted in depositing the beautiful clay in the earth, and planted -over it the evergreen fir. It was a dear spot to me, and as long as I -remained on the island I resorted to it, to commune with the image of -her who was once the animating spirit of all that surrounded me. - -“Soon after her death, an opportunity offered for my return to -Denmark. I embraced it, promising, if circumstances should ever induce -me to visit Iceland, that I would seek the hospitable mansion of -Holstein. I never saw Osman again, but I was told by the owner of a -boat on the coast, that he had been seen on the night of the fatal -encounter, to leap into a fishing craft lying on the beach, and -disappear. - -“Thus I have given you some particulars connected with my past life. I -have rushed into busy scenes—I have tried to forget my own sorrows in -relieving the distresses of others—but in vain; the image of that -bleeding form haunts me. I long for the hour when the kind hand of -death shall blot the recollection forever from my memory.” - -V. - - - - -THE LAUGHING GIRL. - -Lines suggested on viewing a Painting of a Female laughing. - - - Oh, let me laugh out, till my eye-lashes glisten - With tear-drops, which joy, like affliction, will bring; - Be not vex'd my dear Hal—I _must_ laugh, you may listen, - And count the shrill echoes that cheerily ring. - Hark! to the morning gun, - Hail to thee! rising sun, - Dances my heart with exuberant glee. - The sky-lark from earth - Flies to heaven with its mirth, - But it cannot ha! ha! and be merry like me. - - Mine is no half-suppressed drawing-room titter, - Strangled before it escapes from the lips; - Nor the sardonic smile, than wormwood more bitter, - Which might wither those flowers the honey-bee sips; - But the fountain of joy, - Without care or alloy, - Springs in my bosom—refreshens my heart. - Forest and river, then, - Echo my laugh again— - Never may gladness from Julia depart. - - Look not so grave, gentle Henry, at me, - As if you would say all my griefs are to come; - No gloom in the morn of my life can I see, - And my laugh will scare sorrow away from our home. - Pleasure unending - Our footsteps attending, - One brilliant May day through our lifetime shall last. - Time shall not wear us, - No trouble come near us, - But the future be gilded by light from the past. - - Now laugh, for my sake, dearest Hal, and the kiss - Which you sued for, I'll give, if you cordially roar. - Well done!—never barter a pleasure like this, - Were a crown to be purchased by laughing no more. - In contentment and health, - Tho' untrammel'd by wealth, - True bliss from the store of our hearts we may draw. - Let us laugh as we glide - O'er mortality's tide, - And cheer our last days with a rattling ha! ha! - -E. M. - - - - -COURT DAY. - - -To a northern traveller in the southern states, there is scarcely any -thing more novel or entertaining than a _Court Day_. Familiar as the -occasion and its scenes may be to a Virginian, there is something in -the whole aspect of this monthly festival which rivets the attention -of a stranger. And I have not been without my suspicions that the -influence of this custom and its adjuncts upon society, manners, and -character has never been appreciated. In our northern country there -are no occasions upon which the whole population of a county, even as -represented by its leading freeholders, convenes at one spot. County -courts are attended by functionaries, litigants, and very near -neighbors, but not, as in the south, by the gentry and yeomanry of a -whole district. - -The consequence of such an arrangement as that of the south is, that -all the landholders and gentlemen of a neighborhood become mutually -acquainted, and lay the foundation for friendly and hospitable -reciprocities, which may be continued through life. The whole texture -of society has a tincture from this intermingling. It is undeniable, -that while aristocratic family pride, and chivalrous elevation of -bearing, exist no where in greater vigor than at the south, there is a -freer intercourse on the court-house-lawn between the richest planter -and the honest poor man, than is ever witnessed in the manufacturing -districts of Connecticut or Pennsylvania. This constant mingling of -the aged with the young, tends to keep up national characteristics and -to perpetuate {434} ancient habits and sentiments. And let an -old-fashioned man be allowed to whisper in the ear of this innovating -age that all is not antiquated which is old, and that the hoary stream -of tradition brings down with it not only _prejudices_, but wholesome -_predilections_. - -To enjoy a genuine and unsophisticated Court Day, one must select a -county in the heart of the real Old Dominion, where emigration has not -too much thinned the population, nor foreign settlers made the mass -heterogeneous. It should be moreover in a region where the increase of -villages has not modified the ancient character of the large estates. - -I have in my mind's eye the very _beau ideal_ of an old Virginia Court -House. The edifice itself is neither large nor lofty, but -“time-honored” and solid, and embosomed in a grove of locusts, which -at the May Court fill the air with their balsamic odor. The lawn, -which surrounds the house and grove, has not the deep green of our -northern commons, nor is the earth so perfectly hidden by matted -grass, but it is sufficiently soft and fresh to tempt many a group of -loungers. But the scene becomes more lively as the day advances. -Stalls and booths are rapidly erecting, and wagons of vendibles are -disposed in rows; no doubt by pertinacious wanderers from New England. -The porches of two or three plain-looking stores are filling rapidly -with visiters who are arriving every moment. A northerner is amazed at -the number of equestrians, and the ease and non-chalance with which -even little boys manage their spirited horses. I must pass a thousand -traits which in the hands of Irving or Kennedy would afford a tempting -picture. The cordiality of greeting with which Virginians meet is -delightful; and from ample trial I am able to pronounce it sincere and -available. This heartiness is encouraged by such monthly gatherings. -It is vain to object to this vehement shaking of hands and emphatic -compellation. As my old pastor used to say, “The form without the -power is better than neither;” and as Solomon says, “He that is a -friend must _show_ himself friendly.” By the time of dinner, a -thousand morsels of business, postponed during the month, have been -transacted; a thousand items of precious little family news have been -exchanged; hundreds of clusters, under porch or tree, have discoursed -of the reigning political topic; or mayhap, the mighty mass has all -been moved toward some little eminence to hear the eloquence of a -genuine “stump-speech.” - -From my very heart, northman as I am, I admire and affect this good -remnant of olden time. May no revised code ever disannul it, no -sapient convention ever parcel out your counties into little municipal -fragments! - -I state it as an opinion very deliberately formed in my own mind, -after some opportunities of comparison, that the elocution of southern -men is more easy, more graceful, more natural, more vivacious, and -more pathetic, than that of their northern compatriots. This is fairly -to be traced to the influence of such occasions as the one which I -describe. The moveable and excitable throng of a court-house-green is -precisely the audience which awakens and inspires the orator. The tide -of feeling comes back upon him at every happy appeal, and redoubles -his energy. It was the Athenian _populace_, who “spent their time in -nothing else, but either to tell or to hear some new thing,” (what a -picture of a court day!) which made the Athenian _orator_. The -practice of addresses to the literal and real constituency by every -aspirant, brings into trial, very early, all the eloquence of the -state. The manner of the best models is in some small degree -perpetuated. The mere listening to such men as Patrick Henry, and John -Randolph, not to mention the living, affords a school of eloquence to -the youth of the country, and cultivates the taste of the people. And -then in every little group upon yonder green, there is an ardor of -conversation on political topics, which, as feeling rises, approaches -to the character of harangue. I have never heard the impassioned -conversation of southern men, in a tavern or by the way-side, without -observing the natural tendency to a higher tone of elocution than -would be tolerated in a similar circle at the north. - -Whether the practice of “whittling,” during conversation, has any -connexion with ease of utterance, is a question too abstruse for my -present cursory investigation. The celebrated doctor Rush used -jocosely to characterize some of his southern students, by their -“_R-phobia et Cacoethes secandi_.” It may be noted as a token of the -“free-and-easy” manner of certain courts, that we have seen advocates -whittling during a defence, and judges whittling on the bench. - -But finally, and most seriously, I trust no fanaticism of a faction at -the north will ever so far prevail against the good sense and sound -feeling of the community, as to interrupt the genial flow of -hospitality, with which in every _individual_ case I have known, -northern men have been received by the gentlemen of old Virginia. - -A NORTHERN MAN. - - - - -A BIRTH-DAY TRIBUTE. - - When the dark shadows of approaching ills - Have fallen on the spirit, and depressed - Its proudest energies—when fear instils - Its dastard maxims in the noblest breast, - Preventing action and denying rest— - When, undefined in distance, dimly glow - Spectres of evil, till, by fancy drest, - The illusive phantoms on the vision grow, - And giants seem to wield the impending blow— - - When, wearied by uncertainty, we pray - For what we fear, and deprecate suspense— - When gleams of hope are painful as a ray - Flashing at midnight from a light intense, - And leave the darkness of despair more dense— - When pleasure's cup is tasteless, and we seek - No more the brief relief we once drew thence— - When comes no sabbath in the lingering week - Harassing thought to end, or coming bliss to speak— - - When even “desire it faileth,” and the voice - Of softest music irritates the ear— - When the glad sun makes fields and groves rejoice, - While to our eyes the prospect still is drear— - When the mild southern gale, that used to cheer - With its bland fragrance, while it cooled the brow - With lingering fever wasted, pained and sere, - Has lost its power to charm—'tis then we know - The worth of woman's love, and what to her we owe. {435} - - Her holy love is like the gentle rill, - Born where a fountain's waters bright are playing, - (As from the birth of time they have, and will - Till time shall end,) in noiseless beauty straying - O'er golden sands, through verdant meads, and staying, - To irrigate and freshen, as it flows - Where man's proud works around in ruin lying, - Proclaim the triumph of his many foes, - Lust, passion, jealousy, and all the fiends he knows. - - And worse than these his breast will enter in, - And each in turn his labored love control. - The fond idolatry, which is not sin - When woman loves—that yielding of the soul, - Which hardly asks return, but gives the whole, - He knoweth not; but, in the folds of pride, - He seeks his gloomy spirit to enroll: - Then her, who loves him most, he'll basely chide, - And with his bitter words her constancy deride. - - Aye! thus infatuate, he will delight - To lord it o'er the fond, devoted one - Who breathes, but lives not, absent from his sight, - If, for a moment, sorrow is unknown, - Ambition gratified, or foes o'erthrown. - But when his soul is darkened with alarms, - And piercing thorns are in his pathway strown, - He yields a willing pris'ner to her charms, - And seeks to rest his head where love her bosom warms. - - But as the savage, when his eyes behold - The bright creations of the artist's mind, - Where light and shade the loveliest forms enfold, - And chastened taste with nature's lore is joined, - Pauses in ecstacy; yet seeks to find - What hath his untaught spirit so subdued, - But all in vain; so man, to love resigned, - Can comprehend not what hath so endued - Fair woman with the power to soothe his nature rude. - - He gazeth on the rill that is her love, - But cannot pierce the bower of modesty - Where roses, and where lilies twine above - Its fount, and load the air with fragrancy. - He hears its voice of heavenly melody; - He sees, above, the bow of beauty spanned; - He drinks; the draught has power his soul to free - From all its ills; he feels his heart expand; - He bears a charmed life; he walks on Eden land. - - Creature of impulse! but of impulse trained - To do the bidding of a gentle heart, - What man by years of study hath not gained, - Thy spirit's teaching doth to thee impart. - To him the unknown, to thee the easy art, - To sway his reason and control his will; - And when the unbidden gusts of passion start, - To lay the whirlwind and bid all be still, - And Peace, the vacant throne of Anarchy, to fill. - - * * * * * - - My cherished one! this tributary lay - Upon thy natal morn thy husband brings; - The gathered thoughts of many a weary day. - Weary, save that my soul, on Fancy's wings, - Borne as a bird that towards its eyrie springs, - Flew where was thine to hold communion sweet: - Save that each blissful memory, that clings - Around my heart, would, as a dream, repeat - Unnumbered vanished hours, with love and joy replete. - - As, when the orb that makes the day, declines, - The twilight hour prolongs its cheering reign, - My sun (thy love) through memory's twilight shines, - Till its fair morning breaks on me again. - Then shall my song resume in bolder strain - The praises of thy sex, while I behold - The loveliness, whose image I retain - Within my heart—then shall my arms enfold - Her who hath been to me, more than my lay hath told. - - - - -MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT POETRY. - - -Ever since I could write my name, I have been troubled with a disease -which is spreading alarmingly in this our day and generation—I mean -_Cacoethes Scribendi_; and the best antidote I have ever been able to -discover for it, I received lately from the “Literary Messenger”—the -rejection of my articles. At that time I imagined myself perfectly -cured; but, unlike some other diseases, this can be had more than -once, and the man who could invent some vaccinating process to prevent -it, would deserve more gratitude from the present generation than the -discoverer of vaccination against small pox. - -I remember distinctly my first attempt at poetry. I was quietly -resting under the shade of a stately elm, one bright summer day, -turning over the leaves of a favorite author, and listening to the -merry carols of a mock-bird that had perched on a thorn just before -me. There was a beautiful lawn gently declining from the knoll where I -lay, to the river's edge, green with luxuriant long grass, -interspersed with the simple lily of the valley. There seemed to be a -general thanksgiving of nature, and every thing tended to inspire my -juvenile muse. After sundry bitings of the nails, and scratchings of -the head,[1] I succeeded in pencilling on a blank leaf of the “Lady of -the Lake,” lines “To a Mocking Bird.” No sooner had the fever of -composition resolved itself into three stanzas, than the mock-bird, -the green elms and humming waters, lost all their enchantment, and I -hurried home to copy my verses and send them to the printing-office. I -selected the whitest sheet of gilt-edged paper I had, made a fine nib -to my pen, and soon finished a neat copy, which was forthwith -deposited in the office of a respectable hebdomadal. Publication day -came, and so did the carrier. Of all ugly boys, I used to think that -carrier was the ugliest; but when he handed me the paper that I -doubted not contained the first effort of unfledged genius, I thought -he had the finest face and most waggish look I had ever seen—and in -good truth, I never was so glad to see the fellow in my life. -Wonderful metamorphosis! thought I, eagerly snatching the paper from -him. But judge, oh! gentle reader, of my surprise and mortification, -at not finding my cherished little poem either in the poet's corner, -or even among the advertisements. The phiz of the carrier changed to -its accustomed ugliness as if by magic, and, as he passed out of the -door, he cast on {436} me a sardonic leer, grin'd “a ghastly smile,” -and “left me alone in my glory.” I had too much philosophy, however, -to remain long in a passion, or to suffer myself to be unhappy for -such a trifle. I contented myself, therefore, as well as I could, and -determined never to write another line until my first effort saw the -light. How fortunate for you, kind reader, and perhaps for me, had my -young muse then been nip'd in her incipient budding. But that first -effort did see the light the next week, and ‘Solomon in all his glory’ -was not so happy as I. You who have written and published, can have -some idea of the sensations produced by the success of a first essay. -Those who never have, cannot imagine the pleasure, the fluttering of -heart, the gratified ambition, and the flattered vanity of him thus -first dignified with print. Since then I have been rejected, but never -so mortified as when my first poem did not appear when expected. And -since then I have written, published, been republished and quoted, -which is surely glory enough for one man, but have never been so happy -as when my maiden effort first appeared among the blacksmiths' and -tailors' advertisements of a village newspaper. - -[Footnote 1: Be careful, when invention fails, - To scratch your head, and bite your nails.—_Swift_.] - - - - -THY HOME AND MINE. - - - Is this thy home? The wild woods wave - Their branches in the mountain breeze— - And nature to thy mansion gave - A treasure in those noble trees. - Here flows a river bright and pure - Along its silver-winding way, - While on its white and pebbled shore - A fairy group of children play. - Here calm and clear looks heaven's blue dome— - This is thy lovely Highland home! - - This is thy home—at evening's hour - A social band assemble here, - With converse sweet and music's power, - To chase each gloomy thought of care. - Affection's gentle language speaks - In every eye thine eyes behold— - Here revels love on beauty's cheeks - And bids her braid her locks of gold. - In search of bliss you need not roam— - But this is not—is not _my_ home! - - My home is where the waters roll - Deep, wide and blue to ocean's caves— - How sweetly soothing to the soul - The murmur of their dashing waves! - Oft has their music charmed mine ear - At twilight's soft and dewy hour— - When one I fondly love was near - To feel with me its witching power, - And watch the billows crown'd with foam, - Break on thy walls, my lowland home! - - My home! how soon that single word - Can cause regretful tears to flow! - It thrills on feeling's finest chord— - Still does it make my bosom glow. - Oh what a fountain of delight - Does that one little sound unseal! - When far away, to mem'ry's sight - What scenes of bliss does it reveal! - 'Tis the voice of nature bids me come - To thy shrine of love—my own sweet home! - - Wealth may be ours, and fame may spread - With trumpet-voice our names afar— - In honor's cause we may have bled - And braved the crimson tide of war— - But wealth, and fame, and glory's crown - Are bubbles which a breath may burst, - As quickly as a breath hath blown; - They cannot slake the burning thirst - For happiness—for this we roam, - And this is only found at home! - -E. A. S. - - - - -SECOND LECTURE - -Of the Course on the Obstacles and Hindrances to Education, arising -from the peculiar faults of Parents, Teachers and Scholars, and that -portion of the Public immediately concerned in directing and -controlling our Literary Institutions. - - -_On Parental Faults_. - -When I last had the honor of addressing you, I promised that I would -endeavor to expose all such parental faults as obstruct the progress -of correct education. This promise I will now proceed to fulfil, with -only one prefatory request, which is, that if any individuals present -shall apply a single remark to themselves, to bear it constantly in -mind that such application is made by their own consciences—not by me. -_My_ observations will all be general—_theirs_ should be particular, -and should be carried home to their own bosoms and business; or all -that I shall say, might as well be uttered to so many “deaf adders,” -as to intelligent, rational, and moral beings. - -Having been a parent myself for nearly forty years, and a close -observer of other parents ever since I turned my attention -particularly to the subject of education, I have much experience to -“give in” relative to parental faults and vices. Whether this -experience will avail any thing towards their cure, or even their -mitigation, your own feelings and judgment can alone decide. The -picture which I shall endeavor to draw will be a very revolting one, -although not in the slightest degree caricatured or aggravated. But -not less revolting is the sight of cancers in the human body, which -require to be both seen and thoroughly examined before they can be -extirpated. The cancers of the mind, however, as all faults and vices -may justly be called, are infinitely harder to cut out; for in all -these cases the victim and the operator must be the same person. -_Here_, according to the old adage, every one must be his own -doctor—since all that can be done for him by others is to tell him of -his malady, and to convince him, if possible, in spite of his -self-love and blindness, of its highly dangerous tendency, as well as -of its certainly fatal termination, unless he himself will most -earnestly and anxiously set about its cure. To produce this conviction -in all my hearers who need it, arduous as the undertaking may be, is -the sole purpose for which I now address you. - -{437} Although the obstacles to the progress of correct views on the -subject of education, as well as to the adoption of the best means for -promoting this all-important object, be too numerous easily to -determine which are the most pre-eminently mischievous, I shall begin -with those which appear to constitute the very “head and front of the -offending.” These are created under the parental roof itself, where -the first elements of education are almost always acquired, and where -it is most obvious that _if any but good seed are sown_, the most -precious part of the child's subsequent existence must be spent rather -in the toilsome, painful business of extirpating weeds, than of -bringing to perfection such plants as yield the wholesome bread of -life. Hence, in a great measure, the little benefit, in numberless -instances, from going to school; because, the short time generally -allowed for this purpose (particularly in the case of girls) is too -often occupied solely in clearing away and rooting out from the mind -_that_ which must necessarily be removed before any useful and lasting -knowledge can well be implanted. - -The first parental fault which I shall notice, is that by which -children are first affected. It begins to influence them with the -first dawnings of intellect—augments as that expands—accumulates like -compound interest, and never ceases to exert its baneful power until -fixed for life. This fault is the glaring and frequent contradictions -between parental precepts and examples, although the least experience -will suffice to convince any one who will consult it, that the latter -will forever be followed rather than the former; nor will any thing -ever check it but the fear of some very severe punishment—_the rod_ -(for example) on the back of the far less guilty child, instead of the -shoulders of the parental tempter. The father or mother who calculates -on their children totally abstaining, unless by external force, from -any vicious indulgence whatever, of which they see their parents -habitually guilty, counts on a moral impossibility. As well might they -expect water not to boil when sufficient heat is long enough applied, -or dry tinder not to burn when brought in contact with fire; for these -appliances are to water and tinder what vicious parental examples will -always prove to the juvenile mind. Woe, double and triple woe, be to -those who set them, for they incur the most awfully dangerous -responsibility of rendering their children utterly worthless! I -confidently appeal, as in a former lecture, to the experience of every -one who now hears me, and I beseech them to ask themselves how many -drinking, gambling, profane, lazy, idle fathers have they ever known -whose sons were exempt from these vices? How many have they ever known -who habitually gave way to bursts of anger and wrath—to a rude, -dictatorial, despotic, quarrelsome disposition, especially in the -privacy of home, which many seem to think a suitable place for acting -as they would be ashamed or afraid to act in public, where they would -meet with somewhat more formidable checks than helpless wives and -children; how many such fathers can any recollect, whose sons did not -resemble and probably surpass them in all their worst habits? Equally -sure, too, will the daughters be to follow their mamma's goodly -examples, should _they also_ habitually display any of those faults or -vices that are calculated to sully the purity of the female character, -or in any way to degrade and render it odious. With such facts -continually before the eyes of all parents, what supreme folly and -madness—nay, what deadly guilt must be theirs, who do not avoid -setting bad examples to their children, as they would shun the utmost -extremity of misery! - -Among those parental faults which soonest begin to work incalculable -mischief, is the habitual practice of talking and acting in such a -manner, in regard to the whole class of teachers, that by the time -their children are sent to school they learn to look upon the entire -tribe of schoolmasters and schoolmistresses as belonging to a class -much inferior to that of their parents, and to consider their being -placed under such supervision as a kind of purgatorial punishment. I -once knew a gentleman in whose mind these early notions had taken deep -root, who used to say, that he could never pass through a pine-wood -resembling that in which his first schoolhouse stood, without being -thrown into a cold perspiration by it. Without doubt he had been -exposed to the parental practice I am now condemning, the almost -inevitable consequence of which is, to create contempt and aversion -for teachers, reluctant obedience, distrust in their capacities to -teach, and not unfrequently open insubordination. Manners and polite -deportment are deemed quite hidden mysteries to these teachers, or -matters with which the parents never designed they should meddle—it -being frequently intimated that they never had opportunities for -acquiring the first, nor feel any interest in teaching the last, -farther than to protect themselves from injury and insult. -Awkwardness, if not rudeness also, is often deemed an almost -inseparable part of their character; and their pupils are not -unfrequently encouraged by parental smiles to laugh at and ridicule -“the poor schoolmaster or mistress,” instead of being checked by -timely reproof in all such conduct. If there happen to be the faint -semblance of a little wit or humor in these remarks, many silly -parents take the first opportunity of retailing them with evident -pleasure, even in the child's presence; and the silly delight -manifested at this supposed proof of marvellous precocity, completely -overcomes all sense of the culpability of the act, or of its very -pernicious influence on the dispositions of the child. At most it is -pronounced to be quite a venial peccadillo, amply compensated by the -intellectual smartness which it evinces. The seeds of vanity, -self-conceit, and censoriousness are thus sown in the youthful mind as -soon as they can take root, and by the very hands too whose sacred -duty it is to protect it from all harm. - -Closely allied to the foregoing fault is the ever restless haste of -very many parents to make men and women of their children sooner than -nature intended. It may well be called the hot-bed system, and like -that from which it takes its name, produces plants out of season, -incapable of withstanding necessary exposure to the open atmosphere -and the vicissitudes of climate. The consequence is, that the period -of scholastic education is most injuriously shortened, particularly -for girls. The boys are pushed forward into professions, and turned -loose to act for themselves, with a mere smattering of literature and -science—often before any power for serious reflection has been -acquired, or indeed could well be formed in such juvenile, -inexperienced minds, in regard to the great, complicated duties of -life, the objects most worthy of pursuit, and the all-important {438} -principles which should ever govern them in fulfilling the first, as -well as in attaining the last. False estimates of human life, -aggravated by innumerable miscarriages in their ill-digested plans, -necessarily follow; and the poor youths are most unjustly condemned -for failure in pursuits wherein they have been either forced or -suffered from most foolish and mischievous indulgence to engage, long -before they had maturity either of body or mind sufficient to render -success even probable. They are stimulated—nay, often driven to sea, -on the vast, tempestuous ocean of life, without compass or rudder to -their little barks, and then are most grievously abused for getting -wrecked, when the pilots who should have steered their fragile vessels -had most unpardonably abandoned their trust. But should the frequent -occurrence of such a calamity create any surprise, when we find so -many, even of those who know better, so far yielding to the popular -error, as to manage their sons in this way? It is quite enough to -overcome all their wisest resolves, to be told by the majority of -their acquaintance, that “it is a shame to keep their boys so long in -leading-strings—they should be doing something for themselves.” This -sapient admonition usually settles every doubt, and the unfortunate -youths, in all the perilous immaturity of boyhood, are forthwith -converted into men, left to think and act for themselves. But their -mental outfits for so arduous a business being entirely inadequate, -their outfits of property are not unfrequently squandered, and -irretrievably lost, several years prior to the time when they could -reasonably be expected to understand their only true and legitimate -uses. Hence we have many examples of young men who have actually run -quite through their estates but a little beyond the time when they -should have been first put into possession of them, and who have lost -all respectability of character at a period when they should be only -commencing their career of active life. If these unfortunate victims -of parental folly—may I not say, wickedness—_then_ open their eyes to -their real situation, it will often be only to shut them again in -utter despair, and plunge into all the fathomless depths of -dissipation and vice, as their only refuge from the hopeless misery, -the inextricable ruin in which they too late perceive that they have -involved themselves. Hasty, inconsiderate marriages are often found to -cap the climax of all this wretchedness, by adding helpless women and -children to the number of sufferers, and thereby immeasurably -augmenting the miseries of a condition which, without _this_, would -seem to admit of scarcely any farther aggravation. A similar -catastrophe often befals our girls who have had the deadly misfortune -to be subjected to this hot-bed system. With unformed constitutions, -and still more unformed minds, they are hurried into situations where -they have to act the parts of _women_, before they are rid of the -dispositions, inclinations, and follies of _children_. They not -unfrequently marry and become mothers, while yet distant from the age -of maturity, and thus have to fulfil the all-important duty of forming -the hearts, minds, and principles of children, when, in fact, they are -little more than children themselves. Loss of life is, in many -instances, the forfeit paid for such premature marriages. But should -they escape this awful sacrifice, they rarely fail to have their -constitutions broken down, their powers of useful exertion greatly -impaired or irrevocably lost; and an early grave, often—alas! too -often, closes the heart-rending scene over these poor, unfortunate -victims of parental mismanagement, at a time when probably they would -just have reached the meridian of mature life, had they been properly -prepared for all the momentous duties of wives and mothers, before -they were compelled to fulfil them. Their helpless offspring are thus -bereft of maternal nurture, when the parent was just beginning -probably to understand what it ought to be—and how holy, how sacred -she should esteem her obligations, to fulfil it most unremittingly to -the children of her bosom. The same forcing process is then applied to -the innocent little survivors; and _they_, in their turn, are to be -married, if possible, when they should still be at school—to have the -care of children before they know how to take care of themselves—and -often to die, when they should be just beginning to live as the -mistresses of families. Boys and girls have thus to act the part of -instructers, while they themselves should yet be pupils; and the -elementary education of their offspring, which is by far the most -important part, is inevitably exposed to all the danger of being -entirely perverted, by the inexperience, the unavoidable ignorance, -and the moral incapacity of such very juvenile teachers. In regard to -daughters especially, it may truly be said, that a cardinal article in -the nursery creed of multitudes of mothers is, that they _must_ marry, -and _marry early_, even without nicely weighing moral consequences, if -it cannot be done as prudence, common sense, and correct principles -would dictate. The period for going to school is thus necessarily -curtailed within limits scarcely sufficient for the simplest -elementary instruction, that the young candidates for conjugal honors -may be pushed into general society and public amusements, which are -considered the great marts for matrimonial speculations. Now, although -marriage is highly honorable, as well as the state which _may_ afford -most happiness in this life, it is indisputably true, that it can be -neither honorable nor happy, unless very many circumstances, too -frequently overlooked or disregarded, concur to make it so. It can -produce nothing but disgrace and unhappiness if contracted, as it -often is, without affection, esteem, or even respect for the husband, -who is married merely for his wealth; or, because the poor girl has -been taught to dread the condition of an old maid as something so -terrible, that it should be avoided at every hazard. Equally certain -is it that marriage can procure no happiness—nay, that it is a truly -miserable condition, without good morals, good temper, and a tender -regard among the parties. Yet thousands of unfortunate girls marry -rather than live single, simply because their parents and other -connexions have made them believe that to remain _unmarried_, is to -become objects of general derision and contempt. Even if this were -true, as it certainly is not, surely there is no rational person who -would not pronounce such a state much more bearable than a union for -life with a man who was vicious both in principles and conduct, who -was cursed with a bad temper, and incapable of any sentiment even -resembling conjugal love. A very large portion of the miserable -marriages which we see in our society, may justly be ascribed to this -most cruel—I may say, wicked error in the parental nurture of -daughters. It is too shameful to be acknowledged by any as committed -by {439} themselves; yet there is not a person probably in the United -States who cannot cite many instances of it in others. - -Another parental fault of very extensive prevalence, is their -sufferance, if not actual encouragement of an opinion very common, at -least among their male children, that it is quite manly, magnanimous, -and republican to oppose, even by open rebellion, (if nothing less -will do) all such scholastic laws and regulations, as they, in the -supremacy of their juvenile wisdom, may happen to disapprove. This has -been signally and most lamentably verified in regard to that -particular law so indispensably necessary to the well being of all -schools, which requires the students to give evidence when called -upon, against all violators of the existing regulations, without -respect to persons. How an opinion so absurd and pernicious first got -footing, unless by parental inculcation, it would be difficult to say; -but nothing is more certain than its wide-spread influence, nor are -there many things more sure than the great agency it has heretofore -had in preventing any good schools from being long kept up in a -flourishing condition, at least in our own state, where they are as -much wanted as in any part of the Union. Such an opinion is the more -unaccountable—indeed, it appears little short of downright insanity, -when we come to reflect that _all_ think it right for adults to be -punished for refusing to give evidence before our courts when -required, in regard to any breaches of the laws under which _they_ -live; and yet, the same individuals who entertain this opinion, almost -universally uphold their own children in committing a similar offence, -by withholding _their_ testimony when any of the laws under which -_they_ live are violated at their respective schools—even should such -violation go to the very subversion of the schools themselves. Nay, -more—if a poor devoted teacher or professor should dare to punish -these very independent young gentlemen for such unjustifiable and -fatal contumacy, a universal clamor is immediately raised against -him—his character is instantly stigmatized for cruelty and tyranny, -while that of the rebel youths is eulogized as much as if they were -really martyrs to generous feeling and magnanimous self-devotion to -the good of others. All sense of just punishment and disgrace is thus -effectually taken away, and the young offender is taught to pride -himself on what should be his shame. That fathers should acquiesce in -the wisdom and justice of laws to punish _themselves_ for certain -offences against society at large, and be unable to see the justice -and wisdom of laws to punish their sons for similar offences against -the little societies called schools, is surely one of the greatest and -most inexplicable follies of which men, in their senses, can possibly -be guilty. Have not these last named institutions precisely the same -right and reason, that national governments have, to pass laws for -their own preservation? How, indeed, could either long exist without -them? It will be in vain to deny the prevalence of this most -pernicious folly, so long as we find a very large majority of the -youth of our country acting under the opinion of its being highly -disgraceful to do _that_ before the faculty of a college, or the head -of a school, which their fathers deem it perfectly right to do every -time _they themselves_ are called as witnesses before the juries and -courts of their country. I have said more on this parental fault than -otherwise I should have done, because I am thoroughly and deeply -convinced that there never can long exist any flourishing schools, -academies, or colleges, in any portion of our country, where so -radically mischievous an error prevails. _Our youth must be taught_, -and by their parents too, that _they_ have no more right to exemption -from the restraints of scholastic law, than _men_ have from the -inhibitions of the laws of their country—that all legitimate human -institutions have a clear, indisputable, and necessary power to make -regulations for their own preservation; that this power _must_ be -obeyed, or it is utterly useless; and that if obedience be proper, -honorable, and indispensable in their fathers, it cannot possibly be -improper, unessential, or dishonorable in their children. Let our sons -be taught _this lesson_ at home, and the absolute necessity of always -acting up to it every where, and we may then confidently hope, _but -not until then_, that all our seminaries of instruction will flourish -in a far greater degree than we ever yet have witnessed. “It is a -consummation most devoutly to be wished,” and _one_, towards the -accomplishment of which, neither time, money, nor intellectual effort -should be spared. - -Another fault committed by many more parents than are aware of it is, -that either from very culpable neglect in studying their children's -characters, or from most fatuitous partiality, they often send them to -school, in full confidence that they will prove most exemplary -patterns of good principles and good conduct, when, in fact, they are -signally deficient in both. The consequence is, that should any -teacher be daring enough to communicate the painful intelligence, it -is either entirely discredited, or it comes on the unfortunate, -self-deluded parent with the suddenness and shock of a clap of -thunder. If the account is believed, the punishment justly due to the -real author of the mischief, the guilty father or mother, is not -unfrequently inflicted on the child; or, should it be deemed false, -young master or miss (as the case may be) is immediately taken away, -and turned loose at home to unrestrained indulgence, or sent to some -instructer who has more of the cunning of worldly wisdom than to make -any such startling and incredible communications. - -In close connexion with the foregoing fault is one of still greater -and more injurious prevalence. It is assumed, as a settled point, -probably by a majority of parents, that if heaven has not bestowed on -_their offspring_ more than a usual proportion of brains, at least a -very competent share has been allotted them; and that they—the -parents, have not failed previously to sending the children to school, -in doing every thing necessary to enable those brains to work -beneficially for the craniums which contain them, and for the bodies -whose movements are to be governed thereby. Yet there are certainly -many children—very many, who from great deficiency of natural talent, -appear to be born for nothing higher than to be “hewers of wood and -drawers of water.” This truth cannot be denied; yet the fathers and -mothers of these children, in despite of nature, will often persist in -attempting to make them learned men and learned women. The consequence -is inevitable. An irreparable waste of time and money results from the -abortive attempt, and thousands who might have become useful and -highly respectable day laborers, at some easily acquired handicraft, -are {440} converted, by this most misapplied and cruel kindness into -ridiculous pretenders to situations that nature never destined them to -fill. This parental notion of marvellous talents and virtues in their -children—if it happen to be unfounded—and much too often it -unfortunately proves so, leads certainly to the conclusion, that -whatever scrapes the children get into at school, or, however -deficient they may appear in acquirement, when they go home, the whole -and sole blame attaches to the teachers; and the children are -withdrawn, often without the slightest intimation of the real cause, -leaving the luckless instructers to infer, that, probably, they have -given satisfaction. - -Another very general and deeply rooted fault in parents, is, the -readiness with which they believe and act upon the complaints of their -children, often without taking the smallest pains whatever to -ascertain whether these complaints may not be at least exaggerated, if -not entirely unfounded. The humorous author of Peter Plymley's letters -has said—“that a single rat in a Dutch dyke is sometimes sufficient to -flood a whole province.” The idea intended to be conveyed by this, is -eminently true, especially in relation to female seminaries, where -only one gossipping, talking girl, although free, perhaps, from -malicious intent, is quite enough to destroy an entire school. Were it -possible for teachers before hand, to know the propensities of such -little bipeds, they should exclude them as carefully as the Dutch -attempt to do the small, apparently impotent quadrupeds, that do them -so much injury. But suffer me to cite some instances to sustain my -opinion. Let us suppose, for example, that the grievance complained of -is partial treatment. To say nothing of the difficulty of proving a -negative, or of disproving, even when heard, a charge which covers so -much ground, and which is rarely suffered to reach the teacher's -ears—it is perfectly easy to demonstrate, that it _may_, and often -_will_ be made, without the shadow of truth. When to this is added, -its utter incompatibility with that portion of common sense, which all -instructers, who are not miserable drivellers, must possess, and which -they, of course, will exercise, in comparing their infinitely small -and doubtful gains, with their great and certain loss by such -injustice towards the complainants, (putting all principles of honor -and public pledges out of the question,) the accusation ought to -appear in most cases, past all rational credibility. But let us return -to the proof, that the charge of partiality _may_ and _will_ often be -made without the shadow of truth. It is a thing which deeply concerns -_all schools_, and is therefore a subject of common and vital -interest—both to them and to the public. None have so little -experience as not to know, that among the scholars of every school -there will be irregularities of conduct with corresponding -inequalities in talent, application, and acquirement, and that the old -adage, that “one man can carry a horse to water, but that four and -twenty can't make him drink,” is equally true in a figurative sense as -to children at school. Hence, some pupils go on very successfully, -without punishment of any kind, while others not unfrequently require -it in all its most effective forms. This equitable and obviously -necessary difference in treatment, between offenders and -non-offenders, is always sensibly felt by the culprits -themselves—often deeply resented; the true cause of it, rarely well -understood, and still more rarely acknowledged or explained, -especially to parents and guardians: for self-accusation is least apt -to be made by those who most frequently commit acts that should -produce it. Much the most common course among the violators of any -moral law or obligation whatever, whether they are children or adults, -is to seek refuge from the consciousness of one fault, in the -commission of some other—which other, generally, is, to shift the -blame, if possible, from themselves. That humble, contrite, -self-abasing spirit which caused the prodigal son to exclaim—“Father, -I have sinned against heaven and thee, and am no more worthy to be -called thy son,” is hardly to be expected, in any great degree, among -children at school: yet they _should_ possess it, before their parents -ought to rely on their competency to judge and decide in their own -cases, whether _they_ or _their teachers_ are in the wrong—cases too, -wherein it is perfectly obvious, that if the teachers are the -offending party, they must have become so in opposition to their best -interests. From the foregoing considerations, it is manifest, that -among such children at school as are justly reproved or punished for -misconduct, unjust complaints of partiality in the teachers will -frequently arise; and that these will often be too readily credited, -without any investigation, or even the slightest hint to the persons -thus secretly accused, of what has been alleged against them. In all -such cases a withdrawal of the pupils almost certainly follows, -succeeded by abuse of the schools, which often becomes the more bitter -and inveterate, from the parents themselves having an unacknowledged -conviction, that _they are the injurers_, instead of the _injured -party_. With all such persons the self-applied cure for the -mortification arising from incurable dullness, or depravity in their -children, is to slander their teachers wherever it can safely be done. - -Another proper and necessary difference in the scholastic treatment of -children proceeds from difference of age. But most unluckily, it -sometimes happens, that very young little masters and misses expect to -be treated like grown up young gentlemen and ladies; and should such -very rational expectations be disappointed, as they most assuredly -should be, these premature aspirants to the privileges and immunities -of manhood and womanhood, take most grievous and unappeasable offence -at it. Heavy, but vague complaints of partial treatment follow of -course; parental tenderness is naturally excited; parental credulity -lends too easy credence to the tale of juvenile woe; and a change of -school is the frequent consequence, without the really innocent -teachers even suspecting that any such cause could possibly have -produced it. - -Another most extensively pernicious fault in parents, is the -incompatible expectations formed of what teachers can do, with the -practice of treating them, and speaking of them, as scarcely above the -menial class of society. The expectations of many fathers and mothers -would appear to be something not very far from a belief, that -instructers are masters of some wonder-working process which can -inspire genius where it never existed; give talents that nature has -withheld; correct in a few weeks or months every bad habit, however -long indulged; and force knowledge into heads, pertinaciously -determined to reject, or so constructed as to be incapable of -receiving it. The general conduct towards such intellectual magicians, -where consistency is at all regarded, should {441} certainly be, at -least, to place them on a footing of perfect equality with the members -of the most esteemed professions in society. But what is the fact? -Why, that schoolmasters and schoolmistresses are viewed by multitudes -of those who arrogate the right to decide, as a class of persons, -essentially vulgar and awkward in their manners; ignorant of the -world; of low, grovelling, selfish principles, and nearly incapable of -any of those feelings and high sense of honor which are claimed, as a -kind of inalienable property by all who believe, (and there are -thousands of such individuals,) that wealth and worldly distinctions -authorize them to be proud, arrogant, and contemptuous towards all who -are deficient in the gifts of fortune. It is not easy to trace this -opinion respecting teachers to its source, because one would think -that the least pittance of common sense would teach parents the -impossibility of their children ever being well taught by any persons -for whom they felt no respect, and the equal impossibility of -respecting those whom their parents evidently despised. Two causes -probably may have produced this mischievous variance between the -conduct of parents towards instructers, and the momentous duties which -these last are expected to fulfil. First, that many who have taken -upon themselves the profession of teachers, have neither the talents, -the knowledge, the temper, nor the manners necessary to discharge its -numerous and arduous duties; and secondly, that the pride of wealth, -which generally indulges itself in an exemption from bodily and mental -labor, naturally seeks to dignify its idleness by assuming a -superiority over all who work either with their hands or their head. -But be the origin what it may, the cause of education is most -injuriously affected by it. - -Another parental fault is, the interference both as to matter and -manner in which children are to be taught; and this is sure to be -committed in proportion to the self-conceited competency, but real -inability of the advising, or rather commanding party. Let a single -exemplification suffice, out of very many others I could give of this -most ridiculous, but very pernicious fault. I select it because it is -one of those occurrences in the “olden time,” the relation of which -can hurt the feeling of none, but may afford a useful lesson to many. -My informant told me, that many years ago he knew a lady who could -barely read and write, to carry a little girl whose acquirements -extended not much farther than her own, to a school conducted by a -gentleman well qualified for his profession. She announced herself, as -having brought to him a pupil, who was immediately to be taught some -half dozen sciences, the names of which she had somewhere picked up, -but could scarcely pronounce; and that “he must make haste to do it, -as the little miss had not much more than a year, if that, to go to -school.” I was not told whether or not the teacher laughed in her -face, but if he refrained he must have had much more than common -control over his risible muscles. “It was enough,” (as the hero of -Cherubina says,) “to make a tiger titter.” This most compendious way -of manufacturing learned young masters and young misses, when viewed -in its effects upon the great interests of our community—upon the -happiness of families, as well as of the nation at large, is enough to -sicken the heart of any person capable, even in a moderate degree, of -serious reflection. Numerous instances have I known, in my limited -sphere of observation, especially in female schools, where, just as -the pupils had acquired a taste for reading, and were beginning to -make good progress in their studies, they were hurried away, and -plunged headlong into the vortex of gay, pleasure-seeking company, -there to lose—far more rapidly than it was gained—all desire, all -anxiety for intellectual culture. Books, together with all the useful -lessons they are calculated to impart; the whole long-labored scheme -of moral instruction, from which so much good had been anticipated; -the anxious preparation for a life of active beneficence, are all -forgotten or neglected, for constantly recurring schemes of frivolous -gaiety, and utter idleness in regard to all really useful pursuits. -The only subject of intense interest which seems to occupy these -fanatic devotees of worldly pleasure, is _marriage_; and provided they -can succeed in procuring a wealthy husband for their daughters, all -other matters are deemed of very subordinate importance. After the -teachers of these unfortunate girls may have been laboring for years -to convince them that the value of eternal things is immeasurably -greater than that of any merely temporal things whatever, they are to -be “finished off,” (as it is called) in the school of the world, where -all these calculations are utterly reversed, and present objects alone -are made to occupy all their thoughts and time. - -Another fault of parents, and I may add guardians too, is to be led -away by mere reports in regard to the character of schools and their -teachers, without always inquiring for themselves, as they should do -where possible, minutely into both. Thus, it often happens that, -governed entirely by rumor not to be traced to any authentic source, -all will be anxiously hurrying to secure places for their children in -schools said to be already full to overflowing, so that no more can -possibly get in; while schools of equal merit are carefully avoided, -because the same common untraceable rumor proclaims that they are -losing all their scholars; which, if not true at the time, soon -probably becomes so, from the capricious love of change, and the -desire to get their children's brains swept by the new broom, or from -the common habit of ascribing all removals of pupils from any schools -whatever, to incompetency or misconduct in the teachers. These ebb and -flood tides of popularity often happen to the same schools, without -any change whatever in the schools themselves, except increased -fitness in the teachers, from additional experience. A signal instance -of this fell under my observation, many years ago, in the case of a -long established, highly respectable, but no longer existing city -school. This institution, after maintaining very deservedly a high -character for many years, was literally stripped almost entirely naked -of pupils, by some utter strangers, who, although possibly as -meritorious, were certainly not known to be so, by a single individual -of the whole number that immediately sent scholars to them. It is -true, that the old school, after the public imagination had time to -sober a little, somewhat recovered from the shock, although never -sufficiently to regain its former standing. What is called -“_patronage_,” had fled from its walls, which were soon entirely -deserted, and answered little other purpose than to present another -striking monument of public caprice, fickleness, and folly. This case -is cited from no invidious motive {442} whatever—both schools having -long ceased to exist; but it furnishes a most striking proof of the -existence, as well as of the pernicious effects of the last parental -fault noticed. As a necessary consequence of this fault, comes the -frequent changes made from school to school, often without any -assignable cause, but the mere love of novelty; or some secret, but -unfounded dissatisfaction imbibed from the _ex parte_ -misrepresentation of the children, most carefully concealed from the -teachers themselves. If the matter ended here, it might not do more -harm than occasion the loss of the particular pupils to the offending -teachers; but the fancied injury, although never communicated to the -person chiefly interested in removing the unfounded imputation, is, in -general, the more diligently made known to others. With all these, the -characters of the teachers are deeply injured, if not entirely ruined, -without the possibility of a vindication, from utter ignorance of its -being any where necessary. Persons who are thus regardless of what -they say of schools and their conductors, and who are so careless as -to the sources from which they seek a knowledge of their characters, -are liable to be greatly deceived, even when making inquiries, in a -manner that appears to them most likely to obtain correct information. -Thus, in the opinion of these precipitate and reckless judges, it is -at once concluded, that if an individual of their acquaintance has -merely been _at_ any particular school, whether in casually passing or -specially to see it, this person must necessarily be well qualified to -tell, describe, and explain every thing about it; and therefore, that -the sentence of approval or condemnation produced by this off-hand -judge, must be decisive, although it may go no farther than a simple -“_ipse dixit_”—“he or she said it.” Details are rarely, if ever asked -by such inquirers, (for I have often witnessed their method of -proceeding) but the mere opinion of the informant, for or against the -school, is deemed all sufficient; the brief assertion, “I've no notion -of it,” or “I like it mightily,” settles the question. It seems never -to be even suspected, that to form a just and impartial judgment in -regard to the merits or demerits of any school, requires much more -time, learning, knowledge of the principles and management of schools -in general, acquaintance with the various modes of instructing youth, -but, above all, more power of discrimination than most persons -possess. Hence, the characters both of schools and teachers, are -generally at the mercy of individuals extremely incompetent to -determine what they really are. - -Another common fault with many parents and guardians, has always -reminded me of the old miser who inquired of his merchant for a pair -of shoes, that must be at once “very neat, and strong, and fine, and -cheap.” They confound together cheapness and lowness of price, -although no two things generally differ more widely; and hence they -always endeavor to purchase their schools as they do their -merchandise. It is certainly true that a _high_ price does not -necessarily make either schools or merchandise of good quality; but it -is equally true, that a _low_ price can never have any such effect. -The principle of equivalents must be alike consulted in both cases, or -no fair, equitable bargain can be made, either for bodily or mental -apparel. If much is required, much must be given, provided both -parties are free to give and take; and those who act upon different -principles—be they parents, guardians, or teachers, deserve to _be_, -and generally _are_, utterly disappointed. - -There is another fault which I will here mention—not on account of any -connexion with that just noticed, but because the recollection of it -has just presented itself. It is of most fearful import, for I verily -believe it to be the foundation of most of the infidelity which -prevails among the youth of our country. I mean, the neglect of -parents to require their children to seek religious instruction by -constant attendance at places of religious worship—places where _they -themselves_, if professors of religion, deem it _their_ sacred duty to -attend. They require—nay, insist upon these children seeking -classical, scientific, and literary knowledge by attending schools and -colleges; how then can they possibly justify, or even excuse their -attendance at church, not being at least equally insisted upon. They -themselves, unless hypocrites, must deem religious knowledge far more -important than all other kinds united. To leave their children then, -at full liberty to seek or not to seek it, and to coerce them in -seeking these other kinds, is to act, not only inconsistently and -foolishly, but wickedly. - -One of the greatest and most pernicious faults of all, I have reserved -for the last to be noticed. It is the utter indifference which, not -only parents and guardians but all other persons except the -instructors themselves, appear to feel for the reputation of schools -and their particular conductors, although this reputation is really a -matter of the deepest interest to the whole community. Of these -institutions and their managers, it seems in an especial manner, and -most emphatically true, that “what is every body's business is no -body's business.” Slander and its effects may certainly be called -_every body's business_, since all are exposed to it; yet no -individual appears to think it his own, or likely to be so, until it -touches his own dear self, although one of the best modes of -protecting himself from it, most obviously is—to manifest, on all -occasions, a readiness to protect others. But while men remain so -prone to believe ill, rather than good, of their fellow creatures, and -are too regardless of any reputations but their own, it is hardly to -be expected, that so long as they themselves are safe, much care will -be felt whether the persons assailed, are openly or secretly attacked, -or whether they have opportunities to defend themselves or not. Hence, -there are no courts in the world that exercise a more despotic, -reckless sway, than what may justly be called _courts of defamation_; -the only qualifications for which are, a talent and love for malignant -gossipping. Even the tribunals of the inquisition make a pretence at -justice, by calling the accused before them; but the self-constituted -inquisitors of reputation, who often, in the course of their various -sessions, sit upon schools and their conductors, disdain to use even -the mockery of a trial. With them, to try, to condemn, and to execute -the character, while the body is absent, constitute but one and the -same act; and like so many grand sultans, whose power is supreme, -whose word is law, and whose arguments are the scimitars and -bow-strings of death, they are alike uncontrolled and uncontrollable -by any considerations even approaching towards truth and justice. If -defamation never meets with any thing to check it but the unheeded, -unavailing complaints of the immediate sufferers from its diabolical -spirit, it will {443} continue greatly to impair, if it does not -utterly destroy one of the most copious sources of human happiness—I -mean, the heart-cheering confidence, that all will acquire fair -reputations by always acting in a manner to deserve them, and that -nothing can bereave them of this inestimable blessing, but actual -misconduct. It is true, that our laws hold out something like a remedy -for slander by known individuals. But what is this remedy? While -house-breaking and house-burning have often been made punishable by -death—_character-breaking and burning_ have met with no other legal -corrective than pecuniary fines, and these too, dependent on -enactments hard to be applied to any particular case, and upon the -capricious, ill-regulated, not to say, prejudiced, judgments of -others. To mend the matter, public opinion generally attaches no small -disgrace to the seeking this species of redress; as if to sue for -damages to character, implied, on the part of woman, some strong -probability of guilt, and on the part of man, a great presumption both -of guilt and cowardice. Against the effect of inimical motives, -calumnious opinions, and their underhand circulation, no law affords -any protection whatever. These matters are entirely beyond the reach -of all legislation, and unless they can be cured by moral instruction, -moral discipline, and such a public sentiment as will keep alive in -every bosom a strong sense of our obligations always to judge -charitably and justly of each other, the members of our society, one -and all, must still live exposed to this deep and deadly curse of -secret defamation. Such is the baneful nature of this deplorable evil, -that to fear or despise will only serve to aggravate it—while to live -above it, although very comfortable to our consciences, can never -entirely prevent the injuries it often has the power of inflicting -upon even the best of mankind. The disastrous effects of it upon -education, so far as this depends upon scholastic establishments, are -incalculable; for although some particular schools might rise or fall -a sightless distance above the hopes of their most sanguine -friends—below the wishes of their bitterest enemies—without materially -affecting the general cause of instruction; yet that cause cannot -possibly flourish—cannot even approach its maximum of general good, -without far greater protection from public sentiment. It _must_ -protect, and with parental solicitude too, the reputation both of -teachers and schools, or none whatever, even the best, can be secure -of a twelve months' existence. None can possibly last, unless all who -have any power of giving the tone and character of public opinion, -will unite in marking with the severest reprobation the kind of spirit -which so frequently gives birth and circulation to the numerous, -unfounded calumnies we so often hear against the very best of them; -calumnies too, to the greedy swallowing of which, it forms no -objection with many, that they have no authors who have hardihood -enough to avow them. But the same violent spirit which ruins some -schools by calumny, often exerts itself with so little judgment as to -destroy others by intended kindness. Thus, the same tongues which will -persecute particular schools in secret—“even unto death,” will praise -and puff others so immeasurably, as to excite against them that never -dying envy and animosity, which is always roused to action by high -seasoned commendation of others. These headlong, unreflecting puffers, -are either utterly ignorant, or entirely forget that the world is -still full of people who are brothers and sisters, at least in -feeling, to that Athenian who voted to banish Aristides, (whom he -acknowledged he did not know,) solely, as he declared—“_because he was -weary and sick at heart, on hearing him every where called the Just_.” - -The foregoing faults, as far as I can recollect, are the chief and -most pernicious of those which attach particularly to parents and -guardians. But there are many others to which they are parties, either -as principals or accessaries with that great and complicated mass of -human beings, which, when considered in the aggregate, constitute what -is called—“_the public_.” These often form themselves into large -subdivisions, arrayed against each other with all the bitter animosity -of partizan hostility, as the assailants and defenders of particular -schools; without appearing, for a moment to reflect, that complete -success to either party must sweep from the face of the earth one half -of the existing schools, although it is manifest to all who will look -soberly at our present condition, that the supply of good schools, -still falls very far short of the demand. But if this exterminating -war between the partizans and enemies of schools in general is never -to cease, would it not be far better for the world, if all the schools -in it, with their friends and enemies, were crushed together in one -promiscuous mass—that some new, and, if possible, better road might be -opened to science, literature and religion? - -In education there should be, in reality, _but one party_—(if I may be -allowed to say so) that of knowledge and virtue; _but one object_, and -that object _human happiness_. Until this principle can be universally -established and acted upon—until the class of instructers shall not -only be held in higher estimation, but be more secure of being -protected by public sentiment, from unmerited obloquy and secret -detraction, thousands of those who are most capable of fulfilling all -the momentous duties of teachers, will shrink entirely from so -thankless, so discouraging an occupation. It is true, that even under -present circumstances, we have the appearance of much good resulting -from the various attempts to educate the rising generation; but no -very extensive advantage—no permanent benefit, at all commensurate to -the wants and wishes of our thirteen millions of people, can possibly -result from them while things remain exactly as they are. This is not -the worst consequence of such a state of public sentiment—for, not -only will the accessions of highly qualified persons to the class of -instructers be much fewer, but those already belonging to it, will -either abandon it, or, perceiving that the privilege of teaching is -usually let to the lowest bidder, and that their profession is -generally treated as an inferior one, having few claims to generous -sympathy, and none to that respect and esteem which would bear them -harmless, at all times, against all suspicions of meanness and -servility, will insensibly contract the spiritless, submissive -feelings which they find are commonly supposed to belong to their -situation. Seeing also that a spirit of independence—a nice, -high-minded sense of honor, are deemed by many, sentiments of much too -exalted a grade for those who follow such a calling, their principles -are always in danger of sinking to the level of such a standard, -however arbitrary and unreasonable may have been its establishment. -Woe to the unlucky {444} wight of a schoolmaster or schoolmistress who -happens to be gifted with so rebellious a heart, as to betray any -feeling, even approaching to indignant resentment, for such treatment! -Silence is their true policy, for it will be considered his or her -humble duty; and silence must be kept, cost what it may, unless they -are prepared to encounter the worst consequences of derision, scorn, -or deprivation of what is called _patronage_. - -It is readily admitted, that persons of this profession are more -highly estimated than they were forty or fifty years ago; for I -distinctly recollect the time when all I have said of the degrading -treatment of teachers generally, both by parents and others, was -literally true; when to the question, “who is such a one?” the common -reply was, “oh, nothing but a schoolmaster or schoolmistress;” and -when they were all commonly viewed precisely as we might imagine from -such an answer. But although they have, of late years, been elevated a -spoke or two higher up the ladder of respectability, still they are -not admitted to a level with several other classes, whose real claims -to superiority have no better foundation than their own silly, -groundless pride. - -The following extract from the London Examiner affords a striking -proof that what I have affirmed of the public sentiment relative to -the class of teachers in the United States, is true to a still more -pernicious extent in Great Britain. - -The author remarks, “A trust is generally accounted honorable in -proportion to its importance, and the order of the qualities or -acquirements requisite to the discharge of it. There is, however, one -striking exception to this rule in the instance of the instructers of -youth, who, specially appointed to communicate the knowledge and -accomplishments which may command respect in the persons of their -pupils, are, in their own, denied every thing beyond the decencies of -a reluctantly accorded civility, and often are refused even those -barren observances. The treatment which tutors, governesses, ushers, -and the various classes of preceptors, receive in this boasted land of -liberality, is a disgrace to the feelings, as well as to the -understanding of society. Every parent acknowledges that the domestic -object of the first importance is the education of his children. In -obtaining the services of an individual for this purpose, he takes -care to be assured” (not always so with us) “that his morals are good -and his acquirements beyond the common average—in nine hundred and -ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, we may add, beyond those which he -himself possesses, and on which he sufficiently prides himself. When -he has procured such a man as he believes this to be, he treats him -with perhaps as much courtesy as his cork-drawer, and shows him less -favor than his groom. The mistress of the family pursues the same -course with the governess which the master adopts towards the tutor. -The governess is acknowledged competent to form the minds and manners -of the young ladies—to make, indeed, the future women: but of how much -more consequence in the household is she who shapes the mistresses -caps, and gives the set to her head-dress—the lady's maid! The unhappy -teachers in almost every family are only placed just so much above the -servants as to provoke in them the desire to pull them down—an -inclination in the vulgar menials which is commonly encouraged by the -congenial vulgar and jealous pride of the heads of the house, -impatient of the intellectual equality or superiority which they have -brought within their sphere. The remark, however, does not apply to -the narrow-minded only. All of us regard too lightly those who make a -profit of communicating what all of us prize, and what we know -entitles us to respect when we possess it. Some carry their neglect or -contempt farther than others, but all are, in a greater or less -degree, affected by the vicious standard of consideration common in -the country. The instructers of youth serve for low wages; _that_ is a -sufficient cause for their being slighted, where money puts its value -upon every thing and being. The butler and groom, indeed, serve for -less than the tutor; but, beside the lowness of price, there is -another peculiar ingredient in the condition of the last, which is, -the accompaniment with it of a claim to respect on the score of a -requital. It is this very claim, so ill-substantiated in hard cash, -the secret force of which wounds the self-love of purse-proud -nothingness, which sinks the poor tutor in regard below the man of -corks or currycombs. We will not deny, too, that there are families in -which the care of wine and the training of horses are really -_accounted_, although _not confessed_, of superior importance to the -care and training of youth. These are extreme cases, however, which we -would not put. The common one is that of desiring and supposing every -thing respectable in the preceptor, and denying him respect—of -procuring an individual to instil virtue and knowledge into the minds -of youth, and showing them, at the same time, the practical and -immediate example of virtue and knowledge neglected or despised in -_his_ person. How can a boy (and boys are shrewd enough) believe that -the acquirements, the importance of which is dinned in his ears, are -of any value as a means of commanding the respect of the world, when -he witnesses the treatment, the abject social lot of the very man, -who, as best stored with them, has been chosen his instructer? Will he -not naturally ask, how can these things obtain honor for me which do -not command even courtesy for him who is able to communicate them to -me?” - -We remember, in a little volume treating on instruction, to have seen -this anecdote: - -“A lady wrote to her son, requesting to look out for a young lady, -respectably connected, possessed of various elegant accomplishments -and acquirements, skilled in the languages, a proficient in music, and -above all, an unexceptionable moral character—and to make her an offer -of 40_l._ a year for her services as a governess. The son's reply -was—‘My dear mother, I have long been looking out for such a person as -you describe, and when I have the good fortune to meet with her, I -propose to make her an offer—not of 40_l._ a year, but of my hand, and -to ask her to become—not your governess, but my wife.’” - -Such are the qualities expected or supposed in instructers; and yet, -what is notoriously their treatment? - -I will here end this long and painful catalogue of parental faults, -and shall devote the next lecture to the faults of teachers—merely -remarking, in conclusion, that my sole undertaking being to point out -things which require reformation, I shall present no favorable views -of the various parties concerned in the great work of education, -although many very animating ones might {445} be given. To aid in -removing the numerous obstacles which so fatally impede its progress, -being my only purpose, I would fain render the nature of them as -odious as possible, believing this to be the best means of -accomplishing the great end in view. - -May the moral mirror which I have endeavored to present to all parents -and guardians who may now hear me, enable them so to see and to study -their own peculiar faults as speedily to correct them. - - - - -TO MISS ——, OF NORFOLK. - - - Which ever way my vision turns, - To heaven or earth, I see thee there, - In every star thy eyebeam burns, - Thy breath in every balmy air; - Thy words seem truth herself enshrined, - Sweet as the seraph minstrel sung, - And thou, in dignity of mind, - An angel with a silver tongue. - - What dreams of bliss entrance the soul, - When Persians watch their idol light, - What pleasing visions o'er them roll - Caught from his beams serene and bright, - Thus, when a sparkling ray is given, - From eyes so soft, so pure as thine— - We feel as though our earth were heaven - And thou its radiant light divine. - -B. - - - - -FROM THE MSS. OF FRANKLIN. - - - In vain are musty morals taught in schools, - By rigid teachers and as rigid rules, - Where virtue with a frowning aspect stands, - And frights the pupil with her rough commands. - But Woman— - Charming Woman, can true converts make— - We love the precepts for the teacher's sake: - Virtue in them appears so bright and gay, - We hear with transport, and with pride obey. - - - - -_Editorial_. - - -RIGHT OF INSTRUCTION. - -The pages of our Magazine are open, and have ever been, to the -discussion of all general questions in Political Law, or Economy—never -to questions of mere party. The paper on the _Right of Instruction_, -which forms our leading article this month, was addressed, in the form -of a letter, to a gentleman of Richmond. The letter concluded thus— - -“I assure you, my dear sir, that I hesitate about sending these sheets -to you under the denomination of a _letter_. But I began to write -without knowing how far the subject might carry me on. No doubt had I -time to write it over again, I might avoid repetition and greatly -abridge it. But I pray you to take it with a fair allowance for all -imperfections of manner; for the opinions and argument I confess my -responsibility. - - Most truly and respectfully your obedient servant, - —— ——.” - - - - -CRITICAL NOTICES. - - -LETTERS ON PENNSYLVANIA. - -_A Pleasant Peregrination through the Prettiest Parts of Pennsylvania. -Performed by Peregrine Prolix. Philadelphia: Grigg and Elliot._ - -We know nothing farther about _Peregrine Prolix_ than that he is the -very clever author of a book entitled “_Letters descriptive of the -Virginia Springs_,” and that he is a gentleman upon the wrong side of -forty. The first fact we are enabled easily to perceive from the -peculiarity of an exceedingly witty-pedantic style characterizing, in -a manner not to be mistaken, both the Virginia and the Pennsylvania -Letters—the second appears from the first stanza of a rhyming -dedication (much better than eulogistic) to _John Guillemard, Esquire, -Fellow of the Royal Society, London_— - - I send my friend a little token - Three thousand miles across the sea, - Of kindness, forty years unbroken - And cherished still for him by me. - -However these matters may be, it is very certain that _Peregrine -Prolix_ is a misnomer, that his book is a very excellent thing, and -that the Preface is not the worst part of it. - -Our traveller, before setting out on his peregrinations, indulges us, -in Letter I, with a very well executed outline sketch, or scratch, of -Philadelphia, not troubling himself much about either his _keeping_ or -his _fillings in_. We cannot do better than just copy the whole of his -picture. - - -Philadelphia is a flat, rectangular, clean, (almost too clean -sometimes, for on Saturdays “nunquam cessavit lavari, aut fricari, aut -tergeri, aut ornari, poliri, pingi, fingi,”[1]) uniform, well-built, -brick and mortar, (except one stone house,) well-fed and watered, -well-clad, moral, industrious, manufacturing, rich, sober, quiet, -good-looking city. The Delaware washes its eastern and the Schuylkill -its western front. The distance between the two rivers is one mile and -three quarters, which space on several streets is nearly filled with -houses. Philadelphia looks new, and is new, and like Juno always will -be new; for the inhabitants are constantly pulling down and -new-vamping their houses. The furor delendi with regard to old houses, -is as rife in the bosoms of her citizens, as it was in the breast of -old Cato with regard to Carthage. A respectable-looking old house is -now a rare thing, and except the venerable edifice of Christ Church in -Second above Market Street, we should hardly know where to find one. - -[Footnote 1: Plautus, Pænuli, Act i., sc. 2, l. 10.] - -The dwelling-houses in the principal streets are all very much alike, -having much the air of brothers, sisters and cousins of the same -family; like the supernumerary figures in one of West's historical -paintings, or like all the faces in all of Stothard's designs. They -are nearly all three stories high, faced with beautiful red unpainted -Philadelphia brick, and have water tables and steps of white marble, -kept so painfully clean as to make one fear to set his foot on them. -The roofs are in general of cedar, cypress or pine shingles; the -continued use of which is probably kept up (for there is plenty of -slate,) to afford the Fire-Companies a little wholesome exercise. - -The streets are in general fifty feet wide, having on each side -convenient _trottoirs_ well paved with brick, and a carriage way badly -paved with large round pebbles. They are kept very clean, and the -kennels are frequently washed by floods of pure Schuylkill water, -poured from the iron pipes with which all the streets are underlaid. -{446} This same Schuylkill water is the cause of many comforts in the -shape of drinking, bathing and clean linen, (indusia toraliaque;) and -enters into the composition of those delicious and persuasive liquids -called Pepper's beer and Gray's ale and porter. - -This water is so pure, that our brothers of New York complain of its -want of taste; and it is as wholesome and refreshing as the stream of -father Nilus. It is also so copious, that our incendiaries are -scarcely ever able to burn more than the roof or garret of one or two -houses in a month. The fire companies are numerous, voluntary, -well-organized associations, amply furnished with engines, hose, and -all other implements and munitions necessary to make successful war -upon the destroying element; and the members are intelligent, active -and intrepid young men, so skilful from daily practice, that they will -put you out three or four fires in a night, in less time than -Higginbottom, that veteran fireman of London, would have allowed them -to kindle. - -The public confidence in these useful, prompt, energetic and faithful -companies is so great, that no citizen is alarmed by the cry of fire; -for he knows that the first tap on the State House bell, arouses -hundreds of these vigilant guardians of the city's safety, who rush to -the scene of danger with one accord; and with engines, axes, ladders, -torches, hooks and hose, dash through summer's heat, or winter's hail -and snows. - -The old State House, in whose eastern room the Declaration of -Independence was signed, has on the top of it, a sort of stumpy -steeple, which looks as if somewhat pushed in, like a spy glass, half -shut. In this steeple is a large clock, which, twice as bad as Janus, -presents four faces, which at dusk are lighted up like the full moon; -and as there is a man in the moon, so there is a man in the clock, to -see that it does not lag behind, nor run away from father time; whose -whereabout, ever and anon, the people wish to know. This close -observer of the time is also a distant observer of the fires, and -possesses an ingenious method of communicating their existence and -position to his fellow citizens below. One tap on the great bell means -north; two indicate south; three represent east, and four point out -west; and by composition these simple elements are made to represent -also the intermediate points. If the fire be in the north, the man -strikes successive blows with solemn and equal intervals, thus; -tap——tap——tap——tap; if it be in the south, thus; tap tap——tap tap; if -it be in the north east, thus; tap——tap tap tap———tap——tap tap tap; so -that when the thrifty and well-fed citizen is roused by the cry of -fire at midnight, from a pleasant dream of heaps of gold and smoking -terrapins and whisky punch, he uncovers one ear and listens calmly for -the State House bell, and if its iron tongue tell of no scathe to him, -he turns him on his side and sleeps again. What a convenient -invention, which tells the firemen when and where to go, and the -terrapin men when to lie snug in their comfortable nests! This clever -plan is supposed to have been invented by an M. A. P. S.; this -however, we think doubtful, for the Magellanic Premium has never, to -our knowledge, been claimed for the discovery. This reminds us that -the American Philosophical Society is _located_[2] in Philadelphia, -where it possesses a spacious hall, a good library, and an interesting -collection of American antiquities, gigantic fossil bones, and other -curiosities, all of which are open to the inspection of intelligent -and inquisitive travellers. - -[Footnote 2: A new and somewhat barbarous, but exceedingly convenient -yankeeism, which will probably work its way into good society in -England, as its predecessor ‘_lengthy_,’ has already done.] - -The Society was founded by the Philosophical Franklin, and its -presidential chair is now occupied by the learned and venerable -Duponceau. - -There exists here a club of twenty-four philosophers, who give every -Saturday evening very agreeable male parties;[3] consisting of the -club, twenty invited citizens and any strangers who may happen to be -in town. These parties are not confined to any particular circle; but -all men who are distinguished in the arts, whether fine or mechanical; -or in the sciences, whether natural or artificial, are liable to be -invited. The members of the club are all M. A. P. S., and the parties -are supposed to look with a steady eye towards the cultivation of -science; the other eye however regards with equal complacency the -useful and ornamental arts of eating and drinking. The only defect in -the latter department that we have discovered, is the banishment of -ice cream and roman punch. - -[Footnote 3: Called Wistar parties, in honor of the late illustrious -Caspar Wistar, M.D., Professor of Anatomy in the University of -Pennsylvania.] - -The markets are well supplied with good things. The principal one is -held under long colonnades running along the middle of Market street, -and extending from Front to Eighth street, a distance of more than one -thousand yards. The columns are of brick and the roofs of shingles, -arched and ceiled underneath. If I were to say all they deserve of its -beef, mutton and veal, there would be no end to the praises that -_flesh_ is heir to; but the butter and cream-cheese in the spring and -summer, are such dainties as are found in no other place under the -welkin. They are produced on dairy farms and by families near the -city, whose energies have for several generations been directed to -this one useful end, and who now work with an art made perfect by the -experience of a century. - -Here is the seat of the University of Pennsylvania, which comprehends -a College of the Arts and several preparatory schools; and a college -of Medicine the most celebrated of the United States, in the list of -whose professors are many names advantageously known in all civilized -nations. - -The Hospital for the insane, sick and wounded is a well conducted -institution, and worth a stranger's visit. Go and see also the Museum, -the Water-Works, the Navy-Yard, and the public squares, and lots of -other things too tedious to write down. - -The site of the city promises very little for the scenery of the -environs; but unlike the witches in Macbeth, what is promised is more -than kept. Take an open carriage and cross the Schuylkill by the -Market street bridge, and ride up the west bank of the river for five -or six miles, and your labor will be fully rewarded by a succession of -lovely landscapes, comprehending water, hill and dale; wood, lawn and -meadow; villas, farmhouses and cottages, mingled in a charming -variety. - -On the west bank of the Schuylkill opposite to the city, we regret to -say, is an enormous palace, which cost many hundred thousand dollars, -called an Almshouse, (unhappy misnomer,) which is big enough to hold -all the paupers that _would be_ in the world, if there were no poor -laws to _make them_. But you had better go and see it, and take the -length and breadth and height of our unreason, in this age of light, -when we ought to know better. - -The people of Philadelphia are in general well-informed, well-bred, -kind, hospitable and of good manners, very slightly tinged with quaker -reserve; and the tone of society is good, except in a small circle of -exclusive _imagines subitæ_, who imitate very awkwardly the -exaggerations of European fashion. The tone of the Satanic school, -which has somewhat infected the highest circles of fashion in England, -has not yet crossed the Atlantic. - -There are many good Hotels, and extensive boarding houses; and the -table of the Mansion House is said to be faultless. - -Taking every thing into consideration, this is certainly the very spot -for annuitants, who have reached the rational age of fifty, to nestle -in during the long remnant of their comfortable days. We say long -remnant, because as a class, annuitants are the longest livers; and -there is an excellent company here, that not only grants annuities, -but also insures lives. - -The climate of Philadelphia is variable, and exhibits (in the shade,) -all the degrees of temperature that are contained between the tenth -below, and the ninetieth {447} above zero, on the scale of Fahrenheit. -In general, winter does not begin seriously until after Christmas, but -he sometimes lingers too long in “_the lap of spring_,” and leaves a -bridge of ice on the noble river Delaware until the tenth of March. - -There are generally three or four weeks of severe cold, during which -the thermometer sometimes at night sinks below zero, and sometimes in -the day does not rise to the point of thaw. This period is generally -enlivened by two or three snow storms, which set in motion the rapid -sleighs, the jingle of whose lively bells is heard through day and -night. The Delaware is not frozen over every winter, but there is -always made an ample supply of fine crystalline ice to last the -citizens until the next winter. The annual average duration of -interrupted navigation may be four or five weeks. In March there is -sometimes a little Scotch weather in which Sawney would rub his hands -and tell you, here is a fine cauld blawey snawey rainy day. There is -however not much such weather, though the March winds have been known -to blow (as Paddy would say,) even in the first week of April; after -which spring begins with tears and smiles to coax the tardy vegetation -into life. - -Spring is short and vegetation rapid. Summer sprinkles a day here and -there in May, and sets in seriously to toast people in June; during -which month there are generally six or eight days whose average -temperature reaches the altissimum of summer heat. In July the days -are hot, but there is some relief at night; whilst in August the fiery -day is but a prelude to a baking night; and the whole city has the air -of an enormous oven.[4] The extremely hot weather does not continue -more than six weeks, and so far from being a misfortune, it is a great -advantage to the inhabitants; for it makes every body that can spare -twenty dollars, take a pleasant journey every year, whereby their -minds are expanded, their manners improved, and they return with a -double zest to the enjoyments of Philadelphia, having learned, quantum -est in rebus inane, that is, in the rebuses of other places. - -[Footnote 4: The season of the Dog Days. A witty Philadelphia lady -being once asked, how many Dog Days there are, answered that there -must be a great many, for every dog has his day. At that time the city -abounded in dogs, but the corporation has since made fierce war upon -them, with a view perhaps of lessening the number of Dog Days, and -improving the climate, by _curtailing_ those innocent beasts.] - -The autumn, or as the Philadelphians call it, the Fall, is the most -delightful part of the year, and is sometimes eked out by the Indian -Summer as far as Christmas. The Fall begins in the first half of -September and generally lasts until the middle of November, when it is -succeeded by the Indian Summer; a pleasant period of two or three -weeks, in which the mornings, evenings and nights are frosty, and the -days comfortably warm and a little hazy. The Indians are supposed to -have employed this period in hunting and laying in game for winter -use, before the long-knives made game of _them_. - -The population of Philadelphia and its suburbs exceeds 180,000 souls. - - -Having taken passage for himself and a friend in the Pioneer line, at -8 A. M., for Hallidaysburg, Mr. Prolix dates his second letter from -Lancaster. This epistle is full of fun, bustle, and all good -things—gives a lively picture of the horrors of early rising and -half-eaten breakfasts—of a cruise in an omnibus, about the city of -Brotherly Love, in search of the due quota of passengers—of the depot -in Broad Street—of an unilocular car with its baggage and -passengers—of an old woman in a red cloak and an old gentleman in a -red nose—of a tall, good looking Englishman, who was at the trouble of -falling asleep—and of an infantile little American gentleman, who had -no trouble whatever about fulfilling all his little occasions. Some -account, too, is given of the ride to the foot of the inclined plane -on the western bank of the Schuylkill, of the viaduct by which the -plane is approached, the view from the viaduct, of the country between -Philadelphia and Lancaster, of the Columbia rail road, of Lancaster -city, and of Mrs. Hubley's very respectable hotel. - -_Letter III_ is dated from Duncan's Island. Mr. Prolix left Lancaster -at 5 A. M. in a rail road car, drawn by two horses tandem, arrived at -Columbia in an hour and a half, and stopped at Mr. Donley's Red Lion -Hotel, where he “breakfasted and dined, and found the house very -comfortable and well kept.” - - -“Columbia,” says Mr. P. “is twelve miles from Lancaster, and is -situated on the eastern bank of the noble river Susquehanna. It is a -thriving and pretty town, and is rapidly increasing in business, -population and wealth. There is an immense bridge here over the -Susquehanna, the superstructure of which, composed of massy timber, -rests upon stone piers. This bridge is new, having been built within -three years. The waters of the Susquehanna, resembling the citizens of -Philadelphia, in their dislike to old buildings, took the liberty -three years ago, to destroy the old bridge by means of an ice freshet, -though it was but twenty years of age, and still in excellent -preservation. The views from the bridge, up and down the river, are -very interesting. Here is the western termination of the rail road, -and goods from the sea-board intended for the great west, are here -transhipped into canal boats. Columbia contains about twenty-five -hundred souls.” - - -Our author does not think that the state affords the public as good a -commodity of travelling as the public ought to have for the money -paid. Each passenger car, he says, pays for locomotive power two cents -per mile, for each passenger—for toll two cents a mile for itself, and -one cent per mile for each passenger—burthen cars paying half these -rates. There is some mistake here or—we are mistaken. The estimated -cost of working an engine, including interest and repairs, is sixteen -dollars per day—and the daily sum earned is twenty eight dollars—the -state clearing twelve dollars per day on each locomotive. Empty cars -pay the same toll and power-hire as full ones, which, as Mr. Prolix -observes, is unreasonable. - -At 4 P. M. our peregrinator went on board a boat to ascend the canal -which follows the eastern bank of the Susquehanna. His description of -the genus “canal boat,” species “Pioneer Line,” is effective, and will -interest our readers. - - -A canal packet boat is a microcosm that contains almost as many -specimens of natural history as the Ark of Noah. It is nearly eighty -feet long and eleven wide; and has a house built in it that extends to -within six or seven feet of stem and stern. Thirty-six feet in length -of said house are used as a cabin by day, and a dormitory by night; -the forward twelve feet being nocturnally partitioned off by an opaque -curtain, when there are more than four ladies on board, for their -accommodation. In front of said twelve feet, there is an apartment of -six feet containing four permanent berths and separated from the cabin -by a wooden partition, with a door in it; this is called the ladies' -dressing room, and is sacred to their uses. - -At 9 P. M. the steward and his satellites begin the work of arranging -the sleeping apparatus. This consists of a wooden frame six feet long -and twenty inches wide, with canvass nailed over it, a thin mattress -and sheets, &c. to match. The frame has two metallic points on one -side which are inserted into corresponding holes in the side of the -cabin, and its horizontality is preserved {448} by little ropes -descending from the ceiling fastened to its other side. There are -three tiers of these conveniences on each side, making twenty-four for -gentlemen, and twelve for ladies, besides the four permanent berths in -the ladies' dressing room. The number of berths, however, does not -limit the number of passengers; for a packet is like Milton's -Pandemonium, and when it is brim full of imps, the inhabitants seem to -grow smaller so as to afford room for more poor devils to come in and -be stewed; and tables and settees are put into a sleeping fix in the -twinkling of a bedpost. - -Abaft the cabin is a small apartment four feet square, in which the -steward keeps for sale all sorts of potables, and some sorts of -eatables. Abaft that is the kitchen, in which there is generally an -emancipated or escaped slave from Maryland or Virginia, of some shade -between white and black, who performs the important part of cook with -great effect. The breakfasts, dinners and suppers are good, of which -the extremes cost twenty-five cents each, and the mean thirty-seven -and a half. - -The passengers can recreate by walking about on the roof of the cabin, -at the risque of being decapitated by the bridges which are passed -under at short intervals of time. But this accident does not often -happen, for the man at the helm is constantly on the watch to prevent -such an unpleasant abridgment of the passengers, and gives notice of -the approaching danger by crying out ‘bridge.’ - -This machine, with all that it inherits, is dragged through the water -at the rate of three miles and a half per hour by three horses, driven -tandem by a dipod with a long whip, who rides the hindmost horse. The -rope, which is about one hundred yards in length, is fastened to the -side of the roof, at the distance of twenty feet from the bow, in such -fashion that it can be loosed from the boat in a moment by touching a -spring. The horses are changed once in about three hours and seem very -much jaded by their work. - - -At an hour past midnight Mr. Prolix arrived at Harrisburg, where the -boat stops for half an hour to let out and take in passengers. It was -pitch dark, however, and nothing was visible from the boat. We miss, -therefore, a description of the town, which is cavalierly snubbed by -the tourist for containing no more than forty-five hundred -inhabitants. He goes to sleep, and awaking at 5 in the morning, finds -himself opposite to Duncan's Island. He lands, and takes up his -quarters at the hotel of Mrs. Duncan. Unlike the hotels previously -described, which were all “elegant, respectable and neat,” this one is -merely “neat, elegant and respectable.” - -_Letter IV_ is dated from Hallidaysburg. Leaving Duncan's Island at 6, -the traveller embarked in the canal packet Delaware, Captain Williams, -following the bank of Duncan's Island in a north-western course for -about a mile, and then crossing the Juniata over “a substantial -aqueduct built of timber and roofed in.” In the course of the day he -passed Millerstown, Mexico and Mifflin, arriving at Lewistown before -sunset, a distance of about forty miles. Lewistown contains about -sixteen hundred inhabitants, some of whom, says Mr. Prolix, make -excellent beer. Waynesburg and Hamiltonville were past during the -night, and Huntingdon at 7 in the morning. In the course of the day -Petersburg, Alexandria and Williamsburg made their appearance, and at -3 P. M. a shower of rain. At half past 6, “the packet glided into the -basin at Hallidaysburg.” Here terminates that portion of the -Pennsylvania canal which lies east of the Alleghany mountains. Goods -destined for the west are taken from the boats and placed in burthen -cars, to make their passage over the mountains by means of the -Alleghany portage rail road. Mr. Prolix here put up at Moore's hotel, -which was not only very “neat, elegant,” &c. but contained at least -one vacant room, six feet wide by fourteen long, with a double bed, -two chairs, and a wash-stand, “whose cleanliness was as great as its -littleness.” - -_Letter V_ is headed _Bedford Springs, August 7, 1835_. At half past 8 -on the 6th, “after a good and abundant breakfast,” Mr. P. left -Hallidaysburg in a coach and four for these Springs. The distance is -thirty-four miles—direction nearly south. In six hours he arrived at -Buckstown, a little village consisting of two taverns, a blacksmith's -shop, and two or three dwellings. Here our traveller put up at a -tavern whose sign displayed the name of P. Amich—probably, quoth Mr. -P., a corruption of Peregrini Amicus. Leaving this establishment at 3 -P. M. he proceeded eleven miles to the village of Bedford—thence two -miles farther to the Springs, of which we have a very pretty -description. “The benches,” says Mr. Prolix, “and wooden columns of -the pavilion have suffered much from the ruthless ambition of that -numerous class of aspirants after immortality who endeavor to cut -their way to the temple of fame with their penknives, and inflict the -ambitious initials of their illustrious names on every piece of stuff -they meet. As a goose delights in its gosling, so does one of these -wits in his whittling.” - -_Letters VI and VII_ are a continuation of the description of the -Springs. From letter VII we extract, for the benefit of our invalid -readers, an analysis by Doctor William Church of Pittsburgh, of a -quart of the water from the particular springs ycleped Anderson's. - - -A quart of water, evaporated to dryness, gave _thirty-one_ grains of a -residuum. The same quantity of water, treated agreeably to the rule -laid down by Westrumb, contained eighteen and a half inches of -carbonic acid gas. The residuum, treated according to the rules given -by Dr. Henry, in his system of Chemistry, gave the following result. - - Sulphate of Magnesia or Epsom Salts, 20 grains. - Sulphate of Lime, . . . . . . . . . 3¾ " - Muriate of Soda, . . . . . . . . . . 2½ " - Muriate of Lime, . . . . . . . . . . ¾ " - Carbonate of Iron, . . . . . . . . . 1¼ " - Carbonate of Lime, . . . . . . . . . 2 " - Loss, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ¾ " - ——— - 31 grains. - -To which must be added 18½ cubic inches of carbonic acid gas. - - -“These waters,” says our author, “have acquired so great a reputation -that immense quantities are sent away daily in barrels to perform long -and expensive journeys by land to go and cure those who cannot come to -them. The price of a barrel filled, and ready booted and spurred for -its journey, is three dollars—and that is enough to last a regular and -prudent toper four months.” - -_Letter VIII_ is dated “_Somerset, August 14_.” At 10 in the morning -of this day, our traveller left the Springs in a hack, to join the -mail coach at Bedford on its way to Somerset. “In an hour,” says Mr. -P. “we were snugly ensconced in one of Mr. Reeside's well-appointed -coaches, and rumbling over the stone turnpike on our way to the great -west.” The road for eleven miles is, we are told, not very hilly. -Afterwards the country rises gradually from plateau to plateau, for a -{449} distance of fourteen miles, when you reach the summit of the -Alleghany. Here is a large stone tavern, where the coach takes fresh -horses. The country is now nearly level—but for the next six miles -descends by alternate declivities and levels into “the broad valley -which lies between the summits of the Alleghany Mountain and Laurel -Hill,” the distance between which is about twenty miles. In this -valley stands Somerset, which Mr. P. reached at half past 7 P. M. -“having been eight hours and a half in travelling thirty-eight miles -from Bedford.” - -_Letter IX_ is dated “_Pittsburg, August 16_.” At half past 3 A. M. on -the 15th, the tourist took the coach from the east bound to the City -of Furnaces—at 7 passed the summit of Laurel Hill—at 8 arrived at -_Jones' Mills_, about one-third down the western declivity of the -mountain, and breakfasted—at one reached Mount Pleasant, having passed -through two mountain villages, Donegal and Madison—thence twenty miles -to Stewartsville—thence thirteen farther to - - _Pittsburgium, longæ finis chartæque viæque,_ - -in spite of the manifold temptations offered to keen appetites by the -luxuries of _Chalfant's_, at Turtle Creek, which, quoth Mr. Prolix, -“is a very good house.” His opinions of Pittsburgh, as of every thing -else, are entitled to much weight, and in the present instance we give -them entire. - - -The sensation on entering Pittsburgh is one of disappointment; the -country through which you have come is so beautiful, and the town -itself so ugly. The government of the town seems to have been more -intent on filling the purses, than providing for the gratification of -the taste, or for the comfort of its inhabitants. As for the -Pittsburghers themselves, they are worthy of every good thing, being -enlightened, hospitable, and urbane. - -Pittsburgh has produced many eminent men in law, politics and -divinity, and is now the residence of the erudite, acute and witty -author of the Memoir of Sebastian Cabot, which should be read by every -native American. Its manufacturing powers and propensities have been -so often described and lauded that we shall say nothing about them, -except that they fill the people's pockets with cash, and their -toiling town with noise, and dust, and smoke. - -Pittsburgh is full of good things in the eating and drinking way, but -it requires much ingenuity to get them down your throat -unsophisticated with smoke and coal-dust. If a sheet of white paper -lie upon your desk for half an hour, you may write on it with your -finger's end, through the thin stratum of coal-dust that has settled -upon it during that interval. - -The Pittsburghers have committed an error in not rescuing from the -service of Mammon, a triangle of thirty or forty acres at the junction -of the Alleghany and Monongahela, and devoting it to the purposes of -recreation. It is an unparalleled position for a park in which to ride -or walk or sit. Bounded on the right by the clear and rapid Alleghany -rushing from New York, and on the left by the deep and slow -Monongahela flowing majestically from Virginia, having in front the -beginning of the great Ohio, bearing on its broad bosom the traffic of -an empire, it is a spot worthy of being rescued from the ceaseless din -of the steam engine, and the lurid flames and dingy smoke of the coal -furnace. But alas! the sacra fames auri is rapidly covering this area -with private edifices; and in a few short years it is probable, that -the antiquary will be unable to discover a vestige of those celebrated -military works, with which French and British ambition, in by-gone -ages, had crowned this important and interesting point. - -There is a large bridge of timber across the Alleghany and another -over the Monongahela; the former of which leads to the town of -Alleghany, a rapidly increasing village, situated on a beautiful plain -on the western side of the river. About half a mile above the bridge -the Alleghany is crossed by an aqueduct bringing over the canal, which -(strange to say) comes down from the confluence of the Kiskeminetas -with the Alleghany on the _western_ side of the latter river. The -aqueduct is an enormous wooden trough with a roof, hanging from seven -arches of timber, supported by six stone piers and two abutments. The -canal then passes through the town and under Grant's hill through a -tunnel, and communicates by a lock with the Monongahela. - -The field of battle on which the conceited Braddock paid with his life -the penalty of obstinate rashness, is not far from Pittsburgh, and is -interesting to Americans as the scene on which the youthful Washington -displayed the germs of those exalted qualities which afterwards -ripened into the hero, and made him the founder and father of a -nation. - -Pittsburgh is destined to be the centre of an immense commerce, both -in its own products and those of distant countries. Its annual exports -at present probably exceed 25,000 and its imports 20,000 tons. Its -trade in timber amounts to more than six millions of feet. The -inexhaustible supply of coal and the facility of obtaining iron, -insure the permanent success of its manufactories. Pittsburgh makes -steam engines and other machinery, and her extensive glassworks have -long been in profitable operation. There are also extensive paper -mills moved by steam, and a manufactory of crackers (not explosive but -edible) wrought by the same power. These crackers are made of good -flour and pure water, and are fair and enticing to the eye of hunger, -but we do not find the flavor so agreeable to the palate as that of -Wattson's water crackers. Perhaps they are _kneaded_ by the iron hands -of a steam engine, whereas hands of flesh are _needed_ to make good -crackers. - -New Yorkers and people from down east, who wish to visit the Virginia -Springs, cannot take an easier and more delightful route, than that -through Pennsylvania to Pittsburg, and thence down the Ohio to -Guyandotte; whence to the White Sulphur the distance is one hundred -and sixty miles over a good road, through a romantic country, and by a -line of good stage coaches. - - -_Letter X_ is dated “_Johnstown, August 20_.” Mr. P. left Pittsburgh -on the 18th, at nine in the evening, in the canal packet Cincinnati, -Captain Fitzgerald. In a few minutes after moving, the packet entered -the aqueduct which carries the canal over to the western bank of the -Alleghany, “along which it runs in a north eastern direction for -thirty miles.” At five o'clock on the morning of the 19th, our tourist -passed the village of Freeport, which stands on the western bank of -the Alleghany, below the mouth of the Kiskeminitas. A few minutes -afterwards he crossed the Alleghany through an aqueduct, which -“carries the canal over that river to the northern bank of the -Kiskeminitas, the course of which the canal now pursues in a south -eastern direction.” - -At eight A. M. Mr. P. passed Leechburg, at twelve Saltsburgh—and at -two P. M. an aqueduct leading the canal into a tunnel eight hundred -feet long, going through the mountain and cutting off a circuit of -four miles. At 3 A. M. on the 20th, Johnstown is reached, “the eastern -end of the trans-Alleghanian canal, and the western beginning of the -Portage rail road.” - -_Letter XI_ gives a vivid picture of the Portage rail road. This also -we will be pardoned for copying. - - -_Packet Juniata, near Lewistown, August 21, 1835._ - -Yesterday, at Johnstown, we soon despatched the ceremony of a good -breakfast, and at 6 A. M. were in {450} motion on the first level, as -it is called, of four miles in length, leading to the foot of the -first inclined plane. The _level_ has an ascent of one hundred and one -feet, and we passed over it in horse-drawn cars with the speed of six -miles an hour. This is a very interesting part of the route, not only -on account of the wildness and beauty of the scenery, but also of the -excitement mingled with vague apprehension, which takes possession of -every body in approaching the great wonder of the internal -improvements of Pennsylvania. In six hours the cars and passengers -were to be raised eleven hundred and seventy-two feet of perpendicular -height, and to be lowered fourteen hundred feet of perpendicular -descent, by complicated, powerful, and _frangible_ machinery, and were -to pass a mountain, to overcome which, with a similar weight, three -years ago, would have required the space of three days. The idea of -raising so rapidly in the world, particularly by steam or _a rope_, is -very agitating to the simple minds of those who have always walked in -humble paths. - -As soon as we arrived at the foot of plane No. 1, the horses were -unhitched and the cars were fastened to the rope, which passes up the -middle of one track and down the middle of the other. The stationary -steam engine at the head of the plane was started, and the cars moved -majestically up the steep and long acclivity in the space of four -minutes; the length of the plane being sixteen hundred and eight feet, -its perpendicular height, one hundred and fifty, and its angle of -inclination 5° 42′ 38″. - -The cars were now attached to horses and drawn through a magnificent -tunnel nine hundred feet long, having two tracks through it, and being -cut through solid rock nearly the whole distance. Now the train of -cars were attached to a steam tug to pass a level of fourteen miles in -length. This _lengthy_ level is one of the most interesting portions -of the Portage Rail Road, from the beauty of its location and the -ingenuity of its construction. It ascends almost imperceptibly through -its whole course, overcoming a perpendicular height of one hundred and -ninety feet, and passes through some of the wildest scenery in the -state; the axe, the chisel and the spade having cut its way through -forest, rock and mountain. The valley of the little Conemaugh river is -passed on a viaduct of the most beautiful construction. It is of one -arch, a perfect semi-circle with a diameter of _eighty feet_, built of -cut stone, and its entire height from the foundation is seventy-eight -feet six inches. When viewed from the bottom of the valley, it seems -to span the heavens, and you might suppose a rainbow had been turned -to stone. - -The fourteen miles of this second level are passed in one hour, and -the train arrives at the foot of the second plane, which has seventeen -hundred and sixty feet of length, and one hundred and thirty-two feet -of perpendicular height. The third level has a length of a mile and -five-eighths, a rise of fourteen feet six inches, and is passed by -means of horses. The third plane has a length of fourteen hundred and -eighty feet, and a perpendicular height of one hundred and thirty. The -fourth level is two miles long, rises nineteen feet and is passed by -means of horses. The fourth plane has a length of two thousand one -hundred and ninety-six feet, and a perpendicular height of one hundred -and eighty-eight. The fifth level is three miles long, rises -twenty-six feet and is passed by means of horses. The fifth plane has -a length of two thousand six hundred and twenty-nine feet, and a -perpendicular height of two hundred and two, and brings you to the top -of the mountain, two thousand three hundred and ninety-seven feet -above the level of the ocean, thirteen hundred and ninety-nine feet -above Hallidaysburg, and eleven hundred and seventy-two feet above -Johnstown. At this elevation in the midst of summer, you breathe an -air like that of spring, clear and cool. Three short hours have -brought you from the torrid plain, to a refreshing and invigorating -climate. The ascending apprehension has left you, but it is succeeded -by the fear of the steep descent which lies before you; and as the car -rolls along on this giddy height, the thought trembles in your mind, -that it may slip over the head of the first descending plane, rush -down the frightful steep, and be dashed into a thousand pieces at its -foot. - -The length of the road on the summit of the mountain is one mile and -five-eighths, and about the middle of it stands a spacious and -handsome stone tavern. The eastern quarter of a mile, which is the -highest part, is a dead level; in the other part, there is an ascent -of nineteen feet. The descent on the eastern side of the mountain is -much more fearful than the ascent on the western, for the planes are -much longer and steeper, of which you are made aware by the increased -thickness of the ropes; and you look _down_ instead of _up_. - -There are also five planes on the eastern side of the mountain, and -five slightly descending levels, the last of which is nearly four -miles long and leads to the basin at Hallidaysburg; this is travelled -by the cars without steam or horse, merely by the force of gravity. In -descending the mountain you meet several fine prospects and arrive at -Hallidaysburg between twelve and one o'clock. - - -_Letter XII_ is dated from Lancaster and is occupied with the return -home of the adventurous Mr. Prolix, whose book we heartily recommend -to all lovers of the _utile et dulce_. - - -ARMSTRONG'S NOTICES. - -_Notices of the War of 1812. By John Armstrong. New York: George -Dearborn._ - -These “Notices,” by the former Secretary of War, are a valuable -addition to our history, and to our historical literature—embracing a -variety of details which should not have been so long kept from the -cognizance of the public. We are grieved, however, to see, even in the -opening passages of the work, a piquancy and freedom of expression, in -regard to the unhappy sources of animosity between America and the -parent land, which can neither to-day nor hereafter answer any -possible good end, and may prove an individual grain in a future -mountain of mischief. At page 12, for example. - - -Still her abuse of power did not stop here: it was not enough that she -thus outraged her rights on the ocean; the bosoms of our bays, the -mouths of our rivers, and even the wharves of our harbors, were made -the theatres of the most flagitious abuse; and as if determined to -leave no cause of provocation untried, the personal rights of our -seamen were invaded: and men, owing her no allegiance, nor having any -connexion with her policy or arms, were forcibly seized, dragged on -board her ships of war and made to fight her battles, under the -scourge of tyrants and slaves, with whom submission, whether right or -wrong, _forms_ the whole duty of man. - - -We object, particularly here to the use of the verb _forms_ in the -present tense. - -Mr. Armstrong's publication will extend to two volumes—the second -following as soon as possible. What we have now is mostly confined to -the operations on the frontier. The subjects of main interest are the -opposition to the War—Hull's Expedition—Loss of -Michilimackinac—Surrender of Detroit—Militia operations in the -West—Harrison's Autumnal and Winter Campaigns—the Partial -Armistice—the attack on Queenstown, by Van Rensselaer—the invasion of -Canada, by Smith—the campaign against the British advanced posts on -Lake Champlain, by {451} Dearborn—Chauncey and Dearborn's -Expedition—the reduction of York and Fort George—the affair of -Sackett's Harbor—the first and second investments of Fort Meigs—and -the defeat of the British fleet on Lake Erie. The Appendix embraces a -mass of official and other matter, which will prove of great service -to the future historian. What follows has with us a deep interest, and -we know many who will understand its origin and character. - - -The ministry of the elder Adams in England, began on the 10th of June, -1785. In a letter to the American Secretary of Foreign Affairs, on the -19th of July following, he says—“The popular pulse seems to beat high -against America; the people are deceived by numberless falsehoods -circulated by the Gazettes, &c. so that there is too much reason to -believe, that if the nation had another hundred million to spend, they -would soon force the ministry into a war against us. Their present -system, as far as I can penetrate it, is to maintain a determined -peace with all Europe, in order that they may war singly against -America, if they should think it necessary.” - -In a second letter of the 30th of August following, he says—“In short, -sir, America has no party at present in her favor—all parties, on the -contrary, have committed themselves against us—even Shelburne and -Buckingham. I had almost said, the friends of America are reduced to -Dr. Price and Dr. Jebb.” - -Again, on the 15th of October, 1785, he informs the American -Secretary—“that though it is manifestly as much the interest of Great -Britain to be well with us, as for us to be well with them, yet this -is not the judgment of the English nation; it is not the judgment of -Lord North and his party; it is not the judgment of the Duke of -Portland and his friends, and it does not appear to be the judgment of -Mr. Pitt and the present set. In short, it does not at present appear -to be the sentiment of any body; and I am much inclined to believe -they will try the issue of importance with us.” - -In his two last letters, the one dated in November, the other in -December, 1787, we find the following passages—“If she [England] can -bind Holland in her shackles, and France, from internal dissension, is -unable to interfere, she will make war immediately against us. No -answer is made to any of my memorials, or letters to the ministry, nor -do I expect that any thing will be done while I stay.” - - -RECOLLECTIONS OF COLERIDGE. - -_Letters, Conversations and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge. New -York: Harper and Brothers._ - -We feel even a deeper interest in this book than in the late -Table-Talk. But with us (we are not ashamed to confess it) the most -trivial memorial of Coleridge is a treasure of inestimable price. He -was indeed a “myriad-minded man,” and ah, how little understood, and -how pitifully villified! How merely nominal was the difference (and -this too in his own land) between what he himself calls the “broad, -pre-determined abuse” of the Edinburgh Review, and the cold and brief -compliments with the warm _regrets_ of the Quarterly. If there be any -one thing more than another which stirs within us a deep spirit of -indignation and disgust, it is that damnation of faint praise which so -many of the Narcissi of critical literature have had the infinite -presumption to breathe against the majesty of Coleridge—of -Coleridge—the man to whose gigantic mind the proudest intellects of -Europe found it impossible not to succumb. And as no man was more -richly-gifted with all the elements of mental renown, so none was more -fully worthy of the love and veneration of every truly good man. Even -through the exertion of his great powers he sought no immediate -worldly advantages. To use his own words, he not only sacrificed all -present prospects of wealth and advancement, but, in his inmost soul, -stood aloof from temporary reputation. In the volume now before us, we -behold the heart, as in his own works we have beheld the mind, of the -man. And surely nothing can be more elevating, nothing more cheering -than this contemplation, to one who has faith in the possible virtue, -and pride in the possible dignity of mankind. The book is written, we -believe, by one of the poet's most intimate friends—one too in whom we -recognize a familiarity with the thoughts, and sympathy with the -feelings of his subject. It consists of letters, conversations, and -fragmentary recollections, interspersed with comment by the compiler, -and dedicated to “Elizabeth and Robin, the Fairy Prattler, and still -Meek Boy of the Letters.” The letters are by far the most valuable -part of the compilation—although all is truly so. A portion of one of -them we copy as affording a picture, never surpassed, of great mental -power conscious of its greatness, and tranquilly submitting to the -indignities of the world. - - -But enough of these generals. It was my purpose to open myself out to -you in detail. My health, I have reason to believe, is so intimately -connected with the state of my spirits, and these again so dependant -on my thoughts, prospective and retrospective, that I should not doubt -the being favored with a sufficiency for my noblest undertaking, had I -the ease of heart requisite for the necessary abstraction of the -thoughts, and such a reprieve from the goading of the immediate -exigencies as might make tranquillity possible. But, alas! I know by -experience (and the knowledge is not the less because the regret is -not unmixed with self-blame, and the consciousness of want of exertion -and fortitude,) that my health will continue to decline as long as the -pain from reviewing the barrenness of the past is great in an inverse -proportion to any rational anticipations of the future. As I now am, -however, from five to six hours devoted to actual writing and -composition in the day is the utmost that my strength, not to speak of -my nervous system, will permit; and the invasions on this portion of -my time from applications, often of the most senseless kind, are such -and so many as to be almost as ludicrous even to myself as they are -vexatious. In less than a week I have not seldom received half a dozen -packets or parcels of works, printed or manuscript, urgently -requesting my candid _judgment_, or my correcting hand. Add to these, -letters from lords and ladies, urging me to write reviews or puffs of -heaven-born geniuses, whose whole merit consists in being ploughmen or -shoemakers. Ditto from actors; entreaties for money, or -recommendations to publishers, from ushers out of place, &c. &c.; and -to _me_, who have neither interest, influence, nor money, and, what is -still more _àpropos_, can neither bring myself to tell smooth -falsehoods nor harsh truths, and, in the struggle, too often do both -in the anxiety to do neither. I have already the _written_ materials -and contents, requiring only to be put together, from the loose papers -and commonplace or memorandum books, and needing no other change, -whether of omission, addition, or correction, than the mere act of -arranging, and the opportunity of seeing the whole collectively bring -with them of course,—I. Characteristics of Shakspeare's Dramatic -Works, with a Critical Review of each Play; together with a relative -and comparative Critique on the kind and degree of the Merits and -Demerits of the Dramatic Works of Ben Johnson, Beaumont and Fletcher, -and Massinger. The History of the English Drama; the accidental -advantages it afforded to Shakspeare, without in the least detracting -from the perfect originality or proper creation of the {452} -Shakspearian Drama; the contradistinction of the latter from the Greek -Drama, and its still remaining _uniqueness_, with the causes of this, -from the combined influences of Shakspeare himself, as man, poet, -philosopher, and finally, by conjunction of all these, dramatic poet; -and of the age, events, manners, and state of the English language. -This work, with every art of compression, amounts to three volumes of -about five hundred pages each.—II. Philosophical Analysis of the -Genius and Works of Dante, Spenser, Milton, Cervantes, and Calderon, -with similar, but more compressed, Criticisms on Chaucer, Ariosto, -Donne, Rabelais, and others, during the predominance of the Romantic -Poetry. In one large volume. These two works will, I flatter myself, -form a complete code of the principles of judgment and feeling applied -to Works of Taste; and not of _Poetry_ only, but of Poesy in all its -forms, Painting, Statuary, Music, &c. &c.—III. The History of -Philosophy considered as a Tendency of the Human Mind to exhibit the -Powers of the Human Reason, to discover by its own Strength the Origin -and Laws of Man and the World, from Pythagoras to Locke and Condillac. -Two volumes.—IV. Letters on the Old and New Testaments, and on the -Doctrine and Principles held in common by the Fathers and Founders of -the Reformation, addressed to a Candidate for Holy Orders; including -Advice on the Plan and Subjects of Preaching, proper to a Minister of -the Established Church. - -To the completion of these four works I have literally nothing more to -do than _to transcribe_; but as I before hinted, from so many scraps -and _Sibylline_ leaves, including margins of books and blank pages, -that, unfortunately, I must be my own scribe, and not done by myself, -they will be all but lost; or perhaps (as has been too often the case -already) furnish feathers for the caps of others; some for this -purpose, and some to plume the arrows of detraction, to be let fly -against the luckless bird from whom they had been plucked or moulted. - -In addition to these—of my GREAT WORK, to the preparation of which -more than twenty years of my life have been devoted, and on which my -hopes of extensive and permanent utility, of fame, in the noblest -sense of the word, mainly rest—that, by which I might, - - “As now by thee, by all the good be known, - When this weak frame lies moulder'd in the grave, - Which self-surviving I might call my own, - Which Folly cannot mar, nor Hate deprave— - The incense of those powers, which, risen in flame, - Might make me dear to Him from whom they came.” - -Of this work, to which all my other writings (unless I except my -poems, and these I can exclude in part only) are introductory and -preparative; and the result of which (if the premises be, as I, with -the most tranquil assurance, am convinced they are—insubvertible, the -deductions legitimate, and the conclusions commensurate, and only -commensurate, with both,) must finally be a revolution of all that has -been called _Philosophy_ or Metaphysics in England and France since -the era of the commencing predominance of the mechanical system at the -restoration of our second Charles, and with this the present -fashionable views, not only of religion, morals, and politics, but -even of the modern physics and physiology. You will not blame the -earnestness of my expressions, nor the high importance which I attach -to this work; for how, with less noble objects, and less faith in -their attainment, could I stand acquitted of folly and abuse of time, -talents, and learning, in a labor of three fourths of my -_intellectual_ life? Of this work, something more than a volume has -been dictated by me, so as to exist fit for the press, to my friend -and enlightened pupil, Mr. Green; and more than as much again would -have been evolved and delivered to paper, but that, for the last six -or eight months, I have been compelled to break off our weekly -meeting, from the necessity of writing (alas! alas! of _attempting_ to -write) for purposes, and on the subjects of the passing day. Of my -poetic works, I would fain finish the Christabel. Alas! for the proud -time when I planned, when I had present to my mind the materials, as -well as the scheme of the hymns entitled, Spirit, Sun, Earth, Air, -Water, Fire, and Man; and the epic poem on—what still appears to me -the one only fit subject remaining for an epic poem—Jerusalem besieged -and destroyed by Titus. - -And here comes my dear friend; here comes my sorrow and my weakness, -my grievance and my confession. Anxious to perform the duties of the -day arising out of the wants of the day, these wants, too, presenting -themselves in the most painful of all forms,—that of a debt owing to -those who will not exact it, and yet need its payment, and the delay, -the long (not live-long but _death_-long) behindhand of my accounts to -friends, whose utmost care and frugality on the one side, and industry -on the other, the wife's management and the husband's assiduity are -put in requisition to make both ends meet,—I am at once forbidden to -attempt, and too perplexed earnestly to pursue, the _accomplishment_ -of the works worthy of me, those I mean above enumerated,—even if, -savagely as I have been injured by one of the two influensive Reviews, -and with more effective enmity undermined by the utter silence or -occasional detractive compliments of the other,[5] I had the probable -chance of disposing of them to the booksellers, so as even to -liquidate my mere boarding accounts during the time expended in the -transcription, arrangement, and proof correction. And yet, on the -other hand, my heart and mind are for ever recurring to them. Yes, my -conscience forces me to plead guilty. I have only by fits and starts -even prayed. I have not prevailed on myself to pray to God in -sincerity and entireness for the fortitude that might enable me to -resign myself to the abandonment of all my life's best hopes, to say -boldly to myself,—“Gifted with powers confessedly above mediocrity, -aided by an education, of which, no less from almost unexampled -hardships and sufferings than from manifold and peculiar advantages, I -have never yet found a parallel, I have devoted myself to a life of -unintermitted reading, thinking, meditating, and observing. I have not -only sacrificed all worldly prospects of wealth and advancement, but -have in my inmost soul stood aloof from temporary reputation. In -consequence of these toils and this self-dedication, I possess a calm -and clear consciousness, that in many and most important departments -of truth and beauty I have outstrode my contemporaries, those at least -of highest name; that the number of my printed works bears witness -that I have not been idle, and the seldom acknowledged, but strictly -_proveable_, effects of my labors appropriated to the immediate -welfare of my age in the Morning Post before and during the peace of -Amiens, in the Courier afterward, and in the series and various -subjects of my lectures at Bristol and at the Royal and Surrey -Institutions, in Fetter Lane, at Willis's Rooms, and at the Crown and -Anchor (add to which the unlimited freedom of my communications in -colloquial life), may surely be allowed as evidence that I have not -been useless in my generation. But, from circumstances, the _main_ -portion of my harvest is still on the ground, ripe indeed, and only -waiting, a few for the sickle, but a large part only for the -_sheaving_, and carting, and housing, but from all this I must turn -away, must let them rot as they lie, and be as though they never had -been, for I must go and gather blackberries and earth-nuts, or pick -mushrooms and gild oak-apples for the palates and fancies of chance -customers. I must abrogate the name of philosopher and poet, and -scribble as fast as I can, and with as little thought as I can, for -Blackwood's Magazine, or, as I have been employed for the last days, -in writing MS. sermons for lazy clergymen, who stipulate that the -composition must not be more than respectable, for fear they should be -desired to publish the visitation sermon!” This I have not yet had -courage to do. My soul sickens and my heart sinks; {453} and thus, -oscillating between both, I do neither, neither as it ought to be -done, or to any profitable end. If I were to detail only the various, -I might say capricious, interruptions that have prevented the -finishing of this very scrawl, begun on the very day I received your -last kind letter, you would need no other illustrations. - -[Footnote 5: Neither my Literary Life, (2 vols.) nor Sibylline Leaves, -(1 vol.) nor Friend, (3 vols.) nor Lay Sermons, nor Zapolya, nor -Christabel, have ever been noticed by the Quarterly Review, of which -Southey is yet the main support.] - -Now I see but one possible plan of rescuing my permanent utility. It -is briefly this, and plainly. For what we struggle with inwardly, we -find at least easiest to _bolt out_, namely,—that of engaging from the -circle of those who think respectfully and hope highly of my powers -and attainments a yearly sum, for three or four years, adequate to my -actual support, with such comforts and decencies of appearance as my -health and habits have made necessaries, so that my mind may be -unanxious as far as the present time is concerned; that thus I should -stand both enabled and pledged to begin with some one work of these -above mentioned, and for two thirds of my whole time to devote myself -to this exclusively till finished, to take the chance of its success -by the best mode of publication that would involve me in no risk, then -to proceed with the next, and so on till the works above mentioned as -already in full material existence should be reduced into formal and -actual being; while in the remaining third of my time I might go on -maturing and completing my great work (for if but easy in mind I have -no doubt either of the reawakening power or of the kindling -inclination,) and my Christabel, and what else the happier hour might -inspire—and without inspiration a barrel-organ may be played right -deftly; but - - “All otherwise the state of _poet_ stands: - For lordly want is such a tyrant fell, - That where he rules all power he doth expel. - The vaunted verse a vacant head demands, - Ne wont with crabbed Care the muses dwell: - _Unwisely weaves who takes two webs in hand!_” - -Now Mr. Green has offered to contribute from 30_l._ to 40_l._ yearly, -for three or four years; my young friend and pupil, the son of one of -my dearest old friends, 50_l._; and I think that from 10_l._ to 20_l._ -I could rely upon from another. The sum required would be about -200_l._, to be repaid, of course, should the disposal or sale, and as -far as the disposal and sale of my writings produced the means. - -I have thus placed before you at large, wanderingly as well as -diffusely, the statement which I am inclined to send in a compressed -form to a few of those of whose kind dispositions towards me I have -received assurances,—and to their interest and influence I must leave -it—anxious, however, before I do this, to learn from you your very, -very inmost feeling and judgment as to the previous questions. Am I -entitled, have I earned _a right_ to do this? Can I do it without -moral degradation? and, lastly, can it be done without loss of -character in the eyes of my acquaintance, and of my friends' -acquaintance, who may have been informed of the circumstances? That, -if attempted at all, it will be attempted in such a way, and that such -persons only will be spoken to, as will not expose me to indelicate -rebuffs to be afterward matter of gossip, I know those to whom I shall -entrust the statement, too well to be much alarmed about. - -Pray let me either see or hear from you as soon as possible; for, -indeed and indeed, it is no inconsiderable accession to the pleasure I -anticipate from disembarrassment, that _you_ would have to contemplate -in a more gracious form, and in a more ebullient play of the inward -fountain, the mind and manners of, - - My dear friend, - Your obliged and very affectionate friend, - S. T. COLERIDGE. - - -It has always been a matter of wonder to us that the _Biographia -Literaria_ here mentioned in the foot note has never been republished -in America. It is, perhaps, the most deeply interesting of the prose -writings of Coleridge, and affords a clearer view into his mental -constitution than any other of his works. Why cannot some of our -publishers undertake it? They would be rendering an important service -to the cause of psychological science in America, by introducing a -work of great scope and power in itself, and well calculated to do -away with the generally received impression here entertained of the -_mysticism_ of the writer. - - -COLTON'S NEW WORK. - -_Thoughts on the Religious State of the Country; with Reasons for -preferring Episcopacy. By Rev. Calvin Colton. New York: Harper & -Brothers._ - -If we are to consider opinions of the press, when in perfect -accordance throughout so wide a realm as the United States, as a fair -criterion by which to estimate the opinions of the people, then it -must be admitted that Mr. Colton's late work, “Four Years in Great -Britain,” was received, in the author's native land at least, with -universal approbation. We heard not a dissenting voice. The candor, -especially—the good sense, the gentlemanly feeling, and the accurate -and acute observation of the traveller, were the daily themes of high, -and, we have no doubt, of well merited panegyric. Nor in any private -circle, we believe, were the great merits of the work disputed. The -book now before us, which bears the running title of “_Reasons for -Episcopacy_,” is, it cannot be denied, a sufficiently well-written -performance, in which is evident a degree of lucid arrangement, and -simple perspicuous reason, not to be discovered, as a prevailing -feature, in the volumes to which we have alluded. The _candor_ of the -“_Four Years in Great Britain_,” is more particularly manifest in the -“_Reasons for Episcopacy_.” What a lesson in dignified frankness, to -say nothing of common sense, may the following passage afford to many -a dunder-headed politician! - - -Inasmuch as it has been supposed by some, that the author of these -pages has made certain demonstrations with his pen against that which -he now adopts and advocates, it is not unlikely that his consistency -will be brought in question. Admitting that he has manifested such an -inclination, it can only be said, that he has changed his opinion, -which it is in part the design of this book to set forth, with the -reasons thereof. If he has written against, and in the conflict, or in -any train of consequences, has been convinced that his former position -was wrong, the least atonement he can make is to honor what he now -regards as truth with a profession as public, and a defence as -earnest, as any other doings of his on the other side. It is due to -himself to say and to claim, that while he remained a Presbyterian he -was an honest one; and it would be very strange if he had never done -or said any thing to vindicate that ground. Doubtless he has. He may -now be an equally honest Episcopalian; and charity would not require -him to assert it. - - -But the truth is that Mr. Colton has been misunderstood. To be sure, -he has frequently treated of the evils attending the existence and -operation of the church establishment in England—the union of Church -and State. He manifested deep sympathy for those who suffered under -the oppression of this establishment, and even allowed himself to be -carried so far (in some early communications on the subject which -appeared in the columns of a New York weekly paper,) as to animadvert -in unbecoming terms upon a class of British {454} clergymen, whose -exemplary conduct deserved a more lenient treatment, but whose zeal -for the Church of England blinded them to a sense of justice towards -Dissenters, and induced them to oppose that just degree of reform -which would have proved effectual in remedying the great causes of -complaint. He contended, however, if we are not greatly in error, that -total reform, to be safe, must be slow—that a separation at a single -blow, could not be effected without great hazard to the public -interest, and great derangement of private society. - -It is even possible (and Mr. Colton himself admits the possibility) -that, mingled up with these animadversions of which we speak, might -have been some censures upon the Church itself. This was nothing more -than natural in an honest and indignant man—an American too, who -beheld the vices of the British Church Establishment. But it appears -to us quite evident, that the strictures of the author (when -considered as a whole and in their general bearing,) have reference to -the character—not of the Church—but of the Church of England. Let us -turn, for an exemplification of what we say, to his chapter on “The -Church of England,” in the “_Four Years in Great Britain_.” This -chapter consists principally of a collection of facts, tending to show -the evils of a conjoined Church and State, and intended especially for -the perusal of Americans. It is great injustice to confound what we -find here, with an attack upon Episcopacy. Yet it seems to us, that -this chapter has been repeatedly so misunderstood, by a set of people -who are determined to understand every thing in their own particular -fashion. “That Episcopacy,” says Mr. Colton, in vindicating himself -from the charge adduced, “is the established Church of England is an -accident. Presbyterianism is the established religion of Scotland and -of some parts of the north of Europe. So was it of England under the -Protectorate of Cromwell. No matter what had been the form of the -established religion of Great Britain, in the same circumstances the -results must have been substantially the same. It is not Episcopacy -that has induced these evils, but the vicious and impracticable plan -of uniting Church and State for the benefit of society.” - -While in England Mr. Colton wrote and published a book on the subject -of _Revivals_, and declared himself their advocate. In the fifth -chapter of his present work he opposes them, and in the Preface -alludes to his so doing, maintaining that these religious excitements -are materially changed in their character. He speaks also of a chapter -in a former work, entitled “_The Americans, by an American in -England_”—a chapter devoted to the removal of aspersions cast in -England upon the developments of religion in America. For some such -defence it appears that he was called upon by friends. The effort -itself was, as Mr. C. assures us, of the nature of an -_apology_—neither attempting to recommend or establish any thing—and -he thus excuses himself for apparent inconsistency in now declaring an -opinion against the expediency of the practices which were -scandalized. - -The _Episcopacy_ of Mr. Colton will be read with pleasure and profit -by all classes of the Christian community who admire perspicuity, -liberality, frankness, and unprejudiced inquiry. It is not our purpose -to speak of the general accuracy of his _data_, or the soundness of -his deductions. In style the work appears to us excessively -faulty—even uncouth. - - -MAURY'S NAVIGATION. - -This volume, from an officer of our Navy, and a Virginian, strongly -commends itself to notice. The works at present used by our navy and -general marine, though in many respects not devoid of merit, have -always struck us as faulty in two particulars. They aim at comprising -a great multiplicity of details, many of which relate to matters only -remotely bearing upon the main objects of the treatise—and they are -deficient in that clearness of arrangement, without which, the -numerous facts and formulæ composing the body of such works are little -else than a mass of confusion. The extraction of the really useful -rules and principles from the multifarious matters with which they are -thus encumbered, is a task for which seamen are little likely to have -either time or inclination, and it is therefore not surprising that -our highly intelligent navy exhibits so many instances of imperfect -knowledge upon points which are elementary and fundamental in the -science of navigation. - -We think that Mr. Maury has, to a considerable degree, avoided the -errors referred to; and while his work comprises a sufficient and even -copious statement of the rules and facts important to be known in the -direction of a ship, he has succeeded, by a judicious arrangement of -particulars and by clearly wrought numerical examples, in presenting -them in a disembarrassed and very intelligible form. With great -propriety he has rejected many statements and rules which in the -progress of nautical science have fallen into disuse, and in his -selection of methods of computation, has, in general, kept in view -those modern improvements in this branch of practical mathematics in -which simplicity and accuracy are most happily combined. Much -attention to numerical correctness seems to pervade the work. Its -style is concise without being obscure. The diagrams are selected with -taste, and the engraving and typography, especially that of the -tables, are worthy of the highest praise. - -Such, we think, are the merits of the work before us—merits which, it -must be admitted, are of the first importance in a book designed for a -practical manual. To attain them required the exercise of a -discriminating judgment, guided by a thorough acquaintance with all -the points in nautical science which are of interest to seamen. - -There are particulars in the work which we think objectionable, but -they are of minor importance, and would probably be regarded as -scarcely deserving criticism. - -The spirit of literary improvement has been awakened among the -officers of our gallant navy. We are pleased to see that science also -is gaining votaries from its ranks. Hitherto how little have they -improved the golden opportunities of knowledge which their distant -voyages held forth, and how little have they enjoyed the rich banquet -which nature spreads for them in every clime they visit! But the time -is coming when, imbued with a taste for science and a spirit of -research, they will become ardent explorers of the regions in which -{455} they sojourn. Freighted with the knowledge which observation -only can impart, and enriched with collections of objects precious to -the student of nature, their return after the perils of a distant -voyage will then be doubly joyful. The enthusiast in science will -anxiously await their coming, and add his cordial welcome to the warm -greetings of relatives and friends. - - -UPS AND DOWNS. - -_Ups and Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman. By the author of -“Tales and Sketches, such as they are.” New York: Leavitt, Lord & Co._ - -This book is a public imposition. It is a duodecimo volume, of the -usual novel size, bound in the customary muslin cover with a gilt -stamp on the back, and containing 225 pages of letter press. Its -price, in the bookstores, is, we believe, a dollar. Although we are in -the habit of reading with great deliberation, not unfrequently -perusing individual passages more than two or three times, we were -occupied _little better than one hour_ in getting through with the -whole of the “_Ups and Downs_.” A full page of the book—that is, a -page in which there are no breaks in the matter occasioned by -paragraphs, or otherwise, embraces precisely 150 words—an average page -about 130. A full page of this our Magazine, will be found to contain -1544 words—an average page about 1600, owing to the occasional notes -in a smaller type than that generally used. It follows that nearly -thirteen pages of such a volume as the “_Ups and Downs_” are required -to make one of our own, and that in about fourteen pages such as we -are writing, (if we consider the sixteen blank half-pages at the -beginning of each chapter in the “_Ups and Downs_,” with the four -pages of index) the whole of the one dollar duodecimo we are now -called upon to review, might be laid conveniently before the public—in -other words, that we could print nearly six of them in one of our -ordinary numbers, (that for March for instance) the price of which is -little more than forty cents. We give the amount of six such volumes -then for forty cents—of one of them for very little more than a -_fi'penny bit_. And as its price is a dollar, it is clear either that -the matter of which the said “_Ups and Downs_” is composed, is sixteen -times as good in quality as our own matter, and that of such Magazines -in general, or that the author of the “_Ups and Downs_” supposes it so -to be, or that the author of the “_Ups and Downs_” is unreasonable in -his exactions upon the public, and is presuming very largely upon -their excessive patience, gullibility, and good nature. We will take -the liberty of analyzing the narrative, with a view of letting our -readers see for themselves whether the author (or publisher) is quite -right in estimating it at sixteen times the value of the ordinary run -of compositions. - -The volume commences with a Dedication “_To all Doating Parents_.” We -then have four pages occupied with a content table, under the -appellation of a “Bill of Lading.” This is well thought of. The future -man of letters might, without some assistance of this nature, meet -with no little trouble in searching for any particular chapter through -so dense a mass of matter as the “_Ups and Downs_.” The “Introduction” -fills four pages more, and in spite of the unjustifiable use of the -word “_predicated_,” whose meaning is obviously misunderstood, is by -much the best portion of the work—so much so, indeed, that we fancy it -written by some kind, good-natured friend of the author. We now come -to _Chapter I_, which proves to be Introduction the Second, and -extends over seven pages farther. This is called “A Disquisition on -Circles,” in which we are informed that “the motion produced by the -_centripetal_ and _centrifugal_ forces, seems to be that of -nature”—that “it is very true that the _periphery_ of the circles -traversed by some objects is greater than that of others”—that “cast a -stone into a lake or a mill-pond, and it will produce a succession of -motions, circle following circle in order, and extending the radius -until they disappear in the distance”—that “Time wings his flight in -circles, and every year rolls round within itself”—that “the sun turns -round upon his own axis, and the moon changes monthly”—that “the other -celestial bodies all wheel their courses in circles around the common -centre”—that “the moons of Jupiter revolve around him in circles, and -he carries them along with him in his periodical circuit around the -sun”—that “Saturn always moves within his rings”—that “a ship on the -ocean, though apparently bounding over a plain of waters, rides in -fact upon the circumference of a circle around the arch of the earth's -diameter”—that “the lunar circle betokens a tempest”—that “those -German principalities which are represented in the Diet are -denominated circles”—and that “modern writers on pneumatics affirm -every breeze that blows to be a whirlwind.” - -But now commences the “_Ups and Downs_” in good earnest. The hero of -the narrative is Mr. Wheelwright, and the author begs leave to assure -the reader that Mr. W. is no fictitious personage, that “with the -single abatement that names are changed, and places not precisely -designated, every essential incident that he has recorded actually -occurred, much as he has related it, to a person who, if not now -living, certainly was once, and most of them under his own -observation.” - -_Chapter II_, treats of the birth and parentage of the hero. Mr. -Daniel Wheelwright originally came from New Jersey, but resides at the -opening of the story, in the beautiful valley of the Mohawk “on the -banks of the river, and in a town alike celebrated for the taste of -its people in architecture, and distinguished as a seat of learning.” -He was early instructed by his father in the “elementary principles of -his trade,” which was coach-making. “He was also taught in some -branches of household carpentry work, which proved of no disadvantage -to him in the end.” “Full of good nature he was always popular with -the boys,” and we are told “was never so industrious as when -manufacturing to their order little writing desks, fancy boxes, and -other trifling articles not beyond the scope of his mechanical -ingenuity.” We are also assured that the young gentleman was -excessively fond of oysters. - -In _Chapter III_, Daniel Wheelwright “grows up a tall and stately -youth.” His mother “discovers a genius in him requiring only means and -opportunity to wing an eagle-flight.” “An arrangement therefore is -effected” by which our hero is sent to school to a “man whom the -mother had previously known in New Jersey, and whose occupation was -that of teaching young ideas how to shoot—not grouse and woodcock—but -to shoot forth into scions of learning.” This is a new and excellent -joke—but by no means so good as the one immediately {456} following, -where we are told that “notwithstanding the natural indolence of his -character, our hero knew that he must know something before he could -enter college, and that in case of a failure, he must again cultivate -more acquaintance with the _felloes_ of the shop than with the -_fellows_ of the university.” He is sent to college, however, having -“read _Cornelius Nepos_ and three books of the Æneid, thumbed over the -Greek Grammar, and gone through the Gospel of St. John.” - -_Chapter IV_, commences with two quotations from Shakspeare. Our hero -is herein elected a member of the _Philo-Peithologicalethian -Institute_, commences his debates with a “Mr. President, I _are_ in -favor of the negative of that are question,” is “read off” at the -close of every quarter, “advances one grade higher” in his classic -course every year, and when about to take his degree, is “announced -for a poem” in the _proces verbal_ of the commencement, and (one of -the professors, if we comprehend, being called _Nott_) distinguishes -himself by the following satirical verses— - - The warrior fights, and dies for fame— - The empty glories of a name;— - But we who linger round this spot, - The warrior's guerdon covet Nott. - - Nott for the miser's glittering heap - Within these walls is bartered sleep; - The humble scholar's quiet lot - With dreams of wealth is troubled Nott. - - While poring o'er the midnight lamp, - In rooms too cold, and sometimes damp, - O man, who land and cash hast got, - Thy life of ease we envy Nott. - - Our troubles here are light and few;— - An empty purse when bills fall due, - A locker, without e'er a shot,— - Hard recitations, or a Knot- - - Ty problem, which we can't untie— - Our only shirt hung out to dry,— - A chum who never pays his scot,— - Such ills as these we value Nott. - - O, cherished *****! learning's home, - Where'er the fates may bid us roam, - Though friends and kindred be forgot, - Be sure we shall forget thee Nott. - - For years of peaceful, calm content, - To science and hard study lent, - Though others thy good name may blot, - T'were wondrous if we loved thee Nott. - -For this happy effort he is admitted _ad gradum in artibus_, and thus -closes chapter the fourth. - -_Chapter V_, is also headed with two sentences from Shakspeare. The -parents of Mr. W. are now inclined to make him a clergyman, being “not -only conscientious people, but sincerely religious, and really -desirous of doing good.” This project is dismissed, however, upon our -hero's giving no evidence of piety, and Daniel is “entered in the -office of an eminent medical gentleman, in one of the most beautiful -cities which adorn the banks of the majestic Hudson.” Our author -cannot be prevailed upon to state the precise place—but gives us -another excellent joke by way of indemnification. “Although,” says he, -“like Byron, I have no fear of being taken for the hero of my own -tale, yet were I to bring matters too near their homes, but too many -of the real characters of my narrative might be identified. Suffice -it, then, to say of the location—_Ilium fuit_.” Daniel now becomes -Doctor Wheelwright, reads the first chapter of _Cheselden's Anatomy_, -visits New York, attends the lectures of Hosack and Post, “presses -into his goblet the grapes of wisdom clustering around the tongue of -Mitchill, and acquires the principles of surgery from the lips, and -the skilful use of the knife from the untrembling hand, of Mott.” - -At the close of his second year our hero, having completed only half -of Cheselden's article on Osteology, relinquishes the study of -medicine in despair, and turns merchant—purchasing “the odds and ends -of a fashionable fancy and jobbing concern in Albany.” He is gulled -however, by a confidential clerk, one John Smith, his store takes fire -and burns down, and both himself and father, who indorsed for him, are -ruined. - -Mr. Wheelwright now retrieves his fortune by the accidental possession -of a claim against government, taken by way of payment for a bad debt. -But going to Washington to receive his money, he is inveigled into a -lottery speculation—that is to say, he spends the whole amount of his -claim in lottery-tickets—the manager fails—and our adventurer is again -undone. This lottery adventure ends with the excellent joke that in -regard to our hero there “were five _outs_ to one _in_, viz.—_out_ of -money, and _out_ of clothes; _out_ at the heels, and _out_ at the -toes; _out_ of credit and _in_ debt!” Mr. Wheelwright now returns to -New York, and is thrown into prison by Messieurs Roe and Doe. In this -emergency he sends for his friend the narrator, who, of course, -relieves his distresses, and opens the doors of his jail. - -_Chapter IX_, and indeed every ensuing chapter, commences with two -sentences from Shakspeare. Mr. Wheelwright now becomes agent for a -steamboat company on Lake George—but fortune still frowns, and the -steamboat takes fire, and is burnt up, on the eve of her first trip, -thus again ruining our hero. - -“What a moment!” exclaims the author, “and what a spectacle for a -lover of the ‘sublime and beautiful!’ Could Burke have visited such a -scene of mingled magnificence, and grandeur and terror, what a vivid -illustration would he not have added to his inimitable treatise on -that subject! The fire raged with amazing fury and power—stimulated to -madness, as it were, by the pitch and tar and dried timbers, and other -combustible materials used in the construction of the boat. The -nightbird screamed in terror, and the beasts of prey fled in wild -affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond. This is truly a -gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark -night—particularly if he has a touch of superstition. There have been -fierce conflicts on this spot—sieges and battles and fearful -massacres. Here hath mailed Mars sat on his altar, up to his ears in -blood, smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the shrill -trump, and all the rude din of arms, until like the waters of Egypt, -the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its -margin!” At the word margin is the following explanatory note. -“_Lobelia Cardinalis_, commonly called the _Indian Eye-bright_. It is -a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met with in this region. The -writer has seen large clusters of it blooming upon the margin of the -‘Bloody Pond’ in this neighborhood—so called from the circumstance of -the slain being thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron -Dieskau, by Sir William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a -beautiful legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary -flower.” - -In _Chapter X_, Mr. Wheelwright marries an heiress—a rich widow worth -thirty thousand pound sterling in prospectu—in _Chapter XI_, sets up a -_Philomathian Institute_, the whole of the chapter being occupied with -his {457} advertisement—in _Chapter XII_, his wife affronts the -scholars, by “swearing by the powers she would be afther clearing them -out—the spalpeens!—that's what she would, honies!” The school is -broken up in consequence, and Mrs. Wheelwright herself turns out to be -nothing more than “one of the unmarried wives of the lamented Captain -Scarlett,” the legal representatives being in secure possession of the -thirty thousand pounds sterling in prospectu. - -In _Chapter XIII_, Mr. Wheelwright is again in distress, and applies, -of course, to the humane author of the “_Ups and Downs_,” who gives -him, we are assured, “an overcoat, and a little basket of provisions.” -In _Chapter XIV_, the author continues his benevolence—gives a crow, -(_cock-a-doodle doo!_) and concludes with “there _is_ no more -charitable people than those of New York!” which means when translated -into good English—“there never was a more charitable man than the wise -and learned author of the ‘_Ups and Downs_.’” - -_Chapter XV_, is in a somewhat better vein, and embraces some -tolerable incidents in relation to the pawnbrokers' shops of New York. -We give an extract—believing it to be one of the best passages in the -book. - - -To one who would study human nature, especially in its darker -features, there is no better field of observation than among these -pawn-brokers' shops. - -In a frequented establishment, each day unfolds an ample catalogue of -sorrow, misery, and guilt, developed in forms and combinations almost -innumerable; and if the history of each customer could be known, the -result would be such a catalogue as would scarcely be surpassed, even -by the records of a police-office or a prison. Even my brief stay -while arranging for the redemption of Dr. Wheelwright's personals, -afforded materials, as indicated in the last chapter, for much and -painful meditation. - -I had scarcely made my business known, at the first of “my uncle's” -establishments to which I had been directed, when a middle-aged man -entered with a bundle, on which he asked a small advance, and which, -on being opened, was found to contain a shawl and two or three other -articles of female apparel. The man was stout and sturdy, and, as I -judged from his appearance, a mechanic; but the mark of the destroyer -was on his bloated countenance, and in his heavy, stupid eyes. -Intemperance had marked him for his own. The pawn-broker was yet -examining the offered pledge, when a woman, whose pale face and -attenuated form bespoke long and intimate acquaintance with sorrow, -came hastily into the shop, and with the single exclamation, “O, -Robert!” darted, rather than ran, to that part of the counter where -the man was standing. Words were not wanted to explain her story. Her -miserable husband, not satisfied with wasting his own earnings, and -leaving her to starve with her children, had descended to the meanness -of plundering even her scanty wardrobe, and the pittance for the -obtaining of which this robbery would furnish means, was destined to -be squandered at the tippling-house. A blush of shame arose even upon -his degraded face, but it quickly passed away; the brutal appetite -prevailed, and the better feeling that had apparently stirred within -him for the moment, soon gave way before its diseased and insatiate -cravings. - -“Go home,” was his harsh and angry exclamation; “what brings you here, -running after me with your everlasting scolding? go home, and mind -your own business.” - -“O Robert, dear Robert!” answered the unhappy wife, “don't pawn my -shawl. Our children are crying for bread, and I have none to give -them. Or let me have the money; it is hard to part with that shawl, -for it was my mother's gift; but I will let it go, rather than see my -children starve. Give me the money, Robert, and don't leave us to -perish.” - -I watched the face of the pawn-broker to see what effect this appeal -would have upon him, but I watched in vain. He was hardened to -distress, and had no sympathy to throw away. “Twelve shillings on -these things,” he said, tossing them back to the drunkard, with a look -of perfect indifference. - -“Only twelve shillings!” murmured the heart-broken wife, in a tone of -despair. “O Robert, don't let them go for twelve shillings. Let me try -some where else.” - -“Nonsense,” answered the brute. “It's as much as they're worth, I -suppose. Here, Mr. Crimp, give us the change.” - -The money was placed before him, and the bundle consigned to a drawer. -The poor woman reached forth her hand toward the silver, but the -movement was anticipated by her husband. “There Mary,” he said, giving -her half a dollar, “there, go home now, and don't make a fuss. I'm -going a little way up the street, and perhaps I'll bring you something -from market, when I come home.” - -The hopeless look of the poor woman, as she meekly turned to the door, -told plainly enough how little she trusted to this ambiguous promise. -They went on their way, she to her famishing children, and he to -squander the dollar he had retained, at the next den of intemperance. - - -_Chapter XVI_, is entitled the “end of this eventful history.” Mr. -Wheelwright is rescued from the hands of the watch by the author of -the “_Ups and Downs_”—turns his wife, very justly, out of doors—and -finally returns to his parental occupation of coach-making. - -We have given the entire pith and marrow of the book. The term _flat_, -is the only general expression which would apply to it. It is written, -we believe, by Col. Stone of the New York Commercial Advertiser, and -should have been printed among the quack advertisements, in a spare -corner of his paper. - - -WATKINS TOTTLE. - -_Watkins Tottle, and other Sketches, illustrative of every-day Life, -and every-day People. By Boz. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Blanchard._ - -This book is a re-publication from the English original, and many of -its sketches are with us old and highly esteemed acquaintances. In -regard to their author we know nothing more than that he is a far more -pungent, more witty, and better disciplined writer of sly articles, -than nine-tenths of the Magazine writers in Great Britain—which is -saying much, it must be allowed, when we consider the great variety of -genuine talent, and earnest application brought to bear upon the -periodical literature of the mother country. - -The very first passage in the volumes before us, will convince any of -our friends who are knowing in the requisites of “a good thing,” that -we are doing our friend Boz no more than the simplest species of -justice. Hearken to what he says of Matrimony and of Mr. Watkins -Tottle. - - -Matrimony is proverbially a serious undertaking. Like an overweening -predilection for brandy and water, it is a misfortune into which a man -easily falls, and from which he finds it remarkably difficult to -extricate himself. It is no use telling a man who is timorous on these -points, that it is but one plunge and all is over. They say the same -thing at the Old Bailey, and the unfortunate victims derive about as -much comfort from the assurance in the one case as in the other. - -{458} Mr. Watkins Tottle was a rather uncommon compound of strong -uxorious inclinations, and an unparalleled degree of anti-connubial -timidity. He was about fifty years of age; stood four feet six inches -and three quarters in his socks—for he never stood in stockings at -all—plump, clean and rosy. He looked something like a vignette to one -of Richardson's novels, and had a clean cravatish formality of manner, -and kitchen-pokerness of carriage, which Sir Charles Grandison himself -might have envied. He lived on an annuity, which was well adapted to -the individual who received it in one respect—it was rather small. He -received it in periodical payments on every alternate Monday; but he -ran himself out about a day after the expiration of the first week, as -regularly as an eight-day clock, and then, to make the comparison -complete, his landlady wound him up, and he went on with a regular -tick. - - -It is not every one who can put “a good thing” properly together, -although, perhaps, when thus properly put together, every tenth person -you meet with may be capable of both conceiving and appreciating it. -We cannot bring ourselves to believe that less actual ability is -required in the composition of a really good “brief article,” than in -a fashionable novel of the usual dimensions. The novel certainly -requires what is denominated a sustained effort—but this is a matter -of mere perseverance, and has but a collateral relation to talent. On -the other hand—unity of effect, a quality not easily appreciated or -indeed comprehended by an ordinary mind, and a _desideratum_ difficult -of attainment, even by those who can conceive it—is indispensable in -the “brief article,” and not so in the common novel. The latter, if -admired at all, is admired for its detached passages, without -reference to the work as a whole—or without reference to any general -design—which, if it even exist in some measure, will be found to have -occupied but little of the writer's attention, and cannot, from the -length of the narrative, be taken in at one view, by the reader. - -The Sketches by Boz are all exceedingly well managed, and never fail -to _tell_ as the author intended. They are entitled, Passage in the -Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle—The Black Veil—Shabby Genteel -People—Horatio Sparkins—The Pawnbroker's Shop—The Dancing -Academy—Early Coaches—The River—Private Theatres—The Great Winglebury -Duel—Omnibuses—Mrs. Joseph Porter—The Steam Excursion—Sentiment—The -Parish—Miss Evans and the Eagle—Shops and their Tenants—Thoughts about -People—A Visit to Newgate—London Recreations—The -Boarding-House—Hackney-Coach Stands—Brokers and Marine Store-Shops—The -Bloomsbury Christening—Gin Shops—Public Dinners—Astley's—Greenwich -Fair—The Prisoner's Van—and A Christmas Dinner. The reader who has -been so fortunate as to have perused any one of these pieces, will be -fully aware of how great a fund of racy entertainment is included in -the Bill of Fare we have given. There are here some as well conceived -and well written papers as can be found in any other collection of the -kind—many of them we would especially recommend, as a study, to those -who turn their attention to Magazine writing—a department in which, -generally, the English as far excel us as Hyperion a Satyr. - -The _Black Veil_, in the present series, is distinct in character from -all the rest—an act of stirring tragedy, and evincing lofty powers in -the writer. Broad humor is, however, the prevailing feature of the -volumes. _The Dancing Academy_ is a vivid sketch of Cockney low life, -which may probably be considered as somewhat too _outré_ by those who -have no experience in the matter. _Watkins Tottle_ is excellent. We -should like very much to copy the whole of the article entitled -_Pawnbrokers' Shops_, with a view of contrasting its matter and manner -with the insipidity of the passage we have just quoted on the same -subject from the “_Ups and Downs_” of Colonel Stone, and by way of -illustrating our remarks on the _unity of effect_—but this would, -perhaps, be giving too much of a good thing. It will be seen by those -who peruse both these articles, that in that of the American, two or -three anecdotes are told which have merely a relation—a very shadowy -relation, to pawn-broking—in short, they are barely elicited by this -theme, have no necessary dependence upon it, and might be introduced -equally well in connection with any one of a million other subjects. -In the sketch of the Englishman we have no anecdotes at all—the -_Pawnbroker's Shop_ engages and enchains our attention—we are -enveloped in its atmosphere of wretchedness and extortion—we pause at -every sentence, not to dwell upon the sentence, but to obtain a fuller -view of the gradually perfecting picture—which is never at any moment -any other matter than the _Pawnbroker's Shop_. To the illustration of -this one end all the _groupings_ and _fillings in_ of the painting are -rendered subservient—and when our eyes are taken from the canvass, we -remember the personages of the sketch not at all as independent -existences, but as essentials of the one subject we have witnessed—as -a part and portion of the _Pawnbroker's Shop_. So perfect, and -never-to-be-forgotten a picture cannot be brought about by any such -trumpery exertion, or still more trumpery talent, as we find employed -in the ineffective daubing of Colonel Stone. The scratchings of a -schoolboy with a slate-pencil on a slate might as well be compared to -the groupings of Buonarotti. - -We conclude by strongly recommending the Sketches of Boz to the -attention of American readers, and by copying the whole of his article -on Gin Shops. - - -It is a very remarkable circumstance, that different trades appear to -partake of the disease to which elephants and dogs are especially -liable; and to run stark, staring, raving mad, periodically. The great -distinction between the animals and the trades is, that the former run -mad with a certain degree of propriety—they are very regular in their -irregularities. You know the period at which the emergency will arise, -and provide against it accordingly. If an elephant run mad, you are -all ready for him—kill or cure—pills or bullets—calomel in conserve of -roses, or lead in a musket-barrel. If a dog happen to look -unpleasantly warm in the summer months, and to trot about the shady -side of the streets with a quarter of a yard of tongue hanging out of -his mouth, a thick leather muzzle, which has been previously prepared -in compliance with the thoughtful injunction of the Legislature, is -instantly clapped over his head, by way of making him cooler, and he -either looks remarkably unhappy for the next six weeks, or becomes -legally insane, and goes mad, as it were, by act of Parliament. But -these trades are as eccentric as comets; nay, worse; for no one can -calculate on the recurrence of the strange appearances which betoken -the disease: moreover, the contagion is general, and the quickness -with which it diffuses itself almost incredible. - -We will cite two or three cases in illustration of our meaning. Six or -eight years ago the epidemic began to display itself among the -linen-drapers and haberdashers. The primary symptoms were, an -inordinate love of plate-glass, and a passion for gas-lights and {459} -gilding. The disease gradually progressed, and at last attained a -fearful height. Quiet, dusty old shops, in different parts of town, -were pulled down; spacious premises, with stuccoed fronts and gold -letters, were erected instead; floors were covered with Turkey -carpets, roofs supported by massive pillars, doors knocked into -windows, a dozen squares of glass into one, one shopman into a -dozen,—and there is no knowing what would have been done, if it had -not been fortunately discovered, just in time, that the Commissioners -of Bankrupts were as competent to decide such cases as the -Commissioners of Lunacy, and that a little confinement and gentle -examination did wonders. The disease abated; it died away; and a year -or two of comparative tranquillity ensued. Suddenly it burst out again -among the chemists; the symptoms were the same, with the addition of a -strong desire to stick the royal arms over the shop-door, and a great -rage for mahogany, varnish, and expensive floor-cloth: then the -hosiers were infected, and began to pull down their shop-fronts with -frantic recklessness. The mania again died away, and the public began -to congratulate themselves upon its entire disappearance, when it -burst forth with ten-fold violence among the publicans and keepers of -“wine vaults.” From that moment it has spread among them with -unprecedented rapidity, exhibiting a concatenation of all the previous -symptoms; and onward it has rushed to every part of town, knocking -down all the old public-houses, and depositing splendid mansions, -stone balustrades, rosewood fittings, immense lamps, and illuminated -clocks, at the corner of every street. - -The extensive scale on which these places are established, and the -ostentatious manner in which the business of even the smallest among -them is divided into branches, is most amusing. A handsome plate of -ground glass in one door directs you “To the Counting-house;” another -to the “Bottle Department;” a third, to the “Wholesale Department;” a -fourth, to “The Wine Promenade,” and so forth, until we are in daily -expectation of meeting with a “Brandy Bell,” or a “Whiskey Entrance.” -Then ingenuity is exhausted in devising attractive titles for the -different descriptions of gin; and the dram-drinking portion of the -community, as they gaze upon the gigantic white and black -announcements, which are only to be equalled in size by the figures -beneath them, are left in a state of pleasing hesitation between “The -Cream of the Valley,” “The Out and Out,” “The No Mistake,” “The Good -for Mixing,” “The real knock-me-down,” “The celebrated Butter Gin,” -“The regular Flare-up,” and a dozen other equally inviting and -wholesome _liqueurs_. Although places of this description are to be -met with in every second street, they are invariably numerous and -splendid in precise proportion to the dirt and poverty of the -surrounding neighborhood. The gin-shops in and near Drury-lane, -Holborn, St. Giles', Covent Garden, and Clare-market, are the -handsomest in London—there is more filth and squalid misery near those -great thorough-fares than in any part of this mighty city. - -We will endeavor to sketch the bar of a large gin-shop, and its -ordinary customers, for the edification of such of our readers as may -not have had opportunities of observing such scenes; and on the chance -of finding one well suited to our purpose, we will make for Drurylane, -through the narrow streets and dirty courts which divide it from -Oxford-street, and that classical spot adjoining the brewery at the -bottom of Tottenham-court-road, best known to the initiated as the -“Rookery.” The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of London -can hardly be imagined by those (and there are many such) who have not -witnessed it. Wretched houses, with broken windows patched with rags -and paper, every room let out to a different family, and in many -instances to two, or even three: fruit and “sweet stuff” manufacturers -in the cellars; barbers and red-herring venders in the front parlors; -cobblers in the back; a bird-fancier in the first floor, three -families on the second; starvation in the attics; Irishmen in the -passage; a “musician” in the front kitchen, and a char-woman and five -hungry children in the back one—filth every where—a gutter before the -houses and a drain behind them—clothes drying at the windows, slops -emptying from the ditto; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with matted -hair, walking about bare-footed, and in old white great coats, almost -their only covering; boys of all ages, in coats of all sizes, and no -coats at all; men and women, in every variety of scanty and dirty -apparel, lounging about, scolding, drinking, smoking, squabbling, -fighting, and swearing. - -You turn the corner. What a change! All is light and brilliancy. The -hum of many voices issues from that splendid gin-shop which forms the -commencement of the two streets opposite; and the gay building with -the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated clock, the -plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosetts, and its profusion of -gaslights in richly gilt burners, is perfectly dazzling when -contrasted with the darkness and dirt we have just left. The interior -is even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished mahogany, -elegantly carved, extends the whole width of the place; and there are -two side-aisles of great casks, painted green and gold, inclosed -within a light brass rail, and bearing such inscriptions as “Old Tom, -549;” “Young Tom, 360;” “Samson, 1421.” Behind the bar is a lofty and -spacious saloon, full of the same enticing vessels, with a gallery -running round it, equally well furnished. On the counter, in addition -to the usual spirit apparatus, are two or three little baskets of -cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured at the top with -wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully abstracted. -Behind it are two showily-dressed damsels with large necklaces, -dispensing the spirits and “compounds.” They are assisted by the -ostensible proprietor of the concern, a stout, coarse fellow in a fur -cap, put on very much on one side to give him a knowing air, and -display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage. - -Look at the groups of customers, and observe the different air with -which they call for what they want, as they are more or less struck by -the grandeur of the establishment. The two old washerwomen, who are -seated on the little bench to the left of the bar, are rather overcome -by the head-dresses, and haughty demeanor of the young ladies who -officiate; and receive their half quartern of gin-and-peppermint with -considerable deference, prefacing a request for “one of them soft -biscuits,” with a “Just be good enough, ma'am,” &c. They are quite -astonished at the impudent air of the young fellow in the brown coat -and white buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and walking up -to the bar in as careless a manner as if he had been used to green and -gold ornaments all his life, winks at one of the young ladies with -singular coolness, and calls for a “kervorten and a three-out-glass,” -just as if the place were his own. “Gin for you, sir,” says the young -lady when she has drawn it, carefully looking every way but the right -one to show that the wink had no effect upon her. “For me, Mary, my -dear,” replies the gentleman in brown. “My name an't Mary as it -happens,” says the young girl, in a most insinuating manner, as she -delivers the change. “Vell, if it an't, it ought to be,” responds the -irresistible one; “all the Marys as ever I see was handsome gals.” -Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how blushes are managed -in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the female -in the faded feathers who had just entered, and who, after stating -explicitly, to prevent any subsequent misunderstanding that “this -gentleman” pays, calls for “a glass of port wine and a bit of sugar,” -the drinking which, and sipping another, accompanied by sundry -whisperings to her companion, and no small quantity of giggling, -occupies a considerable time. - -Observe the group on the other side: those two old men who came in -“just to have a dram,” finished their third quartern a few seconds -ago; they have made themselves crying drunk, and the fat, comfortable -{460} looking elderly women, who had “a glass of rum-_srub_” each, -having chimed in with their complaints on the hardness of the times, -one of the women has agreed to stand a glass round, jocularly -observing that “grief never mended no broken bones, and as good -people's wery scarce, what I says is, make the most on 'em, and that's -all about it;” a sentiment which appears to afford unlimited -satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay. - -It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children, who -have been constantly going in and out, dwindles down to two or three -occasional stragglers—cold wretched-looking creatures, in the last -stage of emaciation and disease. The knot of Irish laborers at the -lower end of the place, who have been alternately shaking hands with, -and threatening the life of, each other for the last hour, become -furious in their disputes; and finding it impossible to silence one -man, who is particularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resort -to the infallible expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him -afterwards. Out rush the man in the fur cap, and the pot-boy: a scene -of riot and confusion ensues; half the Irishmen get shut out, and the -other half get shut in: the pot-boy is knocked in among the tubs in no -time; the landlord hits every body, and every body hits the landlord; -the bar-maids scream; in come the police, and the rest is a confused -mixture of arms, legs, staves, torn coats, shouting and struggling. -Some of the party are borne off to the station-house, and the -remainder slink home to beat their wives for complaining, and kick the -children for daring to be hungry. - -We have sketched this subject very lightly, not only because our -limits compel us to do so, but because, if it were pursued further, it -would be painful and repulsive. Well-disposed gentlemen and charitable -ladies would alike turn with coldness and disgust from a description -of the drunken, besotted men, and wretched, broken-down, miserable -women, who form no inconsiderable portion of the frequenters of these -haunts; forgetting, in the pleasant consciousness of their own high -rectitude, the poverty of the one, and the temptation of the other. -Gin-drinking is a great vice in England, but poverty is a greater; and -until you can cure it, or persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek -relief in the temporary oblivion of his own misery, with the pittance -which, divided among his family, would just furnish a morsel of bread -for each, gin-shops will increase in number and splendor. If -Temperance Societies could suggest an antidote against hunger and -distress, or establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution of -bottles of Lethe-water, gin-palaces would be numbered among the things -that were. Until then, their decrease may be despaired of. - - -FLORA AND THALIA. - -_Flora and Thalia; or Gems of Flowers and Poetry: being an -Alphabetical Arrangement of Flowers, with appropriate Poetical -Illustrations, embellished with Colored Plates. By a Lady. To which is -added a Botanical Description of the various parts of a Flower, and -the Dial of Flowers. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea, and Blanchard._ - -This is a very pretty and very convenient volume, on a subject which, -since the world began, has never failed to excite curiosity and -sympathy in all who have a proper sense of the beautiful. It contains -240 pages, and 24 finely colored engravings, which give a vivid idea -of the original plants. These engravings are the _Meadow Anemone_—the -_Harebell_—the _Christmas Rose_—the _Dahlia_—the _Evening -Primrose_—the _Fox-Glove_—the _Heliotrope_—the _Purple Iris_—the -_Jasmine_—the _King-Cup_—the _Lavender_—the _Mezereon_—the -_Narcissus_—the _Orchis_—the _Clove Pink_—the _Quince_—the _Provence -Rose_—the _Solomon's Seal_—the _Tobacco_—the _Bear Berry_—the _Violet -Pansy_—the _Wall-Flower_—the _Yellow Water-Flag_, and the _Zedoary_. -The bulk of the volume is occupied with poetical illustrations -exceedingly well selected. We do not believe there is a single poem in -the book which may not be considered above mediocrity—many are -exquisite. The _Botanical description of the various parts of a -Flower_, is well conceived—brief, properly arranged, and sufficiently -comprehensive. The _Dial of Flowers_, will be especially admired by -all our fair readers. The following extract from page 227, will give -an idea of the nature of this _Dial_—the manner of composing which, is -embraced entire, in the form of a Table, on page 229. - - -These properties of flowers, and the opening and shutting of many at -particular times of the day, led to the idea of planting them in such -a manner as to indicate the succession of the hours, and to make them -supply the place of a watch or clock. Those who are disposed to try -the experiment, may easily compose such a dial by consulting the -following Table, comprehending the hours between three in the morning -and eight in the evening. It is, of course, impossible to insure the -accurate going of such a dial, because the temperature, the dryness, -and the dampness of the air have a considerable influence on the -opening and shutting of flowers. - - -We copy from the _Flora and Thalia_ the following anonymous lines. - - Alas! on thy forsaken stem - My heart shall long recline, - And mourn the transitory gem, - And make the story mine! - So on my joyless winter hour - Has oped some fair and fragrant flower, - With smile as soft as thine. - - Like thee the vision came and went, - Like thee it bloomed and fell; - In momentary pity sent, - Of fairy climes to tell: - So frail its form, so short its stay, - That nought the lingering heart could say, - But hail, and fare thee well! - - * * * * * - -We are sorry to perceive that our friends of the “_Southern Literary -Journal_” are disposed to unite with the “_Knickerbocker_” and “_New -York Mirror_” in covert, and therefore unmanly, thrusts at the -“_Messenger_.” It is natural that these two Journals (who refused to -exchange with us from the first) should feel themselves aggrieved at -our success, and we own that, bearing them no very good will, we care -little what injury they do themselves in the public estimation by -suffering their mortification to become apparent. But we are embarked -in the cause of _Southern_ Literature, and (with perfect amity to all -sections) wish to claim especially as a friend and co-operator, every -_Southern_ Journal. We repeat, therefore, that we are grieved to see a -disposition of hostility, entirely unprovoked, manifested on the part -of Mr. Whittaker. He should reflect, that while we ourselves cannot -for a moment believe him otherwise than perfectly upright and sincere -in his animadversions upon our Magazine, still there is hardly one -individual in ninety-nine who will not attribute every ill word he -says of us to the instigations of jealousy. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUTHERN LITERARY -MESSENGER, VOL. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: <span lang='' xml:lang=''>The southern literary messenger, Vol. II., No. 7, June, 1836</span></p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various Various</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Edgar Allan Poe</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 19, 2022 [eBook #69387]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Ron Swanson</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span lang='' xml:lang=''>THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, VOL. II., NO. 7, JUNE, 1836</span> ***</div> -<center>THE</center> -<h2>SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER:</h2> -<center>DEVOTED TO</center> -<h3>EVERY DEPARTMENT OF</h3> -<h1>LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS.</h1> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem1"> - <tr><td><small>Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents. </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="right"><small><i>Crebillon's Electre</i>.</small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small>As <i>we</i> will, and not as the winds will.</small></td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<center><small>RICHMOND:<br> -T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.<br> -1835-6.</small></center> -<br><br><br><br> -<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME II, NUMBER 7</h3> - -<p><a href="#sect01">R<small>IGHT OF</small> I<small>NSTRUCTION</small></a>: by H.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect02">P<small>ERDICARIS</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect03">F<small>ROM THE</small> R<small>OMAIC OF</small> -C<small>HRISTOPOULOS</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect04">T<small>O</small> G. A. P<small>ERDICARIS</small></a>: by B.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect05">MS.S. <small>OF</small> B<small>ENJAMIN</small> F<small>RANKLIN</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect06">L<small>OSING AND</small> W<small>INNING</small></a>: by the author of “Cottage in the Glen”</p> - -<p><a href="#sect07">T<small>HE</small> S<small>WAN OF</small> L<small>OCH</small> -O<small>ICH</small></a>: by Eliza</p> - -<p><a href="#sect08">O<small>TTO</small> V<small>ENIUS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect09">D<small>IARY OF AN</small> I<small>NVALID</small></a>. No. I: by V.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect10">T<small>HE</small> L<small>AUGHING</small> G<small>IRL</small></a>: by E. M.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect11">C<small>OURT</small> D<small>AY</small></a>: by a northern man</p> - -<p><a href="#sect12">A B<small>IRTH-DAY</small> T<small>RIBUTE</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect13">M<small>Y</small> F<small>IRST</small> A<small>TTEMPT AT</small> -P<small>OETRY</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect14">T<small>HY</small> H<small>OME AND</small> M<small>INE</small></a>: by E. A. S.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect15">S<small>ECOND</small> L<small>ECTURE</small></a> on Parental Faults</p> - -<p><a href="#sect16">T<small>O</small> M<small>ISS</small> ——, <small>OF</small> -N<small>ORFOLK</small></a>: by B.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect17">F<small>ROM THE</small> MSS. <small>OF</small> F<small>RANKLIN</small></a></p> - -<p>E<small>DITORIAL</small><br> - <a href="#sect18">R<small>IGHT OF</small> I<small>NSTRUCTION</small></a></p> - -<p>C<small>RITICAL</small> N<small>OTICES</small><br> - <a href="#sect19">L<small>ETTERS ON</small> P<small>ENNSYLVANIA</small></a>: -by Peregrine Prolix<br> - <a href="#sect20">N<small>OTICES OF THE</small> W<small>AR OF</small> -1812</a>: by John Armstrong<br> - <a href="#sect21">L<small>ETTERS</small>, C<small>ONVERSATIONS AND</small> -R<small>ECOLLECTIONS OF</small> S. T. C<small>OLERIDGE</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect22">T<small>HOUGHTS ON THE</small> R<small>ELIGIOUS</small> -S<small>TATE OF THE</small> C<small>OUNTRY</small></a>: by Rev. Calvin Colton<br> - <a href="#sect23">M<small>AURY'S</small> N<small>AVIGATION</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect24">U<small>PS AND</small> D<small>OWNS IN THE</small> -L<small>IFE OF A</small> D<small>ISTRESSED</small> G<small>ENTLEMAN</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect25">W<small>ATKINS</small> T<small>OTTLE</small>, -<small>AND OTHER</small> S<small>KETCHES</small></a>: by Boz<br> - <a href="#sect26">F<small>LORA AND</small> T<small>HALIA</small></a>: by a Lady</p> -<br> -<br> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page405"><small><small>[p. 405]</small></small></a></span> -<br> -<br> -<hr> -<h3>SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.</h3> -<hr> -<center>V<small>OL</small>. II. RICHMOND, JUNE, -1836. N<small>O</small>. VII.</center> -<hr> -<center><small>T. W. WHITE, PROPRIETOR. FIVE -DOLLARS PER ANNUM.</small></center> -<a name="sect01"></a> -<hr> -<br> -<br> -<h4>RIGHT OF INSTRUCTION<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small></h4> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> Some months ago a number of the “Richmond Enquirer,” -containing an argument in favor of the mandatory right of a State -Legislature to instruct a Senator of the United States, was forwarded -to the author of this article. That argument was supported by the -alleged opinions of Messrs. King, Jay and Hamilton, as expressed in -the Convention of New York—and we think this reply well deserves -publication. It is from the pen of a ripe scholar and a profound -jurist.</small></blockquote> -<br> - -<p>The receipt of your letter afforded me much pleasure, not only on -account of the interesting subject it treats of, but as a gratifying -evidence of your remembrance of me. I fear, however, that you will -have reason to repent of your kindness, as I shall presume upon it to -task your patience with some observations in defence of my old federal -notions upon your doctrine of instructions. I will endeavor to show -that the extracts made in the Enquirer from the speeches of Messrs. -King, Jay and Hamilton, in the New York Convention, do not sustain -(even if we are to take the report of them to be verbally correct) the -doctrine or right as it is contended for in Virginia. I understand -that doctrine to be, that the instructions of a State Legislature to a -Senator of the United States, are an authoritative, constitutional, -lawful <i>command</i>, which he is bound implicitly to obey, and which he -cannot disobey without a violation of his official duty as a Senator, -imposing upon him the obligation to resign his place if he cannot, or -will not, conform to the will of his Legislature. I confess that this -doctrine appears to me to be absolutely incompatible with the cardinal -principles of our Constitution, as a representative government; to -break up the foundations which were intended to give it strength and -stability, and to impart to it a consistent, uniform and harmonious -action; and, virtually, to bring us back to a simple, turbulent -democracy, the worst of all governments—or rather, no government at -all. I do not mean to enter upon the broad ground of argument of this -question, with which you are so well acquainted, but to examine, as -briefly as I can, but probably not so much so as your patience would -require, the <i>federal</i> authorities which the writer in the Enquirer -believes he has brought to the support of his opinions.</p> - -<p>I cannot put out of the discussion, although I will not insist upon, -the objection to the authority of the reports of the speeches alluded -to, especially when it turns upon a question of extreme accuracy in -the use of certain precise words and phrases, any departure from which -would materially affect the sense of the speaker. We see daily in the -reports of congressional debates, the most important mistakes or -misrepresentations, unintentionally made, not of expressions merely, -but of the very substance and meaning of the speakers; sometimes -reporting the very reverse of what they actually said. I have occasion -to know the carelessness with which these reports are frequently made, -and, indeed, the impossibility of making them with accuracy. What a -man <i>writes</i> he must abide by, in its fair and legitimate meaning; but -what another writes for him, however honest in the intention, cannot -be so strictly imputed to him. There is also an objection to -<i>extracts</i>, even truly recited, inasmuch as they are often qualified -or modified by other parts of the writing or speech. As I have not, -immediately at hand, the debates of the New York Convention, I am -unable, just now, to see how far this may have been the case in the -speeches from which the quotations are made. I must, therefore, at -present, be content to take them as they are given in the Enquirer, -and even then it appears to me that they are far from covering the -Virginia doctrine of instructions. Let us see. Mr. King is represented -to have said, that “the Senators will have a <i>powerful check</i> in those -<i>who wish for their seats</i>.” This is most true—and in fact it is to -this struggle for place that we owe much of the zeal for doctrines -calculated to create vacancies. Mr. King proceeds—“And the State -Legislatures, if they find their delegates erring, can and will -<i>instruct them</i>. Will this be no check?” The two checks proposed, in -the same sentence and put upon the same footing, are the vigilance of -those who want the places of the Senators, and the instructions which -the State Legislatures can and will give to them. They are said to be, -as they truly are, <i>powerful checks</i>, operating with a strong -influence on the will and discretion of the Senator, but not as -subjecting him, <i>as a matter of duty</i>, either to the reproaches of his -rivals or the opinions of the Legislature. To do this, a check must be -something more than powerful; it must be irresistible, or, at least, -attended by some means of carrying it out to submission—some penalty -or remedy for disobedience. I consider the term <i>instruct</i>, as here -used, to mean no more than counsel, advise, recommend—because Mr. -King does not intimate that any right or power is vested in the -Legislature to compel obedience to their instructions, or to punish a -refractory Senator as an official delinquent. It is left to his option -to obey or not, which is altogether inconsistent with every idea of a -<i>right to command</i>. Such a right is at once met and nullified by a -right to refuse. They are equal and contrary rights. As we are upon a -question of verbal criticism, and it is so treated in the Enquirer, we -may look for information to our dictionaries. To instruct, in its -primitive or most appropriate meaning, is simply to <i>teach</i>—and -instruction is the act of <i>teaching</i>, or <i>information</i>. It is true -that Johnson gives, as a more remote meaning, “to inform -authoritatively.” Certainly, the Legislature may instruct, may teach, -may inform a Senator, and whenever they do so it will be with no small -degree of authority from the relation in which they stand to each -other; but the great question is, not whether this would be an -impertinent or improper interference on the part of the Legislature, -but whether the Senator is bound, by his official oath or duty, -implicitly to obey such instructions; whether he violates a duty he -ought to observe, or usurps a power which does not belong to him, if -he declines to submit to these directions, if he cannot receive the -lesson thus taught, or adopt the information thus imparted to him. -Does <span class="pagenum"><a name="page406"><small><small>[p. 406]</small></small></a></span> -the spirit of our Constitution (for clearly in terms it -does not) intend to make a Senator of the <i>United States</i> a mere -passive instrument or agent in the hands of a <i>State Legislature</i>. Is -he required by any legal or moral duty or obligation, to surrender -into the hands of any man or body of men, his honest judgment and -conscientious convictions of right? To act on <i>their</i> dictation and -<i>his own</i> responsibility; responsible to his country for the -consequences of his vote, and to his own conscience and his God for -the disregard of his oath of office, which bound him to support that -Constitution which his instructions may call upon him to violate, <i>as -he conscientiously believes</i>. It will be a miserable apology for him -to say, that he has done this because he was so ordered by a body of -men, who may have thought or cared very little about it, and may hold -a different opinion the next year without remorse or responsibility. -But if he cannot obey, must he save his conscience by resigning his -seat? This is the most unsound and untenable of all the grounds -assumed in this discussion. If it is the <i>official duty</i> of the -Senator to do and perform the will of his constituents, or rather of -those who gave him his office, then he violates or evades that duty by -resigning; and he may, in this way, not only abandon his duty, but as -effectually defeat the will and intention of his Legislature as by -actually voting against it. To return to Mr. King—how does he propose -or expect that this check of legislative instructions is to act upon -the Senator? What is the nature of the obligation he considers to rest -upon the Senator to obey them? He does not pretend that there is any -power in the Legislature to enforce their instructions or cause them -to be respected. He does not suggest that disobedience is a violation -of duty on the part of the Senator, or the assumption of any right -that does not practically and constitutionally belong to him; that he -falls under any just odium or reproach, if after an honest and -respectful consideration of the instructions, he shall believe it to -be his duty to disregard them. Mr. King does not, by the most remote -implication, intimate, that a State Legislature may, through the -medium of instructions, directly or indirectly, put a limitation on -the <i>term of service</i> of a Senator, which they will do if it is his -duty to resign whenever they shall choose to require of him to do -what, as an honest man, a good citizen, and faithful officer, he -cannot do. If instructions have the authority contended for, there is -no exception; it is a perfect right or it is no right. The Senator -cannot withdraw himself from it, however imperious the requisition may -be, or however iniquitous the design in making it. The Senator has a -discretion to judge of it in all cases or in no case. He may take -counsel of his own conscience and judgment in every call upon him—or -in none. The check that Mr. King promises from the State Legislatures -upon their Senators, is nothing more than the natural influence they -will have upon the minds and conduct of the Senators, and this, in my -apprehension, is more likely to be too much than too little. What does -Mr. K. say will be the consequence of a refusal on the part of a -Senator to obey? Not that he is corrupt—or unfaithful—or ought to -resign—but simply that they will be “<i>hardy men</i>.” Assuredly they -will be so; I wish we had more of these hardy men, for certainly there -are occasions on which public men, holding the destinies of their -country in their hands, ought to be hardy, and must be so in -opposition to the apparent and immediate, but transient, will of the -people; and it is such hardy men who have deserved and received the -gratitude and thanks of the people they saved by opposing them. The -brightest names on the pages of history are those of such hardy men. -The same answer meets the commentary on the word “dictating”—used, or -said to be used, by Mr. King.</p> - -<p>I would here make a remark upon this report of Mr. King's speech, -which shows how carelessly the report was made, or how loose Mr. King -was in his choice of words. In the beginning of the passage quoted, he -refers to the <i>State Legislatures</i>, as the bodies who are to check, by -their instructions, the wanderings of the Senators. In the conclusion -he is made to say—“When they (the Senators) hear the voice of the -<i>people</i> dictating to them their duty,” &c. Now, it can hardly be -pretended that the <i>Legislature</i> and the <i>people</i> are identically the -same; or that a vote of the Legislature by a majority of one—or by -any majority, can always be said to be the voice of the people. It is -as probable that they may misrepresent the people, as that the -Senators should misrepresent them. It is not uncommon for the people -to repudiate the acts of their Legislature. It was understood to be so -in Virginia, on the late question on the conduct of her Senators. The -solemn and deliberate opinion upon any subject, of the body from which -an officer derives his appointment, will always be received with great -respect, as coming from a high source and with much authority, but the -Senator, acting on the responsibility he owes to the <i>whole country</i>, -must take into his view of the case the effect of his instructions -upon the whole; he must not shut his eyes from examining the occasion -which produced the instructions—the circumstances attending them—the -means by which they were obtained—the errors, or passions, or -prejudices which may have influenced and deceived those who voted for -them; in short, he must carefully and conscientiously examine the -whole ground, and finally decide for himself on the double -responsibility he owes to his <i>own State</i> and to the <i>United States;</i> -to those who appointed him to office and to himself, and his own -character. There is no doubt that this examination will be made with a -disposition sufficiently inclined to conform himself to the wishes of -his constituents.</p> - -<p>Mr. Jay expressed himself with more discrimination and caution than -Mr. King; and no inference can be drawn from what he says, that there -is any right or power in a State Legislature to demand obedience or -resignation from a Senator, to their instructions. He considers their -instructions to be, what in truth and practice they have always been, -nothing more than advice or information coming from a high source and -entitled to great respect. He says, “the Senate is to be composed of -men appointed by the State Legislatures. They will certainly choose -those who are most distinguished for their general knowledge. I -<i>presume</i> they will also instruct them.”</p> - -<p>In these reported debates, <i>Hamilton</i> is represented to have -said—that “it would be a <i>standing instruction</i> of the larger States -to increase the representation.” Observe, this is not applied to the -<i>Senators</i> only, but to the delegates or representatives of the States -in <span class="pagenum"><a name="page407"><small><small>[p. 407]</small></small></a></span> -Congress, in both Houses, and has no reference to any right -of instruction by the State Legislatures to their Senators; <i>that</i> was -not the subject of the debate; nor is it intimated <i>by whom</i> or in -what manner these standing instructions are to be given. The meaning -of General Hamilton, I think, is obvious, and has no bearing on our -question. The phrase, <i>standing instruction</i>, means that it is so -clearly the interest of the larger States to increase their -representation, that their delegates will always consider themselves -to be bound, to be <i>instructed</i> by that <i>interest</i>, by their duty to -their States, to vote for such increase. They will so <i>stand -instructed</i>, at all times and without any particular direction from -their States; they will always take it for granted, that it is their -duty to increase the representation. The very phrase distinguishes it -from the case of <i>specific instructions</i> made, from time to time, on -particular measures as they shall arise for deliberation and decision -in the national legislature. But General Hamilton, as quoted, proceeds -to say—“The <i>people</i> have it in their power to <i>instruct</i> their -representatives, and the State Legislatures which appoint their -Senators may enjoin <i>it</i> (that is the increase of the representation) -also upon them.” I may here repeat that all this is true; but by no -means reaches the point to which this right of instruction is now -carried. The people may instruct, and the legislatures may enjoin, and -both will always, doubtless, be attended to with a deep respect and a -powerful influence; but if with all this respect and under this -influence, the representative or the Senator cannot, in his honest and -conscientious judgment, submit himself to them, does he violate his -official duty, and is he bound to relinquish his office? This is the -question, and no affirmative answer to it, or any thing that implies -it, can be found in any of the writings or speeches of the gentleman -alluded to; nor, as I believe, in any of the writings or speeches of -any of the distinguished men at that time. The doctrine is of a later -date; it is not coeval with the Constitution, nor with the men who -formed it. Much reliance is placed, by the writer in the Enquirer, on -the strict meaning of the word <i>enjoin;</i> it is thought to be -peculiarly imperative. Conceding, for the argument, that this precise -word was really used by the speaker, it is certain that in speaking, -and even in writing, this word is not always used in the strict sense -attributed to it. Cases of common parlance are familiar and of daily -occurrence, in which it is used only to mean a strong, emphatic -recommendation or advice—or a forcible expression of a wish, and not -an absolute right to command. If, however, we turn to the dictionary, -Johnson tells us that to enjoin is “to direct—to order—to prescribe; -it is more authoritative than direct, and <i>less imperious than -command</i>.” Not one of his illustrations or examples employ it in the -strong sense of power now contended for.</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem2"> - <tr><td><small>“To satisfy the good old man,<br> - I would bend under any heavy weight<br> - That he'll <i>enjoin</i> me to.”</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Here the submission or obedience is altogether voluntary; with no -right or power in the “good old man” to require or compel it. Again,</p> - -<blockquote><small>“Monks and philosophers, and such as do continually <i>enjoin</i> -themselves.”</small></blockquote> - -<p>The extracts from the speeches in the New York Convention, even if -accurately reported, and strictly construed, do not seem to me to -maintain the present Virginia doctrine of instructions. Allow me to -repeat it, for it is <i>that</i>, and not something which may approach it, -which is our subject of difference and argument. It is—whether a -Senator of the United States is under any moral or constitutional -obligation—whether he is bound as a faithful and true officer, or as -a good citizen of the <i>Republic of the United States</i>, to obey the -instructions of the Legislature of <i>his State</i>, when they require him -to do an act which in his deliberate judgment and conscientious -conviction, is contrary to his duty to his country, to all the States, -and to <i>his own State;</i> to the Constitution, under and by which he -holds his office and his power, and to the oath he has taken to -support that Constitution? This is the question truly stated—can the -power or authority of a changing, irresponsible body, which directs -one thing this year (as we have repeatedly seen) and another the next, -or, if it were not this changeling—force him to violate his oath, or -absolve him from the responsibility, if he do so? If a Senator of -Virginia or Delaware were to receive instructions to give a vote which -he truly believed would be a violation of the rights, and injurious to -the interests, of every other state of the confederacy, as secured to -them by the Constitution, although it might be of some local advantage -to Virginia or Delaware, should that Senator, acting as he does as a -Senator, not for his particular State only, but for the States also -whose rights he violates, obey such instructions? Can there be a doubt -of the reply to this question? Will you say he should obey or -resign—that another may come who will obey? I deny that his duty -imposes any such alternative upon him. On the contrary, it is -particularly his duty <i>not to resign</i> for such a reason or such an -object. It would be to abandon the duty he owes to the Constitution -and the other States, at the very moment when they need his services -in their defence; and not only to abandon them, but to surrender his -post and his power to one who, in his estimation, is so far their -enemy as to take the post for the very purpose of violating them. It -would be to desert “the general welfare” which he has sworn to defend -and promote, in order to give his place and power to one who will -sacrifice the general welfare to some local and particular interest or -object. To desert it in such circumstances, may produce the same evils -and consequences, as if he were to remain and obey his instructions. -His vote or his absence may turn the question.</p> - -<p>As the incidental arguments, not upon the direct question, attributed -to Messrs. Jay and Hamilton, are now relied upon to support this -doctrine of instructions, I will cheerfully refer to these great men, -adding to them the name of Mr. Madison, and endeavor to show, from -better evidence than reported debates, what were really their opinions -upon this asserted power of the State Legislatures, and in what manner -they thought Senators were amenable to their Legislatures for their -acts and votes in the National Congress. I shall do this, not on the -authority of reported speeches, but by adverting to what they have -written and published, as the true spirit and doctrines of the -Constitution. To be brief, I will give you the summing up of the -argument in the “<i>Federalist</i>,” in favor of the powers of the Senate -under the Constitution. I refer to the numbers 62 and 63, written by -Mr. Madison; but, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page408"><small><small>[p. 408]</small></small></a></span> -as it is understood, giving the opinions and -views of the illustrious triumvirate. Their whole argument and -exposition of the powers, duties, and responsibilities of the -Senators, are utterly inconsistent with the control upon them now set -up on the part of the State Legislatures. It is not merely that this -right of instruction is no where mentioned or alluded to, as one of -the means by which the Senators are to be kept to their duty, but such -a right cannot be reconciled with the benefits intended by the -Constitution to be derived from the permanency of that body—from its -independence and its elevation above, or protection from, the caprices -and fluctuations of popular feeling, often improperly called popular -opinion. Allow me particularly to turn your attention to a few -passages from Mr. Madison's examination of the “Constitution of the -Senate.” His second reason for having a Senate, or second branch of -the Legislative Assembly, is thus stated: “The necessity of a Senate -is not less indicated by the propensity of all single and numerous -assemblies to yield to the impulse of sudden and violent passions, and -to be seduced by factious leaders into intemperate and pernicious -resolutions.” If this is true of the House of Representatives of the -United States; if their intemperate and pernicious resolutions are to -be guarded against and controlled by the more sedate and permanent -power of the Senate, how much stronger is the reason when applied to -the Legislatures of the States? Having their narrow views of national -questions, and their local designs and interests as the first objects -of their attention, it seems to me to be a strange absurdity to put -the Senate as a guard and control over the House of Representatives, -and then to have that Senate under the direction and control of the -Legislatures of the States—or it may be, on a vital question, under -the direction of the Legislature of the smallest State in the Union. -Are there no local impulses and passions to agitate these -Legislatures? no factious leaders to seduce them into intemperate and -pernicious resolutions—and to induce them to prefer some little, -local advantage, to “the general welfare.” To give to the Senate the -power, the will, and the courage to oppose and control these sudden -and violent passions in the more popular branch of our national -legislature, Mr. Madison says, “It ought moreover to possess <i>great -firmness</i>, and consequently ought to hold <i>its authority</i> by a tenure -of considerable duration.” But what can that firmness avail, how will -it be shaken, of what possible use will it be, if the Senator is bound -to follow the dictates of a changing body, subject, emphatically to -sudden impulses and seductions, at a distance from the scene of his -deliberations, and deprived of the sources of information which he -possesses, and acting in a <i>different sphere of duty</i> from that he -moves in? Firmness in an agent who has no will of his own, no right to -act but on the dictation of another, would not only be superfluous, -but a positive evil and disqualification. It would produce struggles -and perhaps refusal, where his duty was to submit. The more pliable -the instrument in such a case, the better would it answer the purposes -it was designed for. To be firm, says Mr. Madison, the Senator must -<i>hold his authority</i> by a tenure of considerable duration. But how can -this be, if he is to hold it from year to year as the Legislature of -his State may change its opinion on the same subject, and require him -to follow these changes or to resign his place? The tenure of the -Constitution, as Mr. Madison understood it, is essentially changed by -this doctrine. These changes of opinions and measures are, in the -opinion of Mr. Madison, a great and dangerous evil in any government, -and show “the necessity of some stable institution”—such as our -Senate was intended to be—but such as it cannot be on this doctrine -of instructions.</p> - -<p>But this great man and enlightened statesman, jealous enough of the -rights and liberties of the people, does not stop here in explaining -the uses of the Senate. It is not the passions of Legislatures only -that are to be guarded against by the conservative power of that body. -He thinks that it “may be sometimes necessary as a defence <i>to the -people</i> against <i>their own temporary errors and delusions;</i>” he justly -applauds the <i>salutary interference</i> in critical moments, of some -respectable and temperate body of citizens, “to check the misguided -career, and to suspend the blow meditated by <i>the people against -themselves</i>, until reason, justice, and truth can regain their -authority over the public mind.” He considers the Senate as “an anchor -against popular fluctuations;” and he certainly never imagined that -the capstan and cable were in the hands of the State Legislatures, to -remove the anchor at their pleasure. He truly says, that in all free -governments, the cool and deliberate sense of the community ought and -<i>ultimately</i> will prevail; but he did not believe that this cool and -deliberate sense would be found, on the spur of the occasion, in a -popular body liable to intemperate and sudden passions and impulses, -and the seductions of factious leaders. It was to control and check -such movements, and not to be controlled by them, that the Senate was -constituted; and to check and suspend them until the deliberate and -cool sense of the community can be obtained; which, when fairly -ascertained, will be recognized and respected by the Senate as fully -and certainly as by the Legislatures of the States. The members of -these Legislatures have no means of knowing the public sentiments, -which are not equally open to the Senators; nor are their inducements -to conform to them more persuasive or strong. Mr. Madison goes so far -as to say, that as our governments are entirely <i>representative</i>, -there is “a total exclusion of the people in their collective -capacity, <i>from any share</i> in them.” If then, the will of the people, -declared by themselves, should not move a Senator from his own -conviction of his duty, when he believes the act required of him is -contrary to that duty, and such is the constitutional right and -obligation of his office, shall he be driven to a violation of that -duty or a relinquishment of that right, by a second-hand, doubtful, -equivocal, and, perhaps, false, expression of that will, by and -through an intermediate body, no better informed of the cool and -deliberate sense of the community than he is himself—no better -disposed than he is to satisfy the public sentiment, and not half so -well informed as he is of the tendency and consequences of the measure -in question?</p> - -<p>To meet the objections to the dangerous power of the Senate, continued -for so long a period as six years, and to quiet the alarm that had -been raised on that subject, Mr. Madison states what he supposed to be -the check or protection provided by the Constitution against their -usurpations, and which he thought amply sufficient. What is that -check? Is it any right in the appointing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page409"><small><small>[p. 409]</small></small></a></span> Legislatures to direct -his conduct and his votes, and to revoke his powers, directly or -indirectly, if he refuse his obedience? If for any cause, justifiable -and honest or not so, they wish to deprive him of his office, to annul -the appointment made by a preceding legislature or by themselves, may -they do so by giving him instructions at their pleasure, desiring -nothing but to accomplish their own objects, and in a total disregard -of his judgment, conscience, and duties, and then say to him, knowing -that he would not and could not obey their mandate, resign your place, -and put it at our disposal, that we may gratify some new favorite, or -promote some design of our own. The next Legislature may choose to -drive out the new favorite and reinstate the old one; and thus this -Senate, instead of being an anchor to the State, a stable and -permanent body to save us from sudden gales and storms, will in -practice, be floating on the surface, fixed to nothing, and driven to -and fro by every change of the wind. <i>Instruction and resignation</i> are -not the means proposed by Mr. Madison to protect us from the -corruption or tyranny of the Senate. He suggests no interference, in -any way, on the part of the State Legislatures with their Senators, -nor any control over them, during their continuance in office; but -finds all the safety he thought necessary, and all that the -Constitution gives, in the “<i>periodical change</i> of its members.” In -addition to this, much reliance, no doubt, was placed, and ought to be -so, on the expectation, that the State Legislatures would appoint to -this high and responsible office, only men of known and tried -character and patriotism, having themselves a deep stake in the -liberties of their country, and bound by all the ties of integrity and -honor to a faithful discharge of their trust.</p> - -<p>If the Constitution—for that is our <i>government</i>, and by that must -this question be decided—intended to reserve this great controlling -power to the State Legislatures, over the Legislature of the United -States, for such it is as now claimed, we should have found some -provision to this effect, some evidence of this intention, either -expressed, or by a fair and clear implication, in the instrument -itself. Nothing of the kind appears. We should have further found some -form of proceeding to compel a refractory Senator to obey the lawful, -authoritative mandate of his State Legislature. It is an anomaly in -any government to give an authority to a man or body of men, without -any power to enforce it, to carry it out into practice and action, to -make it effectual. To give a right to command, and to furnish no means -to compel obedience, no process to punish a disregard to the order, is -indeed like Glendower's power to <i>call</i> spirits, but not to <i>make them -come</i>. To say that I have a right to order another to do or not to do -an act, but that it is left to his discretion to obey me or not, is a -contradiction in terms. It is no right, or at least no more than one -of those imperfect rights which create no obligation of respect. If I -give to my agent a command which, by the terms and tenure of his -agency, by the limitations of his authority, he is bound to obey, and -he refuses to do so, I may revoke his power, or rather he had no power -for the act in question; he is not my agent, and cannot bind me beyond -his lawful authority, or in contradiction to my lawful command. On the -other hand, <i>that I am bound by his acts</i> is a full and unquestionable -proof that he has acted <i>by and within his powers</i>, and that I had <i>no -right</i> to give the command which he has disobeyed. There cannot be a -lawful command, and a lawful disobedience on the same subject. If by -the terms of the power of attorney, which is the contract between the -principal and his agent, certain matters are left to the judgment and -discretion of the attorney, or are within the scope of his -appointment, without any reservation of control on the part of the -principal; then no such control exists, and this is most especially -the case when the rights and interests of other parties are concerned -in the execution of the power and trust.</p> - -<p>Will it be said that the obligation of a Senator to obey the -instructions of his Legislature, although not found in the -Constitution, results from the circumstance that he received his -appointment and power from that body? It is impossible to sustain this -ground. I recur to the case of a common agent to whom a full and -general power is given, irrevocable for six years; and, to make the -case more apposite, in the execution of which power the rights and -interests of other parties are deeply concerned, so that, in fact, the -agent is the attorney of those parties as well as of the one from whom -he receives his appointment. Will any one pretend that an agent so -constituted and thus becoming the attorney of <i>all</i>, with the right -and power <i>to bind all</i> by his acts, is afterwards to be subject to -the direction of any one of the parties in any proposed measure -bearing on the general interest, merely because his immediate -appointment came from that party? When he is appointed, his powers and -his duties extend far beyond the source of his authority, and are, -consequently, placed beyond that control. His responsibility is to -<i>all</i> for whom he is the agent, and he is false to his trust if he -surrenders himself to the dictates of any one, or sacrifices the -general to a particular interest. The President and Senate appoint the -judges, but it does not result from this that judges are to be under -the dictation and control of the executive. So of any other officer -acting within the sphere of his authority. The President by his -general power may remove him, for that or for any other cause, or for -no cause, but while he holds the office, he exercises its powers at -his own discretion, and is not bound to obey the appointing power. In -a despotism the master holds the bridle and the lash over every slave -he appoints to <i>execute his will</i>, but in a free representative -government it is the <i>law</i> that is to be executed and obeyed, and the -officer, in performing his prescribed duties, is independent of every -power but that of the law. This is indispensable to the harmonious -action of the whole system.</p> - -<p>I do not know whether the advocates of this doctrine of instructions -extend it to trials or impeachments before the Senate. If they do not, -I would ask on what distinct principle do they exempt such cases from -this legislative right of dictation? The claim is broad and general, -covering all the powers, duties, and acts of a Senator. Who is -authorized to make the exceptions? By what known rule are they to be -made, or do they depend upon an arbitrary will? Is this will or power -lodged in the State Legislatures? Then they make the exception or not, -at their pleasure; they may forbear to interfere in one -impeachment—and they may send in their dictation in another, -according as, in their discretion, it may or may not be a case calling -for their interference. Their power over their Senator, to compel him -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page410"><small><small>[p. 410]</small></small></a></span> -to obey or resign, is in their own hands, and they may issue -their mandate to him to condemn or acquit the accused, or they may -leave him to his own judgment and conscience as they may deem it to be -expedient. Such is the state of the case, if the right of -discrimination, of making exceptions from the general power of -control, is vested in the Legislatures themselves. Is it then given to -the other party, that is, to the Senator? Then the power resolves -itself into an empty name; or rather into just what I say it should -be, a recommendation entitled to great deference and respect, but with -no obligation to obedience. If the Senator has an admitted discretion -to obey or not to obey the instructions of his Legislature, <i>according -to the nature of the case in which they are given</i>, then the right of -the Legislature to give them is not absolute in any case, but it is -left to the judgment of the Senator to decide for himself whether the -case be one in which he can and ought to follow their instructions or -not. There is no special exception of impeachments, and the right to -exempt them from this legislative control, if it exist at all, must -depend upon the nature of the case, and, of consequence, what is the -nature of a case which entitles it to this exemption must be decided -by the Legislature or by their Senator. We have seen the effect of -either alternative. In truth, this power of control must be -co-extensive with the powers and duties of the Senator, or it is -nothing.</p> - -<p>To give you the strongest case against my argument, I will suppose -that the Constitution had said—“The State Legislatures may <i>instruct</i> -their Senators,” and had said no more; would this have created an -imperious obligation on the Senator implicitly to obey the -instructions? Would disobedience forfeit his office directly, or -virtually by making it his <i>duty</i> to resign it? I think not. It would -have been no more than a constitutional, perhaps a superfluous, -recognition of the right of the State Legislatures to interfere so far -and in this way, with the measures of the federal government, to give -their opinions, their recommendation, their counsel, to their -Senators; but the Senators would afterwards be at liberty, nay it -would be their duty, to act and vote according to their own judgment -and consciences, on the responsibility which they <i>constitutionally</i> -owe to their constituents, which is found, as Mr. Madison says, <i>in -the periodical change</i> of the members of the Senate. The Constitution -knows no other check upon the Senators; no other responsibility to the -State Legislature, while the Senator acts within and by the admitted -powers of his office.</p> - -<p>But I am wearying you to death. Let me conclude this interminable -epistle by referring to an authority which no man living holds in -higher reverence than you do. About a week or ten days before the -death of that great and pure man, a true and fearless patriot, <i>Chief -Justice Marshall</i>, I called to see him. This question of instructions -was then in high debate in your papers. I said to him that I thought -the Virginia doctrine of instructions was inconsistent with all the -principles of our government, and subversive of the stability of its -foundations. He replied in these words—“It is so; indeed the Virginia -doctrines are incompatible not only with the government of the United -States, but with <i>any</i> government.” These were the last words I heard -from the lips of <i>John Marshall</i>.</p> - -<div align="right"><small>H.</small>. </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect02"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>PERDICARIS.</h4> -<br> - -<p><i>Mr. Editor</i>,—In introducing the following pieces to your notice, -permit me to say a few words of the gentleman whose lectures on the -condition and prospects of his native Greece have occasioned them to -be offered to you. Perdicaris is a native of Berea in Macedonia, a -place memorable not only for classic but for sacred associations. He -left his country while a youth, about the commencement of the Greek -revolution; and after travelling for some time in Syria and Egypt, was -brought off by an American vessel of war, from Smyrna, where his -situation as a Greek was extremely perilous. His education having been -completed in this country, he engaged as a teacher of the Greek -language, first at the Mount Pleasant Institution, Amherst, -Massachusetts, and subsequently at Washington College, Hartford, -Connecticut. Being now about to return to his native country, he is -perfecting his acquaintance with the United States and their -institutions, by travel; while at the same time he aims by lectures -delivered in the various cities, to excite an interest in the public -mind in the prospects and condition of his own country. It appears to -be his most earnest wish, to remove some false ideas with respect to -his native land, which have been too generally prevalent, and which -even the tone of Byron's poetry—friend of Greece as he was—has -tended to confirm. In the accounts of Perdicaris, we discover that his -country is still worthy of her ancient fame, that she possesses, and -has possessed for years, numerous and eminent scholars, noble -institutions of learning, a national poetry of no ordinary merit, an -active and intelligent population, and a general diffusion of -enlightened public spirit, of which it is as gratifying as it is -unexpected, to be informed.</p> - -<p>Of the two following pieces, the one is a translation, executed with -Mr. Perdicaris's assistance, from Christopoulos, who has been styled -the Modern Anacreon. It has in the original, an amusing and touching -simplicity, which I have not, I fear, succeeded in preserving. The -second piece must speak for itself.</p> - -<a name="sect03"></a> -<br> -<h5>FROM THE ROMAIC OF CHRISTOPOULOS.</h5> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem3"> - <tr><td>Orb of day, thus rising splendid,<br> - Through the glowing realms of air!<br> - Be thy course for once suspended,<br> - For a message to my fair.<br> - Two of thy bright rays be darted;<br> - Let them, as the maid they greet,<br> - Say, her lover, faithful-hearted,<br> - Worships humbly at her feet.<br> - He, of late so full of pleasure,<br> - Tell her, now can scarce draw breath;<br> - Living parted from his treasure,<br> - He is like one sick to death.<br> - Hour by hour, his pain enhancing,<br> - Brings the final struggle near;<br> - Death, with stealthy tread advancing,<br> - Claims the spirit lingering here.<br> - If he die, let her lament him;<br> - Let her not forget the dead;<br> - Let a message kind be sent him,<br> - To the shores he now must tread.<br> - If perchance where he is resting<br> - In the cold and dreamless sleep,<br> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page411"><small><small>[p. 411]</small></small></a></span> - She should pass, her steps arresting,<br> - One soft tear there let her weep.<br> - These, dear Sun, for me repeating,<br> - Then pursue thy brilliant way;<br> - But the words of this sad greeting,<br> - O forget them not, I pray!</td></tr> -</table><br> - -<hr align="center" width="30"><a name="sect04"></a> - -<h5>TO G. A. PERDICARIS.</h5> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem4"> - <tr><td>We hail thee, Greek, from that far shore,<br> - Young Freedom's chosen land of yore!<br> - There were her first high Pæans poured—<br> - There proved in fight her virgin sword—<br> - There fell her eldest-martyr'd brave,<br> - The heroes of the mount and wave!<br> - We hail thee! Not a breast that burns<br> - With but a spark of patriot fire,<br> - But to thy country's altar turns,<br> - And listens to thy country's lyre.<br> - Grecian, forgive the idle thought!<br> - We deemed old Hellas' spirit fled.<br> - Yes! when thy brethren bravely fought<br> - On plains where rest the immortal dead,<br> - We scarce cast off the unworthy fear,<br> - Scarce hoped that Greece might yet be free:<br> - It seemed a boon too bright, too dear<br> - For our degenerate age to see<br> - A newly-won Thermopylæ.<br> - And e'en if Grecian valor burst<br> - Its chains, we little deemed thy clime<br> - That generous <i>intellect</i> had nursed<br> - That shone so bright in elder time.<br> - But who could catch thy burning words,<br> - The changes of thy speaking eye,<br> - And deem that time, or tyrant swords<br> - Could bid the Grecian spirit die?<br> - Thanks for the lesson thou hast given!<br> - It shows, where Freedom once hath dwelt,<br> - Though every bolt of angry Heaven<br> - Age after age should there be dealt,<br> - There is a power they cannot kill;<br> - The proud, free spirit of the race<br> - Lives on through woe and bondage still,<br> - The eternal Genius of the place.<br> - Yes! Hear the lesson, distant lands,<br> - Where Goth and Russ with iron rod<br> - Press down and cramp in servile bands<br> - The living images of God!<br> - Hear, Poland! soon shall dawn the day<br> - Of liberty and peace for thee!<br> - And thou, where Rhine's blue waters play!<br> - And thou, once glorious Italy!<br> - And thou, my country, be thou true!<br> - The great of former days arise,<br> - The same bright path again pursue<br> - That marked their ancient victories.<br> - Greece is thy rival for renown!<br> - Arouse thee to the noble strife!<br> - Thou must not lose thy glory's crown,<br> - Well won by many a hero's life!<br> - No! Onward still, ye noble pair,<br> - Each mindful of the illustrious past,<br> - The struggle and the triumph share,<br> - And ever may that triumph last!</td></tr> -</table> - -<div align="right"><small>B.</small>. </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect05"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>MS.S. OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small></h4> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> These pieces, from the pen of Dr. Franklin, have never -appeared in any edition of his works, and are from the manuscript book -which contains the Lecture and Essays published in former numbers of -the Messenger.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<h5>PROPOSALS</h5> - -<p>That P. S. and A. N. be immediately invited into the Junto.</p> - -<p>That all new members be qualified by the four qualifications, and all -the old ones take it.</p> - -<p>That these queries copied at the beginning of a book, be read -distinctly each meeting, a pause between each while one might fill and -drink a glass of wine.</p> - -<p>That if they cannot all be gone through in one night, we begin the -next where we left off, only, such as particularly regard the funds to -be read every night.</p> - -<p>That it be not hereafter the duty of any member to bring queries, but -left to his discretion.</p> - -<p>That an old declamation be, without fail, read every night when there -is no new one.</p> - -<p>That Mr. Brientnal's Poem on the Junto be read over once a month, and -hum'd in consort<small><small><sup>2</sup></small></small> by as many as can hum it.</p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>2</sup></small> Concert was thus spelt in the beginning of the last -century. See many examples in the Tatler, etc.</small></blockquote> - -<p>That once a month in spring, summer and fall, the Junto meet in the -afternoon in some proper place across the river for bodily exercise.</p> - -<p>That in the aforesaid book be kept minutes thus:</p> - -<center><i>Friday, June 30, 1732.</i></center> - -<blockquote>Present A, B, C, D, E, F, etc.</blockquote> - -<blockquote>Figure denotes the queries answered.</blockquote> - -<blockquote>1. H. P. read this maxim, viz. or this experiment, viz. or etc.</blockquote> - -<blockquote>5. Lately arrived one —— of such a profession or such a science, -etc.</blockquote> - -<blockquote>7. X. Y. grew rich by this means, etc.</blockquote> - -<p>That these minutes be read once a year at the anniversary.</p> - -<p>That all fines due be immediately paid in, and the penal laws for -queries and declamations abolished, only he who is absent above ten -times in the year, to pay 10<i>s.</i> towards the anniversary -entertainment.</p> - -<p>That the secretary, for keeping the minutes, be allowed one shilling -per night, to be paid out of the money already in his hands.</p> - -<p>That after the queries are begun reading, all discourse foreign to -them shall be deemed impertinent.</p> - -<p>When any thing from reading an author is mentioned, if it exceed a -line, and the Junto require it, the person shall bring the passage or -an abstract of it in writing the next night, if he has it not with him.</p> - -<p>When the books of the library come, every member shall undertake some -author, that he may not be without observations to communicate.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>How shall we judge of the goodness of a writing? or what qualities -should a writing on any subject have, to be good and perfect in its kind?</p> - -<p>Answer 1. To be good it ought to have a tendency to benefit the reader -by improving his virtue or his knowledge.</p> - -<p>The method should be just, that is, it should proceed regularly from -things known to things unknown, distinctly and clearly, without confusion.</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page412"><small><small>[p. 412]</small></small></a></span> -<p>The words used should be the most expressive that the language -affords, provided they are the most generally understood.</p> - -<p>Nothing should be expressed in two words that can as well be expressed -in one; i.e. no synonymes should be used or very rarely, but the whole -be as short as possible, consistent with clearness.</p> - -<p>The words should be so placed as to be agreeable to the ear in -reading.</p> - -<blockquote>Summarily,—It should be smooth,<br> - - - clear, and<br> - - - short, </blockquote> - -<blockquote>For the contrary qualities are displeasing.</blockquote> - -<p>But taking the query otherwise:</p> - -<blockquote>An ill man may write an ill thing well; that is, having an ill design -he may use the properest style and arguments (considering who are to -be readers) to attain his ends.</blockquote> - -<blockquote>In this sense, that is best wrote which is best adapted for attaining -the end of the writer.</blockquote> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>Can a man arrive at perfection in this life, as some believe; or is it -impossible, as others believe?</p> - -<p>Perhaps they differ in the meaning of the word perfection.</p> - -<p>I suppose the perfection of any thing to be only the greatest the -nature of that thing is capable of.</p> - -<p>Thus a horse is more perfect than an oyster, yet the oyster may be a -perfect oyster, as well as the horse a perfect horse.</p> - -<p>And an egg is not so perfect as a chicken, nor a chicken as a hen; for -the hen has more strength than the chicken, and the chicken more life -than the egg—yet it may be a perfect egg, chicken, and hen.</p> - -<p>If they mean a man cannot in this life be so perfect as an angel, it -is true, for an angel by being incorporeal, is allowed some -perfections we are at present incapable of, and less liable to some -imperfections that we are liable to. If they mean a man is not capable -of being so perfect here as he is capable of being in heaven, that may -be true likewise.</p> - -<p>But that a man is not capable of being so perfect here as he is -capable of being here, is not sense; it is as if I should say, a -chicken in the state of a chicken is not capable of being so perfect -as a chicken is capable of being in that state.</p> - -<p>In the above sense there may be a perfect oyster, a perfect horse, a -perfect ship, why not a perfect man? that is, as perfect as his -present nature and circumstances admit?</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p><i>Question</i>. Wherein consists the happiness of a rational creature?</p> - -<p><i>Answer</i>. In having a sound mind and a healthy body, a sufficiency of -the necessaries and conveniences of life, together with the favor of -God and the love of mankind.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>. What do you mean by a sound mind?</p> - -<p><i>A</i>. A faculty of reasoning justly and truly, in searching after such -truths as relate to my happiness. Which faculty is the gift of God, -capable of being improved by experience and instruction into wisdom.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>. What is wisdom?</p> - -<p><i>A</i>. The knowledge of what will be best for us on all occasions and -the best ways of attaining it.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>. Is any man wise at all times and in all things?</p> - -<p><i>A</i>. No: but some are much more frequently wise than others.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>. What do you mean by the necessaries of life?</p> - -<p><i>A</i>. Having wholesome food and drink wherewith to satisfy hunger and -thirst, clothing, and a place of habitation fit to secure against the -inclemencies of the weather.</p> - -<p><i>Q</i>. What do you mean by the conveniences of life?</p> - -<p><i>A</i>. Such a plenty * - * - * - * - *</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p><i>Query</i>.—Whether it is worth a rational man's while to forego the -pleasure arising from the present luxury of the age in eating and -drinking and artful cookery, studying to gratify the appetite, for the -sake of enjoying a healthy old age, a sound mind and a sound body, -which are the advantages reasonably to be expected from a more simple -and temperate diet?</p> - -<p>Whether those meats and drinks are not the best that contain -everything in their natural tastes, nor have any thing added by art so -pleasing as to induce us to eat or drink when we are not athirst or -hungry, or after thirst and hunger are satisfied; water, for instance, -for drink, and bread, or the like, for meat?</p> - -<p>Is there any difference between knowledge and prudence?</p> - -<p>If there is any, which of the two is most eligible?</p> - -<p>Is it justifiable to put private men to death for the sake of the -public safety or tranquillity, who have committed no crime? As in case -of the plague to stop infection, or as in the case of the Welshmen -here executed.</p> - -<p>If the sovereign power attempts to deprive a subject of his right, -(or, what is the same thing, of what he thinks his right,) is it -justifiable in him to resist if he is able?</p> - -<p>What general conduct of life is most suitable for men in such -circumstances as most of the members of the Junto are? or of the many -schemes of living which are in our power to pursue, which will be most -probably conducive to our happiness?</p> - -<p>Which is the best to make a friend of, a wise and good man that is -poor, or a rich man that is neither wise nor good?</p> - -<p>Which of the two is the greatest loss to a country, if they both die?</p> - -<p>Which of the two is happiest in life?</p> - -<p>Does it not, in a general way, require great study and intense -application for a poor man to become rich and powerful, if he would do -it without the forfeiture of his honesty?</p> - -<p>Does it not require as much pains, study and application, to become -truly wise and strictly good and virtuous, as to become rich?</p> - -<p>Can a man of common capacity pursue both views with success at the -same time?</p> - -<p>If not, which of the two is it best for him to make his whole -application to?</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>The great secret of succeeding in conversation, is to admire little, -to hear much, always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of -our friends; never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others -appear as much as possibly we can; to hearken to what is said and to -answer to the purpose.</p> - -<center>Ut jam nunc dicat jam nunc debentia dici.</center> -<br> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page413"><small><small>[p. 413]</small></small></a></span> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect06"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>LOSING AND WINNING.</h4> - -<center><small><i>By the author of the “Cottage in the Glen,” “Sensibility,”</i> &c.</small></center> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem5"> - <tr><td><small>Think not, the husband gained, that all is done;<br> - The prize of happiness must still be won;<br> - And, oft, the careless find it to their cost,<br> - The lover in the husband may be lost;<br> - The graces might, alone, his heart allure—<br> - They and the virtues, meeting, must secure.<br> - - - - <i>Lord Lyttleton</i>.</small></td></tr> -</table> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem6"> - <tr><td><small> - -Can I not win his love?<br> - Is not his heart of “penetrable stuff?”<br> - Will not submission, meekness, patience, truth,<br> - Win his esteem?—a sole desire to please,<br> - Conquer indifference?—they must—they will!<br> - Aid me, kind heaven—I'll try!<br> - - - - - -<i>Anon.</i></small></td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> - -<p>It was a bright and beautiful autumnal evening. The earth was clad in -a garb of the richest and brightest hues; and the clear cerulean of -the heavens, gave place, near the setting sun, to a glowing ‘saffron -color,’ over which was hung a most magnificent drapery of crimson -clouds. Farther towards both the north and south, was suspended here -and there a sable curtain, fringed with gold, folded as but one hand -could fold them. They seemed fitting drapery to shroud the feet of -Him, who “maketh the clouds his chariot, who rideth upon the wings of -the wind.”</p> - -<p>Such was the evening on which Edward Cunningham conducted his fair -bride into the mansion prepared for her reception. But had both earth -and heaven been decked with ten-fold splendor, their beauty and -magnificence would have been lost on him; for his thoughts, his -affections, his whole being were centered in the graceful creature -that leaned on his arm, and whom he again and again welcomed to her -new abode—her future home. He forgot that he still moved in a world -that was groaning under the pressure of unnumbered evils; forgot that -earthly joy is oft-times but a dream, a fantasy, that vanishes like -the shadow of a summer cloud, that flits across the landscape, or, as -the morning vapor before the rising sun; forgot that all on this side -heaven, is fleeting, and changeable, and false. In his bride, the -object of his fondest love, he felt that he possessed a treasure whose -smile would be unclouded sunshine to his soul; whose society would -make another Eden bloom for him. It was but six short months since he -first saw her who was now his wife; and for nearly that entire period -he had been in ‘the delirium of love,’ intent only on securing her as -his own. He had attained his object, and life seemed spread before -him, a paradise of delight, blooming with roses, unaccompanied by thorns.</p> - -<p>Joy and sorrow, in this world, dwell side by side. In a stately -mansion, two doors only from the one that had just received the joyful -bridegroom and happy bride, dwelt one who had been four weeks a wife. -On that same bright evening she was sitting in the solitude of her -richly furnished chamber, her elbows resting on a table, her hands -supporting her head, while a letter lay spread before her, on which -her eyes, blinded by tears, were rivetted. The letter was from her -husband. He had been from home nearly three weeks, in which time she -had heard from him but once, and then only by a brief verbal message. -The letter that lay before her had just arrived; it was the first she -had ever received from her husband, and ran thus:—</p> - -<blockquote><i>Mrs. Westbury</i>—Thinking you might possibly expect to see me at home -this week, I write to inform you that business will detain me in New -York some time longer.</blockquote> - -<div align="right">Yours, &c. - - <br> -<small>FREDERIC WESTBURY.</small> </div> - -<p>For a long time the gentle, the feeling Julia, indulged her tears and -her grief without restraint. Again, and again, she read the laconic -epistle before her, to ascertain what more might be made of it than at -first met the eye. But nothing could be clothed in plainer language, -or be more easily understood. It was as brief, and as much to the -point as those interesting letters which debtors sometimes receive -from their creditors, through the agency of an attorney. “Did ever -youthful bride,” thought she, “receive from her husband such a letter -as this? He <i>strives</i> to show me the complete indifference and -coldness of his heart toward me. O, why did I accept his hand, which -was rather his father's offering than his own? Why did I not listen to -my reason, rather than to my fond and foolish heart, and resist the -kind old man's reasonings and pleadings? Why did I believe him when he -told me I should win his son's affections? Did I not know that his -heart was given to another? Dear old man, he fondly believed his -Frederic's affections could not long be withheld from one whom he -himself loved so tenderly—and how eagerly I drank in his assurances! -Amid all the sorrow that I felt, while kneeling by his dying bed, how -did my heart swell with undefinable pleasure, as he laid his hand, -already chilled by death, upon my head, gave me his parting blessing, -and said that his son would love me! Mistaken assurance! ah, why did I -fondly trust it? Were I now free!—free!—would I then have the knot -untied that makes me his for life? Not for a world like this! No, he -is mine and I am his; by the laws of God and man, <i>we are one</i>. He -<i>must</i> sometimes be at home; and an occasional hour in his society, -will be a dearer bliss than aught this world can bestow beside. His -father's blessing is still warm at my heart! I still feel his hand on -my head! Let me act as he trusted I should act, and all may yet be -well! Duties are mine—and thine, heavenly Father, are results. -Overlook my infirmities, forgive all that needs forgiveness, sustain -my weakness, and guide me by thine unerring wisdom.” She fell on her -knees to continue her supplications, and pour out her full soul before -her Father in heaven; and when she arose, her heart, if not happy, was -calm; her brow, if not cheerful, was serene.</p> - -<p>Frederic Westbury was an only child. He never enjoyed the advantages -of maternal instruction, impressed on the heart by maternal -tenderness—for his mother died before he was three years old, and all -recollection of her had faded from his memory. Judge Westbury was one -of the most amiable, one of the best of men; but with regard to the -management of his son, he was too much like the venerable Israelitish -priest. His son, like other sons, often did that which was wrong, ‘and -he restrained him not.’ He was neither negligent in teaching, nor in -warning; but instruction and discipline did not, as they ever should -do, go hand-in-hand; and for want of this discipline, Frederic grew up -with passions uncontrolled—with a will unsubdued. He received a -finished education, and his mind, which was of a high order, was -richly stored with knowledge. His pride of character was great, and he -looked down with contempt on all that was dishonorable or vicious. He -had a chivalrous generosity, and a frankness of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page414"><small><small>[p. 414]</small></small></a></span> disposition that -led him to detest concealment or deceit. He loved or hated with his -whole soul. In person he was elegant; his countenance was marked with -high intellect and strong feeling; and he had the bearing of a prince. -Such was Frederic Westbury at the age of four-and-twenty.</p> - -<p>About a year before his marriage, Frederic became acquainted with -Maria Eldon, a young lady of great beauty of person, and fascination -of manner, who at once enslaved his affections. But against Miss -Eldon, Judge Westbury had conceived a prejudice, and for once in his -life was <i>obstinate</i> in refusing to indulge his son in the wish of his -heart. He foresaw, or thought he did so, the utter ruin of that son's -happiness, should he so ally himself. He had selected a wife for his -son, a daughter-in-law for himself, more to his own taste. Julia -Horton was possessed of all that he thought valuable or fascinating in -woman. Possibly Frederic might have thought so too, had he known her, -ere his heart was in possession of another; but being pointed out to -him as the one to whom he must transfer his affections, he looked on -her with aversion as the chief obstacle to the realization of his -wishes. Julia was born, and had been educated, in a place remote from -Judge Westbury's residence; but from her infancy he had seen her from -time to time, as business led him into that part of the country in -which her parents resided. In her childhood she entwined herself -around the heart of the Judge; and from that period he had looked on -her as the future wife of his son. His views and wishes, however, were -strictly confined to his own breast, until, to his dismay, he found -that his son's affections were entangled. This discovery was no sooner -made than he wrote a pressing letter to Julia, who was now an orphan, -to come and make him a visit of a few weeks. The reason he gave for -inviting her was, that his health was rapidly declining, (which was -indeed too true,) and he felt that her society would be a solace to -his heart. Julia came; she saw Frederic; heard his enlightened -conversation; observed his polished manners; remarked the lofty tone -of his feelings; and giving the reins to her fancy, without consulting -reason or prudence, she loved him. Too late for her security, but too -soon for her peace, she learned that he loved another. Dreading lest -she should betray her folly to the object of her unsought affection, -she wished immediately to return to her native place. But to this -Judge Westbury would not listen. He soon discovered the state of her -feelings, and it gave him unmingled satisfaction. It augured well for -the success of his dearest earthly hope; and as his strength was -rapidly declining, consumption having fastened her deadly fangs upon -him, to hasten him to the grave, he gave his whole mind to the -accomplishment of his design. At first his son listened to the subject -with undisguised impatience; but his feelings softened as he saw his -father sinking to the tomb; and, in an unguarded hour, he promised him -that he would make Julia his wife. Judge Westbury next exerted himself -to obtain a promise from Julia that she would accept the hand of his -son; and he rested not until they had mutually plighted their faith at -his bed-side. To Frederic this was a moment of unmingled misery. He -saw that his father was dying, and felt himself constrained to promise -his hand to one woman, while his heart was in possession of another.</p> - -<p>Julia's emotions were of the most conflicting character. To be the -plighted bride of the man she loved, made her heart throb with joy, -and her faith in his father's assurance that she would win his -affections, sustained her hope, that his prediction would be verified. -Yet when she marked the countenance of her future husband, her heart -sank within her. She could not flatter herself into the belief, that -its unmingled gloom arose solely from grief at the approaching death -of his father. She felt that he was making a sacrifice of his fondest -wishes at the shrine of filial duty.</p> - -<p>Judge Westbury died; and with almost his parting breath, he pronounced -a blessing upon Julia as his daughter—the wife of his son—most -solemnly repeating his conviction that she would soon secure the heart -of her husband!</p> - -<p>Immediately on the decease of her friend and father, Julia returned -home, and in three months Frederic followed her to fulfil his promise. -He was wretched, and would have given a world, had he possessed it, to -be free from his engagement. But that could never be. His word had -been given to his father, and must be religiously redeemed. “I will -make her my wife,” thought he; “I promised my father that I would. -Thank heaven, I never promised him that I would love her!” Repugnant -as such an union was to his feelings, he was really impatient to have -it completed; for as his idea of his duty and obligation went not -beyond the bare act of making her his wife, he felt that, that once -done, he should be comparatively a free man.</p> - -<p>“I am come,” said he to Julia, “to fulfil my engagement. Will you name -a day for the ceremony?”</p> - -<p>His countenance was so gloomy, his manners so cold—so utterly -destitute of tenderness or kindly feeling, that something like terror -seized Julia's heart; and without making any reply, she burst into -tears.</p> - -<p>“Why these tears, Miss Horton?” said he. “Our mutual promise was given -to my father; it is fit we redeem it.”</p> - -<p>“No particular time was specified,” said Julia timidly, and with a -faltering voice. “Is so much haste necessary?”</p> - -<p>“My father wished that no unnecessary delay should be made,” said -Frederic, “and I can see no reason why we should not as well be -married now, as at any future period. If you consult my wishes, you -will name an early day.”</p> - -<p>The day was fixed, and at length arrived, presenting the singular -anomaly of a man eagerly hastening to the altar, to utter vows from -which his heart recoiled, and a woman going to it with trembling and -reluctance, though about to be united to him who possessed her -undivided affections.</p> - -<p>The wedding ceremony over, Mr. Westbury immediately took his bride to -his elegantly furnished house; threw it open for a week, to receive -bridal visits; and then gladly obeyed a summons to New York, to attend -to some affairs of importance. On leaving home, he felt as if released -from bondage. A sense of propriety had constrained him to pay some -little attention to his bride, and to receive the congratulations of -his friends with an air of satisfaction, at least; while those very -congratulations congealed his heart, by bringing to mind the ties he -had formed with one he could not love, to the impossibility of his -forming them with the one whom he idolized. When he had been absent -about ten days, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page415"><small><small>[p. 415]</small></small></a></span> -he availed himself of an opportunity to send a -verbal message to his wife, informing her that he was well, and should -probably be at home in the course of two weeks; but when that period -was drawing toward a close, his business was not completed, and as -home was the last place he wished to visit, he resolved to protract -his absence, so long as he had a reasonable excuse. “I must write, and -inform her of the change in my plan,” thought he, “decency demands it, -yet how can I write? My dear Julia!—my dear wife! No such thing—she -is not dear to me!</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem7"> - <tr><td><small>‘Ce cœur au moins, difficile à domter,<br> - Ne peut aimer ni par ordre d'un père,<br> - Ni par raison.’</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>She is my wife—she is Mrs. Westbury—she is mistress of my house, and -must share my fortune—let that suffice her! It must have been for -these that she married me. A name! a fortune! an elegant -establishment! Mean! ambitious! heartless! Thou, Maria—bright, -beautiful, and tender—thou wouldest have married me for myself! Alas, -I am undone! O, my father!” Under the influence of feelings like -these, he wrote the laconic epistle which cost his bride so many -bitter tears.</p> - -<p>It was at the close of about two weeks from this, that Julia was -sitting one evening in her parlor, dividing the time betwixt her work -and a book, when the door-bell rang, and a minute after the parlor -door opened, and Mr. Westbury entered. With sparkling eyes and glowing -cheeks, she sprang forward, her hand half extended to meet his—but -his ceremonious bow, and cold “good evening Mrs. Westbury,” recalled -her recollection; and scarcely able to reply to his civility, she sank -back on her chair. She thought she was prepared to see him cold and -distant—thought she expected it—but she had deceived herself. -Notwithstanding all her bitter ruminations on her husband's -indifference toward her, there had been a little under current of -hope, playing at the bottom of her heart, and telling her he might -return more cordial than he went. His cold salutation, and colder eye, -sent her to her seat, disappointed, sick at heart, and nearly -fainting. In a minute, however, she recovered her self-possession, and -made those inquiries concerning his health and journey, that propriety -dictated. In spite of himself, she succeeded in some degree in drawing -him out. She was gentle, modest, and unobtrusive—and good sense and -propriety were conspicuous in all she said. Beside, she looked very -pretty. Her figure, though rather below the medium size, was very -fine, her hand and foot of unrivalled beauty. She was dressed with -great simplicity, but good taste was betrayed in every thing about her -person. She wore her dress, too, with a peculiar grace, equally remote -from precision and negligence. Her features were regular, and her -complexion delicate; but the greatest attraction of her face, was the -facility and truth with which it expressed every feeling of the heart. -When Mr. Westbury first entered the parlor, an observer might have -pronounced her beautiful; but the bright glow of transient joy that -then kindled her cheek, had faded away, and left her pale—so pale, -that Mr. Westbury inquired, even with some little appearance of -interest, “whether her health was as good as usual?” Her voice, which -was always soft and melodious, was even softer and sweeter than usual, -as she answered “that it was.” Mr. Westbury at length went so far as -to make some inquiries relative to her occupations during his absence, -whether she had called on the new bride, Mrs. Cunningham, and other -questions of similar consequence. For the time he forgot Maria Eldon; -was half unconscious that Julia was his wife—and viewing her only as -a companion, he passed an hour or two very comfortably.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>One day when Mr. Westbury came in to dinner, Julia handed him a card -of compliments from Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who were about giving a -splendid party.</p> - -<p>“I have returned no answer,” said Julia, “not knowing whether you -would wish to accept the invitation or not.”</p> - -<p>“For yourself, you can do as you please, Mrs. Westbury—but I shall -certainly attend it.”</p> - -<p>“I am quite indifferent about the party,” said Julia, “as such scenes -afford me little pleasure; but should be pleased to do as you think -proper—as you think best.” Her voice trembled a little, as she spoke; -for she had not yet become sufficiently accustomed to Mr. Westbury's -<i>brusque</i> manner toward herself, to hear it with perfect firmness. “I -should think it very suitable that you pay Mr. and Mrs. Brooks this -attention,” Mr. Westbury replied.</p> - -<p>Nothing more was said on the subject, and Julia returned an answer -agreeable to the wishes of her husband.</p> - -<p>The evening to visit Mrs. Brooks at length arrived, and Julia repaired -to her chamber to dress for the occasion. To render herself pleasing -in the eyes of her husband was the sole wish of her heart, but how to -do this was the question. She would have given the world to know his -taste, his favorite colors, and other trifles of the like nature—but -of these she was completely ignorant, and must therefore be guided by -her own fancy. “Simplicity,” thought she—“simplicity is the surest -way; for it never disgusts—never offends, if it does not captivate.” -Accordingly, she arrayed herself in a plain white satin—and over her -shoulders was thrown a white blond mantle, with an azure border, while -a girdle of the same hue encircled her waist. Her toilet completed, -Julia descended to the parlor, her shawl and calash in her hand. Mr. -Westbury was waiting for her, and just casting his eyes over her -person, he said—“If you are ready, Mrs. Westbury, we will go -immediately, as it is now late.” Most of the guests were already -assembled when they arrived at the mansion opened for their reception, -and it was not quite easy to get access to the lady of the house, to -make their compliments. This important duty, however, was at length -happily accomplished, and Mr. Westbury's next effort was to obtain a -seat for his wife. She would have preferred retaining his arm, at -least for a while, as few persons present were known to her, and she -felt somewhat embarrassed and confused; but she durst not say so, as, -from her husband's manner, she saw that he wished to be free from such -attendance. In such matters the heart of a delicate and sensitive -woman seldom deceives her. Is it that her instincts are superior to -those of men?</p> - -<p>Julia had been seated but a short time before Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham -approached her, and entered into a lively conversation. This was a -great relief to Julia, who could have wept at her solitary and -neglected situation, alone, in the midst of a crowd. Mrs. Cunningham -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page416"><small><small>[p. 416]</small></small></a></span> -was in fine spirits, and her husband appeared the happiest of -the happy. Not that he appeared particularly to enjoy society—but his -blooming wife was by his side, and his eyes rested on her with looks -of the tenderest love—while the sound of her voice seemed constantly -to awaken a thrill of pleasure in his heart. After conversing with -Julia awhile, Mrs. Cunningham said—</p> - -<p>“Do you prefer sitting to walking, Mrs. Westbury? Pray take my arm, -and move about with us a little—it looks so dull for a person to sit -through a party.”</p> - -<p>Julia gladly accepted the offer, and was soon drawn away from herself, -in listening to the lively rattle of her companion, who, although only -a resident of a few weeks in the city, seemed already acquainted with -all the gentlemen, and half the ladies present. An hour had been -passed in this manner, and in partaking of the various refreshments -that were provided—to which Julia did little honor, though this was -of no consequence, as Mrs. Cunningham amply made up all her -deficiencies of this kind—when the sound of music in another room -attracted their attention. Julia was extremely fond of music, and as -their present situation, amid the confusion of tongues, was very -unfavorable for its enjoyment, Mr. Cunningham proposed that they -should endeavor to make their way to the music room. After -considerable detention, they succeeded in accomplishing their object, -so far at least as to get fairly within the door. Considering the -number of persons present, and how few there are that do not prefer -the music of their own tongues to any other melody, the room was -remarkably still—a compliment deserved by the young lady who sat to -the piano, who played and sang with great skill and feeling. Julia's -attention was soon attracted to her husband, who was standing on the -opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall, his arms folded -across his breast, his eyes resting on the performer with an -expression of warm admiration, while a deep shade of melancholy was -cast over his features. Julia's heart beat tumultuously. “Is it the -music,” thought she, “or the musician that thus rivets his attention? -Would I knew who it is that plays and sings so sweetly!” She did not -remain long in doubt. The song finished, all voices were warm in its praise.</p> - -<p>“How delightfully Miss Eldon plays! and with what feeling she sings!” -exclaimed Mrs. Cunningham. “I never listened to a sweeter voice!”</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to Julia's head, and back again to her heart, like a -torrent; a vertigo seized her; and all the objects before her, were, -for a moment, an indistinct, whirling mass. But she did not faint; she -did not even betray her feelings, though she took the first -opportunity to leave the room, and obtain a seat. For a long time she -was unconscious of all that was passing around her; she could not even -think—she only felt. Her husband's voice was the first thing that -aroused her attention. He was standing near her with another -gentleman; but it was evident that neither of them were aware of her proximity.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Brooks looks uncommonly well to-night,” said Mr. Westbury's -companion; “her dress is peculiarly becoming.”</p> - -<p>“It would be,” said Mr. Westbury, “were it not for those blue -ribbands; but I can think no lady looks well who has any of that -odious color about her.”</p> - -<p>“It is one of the most beautiful and delicate colors in the world,” -said the other gentleman. “I wonder at your taste.”</p> - -<p>“It does finely in its place,” said Mr. Westbury—“that is—in the -heavens above our heads—but never about the person of a lady.”</p> - -<p>Julia wished her mantle and her girdle in Africa—“Yet why?” thought -she. “I dare say he is ignorant that I have any of the color he so -much dislikes, about me! His heart belongs to another, and he cares -not—minds not, how she is clad whom he calls wife.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury and his friend now moved to another part of the room, and -it was as much as Julia could do, to answer with propriety the few -remarks that a passing acquaintance now and then made to her. At -length the company began to disperse, and presently Julia saw Mr. -Westbury leading Miss Eldon from the room. His head was inclined -toward her; a bright hectic spot was on his cheek, and he was speaking -to her in the softest tone, as they passed near where Julia was -sitting. Miss Eldon's eyes were raised to his face, while her -countenance wore a mingled expression of pain and pleasure. Julia had -just time enough to remark all this, ere they left the room. “O, that -I were away!” thought she—“that I were at home!—that I were—in my -grave!” She sat perfectly still—perfectly unconscious of all that was -going forward, until Mr. Westbury came to her, inquiring “whether she -meant to be the last to take leave?” Julia mechanically arose, -mechanically made her parting compliments to Mrs. Brooks—and scarcely -knew any thing till she arrived at her own door. Just touching her -husband's hand, she sprung from the carriage, and flew to her chamber. -For a while she walked the floor in an agony of feeling. The -constraint under which she had labored, served but to increase the -violence of her emotion, now that she was free to indulge it. “O, why -did I attend this party?” at length thought she—“O, what have I not -suffered!” After a while, however, her reason began to operate. “What -have I seen, that I ought not to have expected?” she asked herself. -“What have I learned that I knew not before? except,” she added, “a -trifling fact concerning my husband's taste.” Julia thought long and -deeply; her spirits became calm; she renewed former resolutions; -looked to heaven for wisdom to guide, and strength to sustain her—and -casting aside the mantle, which would henceforth be useless to her, -she instinctively threw a shawl over her shoulders to conceal the -unlucky girdle, and, though the hour was late, descended to the -parlor. Mr. Westbury was sitting by a table, leaning his head on his -hand. It was not easy for Julia to address him on any subject not too -exciting to her feelings—and still more difficult perfectly to -command her voice, that its tones might be those of ease and -cheerfulness; yet she succeeded in doing both. The question she asked, -led Mr. Westbury to look up, and he was struck by the death-like -paleness on her cheek. Julia could by an effort control her voice; she -could in a degree subdue her feelings; but she could not command the -expression of her countenance—could not bid the blood visit or recede -from her cheeks at her will. She knew not, indeed, that at this time -she was pale; her own face was the last thing in her mind. Mr. -Westbury had no sooner answered her question, than he added—“You had -better retire, Mrs. Westbury. You look as if the fatigues of the -evening had been too much for you.”</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page417"><small><small>[p. 417]</small></small></a></span> -<p>“<i>Fatigues</i> of the evening!—<i>Agonies</i> rather,” thought Julia; -but thanking him for his “kind” advice, she immediately retreated to -her chamber.</p> - -<p>Until this evening, Mr. Westbury had scarcely seen Miss Eldon since -his marriage. He had avoided seeing her, being conscious that she -retained her full power over his heart; and his sense of rectitude -forbade his indulging a passion for one woman, while the husband of -another. Miss Eldon suspected this, and felt piqued at his power over -himself. Her heart fluttered with satisfaction when she saw him enter -Mrs. Brooks's drawing-room; and she resolved to ascertain whether her -influence over his affections were diminished. She was mortified and -chagrined, that even here he kept aloof from her, giving her only a -passing bow, as he walked to another part of the room. It was with -unusual pleasure that she complied with a request to sit to the piano, -for she well knew the power of music—<i>of her own music</i> over his -heart. Never before had she touched the keys with so much interest. -She did her best—that best was pre-eminently good—and she soon found -that she had fixed the attention of him whom alone she cared to -please. After singing one or two modern songs, she began one that she -had learned at Mr. Westbury's request, at the period when he used to -visit her almost daily. It was Burns's “Ye banks and braes o' bonnie -Doon,” and was with him a great favorite. When Miss Eldon came to the -lines—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem8"> - <tr><td><small>“Thou mind'st me of departed joys,<br> - Departed, never to return”—</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>she raised her eyes to his face, and in an instant he forgot every -thing but herself. “Her happiness is sacrificed as well as my own,” -thought he; and leaning his head against the wall of the room, he gave -himself up, for the time, to love and melancholy. The song concluded, -however, he regained some control over his feelings, and still kept at -a distance from her; nay—conquered himself, so far as to repair to -the drawing-room, to escape from her dangerous vicinity. He saw her -not again until she was equipped for her departure. Then she contrived -to get near him, and threw so much sweetness and melancholy into her -voice, as she said “good night, Mr. Westbury,” that he was instantly -disarmed—and drawing her arm within his, conducted her from the room.</p> - -<p>“How,” said he, in a low and tremulous tone, “how, Maria, could you -sing <i>that song</i>, to harrow up my feelings? Time was, when to be near -thee—to listen to thee, was my felicity; but now, duty forbids that I -indulge in the dangerous delight.”</p> - -<p>Miss Eldon replied not—but raised her eyes to his face, while she -repressed a half-drawn sigh. Not another word was uttered until they -exchanged “adieus” at her carriage door.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>Two or three weeks passed away without the occurrence of any incident -calculated to excite peculiar uneasiness in the heart of Julia. True, -her husband was still the cold, the ceremonious, and occasionally the -abrupt Mr. Westbury; he passed but little even of his leisure time at -home; and she had never met his eye when it expressed pleasure, or -even approbation. But he did not grow more cold—more ceremonious; the -time he passed at his own fireside, rather increased than -diminished—and for all this she was thankful. Her efforts to please -were unceasing. Her house was kept in perfect order, and every thing -was done in time, and well done. Good taste and good judgment were -displayed in every arrangement. Her table was always spread with great -care, and if her husband partook of any dish with peculiar relish, she -was careful to have it repeated, but at such intervals as to gratify -rather than cloy the appetite. In her dress she was peculiarly neat -and simple, carefully avoiding every article of apparel that was -tinctured with the “odious color.” She had naturally a fine mind, -which had had the advantage of high cultivation; and without being -obtrusive, or aiming at display, she strove to be entertaining and -companionable. Above all, she constantly endeavored to maintain a -placid, if not a cheerful brow, knowing that nothing is so repulsive -as a discontented, frowning face. She felt that nothing was -unimportant that might either please or displease her husband; his -heart was the prize she was endeavoring to win; and the happiness of -her life depended on the sentiments he should ultimately entertain -toward her. Every thing she did was done not only properly, but -gracefully; and though she never wearied in her efforts, she would -oftentimes sigh that they were so unsuccessful. She sometimes feared -that her very anxiety to please, blinded her as to the best manner of -doing so; and would often repeat with a sigh, after some new, and -apparently useless effort—</p> - -<center><small>“Je le servirais mieux, si je l'eusse aimé moins.”</small></center> - -<p>The first thing to disturb the kind of quiet that Julia enjoyed, was -the prospect of another party. One morning, while at the breakfast -table, a card was brought in from Mr. and Mrs. Parker, who were to be -“at home” on Friday evening. After looking at the card, Julia handed -it to Mr. Westbury in silence.</p> - -<p>“It will be proper that we accept the invitation,” said Mr. Westbury.</p> - -<p>The remembrance of the agony she endured at the last party she -attended, caused Julia's voice to tremble a little, as she said—</p> - -<p>“Just as you think best—but for my own part, I should seldom attend a -party for the sake of enjoyment.”</p> - -<p>“If Mrs. Westbury thinks it proper to immure herself as if in a -convent, she can,” said Mr. Westbury; “for myself, I feel that society -has claims upon me that I wish to discharge.”</p> - -<p>“I will go if you think there would be any impropriety in my staying -away,” said Julia.</p> - -<p>“Situated as you are, I think there would,” said Mr. Westbury.</p> - -<p>“Situated as I am!” thought Julia; “what does he mean? Does he refer -to my station in society? or does he fear that the world will think me -an unhappy wife, that wishes to seclude herself from observation?”</p> - -<p>In the course of the morning, Julia called on Mrs. Cunningham, and -found that lady and her husband discussing the point, whether or not -they should attend Mrs. Parker's party.</p> - -<p>“Are you going, Mrs. Westbury?” asked Mrs. Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“Yes—Mr. Westbury thinks we had better do so,” Julia replied.</p> - -<p>“Hear that, Edward!” said Mrs. Cunningham. “You perceive that Mr. -Westbury likes that his wife should enjoy the pleasures of society.”</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page418"><small><small>[p. 418]</small></small></a></span> -<p>Mr. Cunningham looked a little hurt, as he said—“my dear Lucy, -am I not <i>more than willing</i> to indulge you in every thing that will -add to your happiness? I have only been trying to convince you how -much more comfortable we should be by our own fireside, than in such a -crowd as must be encountered at Mrs. Parker's. For myself, the society -of my wife is my highest enjoyment, and of her conversation I never -grow weary.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for the compliment, dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham—“and we -will settle the question at another time.”</p> - -<p>One of the first persons Julia distinguished amid the company, as she -entered Mrs. Parker's drawing-room, was Mrs. Cunningham, who gave her -a nod, and an exulting smile, as much as to say—“you see I have -carried the day!” Julia had endeavored to arm herself for this -evening's trial, should Miss Eldon make one of the company; and -accordingly she was not surprised, and not much moved, when she saw -her husband conversing with that young lady. She was too delicate in -feeling, too refined in manner, to watch them, even long enough to -catch the expression of Mr. Westbury's face; but resolutely turning -her eyes another way, she endeavored to enter into conversation with -the persons near her.</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury had not been in Mrs. Parker's drawing-room half an hour, -ere Miss Eldon contrived to place herself in such a situation as to -render it impossible for him to avoid addressing her; and this point -once gained, to escape from her was impracticable. A strong sense of -honor alone led him to wish to escape, as to be near her was to him -the most exquisite happiness; but the greater the delight, the more -imminent the danger; of this he was sensible, and it was not without -some resistance that he yielded to her fascination. Could she once -secure his attention, Miss Eldon well knew how to get at his heart; -and at those moments when she was sure that no ear heard, and no eye -observed her but his own, she let an occasional touch of the -<i>penserosa</i> mingle so naturally with her half subdued sprightliness, -as to awaken, in all their original strength, those feelings, and -those regrets, he was striving to subdue. For the time he forgot every -thing but that they mutually loved, and were mutually unhappy. They -had been standing together a considerable length of time when they -were joined by Mr. Cunningham, who abruptly remarked—</p> - -<p>“You don't enjoy yourself this evening, Westbury.”</p> - -<p>“What makes you think so?” Mr. Westbury inquired.</p> - -<p>“You look worn out, just as I feel,” answered Mr. Cunningham. “How -strange it is,” he added, “that married men will ever suffer -themselves to be drawn into such crowds!”</p> - -<p>“Why not married men, as well as bachelors?” asked Miss Eldon.</p> - -<p>“Because they relinquish real happiness and comfort, for a fatiguing -pleasure—if pleasure it can be called,” answered Cunningham. “One's -own hearth and one's own wife, is the place, and the society, for -unalloyed enjoyment. Am I not right, Westbury?”</p> - -<p>Miss Eldon turned her eyes on Mr. Westbury, as she waited to hear his -answer, and an expression, compounded of curiosity, contempt, and -satisfaction, met his eye. It was the first time he had ever remarked -an unlovely, an unamiable expression on her countenance. He calmly -replied to Mr. Cunningham—</p> - -<p>“Unquestionably the pleasures of domestic life are the most pure, the -most rational, that can be enjoyed.”</p> - -<p>“O, it is strange,” said Mr. Cunningham, “that any one can willingly -exchange them for crowded rooms, and pestilential vapors, such as we -are now inhaling! There is nothing to be gained in such a company as -this. Take any dozen, or half dozen of them by themselves, and you -might stand some chance to be entertained and instructed; but bring -them all together, and each one seems to think it a <i>duty</i> to give -himself up to frivolity and nonsense. I doubt whether there have been -a hundred sensible words uttered here to-night, except by yonder -circle, of which Mrs. Westbury seems to be the centre. There seems to -be something like rational conversation <i>there</i>.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury turned his eyes, and saw that Julia was surrounded by the -<i>elite</i> of the party—who all seemed to be listening with pleased -attention to a conversation that was evidently carried on between -herself and Mr. Eveleth, a gentleman who was universally acknowledged -as one of the first in rank and talent in the city. For a minute Mr. -Westbury suffered his eyes to rest on Julia. Her cheek was suffused -with the beautiful carmine tint of modesty, and her eyes were beaming -with intellectual light—while over her features was spread a slight -shade of care, as if the heart were not perfectly at ease. “She -certainly looks very well,” was Mr. Westbury's thought; and his -feeling was one of gratified pride, that she who was inevitably his -wife, did not find her proper level amongst the light, the vain, and -the frivolous.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>“You have been delightfully attentive to your wife, this evening, my -dear,” said Mrs. Cunningham to her husband, as soon as they were -seated in their carriage on their way home.</p> - -<p>“I am not sensible of having neglected you, Lucy,” said Mr. -Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“No—I suppose not; nor of having been very attentive to another!”</p> - -<p>“I certainly am not. To whom do you allude?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “that Mr. Westbury is equally -unconscious of having had his attention engrossed by any particular -individual.”</p> - -<p>“You surely cannot mean that I was particularly attentive to Miss -Eldon, Lucy?”</p> - -<p>“O, how could I mean so?” said Mrs. Cunningham, with a kind of laugh -that expressed any thing rather than pleasure, or good humor. “I -really wonder how you came to recollect having seen such a person as -Miss Eldon to-night!”</p> - -<p>“Your remark concerning Westbury brought her to my mind,” said Mr. -Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“How strange!” said his wife, “And how extreme that young lady's -mortification must have been, that she could not detain two newly -married gentlemen near her for more than an hour and a half at one -time! Seriously, Mr. Cunningham, the company must have thought that -you and Westbury were striving which should do her most homage.”</p> - -<p>“And seriously, my dear Lucy,” said Mr. Cunningham, taking the hand of -his wife, which she reluctantly permitted him to detain—“seriously, -it was merely <span class="pagenum"><a name="page419"><small><small>[p. 419]</small></small></a></span> -accidental that I spoke to Miss Eldon this -evening. There is not a person on earth to whose society and -conversation I am more completely indifferent—so, take no offence, -love, where none was meant. There is no one whose conversation can -compensate me for the loss of yours; and it is one reason why I so -much dislike these crowds, that, for a time, they necessarily separate -us from each other.”</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>The following morning, Mrs. Cunningham called on Mrs. Westbury, who, -at the moment of her arrival happened to be in her chamber—but she -instantly descended to receive her visitor. When Mrs. Westbury left -the parlor a short time previous, her husband was there; but he had -disappeared, and she supposed he had gone out. He was, however, in the -library, which adjoined the parlor, and the door between the two rooms -was not quite closed. After the compliments of the morning, Mrs. -Westbury remarked—</p> - -<p>“I was somewhat surprised to see you at Mrs. Parker's last evening.”</p> - -<p>“Surprised! why so?”</p> - -<p>“You recollect the conversation that took place on the subject, the -morning I was at your house?”</p> - -<p>“O, yes—I remember that Mr. Cunningham was giving a kind of -dissertation on the superior pleasures of one's own chimney-corner. -Really, I wish he did not love home quite so well—though I don't -despair of teaching him, by and by, to love society.”</p> - -<p>“Can it be possible that you really regret your husband's attachment -to home?” asked Mrs. Westbury.</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly—when it interferes with my going out. A man and his -wife may surely enjoy enough of each other's society, and yet see -something of the world. At any rate, I shall teach Ned, that I am not -to be made a recluse for any man!”</p> - -<p>“Have you no fears, my dear Mrs. Cunningham,” said Mrs. Westbury, -“that your want of conformity to your husband's taste, will lessen -your influence over him?”</p> - -<p>“And of what use is this influence,” asked Mrs. Cunningham, “unless it -be exerted to obtain the enjoyments I love?”</p> - -<p>“O, pray beware,” said Mrs. Westbury, with much feeling,—“beware lest -you sacrifice your happiness for a chimera! Beware how you trifle with -so invaluable a treasure as the heart of a husband!”</p> - -<p>“Pho—pho—how serious you are growing,” said Mrs. Cunningham. -“Actually warning and exhorting at twenty years of age! What a -preacher you will be, by the time you are forty! But now be honest, -and confess that you, yourself, would prefer a ball or a party, to -sitting alone here through a stupid evening with Westbury.”</p> - -<p>“Then to speak truth,” said Julia, “I should prefer an evening at home -to all the parties in the world—balls I never attend, and do not -think stupidity necessary, even with no other companion than one's own -husband.”</p> - -<p>“Then why do you attend parties if you do not like them?”</p> - -<p>“Because Mr. Westbury thinks it proper that I should.”</p> - -<p>“And so you go to him, like miss to her papa and mamma to ask him what -you must do?” said Mrs. Cunningham, laughing. “This is delightful, -truly! But for my part, I cannot see why I have not as good a right to -expect Edward to conform to my taste and wishes, as he has to expect -me to conform to his. And so Westbury makes you go, whether you like -to or not?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Westbury. “I never expressed to him my -aversion to going, not wishing him to feel as if I were making a great -sacrifice, in complying with his wishes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that is pretty, and dutiful, and delicate,” said Mrs. -Cunningham, laughing again. “But I don't set up for a <i>pattern</i> wife, -and if Edward and I get along as well as people in general, I shall be -satisfied. But to turn to something else. How do you like Miss Eldon?”</p> - -<p>“I am not at all acquainted with her,” said Julia.</p> - -<p>“You have met her several times,” said Mrs. Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but have never conversed with her. Her appearance is greatly in -her favor; I think her very beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“She is called so,” said Mrs. Cunningham; “but some how I don't like -her looks. To tell the plain truth, I can't endure her, she is so -vain, and artful, and self-complacent.”</p> - -<p>“I have not the least acquaintance with her,” repeated Julia; “but it -were a pity so lovely a face should not be accompanied by an amiable -heart. Are <i>you</i> much acquainted with her?”</p> - -<p>“Not personally. Indeed I never conversed with her for ten minutes in -my life.”</p> - -<p>“Then you may be mistaken in thinking her vain and artful,” said Mrs. -Westbury.</p> - -<p>“O, I've seen enough to satisfy me fully as to that point,” said Mrs. -Cunningham. “When a young lady exerts herself to engross the attention -of newly married men, and when she looks so self-satisfied at success, -I want nothing more. She can have no delicacy of feeling—she must be -a coquette of the worst kind.”</p> - -<p>It was now Mrs. Westbury's turn to change the subject of conversation, -and simply remarking—“that we should be extremely careful how we -judge of character hastily”—she asked some question that drove Miss -Eldon from Mrs. Cunningham's mind. Soon after the visitor departed, -and Julia returned to her chamber.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>In the evening when Mr. Westbury came in, he found Julia reading, but -she immediately laid down her book, and resumed her work. She thought -it quite as impolite to pursue the solitary pleasure of reading while -her husband was sitting by, as to have done so with any other -companion; and she knew no reason why he was not as much entitled to -civility as a stranger, or common acquaintance. It was not long before -Mr. Westbury inquired “what book had engaged her attention.” It was -Dr. Russel's Palestine.</p> - -<p>“It is a delightful work,” said Julia. “I have just read an extract -from Chateaubriand, that I think one of the most elegant passages I -ever met with.”</p> - -<p>“I should like to hear it,” said Mr. Westbury. Julia opened her book, -and the passage lost none of its beauty by her reading. She read the -following:—</p> - -<p>“When you travel in Judea the heart is at first filled with profound -melancholy. But when, passing from solitude to solitude, boundless -space opens before you, this feeling wears off by degrees, and you -experience a <span class="pagenum"><a name="page420"><small><small>[p. 420]</small></small></a></span> -secret awe, which, so far from depressing the soul, -imparts life, and elevates the genius. Extraordinary appearances -everywhere proclaim a land teeming with miracles. The burning sun, the -towering eagle, the barren fig-tree, all the poetry, all the pictures -of Scripture are here. Every name commemorates a mystery, every grotto -announces a prediction, every hill re-echoes the accents of a prophet. -God himself has spoken in these regions, dried up rivers, rent the -rocks, and opened the grave. The desert still appears mute with -terror, and you would imagine that it had never presumed to interrupt -the silence, since it heard the awful voice of the Eternal.”</p> - -<p>Julia closed the volume, and Mr. Westbury, after bestowing just praise -on the extract she had read, took up the work, and proposed to read to -her if she would like it. She thanked him, and an hour was very -pleasantly spent in this manner. A little time was occupied in -remarking on what had been read, when, after a short silence, Mr. -Westbury inquired of Julia, “whether she saw much of Mrs. Cunningham.”</p> - -<p>“Not a great deal,” was Julia's answer.</p> - -<p>“She was here this morning?” said Mr. Westbury. “She was,” replied Julia.</p> - -<p>“Do you intend to be intimate with her?” inquired Mr. Westbury.</p> - -<p>“I have no intention about it;” said Julia—“but presume I never -shall, as I fear our views and tastes will prove very discordant.”</p> - -<p>“I am happy to hear you say so,” said Mr. Westbury. “I am not -prepossessed in her favor, and greatly doubt whether an intimacy with -her would be salutary. Such a person as I conceive her to be, should -be nothing more than an acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>Nothing more was added on the subject, and Julia wondered, though she -did not ask, what had given her husband so unfavorable an impression -of Mrs. Cunningham's character. The truth was, he overheard the -conversation of the morning, which he would have frankly confessed to -his wife, but for a kind of delicacy to her feelings, as he had heard -her remarks as well as those of Mrs. Cunningham. He knew that it was -not quite honorable to listen to a conversation without the knowledge -of the parties; but he could not close the library door without -betraying his proximity; he wished not to see Mrs. Cunningham; he -therefore remained quiet, and heard their whole colloquy.</p> - -<p>A few days after this circumstance occurred, an invitation to another -party was received. Mr. Westbury looked at the card first, and handing -it to Julia, said:</p> - -<p>“I would have you act your pleasure with regard to accepting this -invitation.”</p> - -<p>“It will be my pleasure,” said Julia, hesitating and coloring a -little—“it will be my pleasure to consult yours.”</p> - -<p>“I have little choice about it,” said Mr. Westbury, “and if you prefer -declining to accepting it, I would have you do so.”</p> - -<p>“Shall you attend it?” asked Julia, while a shade of anxiety passed -over her features.</p> - -<p>“Certainly not unless you do,” Mr. Westbury replied.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Julia, “if it be quite as agreeable to you, I had a -thousand times rather spend it at home, alone with”—she checked -herself, colored crimson, and left the sentence unfinished.</p> - -<p>The morning after the levee, Mrs. Westbury was favored with another -call from Mrs. Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“Why, on earth were you not at Mrs. B——'s last night?” asked she -almost as soon as she entered the house. “You can imagine nothing more -splendid and delightful than every thing was.”</p> - -<p>“You were there then?” said Julia.</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly—though I went quite late. Edward was sick of a -violent head-ache, and I was obliged to see him safely in bed before I -could go; but nothing would have tempted me to miss it.”</p> - -<p>“How is Mr. Cunningham this morning?” Julia inquired.</p> - -<p>“Much better—though rather languid, as is usual after such an attack. -But I came in on an errand this morning, and must despatch business, -as I am somewhat in haste. Mrs. T—— is to give a splendid party next -week—by the way, have you received a card yet?”</p> - -<p>“I have not,” said Julia.</p> - -<p>“Neither have I—but we both shall. I want to prepare a dress for the -occasion, and came in to look at the one you wore to Mrs. Parker's, as -I think of having something like it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Westbury was about to ring the bell, and have the dress brought -for her visitor's inspection, but Mrs. Cunningham stopt her by saying,</p> - -<p>“No, no—do not send for it. Let me go with you to your wardrobe, I -may see something else that I like.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Westbury complied, and they went up stairs together. Mrs. -Cunningham was delightfully free in examining the articles exposed to -her view, and expressed such warm admiration of many of them, such an -ardent desire to possess the like, that it was rather difficult to -forbear telling her they were at her service. The blond mantle, with a -blue border, struck her fancy particularly, and Mrs. Westbury begged -her to accept it, saying “that she should probably never wear it -again, as the color was not a favorite with her husband.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Cunningham hastened home, delighted with her acquisition, and -immediately hastened to the chamber, to which her husband was still -confined by indisposition, to display to him her prize.</p> - -<p>“See what a beautiful little affair that dear Mrs. Westbury has given -me,” she cried. “How lucky for me that Mr. Westbury don't like blue, -else I should not have got it, I suppose, though, she could spare -this, and fifty other things, as well as not. Why, Edward, you don't -know what a delightful wardrobe she has! Really, you must indulge me a -little more in this way, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure no one looks better dressed than yourself, Lucy,” said Mr. -Cunningham, in a languid voice.</p> - -<p>“O, I try to make the most of every thing I have,” said Mrs. -Cunningham; “but really, Edward, Mrs. Westbury has twice as much of -all sorts of apparel as I have.”</p> - -<p>“And her husband has more than four times as much property as I have,” -answered Mr. Cunningham.</p> - -<p>“Supposing he has,” said his wife, “that need make no difference in -the article of dress. And then her house is so charmingly -furnished—every part of it! I was in her chamber, just now, and it -looks elegantly. Every thing in it is of the richest and most -beautiful kind, I declare I almost envied her so many luxuries.”</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page421"><small><small>[p. 421]</small></small></a></span> -<p>“We surely have every thing necessary to comfort, my dear Lucy,” -said Mr. Cunningham. “Our happiness does not depend on the splendor of -our furniture, but on our affection for each other. You would be no -dearer to my heart, in the paraphernalia of a duchess, diamonds and -all, than you are in your simple morning dress; and I hope you do not -love me the less, for not being able to furnish my house in the style -of Mr. Westbury's.”</p> - -<p>“O, no—of course not,” said Mrs. Cunningham, in a tone utterly devoid -of all tenderness or feeling; “but then I should not love you the less -for having beautiful things, I suppose. And, really, Edward, I think -one of the best ways in which a husband can show his love to his wife, -is by gratifying her in dress, furniture, company, and so-forth. -Talking about love don't amount to much after all!”</p> - -<p>“He must ruin himself, then, to show his love,” said Mr. Cunningham, -throwing his head back on the easy-chair, with a mingled expression of -mental and bodily pain on his features.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Cunningham, however did not look up to mark the expression of his -countenance, but half-muttered in reply to his remark—</p> - -<p>“I never knew a man who was too <i>stingy</i> to dress his wife decently, -fail to excuse himself on the ground of necessity. How I do detest to -hear a man talk of <i>ruin</i>, if his wife only asks for a new pair of -shoes!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Cunningham was too deeply wounded to attempt a reply; and Mrs. -Cunningham, having vented something of her discontent in this gentle -ebullition, flirted out of the chamber, without even casting a glance -toward her sick, and now afflicted husband.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>In due time Mrs. T——'s invitation was received, and this it was Mr. -Westbury's wish that Julia should accept. Without manifesting the -least reluctance she consented, and Mr. Westbury went so far as to -thank her for her cheerful compliance with his wishes. This was a very -slight courtesy, but there was something in Mr. Westbury's voice when -he spoke, that went straight to Julia's heart, and she left the room -to conceal the strong emotion excited by so very trivial a cause. “She -certainly strives to please me, be the motive what it may,” thought -Mr. Westbury, when left alone—“and though <i>I cannot love her</i>, -honor—nay, gratitude demands that I make her as happy as -circumstances will allow.” He took a pen, and hastily writing a few -lines, enclosed a bank note of considerable value, and left the little -packet on her work-table, that she might see it as soon as she -returned. He then left the house. When Julia resumed her seat by her -table, the packet was the first thing that attracted her notice. She -hastily opened it, and read as follows:—</p> - -<p>“As Mrs. Westbury is too delicate and reserved ever to make known a -want, she may have many which are unthought of by him who is bound to -supply them. Will she receive the enclosed, not as a gift, but as her -right? Perhaps a new dress may be wanted for Mrs. T——'s levee; if -not, the enclosed can meet some of those calls on benevolence, to -which report says Mrs. Westbury's ear is ever open. And if Mrs. -Westbury will so far overcome her timid delicacy, as freely to make -known her wants whenever they occur, she will greatly oblige her -husband.”</p> - -<p>Julia pondered long on this note. It was ceremonious and cold—cold -enough!—yet not so <i>frozen</i> as the only letter she had ever received -from him. Perhaps it was his way of letting her know that he wished -her to dress more elegantly and expensively. “I will not remain in -doubt; I will know explicitly,” thought she—and taking a pen in her -turn, she wrote the following:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Westbury is so munificient in supplying every want, that his wife -has none to make known. If there is any particular dress that would -gratify Mr. Westbury's taste, Mrs. Westbury would esteem it a great -favor would he name it, and it would be her delight to furnish herself -accordingly. She accepts with gratitude, <i>not as her right</i>, but as a -gift, the very liberal sum enclosed in Mr. Westbury's note.”</p> - -<p>Julia placed her note on Mr. Westbury's reading-desk in the library, -and felt an almost feverish impatience to have an answer, either -verbal or written. For more than an entire day, however, she was -doomed to remain in suspense, as her husband made no allusion either -to his note or her own, though the one she laid on his desk -disappeared on his first visit to the library. But her suspense at -length terminated. On going to her chamber she observed a little box -on her dressing-table. On raising it, she discovered a note that was -placed beneath it. The note ran thus:—</p> - -<p>“Mr. Westbury highly approves the elegant simplicity of Mrs. -Westbury's style of dress, and in consulting her own taste, she will -undoubtedly gratify his. He has <i>but once</i> seen her wear an unbecoming -article. The contents of the accompanying box were selected, not for -their intrinsic value or splendor, but because they correspond so well -with Mrs. Westbury's style of dress and of beauty. If she will wear -them to Mrs. T——'s, she will gratify the giver.”</p> - -<p>Julia opened the box, and a set of beautiful pearls met her view. “How -delicate, how kind, and how cold he is!” thought she. “O, how trifling -the value of these gems, compared to one particle of his love!—Yet -for his sake I will wear them—not as my adorning—may <i>that</i> ever be -the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, but as proof of my desire in -all things to please him, and meet his approbation.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. T——'s rooms were well filled with the elegant and fashionable, -on the evening on which her house was opened to receive company. But -the heart of Julia was not in such scenes. The more she saw of -fashionable life the less she liked it. Emulation, envy, detraction, -and dissimulation were obtruding themselves on her notice, amid gaiety -and splendor. Her conscientious scruples as to the propriety of thus -mixing with the world, increased rather than diminished. “I promised,” -thought she, while she was surveying the gay assembly—“I promised, in -all things lawful, to obey my husband—but is this <i>lawful</i> for me? It -is my duty—it is my <i>pleasure</i> to comply with all his wishes, where -superior duties do not forbid; but is it allowable for me to try to -please him <i>thus?</i> His heart is the prize at which I aim, but will -‘the end sanctify the means?’ Can I expect a blessing from above on my -efforts, while my conscience is not <i>quite</i> clear as to the rectitude -of the path I pursue? Can I not have moral courage enough to tell him -my scruples? and dare I not hazard the consequences?” Julia's -reflections were interrupted by the approach of Mrs. Cunningham.</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page422"><small><small>[p. 422]</small></small></a></span> -<p>“How serious you look, Mrs. Westbury,” said she. “Really, you -and Mr. Cunningham would do well together, for you are both more grave -in a party than any where else. Mr. Cunningham actually tries my -patience by his disrelish for society. I do believe he is now quite -well; yet he made indisposition an excuse for not coming with me -to-night! But,” said she, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I -shall show him that I can be <i>obstinate</i> as well as he! He chooses to -stay at home—I choose to come out—and if he will not come with me, -neither will I stay with him. I should rather live in a cottage in the -country, and have done with it, for there I should have nothing to -expect but stupidity; but to live in the midst of elegant society, and -yet be constrained to immure one's self, is intolerable, and I <i>will -not</i> submit to it!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Westbury had not the pain of replying to a speech from which both -her heart and her judgment revolted, as Mr. Eveleth at that moment -addressed her. He soon engaged her in a conversation which was -continued for an hour, and would have been continued still longer, but -for a general movement of the company, which separated them. Not long -after, Mr. Eveleth found himself near Miss Eldon, who was chatting -with two or three gentlemen. Mr. Westbury was standing hard by, but -his back was toward them, and Mr. Eveleth did not observe him.</p> - -<p>“Are you acquainted with Mrs. Westbury, Miss Eldon?” Mr. Eveleth -inquired.</p> - -<p>“No, not in the least,” said Miss Eldon, “and do not wish to be. She -looks altogether too <i>fade</i> for me.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Fade!</i>” said Mr. Eveleth—“I should think that the last word that -would apply to Mrs. Westbury in any way. She is certainly animated -both in countenance and manner, and she talks better than any lady I -ever conversed with. Her thoughts have something of masculine strength -and range, delightfully modified by feminine grace and delicacy. Her -manner is perfectly ladylike and gentle.”</p> - -<p>“Every thing she says must sound well,” remarked another gentleman. -“She has woman's most potent charm, in perfection—a voice whose tones -are all music.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it is all just as you say,” said Miss Eldon, “but really, I -never saw a lady that appeared to me more perfectly insipid, or less -attractive. I hope”—but the tone of Miss Eldon's voice contradicted -her words—“I hope her husband sees her with your eyes, rather than -mine.”</p> - -<p>“I do—I will!” thought Mr. Westbury, who had heard all the -conversation, with a variety of conflicting emotions. “<i>Fade!</i>” -reiterated he, as Miss Eldon uttered the word,—“'Tis false!” He -glanced his eyes towards Julia, who stood on the opposite side of the -room, talking with a lady. She was dressed in black, a color that -finely contrasted with her pearls, which proved to be very becoming. -Her cheek was a little flushed, and her whole face beaming with -animation. “<i>Fade!</i> 'tis false!” Mr. Westbury's pride was piqued. -Julia was Mrs. Westbury—his wife! could he patiently hear her thus -unjustly spoken of? Was there any thing noble in that mind that could -thus speak of a rival? How grateful to his feelings were the remarks -of Mr. Eveleth! How clearly he read the feelings of Miss Eldon in the -tone of voice in which she uttered her last remark! He waited to hear -no more, but moving towards a table that was spread with refreshments, -filled a plate, and carried it to Julia. It was the first attention of -the kind he had ever paid her, and her face was eloquent indeed, as -she looked up with a smile, and said “thank you.” He stood by her for -a few minutes, made some common-place remarks, even took a grape or -two from her plate, and then turned away. It was one of the happiest -moments of Julia's life! There was something indescribable in his -manner, that a delicate and feeling woman could alone have seen or -appreciated, of which Julia felt the full force.</p> - -<p>When the party broke up, Miss Eldon contrived again to secure Mr. -Westbury's arm. She saw that he purposely avoided her, whether from -new-born indifference, or principle, she could not determine; but -having boasted to quite a number of her <i>confidential friends</i> of his -passion for herself, and the reluctance with which he had complied -with his father's command to marry Julia, <i>who had made the most -indelicate advances</i>—she resolved, if art or manœuvering could -accomplish it, to maintain the appearance of power over him. From the -first she exulted in her conquest of Mr. Westbury's heart. She admired -his person—his fortune she <i>loved;</i> and bitter was her mortification, -unbounded her displeasure, when his hand was bestowed on another. To -make it appear that he still loved her; to wring the heart of his -wife, and detract from her character, were now the main springs of her -actions whenever she met them. The sight of Julia's pearls, which she -thought should have been her own, awakened, on this evening, -peculiarly bitter feelings. The hand—the heart even, of Mr. Westbury -were trifles, when compared with such beautiful ornaments, except as -they were the medium through which the latter were to be obtained.</p> - -<p>A ten-minutes conversation with her <i>ci-devant</i> lover was all her art -could accomplish during the evening at Mrs. T——'s, until she secured -his arm on going out. In the entry they were detained by the crowd at -the door, and looking round, they saw Mrs. Westbury, together with Mr. -and Mrs. Eveleth, examining a bust of Gen. Lafayette, which stood on a -pedestal, near the foot of the staircase. With a smile on her -beautiful features, which very slightly softened a compound expression -of scorn and malignity, Miss Eldon said—</p> - -<p>“Really, Mrs. Westbury has made a conquest! Mr. Eveleth is devoted in -his attentions, and enthusiastic in his encomiums! Do you not begin to -be jealous?”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least,” Mr. Westbury replied. “The attentions and -approbation of such a man as Mr. Eveleth are an honor to any lady; and -Mrs. Westbury's rigid sense of virtue and propriety will prevent her -ever receiving improper attentions, should any one be disposed to -offer them. She has too much delicacy and refinement to court the -attentions even of her own husband, much less those of the husband of -another!”</p> - -<p>Miss Eldon was stung with mortification, and dropping her head, that -her face might be concealed by her hood, she said, in a voice -tremulous from conflicting passions—</p> - -<p>“How little did I ever expect to hear Frederic Westbury speak to me in -a severe tone!”</p> - -<p>“Severe! Maria—Miss Eldon? Does common justice to Mrs. Westbury sound -harshly in your ear?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not—but your tone—your manner are not -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page423"><small><small>[p. 423]</small></small></a></span> what they -were, and I had hoped that no circumstances, no new engagements, would -prevent your retaining a kindly feeling towards one whom—” she -hesitated—“One whom I once loved,” said Mr. Westbury, finishing the -sentence for her. “Yes, you well know that I once loved you.”</p> - -<p>“Once?” interrupted Miss Eldon. “But this is man's fidelity!”</p> - -<p>“Miss Eldon, you astonish me,” said Mr. Westbury. “I am married; my -wife commands my respect—nay, my admiration; and duty, honor, every -thing commands that all former ties, however tender, should be broken. -Our happiness, our respectability demands that henceforth we be only -common acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>“Be it so—farewell!” said Miss Eldon, with irrepressible bitterness -of expression, and snatching her hand from beneath his arm, she sprang -forward and took that of her brother, who had just issued from the -parlor.</p> - -<p>“Is that—can that be Maria Eldon?” thought Mr. Westbury—“the -amiable! the feeling! the refined Maria! Where has my love, my -admiration, my passion for her gone? or rather, by what blindness were -they at first excited? Does she wish to retain—nay, does she claim -the heart of the husband of another? What perversion of principle is -here!”</p> - -<p>The crowd at the door was by this time nearly dispersed, and Mr. -Westbury, advancing to the trio that still remained near the bust, -drew his wife's arm within his, and bidding Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth “good -night,” led her to their carriage.</p> - -<p>“How have you enjoyed yourself this evening?” Mr. Westbury inquired, -as soon as the carriage-door was closed, and the coachman had mounted -his box.</p> - -<p>“Quite as well as I ever do scenes of similar character,” Julia -answered.</p> - -<p>“Do you not then relish society?”</p> - -<p>“Not very well in such large <i>masses</i>,” said Julia. “To my -apprehension, very large parties counteract the purpose for which -social feelings were implanted within us.”</p> - -<p>“Then you <i>disapprove</i>, as well as disrelish, them?” said Mr. -Westbury.</p> - -<p>“I fear they are not quite innocent,” said Julia. “So far as my -observation has extended, they have little tendency to increase -benevolence, or any of the finer feelings of the heart. I have often -feared, that vanity and thirst for admiration, were the causes that -draw together one half of the crowd; and a vulgar love of luxuries the other.”</p> - -<p>“Those causes surely do not influence all those who attend large -assemblies,” said Mr. Westbury. “Such persons as Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth, -for instance, are entirely above them.”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly,” said Julia. “Still I believe the rule as general as any -other.”</p> - -<p>“Does not the elegant and instructive conversation of such a man as -Mr. Eveleth reconcile you to the crowd?” Mr. Westbury inquired.</p> - -<p>“Certainly not,” said Julia. “How much more highly such conversation -would be enjoyed—how much greater benefit derived from it, in a small -circle. Artificial delicacy and refinement—artificial -feeling—artificial good-nature—artificial friendship, are the usual -compound that make up large companies. Had Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth spent -this evening with us, in our quiet parlor, how much greater would have -been the enjoyment! how much more profitably the time might have been -occupied!”</p> - -<p>“It might,” said Mr. Westbury. “Mr. Eveleth has great colloquial -powers. His conversation is at once brilliant and instructive. I know -no gentleman who equals him in this particular.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say quite as much as that,” said Julia, “though he certainly -converses uncommonly well.”</p> - -<p>“Who can you name that is his equal?” asked Mr. Westbury.</p> - -<p>Julia hesitated a little, and blushed a great deal, though her blushes -were unseen, as she said—“In conversational powers, I think my -present companion is very rarely, if ever excelled. And why,” she -added, “such gentlemen should mingle in crowds, where their talents -are in a great measure lost, instead of meeting in select circles, -where they could find congenial minds—minds, at least, in some degree -capable of appreciating them, I cannot conceive. But I suppose my -ideas of rational enjoyment, of elegant society are very singular.” -She stopped short, fearing she was saying too much, but Mr. Westbury -requested her to proceed. After a minute's hesitation she said—</p> - -<p>“I think the crowded drawing room should be abandoned to those who are -capable of no higher enjoyment than gossip, nonsense, flirtation, and -eating oysters, confections and creams; and that people of talent, -education, principle, and refinement, should associate freely in small -circles, and with little ceremony. In such kind of intercourse, new -friendships would be formed and old ones cemented, the mind and heart -would be improved, and the demons of envy and detraction excluded. -After an evening spent in such a circle, the monitor within would be -at peace, and the blessing and protection of Heaven could be sought, -without a feeling of shame, and self-condemnation.”</p> - -<p>“Then your <i>conscience</i> is really at war with large parties?” said Mr. -Westbury.</p> - -<p>“I cannot deny that it is,” Julia answered. “Impelled by -circumstances, I have striven to think they might <i>sometimes</i> be -innocently attended, and perhaps they may; but I confess that the -reproaches of my own conscience are more and more severe, every time I -repeat the indulgence. Whatever they be to others, I am constrained to -believe they are not innocent for me.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury made no reply, for at that moment the carriage stopped at -their own door, and the subject was not again resumed.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>Every party was sure to procure for Mrs. Westbury the favor of a call -from Mrs. Cunningham. On the following morning, at as early an hour as -etiquette would allow, she made her appearance.</p> - -<p>“I could not stay away this morning,” she said, the moment she -entered. “I am so vexed, and so hurt, that I must have the sympathy of -some friendly heart; and you are a friend to every one, especially -when in trouble.”</p> - -<p>“What troubles you, Mrs. Cunningham?” Mrs. Westbury inquired.</p> - -<p>“You recollect,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “what I said to you last night -about Mr. Cunningham's indisposition. Well, as soon as I got home, I -ran up stairs, of course, you know, to see how he was, expecting to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page424"><small><small>[p. 424]</small></small></a></span> -find him abed and asleep. Judge how I felt, when I found my bed -as I left it, and no husband in the chamber. I flew down stairs, and -searched every room for him, but in vain. I then rang for Peggy, and -asked ‘if she knew where Mr. Cunningham was.’ ‘La, ma'am,’ said she, -‘I'm sure I don't know. He went out just after you did. He called me -to give charge about the fires, and said he was going out. I thought -he had altered his mind and was going to Mrs. T——'s.’ I dismissed -the girl, and went to my chamber, in an agony, as you may suppose. I -declare I hardly know what I did or thought for three long hours—for -it was so long before Mr. Cunningham came home! I don't know what I -said to him when he came, but he was not the kind, affectionate -creature, that he ever has been, for he almost harshly told me ‘to -cease my upbraidings’—<i>upbraidings!</i> think what a word—‘for if I -sought pleasure where I liked, I must not quarrel with him for doing -the same!’ My dear Mrs. Westbury, I could not make him tell me where -he had been, do all I could—and I have horrible surmises. What shall -I do? I am sick at heart, and almost distracted.”</p> - -<p>“Will you follow my advice, my dear Mrs. Cunningham?” said Mrs. -Westbury, who truly pitied her distress, much as she blamed her.</p> - -<p>“O, yes—I will do any thing to feel happier than I now do. Really my -heart is broken,” and she burst into a passion of tears.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Westbury attempted to soothe her, and then said—</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, if I wound, when I would only heal. You have been a -little imprudent, and must retrace your steps by conforming to the -taste of your husband. He does not like crowds, and you must in part -relinquish them for his sake.”</p> - -<p>“And is not that hard?” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Why should he not -conform to my taste, as well as I to his? Why must <i>men</i> always have -their own way?”</p> - -<p>“That point it is not worth while to discuss,” said Mrs. Westbury. -“Your happiness, my friend, is at stake. Can you hesitate an instant -which to relinquish, those pleasures, which, after all, are so -unsatisfying, or the approbation, the happiness, perhaps the heart, -even, of your husband?”</p> - -<p>“But why,” persisted Mrs. Cunningham, “need he be so obstinate? You -see he could go out and stay till two in the morning! It seems as if -he did it on purpose to torment me,” and she again burst into tears.</p> - -<p>“I have not the least doubt,” said Mrs. Westbury, “that would you -yield to Mr. Cunningham's wishes—would you let him see that you care -more about pleasing him than yourself, he would cheerfully, and -<i>frequently</i> perhaps, accommodate himself to your taste. Few men will -bear being <i>driven</i>, and they would be objects of our contempt if they -would, for authority is divinely delegated to them; but there are -<i>very few</i> who have not <i>generosity</i> enough to take pleasure in -gratifying the wife, who evidently strives to meet his wishes, and is -willing to sacrifice her own pleasures, that she may promote his -happiness.”</p> - -<p>“But I can't see,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “why my happiness is not of -as much consequence as my husband's. I can't see, why all <i>sacrifice</i> -should be on my side!”</p> - -<p>“Do you not perceive,” said Mrs. Westbury, “<i>that the sacrifices you -make, are made to secure your happiness, and not to destroy it?</i>”</p> - -<p>“I don't know,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “I can't bear to have Ned think -to manage me as he would a little child, and then punish me, as he did -last night, if I don't do just as he says. I don't think it fair! And -I don't know as it would be of any avail, should I follow your advice. -Some men will be <i>ugly</i>, do what you will! And why should you -understand <i>managing</i> the men better than I do? You are two or three -years younger!”</p> - -<p>“I never studied how to <i>manage</i> them,” said Mrs. Westbury; “but I -have thought a good deal on the best way of securing domestic -happiness; and reason, observation, and the word of God teach me, that -would the wife be happy and beloved, she must ‘be in subjection to her -own husband.’ He may not always be reasonable, but she cannot ‘usurp -authority,’ without at once warring against Heaven, and her own peace, -and respectability. Think of it, my dear Mrs. Cunningham, ruminate -upon it, and in your decision be careful not to let <i>will</i> influence -you to sacrifice a greater good for a less. It is not degrading for a -wife to submit to her husband. On the contrary, she never appears more -lovely than when cheerfully and gracefully yielding up her own wishes, -that she may comply with his. Women were not made to rule; and in my -view, the wife who attempts to govern, and the husband who submits to -be governed, are equally contemptible.”</p> - -<p>“What an admirable wife you would be for a tyrant!” exclaimed Mrs. -Cunningham. “I never heard the doctrine of <i>passive obedience</i> more -strenuously inculcated. Indeed, you would make a tyrant of any man!”</p> - -<p>“If any thing would disarm the tyrant,” said Mrs. Westbury, “I think -this <i>passive obedience</i> would do it, if at the same time, it were a -<i>cheerful</i> obedience. But happily, <i>you</i> have no tyrant to disarm. -Your husband, I am satisfied, would be easily pleased. Try, my friend, -for a little while, to yield to him, and see if you do not meet a rich reward.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I will think of it,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “and perhaps shall -do as you advise; for really I am very wretched now. O, dear, I do -wish the men were not so obstinate! so overbearing! so selfish!”</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>For some time things went on very calmly with Julia. Though there was -nothing tender, or even affectionate in the manner of her husband, -there was a gradual alteration, sufficient to keep hope alive, and -stimulate her to exertion. He spent more and more of his leisure time -at home, and was at least becoming <i>reconciled</i> to her society. -Julia's system of visiting had been partially adopted, and Mr. -Westbury enjoyed it highly. Mr. and Mrs. Eveleth, and a few other -friends of congenial minds, had been invited to drop in occasionally -without ceremony; the invitation had been complied with, and Mr. -Westbury and Julia had returned a few visits of this kind. Thus many -evenings had been pleasantly, and profitably spent. Another great -comfort to Julia, was, that her husband had cheerfully permitted her -to decline several invitations to attend large parties, and had -sometimes remained at home with her himself, and even when he had -thought best, on his own part, to accept the invitation, he had been -absent but a short <span class="pagenum"><a name="page425"><small><small>[p. 425]</small></small></a></span> -time, and had then returned to pass the remainder of the evening with his wife.</p> - -<p>But after awhile, this faint gleam of sunshine began to fade away. A -cloud of care seemed settling on Mr. Westbury's brow, he passed less -and less time at home, till at length Julia scarcely saw him, except -at mealtimes. “What is the matter?” thought Julia. “Am I the cause? is -Miss Eldon? or is it some perplexity in his affairs?” She longed to -inquire. If she had displeased him, she wished to correct whatever had -given displeasure. If his sadness was in any way connected with Miss -Eldon, of course she could in no way interfere; but if it originated -in any cause foreign to either, she ardently desired to offer her -sympathy, and share his sorrows. Day after day passed, without -producing any favorable change, and Julia's feelings were wrought up -to agony. She resolved, at all hazards, to inquire into the cause of -his depression.</p> - -<p>He came in late one evening, and taking a seat near the table, beside -which Julia was sitting, leaned his head on his hand. Half an hour -passed without a word being uttered. “Now is my time,” thought Julia. -“Yet how can I do it? What can I say? A favored wife would seat -herself on his knee, entwine his neck with her arms, and penetrate his -very heart—but I, alas, should only disgust by such freedom?” She -drew a sigh, and summoning all her courage, said, in a timid voice—</p> - -<p>“I fear I have unwittingly offended you.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury looked up in some surprise, and assured her “that she had not.”</p> - -<p>“You have absented yourself from home so much of late,” said Julia, -“that I feared your own fireside was becoming less agreeable to you -than ever.”</p> - -<p>“Business of importance,” said Mr. Westbury, “has of late demanded all -my time, and to-morrow I must start for New York.”</p> - -<p>“For New York!” said Julia. “To be absent how long?”</p> - -<p>“That,” said Mr. Westbury, “must depend on circumstances. I may be -absent some time.”</p> - -<p>“May I not hope to hear from you occasionally?” Julia assumed courage -to ask.</p> - -<p>“Yes—I will certainly write, from time to time.”</p> - -<p>“He does not ask me to write,” thought Julia, with a sigh. “He is -quite indifferent how she fares whom he calls his wife!”</p> - -<p>The following morning witnessed the departure of Mr. Westbury, and -Julia was left to painful conjecture as to the cause of his dejection. -Three weeks passed away, in each of which she received a letter from -him, comporting exactly with his manner toward her—friendly and -respectful, but neither tender nor confiding.</p> - -<p>At the close of that period Julia was one day alarmed by the -unceremonious entrance of a sheriff's officer. He was the bearer of a -writ of attachment, with orders to seize all the furniture.</p> - -<p>“At whose suit do you come?” Julia asked the officer.</p> - -<p>“At Mr. Eldon's, madam. He holds a note of some thousands against Mr. -Westbury, and thinks no time is to be lost in making it secure. You -have jewels of value, madam, which I was ordered to include in the -attachment.”</p> - -<p>“Will you allow me a few minutes for reflection?” said Julia, whose -faculties seemed benumbed by the suddenness of the blow.</p> - -<p>“Certainly, madam, certainly—any accommodation in my power I shall be -happy to grant.”</p> - -<p>“What <i>can</i> I do? what <i>ought</i> I to do?” thought Julia. “O, that Mr. -Westbury were at home! Mr. Eveleth—yes—I will send for him; he can -advise me, if the officer will only wait.”</p> - -<p>“Will you suspend your operations for half an hour, sir,” asked Julia, -“that I may send for a friend to advise and assist me?”</p> - -<p>“Why, my time is very precious, madam, and my orders to attach were -peremptory; nevertheless, half an hour will make no great difference, -so to oblige you, I will wait.”</p> - -<p>The pale and trembling Julia instantly despatched a servant for Mr. -Eveleth, and in twenty minutes that gentleman arrived. He was -instantly made acquainted with the business in hand, and without -hesitation receipted for the furniture, and dismissed the officer. -Julia felt relieved of an enormous burden, when the officer left the -house—though in her trepidation she scarcely comprehended how he was -induced to go, and leave every thing as it was. As soon as she was -sufficiently composed and collected to take a pen, she wrote to her -husband, giving an account of all that had transpired. Her letter -despatched, she had nothing to do but wait in torturing suspense, till -she should either see or hear from him. On the third evening, as she -was sitting with her eyes resting on the carpet, alternately thinking -of her husband, and of her own embarrassing situation, and at times -raising her heart to heaven for strength and direction—as she was -thus sitting, in deep and melancholy musing, Mr. Westbury entered the -apartment. Quick as thought she sprang towards him, exclaiming—</p> - -<p>“O, my dear husband, how glad I am that you are come! But what is the -matter?” she cried, as he sank into a chair—“you are very ill!”</p> - -<p>“I find that I am,” said Mr. Westbury. “My strength has just sufficed -to fetch me home.”</p> - -<p>Julia took his hand, and found it was burning with fever, and -instantly despatching a servant for a physician, she assisted her -husband to his chamber. The medical gentleman soon arrived, and -pronounced Mr. Westbury in a confirmed fever. For twenty days, Julia -was in an agony of suspense. With intense anxiety she watched every -symptom, and administered every medicine with her own hand, lest some -mistake should be made. It was in vain that the physician entreated -her to take some care of herself; she could do nothing, think of -nothing, but that which related to her husband. When nature was -completely exhausted, she would take an hour's troubled repose, and -then be again at her post. On every account, the thought of his death -was terrible. “To be lost to me,” thought she, “is unutterably -dreadful—but, O, it is a trifle when compared to being lost to -himself! He is not fit for heaven. He has never sought the -intercession of the great Advocate, through whom alone we can enter on -eternal life.” How fervently did she pray that his life might be -prolonged! that he might come forth from his affliction like ‘gold -seven times refined!’</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury was exceedingly reduced, but there had been no symptom of -delirium, though weakness <span class="pagenum"><a name="page426"><small><small>[p. 426]</small></small></a></span> -and pain compelled him to remain -almost constantly silent. Occasionally, however, he expressed his -gratitude to Julia for her unremitted attentions; begged her, <i>for his -sake</i>, to take all possible care of her own health, for if her -strength should fail, such another nurse—so tender—so -vigilant—could not be found. Julia entreated him to take no thought -for her, as she doubted not that her heavenly Father would give her -strength for the discharge of every duty. Sometimes, when he was -uttering a few words of commendation, she panted to say—“<i>Aimez moi, -au lieu de me louer;</i>” but with a sigh she would bury the thought at -the bottom of her heart, and proceed in the discharge of her duties. -Oftentimes she would kneel for an hour together, at his bedside, when -he appeared to be sleeping, with his hand clasped in hers, dividing -the time between counting his fluttering pulse, and raising her heart -to heaven in his behalf.</p> - -<p>But Julia's constitution was unequal to the task she had undertaken. -Protracted fatigue and anxiety did their work, and on the day that her -husband was pronounced convalescent, she was conveyed to a bed of -sickness. Unlike Mr. Westbury, she was in a constant state of -delirium, induced by mental anxiety, and unremitting watching. Most -touchingly would she beg to go to her husband, as he was dying for -want of her care. It was in vain that she was told he was better—was -rapidly recovering; the impression was gone in an instant, and her -mind reverted to his danger. Her physician was anxious that Mr. -Westbury should visit her chamber, as soon as he could do so with -safety, hoping that the sight of him might change the current of her -thoughts, and remove that anxiety that greatly heightened her fever. -At the end of ten days he was able to be supported to her chamber, and -advancing to the bedside, he said—</p> - -<p>“My dear Julia, I am able to come and see you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank heaven,” said Julia, clasping her hands—and then raising her -eyes, she added—“Heavenly Father, I thank thee! But how sick you -look,” she continued; “O, pray go to bed, and I will come and nurse -you. I shall very soon be <i>rested</i>, and then they will let me come.”</p> - -<p>“I will sit by, and watch and nurse you now, Julia,” said Mr. -Westbury—“so try to go to sleep—it will do you good.”</p> - -<p>“You called me <i>Julia</i>,” said she, smiling; “O, how sweetly that -sounded! But I will mind you, and try to sleep, for my head feels -strangely.”</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes, and Mr. Westbury sat at the head of the bed, -watching her with intense interest. Presently her lips moved, and he -leaned forward to hear what she was saying.</p> - -<p>“O, should he die,” she murmured in the softest tone—“O, should he -die without ever loving me!—die, without knowing how much—how fondly -I loved him! And, O,” she added, in a whisper, while an expression of -deep solemnity settled on her features—“O, should he die without ever -loving the blessed Saviour!—that would be the most dreadful of all!”</p> - -<p>Presently a noise in the street disturbed her, and she opened her -eyes. She did not see her husband, as she had turned her face a little -on the other side, and calling the nurse, she said—</p> - -<p>“Do beg them to make less noise; they will kill my dear husband—I -know just how it makes his poor head feel,” and she clasped her own -with her hands.</p> - -<p>Mr. Westbury's feelings were much moved, and his debility was such he -could with difficulty restrain them. He found he must return to his -own chamber, and taking his wife's hand, he said—</p> - -<p>“I hope to be able to come and see you now, every day, my dear Julia.”</p> - -<p>“O, do,” she said—“and always call me Julia, will you?—it sounds so -kindly!”</p> - -<p>Scenes similar to this were constantly recurring for the next ten -days. Mr. Westbury continued to gain strength, though his recovery was -somewhat retarded by his visits to Julia's chamber, while she was -gradually sinking under the violence of her disease. The hopes, -however, which her physician gave of her recovery, were not delusive. -Within three weeks of the time of her seizure, a crisis took place, -and the next day she was pronounced out of danger.</p> - -<p>Soon after this, Mr. Westbury was able to attend a little to business, -but all the time he was in the house, was spent in Julia's chamber. -One day, after she had so far recovered her strength as to be able to -sit up for an hour or two at a time, he chanced to be left alone with -her.</p> - -<p>“My dear Julia,” said he, as he took her emaciated hand, and folded it -between his own—“I can never express my gratitude to you for your -kind attentions to an unworthy husband; nor my thankfulness to heaven -that your precious life did not fall a sacrifice to your efforts to -save mine. I hope to prove by my future conduct, that I have learned -to appreciate your value.”</p> - -<p>He spoke in the softest tones of love, while his eyes were humid with -tears.</p> - -<p>“Do you, then, love me?” said Julia.</p> - -<p>“Love you!—yes, most tenderly—with my whole heart,” said Westbury; -“more than any thing—more than every thing else on earth!”</p> - -<p>Julia leaned her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears.</p> - -<p>“Why do you weep, Julia?” said Westbury.</p> - -<p>“O, I am so happy!” said Julia. “There wants but one thing to make my -cup of blessedness quite full.”</p> - -<p>“And what is that, dearest?”</p> - -<p>“That you should give your first—your best affections where alone -they are deserved—to your Creator.”</p> - -<p>“I trust, my dear wife,” said Mr. Westbury, with deep feeling, “I -trust that your precious intercessions for me at the throne of mercy, -have been answered. My bed of sickness was a bed of reflection, of -retrospection, of remorse, and, I hope, of true penitence. I feel as -if in a new world; ‘old things have passed away, and all things have -become new.’”</p> - -<p>Julia clasped her hands together, leaned her face upon them, and for a -long time remained perfectly silent. At length she raised her head, -and said—</p> - -<p>“Your fortune, I suppose, is gone—but what of that? It was a -trifle—a toy—compared with the blessings now bestowed. A -cottage—any place will be a paradise to me, possessing the heart of -my husband, and he a believer!”</p> - -<p>“My dear Julia,” said Westbury, “my fortune is unimpaired. I was in -danger of sustaining great loss, through the embarrassments of my -banker in New York, but all is now happily adjusted. The difficulty -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page427"><small><small>[p. 427]</small></small></a></span> -here, was the result of malice. Eldon was embittered against me, -I doubt not, through the influence of his sister—of whom it is -unnecessary to speak to you. He heard of my difficulties, and knowing -that he should be perfectly safe, purchased that note against me, that -he might avenge her, by increasing my embarrassments. I have been -recently informed that that unhappy girl looked on your <i>pearls</i> with -peculiar malignity. Her feelings were too bitter, and too strong for -concealment. Poor girl—I fear that she and her brother are kindred in -heart, as well as blood. I now look with something like terror, at the -gulph into which I wished to plunge myself, and from which my dear -father alone saved me. I can never be sufficiently thankful, for being -turned, almost by force, from my rash and headstrong course; and for -having a wife bestowed on me, rich in every mental and moral -excellence—who loves me for myself, undeserving as I am, and not for -my wealth.”</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>It was now June; and as soon as Julia's strength was equal to the -fatigue, Mr. Westbury took her into the country for change of air. -They were absent from the city some months, and made, in the course of -the summer, several delightful excursions in various parts of the -country. A few days after their return to their house in town, Julia -asked Mr. Westbury “if he had seen or heard any thing of the -Cunninghams.”</p> - -<p>“I have seen neither of them,” said Mr. Westbury, “but hear sad -accounts of both. Mrs. Cunningham is now with a party at Nahant. She -has been extremely gay, perhaps I might say <i>dissipated</i>, during the -whole season, and her reputation is in some danger. Cunningham has -become an inveterate gamester, and I am told that his face shows but -too plainly, that temperance is not among his virtues.”</p> - -<p>“Poor creatures,” said Julia, “how I pity them for their folly—their -madness!”</p> - -<p>“I pity <i>him</i> most sincerely,” said Mr. Westbury, “in being united to -a woman who selfishly preferred her own <i>pleasure</i> to her husband's -<i>happiness</i>. <i>Her</i> I have not yet learned to pity. She richly deserves -all she may suffer. Had she taken your advice, Julia—for most -touchingly did I hear you warn her!—she might now have been happy, -and her husband respectable. <i>Now</i>, they are both lost!—O, that every -woman would learn where her true strength—her true happiness -lies!—O, that she would learn, that to yield is to conquer! to -submit, is to subdue! None but the utterly ignoble and abandoned, -could long resist the genial influence of a cheerful, meek, patient, -self-denying wife; nay—instances are not wanting, in which the most -profligate have been reclaimed through the instrumentality of a -<i>consistently</i> amiable and virtuous woman! If the whole sex, my dear -Julia, would imbibe your spirit, and follow your example, the effect -would soon be manifest. Men would be very different creatures from -what they now are, and few wives would have occasion to complain of -unkind and obstinate husbands. A vast deal is said of the influence of -women on society, and they, themselves, exult in their power; but how -seldom, comparatively, do they use it, to benefit themselves, or the -world! Let it be a woman's first desire to make her husband good, and -happy, and respectable—and seldom will she fail of attaining her -object, and at the same time, of securing her own felicity!”</p> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect07"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE SWAN OF LOCH OICH.</h4> - -<blockquote><small>A solitary wild swan may be seen on Loch Oich. It has sailed there for -twenty or thirty years, in summer and winter. It had a mate, but about -twenty years ago the master of a trading vessel (more wantonly -barbarous than the Duke of Cumberland when he burned the old castle of -Inverrgarry,) shot the bird. The Glengary swan, however, kept its -solitary range. Last winter three other swans lighted on the lake; -they remained a month or two, and it was thought the recluse would -depart with them, but it had apparently no desire to change its wonted -station. As swans have been known to live upwards of a century, we -hope this faithful bird will escape accident and cruelty, and live -through two or three generations more, to grace the shores of Loch -Oich.</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right"><small><i>Inverness Courier</i>.</small> </div> -<br><br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem9"> - <tr><td>Beautiful bird of the Scottish lake,<br> - With plumage pure as the light snow-flake,<br> - With neck of pride and a wing of grace,<br> - And lofty air as of royal race—<br> - Beautiful bird, may you long abide<br> - And grace Loch Oich in your lonely pride.<br> -<br> - Bright was the breast of the “loch,” I ween,<br> - Its crystal wave and its sapphire sheen;<br> - And bright its border of shrub and tree,<br> - And thistle-bloom in its fragrancy—<br> - When to thy side thy fair mate prest,<br> - Or skimm'd the lake with her tintless breast.<br> -<br> - But she is not! and still, to thee,<br> - Are the sunny wave and the shadowing tree,<br> - The mossy brink and the thistle flower,<br> - Dear, as to thee in that blessed hour!<br> - What is the spell o'er thy pinion thrown<br> - That binds thee here, fair bird, alone?<br> -<br> - Does the vision bright of thy peerless bride<br> - Still skim the lake and press thy side?<br> - And haunt the nook in the fir-tree's shade?<br> - And press the moss in the sunny glade?<br> - And has earth nothing, to thee, so fair,<br> - As the gentle spirit that lingers there?<br> -<br> - Oh, 'tis a wondrous, wizard spell!<br> - The human bosom its force can tell;<br> - The heart forsaken hath felt, like thine,<br> - The mystic web with its fibres twine,<br> - Constraining still in the scenes to stay,<br> - Where all it treasured had passed away.<br> -<br> - Bird of Loch Oich, 'tis well! 'tis well!<br> - You yield your wing to the viewless spell;<br> - Oh, who would seek, with a stranger eye,<br> - For blooming shores and a brilliant sky<br> - And range the earth for the hopeless art,<br> - To find a home for a broken heart?<br> -<br> - Oh, I would linger, though all alone,<br> - Where hallowed love its light has thrown,<br> - And hearth and streamlet and tree and flower,<br> - Are link'd in thought with a blessed hour;<br> - Home of my heart, those scenes should be<br> - As thy own Loch Oich, fair bird to thee.</td></tr> -</table> - -<div align="right"><small>ELIZA.</small> </div> - -<blockquote><small><i>Maine</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect08"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>OTTO VENIUS.</h4> -<br> - -<p>Otto Venius, the designer of “Le Theatre moral de la Vie Humaine,” -illustrates Horace's “Raro antecedentem scelestum deseruit <i>pede</i> -pœna <i>claudo</i>,” by sketching Punishment with a wooden leg.</p> -<br> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page428"><small><small>[p. 428]</small></small></a></span> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect09"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>DIARY OF AN INVALID.</h4> -<center><small>NO. I.</small></center> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="30"> -<br> -<center>ULEA HOLSTEIN—A TALE OF THE NORTHERN SEAS.</center> -<br> -<br> -<p>When I was at Nantucket last summer, trying the virtue of sea-bathing -and sea-breezes, for a wearisome chronic disease, I used to resort to -every imaginable form of innocent recreation, as a relief to the pain -and ennui occasioned by my bodily indisposition. One day, as I was -sitting on one of the rocks which project into the sea, observing the -multitude of fishing craft that were plying about the island, my -attention was arrested by the very remarkable appearance of the -commander of a large whale ship. His figure was not strikingly tall or -robust; but there were an energy and determination in his look, that -seemed to turn his every sinew into iron; while, upon a closer -observation, one might read in his upright and noble countenance, a -soul of high moral bearing, and a mind unruffled by the passing -vexations of life. Such a person always awakens interest, however -transiently we may pass him; and although we may not stop, at the -time, to define our sentiments, we are struck with something like -veneration and awe, when we behold in the midst of hardship, toil, and -danger, the tranquillity which marks a mind superior to the accidents -of life. But this was not all. One acquainted with human nature, might -see under this stern exterior, the generous nature, which would scorn -to trample on the weak, or pass by the suffering. I was irresistibly -drawn to make some acquaintance with this mariner, but found some -difficulty in framing any excuse to accost one of appearance and -accent so foreign. Accident soon accomplished the introduction, for -which I had taxed my ingenuity in vain. In attempting to descend from -my eminence, my decrepid limbs refused their office, and I fell -headlong on a shoal of rocks, among which I was scrambling with much -pain, when I felt myself raised gently, but powerfully, by a muscular -arm. I turned in my distress to see by what kind hand I was assisted, -when the eye of the hardy seaman met my inquiring glance. Pity and -benevolence shone on his countenance, and I felt even in that moment -of corporeal suffering, that the kindred tie of man—yes, of -friendship, united us. His first words struck me as being of foreign -accent, but his language was that of sympathy, which is read by all -nations, and now flowed warm from the heart. After placing me -comfortably on the sand, he hastened to his boat lying near, to bring -some restoratives in which sailors have much faith. I was soon -relieved by his attentions, and desiring to make some return for his -kindness, inquired to whom I was indebted for assistance, and in what -manner I could show my gratitude. To this the stranger replied, that -the action itself brought sufficient reward, since he had been able to -relieve a fellow creature. Our acquaintance began from this time, and -I gradually drew from him a history of his past life, which had been -one of trial and adventure. His narrative was given in our own -language, which he spoke very intelligibly, having been long -conversant with our seamen.</p> - -<p>“In early life I lost my parents, who resided in one of the trading -ports of Denmark; and with them perished my fair hopes of ease and -affluence. When about nineteen years old, my independent spirit, being -no longer contented to owe a scanty maintenance to my paternal -relatives, I joined a whaling company, that were fitting out for a -voyage in the Northern Ocean. My feelings, when I had resolved to bid -farewell, probably forever, to all the scenes of my childhood, and -break the ties that bound my youthful heart, to home, friends, and -country, and to embark in the adventurous and toilsome life of a -whaler, were melancholy enough and calculated to daunt the heart of -the bravest; but the desire of independence nerved my courage, and I -embarked in a whale ship manned by six men, and accompanied by three -other vessels of larger size. The captain and half the hands had made -the cruise before with great success, but the rest of us were raw -recruits, and suffered much from the hardships of our new mode of -life. We steered directly towards the northwest, intending to put in -at the Shetland Islands, and wait for the breaking up of the ice at -the north pole, when the whales are most abundant, following the -increased flow of the tides. We hoped to encounter many of these -monsters between these islands and Iceland, where the plan was to -refit and spend a part of the summer in preparing our freight to take -home. But how uncertain are human calculations! Our voyage was -prosperous even beyond our hopes, for some time; we passed the stormy -isles of Scotland in safety, and rode the blue billows of the -Atlantic, looking ahead with great anxiety for the objects of our -cruise. A few days only had elapsed, when some of our experienced -harpooners saw tokens of one at a distance, and all hands were set to -make ready. It is impossible to describe the excitement this notice -produced, in minds so weary of the dullness of inaction, as ours were. -The enormous animal was now manifest, from the whirlpool he had -created around him. Our boats did not venture near until his frolic -was over, and we saw his broad back even with the water. And now the -skilful seamen with unerring aim darted the harpoon, and away launched -and roared the whale, making the ocean heave with his throes; but our -darts were in him, and after he had tried our cable's length several -times, he was exhausted and became an easy conquest. This seemed a -glorious achievement to me. I was so completely enraptured with the -bold and perilous excitement, that I lost all the tender recollections -of home, and desired only to be a renowned whaler. Our successes -continued, and we mastered several whales, before we were warned that -we were coming upon the region of ice. This was indicated by a hoarse -crashing sound and a wide heaving of the sea, as if some body of -tremendous dimensions had been thrown into it. Our commander feared we -had delayed too long, and gave orders to make speedy sail for our -destined port. For some time we made good headway, and all hearts were -cheered, when, on the utmost verge of the horizon, we discerned the -faint outline of land, which we hoped would prove to be the coast of -Iceland, for which we now steered with all our press of sail. But just -at this time, while we were making observation in the direction of our -course, a moving mountain hove in view; at first like a cloud resting -on the water, but soon the wary eye of the fisherman saw it fraught -with danger, and with dread. An iceberg! an iceberg! and the panic ran -through all the ranks, for our course was right in the track of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page429"><small><small>[p. 429]</small></small></a></span> -horrific apparition. To recede was impossible, as the wind would -be against us; our utmost exertions were strained to clear the passage -in time, for before it heaved a mountain of waters, and behind it -yawned a devouring gulph. The three hours of intense interest and -uncertainty which passed, seemed like one moment drawn out to -eternity. But we did clear its track so as to receive only a slight -shock. As soon as the danger was over a reaction followed, almost too -great for human nature; our nerves from being strained to their utmost -tension, were suddenly relaxed to the weakness of infancy; our first -desires were for stimulants which threw us into wild excitement; and -our ships exhibited one scene of revelry and recklessness. In this -situation we rushed unconsciously on a reef of rocks from which escape -seemed impossible. We were already in pitchy darkness, driving among -the breakers, which we heard with still greater force roaring ahead. -It evidently appeared that we had forsaken our passage, and were on an -unknown coast where shipwreck and death awaited us. This was the -situation of our ship; we could not hear a sound from the other -vessels amidst the roar of waters, but we supposed that they also were -beating on rocks from which it was impossible to move them. Daylight -only was necessary to confirm our despair, and its first rays shone on -a scene of horror too great for utterance. We beheld our ship just in -the jaws of destruction, while the other three had cleared a passage, -and were free of the rocks, but dared not come within the force of the -breakers. In vain we held out the signal of distress; in vain they -lowered their boats and attempted to stem the whirlpool. Instant -destruction would have been their fate. I saw my companions clinging -to the broken masts and spars; but I made no effort: I sunk under the -impending weight of that power whose bounty and mercy I had forgotten -or despised in my days of prosperity, and whose incensed justice and -vengeance I was now to feel.</p> - -<p>“In this state of mind, I rose up and looked calmly upon the raging -deep, feeling that the ‘sweat of its great agony’ was tranquillity to -the vortex that awaited me. One after another of the men were carried -off, as the ship split to pieces, but I remained, with two others, on -a part of the bows, which seemed rivetted to the rock. I thought a few -hours at most must terminate our existence, as the waves were gaining -upon our remaining planks. My fellow sufferers clung to life with the -tenacity of drowning men; they ascended our quivering mast, to see if -any human habitations were discernible on this unknown coast, but -nothing was visible but a girdle of steep rocks. While they were -straining their vision, and in the wildness of desperation piercing -the loud clamor of the waters with their shrieks, three little specks -appeared in the direction of the shore; they gradually came nearer, -until we perceived they were fishing-boats, each guided by two men. My -companions besought me to unite with them in making every possible -signal of distress. Our signals were understood, and we soon saw that -their object was to rescue us, for they held out a token of -recognition, and rowed fast until they came within the whirl of the -tides, which obliged them to fall back and try another channel. We -could distinctly see that they were baffled in every attempt and -almost ready to abandon us; when one of their number, with skill -nearly superhuman, darted his boat between two pointed rocks, in so -narrow a passage that we expected to see it dashed to pieces every -moment. But his fearless courage bore him through—the next instant he -sprung on our shattered planks, drew a few hurried breaths, and then -informed us, in the dialect of our own land, that they had seen our -signals while out fishing, and had come to our relief; but at the same -time told us of the danger we must run of being dashed to pieces, in -attempting to steer through the breakers. ‘But,’ said he, ‘we will -trust in God and do our best; keep up a good heart, I will lash you -firmly to the boat, and if you will put your hope in the Almighty -Deliverer in time of peril, I will try to save you.’ He then looked -fixedly in our faces to see whether we agreed to the conditions; my -companions without hesitation answered, that they would venture; death -was inevitable if they remained. But I, though fearing death most of -all, could not resolve to feign, what I did not feel, <i>trust and hope -in God;</i> on the contrary, I felt that his every attribute was justly -arrayed against me. In anguish, I exclaimed, ‘leave me to perish, God -is my enemy—I shall sink from this gulph into a lower.’ ‘Sinful dying -man,’ he said, ‘would you set bounds to the mercy of the Lord? Cry, -rather, Lord, save me or I perish, for now is the accepted time, this -is the day of salvation.’ I caught the inspiration that glowed on his -tongue—I seized his hand, saying, ‘I am ready.’ In a few moments his -little boat was amidst the boiling surge, sometimes lost in the -tumultuous waves, but the mariner grasped the helm with a firm hand, -and shot through the jagged rocks with the rapidity of lightning. Our -deliverance was hailed by the other boats with a shout of joy, which -was returned by us with all our remaining strength. Our kind -deliverers perceiving our bodies and spirits exhausted by the combined -suffering of fear, cold, and hunger, cheered us with the warmest -expressions of sympathy, and the hope of speedily enjoying all the -comforts of their hospitable homes. They steered their boats into a -little sheltered bay surrounded by overhanging hills. As we approached -the shore, they informed us that it was the coast of their own dear -Iceland, whose snow-capt mountains and green valleys, they would not -exchange for any other spot in creation.</p> - -<p>“As I breathed its pure atmosphere, and pressed the young verdure -which was just appearing from beneath the mantle of snow, which had -shrouded it for many long months, I felt as if I were treading the -unsullied shores of a better world. Our good fisherman conducted our -failing footsteps over the wild and slippery rocks into a beautiful -valley. The frosts which had locked up nature during the long winter, -had yielded to the influence of the returning sun, which sent the -rejoicing current through the veins of every living thing. The stunted -trees put on their garniture of green in token of joy, the lichens and -mosses brightened in the genial ray, and all blended in a smile of -love and gratitude. We reached the cottage of the fisherman, sheltered -by overhanging rocks on one side, from the icy winds; and were -welcomed by its inmates with the looks and offices of kindness. They -consisted of a mother and three children. The countenance of the -former, notwithstanding the national peculiarity of features, was -pleasing, expressing both intelligence and benevolence. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page430"><small><small>[p. 430]</small></small></a></span> The -oldest of her offspring was a girl of extremely prepossessing -appearance. You would not, perhaps, in your country, call her -beautiful, for she had not the slender figure and the delicate -features which you associate with the idea of female loveliness; but -the laughing blue eye lighted up with its beam, a face which seemed -the mirror of her heart; her cheek was now mantled with rosy smiles, -now moistened with the tear of sympathy or affection. Her hair was -light, scarcely tinged with the sunny glow, but it was in unison with -her fair complexion, and curled slightly around a neck of transparent -whiteness. Her age might be fourteen, but there was so much childish -gaiety in her manner, that you would have supposed her much younger. -Her brothers were manly, noble looking boys, several years younger -than herself. Never shall I forget the compassionate look with which -the matron placed a seat near the warm fire, while with gentle voice -she chid the curiosity of her little group, saying, ‘the stranger is -cold and tired, and we must do all we can to make him comfortable.’ -They instantly retreated—but the two oldest hung over her shoulder, -earnestly whispering in her ear. I guessed that I was the subject of -their discourse, by hearing the mother reply in a low voice—‘Yes -Ulea, you may run and milk Minny, and Korner, get the potatoes ready, -and the fish too. By the time you return, he will be dry and warm, I -hope.’ With delighted countenances, they shot out of the cottage, and -the good woman busied herself in mending up the fire, and spreading a -couch of soft skins, on which she invited me to rest my weary limbs. I -attempted to speak my gratitude to heaven, and to her, but the words -were stifled by the strength of my feelings, which gushed out in -tears. She seemed to understand the nature of my emotions. Her tone -was soothing and encouraging. ‘God is good,’ she said, ‘and not only -saves us in perils, but provides a table in the desert. He puts it in -the hearts of strangers to show kindness, and makes us feel that we -are all brethren, the children of his care and bounty.’ ‘How,’ said I; -‘in this remote spot of creation, have you learned these heavenly -precepts?’ ‘Our lives,’ she answered, ‘are crowned with blessings, and -the greatest of all is, that of our dear missionary, who guides our -erring footsteps in the way of duty, as he points our hopes to a -brighter world.’ While she was speaking, Ulea returned, exclaiming, -‘Ah! mother, Minny seemed to know how much haste I was in, for she -stood right still; and here is Korner too, with the fish and -potatoes—let us set the dinner for the poor stranger.’ In a few -moments the repast was on the table, and I had scarcely taken the seat -provided, before my young hosts pressed me to eat of one and another -dish, telling me that ‘this was the richest milk because Minny gave -it, and these fish were taken by Korner's green rocks.’ I had scarcely -finished a hearty meal, when Holstein (for that was the name of the -good fisherman) came in, attended by our other deliverers and my two -comrades, who having received their hospitality, came with them to -consult whether any attempt could be made to save what remained on the -wreck. Holstein thought it probable no vestige of the wreck itself was -left. But the other fishermen said it might have drifted over the -rocks, and still contain something valuable. Under this possibility we -followed our conductors to the scene of destruction; but we found it -as Holstein had predicted; only a scattered plank here and there -marked the place of ruin. Emotions of awe and gratitude filled my -soul, when I beheld the vortex from which heaven had rescued us; but -my fellow sufferers evinced mortification and disappointment, when -their last hope was extinguished, and they saw themselves thrown on -the charity of strangers, even for a change of raiment. This was -particularly observable in the manner of Osman, a young adventurer, -who had joined our expedition from a romantic turn for novelty and -excitement. He was a singular compound of opposite qualities; -sometimes exhibiting the hardihood and bold daring of his father, who -was a Dane, then all the impassioned sentiment joined with the -frivolity of an Italian, which he was on his mother's side. Since -there remained nothing more to feed this adventurous excitement, his -mind seemed to dwell on the loss he had sustained, particularly that -of his wardrobe and musical instruments. Notwithstanding the occasion, -which was fit to call forth only feelings of a solemn nature, I could -not help being interested for him, when I heard him bewailing the loss -of these resources of dress and music.</p> - -<p>“His person was very striking, calculated to engage the attention of a -stranger. A tall and graceful figure was united to a face of perfect -symmetry, over which the light of full dark hazel eyes shone in -alternate fire and softness. Until this time I had only observed him -under passions of another kind, and was astonished at the pathetic -strains in which he mourned over the extinction of his prospects. The -fishermen endeavored in their sincere but homely language to comfort -him, proffering the only help in their power—a share in their fishing -spoils and a passage to Denmark, when another whaling expedition -should visit the island. His youth and apparent sensibility interested -us all in his favor, and induced us to do all in our power to promote -his happiness.</p> - -<p>“It was concluded that we should each remain with our hosts, and -assist in such labor as we were able to do, in making preparations for -a fishing cruise. I became more and more attached to the dear members -of Holstein's family. Their daily avocations were simple and homely, -but their minds were pure and elevated, deriving their highest -enjoyments from the contemplation of a better world.</p> - -<p>“Ulea engaged much of my interest. She was at that most pleasing of -all ages, when we see the simplicity of childhood blended with the -thoughts and reflections of a riper age; when the heedless word is -followed by the conscious blush, and we love while we rebuke the -tongue that speaks all the heart feels.</p> - -<p>“Time glided pleasantly away, even in Iceland. We spent the evenings -and inclement days in cheerful recreation, or in reading; which is a -great, and almost universal resource among these Icelanders: it is -thus they pass their long wintry nights—one ‘making vocal the poetic, -or historic page.’</p> - -<p>“Osman became our constant and welcome visitor. He constructed an -instrument, on which he made very sweet music; and frequently sung the -sentimental airs of his country. This, joined to his talent for wild -and impassioned recitation, charmed the listening ear of all, but it -vibrated to the heart of Ulea. Her delight did not show itself like -her brother's in noisy ecstacy, but -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page431"><small><small>[p. 431]</small></small></a></span> -her eyes filled with tears, -and her heart throbbed with silent emotion. ‘Mother,’ she would say, -‘Osman's singing reminds me of what I have heard about the harps of -the angels.’ ‘It is pretty, my child, but I had rather hear the -fisherman's welcome home.’ ‘That, mother, is because our father sings -it. But when Osman sings I think of a happier world than this.’ ‘You -are mistaken, my dear, if you think Osman's songs have any thing good -in them. I have listened to them, and I think they are only calculated -to make people discontented with what God has allotted them, and to -fill the mind with foolish fancies.’ ‘Ah! mother, how can you wonder -that his songs are melancholy, when he is far away from all that he -loves, and that he has nothing to console him for the beautiful world -he has left! You know he loves to climb our steep rocks, to see the -sun go down behind Hecla. I did not know how grand our volcano could -look, until he pointed to it, as the sun's last beams rested on its -snowy scalp. Then he told me of Italy his country, where the mountains -are crowned with snow, while flowers blow in the valleys—birds sing -in the branches of trees, which bear golden fruit—the air is filled -with the fragrance that breathes from the vineyards, and the bowers -that never wither. Then there are temples in every grove, and the -ruins of ancient cities, which people come to visit from every -country. Do you wonder that he was happy in that lovely land?’ ‘No -doubt, the inhabitants have much to be thankful for; but not more than -we have. Would you, Ulea, be willing to exchange our own loved island -for Italy, with all its charms?’ ‘No, dear mother, but I only wish -Iceland was like it.’ ‘This is a vain, and I fear a sinful thought, -and I shall tell Osman, when you walk with him again, to talk of -something more profitable.’</p> - -<p>“The fishermen were generally occupied in building or refitting boats -for the approaching expedition, in which they were assisted by our -hardy comrade, while Osman and myself were left to occupy or amuse -ourselves as we chose. I remarked the gradual influence he was gaining -over the unconscious heart of the young Ulea. I mourned over it, for I -feared that he was incapable of a deep and lasting attachment. I saw -that her family were blinded by their artless confidence, to the -insidious poison that threatened to destroy their happiness. I could -not bear to be the first to interrupt their peace. What should I do? I -revolved in my mind the whole affair, and at last resolved that I -would watch the conduct of Osman narrowly, and without being -suspected, penetrate the secret of his soul. With this design I -mingled more frequently in his pleasures, joined the little circle -when he descanted on the scenes of his early life—beautiful Italy! -whose charms were always associated with female loveliness, whose -atmosphere breathed of love. This was the theme of his glowing -narration, and his dark eye seemed to catch inspiration from the -kindling blush of Ulea. After he had sung one or two of the most -melting Italian airs, I was roused from my ruminating fit by Ulea's -remarking—‘Steinkoff has grown very silent of late. Osman's songs, I -believe, make him sad.’ ‘Quite otherwise,’ I replied, ‘and if he will -listen, I will sing a song of the olden time myself.’ They exclaimed -in one voice, ‘he will, he shall!’ ‘No need for compulsion,’ he said, -‘I will hear it with pleasure.’ Without prelude I began—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem10"> - <tr><td>Soon as the wintry blasts were o'er,<br> - The maiden roamed the vale,<br> - To hear the cheerful robin pour<br> - His sweet notes on the gale.<br> -<br> - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,<br> - Told of his own lov'd bowers,<br> - Where birds sing in the chequered light<br> - To the bright opening flowers.<br> -<br> - And when the light of parting day<br> - Gleamed on the distant hill,<br> - She climbed the steep and rocky way,<br> - Or lingered by the rill.<br> -<br> - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,<br> - Sung of that region bland,<br> - Where sunset paints with golden light,<br> - The skies, the sea, the land.<br> -<br> - When down the long, long night let fall<br> - Her curtains o'er the earth,<br> - And nature lay in silence, all<br> - Beneath the pall of death.<br> -<br> - Then he, the faithless-hearted knight,<br> - Spoke of his country fair—<br> - How the moon walks heaven in silv'ry light,<br> - And the breath of flowers, is the air.<br> -<br> - And he whispered the tale of love in her ear,<br> - And the maiden, believing his truth,<br> - Left the home of her childhood, but sorrow and care<br> - Fled with her, and faded her youth.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>I kept my eye on Osman: I wished to read his conscience. As the strain -proceeded, his glance met mine; he saw my suspicions. Conscious that -they were well founded, his countenance fell—he bit his lip in anger, -and revenge fired his blood. Far differently was the innocent heart of -Ulea wrought on. ‘I could weep,’ she said ‘for the poor maiden. Who -would have thought the fair spoken knight would be false? But I hope -it is only a tale of the olden time, fair and false as the lover of -whom it sings.’ ‘It may be so,’ I said; ‘but let it serve as a warning -to young maidens, how they listen to tales of love.’ Osman left the -cottage while I was speaking. I saw the dark cloud lower on his brow, -and I resolved to bring him to an acknowledgment of his passion, while -he was under the influence of resentment—an unguarded hour with us -all. I found him walking hurriedly, and muttering the words, ‘Villain, -he shall pay dearly for this insult.’ I accosted him in a calm voice. -I told him that my design was not to irritate or insult him, but to -warn him in time of the danger of a passion which was growing upon -himself daily, while he could not be insensible to the influence he -was gaining over the affections of an unsuspecting girl. ‘And how does -it concern you, cold hearted wretch,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I have -excited the sympathy, the love of the only amiable being on this -desolate island? Know, that love scorns the interference of such -meddlers. It is enough that we can trust each other, and woe be to him -who gives his counsel unadvisedly.’ With these last words he raised -his arm in menace. ‘Osman,’ I replied, ‘you know I am superior to your -threats. Unless you openly declare your love to the parents of Ulea, I -shall consider myself bound to guard her from your arts.’ ‘Beware,’ he -exclaimed, ‘how you injure me with her, or this dagger drinks your -blood.’ Saying this, he strode away, and I returned with a heavy heart -to the cottage. Not that I was personally afraid of Osman; I never -feared the arm of man: but I had a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page432"><small><small>[p. 432]</small></small></a></span> -trying office to perform—to -destroy the confidence of an amiable family, to show them that they -had cherished in their bosoms a serpent, instead of a friend. It was -evident that Osman wished to conceal his passion even from her who was -the object of it. I determined before another interview, to endeavor -to awaken her to the impropriety and danger of giving any -encouragement to his attentions. The following day he did not come as -usual. ‘How long the day seems,’ said Korner, ‘when Osman does not -come. Ulea thinks so too, for she has not spoken a word to-day.’ ‘I -have been thinking,’ replied Ulea, ‘that he looked last night as if -something disturbed him. Did you observe him, Steinkoff? I hope -nothing has happened.’ I said in a low tone, ‘Nothing, I believe. -Suppose we walk: perhaps we may meet him.’ She sprang forward, -animated with the hope; and we followed the winding path by which he -generally came. I proposed that we should see which of us could first -attain the top of a picturesque eminence which hung over our path, and -from which there was a fine view of the neighboring cottages. She -readily consented to make the trial, and arriving at the goal first, -exultingly chid my loitering steps. She little knew that my real -motive was to obtain a private interview with her. I began by saying, -‘Osman's gait is fleeter than mine, Ulea.’ ‘O yes,’ she said, ‘I shall -never forget the charming evening we came here together;’ and a bright -smile irradiated her features. ‘His society is fascinating, but it may -be dangerous to you. Already he has given you a distaste to the -pleasures of your childhood, and he has presented in their place the -attractions of an ideal world. Beware how you lend your pure and -unsuspecting ear to the seductive charms of his conversation. He has -confessed to me that he loves you; that you are the only being in this -island that has power to interest him.’ ‘Oh! Steinkoff, ought you not -rather to pity than to blame him? He has told me, that were it not for -me, he would end his miserable existence—that every one else looks -coldly on him. How can I think unkindly of him? He would protect me -against all harm. When I told him of my cousin Ormond, who would not -go into the far Greenland seas, until my father promised him that his -little pet Ulea, should be his when he returned, he only said, May -that day be distant, for then you will not care for Osman. And he -asked me if I should be quite happy when I should be Ormond's wife.’ -‘And what was your answer?’ I asked anxiously. ‘I did not answer at -all; because I have not seen him for a long time, and he seems like a -stranger to me—I wish not to think of it now.’ I could no longer -repress my indignation. ‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘trust Osman no -further, he will destroy your peace, your innocence. I know him well; -for present gratification he would not scruple to involve your whole -family in wretchedness. I say this, because I will not see impending -ruin coming on the child of my benefactor, if I can avert it.’ I saw -Ulea start, while surprise and terror were painted on her countenance. -I turned to ascertain the cause, and beheld Osman within a few steps -of me. ‘Wretch,’ he cried, ‘have you dared to betray me? Revenge has -nerved my arm, and my sword shall drink your blood, even were the form -I love best between us.’ At that instant he rushed upon me; but fury -blinded his sight, and his weapon missed its aim. This redoubled his -wrath; he prepared for another thrust, and my superior muscular -strength could not have saved me from the mortal stroke, had not Ulea -in a phrenzy of despair, thrown herself between us, and received in -her side the stab that was intended for me. Time can never efface the -horror of that moment, when I saw her fall under the murderous stroke, -and the red current pouring from her side. ‘Monster!’ I exclaimed, -‘you have verified your threat. Would to God, this were my heart's -blood instead of hers!’</p> - -<p>“I raised the lifeless girl—I pressed her to my bosom. In the agony -of my soul I entreated her to speak—to say that she forgave me. But -all was silent, save the ebbing pulsations of her heart. Osman had -fled the moment he saw what he had done. How should I obtain -assistance, or even get a little water to revive her, if life was not -extinct? Necessity is fruitful of invention—I lifted the pale form, -and hastened to a near rivulet—I bathed her temples—I staunched the -blood with the cooling current, and bound the wound with my -handkerchief. I heard a faint sigh—I thought it was her last. Imagine -my joy, when she opened her eyes, awaking as from a long sleep. I -whispered, ‘Speak not, it will exhaust you; I will carry you home—you -will soon be better.’ She cast her eyes towards heaven, to signify -that her home would soon be there. I was advancing with a quick step, -when I heard the voices of the children in search of us. They stopt -their merry gambols, and stood in amazement. I broke the silence by -telling them that Ulea was very ill, that they must run home and tell -their mother not to be alarmed, but endeavor as soon as possible to -prepare a cordial and a bed, for I should reach the cottage in a few -minutes. I hoped this would be some preparation for what was to -follow. The mother met me at the door, with a look of anguish and of -doubt. I motioned to her to be silent, while we administered some of -the restorative: we then laid Ulea on the bed. I watched by her a few -moments, and seeing she had fallen into a gentle sleep, I took the -hand of the agonized mother, whose suppressed sobs shook her whole -frame. I supported her to a retired spot, where the burst of her grief -might be unheard by the languid sufferer.</p> - -<p>“I paused to gather firmness for the disclosure; I lifted up my heart -to heaven for assistance. She seized my hand convulsively—‘Tell me -all—but my heart anticipates it before you speak. Oh Steinkoff! it is -the hand of man, yes, of a trusted villain, that has dealt the blow. -My soul has labored under a mysterious weight this day—unseen but -impending evil hung over me. Oh my God! prepare me to drink the bitter -cup, and to trust in thee though thou slay me.’</p> - -<p>“I related all—my suspicions of Osman—my conversation with him, the -threat he had given, and then all the incidents of the sad -catastrophe. ‘Oh my child!’ exclaimed the transported parent, ‘art -thou then guiltless? has he not laid mine honor in the dust? If not, I -can bear all.’ I concluded by encouraging her to hope the wound was -not mortal, and that speedy medical aid might relieve it.</p> - -<p>“Korner was immediately despatched for his father, and the nearest -physician. We then returned to Ulea, whom we found still sleeping, but -uneasily. Her mother kissed her forehead; she waked smiling, and said, -‘Oh, mother! are you here? I thought I was passing through a dark -valley to the bright world you have so -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page433"><small><small>[p. 433]</small></small></a></span> often described to us. -And I was not at all afraid, for a light guided me safely through. Do -you know what it was? <i>I</i> do—it was whispered to my heart—it was the -Saviour's presence! Mother, you must not weep; I rejoice, because I -feel that it will be so. O! yes, I shall soon join the song of the -angels—much sweeter than that I used to dream of. Mother, my heart is -sinful—I loved to hear of the beauty and love of this world; but that -is all passed away now. I hope God will forgive him who wished to lead -me astray—and you, Steinkoff, my guardian angel on earth, with what -joy shall I welcome you there.’ She saw my emotion—it excited her -own: the effect I dreaded followed—the blood gushed out from her -side, and she swooned away.</p> - -<p>“Her father arrived, attended by the doctor; the last with heartfelt -sorrow assured us, that all attempts to revive her were useless—that -the slumber of death was even now on the gentle girl. The father, in -his desolation of soul, sought the throne of mercy, and we united in -committing the spirit of the beloved one to the Shepherd of Israel, -and prayed that ‘his rod and staff might comfort and support her.’ Her -freed spirit winged its flight, just as the sun's last rays gleamed on -her pillow, which all with uplifted hearts blessed as the omen of that -spirit's future happiness.</p> - -<p>“We sorrowed, but not as those without hope. What saith the scripture? -‘The hope of the righteous is as an anchor of the soul, sure and -steadfast.’</p> - -<p>“I assisted in depositing the beautiful clay in the earth, and planted -over it the evergreen fir. It was a dear spot to me, and as long as I -remained on the island I resorted to it, to commune with the image of -her who was once the animating spirit of all that surrounded me.</p> - -<p>“Soon after her death, an opportunity offered for my return to -Denmark. I embraced it, promising, if circumstances should ever induce -me to visit Iceland, that I would seek the hospitable mansion of -Holstein. I never saw Osman again, but I was told by the owner of a -boat on the coast, that he had been seen on the night of the fatal -encounter, to leap into a fishing craft lying on the beach, and -disappear.</p> - -<p>“Thus I have given you some particulars connected with my past life. I -have rushed into busy scenes—I have tried to forget my own sorrows in -relieving the distresses of others—but in vain; the image of that -bleeding form haunts me. I long for the hour when the kind hand of -death shall blot the recollection forever from my memory.”</p> - -<div align="right"><small>V.</small> </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect10"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE LAUGHING GIRL.</h4> - -<center><small>Lines suggested on viewing a Painting of a Female laughing.</small></center> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem11"> - <tr><td>Oh, let me laugh out, till my eye-lashes glisten<br> - With tear-drops, which joy, like affliction, will bring;<br> - Be not vex'd my dear Hal—I <i>must</i> laugh, you may listen,<br> - And count the shrill echoes that cheerily ring.<br> - Hark! to the morning gun,<br> - Hail to thee! rising sun,<br> - Dances my heart with exuberant glee.<br> - The sky-lark from earth<br> - Flies to heaven with its mirth,<br> - But it cannot ha! ha! and be merry like me.<br> -<br> - Mine is no half-suppressed drawing-room titter,<br> - Strangled before it escapes from the lips;<br> - Nor the sardonic smile, than wormwood more bitter,<br> - Which might wither those flowers the honey-bee sips;<br> - But the fountain of joy,<br> - Without care or alloy,<br> - Springs in my bosom—refreshens my heart.<br> - Forest and river, then,<br> - Echo my laugh again—<br> - Never may gladness from Julia depart.<br> -<br> - Look not so grave, gentle Henry, at me,<br> - As if you would say all my griefs are to come;<br> - No gloom in the morn of my life can I see,<br> - And my laugh will scare sorrow away from our home.<br> - Pleasure unending<br> - Our footsteps attending,<br> - One brilliant May day through our lifetime shall last.<br> - Time shall not wear us,<br> - No trouble come near us,<br> - But the future be gilded by light from the past.<br> -<br> - Now laugh, for my sake, dearest Hal, and the kiss<br> - Which you sued for, I'll give, if you cordially roar.<br> - Well done!—never barter a pleasure like this,<br> - Were a crown to be purchased by laughing no more.<br> - In contentment and health,<br> - Tho' untrammel'd by wealth,<br> - True bliss from the store of our hearts we may draw.<br> - Let us laugh as we glide<br> - O'er mortality's tide,<br> - And cheer our last days with a rattling ha! ha!</td></tr> -</table> - -<div align="right"><small>E. M.</small> </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect11"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>COURT DAY.</h4> -<br> - -<p>To a northern traveller in the southern states, there is scarcely any -thing more novel or entertaining than a <i>Court Day</i>. Familiar as the -occasion and its scenes may be to a Virginian, there is something in -the whole aspect of this monthly festival which rivets the attention -of a stranger. And I have not been without my suspicions that the -influence of this custom and its adjuncts upon society, manners, and -character has never been appreciated. In our northern country there -are no occasions upon which the whole population of a county, even as -represented by its leading freeholders, convenes at one spot. County -courts are attended by functionaries, litigants, and very near -neighbors, but not, as in the south, by the gentry and yeomanry of a -whole district.</p> - -<p>The consequence of such an arrangement as that of the south is, that -all the landholders and gentlemen of a neighborhood become mutually -acquainted, and lay the foundation for friendly and hospitable -reciprocities, which may be continued through life. The whole texture -of society has a tincture from this intermingling. It is undeniable, -that while aristocratic family pride, and chivalrous elevation of -bearing, exist no where in greater vigor than at the south, there is a -freer intercourse on the court-house-lawn between the richest planter -and the honest poor man, than is ever witnessed in the manufacturing -districts of Connecticut or Pennsylvania. This constant mingling of -the aged with the young, tends to keep up national characteristics and -to perpetuate <span class="pagenum"><a name="page434"><small><small>[p. 434]</small></small></a></span> -ancient habits and sentiments. And let an -old-fashioned man be allowed to whisper in the ear of this innovating -age that all is not antiquated which is old, and that the hoary stream -of tradition brings down with it not only <i>prejudices</i>, but wholesome -<i>predilections</i>.</p> - -<p>To enjoy a genuine and unsophisticated Court Day, one must select a -county in the heart of the real Old Dominion, where emigration has not -too much thinned the population, nor foreign settlers made the mass -heterogeneous. It should be moreover in a region where the increase of -villages has not modified the ancient character of the large estates.</p> - -<p>I have in my mind's eye the very <i>beau ideal</i> of an old Virginia Court -House. The edifice itself is neither large nor lofty, but -“time-honored” and solid, and embosomed in a grove of locusts, which -at the May Court fill the air with their balsamic odor. The lawn, -which surrounds the house and grove, has not the deep green of our -northern commons, nor is the earth so perfectly hidden by matted -grass, but it is sufficiently soft and fresh to tempt many a group of -loungers. But the scene becomes more lively as the day advances. -Stalls and booths are rapidly erecting, and wagons of vendibles are -disposed in rows; no doubt by pertinacious wanderers from New England. -The porches of two or three plain-looking stores are filling rapidly -with visiters who are arriving every moment. A northerner is amazed at -the number of equestrians, and the ease and non-chalance with which -even little boys manage their spirited horses. I must pass a thousand -traits which in the hands of Irving or Kennedy would afford a tempting -picture. The cordiality of greeting with which Virginians meet is -delightful; and from ample trial I am able to pronounce it sincere and -available. This heartiness is encouraged by such monthly gatherings. -It is vain to object to this vehement shaking of hands and emphatic -compellation. As my old pastor used to say, “The form without the -power is better than neither;” and as Solomon says, “He that is a -friend must <i>show</i> himself friendly.” By the time of dinner, a -thousand morsels of business, postponed during the month, have been -transacted; a thousand items of precious little family news have been -exchanged; hundreds of clusters, under porch or tree, have discoursed -of the reigning political topic; or mayhap, the mighty mass has all -been moved toward some little eminence to hear the eloquence of a -genuine “stump-speech.”</p> - -<p>From my very heart, northman as I am, I admire and affect this good -remnant of olden time. May no revised code ever disannul it, no -sapient convention ever parcel out your counties into little municipal -fragments!</p> - -<p>I state it as an opinion very deliberately formed in my own mind, -after some opportunities of comparison, that the elocution of southern -men is more easy, more graceful, more natural, more vivacious, and -more pathetic, than that of their northern compatriots. This is fairly -to be traced to the influence of such occasions as the one which I -describe. The moveable and excitable throng of a court-house-green is -precisely the audience which awakens and inspires the orator. The tide -of feeling comes back upon him at every happy appeal, and redoubles -his energy. It was the Athenian <i>populace</i>, who “spent their time in -nothing else, but either to tell or to hear some new thing,” (what a -picture of a court day!) which made the Athenian <i>orator</i>. The -practice of addresses to the literal and real constituency by every -aspirant, brings into trial, very early, all the eloquence of the -state. The manner of the best models is in some small degree -perpetuated. The mere listening to such men as Patrick Henry, and John -Randolph, not to mention the living, affords a school of eloquence to -the youth of the country, and cultivates the taste of the people. And -then in every little group upon yonder green, there is an ardor of -conversation on political topics, which, as feeling rises, approaches -to the character of harangue. I have never heard the impassioned -conversation of southern men, in a tavern or by the way-side, without -observing the natural tendency to a higher tone of elocution than -would be tolerated in a similar circle at the north.</p> - -<p>Whether the practice of “whittling,” during conversation, has any -connexion with ease of utterance, is a question too abstruse for my -present cursory investigation. The celebrated doctor Rush used -jocosely to characterize some of his southern students, by their -“<i>R-phobia et Cacoethes secandi</i>.” It may be noted as a token of the -“free-and-easy” manner of certain courts, that we have seen advocates -whittling during a defence, and judges whittling on the bench.</p> - -<p>But finally, and most seriously, I trust no fanaticism of a faction at -the north will ever so far prevail against the good sense and sound -feeling of the community, as to interrupt the genial flow of -hospitality, with which in every <i>individual</i> case I have known, -northern men have been received by the gentlemen of old Virginia.</p> - -<div align="right"><small>A NORTHERN MAN.</small> </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect12"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>A BIRTH-DAY TRIBUTE.</h4> -<br> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem12"> - <tr><td>When the dark shadows of approaching ills<br> - Have fallen on the spirit, and depressed<br> - Its proudest energies—when fear instils<br> - Its dastard maxims in the noblest breast,<br> - Preventing action and denying rest—<br> - When, undefined in distance, dimly glow<br> - Spectres of evil, till, by fancy drest,<br> - The illusive phantoms on the vision grow,<br> - And giants seem to wield the impending blow—<br> -<br> - When, wearied by uncertainty, we pray<br> - For what we fear, and deprecate suspense—<br> - When gleams of hope are painful as a ray<br> - Flashing at midnight from a light intense,<br> - And leave the darkness of despair more dense—<br> - When pleasure's cup is tasteless, and we seek<br> - No more the brief relief we once drew thence—<br> - When comes no sabbath in the lingering week<br> - Harassing thought to end, or coming bliss to speak—<br> -<br> - When even “desire it faileth,” and the voice<br> - Of softest music irritates the ear—<br> - When the glad sun makes fields and groves rejoice,<br> - While to our eyes the prospect still is drear—<br> - When the mild southern gale, that used to cheer<br> - With its bland fragrance, while it cooled the brow<br> - With lingering fever wasted, pained and sere,<br> - Has lost its power to charm—'tis then we know<br> - The worth of woman's love, and what to her we owe.<br> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page435"><small><small>[p. 435]</small></small></a></span> -<br> - Her holy love is like the gentle rill,<br> - Born where a fountain's waters bright are playing,<br> - (As from the birth of time they have, and will<br> - Till time shall end,) in noiseless beauty straying<br> - O'er golden sands, through verdant meads, and staying,<br> - To irrigate and freshen, as it flows<br> - Where man's proud works around in ruin lying,<br> - Proclaim the triumph of his many foes,<br> - Lust, passion, jealousy, and all the fiends he knows.<br> -<br> - And worse than these his breast will enter in,<br> - And each in turn his labored love control.<br> - The fond idolatry, which is not sin<br> - When woman loves—that yielding of the soul,<br> - Which hardly asks return, but gives the whole,<br> - He knoweth not; but, in the folds of pride,<br> - He seeks his gloomy spirit to enroll:<br> - Then her, who loves him most, he'll basely chide,<br> - And with his bitter words her constancy deride.<br> -<br> - Aye! thus infatuate, he will delight<br> - To lord it o'er the fond, devoted one<br> - Who breathes, but lives not, absent from his sight,<br> - If, for a moment, sorrow is unknown,<br> - Ambition gratified, or foes o'erthrown.<br> - But when his soul is darkened with alarms,<br> - And piercing thorns are in his pathway strown,<br> - He yields a willing pris'ner to her charms,<br> - And seeks to rest his head where love her bosom warms.<br> -<br> - But as the savage, when his eyes behold<br> - The bright creations of the artist's mind,<br> - Where light and shade the loveliest forms enfold,<br> - And chastened taste with nature's lore is joined,<br> - Pauses in ecstacy; yet seeks to find<br> - What hath his untaught spirit so subdued,<br> - But all in vain; so man, to love resigned,<br> - Can comprehend not what hath so endued<br> - Fair woman with the power to soothe his nature rude.<br> -<br> - He gazeth on the rill that is her love,<br> - But cannot pierce the bower of modesty<br> - Where roses, and where lilies twine above<br> - Its fount, and load the air with fragrancy.<br> - He hears its voice of heavenly melody;<br> - He sees, above, the bow of beauty spanned;<br> - He drinks; the draught has power his soul to free<br> - From all its ills; he feels his heart expand;<br> - He bears a charmed life; he walks on Eden land.<br> -<br> - Creature of impulse! but of impulse trained<br> - To do the bidding of a gentle heart,<br> - What man by years of study hath not gained,<br> - Thy spirit's teaching doth to thee impart.<br> - To him the unknown, to thee the easy art,<br> - To sway his reason and control his will;<br> - And when the unbidden gusts of passion start,<br> - To lay the whirlwind and bid all be still,<br> - And Peace, the vacant throne of Anarchy, to fill.<br> -<br> - * - * - * - * - *<br> -<br> - My cherished one! this tributary lay<br> - Upon thy natal morn thy husband brings;<br> - The gathered thoughts of many a weary day.<br> - Weary, save that my soul, on Fancy's wings,<br> - Borne as a bird that towards its eyrie springs,<br> - Flew where was thine to hold communion sweet:<br> - Save that each blissful memory, that clings<br> - Around my heart, would, as a dream, repeat<br> - Unnumbered vanished hours, with love and joy replete.<br> -<br> - As, when the orb that makes the day, declines,<br> - The twilight hour prolongs its cheering reign,<br> - My sun (thy love) through memory's twilight shines,<br> - Till its fair morning breaks on me again.<br> - Then shall my song resume in bolder strain<br> - The praises of thy sex, while I behold<br> - The loveliness, whose image I retain<br> - Within my heart—then shall my arms enfold<br> - Her who hath been to me, more than my lay hath told.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect13"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT POETRY.</h4> -<br> - -<p>Ever since I could write my name, I have been troubled with a disease -which is spreading alarmingly in this our day and generation—I mean -<i>Cacoethes Scribendi;</i> and the best antidote I have ever been able to -discover for it, I received lately from the “Literary Messenger”—the -rejection of my articles. At that time I imagined myself perfectly -cured; but, unlike some other diseases, this can be had more than -once, and the man who could invent some vaccinating process to prevent -it, would deserve more gratitude from the present generation than the -discoverer of vaccination against small pox.</p> - -<p>I remember distinctly my first attempt at poetry. I was quietly -resting under the shade of a stately elm, one bright summer day, -turning over the leaves of a favorite author, and listening to the -merry carols of a mock-bird that had perched on a thorn just before -me. There was a beautiful lawn gently declining from the knoll where I -lay, to the river's edge, green with luxuriant long grass, -interspersed with the simple lily of the valley. There seemed to be a -general thanksgiving of nature, and every thing tended to inspire my -juvenile muse. After sundry bitings of the nails, and scratchings of -the head,<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small> I succeeded in pencilling on a blank leaf of the “Lady of -the Lake,” lines “To a Mocking Bird.” No sooner had the fever of -composition resolved itself into three stanzas, than the mock-bird, -the green elms and humming waters, lost all their enchantment, and I -hurried home to copy my verses and send them to the printing-office. I -selected the whitest sheet of gilt-edged paper I had, made a fine nib -to my pen, and soon finished a neat copy, which was forthwith -deposited in the office of a respectable hebdomadal. Publication day -came, and so did the carrier. Of all ugly boys, I used to think that -carrier was the ugliest; but when he handed me the paper that I -doubted not contained the first effort of unfledged genius, I thought -he had the finest face and most waggish look I had ever seen—and in -good truth, I never was so glad to see the fellow in my life. -Wonderful metamorphosis! thought I, eagerly snatching the paper from -him. But judge, oh! gentle reader, of my surprise and mortification, -at not finding my cherished little poem either in the poet's corner, -or even among the advertisements. The phiz of the carrier changed to -its accustomed ugliness as if by magic, and, as he passed out of the -door, he cast on <span class="pagenum"><a name="page436"><small><small>[p. 436]</small></small></a></span> -me a sardonic leer, grin'd “a ghastly smile,” -and “left me alone in my glory.” I had too much philosophy, however, -to remain long in a passion, or to suffer myself to be unhappy for -such a trifle. I contented myself, therefore, as well as I could, and -determined never to write another line until my first effort saw the -light. How fortunate for you, kind reader, and perhaps for me, had my -young muse then been nip'd in her incipient budding. But that first -effort did see the light the next week, and ‘Solomon in all his glory’ -was not so happy as I. You who have written and published, can have -some idea of the sensations produced by the success of a first essay. -Those who never have, cannot imagine the pleasure, the fluttering of -heart, the gratified ambition, and the flattered vanity of him thus -first dignified with print. Since then I have been rejected, but never -so mortified as when my first poem did not appear when expected. And -since then I have written, published, been republished and quoted, -which is surely glory enough for one man, but have never been so happy -as when my maiden effort first appeared among the blacksmiths' and -tailors' advertisements of a village newspaper.</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem13"> - <tr><td><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> Be careful, when invention fails,<br> - To scratch your head, and bite your nails.—<i>Swift</i>.</small></td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect14"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THY HOME AND MINE.</h4> -<br> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem14"> - <tr><td>Is this thy home? The wild woods wave<br> - Their branches in the mountain breeze—<br> - And nature to thy mansion gave<br> - A treasure in those noble trees.<br> - Here flows a river bright and pure<br> - Along its silver-winding way,<br> - While on its white and pebbled shore<br> - A fairy group of children play.<br> - Here calm and clear looks heaven's blue dome—<br> - This is thy lovely Highland home!<br> -<br> - This is thy home—at evening's hour<br> - A social band assemble here,<br> - With converse sweet and music's power,<br> - To chase each gloomy thought of care.<br> - Affection's gentle language speaks<br> - In every eye thine eyes behold—<br> - Here revels love on beauty's cheeks<br> - And bids her braid her locks of gold.<br> - In search of bliss you need not roam—<br> - But this is not—is not <i>my</i> home!<br> -<br> - My home is where the waters roll<br> - Deep, wide and blue to ocean's caves—<br> - How sweetly soothing to the soul<br> - The murmur of their dashing waves!<br> - Oft has their music charmed mine ear<br> - At twilight's soft and dewy hour—<br> - When one I fondly love was near<br> - To feel with me its witching power,<br> - And watch the billows crown'd with foam,<br> - Break on thy walls, my lowland home!<br> -<br> - My home! how soon that single word<br> - Can cause regretful tears to flow!<br> - It thrills on feeling's finest chord—<br> - Still does it make my bosom glow.<br> - Oh what a fountain of delight<br> - Does that one little sound unseal!<br> - When far away, to mem'ry's sight<br> - What scenes of bliss does it reveal!<br> - 'Tis the voice of nature bids me come<br> - To thy shrine of love—my own sweet home!<br> -<br> - Wealth may be ours, and fame may spread<br> - With trumpet-voice our names afar—<br> - In honor's cause we may have bled<br> - And braved the crimson tide of war—<br> - But wealth, and fame, and glory's crown<br> - Are bubbles which a breath may burst,<br> - As quickly as a breath hath blown;<br> - They cannot slake the burning thirst<br> - For happiness—for this we roam,<br> - And this is only found at home!</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right"><small>E. A. S.</small> </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect15"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>SECOND LECTURE</h4> -<blockquote><small>Of the Course on the Obstacles and Hindrances to Education, arising -from the peculiar faults of Parents, Teachers and Scholars, and that -portion of the Public immediately concerned in directing and -controlling our Literary Institutions.</small></blockquote> -<br> - -<center><i>On Parental Faults</i>.</center> - -<p>When I last had the honor of addressing you, I promised that I would -endeavor to expose all such parental faults as obstruct the progress -of correct education. This promise I will now proceed to fulfil, with -only one prefatory request, which is, that if any individuals present -shall apply a single remark to themselves, to bear it constantly in -mind that such application is made by their own consciences—not by -me. <i>My</i> observations will all be general—<i>theirs</i> should be -particular, and should be carried home to their own bosoms and -business; or all that I shall say, might as well be uttered to so many -“deaf adders,” as to intelligent, rational, and moral beings.</p> - -<p>Having been a parent myself for nearly forty years, and a close -observer of other parents ever since I turned my attention -particularly to the subject of education, I have much experience to -“give in” relative to parental faults and vices. Whether this -experience will avail any thing towards their cure, or even their -mitigation, your own feelings and judgment can alone decide. The -picture which I shall endeavor to draw will be a very revolting one, -although not in the slightest degree caricatured or aggravated. But -not less revolting is the sight of cancers in the human body, which -require to be both seen and thoroughly examined before they can be -extirpated. The cancers of the mind, however, as all faults and vices -may justly be called, are infinitely harder to cut out; for in all -these cases the victim and the operator must be the same person. -<i>Here</i>, according to the old adage, every one must be his own -doctor—since all that can be done for him by others is to tell him of -his malady, and to convince him, if possible, in spite of his -self-love and blindness, of its highly dangerous tendency, as well as -of its certainly fatal termination, unless he himself will most -earnestly and anxiously set about its cure. To produce this conviction -in all my hearers who need it, arduous as the undertaking may be, is -the sole purpose for which I now address you.</p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page437"><small><small>[p. 437]</small></small></a></span> -<p>Although the obstacles to the progress of correct views on the -subject of education, as well as to the adoption of the best means for -promoting this all-important object, be too numerous easily to -determine which are the most pre-eminently mischievous, I shall begin -with those which appear to constitute the very “head and front of the -offending.” These are created under the parental roof itself, where -the first elements of education are almost always acquired, and where -it is most obvious that <i>if any but good seed are sown</i>, the most -precious part of the child's subsequent existence must be spent rather -in the toilsome, painful business of extirpating weeds, than of -bringing to perfection such plants as yield the wholesome bread of -life. Hence, in a great measure, the little benefit, in numberless -instances, from going to school; because, the short time generally -allowed for this purpose (particularly in the case of girls) is too -often occupied solely in clearing away and rooting out from the mind -<i>that</i> which must necessarily be removed before any useful and lasting -knowledge can well be implanted.</p> - -<p>The first parental fault which I shall notice, is that by which -children are first affected. It begins to influence them with the -first dawnings of intellect—augments as that expands—accumulates -like compound interest, and never ceases to exert its baneful power -until fixed for life. This fault is the glaring and frequent -contradictions between parental precepts and examples, although the -least experience will suffice to convince any one who will consult it, -that the latter will forever be followed rather than the former; nor -will any thing ever check it but the fear of some very severe -punishment—<i>the rod</i> (for example) on the back of the far less guilty -child, instead of the shoulders of the parental tempter. The father or -mother who calculates on their children totally abstaining, unless by -external force, from any vicious indulgence whatever, of which they -see their parents habitually guilty, counts on a moral impossibility. -As well might they expect water not to boil when sufficient heat is -long enough applied, or dry tinder not to burn when brought in contact -with fire; for these appliances are to water and tinder what vicious -parental examples will always prove to the juvenile mind. Woe, double -and triple woe, be to those who set them, for they incur the most -awfully dangerous responsibility of rendering their children utterly -worthless! I confidently appeal, as in a former lecture, to the -experience of every one who now hears me, and I beseech them to ask -themselves how many drinking, gambling, profane, lazy, idle fathers -have they ever known whose sons were exempt from these vices? How many -have they ever known who habitually gave way to bursts of anger and -wrath—to a rude, dictatorial, despotic, quarrelsome disposition, -especially in the privacy of home, which many seem to think a suitable -place for acting as they would be ashamed or afraid to act in public, -where they would meet with somewhat more formidable checks than -helpless wives and children; how many such fathers can any recollect, -whose sons did not resemble and probably surpass them in all their -worst habits? Equally sure, too, will the daughters be to follow their -mamma's goodly examples, should <i>they also</i> habitually display any of -those faults or vices that are calculated to sully the purity of the -female character, or in any way to degrade and render it odious. With -such facts continually before the eyes of all parents, what supreme -folly and madness—nay, what deadly guilt must be theirs, who do not -avoid setting bad examples to their children, as they would shun the -utmost extremity of misery!</p> - -<p>Among those parental faults which soonest begin to work incalculable -mischief, is the habitual practice of talking and acting in such a -manner, in regard to the whole class of teachers, that by the time -their children are sent to school they learn to look upon the entire -tribe of schoolmasters and schoolmistresses as belonging to a class -much inferior to that of their parents, and to consider their being -placed under such supervision as a kind of purgatorial punishment. I -once knew a gentleman in whose mind these early notions had taken deep -root, who used to say, that he could never pass through a pine-wood -resembling that in which his first schoolhouse stood, without being -thrown into a cold perspiration by it. Without doubt he had been -exposed to the parental practice I am now condemning, the almost -inevitable consequence of which is, to create contempt and aversion -for teachers, reluctant obedience, distrust in their capacities to -teach, and not unfrequently open insubordination. Manners and polite -deportment are deemed quite hidden mysteries to these teachers, or -matters with which the parents never designed they should meddle—it -being frequently intimated that they never had opportunities for -acquiring the first, nor feel any interest in teaching the last, -farther than to protect themselves from injury and insult. -Awkwardness, if not rudeness also, is often deemed an almost -inseparable part of their character; and their pupils are not -unfrequently encouraged by parental smiles to laugh at and ridicule -“the poor schoolmaster or mistress,” instead of being checked by -timely reproof in all such conduct. If there happen to be the faint -semblance of a little wit or humor in these remarks, many silly -parents take the first opportunity of retailing them with evident -pleasure, even in the child's presence; and the silly delight -manifested at this supposed proof of marvellous precocity, completely -overcomes all sense of the culpability of the act, or of its very -pernicious influence on the dispositions of the child. At most it is -pronounced to be quite a venial peccadillo, amply compensated by the -intellectual smartness which it evinces. The seeds of vanity, -self-conceit, and censoriousness are thus sown in the youthful mind as -soon as they can take root, and by the very hands too whose sacred -duty it is to protect it from all harm.</p> - -<p>Closely allied to the foregoing fault is the ever restless haste of -very many parents to make men and women of their children sooner than -nature intended. It may well be called the hot-bed system, and like -that from which it takes its name, produces plants out of season, -incapable of withstanding necessary exposure to the open atmosphere -and the vicissitudes of climate. The consequence is, that the period -of scholastic education is most injuriously shortened, particularly -for girls. The boys are pushed forward into professions, and turned -loose to act for themselves, with a mere smattering of literature and -science—often before any power for serious reflection has been -acquired, or indeed could well be formed in such juvenile, -inexperienced minds, in regard to the great, complicated duties of -life, the objects most worthy of pursuit, and the all-important -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page438"><small><small>[p. 438]</small></small></a></span> -principles which should ever govern them in fulfilling the first, as -well as in attaining the last. False estimates of human life, -aggravated by innumerable miscarriages in their ill-digested plans, -necessarily follow; and the poor youths are most unjustly condemned -for failure in pursuits wherein they have been either forced or -suffered from most foolish and mischievous indulgence to engage, long -before they had maturity either of body or mind sufficient to render -success even probable. They are stimulated—nay, often driven to sea, -on the vast, tempestuous ocean of life, without compass or rudder to -their little barks, and then are most grievously abused for getting -wrecked, when the pilots who should have steered their fragile vessels -had most unpardonably abandoned their trust. But should the frequent -occurrence of such a calamity create any surprise, when we find so -many, even of those who know better, so far yielding to the popular -error, as to manage their sons in this way? It is quite enough to -overcome all their wisest resolves, to be told by the majority of -their acquaintance, that “it is a shame to keep their boys so long in -leading-strings—they should be doing something for themselves.” This -sapient admonition usually settles every doubt, and the unfortunate -youths, in all the perilous immaturity of boyhood, are forthwith -converted into men, left to think and act for themselves. But their -mental outfits for so arduous a business being entirely inadequate, -their outfits of property are not unfrequently squandered, and -irretrievably lost, several years prior to the time when they could -reasonably be expected to understand their only true and legitimate -uses. Hence we have many examples of young men who have actually run -quite through their estates but a little beyond the time when they -should have been first put into possession of them, and who have lost -all respectability of character at a period when they should be only -commencing their career of active life. If these unfortunate victims -of parental folly—may I not say, wickedness—<i>then</i> open their eyes -to their real situation, it will often be only to shut them again in -utter despair, and plunge into all the fathomless depths of -dissipation and vice, as their only refuge from the hopeless misery, -the inextricable ruin in which they too late perceive that they have -involved themselves. Hasty, inconsiderate marriages are often found to -cap the climax of all this wretchedness, by adding helpless women and -children to the number of sufferers, and thereby immeasurably -augmenting the miseries of a condition which, without <i>this</i>, would -seem to admit of scarcely any farther aggravation. A similar -catastrophe often befals our girls who have had the deadly misfortune -to be subjected to this hot-bed system. With unformed constitutions, -and still more unformed minds, they are hurried into situations where -they have to act the parts of <i>women</i>, before they are rid of the -dispositions, inclinations, and follies of <i>children</i>. They not -unfrequently marry and become mothers, while yet distant from the age -of maturity, and thus have to fulfil the all-important duty of forming -the hearts, minds, and principles of children, when, in fact, they are -little more than children themselves. Loss of life is, in many -instances, the forfeit paid for such premature marriages. But should -they escape this awful sacrifice, they rarely fail to have their -constitutions broken down, their powers of useful exertion greatly -impaired or irrevocably lost; and an early grave, often—alas! too -often, closes the heart-rending scene over these poor, unfortunate -victims of parental mismanagement, at a time when probably they would -just have reached the meridian of mature life, had they been properly -prepared for all the momentous duties of wives and mothers, before -they were compelled to fulfil them. Their helpless offspring are thus -bereft of maternal nurture, when the parent was just beginning -probably to understand what it ought to be—and how holy, how sacred -she should esteem her obligations, to fulfil it most unremittingly to -the children of her bosom. The same forcing process is then applied to -the innocent little survivors; and <i>they</i>, in their turn, are to be -married, if possible, when they should still be at school—to have the -care of children before they know how to take care of themselves—and -often to die, when they should be just beginning to live as the -mistresses of families. Boys and girls have thus to act the part of -instructers, while they themselves should yet be pupils; and the -elementary education of their offspring, which is by far the most -important part, is inevitably exposed to all the danger of being -entirely perverted, by the inexperience, the unavoidable ignorance, -and the moral incapacity of such very juvenile teachers. In regard to -daughters especially, it may truly be said, that a cardinal article in -the nursery creed of multitudes of mothers is, that they <i>must</i> marry, -and <i>marry early</i>, even without nicely weighing moral consequences, if -it cannot be done as prudence, common sense, and correct principles -would dictate. The period for going to school is thus necessarily -curtailed within limits scarcely sufficient for the simplest -elementary instruction, that the young candidates for conjugal honors -may be pushed into general society and public amusements, which are -considered the great marts for matrimonial speculations. Now, although -marriage is highly honorable, as well as the state which <i>may</i> afford -most happiness in this life, it is indisputably true, that it can be -neither honorable nor happy, unless very many circumstances, too -frequently overlooked or disregarded, concur to make it so. It can -produce nothing but disgrace and unhappiness if contracted, as it -often is, without affection, esteem, or even respect for the husband, -who is married merely for his wealth; or, because the poor girl has -been taught to dread the condition of an old maid as something so -terrible, that it should be avoided at every hazard. Equally certain -is it that marriage can procure no happiness—nay, that it is a truly -miserable condition, without good morals, good temper, and a tender -regard among the parties. Yet thousands of unfortunate girls marry -rather than live single, simply because their parents and other -connexions have made them believe that to remain <i>unmarried</i>, is to -become objects of general derision and contempt. Even if this were -true, as it certainly is not, surely there is no rational person who -would not pronounce such a state much more bearable than a union for -life with a man who was vicious both in principles and conduct, who -was cursed with a bad temper, and incapable of any sentiment even -resembling conjugal love. A very large portion of the miserable -marriages which we see in our society, may justly be ascribed to this -most cruel—I may say, wicked error in the parental nurture of -daughters. It is too shameful to be acknowledged by any as committed -by <span class="pagenum"><a name="page439"><small><small>[p. 439]</small></small></a></span> -themselves; yet there is not a person probably in the United -States who cannot cite many instances of it in others.</p> - -<p>Another parental fault of very extensive prevalence, is their -sufferance, if not actual encouragement of an opinion very common, at -least among their male children, that it is quite manly, magnanimous, -and republican to oppose, even by open rebellion, (if nothing less -will do) all such scholastic laws and regulations, as they, in the -supremacy of their juvenile wisdom, may happen to disapprove. This has -been signally and most lamentably verified in regard to that -particular law so indispensably necessary to the well being of all -schools, which requires the students to give evidence when called -upon, against all violators of the existing regulations, without -respect to persons. How an opinion so absurd and pernicious first got -footing, unless by parental inculcation, it would be difficult to say; -but nothing is more certain than its wide-spread influence, nor are -there many things more sure than the great agency it has heretofore -had in preventing any good schools from being long kept up in a -flourishing condition, at least in our own state, where they are as -much wanted as in any part of the Union. Such an opinion is the more -unaccountable—indeed, it appears little short of downright insanity, -when we come to reflect that <i>all</i> think it right for adults to be -punished for refusing to give evidence before our courts when -required, in regard to any breaches of the laws under which <i>they</i> -live; and yet, the same individuals who entertain this opinion, almost -universally uphold their own children in committing a similar offence, -by withholding <i>their</i> testimony when any of the laws under which -<i>they</i> live are violated at their respective schools—even should such -violation go to the very subversion of the schools themselves. Nay, -more—if a poor devoted teacher or professor should dare to punish -these very independent young gentlemen for such unjustifiable and -fatal contumacy, a universal clamor is immediately raised against -him—his character is instantly stigmatized for cruelty and tyranny, -while that of the rebel youths is eulogized as much as if they were -really martyrs to generous feeling and magnanimous self-devotion to -the good of others. All sense of just punishment and disgrace is thus -effectually taken away, and the young offender is taught to pride -himself on what should be his shame. That fathers should acquiesce in -the wisdom and justice of laws to punish <i>themselves</i> for certain -offences against society at large, and be unable to see the justice -and wisdom of laws to punish their sons for similar offences against -the little societies called schools, is surely one of the greatest and -most inexplicable follies of which men, in their senses, can possibly -be guilty. Have not these last named institutions precisely the same -right and reason, that national governments have, to pass laws for -their own preservation? How, indeed, could either long exist without -them? It will be in vain to deny the prevalence of this most -pernicious folly, so long as we find a very large majority of the -youth of our country acting under the opinion of its being highly -disgraceful to do <i>that</i> before the faculty of a college, or the head -of a school, which their fathers deem it perfectly right to do every -time <i>they themselves</i> are called as witnesses before the juries and -courts of their country. I have said more on this parental fault than -otherwise I should have done, because I am thoroughly and deeply -convinced that there never can long exist any flourishing schools, -academies, or colleges, in any portion of our country, where so -radically mischievous an error prevails. <i>Our youth must be taught</i>, -and by their parents too, that <i>they</i> have no more right to exemption -from the restraints of scholastic law, than <i>men</i> have from the -inhibitions of the laws of their country—that all legitimate human -institutions have a clear, indisputable, and necessary power to make -regulations for their own preservation; that this power <i>must</i> be -obeyed, or it is utterly useless; and that if obedience be proper, -honorable, and indispensable in their fathers, it cannot possibly be -improper, unessential, or dishonorable in their children. Let our sons -be taught <i>this lesson</i> at home, and the absolute necessity of always -acting up to it every where, and we may then confidently hope, <i>but -not until then</i>, that all our seminaries of instruction will flourish -in a far greater degree than we ever yet have witnessed. “It is a -consummation most devoutly to be wished,” and <i>one</i>, towards the -accomplishment of which, neither time, money, nor intellectual effort -should be spared.</p> - -<p>Another fault committed by many more parents than are aware of it is, -that either from very culpable neglect in studying their children's -characters, or from most fatuitous partiality, they often send them to -school, in full confidence that they will prove most exemplary -patterns of good principles and good conduct, when, in fact, they are -signally deficient in both. The consequence is, that should any -teacher be daring enough to communicate the painful intelligence, it -is either entirely discredited, or it comes on the unfortunate, -self-deluded parent with the suddenness and shock of a clap of -thunder. If the account is believed, the punishment justly due to the -real author of the mischief, the guilty father or mother, is not -unfrequently inflicted on the child; or, should it be deemed false, -young master or miss (as the case may be) is immediately taken away, -and turned loose at home to unrestrained indulgence, or sent to some -instructer who has more of the cunning of worldly wisdom than to make -any such startling and incredible communications.</p> - -<p>In close connexion with the foregoing fault is one of still greater -and more injurious prevalence. It is assumed, as a settled point, -probably by a majority of parents, that if heaven has not bestowed on -<i>their offspring</i> more than a usual proportion of brains, at least a -very competent share has been allotted them; and that they—the -parents, have not failed previously to sending the children to school, -in doing every thing necessary to enable those brains to work -beneficially for the craniums which contain them, and for the bodies -whose movements are to be governed thereby. Yet there are certainly -many children—very many, who from great deficiency of natural talent, -appear to be born for nothing higher than to be “hewers of wood and -drawers of water.” This truth cannot be denied; yet the fathers and -mothers of these children, in despite of nature, will often persist in -attempting to make them learned men and learned women. The consequence -is inevitable. An irreparable waste of time and money results from the -abortive attempt, and thousands who might have become useful and -highly respectable day laborers, at some easily acquired handicraft, -are <span class="pagenum"><a name="page440"><small><small>[p. 440]</small></small></a></span> -converted, by this most misapplied and cruel kindness into -ridiculous pretenders to situations that nature never destined them to -fill. This parental notion of marvellous talents and virtues in their -children—if it happen to be unfounded—and much too often it -unfortunately proves so, leads certainly to the conclusion, that -whatever scrapes the children get into at school, or, however -deficient they may appear in acquirement, when they go home, the whole -and sole blame attaches to the teachers; and the children are -withdrawn, often without the slightest intimation of the real cause, -leaving the luckless instructers to infer, that, probably, they have -given satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Another very general and deeply rooted fault in parents, is, the -readiness with which they believe and act upon the complaints of their -children, often without taking the smallest pains whatever to -ascertain whether these complaints may not be at least exaggerated, if -not entirely unfounded. The humorous author of Peter Plymley's letters -has said—“that a single rat in a Dutch dyke is sometimes sufficient -to flood a whole province.” The idea intended to be conveyed by this, -is eminently true, especially in relation to female seminaries, where -only one gossipping, talking girl, although free, perhaps, from -malicious intent, is quite enough to destroy an entire school. Were it -possible for teachers before hand, to know the propensities of such -little bipeds, they should exclude them as carefully as the Dutch -attempt to do the small, apparently impotent quadrupeds, that do them -so much injury. But suffer me to cite some instances to sustain my -opinion. Let us suppose, for example, that the grievance complained of -is partial treatment. To say nothing of the difficulty of proving a -negative, or of disproving, even when heard, a charge which covers so -much ground, and which is rarely suffered to reach the teacher's -ears—it is perfectly easy to demonstrate, that it <i>may</i>, and often -<i>will</i> be made, without the shadow of truth. When to this is added, -its utter incompatibility with that portion of common sense, which all -instructers, who are not miserable drivellers, must possess, and which -they, of course, will exercise, in comparing their infinitely small -and doubtful gains, with their great and certain loss by such -injustice towards the complainants, (putting all principles of honor -and public pledges out of the question,) the accusation ought to -appear in most cases, past all rational credibility. But let us return -to the proof, that the charge of partiality <i>may</i> and <i>will</i> often be -made without the shadow of truth. It is a thing which deeply concerns -<i>all schools</i>, and is therefore a subject of common and vital -interest—both to them and to the public. None have so little -experience as not to know, that among the scholars of every school -there will be irregularities of conduct with corresponding -inequalities in talent, application, and acquirement, and that the old -adage, that “one man can carry a horse to water, but that four and -twenty can't make him drink,” is equally true in a figurative sense as -to children at school. Hence, some pupils go on very successfully, -without punishment of any kind, while others not unfrequently require -it in all its most effective forms. This equitable and obviously -necessary difference in treatment, between offenders and -non-offenders, is always sensibly felt by the culprits -themselves—often deeply resented; the true cause of it, rarely well -understood, and still more rarely acknowledged or explained, -especially to parents and guardians: for self-accusation is least apt -to be made by those who most frequently commit acts that should -produce it. Much the most common course among the violators of any -moral law or obligation whatever, whether they are children or adults, -is to seek refuge from the consciousness of one fault, in the -commission of some other—which other, generally, is, to shift the -blame, if possible, from themselves. That humble, contrite, -self-abasing spirit which caused the prodigal son to exclaim—“Father, -I have sinned against heaven and thee, and am no more worthy to be -called thy son,” is hardly to be expected, in any great degree, among -children at school: yet they <i>should</i> possess it, before their parents -ought to rely on their competency to judge and decide in their own -cases, whether <i>they</i> or <i>their teachers</i> are in the wrong—cases too, -wherein it is perfectly obvious, that if the teachers are the -offending party, they must have become so in opposition to their best -interests. From the foregoing considerations, it is manifest, that -among such children at school as are justly reproved or punished for -misconduct, unjust complaints of partiality in the teachers will -frequently arise; and that these will often be too readily credited, -without any investigation, or even the slightest hint to the persons -thus secretly accused, of what has been alleged against them. In all -such cases a withdrawal of the pupils almost certainly follows, -succeeded by abuse of the schools, which often becomes the more bitter -and inveterate, from the parents themselves having an unacknowledged -conviction, that <i>they are the injurers</i>, instead of the <i>injured -party</i>. With all such persons the self-applied cure for the -mortification arising from incurable dullness, or depravity in their -children, is to slander their teachers wherever it can safely be done.</p> - -<p>Another proper and necessary difference in the scholastic treatment of -children proceeds from difference of age. But most unluckily, it -sometimes happens, that very young little masters and misses expect to -be treated like grown up young gentlemen and ladies; and should such -very rational expectations be disappointed, as they most assuredly -should be, these premature aspirants to the privileges and immunities -of manhood and womanhood, take most grievous and unappeasable offence -at it. Heavy, but vague complaints of partial treatment follow of -course; parental tenderness is naturally excited; parental credulity -lends too easy credence to the tale of juvenile woe; and a change of -school is the frequent consequence, without the really innocent -teachers even suspecting that any such cause could possibly have -produced it.</p> - -<p>Another most extensively pernicious fault in parents, is the -incompatible expectations formed of what teachers can do, with the -practice of treating them, and speaking of them, as scarcely above the -menial class of society. The expectations of many fathers and mothers -would appear to be something not very far from a belief, that -instructers are masters of some wonder-working process which can -inspire genius where it never existed; give talents that nature has -withheld; correct in a few weeks or months every bad habit, however -long indulged; and force knowledge into heads, pertinaciously -determined to reject, or so constructed as to be incapable of -receiving it. The general conduct towards such intellectual magicians, -where consistency is at all regarded, should -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page441"><small><small>[p. 441]</small></small></a></span> certainly be, at -least, to place them on a footing of perfect equality with the members -of the most esteemed professions in society. But what is the fact? -Why, that schoolmasters and schoolmistresses are viewed by multitudes -of those who arrogate the right to decide, as a class of persons, -essentially vulgar and awkward in their manners; ignorant of the -world; of low, grovelling, selfish principles, and nearly incapable of -any of those feelings and high sense of honor which are claimed, as a -kind of inalienable property by all who believe, (and there are -thousands of such individuals,) that wealth and worldly distinctions -authorize them to be proud, arrogant, and contemptuous towards all who -are deficient in the gifts of fortune. It is not easy to trace this -opinion respecting teachers to its source, because one would think -that the least pittance of common sense would teach parents the -impossibility of their children ever being well taught by any persons -for whom they felt no respect, and the equal impossibility of -respecting those whom their parents evidently despised. Two causes -probably may have produced this mischievous variance between the -conduct of parents towards instructers, and the momentous duties which -these last are expected to fulfil. First, that many who have taken -upon themselves the profession of teachers, have neither the talents, -the knowledge, the temper, nor the manners necessary to discharge its -numerous and arduous duties; and secondly, that the pride of wealth, -which generally indulges itself in an exemption from bodily and mental -labor, naturally seeks to dignify its idleness by assuming a -superiority over all who work either with their hands or their head. -But be the origin what it may, the cause of education is most -injuriously affected by it.</p> - -<p>Another parental fault is, the interference both as to matter and -manner in which children are to be taught; and this is sure to be -committed in proportion to the self-conceited competency, but real -inability of the advising, or rather commanding party. Let a single -exemplification suffice, out of very many others I could give of this -most ridiculous, but very pernicious fault. I select it because it is -one of those occurrences in the “olden time,” the relation of which -can hurt the feeling of none, but may afford a useful lesson to many. -My informant told me, that many years ago he knew a lady who could -barely read and write, to carry a little girl whose acquirements -extended not much farther than her own, to a school conducted by a -gentleman well qualified for his profession. She announced herself, as -having brought to him a pupil, who was immediately to be taught some -half dozen sciences, the names of which she had somewhere picked up, -but could scarcely pronounce; and that “he must make haste to do it, -as the little miss had not much more than a year, if that, to go to -school.” I was not told whether or not the teacher laughed in her -face, but if he refrained he must have had much more than common -control over his risible muscles. “It was enough,” (as the hero of -Cherubina says,) “to make a tiger titter.” This most compendious way -of manufacturing learned young masters and young misses, when viewed -in its effects upon the great interests of our community—upon the -happiness of families, as well as of the nation at large, is enough to -sicken the heart of any person capable, even in a moderate degree, of -serious reflection. Numerous instances have I known, in my limited -sphere of observation, especially in female schools, where, just as -the pupils had acquired a taste for reading, and were beginning to -make good progress in their studies, they were hurried away, and -plunged headlong into the vortex of gay, pleasure-seeking company, -there to lose—far more rapidly than it was gained—all desire, all -anxiety for intellectual culture. Books, together with all the useful -lessons they are calculated to impart; the whole long-labored scheme -of moral instruction, from which so much good had been anticipated; -the anxious preparation for a life of active beneficence, are all -forgotten or neglected, for constantly recurring schemes of frivolous -gaiety, and utter idleness in regard to all really useful pursuits. -The only subject of intense interest which seems to occupy these -fanatic devotees of worldly pleasure, is <i>marriage;</i> and provided they -can succeed in procuring a wealthy husband for their daughters, all -other matters are deemed of very subordinate importance. After the -teachers of these unfortunate girls may have been laboring for years -to convince them that the value of eternal things is immeasurably -greater than that of any merely temporal things whatever, they are to -be “finished off,” (as it is called) in the school of the world, where -all these calculations are utterly reversed, and present objects alone -are made to occupy all their thoughts and time.</p> - -<p>Another fault of parents, and I may add guardians too, is to be led -away by mere reports in regard to the character of schools and their -teachers, without always inquiring for themselves, as they should do -where possible, minutely into both. Thus, it often happens that, -governed entirely by rumor not to be traced to any authentic source, -all will be anxiously hurrying to secure places for their children in -schools said to be already full to overflowing, so that no more can -possibly get in; while schools of equal merit are carefully avoided, -because the same common untraceable rumor proclaims that they are -losing all their scholars; which, if not true at the time, soon -probably becomes so, from the capricious love of change, and the -desire to get their children's brains swept by the new broom, or from -the common habit of ascribing all removals of pupils from any schools -whatever, to incompetency or misconduct in the teachers. These ebb and -flood tides of popularity often happen to the same schools, without -any change whatever in the schools themselves, except increased -fitness in the teachers, from additional experience. A signal instance -of this fell under my observation, many years ago, in the case of a -long established, highly respectable, but no longer existing city -school. This institution, after maintaining very deservedly a high -character for many years, was literally stripped almost entirely naked -of pupils, by some utter strangers, who, although possibly as -meritorious, were certainly not known to be so, by a single individual -of the whole number that immediately sent scholars to them. It is -true, that the old school, after the public imagination had time to -sober a little, somewhat recovered from the shock, although never -sufficiently to regain its former standing. What is called -“<i>patronage</i>,” had fled from its walls, which were soon entirely -deserted, and answered little other purpose than to present another -striking monument of public caprice, fickleness, and folly. This case -is cited from no invidious motive -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page442"><small><small>[p. 442]</small></small></a></span> -whatever—both schools having -long ceased to exist; but it furnishes a most striking proof of the -existence, as well as of the pernicious effects of the last parental -fault noticed. As a necessary consequence of this fault, comes the -frequent changes made from school to school, often without any -assignable cause, but the mere love of novelty; or some secret, but -unfounded dissatisfaction imbibed from the <i>ex parte</i> -misrepresentation of the children, most carefully concealed from the -teachers themselves. If the matter ended here, it might not do more -harm than occasion the loss of the particular pupils to the offending -teachers; but the fancied injury, although never communicated to the -person chiefly interested in removing the unfounded imputation, is, in -general, the more diligently made known to others. With all these, the -characters of the teachers are deeply injured, if not entirely ruined, -without the possibility of a vindication, from utter ignorance of its -being any where necessary. Persons who are thus regardless of what -they say of schools and their conductors, and who are so careless as -to the sources from which they seek a knowledge of their characters, -are liable to be greatly deceived, even when making inquiries, in a -manner that appears to them most likely to obtain correct information. -Thus, in the opinion of these precipitate and reckless judges, it is -at once concluded, that if an individual of their acquaintance has -merely been <i>at</i> any particular school, whether in casually passing or -specially to see it, this person must necessarily be well qualified to -tell, describe, and explain every thing about it; and therefore, that -the sentence of approval or condemnation produced by this off-hand -judge, must be decisive, although it may go no farther than a simple -“<i>ipse dixit</i>”—“he or she said it.” Details are rarely, if ever asked -by such inquirers, (for I have often witnessed their method of -proceeding) but the mere opinion of the informant, for or against the -school, is deemed all sufficient; the brief assertion, “I've no notion -of it,” or “I like it mightily,” settles the question. It seems never -to be even suspected, that to form a just and impartial judgment in -regard to the merits or demerits of any school, requires much more -time, learning, knowledge of the principles and management of schools -in general, acquaintance with the various modes of instructing youth, -but, above all, more power of discrimination than most persons -possess. Hence, the characters both of schools and teachers, are -generally at the mercy of individuals extremely incompetent to -determine what they really are.</p> - -<p>Another common fault with many parents and guardians, has always -reminded me of the old miser who inquired of his merchant for a pair -of shoes, that must be at once “very neat, and strong, and fine, and -cheap.” They confound together cheapness and lowness of price, -although no two things generally differ more widely; and hence they -always endeavor to purchase their schools as they do their -merchandise. It is certainly true that a <i>high</i> price does not -necessarily make either schools or merchandise of good quality; but it -is equally true, that a <i>low</i> price can never have any such effect. -The principle of equivalents must be alike consulted in both cases, or -no fair, equitable bargain can be made, either for bodily or mental -apparel. If much is required, much must be given, provided both -parties are free to give and take; and those who act upon different -principles—be they parents, guardians, or teachers, deserve to <i>be</i>, -and generally <i>are</i>, utterly disappointed.</p> - -<p>There is another fault which I will here mention—not on account of -any connexion with that just noticed, but because the recollection of -it has just presented itself. It is of most fearful import, for I -verily believe it to be the foundation of most of the infidelity which -prevails among the youth of our country. I mean, the neglect of -parents to require their children to seek religious instruction by -constant attendance at places of religious worship—places where <i>they -themselves</i>, if professors of religion, deem it <i>their</i> sacred duty to -attend. They require—nay, insist upon these children seeking -classical, scientific, and literary knowledge by attending schools and -colleges; how then can they possibly justify, or even excuse their -attendance at church, not being at least equally insisted upon. They -themselves, unless hypocrites, must deem religious knowledge far more -important than all other kinds united. To leave their children then, -at full liberty to seek or not to seek it, and to coerce them in -seeking these other kinds, is to act, not only inconsistently and -foolishly, but wickedly.</p> - -<p>One of the greatest and most pernicious faults of all, I have reserved -for the last to be noticed. It is the utter indifference which, not -only parents and guardians but all other persons except the -instructors themselves, appear to feel for the reputation of schools -and their particular conductors, although this reputation is really a -matter of the deepest interest to the whole community. Of these -institutions and their managers, it seems in an especial manner, and -most emphatically true, that “what is every body's business is no -body's business.” Slander and its effects may certainly be called -<i>every body's business</i>, since all are exposed to it; yet no -individual appears to think it his own, or likely to be so, until it -touches his own dear self, although one of the best modes of -protecting himself from it, most obviously is—to manifest, on all -occasions, a readiness to protect others. But while men remain so -prone to believe ill, rather than good, of their fellow creatures, and -are too regardless of any reputations but their own, it is hardly to -be expected, that so long as they themselves are safe, much care will -be felt whether the persons assailed, are openly or secretly attacked, -or whether they have opportunities to defend themselves or not. Hence, -there are no courts in the world that exercise a more despotic, -reckless sway, than what may justly be called <i>courts of defamation;</i> -the only qualifications for which are, a talent and love for malignant -gossipping. Even the tribunals of the inquisition make a pretence at -justice, by calling the accused before them; but the self-constituted -inquisitors of reputation, who often, in the course of their various -sessions, sit upon schools and their conductors, disdain to use even -the mockery of a trial. With them, to try, to condemn, and to execute -the character, while the body is absent, constitute but one and the -same act; and like so many grand sultans, whose power is supreme, -whose word is law, and whose arguments are the scimitars and -bow-strings of death, they are alike uncontrolled and uncontrollable -by any considerations even approaching towards truth and justice. If -defamation never meets with any thing to check it but the unheeded, -unavailing complaints of the immediate sufferers from its diabolical -spirit, it will <span class="pagenum"><a name="page443"><small><small>[p. 443]</small></small></a></span> -continue greatly to impair, if it does not -utterly destroy one of the most copious sources of human happiness—I -mean, the heart-cheering confidence, that all will acquire fair -reputations by always acting in a manner to deserve them, and that -nothing can bereave them of this inestimable blessing, but actual -misconduct. It is true, that our laws hold out something like a remedy -for slander by known individuals. But what is this remedy? While -house-breaking and house-burning have often been made punishable by -death—<i>character-breaking and burning</i> have met with no other legal -corrective than pecuniary fines, and these too, dependent on -enactments hard to be applied to any particular case, and upon the -capricious, ill-regulated, not to say, prejudiced, judgments of -others. To mend the matter, public opinion generally attaches no small -disgrace to the seeking this species of redress; as if to sue for -damages to character, implied, on the part of woman, some strong -probability of guilt, and on the part of man, a great presumption both -of guilt and cowardice. Against the effect of inimical motives, -calumnious opinions, and their underhand circulation, no law affords -any protection whatever. These matters are entirely beyond the reach -of all legislation, and unless they can be cured by moral instruction, -moral discipline, and such a public sentiment as will keep alive in -every bosom a strong sense of our obligations always to judge -charitably and justly of each other, the members of our society, one -and all, must still live exposed to this deep and deadly curse of -secret defamation. Such is the baneful nature of this deplorable evil, -that to fear or despise will only serve to aggravate it—while to live -above it, although very comfortable to our consciences, can never -entirely prevent the injuries it often has the power of inflicting -upon even the best of mankind. The disastrous effects of it upon -education, so far as this depends upon scholastic establishments, are -incalculable; for although some particular schools might rise or fall -a sightless distance above the hopes of their most sanguine -friends—below the wishes of their bitterest enemies—without -materially affecting the general cause of instruction; yet that cause -cannot possibly flourish—cannot even approach its maximum of general -good, without far greater protection from public sentiment. It <i>must</i> -protect, and with parental solicitude too, the reputation both of -teachers and schools, or none whatever, even the best, can be secure -of a twelve months' existence. None can possibly last, unless all who -have any power of giving the tone and character of public opinion, -will unite in marking with the severest reprobation the kind of spirit -which so frequently gives birth and circulation to the numerous, -unfounded calumnies we so often hear against the very best of them; -calumnies too, to the greedy swallowing of which, it forms no -objection with many, that they have no authors who have hardihood -enough to avow them. But the same violent spirit which ruins some -schools by calumny, often exerts itself with so little judgment as to -destroy others by intended kindness. Thus, the same tongues which will -persecute particular schools in secret—“even unto death,” will praise -and puff others so immeasurably, as to excite against them that never -dying envy and animosity, which is always roused to action by high -seasoned commendation of others. These headlong, unreflecting puffers, -are either utterly ignorant, or entirely forget that the world is -still full of people who are brothers and sisters, at least in -feeling, to that Athenian who voted to banish Aristides, (whom he -acknowledged he did not know,) solely, as he declared—“<i>because he -was weary and sick at heart, on hearing him every where called the -Just</i>.”</p> - -<p>The foregoing faults, as far as I can recollect, are the chief and -most pernicious of those which attach particularly to parents and -guardians. But there are many others to which they are parties, either -as principals or accessaries with that great and complicated mass of -human beings, which, when considered in the aggregate, constitute what -is called—“<i>the public</i>.” These often form themselves into large -subdivisions, arrayed against each other with all the bitter animosity -of partizan hostility, as the assailants and defenders of particular -schools; without appearing, for a moment to reflect, that complete -success to either party must sweep from the face of the earth one half -of the existing schools, although it is manifest to all who will look -soberly at our present condition, that the supply of good schools, -still falls very far short of the demand. But if this exterminating -war between the partizans and enemies of schools in general is never -to cease, would it not be far better for the world, if all the schools -in it, with their friends and enemies, were crushed together in one -promiscuous mass—that some new, and, if possible, better road might -be opened to science, literature and religion?</p> - -<p>In education there should be, in reality, <i>but one party</i>—(if I may -be allowed to say so) that of knowledge and virtue; <i>but one object</i>, -and that object <i>human happiness</i>. Until this principle can be -universally established and acted upon—until the class of instructers -shall not only be held in higher estimation, but be more secure of -being protected by public sentiment, from unmerited obloquy and secret -detraction, thousands of those who are most capable of fulfilling all -the momentous duties of teachers, will shrink entirely from so -thankless, so discouraging an occupation. It is true, that even under -present circumstances, we have the appearance of much good resulting -from the various attempts to educate the rising generation; but no -very extensive advantage—no permanent benefit, at all commensurate to -the wants and wishes of our thirteen millions of people, can possibly -result from them while things remain exactly as they are. This is not -the worst consequence of such a state of public sentiment—for, not -only will the accessions of highly qualified persons to the class of -instructers be much fewer, but those already belonging to it, will -either abandon it, or, perceiving that the privilege of teaching is -usually let to the lowest bidder, and that their profession is -generally treated as an inferior one, having few claims to generous -sympathy, and none to that respect and esteem which would bear them -harmless, at all times, against all suspicions of meanness and -servility, will insensibly contract the spiritless, submissive -feelings which they find are commonly supposed to belong to their -situation. Seeing also that a spirit of independence—a nice, -high-minded sense of honor, are deemed by many, sentiments of much too -exalted a grade for those who follow such a calling, their principles -are always in danger of sinking to the level of such a standard, -however arbitrary and unreasonable may have been its establishment. -Woe to the unlucky <span class="pagenum"><a name="page444"><small><small>[p. 444]</small></small></a></span> -wight of a schoolmaster or schoolmistress who -happens to be gifted with so rebellious a heart, as to betray any -feeling, even approaching to indignant resentment, for such treatment! -Silence is their true policy, for it will be considered his or her -humble duty; and silence must be kept, cost what it may, unless they -are prepared to encounter the worst consequences of derision, scorn, -or deprivation of what is called <i>patronage</i>.</p> - -<p>It is readily admitted, that persons of this profession are more -highly estimated than they were forty or fifty years ago; for I -distinctly recollect the time when all I have said of the degrading -treatment of teachers generally, both by parents and others, was -literally true; when to the question, “who is such a one?” the common -reply was, “oh, nothing but a schoolmaster or schoolmistress;” and -when they were all commonly viewed precisely as we might imagine from -such an answer. But although they have, of late years, been elevated a -spoke or two higher up the ladder of respectability, still they are -not admitted to a level with several other classes, whose real claims -to superiority have no better foundation than their own silly, -groundless pride.</p> - -<p>The following extract from the London Examiner affords a striking -proof that what I have affirmed of the public sentiment relative to -the class of teachers in the United States, is true to a still more -pernicious extent in Great Britain.</p> - -<p>The author remarks, “A trust is generally accounted honorable in -proportion to its importance, and the order of the qualities or -acquirements requisite to the discharge of it. There is, however, one -striking exception to this rule in the instance of the instructers of -youth, who, specially appointed to communicate the knowledge and -accomplishments which may command respect in the persons of their -pupils, are, in their own, denied every thing beyond the decencies of -a reluctantly accorded civility, and often are refused even those -barren observances. The treatment which tutors, governesses, ushers, -and the various classes of preceptors, receive in this boasted land of -liberality, is a disgrace to the feelings, as well as to the -understanding of society. Every parent acknowledges that the domestic -object of the first importance is the education of his children. In -obtaining the services of an individual for this purpose, he takes -care to be assured” (not always so with us) “that his morals are good -and his acquirements beyond the common average—in nine hundred and -ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, we may add, beyond those which he -himself possesses, and on which he sufficiently prides himself. When -he has procured such a man as he believes this to be, he treats him -with perhaps as much courtesy as his cork-drawer, and shows him less -favor than his groom. The mistress of the family pursues the same -course with the governess which the master adopts towards the tutor. -The governess is acknowledged competent to form the minds and manners -of the young ladies—to make, indeed, the future women: but of how -much more consequence in the household is she who shapes the -mistresses caps, and gives the set to her head-dress—the lady's maid! -The unhappy teachers in almost every family are only placed just so -much above the servants as to provoke in them the desire to pull them -down—an inclination in the vulgar menials which is commonly -encouraged by the congenial vulgar and jealous pride of the heads of -the house, impatient of the intellectual equality or superiority which -they have brought within their sphere. The remark, however, does not -apply to the narrow-minded only. All of us regard too lightly those -who make a profit of communicating what all of us prize, and what we -know entitles us to respect when we possess it. Some carry their -neglect or contempt farther than others, but all are, in a greater or -less degree, affected by the vicious standard of consideration common -in the country. The instructers of youth serve for low wages; <i>that</i> -is a sufficient cause for their being slighted, where money puts its -value upon every thing and being. The butler and groom, indeed, serve -for less than the tutor; but, beside the lowness of price, there is -another peculiar ingredient in the condition of the last, which is, -the accompaniment with it of a claim to respect on the score of a -requital. It is this very claim, so ill-substantiated in hard cash, -the secret force of which wounds the self-love of purse-proud -nothingness, which sinks the poor tutor in regard below the man of -corks or currycombs. We will not deny, too, that there are families in -which the care of wine and the training of horses are really -<i>accounted</i>, although <i>not confessed</i>, of superior importance to the -care and training of youth. These are extreme cases, however, which we -would not put. The common one is that of desiring and supposing every -thing respectable in the preceptor, and denying him respect—of -procuring an individual to instil virtue and knowledge into the minds -of youth, and showing them, at the same time, the practical and -immediate example of virtue and knowledge neglected or despised in -<i>his</i> person. How can a boy (and boys are shrewd enough) believe that -the acquirements, the importance of which is dinned in his ears, are -of any value as a means of commanding the respect of the world, when -he witnesses the treatment, the abject social lot of the very man, -who, as best stored with them, has been chosen his instructer? Will he -not naturally ask, how can these things obtain honor for me which do -not command even courtesy for him who is able to communicate them to me?”</p> - -<p>We remember, in a little volume treating on instruction, to have seen -this anecdote:</p> - -<p>“A lady wrote to her son, requesting to look out for a young lady, -respectably connected, possessed of various elegant accomplishments -and acquirements, skilled in the languages, a proficient in music, and -above all, an unexceptionable moral character—and to make her an -offer of 40<i>l.</i> a year for her services as a governess. The son's -reply was—‘My dear mother, I have long been looking out for such a -person as you describe, and when I have the good fortune to meet with -her, I propose to make her an offer—not of 40<i>l.</i> a year, but of my -hand, and to ask her to become—not your governess, but my wife.’”</p> - -<p>Such are the qualities expected or supposed in instructers; and yet, -what is notoriously their treatment?</p> - -<p>I will here end this long and painful catalogue of parental faults, -and shall devote the next lecture to the faults of teachers—merely -remarking, in conclusion, that my sole undertaking being to point out -things which require reformation, I shall present no favorable views -of the various parties concerned in the great work of education, -although many very animating ones might -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page445"><small><small>[p. 445]</small></small></a></span> be given. To aid in -removing the numerous obstacles which so fatally impede its progress, -being my only purpose, I would fain render the nature of them as -odious as possible, believing this to be the best means of -accomplishing the great end in view.</p> - -<p>May the moral mirror which I have endeavored to present to all parents -and guardians who may now hear me, enable them so to see and to study -their own peculiar faults as speedily to correct them.</p> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect16"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>TO MISS ——, OF NORFOLK.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem15"> - <tr><td>Which ever way my vision turns,<br> - To heaven or earth, I see thee there,<br> - In every star thy eyebeam burns,<br> - Thy breath in every balmy air;<br> - Thy words seem truth herself enshrined,<br> - Sweet as the seraph minstrel sung,<br> - And thou, in dignity of mind,<br> - An angel with a silver tongue.<br> -<br> - What dreams of bliss entrance the soul,<br> - When Persians watch their idol light,<br> - What pleasing visions o'er them roll<br> - Caught from his beams serene and bright,<br> - Thus, when a sparkling ray is given,<br> - From eyes so soft, so pure as thine—<br> - We feel as though our earth were heaven<br> - And thou its radiant light divine.</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right"><small>B.</small> </div> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect17"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>FROM THE MSS. OF FRANKLIN.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem16"> - <tr><td> In vain are musty morals taught in schools,<br> - By rigid teachers and as rigid rules,<br> - Where virtue with a frowning aspect stands,<br> - And frights the pupil with her rough commands.<br> - But Woman—<br> - Charming Woman, can true converts make—<br> - We love the precepts for the teacher's sake:<br> - Virtue in them appears so bright and gay,<br> - We hear with transport, and with pride obey.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br><hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect18"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4><i>Editorial</i>.</h4> -<hr align="center" width="25"> -<br> -<center>RIGHT OF INSTRUCTION.</center> -<br> -<p>The pages of our Magazine are open, and have ever been, to the -discussion of all general questions in Political Law, or -Economy—never to questions of mere party. The paper on the <i>Right of -Instruction</i>, which forms our leading article this month, was -addressed, in the form of a letter, to a gentleman of Richmond. The -letter concluded thus—</p> - -<p>“I assure you, my dear sir, that I hesitate about sending these sheets -to you under the denomination of a <i>letter</i>. But I began to write -without knowing how far the subject might carry me on. No doubt had I -time to write it over again, I might avoid repetition and greatly -abridge it. But I pray you to take it with a fair allowance for all -imperfections of manner; for the opinions and argument I confess my -responsibility.</p> -<div align="right">Most truly and respectfully your obedient servant, - - <br> -—— ——.” </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"> -<br> -<br><a name="sect19"></a> -<h4>CRITICAL NOTICES.</h4> -<hr align="center" width="25"> -<br> -<center>LETTERS ON PENNSYLVANIA.</center> - -<p><i>A Pleasant Peregrination through the Prettiest Parts of Pennsylvania. -Performed by Peregrine Prolix. Philadelphia: Grigg and Elliot.</i></p> - -<p>We know nothing farther about <i>Peregrine Prolix</i> than that he is the -very clever author of a book entitled “<i>Letters descriptive of the -Virginia Springs</i>,” and that he is a gentleman upon the wrong side of -forty. The first fact we are enabled easily to perceive from the -peculiarity of an exceedingly witty-pedantic style characterizing, in -a manner not to be mistaken, both the Virginia and the Pennsylvania -Letters—the second appears from the first stanza of a rhyming -dedication (much better than eulogistic) to <i>John Guillemard, Esquire, -Fellow of the Royal Society, London</i>—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem17"> - <tr><td>I send my friend a little token<br> - Three thousand miles across the sea,<br> - Of kindness, forty years unbroken<br> - And cherished still for him by me.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>However these matters may be, it is very certain that <i>Peregrine -Prolix</i> is a misnomer, that his book is a very excellent thing, and -that the Preface is not the worst part of it.</p> - -<p>Our traveller, before setting out on his peregrinations, indulges us, -in Letter I, with a very well executed outline sketch, or scratch, of -Philadelphia, not troubling himself much about either his <i>keeping</i> or -his <i>fillings in</i>. We cannot do better than just copy the whole of his -picture.</p> - -<blockquote><small>Philadelphia is a flat, rectangular, clean, (almost too clean -sometimes, for on Saturdays “nunquam cessavit lavari, aut fricari, aut -tergeri, aut ornari, poliri, pingi, fingi,”<small><sup>1</sup></small>) uniform, well-built, -brick and mortar, (except one stone house,) well-fed and watered, -well-clad, moral, industrious, manufacturing, rich, sober, quiet, -good-looking city. The Delaware washes its eastern and the Schuylkill -its western front. The distance between the two rivers is one mile and -three quarters, which space on several streets is nearly filled with -houses. Philadelphia looks new, and is new, and like Juno always will -be new; for the inhabitants are constantly pulling down and -new-vamping their houses. The furor delendi with regard to old houses, -is as rife in the bosoms of her citizens, as it was in the breast of -old Cato with regard to Carthage. A respectable-looking old house is -now a rare thing, and except the venerable edifice of Christ Church in -Second above Market Street, we should hardly know where to find one.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> Plautus, Pænuli, Act i., sc. 2, l. 10.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The dwelling-houses in the principal streets are all very much alike, -having much the air of brothers, sisters and cousins of the same -family; like the supernumerary figures in one of West's historical -paintings, or like all the faces in all of Stothard's designs. They -are nearly all three stories high, faced with beautiful red unpainted -Philadelphia brick, and have water tables and steps of white marble, -kept so painfully clean as to make one fear to set his foot on them. -The roofs are in general of cedar, cypress or pine shingles; the -continued use of which is probably kept up (for there is plenty of -slate,) to afford the Fire-Companies a little wholesome exercise.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The streets are in general fifty feet wide, having on each side -convenient <i>trottoirs</i> well paved with brick, and a carriage way badly -paved with large round pebbles. They are kept very clean, and the -kennels are frequently washed by floods of pure Schuylkill water, -poured from the iron pipes with which all the streets are underlaid. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page446"><small>[p. 446]</small></a></span> -This same Schuylkill water is the cause of many comforts in the -shape of drinking, bathing and clean linen, (indusia toraliaque;) and -enters into the composition of those delicious and persuasive liquids -called Pepper's beer and Gray's ale and porter.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>This water is so pure, that our brothers of New York complain of its -want of taste; and it is as wholesome and refreshing as the stream of -father Nilus. It is also so copious, that our incendiaries are -scarcely ever able to burn more than the roof or garret of one or two -houses in a month. The fire companies are numerous, voluntary, -well-organized associations, amply furnished with engines, hose, and -all other implements and munitions necessary to make successful war -upon the destroying element; and the members are intelligent, active -and intrepid young men, so skilful from daily practice, that they will -put you out three or four fires in a night, in less time than -Higginbottom, that veteran fireman of London, would have allowed them -to kindle.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The public confidence in these useful, prompt, energetic and faithful -companies is so great, that no citizen is alarmed by the cry of fire; -for he knows that the first tap on the State House bell, arouses -hundreds of these vigilant guardians of the city's safety, who rush to -the scene of danger with one accord; and with engines, axes, ladders, -torches, hooks and hose, dash through summer's heat, or winter's hail -and snows.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The old State House, in whose eastern room the Declaration of -Independence was signed, has on the top of it, a sort of stumpy -steeple, which looks as if somewhat pushed in, like a spy glass, half -shut. In this steeple is a large clock, which, twice as bad as Janus, -presents four faces, which at dusk are lighted up like the full moon; -and as there is a man in the moon, so there is a man in the clock, to -see that it does not lag behind, nor run away from father time; whose -whereabout, ever and anon, the people wish to know. This close -observer of the time is also a distant observer of the fires, and -possesses an ingenious method of communicating their existence and -position to his fellow citizens below. One tap on the great bell means -north; two indicate south; three represent east, and four point out -west; and by composition these simple elements are made to represent -also the intermediate points. If the fire be in the north, the man -strikes successive blows with solemn and equal intervals, thus; -tap——tap——tap——tap; if it be in the south, thus; tap tap——tap -tap; if it be in the north east, thus; tap——tap tap -tap———tap——tap tap tap; so that when the thrifty and well-fed -citizen is roused by the cry of fire at midnight, from a pleasant -dream of heaps of gold and smoking terrapins and whisky punch, he -uncovers one ear and listens calmly for the State House bell, and if -its iron tongue tell of no scathe to him, he turns him on his side and -sleeps again. What a convenient invention, which tells the firemen -when and where to go, and the terrapin men when to lie snug in their -comfortable nests! This clever plan is supposed to have been invented -by an M. A. P. S.; this however, we think doubtful, for the Magellanic -Premium has never, to our knowledge, been claimed for the discovery. -This reminds us that the American Philosophical Society is -<i>located</i><small><sup>2</sup></small> in Philadelphia, where it possesses a spacious hall, a -good library, and an interesting collection of American antiquities, -gigantic fossil bones, and other curiosities, all of which are open to -the inspection of intelligent and inquisitive travellers.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>2</sup></small> A new and somewhat barbarous, but exceedingly convenient -yankeeism, which will probably work its way into good society in -England, as its predecessor ‘<i>lengthy</i>,’ has already done.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The Society was founded by the Philosophical Franklin, and its -presidential chair is now occupied by the learned and venerable -Duponceau.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>There exists here a club of twenty-four philosophers, who give every -Saturday evening very agreeable male parties;<small><sup>3</sup></small> consisting of the -club, twenty invited citizens and any strangers who may happen to be -in town. These parties are not confined to any particular circle; but -all men who are distinguished in the arts, whether fine or mechanical; -or in the sciences, whether natural or artificial, are liable to be -invited. The members of the club are all M. A. P. S., and the parties -are supposed to look with a steady eye towards the cultivation of -science; the other eye however regards with equal complacency the -useful and ornamental arts of eating and drinking. The only defect in -the latter department that we have discovered, is the banishment of -ice cream and roman punch.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>3</sup></small> Called Wistar parties, in honor of the late illustrious -Caspar Wistar, M.D., Professor of Anatomy in the University of -Pennsylvania.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The markets are well supplied with good things. The principal one is -held under long colonnades running along the middle of Market street, -and extending from Front to Eighth street, a distance of more than one -thousand yards. The columns are of brick and the roofs of shingles, -arched and ceiled underneath. If I were to say all they deserve of its -beef, mutton and veal, there would be no end to the praises that -<i>flesh</i> is heir to; but the butter and cream-cheese in the spring and -summer, are such dainties as are found in no other place under the -welkin. They are produced on dairy farms and by families near the -city, whose energies have for several generations been directed to -this one useful end, and who now work with an art made perfect by the -experience of a century.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Here is the seat of the University of Pennsylvania, which comprehends -a College of the Arts and several preparatory schools; and a college -of Medicine the most celebrated of the United States, in the list of -whose professors are many names advantageously known in all civilized -nations.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The Hospital for the insane, sick and wounded is a well conducted -institution, and worth a stranger's visit. Go and see also the Museum, -the Water-Works, the Navy-Yard, and the public squares, and lots of -other things too tedious to write down.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The site of the city promises very little for the scenery of the -environs; but unlike the witches in Macbeth, what is promised is more -than kept. Take an open carriage and cross the Schuylkill by the -Market street bridge, and ride up the west bank of the river for five -or six miles, and your labor will be fully rewarded by a succession of -lovely landscapes, comprehending water, hill and dale; wood, lawn and -meadow; villas, farmhouses and cottages, mingled in a charming -variety.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>On the west bank of the Schuylkill opposite to the city, we regret to -say, is an enormous palace, which cost many hundred thousand dollars, -called an Almshouse, (unhappy misnomer,) which is big enough to hold -all the paupers that <i>would be</i> in the world, if there were no poor -laws to <i>make them</i>. But you had better go and see it, and take the -length and breadth and height of our unreason, in this age of light, -when we ought to know better.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The people of Philadelphia are in general well-informed, well-bred, -kind, hospitable and of good manners, very slightly tinged with quaker -reserve; and the tone of society is good, except in a small circle of -exclusive <i>imagines subitæ</i>, who imitate very awkwardly the -exaggerations of European fashion. The tone of the Satanic school, -which has somewhat infected the highest circles of fashion in England, -has not yet crossed the Atlantic.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>There are many good Hotels, and extensive boarding houses; and the -table of the Mansion House is said to be faultless.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Taking every thing into consideration, this is certainly the very spot -for annuitants, who have reached the rational age of fifty, to nestle -in during the long remnant of their comfortable days. We say long -remnant, because as a class, annuitants are the longest livers; and -there is an excellent company here, that not only grants annuities, -but also insures lives.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The climate of Philadelphia is variable, and exhibits (in the shade,) -all the degrees of temperature that are contained between the tenth -below, and the ninetieth -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page447"><small>[p. 447]</small></a></span> -above zero, on the scale of Fahrenheit. -In general, winter does not begin seriously until after Christmas, but -he sometimes lingers too long in “<i>the lap of spring</i>,” and leaves a -bridge of ice on the noble river Delaware until the tenth of March.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>There are generally three or four weeks of severe cold, during which -the thermometer sometimes at night sinks below zero, and sometimes in -the day does not rise to the point of thaw. This period is generally -enlivened by two or three snow storms, which set in motion the rapid -sleighs, the jingle of whose lively bells is heard through day and -night. The Delaware is not frozen over every winter, but there is -always made an ample supply of fine crystalline ice to last the -citizens until the next winter. The annual average duration of -interrupted navigation may be four or five weeks. In March there is -sometimes a little Scotch weather in which Sawney would rub his hands -and tell you, here is a fine cauld blawey snawey rainy day. There is -however not much such weather, though the March winds have been known -to blow (as Paddy would say,) even in the first week of April; after -which spring begins with tears and smiles to coax the tardy vegetation -into life.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Spring is short and vegetation rapid. Summer sprinkles a day here and -there in May, and sets in seriously to toast people in June; during -which month there are generally six or eight days whose average -temperature reaches the altissimum of summer heat. In July the days -are hot, but there is some relief at night; whilst in August the fiery -day is but a prelude to a baking night; and the whole city has the air -of an enormous oven.<small><sup>4</sup></small> The extremely hot weather does not continue -more than six weeks, and so far from being a misfortune, it is a great -advantage to the inhabitants; for it makes every body that can spare -twenty dollars, take a pleasant journey every year, whereby their -minds are expanded, their manners improved, and they return with a -double zest to the enjoyments of Philadelphia, having learned, quantum -est in rebus inane, that is, in the rebuses of other places.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>4</sup></small> The season of the Dog Days. A witty Philadelphia lady -being once asked, how many Dog Days there are, answered that there -must be a great many, for every dog has his day. At that time the city -abounded in dogs, but the corporation has since made fierce war upon -them, with a view perhaps of lessening the number of Dog Days, and -improving the climate, by <i>curtailing</i> those innocent beasts.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The autumn, or as the Philadelphians call it, the Fall, is the most -delightful part of the year, and is sometimes eked out by the Indian -Summer as far as Christmas. The Fall begins in the first half of -September and generally lasts until the middle of November, when it is -succeeded by the Indian Summer; a pleasant period of two or three -weeks, in which the mornings, evenings and nights are frosty, and the -days comfortably warm and a little hazy. The Indians are supposed to -have employed this period in hunting and laying in game for winter -use, before the long-knives made game of <i>them</i>.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The population of Philadelphia and its suburbs exceeds 180,000 souls.</small></blockquote> - -<p>Having taken passage for himself and a friend in the Pioneer line, at -8 A. M., for Hallidaysburg, Mr. Prolix dates his second letter from -Lancaster. This epistle is full of fun, bustle, and all good -things—gives a lively picture of the horrors of early rising and -half-eaten breakfasts—of a cruise in an omnibus, about the city of -Brotherly Love, in search of the due quota of passengers—of the depot -in Broad Street—of an unilocular car with its baggage and -passengers—of an old woman in a red cloak and an old gentleman in a -red nose—of a tall, good looking Englishman, who was at the trouble -of falling asleep—and of an infantile little American gentleman, who -had no trouble whatever about fulfilling all his little occasions. -Some account, too, is given of the ride to the foot of the inclined -plane on the western bank of the Schuylkill, of the viaduct by which -the plane is approached, the view from the viaduct, of the country -between Philadelphia and Lancaster, of the Columbia rail road, of -Lancaster city, and of Mrs. Hubley's very respectable hotel.</p> - -<p><i>Letter III</i> is dated from Duncan's Island. Mr. Prolix left Lancaster -at 5 A. M. in a rail road car, drawn by two horses tandem, arrived at -Columbia in an hour and a half, and stopped at Mr. Donley's Red Lion -Hotel, where he “breakfasted and dined, and found the house very -comfortable and well kept.”</p> - -<blockquote><small>“Columbia,” says Mr. P. “is twelve miles from Lancaster, and is -situated on the eastern bank of the noble river Susquehanna. It is a -thriving and pretty town, and is rapidly increasing in business, -population and wealth. There is an immense bridge here over the -Susquehanna, the superstructure of which, composed of massy timber, -rests upon stone piers. This bridge is new, having been built within -three years. The waters of the Susquehanna, resembling the citizens of -Philadelphia, in their dislike to old buildings, took the liberty -three years ago, to destroy the old bridge by means of an ice freshet, -though it was but twenty years of age, and still in excellent -preservation. The views from the bridge, up and down the river, are -very interesting. Here is the western termination of the rail road, -and goods from the sea-board intended for the great west, are here -transhipped into canal boats. Columbia contains about twenty-five -hundred souls.”</small></blockquote> - -<p>Our author does not think that the state affords the public as good a -commodity of travelling as the public ought to have for the money -paid. Each passenger car, he says, pays for locomotive power two cents -per mile, for each passenger—for toll two cents a mile for itself, -and one cent per mile for each passenger—burthen cars paying half -these rates. There is some mistake here or—we are mistaken. The -estimated cost of working an engine, including interest and repairs, -is sixteen dollars per day—and the daily sum earned is twenty eight -dollars—the state clearing twelve dollars per day on each locomotive. -Empty cars pay the same toll and power-hire as full ones, which, as -Mr. Prolix observes, is unreasonable.</p> - -<p>At 4 P. M. our peregrinator went on board a boat to ascend the canal -which follows the eastern bank of the Susquehanna. His description of -the genus “canal boat,” species “Pioneer Line,” is effective, and will -interest our readers.</p> - -<blockquote><small>A canal packet boat is a microcosm that contains almost as many -specimens of natural history as the Ark of Noah. It is nearly eighty -feet long and eleven wide; and has a house built in it that extends to -within six or seven feet of stem and stern. Thirty-six feet in length -of said house are used as a cabin by day, and a dormitory by night; -the forward twelve feet being nocturnally partitioned off by an opaque -curtain, when there are more than four ladies on board, for their -accommodation. In front of said twelve feet, there is an apartment of -six feet containing four permanent berths and separated from the cabin -by a wooden partition, with a door in it; this is called the ladies' -dressing room, and is sacred to their uses.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>At 9 P. M. the steward and his satellites begin the work of arranging -the sleeping apparatus. This consists of a wooden frame six feet long -and twenty inches wide, with canvass nailed over it, a thin mattress -and sheets, &c. to match. The frame has two metallic points on one -side which are inserted into corresponding holes in the side of the -cabin, and its horizontality is preserved -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page448"><small>[p. 448]</small></a></span> by little ropes -descending from the ceiling fastened to its other side. There are -three tiers of these conveniences on each side, making twenty-four for -gentlemen, and twelve for ladies, besides the four permanent berths in -the ladies' dressing room. The number of berths, however, does not -limit the number of passengers; for a packet is like Milton's -Pandemonium, and when it is brim full of imps, the inhabitants seem to -grow smaller so as to afford room for more poor devils to come in and -be stewed; and tables and settees are put into a sleeping fix in the -twinkling of a bedpost.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Abaft the cabin is a small apartment four feet square, in which the -steward keeps for sale all sorts of potables, and some sorts of -eatables. Abaft that is the kitchen, in which there is generally an -emancipated or escaped slave from Maryland or Virginia, of some shade -between white and black, who performs the important part of cook with -great effect. The breakfasts, dinners and suppers are good, of which -the extremes cost twenty-five cents each, and the mean thirty-seven -and a half.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The passengers can recreate by walking about on the roof of the cabin, -at the risque of being decapitated by the bridges which are passed -under at short intervals of time. But this accident does not often -happen, for the man at the helm is constantly on the watch to prevent -such an unpleasant abridgment of the passengers, and gives notice of -the approaching danger by crying out ‘bridge.’</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>This machine, with all that it inherits, is dragged through the water -at the rate of three miles and a half per hour by three horses, driven -tandem by a dipod with a long whip, who rides the hindmost horse. The -rope, which is about one hundred yards in length, is fastened to the -side of the roof, at the distance of twenty feet from the bow, in such -fashion that it can be loosed from the boat in a moment by touching a -spring. The horses are changed once in about three hours and seem very -much jaded by their work.</small></blockquote> - -<p>At an hour past midnight Mr. Prolix arrived at Harrisburg, where the -boat stops for half an hour to let out and take in passengers. It was -pitch dark, however, and nothing was visible from the boat. We miss, -therefore, a description of the town, which is cavalierly snubbed by -the tourist for containing no more than forty-five hundred -inhabitants. He goes to sleep, and awaking at 5 in the morning, finds -himself opposite to Duncan's Island. He lands, and takes up his -quarters at the hotel of Mrs. Duncan. Unlike the hotels previously -described, which were all “elegant, respectable and neat,” this one is -merely “neat, elegant and respectable.”</p> - -<p><i>Letter IV</i> is dated from Hallidaysburg. Leaving Duncan's Island at 6, -the traveller embarked in the canal packet Delaware, Captain Williams, -following the bank of Duncan's Island in a north-western course for -about a mile, and then crossing the Juniata over “a substantial -aqueduct built of timber and roofed in.” In the course of the day he -passed Millerstown, Mexico and Mifflin, arriving at Lewistown before -sunset, a distance of about forty miles. Lewistown contains about -sixteen hundred inhabitants, some of whom, says Mr. Prolix, make -excellent beer. Waynesburg and Hamiltonville were past during the -night, and Huntingdon at 7 in the morning. In the course of the day -Petersburg, Alexandria and Williamsburg made their appearance, and at -3 P. M. a shower of rain. At half past 6, “the packet glided into the -basin at Hallidaysburg.” Here terminates that portion of the -Pennsylvania canal which lies east of the Alleghany mountains. Goods -destined for the west are taken from the boats and placed in burthen -cars, to make their passage over the mountains by means of the -Alleghany portage rail road. Mr. Prolix here put up at Moore's hotel, -which was not only very “neat, elegant,” &c. but contained at least -one vacant room, six feet wide by fourteen long, with a double bed, -two chairs, and a wash-stand, “whose cleanliness was as great as its -littleness.”</p> - -<p><i>Letter V</i> is headed <i>Bedford Springs, August 7, 1835</i>. At half past 8 -on the 6th, “after a good and abundant breakfast,” Mr. P. left -Hallidaysburg in a coach and four for these Springs. The distance is -thirty-four miles—direction nearly south. In six hours he arrived at -Buckstown, a little village consisting of two taverns, a blacksmith's -shop, and two or three dwellings. Here our traveller put up at a -tavern whose sign displayed the name of P. Amich—probably, quoth Mr. -P., a corruption of Peregrini Amicus. Leaving this establishment at 3 -P. M. he proceeded eleven miles to the village of Bedford—thence two -miles farther to the Springs, of which we have a very pretty -description. “The benches,” says Mr. Prolix, “and wooden columns of -the pavilion have suffered much from the ruthless ambition of that -numerous class of aspirants after immortality who endeavor to cut -their way to the temple of fame with their penknives, and inflict the -ambitious initials of their illustrious names on every piece of stuff -they meet. As a goose delights in its gosling, so does one of these -wits in his whittling.”</p> - -<p><i>Letters VI and VII</i> are a continuation of the description of the -Springs. From letter VII we extract, for the benefit of our invalid -readers, an analysis by Doctor William Church of Pittsburgh, of a -quart of the water from the particular springs ycleped Anderson's.</p> - -<blockquote><small>A quart of water, evaporated to dryness, gave <i>thirty-one</i> grains of a -residuum. The same quantity of water, treated agreeably to the rule -laid down by Westrumb, contained eighteen and a half inches of -carbonic acid gas. The residuum, treated according to the rules given -by Dr. Henry, in his system of Chemistry, gave the following result.</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" summary="water analysis"> - - <tr><td><small>Sulphate of Magnesia or Epsom Salts,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>20 </small></td> - <td><small>grains.</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Sulphate of Lime,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>3¾</small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Muriate of Soda,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>2½</small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Muriate of Lime,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>¾</small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Carbonate of Iron,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>1¼</small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Carbonate of Lime,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small>2 </small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small>Loss,</small></td> - <td align="right"><small><u> ¾</u></small></td> - <td><small> "</small></td></tr> - - <tr><td><small> </small></td> - <td align="right"><small>31 </small></td> - <td><small>grains.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small>To which must be added 18½ cubic inches of carbonic acid gas.</small></blockquote> - -<p>“These waters,” says our author, “have acquired so great a reputation -that immense quantities are sent away daily in barrels to perform long -and expensive journeys by land to go and cure those who cannot come to -them. The price of a barrel filled, and ready booted and spurred for -its journey, is three dollars—and that is enough to last a regular -and prudent toper four months.”</p> - -<p><i>Letter VIII</i> is dated “<i>Somerset, August 14</i>.” At 10 in the morning -of this day, our traveller left the Springs in a hack, to join the -mail coach at Bedford on its way to Somerset. “In an hour,” says Mr. -P. “we were snugly ensconced in one of Mr. Reeside's well-appointed -coaches, and rumbling over the stone turnpike on our way to the great -west.” The road for eleven miles is, we are told, not very hilly. -Afterwards the country rises gradually from plateau to plateau, for a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page449"><small><small>[p. 449]</small></small></a></span> -distance of fourteen miles, when you reach the summit of the -Alleghany. Here is a large stone tavern, where the coach takes fresh -horses. The country is now nearly level—but for the next six miles -descends by alternate declivities and levels into “the broad valley -which lies between the summits of the Alleghany Mountain and Laurel -Hill,” the distance between which is about twenty miles. In this -valley stands Somerset, which Mr. P. reached at half past 7 P. M. -“having been eight hours and a half in travelling thirty-eight miles -from Bedford.”</p> - -<p><i>Letter IX</i> is dated “<i>Pittsburg, August 16</i>.” At half past 3 A. M. on -the 15th, the tourist took the coach from the east bound to the City -of Furnaces—at 7 passed the summit of Laurel Hill—at 8 arrived at -<i>Jones' Mills</i>, about one-third down the western declivity of the -mountain, and breakfasted—at one reached Mount Pleasant, having -passed through two mountain villages, Donegal and Madison—thence -twenty miles to Stewartsville—thence thirteen farther to</p> - -<center><i>Pittsburgium, longæ finis chartæque viæque,</i></center> - -<p>in spite of the manifold temptations offered to keen appetites by the -luxuries of <i>Chalfant's</i>, at Turtle Creek, which, quoth Mr. Prolix, -“is a very good house.” His opinions of Pittsburgh, as of every thing -else, are entitled to much weight, and in the present instance we give -them entire.</p> - -<blockquote><small>The sensation on entering Pittsburgh is one of disappointment; the -country through which you have come is so beautiful, and the town -itself so ugly. The government of the town seems to have been more -intent on filling the purses, than providing for the gratification of -the taste, or for the comfort of its inhabitants. As for the -Pittsburghers themselves, they are worthy of every good thing, being -enlightened, hospitable, and urbane.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Pittsburgh has produced many eminent men in law, politics and -divinity, and is now the residence of the erudite, acute and witty -author of the Memoir of Sebastian Cabot, which should be read by every -native American. Its manufacturing powers and propensities have been -so often described and lauded that we shall say nothing about them, -except that they fill the people's pockets with cash, and their -toiling town with noise, and dust, and smoke.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Pittsburgh is full of good things in the eating and drinking way, but -it requires much ingenuity to get them down your throat -unsophisticated with smoke and coal-dust. If a sheet of white paper -lie upon your desk for half an hour, you may write on it with your -finger's end, through the thin stratum of coal-dust that has settled -upon it during that interval.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The Pittsburghers have committed an error in not rescuing from the -service of Mammon, a triangle of thirty or forty acres at the junction -of the Alleghany and Monongahela, and devoting it to the purposes of -recreation. It is an unparalleled position for a park in which to ride -or walk or sit. Bounded on the right by the clear and rapid Alleghany -rushing from New York, and on the left by the deep and slow -Monongahela flowing majestically from Virginia, having in front the -beginning of the great Ohio, bearing on its broad bosom the traffic of -an empire, it is a spot worthy of being rescued from the ceaseless din -of the steam engine, and the lurid flames and dingy smoke of the coal -furnace. But alas! the sacra fames auri is rapidly covering this area -with private edifices; and in a few short years it is probable, that -the antiquary will be unable to discover a vestige of those celebrated -military works, with which French and British ambition, in by-gone -ages, had crowned this important and interesting point.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>There is a large bridge of timber across the Alleghany and another -over the Monongahela; the former of which leads to the town of -Alleghany, a rapidly increasing village, situated on a beautiful plain -on the western side of the river. About half a mile above the bridge -the Alleghany is crossed by an aqueduct bringing over the canal, which -(strange to say) comes down from the confluence of the Kiskeminetas -with the Alleghany on the <i>western</i> side of the latter river. The -aqueduct is an enormous wooden trough with a roof, hanging from seven -arches of timber, supported by six stone piers and two abutments. The -canal then passes through the town and under Grant's hill through a -tunnel, and communicates by a lock with the Monongahela.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The field of battle on which the conceited Braddock paid with his life -the penalty of obstinate rashness, is not far from Pittsburgh, and is -interesting to Americans as the scene on which the youthful Washington -displayed the germs of those exalted qualities which afterwards -ripened into the hero, and made him the founder and father of a -nation.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Pittsburgh is destined to be the centre of an immense commerce, both -in its own products and those of distant countries. Its annual exports -at present probably exceed 25,000 and its imports 20,000 tons. Its -trade in timber amounts to more than six millions of feet. The -inexhaustible supply of coal and the facility of obtaining iron, -insure the permanent success of its manufactories. Pittsburgh makes -steam engines and other machinery, and her extensive glassworks have -long been in profitable operation. There are also extensive paper -mills moved by steam, and a manufactory of crackers (not explosive but -edible) wrought by the same power. These crackers are made of good -flour and pure water, and are fair and enticing to the eye of hunger, -but we do not find the flavor so agreeable to the palate as that of -Wattson's water crackers. Perhaps they are <i>kneaded</i> by the iron hands -of a steam engine, whereas hands of flesh are <i>needed</i> to make good -crackers.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>New Yorkers and people from down east, who wish to visit the Virginia -Springs, cannot take an easier and more delightful route, than that -through Pennsylvania to Pittsburg, and thence down the Ohio to -Guyandotte; whence to the White Sulphur the distance is one hundred -and sixty miles over a good road, through a romantic country, and by a -line of good stage coaches.</small></blockquote> - -<p><i>Letter X</i> is dated “<i>Johnstown, August 20</i>.” Mr. P. left Pittsburgh -on the 18th, at nine in the evening, in the canal packet Cincinnati, -Captain Fitzgerald. In a few minutes after moving, the packet entered -the aqueduct which carries the canal over to the western bank of the -Alleghany, “along which it runs in a north eastern direction for -thirty miles.” At five o'clock on the morning of the 19th, our tourist -passed the village of Freeport, which stands on the western bank of -the Alleghany, below the mouth of the Kiskeminitas. A few minutes -afterwards he crossed the Alleghany through an aqueduct, which -“carries the canal over that river to the northern bank of the -Kiskeminitas, the course of which the canal now pursues in a south -eastern direction.”</p> - -<p>At eight A. M. Mr. P. passed Leechburg, at twelve Saltsburgh—and at -two P. M. an aqueduct leading the canal into a tunnel eight hundred -feet long, going through the mountain and cutting off a circuit of -four miles. At 3 A. M. on the 20th, Johnstown is reached, “the eastern -end of the trans-Alleghanian canal, and the western beginning of the -Portage rail road.”</p> - -<p><i>Letter XI</i> gives a vivid picture of the Portage rail road. This also -we will be pardoned for copying.</p> - -<center><small><i>Packet Juniata, near Lewistown, August 21, 1835.</i></small></center> - -<blockquote><small>Yesterday, at Johnstown, we soon despatched the ceremony of a good -breakfast, and at 6 A. M. were in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page450"><small>[p. 450]</small></a></span> -motion on the first level, as -it is called, of four miles in length, leading to the foot of the -first inclined plane. The <i>level</i> has an ascent of one hundred and one -feet, and we passed over it in horse-drawn cars with the speed of six -miles an hour. This is a very interesting part of the route, not only -on account of the wildness and beauty of the scenery, but also of the -excitement mingled with vague apprehension, which takes possession of -every body in approaching the great wonder of the internal -improvements of Pennsylvania. In six hours the cars and passengers -were to be raised eleven hundred and seventy-two feet of perpendicular -height, and to be lowered fourteen hundred feet of perpendicular -descent, by complicated, powerful, and <i>frangible</i> machinery, and were -to pass a mountain, to overcome which, with a similar weight, three -years ago, would have required the space of three days. The idea of -raising so rapidly in the world, particularly by steam or <i>a rope</i>, is -very agitating to the simple minds of those who have always walked in -humble paths.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>As soon as we arrived at the foot of plane No. 1, the horses were -unhitched and the cars were fastened to the rope, which passes up the -middle of one track and down the middle of the other. The stationary -steam engine at the head of the plane was started, and the cars moved -majestically up the steep and long acclivity in the space of four -minutes; the length of the plane being sixteen hundred and eight feet, -its perpendicular height, one hundred and fifty, and its angle of -inclination 5° 42′ 38″.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The cars were now attached to horses and drawn through a magnificent -tunnel nine hundred feet long, having two tracks through it, and being -cut through solid rock nearly the whole distance. Now the train of -cars were attached to a steam tug to pass a level of fourteen miles in -length. This <i>lengthy</i> level is one of the most interesting portions -of the Portage Rail Road, from the beauty of its location and the -ingenuity of its construction. It ascends almost imperceptibly through -its whole course, overcoming a perpendicular height of one hundred and -ninety feet, and passes through some of the wildest scenery in the -state; the axe, the chisel and the spade having cut its way through -forest, rock and mountain. The valley of the little Conemaugh river is -passed on a viaduct of the most beautiful construction. It is of one -arch, a perfect semi-circle with a diameter of <i>eighty feet</i>, built of -cut stone, and its entire height from the foundation is seventy-eight -feet six inches. When viewed from the bottom of the valley, it seems -to span the heavens, and you might suppose a rainbow had been turned -to stone.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The fourteen miles of this second level are passed in one hour, and -the train arrives at the foot of the second plane, which has seventeen -hundred and sixty feet of length, and one hundred and thirty-two feet -of perpendicular height. The third level has a length of a mile and -five-eighths, a rise of fourteen feet six inches, and is passed by -means of horses. The third plane has a length of fourteen hundred and -eighty feet, and a perpendicular height of one hundred and thirty. The -fourth level is two miles long, rises nineteen feet and is passed by -means of horses. The fourth plane has a length of two thousand one -hundred and ninety-six feet, and a perpendicular height of one hundred -and eighty-eight. The fifth level is three miles long, rises -twenty-six feet and is passed by means of horses. The fifth plane has -a length of two thousand six hundred and twenty-nine feet, and a -perpendicular height of two hundred and two, and brings you to the top -of the mountain, two thousand three hundred and ninety-seven feet -above the level of the ocean, thirteen hundred and ninety-nine feet -above Hallidaysburg, and eleven hundred and seventy-two feet above -Johnstown. At this elevation in the midst of summer, you breathe an -air like that of spring, clear and cool. Three short hours have -brought you from the torrid plain, to a refreshing and invigorating -climate. The ascending apprehension has left you, but it is succeeded -by the fear of the steep descent which lies before you; and as the car -rolls along on this giddy height, the thought trembles in your mind, -that it may slip over the head of the first descending plane, rush -down the frightful steep, and be dashed into a thousand pieces at its -foot.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The length of the road on the summit of the mountain is one mile and -five-eighths, and about the middle of it stands a spacious and -handsome stone tavern. The eastern quarter of a mile, which is the -highest part, is a dead level; in the other part, there is an ascent -of nineteen feet. The descent on the eastern side of the mountain is -much more fearful than the ascent on the western, for the planes are -much longer and steeper, of which you are made aware by the increased -thickness of the ropes; and you look <i>down</i> instead of <i>up</i>.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>There are also five planes on the eastern side of the mountain, and -five slightly descending levels, the last of which is nearly four -miles long and leads to the basin at Hallidaysburg; this is travelled -by the cars without steam or horse, merely by the force of gravity. In -descending the mountain you meet several fine prospects and arrive at -Hallidaysburg between twelve and one o'clock.</small></blockquote> - -<p><i>Letter XII</i> is dated from Lancaster and is occupied with the return -home of the adventurous Mr. Prolix, whose book we heartily recommend -to all lovers of the <i>utile et dulce</i>.</p> -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect20"></a> -<br> -<center>ARMSTRONG'S NOTICES.</center> - -<p><i>Notices of the War of 1812. By John Armstrong. New York: George -Dearborn.</i></p> - -<p>These “Notices,” by the former Secretary of War, are a valuable -addition to our history, and to our historical literature—embracing a -variety of details which should not have been so long kept from the -cognizance of the public. We are grieved, however, to see, even in the -opening passages of the work, a piquancy and freedom of expression, in -regard to the unhappy sources of animosity between America and the -parent land, which can neither to-day nor hereafter answer any -possible good end, and may prove an individual grain in a future -mountain of mischief. At page 12, for example.</p> - -<blockquote><small>Still her abuse of power did not stop here: it was not enough that she -thus outraged her rights on the ocean; the bosoms of our bays, the -mouths of our rivers, and even the wharves of our harbors, were made -the theatres of the most flagitious abuse; and as if determined to -leave no cause of provocation untried, the personal rights of our -seamen were invaded: and men, owing her no allegiance, nor having any -connexion with her policy or arms, were forcibly seized, dragged on -board her ships of war and made to fight her battles, under the -scourge of tyrants and slaves, with whom submission, whether right or -wrong, <i>forms</i> the whole duty of man.</small></blockquote> - -<p>We object, particularly here to the use of the verb <i>forms</i> in the -present tense.</p> - -<p>Mr. Armstrong's publication will extend to two volumes—the second -following as soon as possible. What we have now is mostly confined to -the operations on the frontier. The subjects of main interest are the -opposition to the War—Hull's Expedition—Loss of -Michilimackinac—Surrender of Detroit—Militia operations in the -West—Harrison's Autumnal and Winter Campaigns—the Partial -Armistice—the attack on Queenstown, by Van Rensselaer—the invasion -of Canada, by Smith—the campaign against the British advanced posts -on Lake Champlain, by <span class="pagenum"><a name="page451"><small><small>[p. 451]</small></small></a></span> -Dearborn—Chauncey and Dearborn's -Expedition—the reduction of York and Fort George—the affair of -Sackett's Harbor—the first and second investments of Fort Meigs—and -the defeat of the British fleet on Lake Erie. The Appendix embraces a -mass of official and other matter, which will prove of great service -to the future historian. What follows has with us a deep interest, and -we know many who will understand its origin and character.</p> - -<blockquote><small>The ministry of the elder Adams in England, began on the 10th of June, -1785. In a letter to the American Secretary of Foreign Affairs, on the -19th of July following, he says—“The popular pulse seems to beat high -against America; the people are deceived by numberless falsehoods -circulated by the Gazettes, &c. so that there is too much reason to -believe, that if the nation had another hundred million to spend, they -would soon force the ministry into a war against us. Their present -system, as far as I can penetrate it, is to maintain a determined -peace with all Europe, in order that they may war singly against -America, if they should think it necessary.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>In a second letter of the 30th of August following, he says—“In -short, sir, America has no party at present in her favor—all parties, -on the contrary, have committed themselves against us—even Shelburne -and Buckingham. I had almost said, the friends of America are reduced -to Dr. Price and Dr. Jebb.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Again, on the 15th of October, 1785, he informs the American -Secretary—“that though it is manifestly as much the interest of Great -Britain to be well with us, as for us to be well with them, yet this -is not the judgment of the English nation; it is not the judgment of -Lord North and his party; it is not the judgment of the Duke of -Portland and his friends, and it does not appear to be the judgment of -Mr. Pitt and the present set. In short, it does not at present appear -to be the sentiment of any body; and I am much inclined to believe -they will try the issue of importance with us.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>In his two last letters, the one dated in November, the other in -December, 1787, we find the following passages—“If she [England] can -bind Holland in her shackles, and France, from internal dissension, is -unable to interfere, she will make war immediately against us. No -answer is made to any of my memorials, or letters to the ministry, nor -do I expect that any thing will be done while I stay.”</small></blockquote> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect21"></a> -<br> -<center>RECOLLECTIONS OF COLERIDGE.</center> - -<p><i>Letters, Conversations and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge. New -York: Harper and Brothers.</i></p> - -<p>We feel even a deeper interest in this book than in the late -Table-Talk. But with us (we are not ashamed to confess it) the most -trivial memorial of Coleridge is a treasure of inestimable price. He -was indeed a “myriad-minded man,” and ah, how little understood, and -how pitifully villified! How merely nominal was the difference (and -this too in his own land) between what he himself calls the “broad, -pre-determined abuse” of the Edinburgh Review, and the cold and brief -compliments with the warm <i>regrets</i> of the Quarterly. If there be any -one thing more than another which stirs within us a deep spirit of -indignation and disgust, it is that damnation of faint praise which so -many of the Narcissi of critical literature have had the infinite -presumption to breathe against the majesty of Coleridge—of -Coleridge—the man to whose gigantic mind the proudest intellects of -Europe found it impossible not to succumb. And as no man was more -richly-gifted with all the elements of mental renown, so none was more -fully worthy of the love and veneration of every truly good man. Even -through the exertion of his great powers he sought no immediate -worldly advantages. To use his own words, he not only sacrificed all -present prospects of wealth and advancement, but, in his inmost soul, -stood aloof from temporary reputation. In the volume now before us, we -behold the heart, as in his own works we have beheld the mind, of the -man. And surely nothing can be more elevating, nothing more cheering -than this contemplation, to one who has faith in the possible virtue, -and pride in the possible dignity of mankind. The book is written, we -believe, by one of the poet's most intimate friends—one too in whom -we recognize a familiarity with the thoughts, and sympathy with the -feelings of his subject. It consists of letters, conversations, and -fragmentary recollections, interspersed with comment by the compiler, -and dedicated to “Elizabeth and Robin, the Fairy Prattler, and still -Meek Boy of the Letters.” The letters are by far the most valuable -part of the compilation—although all is truly so. A portion of one of -them we copy as affording a picture, never surpassed, of great mental -power conscious of its greatness, and tranquilly submitting to the -indignities of the world.</p> - -<blockquote><small>But enough of these generals. It was my purpose to open myself out to -you in detail. My health, I have reason to believe, is so intimately -connected with the state of my spirits, and these again so dependant -on my thoughts, prospective and retrospective, that I should not doubt -the being favored with a sufficiency for my noblest undertaking, had I -the ease of heart requisite for the necessary abstraction of the -thoughts, and such a reprieve from the goading of the immediate -exigencies as might make tranquillity possible. But, alas! I know by -experience (and the knowledge is not the less because the regret is -not unmixed with self-blame, and the consciousness of want of exertion -and fortitude,) that my health will continue to decline as long as the -pain from reviewing the barrenness of the past is great in an inverse -proportion to any rational anticipations of the future. As I now am, -however, from five to six hours devoted to actual writing and -composition in the day is the utmost that my strength, not to speak of -my nervous system, will permit; and the invasions on this portion of -my time from applications, often of the most senseless kind, are such -and so many as to be almost as ludicrous even to myself as they are -vexatious. In less than a week I have not seldom received half a dozen -packets or parcels of works, printed or manuscript, urgently -requesting my candid <i>judgment</i>, or my correcting hand. Add to these, -letters from lords and ladies, urging me to write reviews or puffs of -heaven-born geniuses, whose whole merit consists in being ploughmen or -shoemakers. Ditto from actors; entreaties for money, or -recommendations to publishers, from ushers out of place, &c. &c.; and -to <i>me</i>, who have neither interest, influence, nor money, and, what is -still more <i>àpropos</i>, can neither bring myself to tell smooth -falsehoods nor harsh truths, and, in the struggle, too often do both -in the anxiety to do neither. I have already the <i>written</i> materials -and contents, requiring only to be put together, from the loose papers -and commonplace or memorandum books, and needing no other change, -whether of omission, addition, or correction, than the mere act of -arranging, and the opportunity of seeing the whole collectively bring -with them of course,—I. Characteristics of Shakspeare's Dramatic -Works, with a Critical Review of each Play; together with a relative -and comparative Critique on the kind and degree of the Merits and -Demerits of the Dramatic Works of Ben Johnson, Beaumont and Fletcher, -and Massinger. The History of the English Drama; the accidental -advantages it afforded to Shakspeare, without in the least detracting -from the perfect originality or proper creation of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page452"><small>[p. 452]</small></a></span> -Shakspearian Drama; the contradistinction of the latter from the Greek -Drama, and its still remaining <i>uniqueness</i>, with the causes of this, -from the combined influences of Shakspeare himself, as man, poet, -philosopher, and finally, by conjunction of all these, dramatic poet; -and of the age, events, manners, and state of the English language. -This work, with every art of compression, amounts to three volumes of -about five hundred pages each.—II. Philosophical Analysis of the -Genius and Works of Dante, Spenser, Milton, Cervantes, and Calderon, -with similar, but more compressed, Criticisms on Chaucer, Ariosto, -Donne, Rabelais, and others, during the predominance of the Romantic -Poetry. In one large volume. These two works will, I flatter myself, -form a complete code of the principles of judgment and feeling applied -to Works of Taste; and not of <i>Poetry</i> only, but of Poesy in all its -forms, Painting, Statuary, Music, &c. &c.—III. The History of -Philosophy considered as a Tendency of the Human Mind to exhibit the -Powers of the Human Reason, to discover by its own Strength the Origin -and Laws of Man and the World, from Pythagoras to Locke and Condillac. -Two volumes.—IV. Letters on the Old and New Testaments, and on the -Doctrine and Principles held in common by the Fathers and Founders of -the Reformation, addressed to a Candidate for Holy Orders; including -Advice on the Plan and Subjects of Preaching, proper to a Minister of -the Established Church.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>To the completion of these four works I have literally nothing more to -do than <i>to transcribe;</i> but as I before hinted, from so many scraps -and <i>Sibylline</i> leaves, including margins of books and blank pages, -that, unfortunately, I must be my own scribe, and not done by myself, -they will be all but lost; or perhaps (as has been too often the case -already) furnish feathers for the caps of others; some for this -purpose, and some to plume the arrows of detraction, to be let fly -against the luckless bird from whom they had been plucked or moulted.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>In addition to these—of my <small>GREAT WORK</small>, to the preparation of which -more than twenty years of my life have been devoted, and on which my -hopes of extensive and permanent utility, of fame, in the noblest -sense of the word, mainly rest—that, by which I might,</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem18"> - <tr><td><small>“As now by thee, by all the good be known,<br> - When this weak frame lies moulder'd in the grave,<br> - Which self-surviving I might call my own,<br> - Which Folly cannot mar, nor Hate deprave—<br> - The incense of those powers, which, risen in flame,<br> - Might make me dear to Him from whom they came.”</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small>Of this work, to which all my other writings (unless I except my -poems, and these I can exclude in part only) are introductory and -preparative; and the result of which (if the premises be, as I, with -the most tranquil assurance, am convinced they are—insubvertible, the -deductions legitimate, and the conclusions commensurate, and only -commensurate, with both,) must finally be a revolution of all that has -been called <i>Philosophy</i> or Metaphysics in England and France since -the era of the commencing predominance of the mechanical system at the -restoration of our second Charles, and with this the present -fashionable views, not only of religion, morals, and politics, but -even of the modern physics and physiology. You will not blame the -earnestness of my expressions, nor the high importance which I attach -to this work; for how, with less noble objects, and less faith in -their attainment, could I stand acquitted of folly and abuse of time, -talents, and learning, in a labor of three fourths of my -<i>intellectual</i> life? Of this work, something more than a volume has -been dictated by me, so as to exist fit for the press, to my friend -and enlightened pupil, Mr. Green; and more than as much again would -have been evolved and delivered to paper, but that, for the last six -or eight months, I have been compelled to break off our weekly -meeting, from the necessity of writing (alas! alas! of <i>attempting</i> to -write) for purposes, and on the subjects of the passing day. Of my -poetic works, I would fain finish the Christabel. Alas! for the proud -time when I planned, when I had present to my mind the materials, as -well as the scheme of the hymns entitled, Spirit, Sun, Earth, Air, -Water, Fire, and Man; and the epic poem on—what still appears to me -the one only fit subject remaining for an epic poem—Jerusalem -besieged and destroyed by Titus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>And here comes my dear friend; here comes my sorrow and my weakness, -my grievance and my confession. Anxious to perform the duties of the -day arising out of the wants of the day, these wants, too, presenting -themselves in the most painful of all forms,—that of a debt owing to -those who will not exact it, and yet need its payment, and the delay, -the long (not live-long but <i>death</i>-long) behindhand of my accounts to -friends, whose utmost care and frugality on the one side, and industry -on the other, the wife's management and the husband's assiduity are -put in requisition to make both ends meet,—I am at once forbidden to -attempt, and too perplexed earnestly to pursue, the <i>accomplishment</i> -of the works worthy of me, those I mean above enumerated,—even if, -savagely as I have been injured by one of the two influensive Reviews, -and with more effective enmity undermined by the utter silence or -occasional detractive compliments of the other,<small><sup>5</sup></small> I had the probable -chance of disposing of them to the booksellers, so as even to -liquidate my mere boarding accounts during the time expended in the -transcription, arrangement, and proof correction. And yet, on the -other hand, my heart and mind are for ever recurring to them. Yes, my -conscience forces me to plead guilty. I have only by fits and starts -even prayed. I have not prevailed on myself to pray to God in -sincerity and entireness for the fortitude that might enable me to -resign myself to the abandonment of all my life's best hopes, to say -boldly to myself,—“Gifted with powers confessedly above mediocrity, -aided by an education, of which, no less from almost unexampled -hardships and sufferings than from manifold and peculiar advantages, I -have never yet found a parallel, I have devoted myself to a life of -unintermitted reading, thinking, meditating, and observing. I have not -only sacrificed all worldly prospects of wealth and advancement, but -have in my inmost soul stood aloof from temporary reputation. In -consequence of these toils and this self-dedication, I possess a calm -and clear consciousness, that in many and most important departments -of truth and beauty I have outstrode my contemporaries, those at least -of highest name; that the number of my printed works bears witness -that I have not been idle, and the seldom acknowledged, but strictly -<i>proveable</i>, effects of my labors appropriated to the immediate -welfare of my age in the Morning Post before and during the peace of -Amiens, in the Courier afterward, and in the series and various -subjects of my lectures at Bristol and at the Royal and Surrey -Institutions, in Fetter Lane, at Willis's Rooms, and at the Crown and -Anchor (add to which the unlimited freedom of my communications in -colloquial life), may surely be allowed as evidence that I have not -been useless in my generation. But, from circumstances, the <i>main</i> -portion of my harvest is still on the ground, ripe indeed, and only -waiting, a few for the sickle, but a large part only for the -<i>sheaving</i>, and carting, and housing, but from all this I must turn -away, must let them rot as they lie, and be as though they never had -been, for I must go and gather blackberries and earth-nuts, or pick -mushrooms and gild oak-apples for the palates and fancies of chance -customers. I must abrogate the name of philosopher and poet, and -scribble as fast as I can, and with as little thought as I can, for -Blackwood's Magazine, or, as I have been employed for the last days, -in writing MS. sermons for lazy clergymen, who stipulate that the -composition must not be more than respectable, for fear they should be -desired to publish the visitation sermon!” This I have not yet had -courage to do. My soul sickens and my heart sinks; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page453"><small>[p. 453]</small></a></span> and thus, -oscillating between both, I do neither, neither as it ought to be -done, or to any profitable end. If I were to detail only the various, -I might say capricious, interruptions that have prevented the -finishing of this very scrawl, begun on the very day I received your -last kind letter, you would need no other illustrations.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>5</sup></small> Neither my Literary Life, (2 vols.) nor Sibylline Leaves, -(1 vol.) nor Friend, (3 vols.) nor Lay Sermons, nor Zapolya, nor -Christabel, have ever been noticed by the Quarterly Review, of which -Southey is yet the main support.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Now I see but one possible plan of rescuing my permanent utility. It -is briefly this, and plainly. For what we struggle with inwardly, we -find at least easiest to <i>bolt out</i>, namely,—that of engaging from -the circle of those who think respectfully and hope highly of my -powers and attainments a yearly sum, for three or four years, adequate -to my actual support, with such comforts and decencies of appearance -as my health and habits have made necessaries, so that my mind may be -unanxious as far as the present time is concerned; that thus I should -stand both enabled and pledged to begin with some one work of these -above mentioned, and for two thirds of my whole time to devote myself -to this exclusively till finished, to take the chance of its success -by the best mode of publication that would involve me in no risk, then -to proceed with the next, and so on till the works above mentioned as -already in full material existence should be reduced into formal and -actual being; while in the remaining third of my time I might go on -maturing and completing my great work (for if but easy in mind I have -no doubt either of the reawakening power or of the kindling -inclination,) and my Christabel, and what else the happier hour might -inspire—and without inspiration a barrel-organ may be played right -deftly; but</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem19"> - <tr><td><small>“All otherwise the state of <i>poet</i> stands:<br> - For lordly want is such a tyrant fell,<br> - That where he rules all power he doth expel.<br> - The vaunted verse a vacant head demands,<br> - Ne wont with crabbed Care the muses dwell:<br> - <i>Unwisely weaves who takes two webs in hand!</i>”</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small>Now Mr. Green has offered to contribute from 30<i>l.</i> to 40<i>l.</i> yearly, -for three or four years; my young friend and pupil, the son of one of -my dearest old friends, 50<i>l.</i>; and I think that from 10<i>l.</i> to 20<i>l.</i> -I could rely upon from another. The sum required would be about -200<i>l.</i>, to be repaid, of course, should the disposal or sale, and as -far as the disposal and sale of my writings produced the means.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>I have thus placed before you at large, wanderingly as well as -diffusely, the statement which I am inclined to send in a compressed -form to a few of those of whose kind dispositions towards me I have -received assurances,—and to their interest and influence I must leave -it—anxious, however, before I do this, to learn from you your very, -very inmost feeling and judgment as to the previous questions. Am I -entitled, have I earned <i>a right</i> to do this? Can I do it without -moral degradation? and, lastly, can it be done without loss of -character in the eyes of my acquaintance, and of my friends' -acquaintance, who may have been informed of the circumstances? That, -if attempted at all, it will be attempted in such a way, and that such -persons only will be spoken to, as will not expose me to indelicate -rebuffs to be afterward matter of gossip, I know those to whom I shall -entrust the statement, too well to be much alarmed about.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Pray let me either see or hear from you as soon as possible; for, -indeed and indeed, it is no inconsiderable accession to the pleasure I -anticipate from disembarrassment, that <i>you</i> would have to contemplate -in a more gracious form, and in a more ebullient play of the inward -fountain, the mind and manners of,</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right"><small>My dear friend, - - <br> -Your obliged and very affectionate friend, - <br> -S. T. COLERIDGE. </small> </div> - -<p>It has always been a matter of wonder to us that the <i>Biographia -Literaria</i> here mentioned in the foot note has never been republished -in America. It is, perhaps, the most deeply interesting of the prose -writings of Coleridge, and affords a clearer view into his mental -constitution than any other of his works. Why cannot some of our -publishers undertake it? They would be rendering an important service -to the cause of psychological science in America, by introducing a -work of great scope and power in itself, and well calculated to do -away with the generally received impression here entertained of the -<i>mysticism</i> of the writer.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect22"></a> -<br> -<center>COLTON'S NEW WORK.</center> - -<p><i>Thoughts on the Religious State of the Country; with Reasons for -preferring Episcopacy. By Rev. Calvin Colton. New York: Harper & -Brothers.</i></p> - -<p>If we are to consider opinions of the press, when in perfect -accordance throughout so wide a realm as the United States, as a fair -criterion by which to estimate the opinions of the people, then it -must be admitted that Mr. Colton's late work, “Four Years in Great -Britain,” was received, in the author's native land at least, with -universal approbation. We heard not a dissenting voice. The candor, -especially—the good sense, the gentlemanly feeling, and the accurate -and acute observation of the traveller, were the daily themes of high, -and, we have no doubt, of well merited panegyric. Nor in any private -circle, we believe, were the great merits of the work disputed. The -book now before us, which bears the running title of “<i>Reasons for -Episcopacy</i>,” is, it cannot be denied, a sufficiently well-written -performance, in which is evident a degree of lucid arrangement, and -simple perspicuous reason, not to be discovered, as a prevailing -feature, in the volumes to which we have alluded. The <i>candor</i> of the -“<i>Four Years in Great Britain</i>,” is more particularly manifest in the -“<i>Reasons for Episcopacy</i>.” What a lesson in dignified frankness, to -say nothing of common sense, may the following passage afford to many -a dunder-headed politician!</p> - -<blockquote><small>Inasmuch as it has been supposed by some, that the author of these -pages has made certain demonstrations with his pen against that which -he now adopts and advocates, it is not unlikely that his consistency -will be brought in question. Admitting that he has manifested such an -inclination, it can only be said, that he has changed his opinion, -which it is in part the design of this book to set forth, with the -reasons thereof. If he has written against, and in the conflict, or in -any train of consequences, has been convinced that his former position -was wrong, the least atonement he can make is to honor what he now -regards as truth with a profession as public, and a defence as -earnest, as any other doings of his on the other side. It is due to -himself to say and to claim, that while he remained a Presbyterian he -was an honest one; and it would be very strange if he had never done -or said any thing to vindicate that ground. Doubtless he has. He may -now be an equally honest Episcopalian; and charity would not require -him to assert it.</small></blockquote> - -<p>But the truth is that Mr. Colton has been misunderstood. To be sure, -he has frequently treated of the evils attending the existence and -operation of the church establishment in England—the union of Church -and State. He manifested deep sympathy for those who suffered under -the oppression of this establishment, and even allowed himself to be -carried so far (in some early communications on the subject which -appeared in the columns of a New York weekly paper,) as to animadvert -in unbecoming terms upon a class of British -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page454"><small><small>[p. 454]</small></small></a></span> clergymen, whose -exemplary conduct deserved a more lenient treatment, but whose zeal -for the Church of England blinded them to a sense of justice towards -Dissenters, and induced them to oppose that just degree of reform -which would have proved effectual in remedying the great causes of -complaint. He contended, however, if we are not greatly in error, that -total reform, to be safe, must be slow—that a separation at a single -blow, could not be effected without great hazard to the public -interest, and great derangement of private society.</p> - -<p>It is even possible (and Mr. Colton himself admits the possibility) -that, mingled up with these animadversions of which we speak, might -have been some censures upon the Church itself. This was nothing more -than natural in an honest and indignant man—an American too, who -beheld the vices of the British Church Establishment. But it appears -to us quite evident, that the strictures of the author (when -considered as a whole and in their general bearing,) have reference to -the character—not of the Church—but of the Church of England. Let us -turn, for an exemplification of what we say, to his chapter on “The -Church of England,” in the “<i>Four Years in Great Britain</i>.” This -chapter consists principally of a collection of facts, tending to show -the evils of a conjoined Church and State, and intended especially for -the perusal of Americans. It is great injustice to confound what we -find here, with an attack upon Episcopacy. Yet it seems to us, that -this chapter has been repeatedly so misunderstood, by a set of people -who are determined to understand every thing in their own particular -fashion. “That Episcopacy,” says Mr. Colton, in vindicating himself -from the charge adduced, “is the established Church of England is an -accident. Presbyterianism is the established religion of Scotland and -of some parts of the north of Europe. So was it of England under the -Protectorate of Cromwell. No matter what had been the form of the -established religion of Great Britain, in the same circumstances the -results must have been substantially the same. It is not Episcopacy -that has induced these evils, but the vicious and impracticable plan -of uniting Church and State for the benefit of society.”</p> - -<p>While in England Mr. Colton wrote and published a book on the subject -of <i>Revivals</i>, and declared himself their advocate. In the fifth -chapter of his present work he opposes them, and in the Preface -alludes to his so doing, maintaining that these religious excitements -are materially changed in their character. He speaks also of a chapter -in a former work, entitled “<i>The Americans, by an American in -England</i>”—a chapter devoted to the removal of aspersions cast in -England upon the developments of religion in America. For some such -defence it appears that he was called upon by friends. The effort -itself was, as Mr. C. assures us, of the nature of an -<i>apology</i>—neither attempting to recommend or establish any thing—and -he thus excuses himself for apparent inconsistency in now declaring an -opinion against the expediency of the practices which were -scandalized.</p> - -<p>The <i>Episcopacy</i> of Mr. Colton will be read with pleasure and profit -by all classes of the Christian community who admire perspicuity, -liberality, frankness, and unprejudiced inquiry. It is not our purpose -to speak of the general accuracy of his <i>data</i>, or the soundness of -his deductions. In style the work appears to us excessively -faulty—even uncouth.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect23"></a> -<br> -<center>MAURY'S NAVIGATION.</center> - -<p>This volume, from an officer of our Navy, and a Virginian, strongly -commends itself to notice. The works at present used by our navy and -general marine, though in many respects not devoid of merit, have -always struck us as faulty in two particulars. They aim at comprising -a great multiplicity of details, many of which relate to matters only -remotely bearing upon the main objects of the treatise—and they are -deficient in that clearness of arrangement, without which, the -numerous facts and formulæ composing the body of such works are little -else than a mass of confusion. The extraction of the really useful -rules and principles from the multifarious matters with which they are -thus encumbered, is a task for which seamen are little likely to have -either time or inclination, and it is therefore not surprising that -our highly intelligent navy exhibits so many instances of imperfect -knowledge upon points which are elementary and fundamental in the -science of navigation.</p> - -<p>We think that Mr. Maury has, to a considerable degree, avoided the -errors referred to; and while his work comprises a sufficient and even -copious statement of the rules and facts important to be known in the -direction of a ship, he has succeeded, by a judicious arrangement of -particulars and by clearly wrought numerical examples, in presenting -them in a disembarrassed and very intelligible form. With great -propriety he has rejected many statements and rules which in the -progress of nautical science have fallen into disuse, and in his -selection of methods of computation, has, in general, kept in view -those modern improvements in this branch of practical mathematics in -which simplicity and accuracy are most happily combined. Much -attention to numerical correctness seems to pervade the work. Its -style is concise without being obscure. The diagrams are selected with -taste, and the engraving and typography, especially that of the -tables, are worthy of the highest praise.</p> - -<p>Such, we think, are the merits of the work before us—merits which, it -must be admitted, are of the first importance in a book designed for a -practical manual. To attain them required the exercise of a -discriminating judgment, guided by a thorough acquaintance with all -the points in nautical science which are of interest to seamen.</p> - -<p>There are particulars in the work which we think objectionable, but -they are of minor importance, and would probably be regarded as -scarcely deserving criticism.</p> - -<p>The spirit of literary improvement has been awakened among the -officers of our gallant navy. We are pleased to see that science also -is gaining votaries from its ranks. Hitherto how little have they -improved the golden opportunities of knowledge which their distant -voyages held forth, and how little have they enjoyed the rich banquet -which nature spreads for them in every clime they visit! But the time -is coming when, imbued with a taste for science and a spirit of -research, they will become ardent explorers of the regions in which -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page455"><small><small>[p. 455]</small></small></a></span> -they sojourn. Freighted with the knowledge which observation -only can impart, and enriched with collections of objects precious to -the student of nature, their return after the perils of a distant -voyage will then be doubly joyful. The enthusiast in science will -anxiously await their coming, and add his cordial welcome to the warm -greetings of relatives and friends.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect24"></a> -<br> -<center>UPS AND DOWNS.</center> - -<p><i>Ups and Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman. By the author of -“Tales and Sketches, such as they are.” New York: Leavitt, Lord & Co.</i></p> - -<p>This book is a public imposition. It is a duodecimo volume, of the -usual novel size, bound in the customary muslin cover with a gilt -stamp on the back, and containing 225 pages of letter press. Its -price, in the bookstores, is, we believe, a dollar. Although we are in -the habit of reading with great deliberation, not unfrequently -perusing individual passages more than two or three times, we were -occupied <i>little better than one hour</i> in getting through with the -whole of the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>.” A full page of the book—that is, a -page in which there are no breaks in the matter occasioned by -paragraphs, or otherwise, embraces precisely 150 words—an average -page about 130. A full page of this our Magazine, will be found to -contain 1544 words—an average page about 1600, owing to the -occasional notes in a smaller type than that generally used. It -follows that nearly thirteen pages of such a volume as the “<i>Ups and -Downs</i>” are required to make one of our own, and that in about -fourteen pages such as we are writing, (if we consider the sixteen -blank half-pages at the beginning of each chapter in the “<i>Ups and -Downs</i>,” with the four pages of index) the whole of the one dollar -duodecimo we are now called upon to review, might be laid conveniently -before the public—in other words, that we could print nearly six of -them in one of our ordinary numbers, (that for March for instance) the -price of which is little more than forty cents. We give the amount of -six such volumes then for forty cents—of one of them for very little -more than a <i>fi'penny bit</i>. And as its price is a dollar, it is clear -either that the matter of which the said “<i>Ups and Downs</i>” is -composed, is sixteen times as good in quality as our own matter, and -that of such Magazines in general, or that the author of the “<i>Ups and -Downs</i>” supposes it so to be, or that the author of the “<i>Ups and -Downs</i>” is unreasonable in his exactions upon the public, and is -presuming very largely upon their excessive patience, gullibility, and -good nature. We will take the liberty of analyzing the narrative, with -a view of letting our readers see for themselves whether the author -(or publisher) is quite right in estimating it at sixteen times the -value of the ordinary run of compositions.</p> - -<p>The volume commences with a Dedication “<i>To all Doating Parents</i>.” We -then have four pages occupied with a content table, under the -appellation of a “Bill of Lading.” This is well thought of. The future -man of letters might, without some assistance of this nature, meet -with no little trouble in searching for any particular chapter through -so dense a mass of matter as the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>.” The “Introduction” -fills four pages more, and in spite of the unjustifiable use of the -word “<i>predicated</i>,” whose meaning is obviously misunderstood, is by -much the best portion of the work—so much so, indeed, that we fancy -it written by some kind, good-natured friend of the author. We now -come to <i>Chapter I</i>, which proves to be Introduction the Second, and -extends over seven pages farther. This is called “A Disquisition on -Circles,” in which we are informed that “the motion produced by the -<i>centripetal</i> and <i>centrifugal</i> forces, seems to be that of -nature”—that “it is very true that the <i>periphery</i> of the circles -traversed by some objects is greater than that of others”—that “cast -a stone into a lake or a mill-pond, and it will produce a succession -of motions, circle following circle in order, and extending the radius -until they disappear in the distance”—that “Time wings his flight in -circles, and every year rolls round within itself”—that “the sun -turns round upon his own axis, and the moon changes monthly”—that -“the other celestial bodies all wheel their courses in circles around -the common centre”—that “the moons of Jupiter revolve around him in -circles, and he carries them along with him in his periodical circuit -around the sun”—that “Saturn always moves within his rings”—that “a -ship on the ocean, though apparently bounding over a plain of waters, -rides in fact upon the circumference of a circle around the arch of -the earth's diameter”—that “the lunar circle betokens a -tempest”—that “those German principalities which are represented in -the Diet are denominated circles”—and that “modern writers on -pneumatics affirm every breeze that blows to be a whirlwind.”</p> - -<p>But now commences the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>” in good earnest. The hero of -the narrative is Mr. Wheelwright, and the author begs leave to assure -the reader that Mr. W. is no fictitious personage, that “with the -single abatement that names are changed, and places not precisely -designated, every essential incident that he has recorded actually -occurred, much as he has related it, to a person who, if not now -living, certainly was once, and most of them under his own -observation.”</p> - -<p><i>Chapter II</i>, treats of the birth and parentage of the hero. Mr. -Daniel Wheelwright originally came from New Jersey, but resides at the -opening of the story, in the beautiful valley of the Mohawk “on the -banks of the river, and in a town alike celebrated for the taste of -its people in architecture, and distinguished as a seat of learning.” -He was early instructed by his father in the “elementary principles of -his trade,” which was coach-making. “He was also taught in some -branches of household carpentry work, which proved of no disadvantage -to him in the end.” “Full of good nature he was always popular with -the boys,” and we are told “was never so industrious as when -manufacturing to their order little writing desks, fancy boxes, and -other trifling articles not beyond the scope of his mechanical -ingenuity.” We are also assured that the young gentleman was -excessively fond of oysters.</p> - -<p>In <i>Chapter III</i>, Daniel Wheelwright “grows up a tall and stately -youth.” His mother “discovers a genius in him requiring only means and -opportunity to wing an eagle-flight.” “An arrangement therefore is -effected” by which our hero is sent to school to a “man whom the -mother had previously known in New Jersey, and whose occupation was -that of teaching young ideas how to shoot—not grouse and -woodcock—but to shoot forth into scions of learning.” This is a new -and excellent joke—but by no means so good as the one immediately -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page456"><small><small>[p. 456]</small></small></a></span> -following, where we are told that “notwithstanding the natural -indolence of his character, our hero knew that he must know something -before he could enter college, and that in case of a failure, he must -again cultivate more acquaintance with the <i>felloes</i> of the shop than -with the <i>fellows</i> of the university.” He is sent to college, however, -having “read <i>Cornelius Nepos</i> and three books of the Æneid, thumbed -over the Greek Grammar, and gone through the Gospel of St. John.”</p> - -<p><i>Chapter IV</i>, commences with two quotations from Shakspeare. Our hero -is herein elected a member of the <i>Philo-Peithologicalethian -Institute</i>, commences his debates with a “Mr. President, I <i>are</i> in -favor of the negative of that are question,” is “read off” at the -close of every quarter, “advances one grade higher” in his classic -course every year, and when about to take his degree, is “announced -for a poem” in the <i>proces verbal</i> of the commencement, and (one of -the professors, if we comprehend, being called <i>Nott</i>) distinguishes -himself by the following satirical verses—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem20"> - <tr><td><small>The warrior fights, and dies for fame—<br> - The empty glories of a name;—<br> - But we who linger round this spot,<br> - The warrior's guerdon covet Nott.<br> -<br> - Nott for the miser's glittering heap<br> - Within these walls is bartered sleep;<br> - The humble scholar's quiet lot<br> - With dreams of wealth is troubled Nott.<br> -<br> - While poring o'er the midnight lamp,<br> - In rooms too cold, and sometimes damp,<br> - O man, who land and cash hast got,<br> - Thy life of ease we envy Nott.<br> -<br> - Our troubles here are light and few;—<br> - An empty purse when bills fall due,<br> - A locker, without e'er a shot,—<br> - Hard recitations, or a Knot-<br> -<br> - Ty problem, which we can't untie—<br> - Our only shirt hung out to dry,—<br> - A chum who never pays his scot,—<br> - Such ills as these we value Nott.<br> -<br> - O, cherished *****! learning's home,<br> - Where'er the fates may bid us roam,<br> - Though friends and kindred be forgot,<br> - Be sure we shall forget thee Nott.<br> -<br> - For years of peaceful, calm content,<br> - To science and hard study lent,<br> - Though others thy good name may blot,<br> - T'were wondrous if we loved thee Nott.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>For this happy effort he is admitted <i>ad gradum in artibus</i>, and thus -closes chapter the fourth.</p> - -<p><i>Chapter V</i>, is also headed with two sentences from Shakspeare. The -parents of Mr. W. are now inclined to make him a clergyman, being “not -only conscientious people, but sincerely religious, and really -desirous of doing good.” This project is dismissed, however, upon our -hero's giving no evidence of piety, and Daniel is “entered in the -office of an eminent medical gentleman, in one of the most beautiful -cities which adorn the banks of the majestic Hudson.” Our author -cannot be prevailed upon to state the precise place—but gives us -another excellent joke by way of indemnification. “Although,” says he, -“like Byron, I have no fear of being taken for the hero of my own -tale, yet were I to bring matters too near their homes, but too many -of the real characters of my narrative might be identified. Suffice -it, then, to say of the location—<i>Ilium fuit</i>.” Daniel now becomes -Doctor Wheelwright, reads the first chapter of <i>Cheselden's Anatomy</i>, -visits New York, attends the lectures of Hosack and Post, “presses -into his goblet the grapes of wisdom clustering around the tongue of -Mitchill, and acquires the principles of surgery from the lips, and -the skilful use of the knife from the untrembling hand, of Mott.”</p> - -<p>At the close of his second year our hero, having completed only half -of Cheselden's article on Osteology, relinquishes the study of -medicine in despair, and turns merchant—purchasing “the odds and ends -of a fashionable fancy and jobbing concern in Albany.” He is gulled -however, by a confidential clerk, one John Smith, his store takes fire -and burns down, and both himself and father, who indorsed for him, are -ruined.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wheelwright now retrieves his fortune by the accidental possession -of a claim against government, taken by way of payment for a bad debt. -But going to Washington to receive his money, he is inveigled into a -lottery speculation—that is to say, he spends the whole amount of his -claim in lottery-tickets—the manager fails—and our adventurer is -again undone. This lottery adventure ends with the excellent joke that -in regard to our hero there “were five <i>outs</i> to one <i>in</i>, viz.—<i>out</i> -of money, and <i>out</i> of clothes; <i>out</i> at the heels, and <i>out</i> at the -toes; <i>out</i> of credit and <i>in</i> debt!” Mr. Wheelwright now returns to -New York, and is thrown into prison by Messieurs Roe and Doe. In this -emergency he sends for his friend the narrator, who, of course, -relieves his distresses, and opens the doors of his jail.</p> - -<p><i>Chapter IX</i>, and indeed every ensuing chapter, commences with two -sentences from Shakspeare. Mr. Wheelwright now becomes agent for a -steamboat company on Lake George—but fortune still frowns, and the -steamboat takes fire, and is burnt up, on the eve of her first trip, -thus again ruining our hero.</p> - -<p>“What a moment!” exclaims the author, “and what a spectacle for a -lover of the ‘sublime and beautiful!’ Could Burke have visited such a -scene of mingled magnificence, and grandeur and terror, what a vivid -illustration would he not have added to his inimitable treatise on -that subject! The fire raged with amazing fury and power—stimulated -to madness, as it were, by the pitch and tar and dried timbers, and -other combustible materials used in the construction of the boat. The -nightbird screamed in terror, and the beasts of prey fled in wild -affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond. This is truly a -gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark -night—particularly if he has a touch of superstition. There have been -fierce conflicts on this spot—sieges and battles and fearful -massacres. Here hath mailed Mars sat on his altar, up to his ears in -blood, smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the shrill -trump, and all the rude din of arms, until like the waters of Egypt, -the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its -margin!” At the word margin is the following explanatory note. -“<i>Lobelia Cardinalis</i>, commonly called the <i>Indian Eye-bright</i>. It is -a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met with in this region. The -writer has seen large clusters of it blooming upon the margin of the -‘Bloody Pond’ in this neighborhood—so called from the circumstance of -the slain being thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron -Dieskau, by Sir William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a -beautiful legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary -flower.”</p> - -<p>In <i>Chapter X</i>, Mr. Wheelwright marries an heiress—a rich widow worth -thirty thousand pound sterling in prospectu—in <i>Chapter XI</i>, sets up -a <i>Philomathian Institute</i>, the whole of the chapter being occupied -with his <span class="pagenum"><a name="page457"><small><small>[p. 457]</small></small></a></span> -advertisement—in <i>Chapter XII</i>, his wife affronts the -scholars, by “swearing by the powers she would be afther clearing them -out—the spalpeens!—that's what she would, honies!” The school is -broken up in consequence, and Mrs. Wheelwright herself turns out to be -nothing more than “one of the unmarried wives of the lamented Captain -Scarlett,” the legal representatives being in secure possession of the -thirty thousand pounds sterling in prospectu.</p> - -<p>In <i>Chapter XIII</i>, Mr. Wheelwright is again in distress, and applies, -of course, to the humane author of the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>,” who gives -him, we are assured, “an overcoat, and a little basket of provisions.” -In <i>Chapter XIV</i>, the author continues his benevolence—gives a crow, -(<i>cock-a-doodle doo!</i>) and concludes with “there <i>is</i> no more -charitable people than those of New York!” which means when translated -into good English—“there never was a more charitable man than the -wise and learned author of the ‘<i>Ups and Downs</i>.’”</p> - -<p><i>Chapter XV</i>, is in a somewhat better vein, and embraces some -tolerable incidents in relation to the pawnbrokers' shops of New York. -We give an extract—believing it to be one of the best passages in the -book.</p> - -<blockquote><small>To one who would study human nature, especially in its darker -features, there is no better field of observation than among these -pawn-brokers' shops.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>In a frequented establishment, each day unfolds an ample catalogue of -sorrow, misery, and guilt, developed in forms and combinations almost -innumerable; and if the history of each customer could be known, the -result would be such a catalogue as would scarcely be surpassed, even -by the records of a police-office or a prison. Even my brief stay -while arranging for the redemption of Dr. Wheelwright's personals, -afforded materials, as indicated in the last chapter, for much and -painful meditation.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>I had scarcely made my business known, at the first of “my uncle's” -establishments to which I had been directed, when a middle-aged man -entered with a bundle, on which he asked a small advance, and which, -on being opened, was found to contain a shawl and two or three other -articles of female apparel. The man was stout and sturdy, and, as I -judged from his appearance, a mechanic; but the mark of the destroyer -was on his bloated countenance, and in his heavy, stupid eyes. -Intemperance had marked him for his own. The pawn-broker was yet -examining the offered pledge, when a woman, whose pale face and -attenuated form bespoke long and intimate acquaintance with sorrow, -came hastily into the shop, and with the single exclamation, “O, -Robert!” darted, rather than ran, to that part of the counter where -the man was standing. Words were not wanted to explain her story. Her -miserable husband, not satisfied with wasting his own earnings, and -leaving her to starve with her children, had descended to the meanness -of plundering even her scanty wardrobe, and the pittance for the -obtaining of which this robbery would furnish means, was destined to -be squandered at the tippling-house. A blush of shame arose even upon -his degraded face, but it quickly passed away; the brutal appetite -prevailed, and the better feeling that had apparently stirred within -him for the moment, soon gave way before its diseased and insatiate -cravings.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>“Go home,” was his harsh and angry exclamation; “what brings you here, -running after me with your everlasting scolding? go home, and mind -your own business.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>“O Robert, dear Robert!” answered the unhappy wife, “don't pawn my -shawl. Our children are crying for bread, and I have none to give -them. Or let me have the money; it is hard to part with that shawl, -for it was my mother's gift; but I will let it go, rather than see my -children starve. Give me the money, Robert, and don't leave us to -perish.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>I watched the face of the pawn-broker to see what effect this appeal -would have upon him, but I watched in vain. He was hardened to -distress, and had no sympathy to throw away. “Twelve shillings on -these things,” he said, tossing them back to the drunkard, with a look -of perfect indifference.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>“Only twelve shillings!” murmured the heart-broken wife, in a tone of -despair. “O Robert, don't let them go for twelve shillings. Let me try -some where else.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>“Nonsense,” answered the brute. “It's as much as they're worth, I -suppose. Here, Mr. Crimp, give us the change.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The money was placed before him, and the bundle consigned to a drawer. -The poor woman reached forth her hand toward the silver, but the -movement was anticipated by her husband. “There Mary,” he said, giving -her half a dollar, “there, go home now, and don't make a fuss. I'm -going a little way up the street, and perhaps I'll bring you something -from market, when I come home.”</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The hopeless look of the poor woman, as she meekly turned to the door, -told plainly enough how little she trusted to this ambiguous promise. -They went on their way, she to her famishing children, and he to -squander the dollar he had retained, at the next den of intemperance.</small></blockquote> - -<p><i>Chapter XVI</i>, is entitled the “end of this eventful history.” Mr. -Wheelwright is rescued from the hands of the watch by the author of -the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>”—turns his wife, very justly, out of doors—and -finally returns to his parental occupation of coach-making.</p> - -<p>We have given the entire pith and marrow of the book. The term <i>flat</i>, -is the only general expression which would apply to it. It is written, -we believe, by Col. Stone of the New York Commercial Advertiser, and -should have been printed among the quack advertisements, in a spare -corner of his paper.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect25"></a> -<br> -<center>WATKINS TOTTLE.</center> - -<p><i>Watkins Tottle, and other Sketches, illustrative of every-day Life, -and every-day People. By Boz. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Blanchard.</i></p> - -<p>This book is a re-publication from the English original, and many of -its sketches are with us old and highly esteemed acquaintances. In -regard to their author we know nothing more than that he is a far more -pungent, more witty, and better disciplined writer of sly articles, -than nine-tenths of the Magazine writers in Great Britain—which is -saying much, it must be allowed, when we consider the great variety of -genuine talent, and earnest application brought to bear upon the -periodical literature of the mother country.</p> - -<p>The very first passage in the volumes before us, will convince any of -our friends who are knowing in the requisites of “a good thing,” that -we are doing our friend Boz no more than the simplest species of -justice. Hearken to what he says of Matrimony and of Mr. Watkins -Tottle.</p> - -<blockquote><small>Matrimony is proverbially a serious undertaking. Like an overweening -predilection for brandy and water, it is a misfortune into which a man -easily falls, and from which he finds it remarkably difficult to -extricate himself. It is no use telling a man who is timorous on these -points, that it is but one plunge and all is over. They say the same -thing at the Old Bailey, and the unfortunate victims derive about as -much comfort from the assurance in the one case as in the other.</small></blockquote> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page458"><small><small>[p. 458]</small></small></a></span> -<blockquote><small>Mr. Watkins Tottle was a rather uncommon compound of strong -uxorious inclinations, and an unparalleled degree of anti-connubial -timidity. He was about fifty years of age; stood four feet six inches -and three quarters in his socks—for he never stood in stockings at -all—plump, clean and rosy. He looked something like a vignette to one -of Richardson's novels, and had a clean cravatish formality of manner, -and kitchen-pokerness of carriage, which Sir Charles Grandison himself -might have envied. He lived on an annuity, which was well adapted to -the individual who received it in one respect—it was rather small. He -received it in periodical payments on every alternate Monday; but he -ran himself out about a day after the expiration of the first week, as -regularly as an eight-day clock, and then, to make the comparison -complete, his landlady wound him up, and he went on with a regular -tick.</small></blockquote> - -<p>It is not every one who can put “a good thing” properly together, -although, perhaps, when thus properly put together, every tenth person -you meet with may be capable of both conceiving and appreciating it. -We cannot bring ourselves to believe that less actual ability is -required in the composition of a really good “brief article,” than in -a fashionable novel of the usual dimensions. The novel certainly -requires what is denominated a sustained effort—but this is a matter -of mere perseverance, and has but a collateral relation to talent. On -the other hand—unity of effect, a quality not easily appreciated or -indeed comprehended by an ordinary mind, and a <i>desideratum</i> difficult -of attainment, even by those who can conceive it—is indispensable in -the “brief article,” and not so in the common novel. The latter, if -admired at all, is admired for its detached passages, without -reference to the work as a whole—or without reference to any general -design—which, if it even exist in some measure, will be found to have -occupied but little of the writer's attention, and cannot, from the -length of the narrative, be taken in at one view, by the reader.</p> - -<p>The Sketches by Boz are all exceedingly well managed, and never fail -to <i>tell</i> as the author intended. They are entitled, Passage in the -Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle—The Black Veil—Shabby Genteel -People—Horatio Sparkins—The Pawnbroker's Shop—The Dancing -Academy—Early Coaches—The River—Private Theatres—The Great -Winglebury Duel—Omnibuses—Mrs. Joseph Porter—The Steam -Excursion—Sentiment—The Parish—Miss Evans and the Eagle—Shops and -their Tenants—Thoughts about People—A Visit to Newgate—London -Recreations—The Boarding-House—Hackney-Coach Stands—Brokers and -Marine Store-Shops—The Bloomsbury Christening—Gin Shops—Public -Dinners—Astley's—Greenwich Fair—The Prisoner's Van—and A Christmas -Dinner. The reader who has been so fortunate as to have perused any -one of these pieces, will be fully aware of how great a fund of racy -entertainment is included in the Bill of Fare we have given. There are -here some as well conceived and well written papers as can be found in -any other collection of the kind—many of them we would especially -recommend, as a study, to those who turn their attention to Magazine -writing—a department in which, generally, the English as far excel us -as Hyperion a Satyr.</p> - -<p>The <i>Black Veil</i>, in the present series, is distinct in character from -all the rest—an act of stirring tragedy, and evincing lofty powers in -the writer. Broad humor is, however, the prevailing feature of the -volumes. <i>The Dancing Academy</i> is a vivid sketch of Cockney low life, -which may probably be considered as somewhat too <i>outré</i> by those who -have no experience in the matter. <i>Watkins Tottle</i> is excellent. We -should like very much to copy the whole of the article entitled -<i>Pawnbrokers' Shops</i>, with a view of contrasting its matter and manner -with the insipidity of the passage we have just quoted on the same -subject from the “<i>Ups and Downs</i>” of Colonel Stone, and by way of -illustrating our remarks on the <i>unity of effect</i>—but this would, -perhaps, be giving too much of a good thing. It will be seen by those -who peruse both these articles, that in that of the American, two or -three anecdotes are told which have merely a relation—a very shadowy -relation, to pawn-broking—in short, they are barely elicited by this -theme, have no necessary dependence upon it, and might be introduced -equally well in connection with any one of a million other subjects. -In the sketch of the Englishman we have no anecdotes at all—the -<i>Pawnbroker's Shop</i> engages and enchains our attention—we are -enveloped in its atmosphere of wretchedness and extortion—we pause at -every sentence, not to dwell upon the sentence, but to obtain a fuller -view of the gradually perfecting picture—which is never at any moment -any other matter than the <i>Pawnbroker's Shop</i>. To the illustration of -this one end all the <i>groupings</i> and <i>fillings in</i> of the painting are -rendered subservient—and when our eyes are taken from the canvass, we -remember the personages of the sketch not at all as independent -existences, but as essentials of the one subject we have witnessed—as -a part and portion of the <i>Pawnbroker's Shop</i>. So perfect, and -never-to-be-forgotten a picture cannot be brought about by any such -trumpery exertion, or still more trumpery talent, as we find employed -in the ineffective daubing of Colonel Stone. The scratchings of a -schoolboy with a slate-pencil on a slate might as well be compared to -the groupings of Buonarotti.</p> - -<p>We conclude by strongly recommending the Sketches of Boz to the -attention of American readers, and by copying the whole of his article -on Gin Shops.</p> - -<blockquote><small>It is a very remarkable circumstance, that different trades appear to -partake of the disease to which elephants and dogs are especially -liable; and to run stark, staring, raving mad, periodically. The great -distinction between the animals and the trades is, that the former run -mad with a certain degree of propriety—they are very regular in their -irregularities. You know the period at which the emergency will arise, -and provide against it accordingly. If an elephant run mad, you are -all ready for him—kill or cure—pills or bullets—calomel in conserve -of roses, or lead in a musket-barrel. If a dog happen to look -unpleasantly warm in the summer months, and to trot about the shady -side of the streets with a quarter of a yard of tongue hanging out of -his mouth, a thick leather muzzle, which has been previously prepared -in compliance with the thoughtful injunction of the Legislature, is -instantly clapped over his head, by way of making him cooler, and he -either looks remarkably unhappy for the next six weeks, or becomes -legally insane, and goes mad, as it were, by act of Parliament. But -these trades are as eccentric as comets; nay, worse; for no one can -calculate on the recurrence of the strange appearances which betoken -the disease: moreover, the contagion is general, and the quickness -with which it diffuses itself almost incredible.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>We will cite two or three cases in illustration of our meaning. Six or -eight years ago the epidemic began to display itself among the -linen-drapers and haberdashers. The primary symptoms were, an -inordinate love of plate-glass, and a passion for gas-lights and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page459"><small>[p. 459]</small></a></span> -gilding. The disease gradually progressed, and at last attained a -fearful height. Quiet, dusty old shops, in different parts of town, -were pulled down; spacious premises, with stuccoed fronts and gold -letters, were erected instead; floors were covered with Turkey -carpets, roofs supported by massive pillars, doors knocked into -windows, a dozen squares of glass into one, one shopman into a -dozen,—and there is no knowing what would have been done, if it had -not been fortunately discovered, just in time, that the Commissioners -of Bankrupts were as competent to decide such cases as the -Commissioners of Lunacy, and that a little confinement and gentle -examination did wonders. The disease abated; it died away; and a year -or two of comparative tranquillity ensued. Suddenly it burst out again -among the chemists; the symptoms were the same, with the addition of a -strong desire to stick the royal arms over the shop-door, and a great -rage for mahogany, varnish, and expensive floor-cloth: then the -hosiers were infected, and began to pull down their shop-fronts with -frantic recklessness. The mania again died away, and the public began -to congratulate themselves upon its entire disappearance, when it -burst forth with ten-fold violence among the publicans and keepers of -“wine vaults.” From that moment it has spread among them with -unprecedented rapidity, exhibiting a concatenation of all the previous -symptoms; and onward it has rushed to every part of town, knocking -down all the old public-houses, and depositing splendid mansions, -stone balustrades, rosewood fittings, immense lamps, and illuminated -clocks, at the corner of every street.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The extensive scale on which these places are established, and the -ostentatious manner in which the business of even the smallest among -them is divided into branches, is most amusing. A handsome plate of -ground glass in one door directs you “To the Counting-house;” another -to the “Bottle Department;” a third, to the “Wholesale Department;” a -fourth, to “The Wine Promenade,” and so forth, until we are in daily -expectation of meeting with a “Brandy Bell,” or a “Whiskey Entrance.” -Then ingenuity is exhausted in devising attractive titles for the -different descriptions of gin; and the dram-drinking portion of the -community, as they gaze upon the gigantic white and black -announcements, which are only to be equalled in size by the figures -beneath them, are left in a state of pleasing hesitation between “The -Cream of the Valley,” “The Out and Out,” “The No Mistake,” “The Good -for Mixing,” “The real knock-me-down,” “The celebrated Butter Gin,” -“The regular Flare-up,” and a dozen other equally inviting and -wholesome <i>liqueurs</i>. Although places of this description are to be -met with in every second street, they are invariably numerous and -splendid in precise proportion to the dirt and poverty of the -surrounding neighborhood. The gin-shops in and near Drury-lane, -Holborn, St. Giles', Covent Garden, and Clare-market, are the -handsomest in London—there is more filth and squalid misery near -those great thorough-fares than in any part of this mighty city.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>We will endeavor to sketch the bar of a large gin-shop, and its -ordinary customers, for the edification of such of our readers as may -not have had opportunities of observing such scenes; and on the chance -of finding one well suited to our purpose, we will make for Drurylane, -through the narrow streets and dirty courts which divide it from -Oxford-street, and that classical spot adjoining the brewery at the -bottom of Tottenham-court-road, best known to the initiated as the -“Rookery.” The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of London -can hardly be imagined by those (and there are many such) who have not -witnessed it. Wretched houses, with broken windows patched with rags -and paper, every room let out to a different family, and in many -instances to two, or even three: fruit and “sweet stuff” manufacturers -in the cellars; barbers and red-herring venders in the front parlors; -cobblers in the back; a bird-fancier in the first floor, three -families on the second; starvation in the attics; Irishmen in the -passage; a “musician” in the front kitchen, and a char-woman and five -hungry children in the back one—filth every where—a gutter before -the houses and a drain behind them—clothes drying at the windows, -slops emptying from the ditto; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with -matted hair, walking about bare-footed, and in old white great coats, -almost their only covering; boys of all ages, in coats of all sizes, -and no coats at all; men and women, in every variety of scanty and -dirty apparel, lounging about, scolding, drinking, smoking, -squabbling, fighting, and swearing.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>You turn the corner. What a change! All is light and brilliancy. The -hum of many voices issues from that splendid gin-shop which forms the -commencement of the two streets opposite; and the gay building with -the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated clock, the -plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosetts, and its profusion of -gaslights in richly gilt burners, is perfectly dazzling when -contrasted with the darkness and dirt we have just left. The interior -is even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished mahogany, -elegantly carved, extends the whole width of the place; and there are -two side-aisles of great casks, painted green and gold, inclosed -within a light brass rail, and bearing such inscriptions as “Old Tom, -549;” “Young Tom, 360;” “Samson, 1421.” Behind the bar is a lofty and -spacious saloon, full of the same enticing vessels, with a gallery -running round it, equally well furnished. On the counter, in addition -to the usual spirit apparatus, are two or three little baskets of -cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured at the top with -wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully abstracted. -Behind it are two showily-dressed damsels with large necklaces, -dispensing the spirits and “compounds.” They are assisted by the -ostensible proprietor of the concern, a stout, coarse fellow in a fur -cap, put on very much on one side to give him a knowing air, and -display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Look at the groups of customers, and observe the different air with -which they call for what they want, as they are more or less struck by -the grandeur of the establishment. The two old washerwomen, who are -seated on the little bench to the left of the bar, are rather overcome -by the head-dresses, and haughty demeanor of the young ladies who -officiate; and receive their half quartern of gin-and-peppermint with -considerable deference, prefacing a request for “one of them soft -biscuits,” with a “Just be good enough, ma'am,” &c. They are quite -astonished at the impudent air of the young fellow in the brown coat -and white buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and walking up -to the bar in as careless a manner as if he had been used to green and -gold ornaments all his life, winks at one of the young ladies with -singular coolness, and calls for a “kervorten and a three-out-glass,” -just as if the place were his own. “Gin for you, sir,” says the young -lady when she has drawn it, carefully looking every way but the right -one to show that the wink had no effect upon her. “For me, Mary, my -dear,” replies the gentleman in brown. “My name an't Mary as it -happens,” says the young girl, in a most insinuating manner, as she -delivers the change. “Vell, if it an't, it ought to be,” responds the -irresistible one; “all the Marys as ever I see was handsome gals.” -Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how blushes are managed -in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the female -in the faded feathers who had just entered, and who, after stating -explicitly, to prevent any subsequent misunderstanding that “this -gentleman” pays, calls for “a glass of port wine and a bit of sugar,” -the drinking which, and sipping another, accompanied by sundry -whisperings to her companion, and no small quantity of giggling, -occupies a considerable time.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Observe the group on the other side: those two old men who came in -“just to have a dram,” finished their third quartern a few seconds -ago; they have made themselves crying drunk, and the fat, comfortable -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page460"><small>[p. 460]</small></a></span> -looking elderly women, who had “a glass of rum-<i>srub</i>” each, -having chimed in with their complaints on the hardness of the times, -one of the women has agreed to stand a glass round, jocularly -observing that “grief never mended no broken bones, and as good -people's wery scarce, what I says is, make the most on 'em, and that's -all about it;” a sentiment which appears to afford unlimited -satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children, who -have been constantly going in and out, dwindles down to two or three -occasional stragglers—cold wretched-looking creatures, in the last -stage of emaciation and disease. The knot of Irish laborers at the -lower end of the place, who have been alternately shaking hands with, -and threatening the life of, each other for the last hour, become -furious in their disputes; and finding it impossible to silence one -man, who is particularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resort -to the infallible expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him -afterwards. Out rush the man in the fur cap, and the pot-boy: a scene -of riot and confusion ensues; half the Irishmen get shut out, and the -other half get shut in: the pot-boy is knocked in among the tubs in no -time; the landlord hits every body, and every body hits the landlord; -the bar-maids scream; in come the police, and the rest is a confused -mixture of arms, legs, staves, torn coats, shouting and struggling. -Some of the party are borne off to the station-house, and the -remainder slink home to beat their wives for complaining, and kick the -children for daring to be hungry.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>We have sketched this subject very lightly, not only because our -limits compel us to do so, but because, if it were pursued further, it -would be painful and repulsive. Well-disposed gentlemen and charitable -ladies would alike turn with coldness and disgust from a description -of the drunken, besotted men, and wretched, broken-down, miserable -women, who form no inconsiderable portion of the frequenters of these -haunts; forgetting, in the pleasant consciousness of their own high -rectitude, the poverty of the one, and the temptation of the other. -Gin-drinking is a great vice in England, but poverty is a greater; and -until you can cure it, or persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek -relief in the temporary oblivion of his own misery, with the pittance -which, divided among his family, would just furnish a morsel of bread -for each, gin-shops will increase in number and splendor. If -Temperance Societies could suggest an antidote against hunger and -distress, or establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution of -bottles of Lethe-water, gin-palaces would be numbered among the things -that were. Until then, their decrease may be despaired of.</small></blockquote> - -<hr align="center" width="25"><a name="sect26"></a> -<br> -<center>FLORA AND THALIA.</center> - -<p><i>Flora and Thalia; or Gems of Flowers and Poetry: being an -Alphabetical Arrangement of Flowers, with appropriate Poetical -Illustrations, embellished with Colored Plates. By a Lady. To which is -added a Botanical Description of the various parts of a Flower, and -the Dial of Flowers. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea, and Blanchard.</i></p> - -<p>This is a very pretty and very convenient volume, on a subject which, -since the world began, has never failed to excite curiosity and -sympathy in all who have a proper sense of the beautiful. It contains -240 pages, and 24 finely colored engravings, which give a vivid idea -of the original plants. These engravings are the <i>Meadow Anemone</i>—the -<i>Harebell</i>—the <i>Christmas Rose</i>—the <i>Dahlia</i>—the <i>Evening -Primrose</i>—the <i>Fox-Glove</i>—the <i>Heliotrope</i>—the <i>Purple Iris</i>—the -<i>Jasmine</i>—the <i>King-Cup</i>—the <i>Lavender</i>—the <i>Mezereon</i>—the -<i>Narcissus</i>—the <i>Orchis</i>—the <i>Clove Pink</i>—the <i>Quince</i>—the -<i>Provence Rose</i>—the <i>Solomon's Seal</i>—the <i>Tobacco</i>—the <i>Bear -Berry</i>—the <i>Violet Pansy</i>—the <i>Wall-Flower</i>—the <i>Yellow -Water-Flag</i>, and the <i>Zedoary</i>. The bulk of the volume is occupied -with poetical illustrations exceedingly well selected. We do not -believe there is a single poem in the book which may not be considered -above mediocrity—many are exquisite. The <i>Botanical description of -the various parts of a Flower</i>, is well conceived—brief, properly -arranged, and sufficiently comprehensive. The <i>Dial of Flowers</i>, will -be especially admired by all our fair readers. The following extract -from page 227, will give an idea of the nature of this <i>Dial</i>—the -manner of composing which, is embraced entire, in the form of a Table, -on page 229.</p> - -<blockquote><small>These properties of flowers, and the opening and shutting of many at -particular times of the day, led to the idea of planting them in such -a manner as to indicate the succession of the hours, and to make them -supply the place of a watch or clock. Those who are disposed to try -the experiment, may easily compose such a dial by consulting the -following Table, comprehending the hours between three in the morning -and eight in the evening. It is, of course, impossible to insure the -accurate going of such a dial, because the temperature, the dryness, -and the dampness of the air have a considerable influence on the -opening and shutting of flowers.</small></blockquote> - -<p>We copy from the <i>Flora and Thalia</i> the following anonymous lines.</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem21"> - <tr><td>Alas! on thy forsaken stem<br> - My heart shall long recline,<br> - And mourn the transitory gem,<br> - And make the story mine!<br> - So on my joyless winter hour<br> - Has oped some fair and fragrant flower,<br> - With smile as soft as thine.<br> -<br> - Like thee the vision came and went,<br> - Like thee it bloomed and fell;<br> - In momentary pity sent,<br> - Of fairy climes to tell:<br> - So frail its form, so short its stay,<br> - That nought the lingering heart could say,<br> - But hail, and fare thee well!</td></tr> -</table><br> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>We are sorry to perceive that our friends of the “<i>Southern Literary -Journal</i>” are disposed to unite with the “<i>Knickerbocker</i>” and “<i>New -York Mirror</i>” in covert, and therefore unmanly, thrusts at the -“<i>Messenger</i>.” It is natural that these two Journals (who refused to -exchange with us from the first) should feel themselves aggrieved at -our success, and we own that, bearing them no very good will, we care -little what injury they do themselves in the public estimation by -suffering their mortification to become apparent. But we are embarked -in the cause of <i>Southern</i> Literature, and (with perfect amity to all -sections) wish to claim especially as a friend and co-operator, every -<i>Southern</i> Journal. We repeat, therefore, that we are grieved to see a -disposition of hostility, entirely unprovoked, manifested on the part -of Mr. Whittaker. He should reflect, that while we ourselves cannot -for a moment believe him otherwise than perfectly upright and sincere -in his animadversions upon our Magazine, still there is hardly one -individual in ninety-nine who will not attribute every ill word he -says of us to the instigations of jealousy.</p> - -<div lang='en' xml:lang='en'> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span lang='' xml:lang=''>THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, VOL. II., NO. 7, JUNE, 1836</span> ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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