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The United States Democratic review. / Volume 35, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages C-ii

b7JCL~~fr~ THE UNITED STATES REVIEW. V DEMOCRACY. VOLUME IV. D. W. HOLLY, EDITOR. LLOYD & CAMPBELL, 252 BROADWAY. 1855. JOHN A. GRAY, PRINTER, 9~ & 97 Cliff Street INDEX. PORTRAITS OF JEFFERSON DAVIS, SECT OP WAR. HON. J. A. McDOUGALL, OF CALIFORNIA. ISAAC TOUCEY, OF COENECTIGUT. FERNANDO WOOD, OF NEW-YORK. A PAGE A PERTINENT QUESTION. Who is Victoria?.216 A FEW FACTS IN REGARD TO NICHOLAS 225 AN ALLEGORY 257 AMERICAN LEADERS. Thomas Jefferson,.. .871 AUTO-BIoGRAPIIT OF THE HON. ICHABOD RAGAMUFFIN 419 B BOOK NOTICES 148,284, 328, 418 BURNING OF MOSCOW 271 BRITISH PICILANTHROPY. The greatest in vention of the age 402 CUIDADO 186 CZAR NICHOLAS DEAD. The Truculence of England 819 CUBA. Philosophy of the Ostende Corre ~pondence, with portraits from hf 443 II) DANTON 155 DIAPERS AND DIMPLES. Barnum s Last 315 DEIFy-WOOD 321 1)e.STINT. A Portugnese Tradition 366 E H PAGE HUMAN NATURE IN CHUNES, Continued. Chunk No. 5- The Ordeal of a Yankee Pedabo~ue 107 Chunk No. 6 School-master hoarding round, ill Chunk No. 7Recipe SN maki~ Honest Men 114 Chunk No. SAdvertising for aWjfe, 116 Chunk No. 9Modern Clerkshow made up 119 Chunk No. 10Advertising for a Wife, Con tinued ~ 209 Chunk No. 11JonathanA Character 276 HER NAME, 853 IIYPOCIIISY 387 I IRELAND A D IRISHMEN. The Irish identi- fied with our Race. Justice to the Irish a Vindication of Ourselves. Englands Civil and Religious Persecullon. We must fight, Mr. Speaker, we must fight 42 I WATCH ALONE . .472 J JAIL JOURNAL. Jail Journal; or, Five Years in British Prisons, By John Mitehel, Citizen Office, New-York,... 137 L PITAPHS 899 LIBERAL EDUCATiON,.... 2. G GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE 3, 158 GEORGE P. MORRIS. Poems hy G. P. Mor- ris; Puhhished hy Charles Scribner, New- York 478 MILITARY CAREER OF WELLINGTON. By the author of The History of the French Revolution, 33 MR. JOSEPSI HUME 29~ ii Indew. PAGE MAY BONG, 898 MONOPOLY AND PAPER MONEY, 485 MAEEIAGE, 471 0 OUR TRANS-ATLANTIC COUSINS 284 OUR LANGUAGEdestined to be universal,. .306 ON A CHINAMAN IN BROADWAY 411 P PRAGMAYA, 26, 199 PERILS OF OUR STEAM MARINE,, 122 PRINCE HA-SF RvrsI. Extracts from a let- ter to his Father in the Bonin Islands 888 11 RUSSIA AND THEANGLO-FRE ~C5I ALLIANCR,.237 289 AND RECREATIONS IN SOUTHERN MEXICO. Chapter 1Golden Dreams 14 Chapter 2Journalizing 17 Chapter 8Prairie and Forest 21 RECOLLECTIONS OF WEIMAR. 132 RAPE OF DEARBHORGIL. An Historical Bal lad 187 S BY. VALENTINES DAY. Historical and Poet ical, 67 BY. JONATHAN. The New Canonization 99 SONG 131 Bra DR LACY EVANS 222 SADDENED HEARTS 248 SULTAN ABDEL MEDJID 394 SAPPRO, 442 SONG. Philanthropicandpiratic 459 T THE CEAR OF RUSSIA. England deceived as to American Opinion by the Fedcral or Whig Press. Policy of England and of France. Position of the Czar. Why the United States should not join in the hue mud cry 1 THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY. An Indian ?AC5E tra- dition THE NEW CIVILIzATIoN 140 THE PLEASURE-BOAT 147 THE DISRUPTURE O~ PARTIES. Here and in England 149 THE DAILY SPASM. A Newspaperial Idyl,. .191 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL 204 THE LONDON TIMES, 259 THE MSDICAL CONTROVERSY. The Old and the New School 263 Tus MACTA 281 THE BELLS, 290 To A SPIDER 314 To 805 THE NEW CRUSADE. The Principles on which the Anglo-French Alliance is based, alike dangerous to the Peace and Independ ence of all Nations 881 THR ROUND TAHLE OF THE CLEVER FEL LOWS 846 THE PUBLIC LANDS 854 To A CRICKET 885 THE COMMON DEFENSE AND GENERAL WELFARE, 405 TssE PATH THAT ONCE WAS GAY .412 To COLUHHUS 495 TH LAST BROThER 496 TSIE FOREIGN POLICY OF THE UNITED STATES 498 lJ UNCLE SAMS LITERATURE 400 W WHAT NEXT? 498 Y YANKEE DOODLE. An Addendum So the Poets and Poetry of Ancient Greec ,...120i z ZENOBIA ...

The Czar of Russia 1-14

C L ~/ j$i THE UNITED STATES REVIEW. JANUARY, 1855. THE CZAR 01? RUSSIA. IT is somewhat amusingly melancholy to witness the sway exercised by the British press generally, and the British public journals, periodicals, and reviews most especially, over the manners, morals, and political opinioms of our transatlantic brethren, as they pleasantly call us, by way of sweetening the dose of sarcasm and calumny occasionally administered in the spirit of fraternal affection and uni~ern1 philanthropy. Our literature, as our politics, is equally subjected to this, the most dangerous species of foreign influence, and it is not too much to say that at this moment, or at least until within a very brief period, a great portion of what is courteously styled the more enlightened citizens of the United States, compre- hended in the Federal or Whig party, had scarcely any opinions of their own with respect to either books or men. They waited for the flat of the British press before venturing to praise either one or the other. An American writer remained comparatively unknown even among his own countrymen, until patented by some anonymous British reviewer; and ~n American statesman or orator might never aspire to the r~e.spect or admiration of his more enlighter~ed constituents ioatil he had reached the apotheosis of what is styled a European 1 ( 2 The Czar of Ji?u88~a. [Jan., reputation. In order to. attain to this, the highest object of ambition to American writers, all know that it is absolutely necessary studiously to abstain from all obnoxious republican principles, as well as all sentiments of patriotism, and to min- ister adroitly to the overweening vanity of Englishmen. This degrading subserviency of so large a portion of the Whig press to British dictation, and this deleterious influence over the opinions of so many of those who have so powerful an agency in giving a direction to the public sentiment in communities where they reside, constitute one of the great obstacles to a good understanding between the United States and Great Britain. The latter invariably mistakes the mani- festations of this Anglo-American press for the prevailing sen- timent of the people of the United States, and is thus encour- aged to pursue a hostile course of policy, which ultimately ends in a serious misunderstanding, if not in actual war. The ministers of England seem not yet to have discovered that these straws do not even show which way the wind blows, and that such weather-cocks are only unerring guides in pointing out its exactly opposite dire6tion. It was well known at the time, that the British ambassador, incited by the language of the Federal newspapers and the dreams of the Federal leaders at Washington, actually wrote home to his government, the very day before the adoption of the declaration of war by the Senate of the United States, the positive assurance that there was not the slightest danger that such a proposition would be sanctioned by that body. In this way the British ministry are unrf~mlydeceived. They mfstake the clamors of a minority for the voice of a majo?ity~ 0e the p~npi~ ~C the United States, and under the influence of this delusion believe they may not only safely persevere in any course of policy injurious to their interests or their honor, but offer new aggravations with per- fect impunity. The course of the Anglo-American press is most strikingly exemplified in all cases where the policy or interests of Eng- land come in, competition with those of the United States. The moment a President of the United States or a Secretary of State bristles up or shows his teeth in opposition to Bri- tish insult or British encroachments, however he may be sus- tained by principles of justice or international law, the result is inevitable. The London Times, or some other great Chory- pham~ of the British press, gives the signal;, the bull-terriers are let loose upon him, and as a matter of course their yelp- ings are echoed and re~choed by an obsequious pack of 1855.] like & ar of ]?U88Z~. 8 mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs of low degree, who scamper about, cocking their tails, lifting their legs, and barking vociferously, iii musical response to the leaders of the foreign kennel. The same measure is meted out by these discriminating dis- pensers of immortal fame to the rulers and statesmen of other nations, and the same standard adopted in exhibiting their character and actions to the world. If a monarch or a minis- ter descends to become the instrument or the tool of a govern- ment distinguished above all others for its hypocritical preten- sions to superiority in piety, humanity, and justice, but which in fact is altogether governed by the sordid maxims of trade, he is held up to the world as a prodigy of wisdom and virtue; but if; on the other hand, he declines to sacrifice the interests of his country to the avarice and ambition of England, he never fails to become a monster of folly and wickedness. Thus has it happened with the Emperor Nicholas of Rus- sia. Unfortunately for his reputation, he stands in the way of British policy in the East, and has become highly obnoxious to the Emperor of France, whether on personal or political grounds is of no consequence in connection with our present subject. It has therefore pleased the press of both these countries to present him before the world as a stern, inflexible tyrant, as regardless of the interests and happiness of his sub- jects as of his political pledges to other nations, and in short, equally destitute of integrity either as a man or a monarch. The people of the United States are expected to believe all this, and our Anglo-American press has, according to cus- tom, pliantly lent itself as an instrument 1w echoing these spiteful effusions of angry and disappointed rivals and ene- mies. We do not think it altogether becoming a great and intelligent people to be thus directed in their opinions of pub- lic men or public measures by the press of any foreign nation. Neither the London f/limes nor the Paris Mioniteur is a fit oracle for them; nor is the base subserviency of that portion of the American press, which prostitutes itself in becoming an instrument for spreading and enforcing their opinions, any more entitled to presume to give a direction to the popular feeling in this country. They arc not the organs of the free people of the United States, but the instruments shall we say the purchased instruments ?of foreign powers. They cherish not the slightest regard for the honor or interests of their country; their feelings are entirely expatriated, and they always stand ready to reecho the cry of the foreign pack 4 Ike Czar of ]?ussict. ~Jan., against any administration that has the hardihood to resist or resent any aggression or insult from any power, whether it comes from a giant or a pigmy, from E~gland or France, from Mexico, Spain, or the King of the Mosquitoes. Without pretending to be the advocates of a sovereign now standing in the position of a friend of the United States, while his adversaries and detractors have on various occasions evinced a hostile policy towards them, it seems but an act of justice to the Czar of Russia briefly to inquire whether he really merits the harsh censures of the British and French press, either in his private or public character. That monarch employsno hired scribblers, no subsidized journals, either here or at home, for the sole purpose of misrepresenting the cha- racter of the people of the United States, and degrading their government and institutions in the estimation of the civilized world. The press of Russia is not like that of England, one of her most dangerous weapons of war, a quiver of poisoned arrows, ever at work in pouring forth to the world a succession of libels on every nation and every government that excites its jealousy or awakens its apprehensions. Ifas is without doubt the case4he Russian press is the mere organ of the Czar, its uniform tone towards the United States is only the more significant as indicating his friendly disposition, as well as that feeling of m~ignanimity which disdains to enlist falsehood and calumny as auxiliaries of policy or the sword. Such being the case, both justice and courtesy seem to require that the press of the United States should deal with him as he deals W I. Let us then briefly inquire whether, either as a private or public man, he iiierius me -irnpumdon5so liberally bestowed on him by the press of England and France. And first, as to the partition of Poland, and the intervention between Austria and Hungary, we consign him to the verdict of posterity without attempting to justify either one or the other. We shall only observe, that in the former outrage on the independence of nations, he does not stand alone, and should not therefore be selected as the sok delinquent. Others shared in the spoil; and both Austria and Prussia, which England and France are now using all their efforts to unite with the ~ntente x~diale~ if they were not partners in the fight, reaped their full share in the fruits of victory. Neither they, therefore, nor those who are at this moment wooing their friendship and codperation, have a right to single out the Czar as the residuary legatee of all the infamy of that transaction. We know that his blacks can not make a white; but in meting out 18~5] The & ar of Rusgict. justice among equal offenders they should share alike, and not one be made a scape-goat for all the rest. The Hungarian intervention is alike condemned by the policy of the government and the feelings of the people of the United States. They holdand, in our opinion, justlythat no foreign power has a right to interfere with the domestic affairs and internal struggles of any other nation; that this is their own affair, and that the parties should have fair play. Such interference is not only an impertinent intrusion, but objectionable in another point of view. It never permanently settles a question. It is only a temporary expedient which may produce a shortdived delusive tranquility. But when the external repressive force is withdrawn, the re~iction will com- mence; the interests and passions which gave rise to the first commotion, not having been either crushed by a decisive vic- tory of one party over the other, or reconciled by voluntary and mutual concessions, will infallibly revive again, and another struggle become necessary to a final adjustment. We do not recollect a single example in history that does not sustain us in this view of the subject; and with regard to Hungary, it must be evident to all, that such will be the final result of Russian intervention. Setting aside all other considerations, we therefore think that this intervention was equally impolitic and unjust; and, if we are not mistaken, the offense is about to receive its reward through the ingratitude of the imperial stripling on whose behalf the Czar exposed himself to the condemnation of millions of his fellow-men. But are the skirts of the governments of England and France free from any stain of this kind? Can they rightfully become accusers, when they too may be justly cited ~ delinquents be- fore the tribunal to which they have dared to appeal? Let him that is innocent cast the first stone, said the great Christ- ian moralist. Are they thus qualified to cast the first stone? Has not England, for a century past, been perpetually interfer- ing with the affairs~of the princes of Hindostan, and through that interference, r~7duced them to abject subjection to her sway? Did she not interfere with the internal struggles of France, or rather the great national struggle of France for liberty, and make war on the people in behalf of an impotent sovereign whom they despised? Is she not interfering with the long-established policy of the Birman Empire, and making war on its people under pretense of establishing a commercial treaty, the terms of which are dictated at the cannons mouth? If we turn towards France, we find her interfering between 6 Ike ~ of J?us8ta. [Jan., the King of Greece and the Ottoman Porte; between the Otto- man Porte and its Christian subjects; with the domestic reli- gious dissensions of the different factions in Albania, Bosnia, and other provinces nominally subject to the Grand Signior, and invariably taking sides against the Christian population. The Emperor of France has for years occupied the ancient capital of the world with an army of French soldiers, under color of maintaining internal tranquility and order, but, as the people of the United States believe, for the purpose of crushing the popular feeling of Italy~ arresting the progress of fre~e principles, and perpetuating a mixed, incestuous despotism, combining within itself the most tyrannical principles of civil government, and the most inflexible maxims of bigotry and intolerance. The United States, it is believed, have no disposition to ex- ercise a censorship over the conduct or policy of other govern- ments,, or to interfere with them in any manner whatever, except where their own interests are directly involved. We refer to these facts merely to show that the course pursued by the two governments now challenging our sympathy, and reproaching us for withholding it, is not, and has not been, such as entitles them - tothaLsyncipathy, or to sustain them in the high position they have assumedthat of the great chain- pious of Christianity, civilization, and liberty. In this respect we are of opinion they can not justly plume themselves on their superiority over the Czar. It may then be asked, Why should the Emperor Nicholas be brought before the high tribunal of the civilized world, as the chief of~itinexs, the great modern leper, spotted from the crown of his head to the sole bfiIi~f0O~r and blotches of moral corruption? And above all, why should the people of the United States be expected to join in the hue and cry against him? The better to answer these queries, let us briefly inquire as to his private character as a man, and his public policy as a ruler. All travellers in Russia whose works have fallen under our noticewith the exception of Englishmen, who may be called the common libellers of nationsunite in bearing testimony to the private virtues of the Czar. As a husband and father, he is mild, gentle, and humane; nor has he ever been accused of availing himself of that latitudinarian code of morals exclu- sively appropriated to royalty. Though despotic over millions, he is master of himself There is no blood-thirsty vein in his composition, nor have we ever met with a well-authenticated 1855.] The C2ar of Russi,a. instance of his having inflicted the punishment of death wan- tonly and by a mere exercise of his will. That exiles are occasionally sent to Siberia is certain; and that among sixty millions of people many will merit that fate, is equally certain. The Emperor of France, the beau ideal pro tern, of t~e Brit- ish press, occasionally ships a cargo of exiles to Cayenne by his own~sovereign will and pleasure, and it may be questioned whether the tropical swamps of that region are not as disagree- able, not to say deleterious, as the snows of Siberia. But men mtlst be punished in some way, until we arrive at that degree of pe~fecfibility anticipated in the new code of philosophy; and perpetual incarceration in a state-prison, a common penalty in the United States, is assuredly as severe an infliction as exi-le, the knout, or the cudgel. There is no accounting for tastes; and- all agree that the Russians prefer these punishments to the gallows, the bow-string, the jail, or the penitentiary. We know from the very best authority, that the more intelligent Russians recoil with equal disgust and horror when they read of the succession of capital punishments in the United States and England. Every nation has its peculiar penal code, and it may be said with equal truth that every nation plumes itself on its superiority in this, as in almost every thing else. Who shall decide when doctors disagree ? has passed into a proverb; and who shall decide when nations disagree? Not reason certainly. It is pretty clear, however, from Esman s and other late travels, that the Siberian exiles have no reason to envy the British operatives, the Troglodytes of the coal mines, or the poor down-trodden Irish, who are forced to banish themselves by tens of thousands. But C~esar is ambitious, it seems. If so, his offense is palli- ated by innumerable examples in ancient and modern history. Ambition is surely not so rare a quality among men of all ranks and degrees, that it should be hunted as a strange mon- ster by the bull-terriers of the British press. This inordinate ambition is, it seems, exemplified in his policy towards the Sublime Porte, to which we now propose to call the attention of our readers. Stripped of all its diplomatic obscurities, joint notes, protocols, and ultimatums, the Eastern Question, as it is styled, resolves itself into this simple proposition: The Czar wants to acquire a free passage for his commerce and fleets into the Mediterranean, and the Allied powers want to keep him out. This, we believe, is the whole gist of the business. By turning to the map of Russia, it will be at once seen, that, with the exception of the Frozen Ocean, there are no outlets. S The Czar of ]?u8& ia. [Jan., to the foreign commerce of that vast empire by sea, but the Bosphorus and the Cattegat, ~he former of which is commanded by the Sultan of Turkey, the latter by the King of Denmark. The former is, and has always been, from the first establish- ment of the empire, the foe, the hereditary, religious, and poli- tical foe of Russia. For a great while Russia was the weaker power, and a portion of the possessions of Turkey in Europe were wrested from her by force. During a long series of wars, and after many a hard fight, Russia has gradually acquired the ascendency over her ancient rival, and had it not been for the moderation of the Emperor Nicholas, Constantinople would have now been in his possession, despite of all the combined diplomacy of the Protecting Powers, whose leading point of policy in assuming the guardianship of the sick man is to exclude the Czar from the Mediterranean, by keeping the gates of the Bosphorus and Dardanelles shut against him. In order to bring this question home to the people of the States, it is only necessary to observe that the Czar has the same, if not still stronger motives for his policy in relation to Turkey, and his desire to open the gate of the Black Sea, that the United States have for coveting the possession of Cuba. One belongs to a decayed and tottering empire on the eve of disso- lution from age and infirmity; the other to a power almost equally impotent. While Constantinople remains in possession of Turkey, and while Cuba continues in point of fact and not merely nominally a colony of Spain, the one is not dangerous to the Czar, nor the other to the United States. But, in both cases~ th~ere is strong reason to apprehend that they are either about to pass into other ds or at le t. e the pliant instruments of mischief and anger to ot parties. Surely, it is the duty of a wise government to provide as far as possible against such imminent contingencies; and accordingly we find the United States as desirous to acquire the peaceable posses- sion of Cuba as the Czar is accused of having been to gain that of Constantinople, when he made those propositions to the British minister for the settlement of the affairs of the sick man after his decease, which were tacitly approved and favor- ably responded to at first, but afterwards repudiated, and an alliance concluded with France ostensibly to arrest a policy to which the cabinet of England had at least tacitly acceded. Thc cases of Constantinople and Cuba, though not exactly identical, are sufficiently parallel to justify a comparison. The great permanent interests of both nations being equally involved, alike demand the protection of their~respective governments; 1855.] fl7he Czar of Rus8~a. 9 and we have no hesitation in expressing the opinion, that the policy of Russia in relation to the Ottoman Porte, so far as re- gards the acquisition of a free passage through the Bosphorus and the IDardanelles, is not less justifiable than that of the United States in relation to the acquisition of Cuba. Both are equally based on ~eat permanent national interests, and both have reference to future probable contingencies. The Czar be- lieved, and bad good reason to believe, that the Ottoman Em- pire was on the eve of dissolution; and that, in the approach- ing dismemberment~ its possessions ~on the European, if not the Asiatic side of the Bosphoru~ and the Dardanelles, would, in all probability, pass into the hands of a great maritime power like England or France, whose policy it would be to shut Rus- sia up for ever in the Black Sea. The United States. have equal cause to believe that the island of Cuba, which, .i~a possession of either of these powers, would command the. commerce of the Gulf of Mexico, is in the hands of a government incapable of independent action, and ready to relinquish the real substance of sovereignty to anypower able to aid her in retaining the~hadow. Thus ~it is~ that.the. presa of England and. France has pla& ed the United States and Russia in the same class of. delinquents, and cited them before the bar of the civilized world for no other. reason than that ithey presept. insuperable obstacles to the ac- co~npiishment of their vast schemes of ainb4io~i not only in the East! but the West. We have thus far considered this ~nbjeet in the point of view presented by the two power~w.hic~. have made such confident appeals to the sympathies of the world, and most especially of the people of the United! States. The Czar has b~en~ accused of a vehement passion. fo~ 4 quisitio13~ of ~eosttinGple, and with it the whole of. Tuihey in Europe, if not Asia Minor~ Th4 however~ he has ~soleinnly !lenied; and, f& r aught we can see,. his word is quite as worthy ~f belief as th~ accusations Of the entente cordicde. For ourseWes~ we frankly e6nfess, we do not believe the Czar is particulatly anxious to possess Con- stantinople, or to overthrow the Ottoman II~Impire, whfrh mxist soon fall of itself. That bity lay co~n.plete1y at his m.ercy, when th~ Russian army was in possession of.AdrianopTh, and. the adjacent kingdom of Bulgaria in a state of insurrection against the Ottoman Porte. Again it was at hisi~iercy when the IRus- sian army checked the advance of Ibrahira Pasha,.and when the C~ar might have peacably occupied. that city under pre- tense of protection, had he been aware of the potency of that cabalistic word in the vocabulary of British and French diplo- macy. 10 The Crzar~of Ji?u& 9ia. [Jan., We, therefore, do not believe that the Czar covets the pos- session of Constantinople, except as a precautionary measure to prevent it from becoming an instrument of danger to Rus- sia, just as Cuba may become dangerous to the United StaWs through the same causes. It does not appear probable that he wishes to extend his dominion over the vast c9ngregation of bigoted Mussulmans, who could never be brought into either civil or re1igi~us harmony with the great mass of his subjects. llithert~ the conquests of Russia in the Turkish dominions have been not so much of Turks as of Tartars, originally foreediuto subjection to the Crescent; and it will be observed by those ~vho critically analyze her policy, that her~ efforts of late have been in a great: measure directedtoward the ~nquisi- tion of territories in whi~h the Christian g~atly predomifrated over the Mussulman poptilit~6m We m~yinstanee~ in proof of this, the kingdom of Armenia, the provin~iof Be~sarabia, and the principalities of Mokhwiai: and Waih~~chia, where the Christians outnumber the ~us~uirn~a~ mOi~ than threeto ~ The motive alleged bv the Cza~ ~ii justifiohtion of Ths present policy toward Turkey is the protection t~f this population ~from the oppression and tyr~ny of the 0ttoman government. We will not undertake to s~y that this is:his~oi~ object; butheis probably quite as~ siucere as the British government in its pro- tectorate of the Musquito king, and his handful of mongrel savage subjects; or his imperiaVmajesty of France, in his zeal for the protection of the Holy Sepulchre. it seems to us that the possession of Constantinople would be of no advantage to th~ Czar, except in so far as it would at all tim6~ Th~nr~ ~a free ~ssage to his fleets and his commerce from the Black Sea to th& 7Nt . ~~& bn~,we pre- surne, believes, that he contemplates removing the seat of power from the shores of the Baltic to the borders of the Propontis, in imitation of the Roman emperor, Constan-. tine; and thus establish anEastern instead of a Western em- pire. He has ulready two eapitals.one on the borders, the other in the interior of hi~ i.t~t domain; and it is not likely that ho would~ be ~ermitt~d;however despotic he may be, tp abandon ~t. lete urgaidM6sc~ow~for Constantinople. That city would thus continue a sort of excrescence on the body of the empire, in the hands of a population of hundreds o~ thousands ofdisaffected people, estranged from all community of feelings or principles with the rest of his subjects, disciples a hostile, bigoted faith, and cherishing in their hearts the re- membrance of ages of bloody rivalry. Such a possession we 1865j The Czar of RU88~a. 11 should think not very desirable, provided the free passage of the Dardanelles could be equally secured for all future time by any other means. The Czar has repeatedly disclaimed all intention of taking forcible possession of Constantinople; and, for aught we know, his professions are as much to be relied on as those of his royal cotemporaries. But, whatever may be the objects of the Czar, in his late ne- gotiations with the Sultan and his Dry Nurses, we should bear in mind that the present war, which however and whenso- ever it may terminate, will cost oceans of blood, was begun by the Sultan, and that it was not the Emperor Nicholas, but the entente cordiale, that issued the first: declaration of hostilities, which evidently took him by surprise. It should be recollected, too, that the joint military occupation of the Danubian Principalities by the Russians, had been conceded to that power by the tteaty ~f Adrianople, ~iid niore than one subsequent convention. Yet this occupation was made the basis of a declaration of war by the Sultan, and the inva- sion of the Crimea by the Allied powers. It will aid us, too, in forming a more correct view of the preseni position of the Czar, and to decide whetherhe merits the imputations of treach- ery and want of faith so liberally be~towed on him by th~ British and French press; if we call t~ our recollection the notorious fact, that when the ministers of Russia, Austria, Prussia, France, and England had agreed on a ba~is foi~ adji~tsting idl difficulties between the different parties, includiifg- Purkey, the Czar promptly acceded to the terms of their joint-i~iote, while the Sultan, instigated by the British ambassador; Lord Iffedcliffe, answered b5~ a declaration of war against IRussia. Well ndght the Czar complain that there weretwo British Qabliiets0ne at London, the other at O~li~t~t1nople. Who, then, are the aggressors in this warthe Czar, or the Sultan mid his protec- tors? As to that insatiable ambition of which the Emperor Nicho- las is accused, to us it seems nothing mote than~dQpting and prosecuting a system of policy :which, if successfully accom- plished, will greatly contribute to the j~rdsperity of the people he governs; and, in our opinioiii, this is one of the great objects of every wise ruler, and every good government. We despise solidarity from our souls, and are not among those who believe in the community of nations, or in the possibility of combining their conflicting interests in one great common bond of union; nor are we disciples of the great apostle of the higher law, who, while prating about the general welfare I 12 The Czar of Ru& 9ia. [Jan., of the entire human race, and the community of interests which should unite them all in one great family, is pursuing a course which directly tends to dissolve all the fraternal bonds that; link his countrymen together, and sever the Union into fragments. We believe that the first duty of a citizen, or a sove- reign is to his country, and that though neither may violate the obligations of justice towards other nations, both should invariably incline towards their own. The soil of their country is their parent, to whom they owe the love and obedience of children. Community can not exist among nations. Thedis- persion at the Tower of Babel was a penalty for the presump- tion of mankind, and we see no reason to believe they will ever be united again. The policy of the Czar is that of Russia. It is not the result of a craving and senseless ambition for the acquisition of terri- tory, but of a proper regard to the great interests of the sixty millions of people, he governs. It is emphatically a national policy based on unchangeable principles. It commenced with Peter the Great, whom it is no disgrace to imitate, at least in his public acts, and has been handed down as an heir-loom to all his successors. The Emperor Nicholas is acting in accordance with a great national sentiment, of which he is the organ and expositor. Whatever may be his ulterior views, it can not be denied that in all his late treaties with the Ottoman Porte, he has shown himself the friend and protector of the religion and rights of a race of millions of Christians, subjected for a period of live hundred years to the intolerable sway of a relentless, bigQte~L4espotisrn which, not content with depriving them of every vestige of civil an li ous i hts ,de raded them below the level of humanity, and ca e era ristian dogs. Despotic a~s is, the Czar, he can not justly be called a tyrant, nor can he b~ accused of being the oppressor of his subjects. On the contrary, there is not among all his cotemporaries a monarch so fully and entirely possessed of the affections of his people. ftc is the great patri~rch ofhis innumerable tribe. They look to him, ~s ~ parent, and we have, every day, proofs that they ~tand ready to offer up their lives in his service. Their loyalty to his person is identified with their patriotism, and the love of their country inseparably intertwined with their devotion to the Czar. If the people of Russia are slaves, they are voluntary slaves, and adore their mastex. If they are con- tent to be slaves, let them be slaves. ILt is iio business of ours. The Czar does not reign over us, nor is there any reason to believe he will ever, aspire to that distinction. For ourselves, 1855.] The Czar of Russia, 13 we frankly confess our sympathies as between himself and Eng- land and France, are all on the side of Russia. With respect to the Osmanlis, it is becoming every day more evident they are between hawk and buzzard, and that whatever may be the result of their present contest, their empire is doomed. The attempt to sustain it is like that of upholding a falling moun- tain. It must fall in spite of every effort, and it will be well if; in falling, it does not crush all beneath its ponderous ruins. And let it fall. For centuries it has been the oppressor of the East, the insuperable obstacle to the regeneration of Asia, if it is ever to be regenerated. Every dog has his day, and so has every nation. They must all take their turn. They come like shadows, so depart, and if they continue to exist at all, it is only in the legends of tradition or the romance of history. Some last longer than others; but as sure as fate, they all die the death of sinners. The oppressors become in turn the oppressed; and the decree of Providence is thus vin- dicated in visiting the sins of the father on his posterity even unto the third and fourth generation. This awful and impress- ive truth has been exemplified in the history of nations from time immemorial. As the Osmanlis say, It is Kismet des- tiny. In other words, it is the will of God, that the corruptions, crimes, and follies of nations should be punished by their final overthrow. But however this may be, ifjustice is due even to an enemy, we should at least accord it to a friend. The Czar now stands in that position towards the United States, and is associated with them, not only as presenting an insuperable obstacle to the great scheme of the entente cardiale for regulating the balance of power in the new as well as the old world, but as a party with them in maintaining the rights of neutrals, and the freedom of the seas. Let not then the people of the United States become the dupes of a foreign. influence, reYnforced by the Anglo-American press, and join in the hue and cry against Nicholas of Russia. 14 ]?om1~le8 .znd ]?ecreatwn8 rn [Jan., RAMBLES AND RECREATIONS IN SOUTHERN MEXICO. CHAPTER I.GOLDEN DREAMS. A VAGABOND tradition had renched the white settlements, in one of our Southern States, that in a certain remote province of Mexico, treasures abounded that would load a ship. The quantities of gold and silver and jewels of price that were supposed to be entombed there in out-of-the-way receptacles, and to lie vagrant in water-courses and babbling streamlets, were estimated as sufficient to make the fortunes of any num- ber of adventurers who might possess sufficient enterprise to go in search of them. There were found those who had the faculty of hope in suf- ficient development, and that of discretion correspondingly depressed, to undertake a wild expedition in search of the treasures of which so much had thus been heard and vaunted. The sequel to the expedition, moo quen~e undertaken, will be found in these rambling recreations. How the idea got out that so much lucre was scattered about in the wilds of that far-off Aztec territory, and buried under the mountains, people may naturally inquire, without incurring the suspicion of overcharged curiosity. We will enlighten them. An ancient Mexicana biped venerable for years and redo. lent of the fumes of a much-cherished weedhad wandered out to the white settlements, in the Southern State afore- said, and in doing so encountered us, who were afterwards to become his companions in this second Argonautic expedition in search of another golder~ fleece. He was a garrulous old Aztecthat ancient wandererand delighted to hear the twang of his own peculiar larynx. The marvels he related fell like fairy tales on our maiden ima

Rambles and Recreations in Southern Mexico 14-26

14 ]?om1~le8 .znd ]?ecreatwn8 rn [Jan., RAMBLES AND RECREATIONS IN SOUTHERN MEXICO. CHAPTER I.GOLDEN DREAMS. A VAGABOND tradition had renched the white settlements, in one of our Southern States, that in a certain remote province of Mexico, treasures abounded that would load a ship. The quantities of gold and silver and jewels of price that were supposed to be entombed there in out-of-the-way receptacles, and to lie vagrant in water-courses and babbling streamlets, were estimated as sufficient to make the fortunes of any num- ber of adventurers who might possess sufficient enterprise to go in search of them. There were found those who had the faculty of hope in suf- ficient development, and that of discretion correspondingly depressed, to undertake a wild expedition in search of the treasures of which so much had thus been heard and vaunted. The sequel to the expedition, moo quen~e undertaken, will be found in these rambling recreations. How the idea got out that so much lucre was scattered about in the wilds of that far-off Aztec territory, and buried under the mountains, people may naturally inquire, without incurring the suspicion of overcharged curiosity. We will enlighten them. An ancient Mexicana biped venerable for years and redo. lent of the fumes of a much-cherished weedhad wandered out to the white settlements, in the Southern State afore- said, and in doing so encountered us, who were afterwards to become his companions in this second Argonautic expedition in search of another golder~ fleece. He was a garrulous old Aztecthat ancient wandererand delighted to hear the twang of his own peculiar larynx. The marvels he related fell like fairy tales on our maiden ima 1S55.] Southern Afexico~ 15 ginations, and the idea among us grew prevalent as black- berries, that in Mexico, of all other countries, gold and diamonds were to be shoveled up from the beds of streams after the manner of gravel. To his splendid romancing we listened with as willing ears as ever the love-loin queen of Carthage to the seductive wooing of old Anchises son. Our Mexican adventurer, part Indian and part Spaniard, sported the name of Don Mariana. The term Don7 in Mexico is a title of distinction, ori~nally applicable to the nobility only, but now, like our designation gentleman, con- ceded to every individual in whiskers and boots, highwayman or what-not, who can afford clean linen~ Don Mariana, then, was our wanderer called, although this, his prefix of nobility, gave no hint to those initiated into the de- tails of Mexican courtesy, whether his character was that of priest, cavallero, or brigand! Every body in the settlements was delighted with the Don, not more for his dashing style of dress and manner, than his sonorous vocalization of that bastard Castilian, pecu- liar to Mexico. People thereabout, and for twenty miles around, would have made greater sacrifices to have a look at the strange Mexican, than to see the very best circus or animal-show that ever came along. Don Mariana was our ideal of magnificent manhood, and took captive our willing ears by the tales he told of stirring adventures in his home of cataracts and mountains. Marvel- ous were the stories he related of fortunes made on numerous fine mornings by lucky individuals stumbling unaware over heaps of virgin treasure. A legend which the Don delighted to dwell upon was of some nameless Blue Beard, who flourished in southern seas, time long ago, when his grand-sires were boys. His knowledge of this famous buccaneer was derived, he said, from certain manuscripts dug up from among the archives of an ancient church, situate on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Now, the legend was a long one, about this nameless buccaneer having pirated upon many~ seas, robbing numerou~s people, who go down to the sea in ships, of much gold and silver. It was related that all this treasure had been buried on a certain mountaintreasure, that in the aggregate amounted to sixty millions of money, all in gold, silver, and jewels! And this was the feature of Don Marianas tradition that first awakened our interest. 16 ]?ambleB and J~eCreatWfl8 in [Jan., To resurrect this shining deposit of the circulating medium, was the unanimous resolve of half a score of us, and Don Mariana was the man who was to lead us on to the realization of our golden hopes. Should we fall in laying the clutch of covetousness on this glittering wa~j an alternative hope was held out in the man streams rippling over golden sands which abounded in the magic land of our destination, and in the fortunes prospectively to be dug out of mountains fat with inexhaustible placers. With this magnificent prospect of an almost fabulous amount of lucre, there was not one of the half-score compris- ing our adventurous party who would have felt more prospect- ively enriched in deducing his lineage from ancient Crzesus. A few weeks of preparation found us with every appoint- ment essential to our hazardous expedition, on board as tight a little craft as ever breasted the billows, and dashing before a wholesale breeze out of the Bay of Challeur. Our ordnance department comprised double-barreled guns, (genuine Joe Mantons,) several rifles, good to pick out the eye of a Canary-bird at any named distance; sundry six- shooters, (not horse-pistols, but Colts,) hunting-knives, one to a man, tomahawks for making way through tangled brush- wood, spades and pick-axes for ~exoavatory purposes, and every appliance for roughing it in the bush. We were a little army, ten of us, with Don Mariana for our guide, making eleven. Our chief-elect was one Jakeaz, a Ger- man adventurer, who had served in the wars, and was there- fore supposed to be equal to any sort of emergency. The office of surveyor-geneTal and gee s~w.~ceafided to another of this Scandinavian breed, who rejoiced in the cognomen of Nom Skol. Noin Skol had provided himself with certain divining-rods for the discovery of metallic leads; but these, on consultation, we threw overboard, much to the discomfiture of unresisting science. The remainder of our party we may take occasion to introduce as we revel retrospectively ovor the magnificent scenes that yet lay before us. With the advantages of a fresh breeze and a smooth sea, good speed was made, and on the sixth day, the blue peaks of the Cordilleras loomed up to the view on the western sky. To neophytes like us, who, saving our pilot, Don Mariana, had never before looked upon an elevation higher than the steeple of our village church, the aspect of these mountains was startling to a degree. Jakeaz and Nom Skol, alone of our 1855.] Southern ifexico. 11 party, were unmoved by the prospect. Peak upon peak cut sharply on the sky, and as we sped down the coast, they seemed to march rearward like a grand procession of giants. Anon, as we neared the coast, a solitary snow peak elevated its fleecy head far into the blue concave, like a flag of welcome to our adventurous barque. This was the cone of Orizaba, and though overtopping Mount Blanc full many a rood, Nom Skol and Jakeaz were unanimous in the opinion that, compared to the mountains in Germany, it was a mere mole-hill. Further south the blue summit of San Martin limited the view. To our inexperienced vision, the haven of our golden prospects was now all but reached. For the base of the moun- tains seemed to extend almost to the waters edge, and we had no thought but to go boldly on shore and to ascend the lofty heights that here seemed accessible by an hours march. But we had taken no thought of the enchantment that distance lends to the mountains ruggedness, nor had we calculated the deep ravines, the tangled brush-wood, nor the foaming torrents, all hidden then to our distant vision, and which it would be our fate to encounter in ascending those rueful steeps. Don Mariana, however, knew better than we, and checked our ardor not little by informing us that we had yet a land-journey of several days in prospect, before reaching the base of the mountains, and even then, the best part of a week would have to be consumed in their ascent. How we anathematized the Don for this unwelcome intelligence was a marvel to hear. The swearing of the armies in Flanders was as prayer and hosannas to the imprecations then and there heaped upon the swarthy Mexican. Nothing discouraged, nevertheless, we made up our minds to the utmost, and reclining on the deck of our flying craft, delivered ourselves over to the enjoyment of the enchanting scene and to the infatuation of golden dreams. In an hour we were anchored in the River of Flags. There- upon arose Jakeaz, our chieg and announced that we had reached the land of promiseeven the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, on the southern boundary of that Mexico, of which famed Tenochtitlan was erst the glory and the pride. Lifting up our hands, we rejoiced! CHAPTER H.JOURNALIZINcf. DISEMBARRING here, the writer of the present scrud in the capacity of self-constituted historian of this, our expedition, undertakes journalizing. By way of giving us a foretaste of 18 Pam~le& and J]eoreatwns in [Jan., Mexican hospitality, our little craft is seized by certain officials of the Revenue, for venturing into a harbor that is not a port of entry! Pleasant to be sure, to see our gay little vessel stripped of her apparel and furniture, and tied up to the shore, ignominiously, like a culprit as it were! We have violated an edict of omnipotent Mexico, by entering a port legally closed, and be the consequences on our own heads! Like Cortes, who burned ~is ships on landing on the same inhospitable shore, we have no alternative now hut to march to conquest or de- struction. Lucky for us that the minions of the Custom- House robbed us not also of our edged-tools and shooting- ironsof our peas and pork! But that were a feat of some valor to have compasse4; for gunshot wounds might have fol- lowed, and Mexicans take small delight in the sniff of vil- lainous salpetre. Dismissing vain regrets for the deprivation of our vessel, and leaving the chances of returning home to the good luck that may turn up, we betake ourselves to preparation for inland explorations. Jakeaz proposes a compromise for the recovery of our vessel, but Nom Skol very pertinently suggests, Where are the necessary funds to come from ? The conse- quence of this doubt, so expressed, is that Nom Skol rises very perceptibly in the estimation of all, save Jakeaz, who, on the contrary, loses caste in like proportion. March! is the word. Bundling up our properties, we de- part from the vicinity of the long-familiar sea, and forget, amid the rustling of forest leaves, the hum of the breakers hymning their eternal anthem! March! and on the summit of ai~raggy steep we pitch our tents before nightfall closes. Around us are greater and lesser eminences jutting out from the Cordillera range of mountains. These hills are covered, with a thick evergreen growth of oak, acacia, cedar, mahogany, and numerous nameless timbers, interspersed with patches of heath, prairie, and jungle. The valleys repose in an ever-during shadow of forest and vine. Springs burst out from every eminence, and find their way over flashing pebbles with babbling voice to the larger currents below. Jakeaz is of opinion that this is the famed Arcadia, of which poets of old sang so mellifluously; while Nom Skol, with marvelous simplicity, suggests that it may more properly be styled the paradise of vermin ! Sapient Nom Skol, to what other conclusion could you arrive, with the lights before you! For live we as long as one of the patriarchs, we shall not fail to remember how, with many a hearty curse, we en- 1855.] Southern 3fexwo. 19 counter the onslaughts of myriad insects, buzzing, swarming, stinging through the long, vexed hours of the day! Every touch of their envenomed stings brings blood. They light on the hands, and fly into the eyes, and hum about the ears. From early dawn till sunset there is no rest from their attacks. Wherever they bite, bloody blotches are formed, large as the heads of pins, and remain, as the natives inform us, unsightly and itching wounds from week to week. Sometimes their stings produce festering sores, giving to the skin the same appearance as that producec~j~y~ialhpox. (Jakeaz, by the bye, now repents that he ever compared such a country to Arcadia, and looks with somewhat more of favor on Nom Skol, whom he begins now to regard as an oracle.) No rest from early sun-light until Old Night spreads his black curtain on all around. And what then? The battalions that all day long have kept up against us their incessant attacksregardless of the barricades of boots or breeches~ retire for the night, only to be succeeded by millions of mos- quitos, that ply their busy bills and annoy by their eternal hum until the dawn. Such is the incessant buzzing, biting, and stinging of these winged abominations, that it is impossible to rest or to perform at ease any manual labor, without wear- ing gloves. Having none of this essential article, and being unable to buy them at any pricein order to write our daily journalingenuity is put to the rack, and we wrap our left hands in the remnant of a handkerchief; whilst, with a native segar, we puff away at the winged devils and driVe them off our right! Smoking, in consequence, is a necessity, and delightfully fragant is the native weed that ministers to the habit. The indulgence is supported at a triffing expense, inas- much as the culture of the weed is forbidden, and it can not be sold in op en market, where competition would enhance its price. On many of the mimic mountains around us are perched, in shadowy seclusion, solitary ranchos, each inhabited by a half-score or so of aborigines and Salvagi-men; lazy, loung- ing Aztecs, with bare, brown limbs; females that have never felt the glow of a brush or the titillation of a comb, and frog- like muchacos, running, leaping, and dashing about among the arches of the overgrowth, down into the valleys, and over the hills. The bodies of the juvenile portion of the inhabitants are strangers to raiment. Jakeaz argues that, as they are born without a shirt, nudity is their most natural state; and in this 20 Rambles and Recreations in [Jan.~ he is borne out by Nom Skol, who contends that their naked- ness favors the operation of scratching, an exercise much cul- tivated in this paradise of flies, gnats, ticks, and Egyptian plagues. Truly primitive in their manner of dress are the f~air signor- itas, who daily visit our camp. Their long, braided hair is in sooth their chief ornament, and without it they would cut a nude figure verily! This they wear brai4ed and tucked up by a comb of tortoise-shell, often rimmed with gold; and the hollow space thus formed on the top of the head, serves with the sex as a receptacle for segarsfor this luxury all indulge in, women and maidens, old men and boys. The young girls, in common with the matrons, have their bosoms bare to the mid- dle, and from the waist downward they sport a tunic of white or colored cotton, of little greater amplitude than the primitive fig-leaf we read of in the story of mother Eve. But as they know not of their nakedness, (such is the force of example,) neither are they ashamed. A few strings of beads usually c~oinplete their costume, and with feet guiltless of slippers, and never a stocking, the native belle bears herself with the same hauteur, in her sphere, as the most bedizzened she, decked in all the pomp of jewels and gold. Not less notable are the costumes of the men. They, the more favored classes, wear trowsers of a flowing fashion, with buttons to the knees. These are of linen, or more frequently of the tanned cuticle of some brutish beast slain in the chase, and thus worn (the skin, not the beast) as a trophy by the lucky vanquisher. The aristocratic classes not unfrequently indulge in the vanity of a abut, aud~thi~ garment, usually of the finest linen, is kept studiously clean, and reserved for fiestas, (feast days,) and for occasions of state. A hat, or sombrero, about three feet broad, completes their making up. The can- aille, howeverthose comprising the great unwashed majority, consider themselves in full dress when adorned with a red rag, four inches in breadth, around their middles, a feather stuck in the top of their heads, and a pair~of spurs on their heels. These peculiarities are not common, however, in all parts of the country, for in many localities more gentle customs prevail. Further in the interior we learn that the inhabitants are civil- ized and eminently hospitable. Nom Skol is of opinion that this their better social condition is due to the fact that they have been, as yet, uncontaminated by contact with Saxons and French. Every aboriginal here, whether man or boy, wears a mac1tet~, 1855.] & utherr~, 2JJex~~co. 21 a long and very broad sword, with a handle of horn or wood; and it is surprising with what dexterity they cleave, or cut, with this formidable instrument. The mac1iei~e is the never- failing companion of all ages of masculinity; and, in many instances which we witnessed, it seemed the principal object, and its bearer the attachment. It is used as an instrument for butchering beef; an axe for cutting wood, a knife for eating, and as a weapon of defense against the many ferocious wild beasts that inhabit here. The Indian women are of middle stature and pleasant features, not angelic, but of that fervid and inviting cast that incline male mortals of flesh and blood to forswear celibacy. Those of Spanish origin have dark and swimmingly lustrous eyes, and a certain fascination of manner that would Shake the saintship of an anchorite. They are all much inclined to intrigue, and the higher classes particularly, who have been fed to a comfortable embonpoint on their favorite fr~/oles, are tout-a-fcnt Dudit and not afraid of pippins! The Indian women, in sewing, use a double thread. The needle is threaded by passing the thread over the big toe, a process highly favored by their contempt of shoes and stock- ings, and with this kind of leverage the process is comfortably accomplished. The natives of this region have few traditions, and, with the most industrious inquiry, we are unable to learn from what people they are descended. Our chief Jakeaz, informs us that the River of Flags, in which we anchored, is named on the map the iluazacualcos, from an Indian deity, who makes his lair in its pellucid bed. He is the god that presides over showers, is this iluazacualcos, and we have to anathematize him to-night for a too copious flow of his moist favorsfor the rain pours in sluices, and the rivulets from the mountains come roaring down. CHAPTER IThPRAIRIE AND FOREST. Strike we our tents on the coming morrow, and prepare to penetrate into the bowels of the land! But no toiling now on weary feet over rugged pathways. No scrambling through thickets of tangled underwood, nor pricking of the flesh with 22 ]?am6le8 and Recreation8 in [Jan., thorns that beset us; for lo! from the top of yon high emi- nence stretches away a verdant sea of waving prairie, gemmed with countless wild flowers. It is as if an ocean covered with gorgeous sea-plants, rich with floral treasures, had become suddenly solidified, to stand a thing of beauty, perishable never! On the one hand, the view is limited by the blue summit of the Sierra San Martin; while orv the other, the waters of the far-off Mexican Gulf loom darkly. ILo! San Martin, standing up there in the blue distance, giant- like,with his drapery of clouds, is our point of destination whith- er Don Mariana is to conduct us in our sordid search for peif I Grandly beautiful is the scene; and were we a dweller here, with the friends we love best, our freehold in such a pros- pect should not be exchanged for all the bulk of that blue mountain, could we transform his bowels into glittering coin! But vamznos is the word, and we must away! Don Mariana, our tricksy sprite, has provided us with horses, the which, by an exorbitant levy on each of our individual finances, he has managed to settle for in advance. We mount a la Camanclie, and with flowing rein go scouring over the plain, waking the sleepy echoes with a halloo like the yell of an engine! (Query, Ingin?) Our horsemanship astounds the Mexican guide, and at every bound of our flying steeds he delightedly exclaims, Mucho eavallos ! Mucho cavalleros ! which, rendered into English, signifieth, great horses, great horsemen. As we dash along, flocks of pheasants, startled by our rust- ling progress throucrh the rank grass, spring up right and left, and whirr away on whistling wing~ But Vain is the speed of swiftest pinions from the pursuit of death-dealing saltpetre! For the 4ick of our double-barrel rings out on the startled air, and straightway a crash ~nd a reverberatipn tell too plainly that sundry mortals among the feathered people have put on immortality! A cloud of feathers tells where lies the quarry, and gathering up the victims of our destructive mood, again we dash off with flowing rein. Anon a lion-cat, snuffing the blood of our game, comes bounding through the tall grass yelling on our track! Oh! Gemini, how he leaps! Gemini, what springs! Another bound, and he is upon us! But one charge of duck-shot right in his phizanother as he wheels, against his dorsal extremity, and he is off and away, yelling among the wild-flowers. Out of the prairie and into the forest. Here, wending through a pathway trodden out by roving wild beasts, we 1865.] Southern ]iliexwo. 23 plunge among hills, covered with timber, that a bird can scarce fly through. Here are crystal fountains, bursting from amid rocks, and running in silver threads hither and yonder. These lovely rivulets, coursing over shining sands, and filled with strange fish with ornate scales, gliding as in mid air. Up among the branches birds are trilling joyfully. There is the Royal Pheasant, (Fisan rial,) brilliant in plumage, large as a turkey-cock, and fatter than Falstaff with all his sack and sugar. Prominent too, and of most audible voice, thongh with note not mellifluous, is the Toocan, a bird with a golden crest and a huge bill like a tailors shears; and for- neust him, on a swinging limb,~ ~vibkihg at us, a bird c~f our own christeningthe Wun-cauta strange warbler with scarce any bill at all. Flocks of a game bird, called from its peculiar note the Chick-a-lacca, hover on the branches and fall, many of them, bleeding sacrifices before our death-dealing double-barrels. Good spoil for the spit is the Chick.a-lacca, and revelling with ravenous appetite on his luscious juices, we could wish that he were a very condor in proportions, as in delicacy of taste he surpasses all of the feathered tribe. The Ouacamayo, in flocks, wheels and screams around us. He is a fine fat bird, wi~i gorgeons plumage, a Roman nose, and a tail of singular longitude. The iRumty.feuzel abounds here; a bird hitherto supposed to be fabulous, that sticks his bill in the ground and whistles through his spurs. It may be necessary to state that our knowledge of this rare biped is derived from hearsay. Along the banks of streams and wading in lagoons, appear flocks of blue, black, and iris-plumed craneslong-legged, long- bellied, and leaner than the lean kine of Pharaohof Pharaoh the slaughterer of two-year-old boys. Ducks abonnd, and pigeons in clondsparoquets, brant, swans, quail, wood-cock, snipe, swarms of water-fowl, vultures that delight in garbage, and buzzards, more than would patch black Erebus a mile. Strange animals are encountered in droves. There are horses in droves, flying over plains with the fleetness of the wind; j ackasses and j ackassees, cattle in herds, roaming unmas- tered over perennial meadows, and bulls huge as the famed Bulliphant 1 Among the animals fera3 natarce are the armadillo, which Nom Skol designates as a highland fish that never goes into the water, armed with a coat of mail like unto that of the crocodile, and admirable picking for the mess-chest. Leopards 21 Rarnitles and Recrealtons rn [Jan., there are too, starry as the brow of night, that shriek under windows and frighten juveniles; wolves, and not a sheep for their shambles, howling in the junglesall night howling! Otters, fine for fur, are found in streams, swimming iu shoals; raccoons with a sombre look, and ichneumons with smellers immense in longitude, devoted, body and bones, to an appetite for ants. Found skipping in many places is the kangaroo, described by the menagerie-man as a beast of surpassing agility, that jumps eighteen feet up a tree and twice that distance down. And again, there is the monkey, given to strange antics, and with a tail like a wagon-whip; and the ribbed-nosed baboon, that, according to the showman, climbs the cocoa-nut trees, and in indulging in certain antics very reasonably accounts for the milk in the cocoa-nut I, Out of the prairie and deeper into the forest. Strange trees abound of countless varieties. The mahogany grows to an immense size; and rose-wood, cedar, palm, and the umbrage- ous oak branch out in immense and shady circumference. Fine and otherwise costly woods are here a drug, and even the poor ranchero constructs his squalid cabin of richest mahogany. A great waste of the raw material, by the bye, suggests our chief Jackeaz, seconded by his echo, Iierr Nom Skol. Far into the hills, a good days journey, behold a ruin! Entering, we explore it with much of the curiosity of Dr. Dryasdust of old. It is a subterraneous tenement, cavernous and dark. The entrance is choked up by brush and brambles, and fragments of broken masonry of antique design. The door-way is spanned by a broken arch, and fadlen into the ves- tibule is a stone slab, having on it a figure with a skeleton head, and a bony hand holding a bow, with an arrow transfix- ing a human heart! Within, and at the further extremity of the main hall, is an altar of stone surmounted by figures hold- ing in their hands winged serpents, with human heads and tails of dragons. Over the centre of the hall is the figure of a satyr grinning horribly, and in the act of driving a stake through the body of an infant, whilst the mother, with piteous visage, implores mercy vainly; and outre figures with torches attend, ready for the sacrificeall in stone. An eye above, done in paint and surrounded by a cloud, glares terribly on the orgiesrepresenting some blood-loving, unpropitious deity. Below, and at the base of an altar, is a skull and cross-bones, a pair of scales, an axe, links of a chain, a compass and a square, and a threadwhich three female figures, hideous to 1856.] Southern 3fex o. 25 behold , guard and threaten to sever with drawn blades. All this in rudest paint, with a belt of clouds surrounding and throwing a mist over the whole. Further along and deeper into the gloom! Loud ring the startled echoes! An owl that has made his nest high up in the arches, hoots mournfully and flaps his lazy wings, that give forth a sound like the rush of disprisoned winds! Further along and deeper into the gloom, and lo! a hall, ascended to by steps of stone, darker and gloomier and more solemn than the first! On the floor are skeletons grim of unnumbered human sacrifices. On the dank pavement human bones, with huge blocks of stone laid upon them, as if upon human bodies weights had been laid, and thus they had died. Further along, bones of the human frame sticking in the stone, where they had been built into the granite walls, like Arid hi heart of oak, and there bad lingered, pined, agonized, and died! Further along, the figure of a sphere, representing the earth, and painted on one side to represent land and on the other water, with figures drawn on it of outre shapes. Near the whole, and bending solemnly, is the statue of an old man with bare crown and flowing beardweeping, weeping, sorely weep- ing! Weeping for the world seems the old rock-made father! And so wonders accumulate, and night deepening around us, we return to the upper air to bivouac by the light of blaz- ing fires. We sleep with Methusaleh, for our canopy is the heavens! 26 Pra~jmata. [Jan., PRAGMATAContinued. BYLC. G. RO5ENnEn4~. CANTO THIRD. WE must love something. If we can not love The wholesQme and the holy, none the less Must the soul slake its thirst. If water fail it, The passion of the moment lifts a cup Steaming with fever. The hot draught seems fresh, And the soul drinks. Without it, it must die. The want of love was big within the boy His heart was sick with it.yet could not touch The waters where the soul might drink and quicken. The love whose taste is healththe faith whose strength Stands in the stead of the teacher, suffering The deep belief in truth, and purity, And tenderness, and in that mystic life Whose double pulses keep a single time, Imperfect emblem of an unity More holy and completethe purest type Of that pervading love which blends the flower And star, the sun and cloud, the earth and wave, And space and time, and all that they contain Of good and evil into one glad whole Were hidden from him by the worldlier will Which darkened them like swampy mists sent up By the fat earth athwart a summer sky. The tapers sparkled in the sconces. Light Flashed from the diamonds upon beautys brow, And played on glancing neck and ivory shoulder, Sailing like swans amid the circling music

C. G. Rosenburg Rosenburg, C. G. Pragmata - Continued 26-42

26 Pra~jmata. [Jan., PRAGMATAContinued. BYLC. G. RO5ENnEn4~. CANTO THIRD. WE must love something. If we can not love The wholesQme and the holy, none the less Must the soul slake its thirst. If water fail it, The passion of the moment lifts a cup Steaming with fever. The hot draught seems fresh, And the soul drinks. Without it, it must die. The want of love was big within the boy His heart was sick with it.yet could not touch The waters where the soul might drink and quicken. The love whose taste is healththe faith whose strength Stands in the stead of the teacher, suffering The deep belief in truth, and purity, And tenderness, and in that mystic life Whose double pulses keep a single time, Imperfect emblem of an unity More holy and completethe purest type Of that pervading love which blends the flower And star, the sun and cloud, the earth and wave, And space and time, and all that they contain Of good and evil into one glad whole Were hidden from him by the worldlier will Which darkened them like swampy mists sent up By the fat earth athwart a summer sky. The tapers sparkled in the sconces. Light Flashed from the diamonds upon beautys brow, And played on glancing neck and ivory shoulder, Sailing like swans amid the circling music 27 18~$5.] Pragmcttct. Which tuned it to their passage. Here the girl Bent blushing, as her fingers pressed the arm Of some young flatterer whom the idle hour Warmed into all but love; and here the dame, Whose preservation laughed at two-score years, Tried her dark eyes on twentys idle heart; And here the mother trotted out the daughter Before an elder sona skillful jockey, Bringing her paces out; while here a tongue Which might have charmed a worldhad he wbo owned it Known how to use itdealt-in ~trope, and jest, And trite philosophy, and witty scandal4 Hired by applause and flattery for the night. Dazzling was all, but hollow. Paint and varnish Upon a rottennessa whitened tomb, In which corruption, draped and garlanded Into the look of health, held hectic revel. Among the others was the boy; his eye Dilating as it wandered round the room, In feverish search of pleasure; his hot lip Jerking bright nothings out from time to time The glittering bubbles which a lazy brain Throws off instead of thoughts. His tongue brake off None asked him why. Such things are tricks of trade, Accepted, although seen througb. He was 1Q~t In sudden dream. His wandering will was wrapt In that abstraction, whose internal power Compels the impalpable gloryrobe divine! So rarely worn in substance, though in seemingy - So stale a cheat? Not he. He may have dallied With trifles, tampered with the strength he should Have put to healthy use, and turned, unread, The page on which the mystery is written That endless volume of the Truth, that asks The practised muscle of a tireless toil To solve its secretsLife. But not, as yet Have his contracting instincts settled down, Into the wisdom of the charlatan Not yet, all learnt his part in the great fi~rce Deluded only, not corrupted yet. He has beheld the thing his soul had needed, And as he saw it, every separate sense 28 Pragmata. [Jan., Had sickened into faintness. She sate apart, And looked upon the dancers. Near her, bent A beardless trifler, buzzing gentle words Into her ear; and sometimes she replied, And sometimes not, but with a listless gesture Made mute assent. Upon her marble cheek Youth flushed not, nor was painted. The clear hazel Of her large eye, was as a silent lake In the heart of a mountain the winds visit not. One longing look the boy plunged into it, Searching its depthsas of a memory Suddenly waking, or a dim desire Struggling into conception, which would probe Their slumbering secrets. It chanced her look met his, And as it did so, his sight staggered back, Blinded and drunken. With parting word to none, He turned him from her, and went slowly home. They met. How, where, or when, needs not to tell. They mixed in the same world, and so they met. They met again, and weeks passed by and found The dreamer at her house a guest; and weeks Were added to these, and found him daily there. The standers-by looked at his love, and Jaughed. Some thought she fooled him. Others thought the husband The fool; and both were wrong. He only used him. Traders in life have uses for all men; And pen-craft, most of all, has ready uses To which the worldly-wise may put its master. Shewell, perhaps she loved him. Why repeat The tale, that is so old, and yet so new, Of an unhallowed passion; the stale story, Which has as many owners as the wind Points of the compass; the madness that so many Have share in, although each one thinks the pang His own more special curse? So, if they can, Let them believe and suffer. The losing gamester May die or cure, but he who stakes false counters Upon the cbances of the game, when hearts Are thrown for, rises, even if he wins, Corrupting and corrupted to the core. He spake to her, and she had loved before Whom she should not have loved, and so she told him. Pragmatct. But still he spake, until her passion clung To one whose passion listened, yet could feel The wrong her husband loathed and yet endured, No sin against itself. The boy drank deep In that fierce joy, which, while it quenches thirst, Leaves the iinpurer habit of desire In him whose parching throat it cools; and still, He thirsted. Like a newly-kindled flame, Love in her soul broader and larger, ever, By that it fed on, grew.Alone with him She worships, let her hear no other tongue, And gaze upon and feel no eye but his. Oh! for some lonely home among the hills, Or in the desert, where the winds might be The only chorus to her trembling sighs. He listened to the burning words she sobbed Amongst her kisses. He already knew, Or, if he had not known, he learnt it now, The void his aimless toil had left within him; For now his heart was full. So, at her word, He flung from him all youth had doneabjured The hopes which he had nursedpriced thought and word At market value only, and reared up With his own hand, the hills, and made the desert, Which shut them out from others, of free will. The four far dwellers in the mountain-slopes, Where he had stolen the wild-nuts from the squirrels, And dreamt among the sheep-walks, heard the tale As the world told it. They knew nothing more Than that the boy had sinned. The father groaned, And with a quicker footstep trod the road Man never travels twice. The mother wept, Like Rachel for her children, for a time. The curate smiled less frequently, and knelt More often in the boys behalf and sought A palliation even for the sin, In those occasional frailties, which at times Darkened across his own meek faith. The sister Dried her first tears, and was a human sunbeam, Lighting their woe with those warm smiles which cheat Frost to belief in summer; yet thinking still, In the unselfish silence of her sadness, It would not have been thus, had she been there. 1855.1 29 30 Pragmata. [Jam, Who knows? or who can say? Perchance her love Might have been staff of strength and rest, or not. Heavens ways of mercy are not ours. The strong In bone and nerve, go through a harder training Than feebler wills. The eternal destiny Not that blind fate whose long-linked cause and effect Bewilder sophists, but the perfect sight Whose strength completes and fashions allmoulds these Like wax, andforges those as hammered steel, Each for his task. Nor are the heavy dint And blow which give the last enduring temper; Less meant in kindliness, than the soft warmth Which kneads the former into shape and beauty Each, a necessity, and each, a love. The twainthe guilty woman, and the boy Who shared her guiltuntired of their own world Of dream and fever, slumbered on. His joy Seemed a fruition. Life had now no more To learn or do. He sold his thoughts for bread Old thoughts, which traders strip and then new plume For market ancient lies in modern dresses.-. Stale pilferings from the refuse thrown aside By the more earnest searcher after truth. He felt how poor such toil was, yet denied Its whole of degradation. He would not know That habit breeds the will. So, he loved on, Letting what might have blossomed, run to waste Thinking the truth he threw into his crime Might make it pure, and dreaming not the one Must slay the other. Corruption or remorse, Twinned children of the strange and ill-starred union That weds their parents, .~re alike its fruit And deathits offspring and its poison. First, The woman woke, for she had sinned before, And woken up before, and so she fled To him she had abandoned. He forgave Or said that he forgave. Wild weeks went by A whirlwind of miserystorms of tears and curses-- Impotent agonieshalf-purposed death But these endure not, and the boy awoke. The freshness of his life was withered out. He had lain down to slumber as a boy, And woke a manharder, and more corrupt 4 Thctgmata. 31 To wrestle with the woe he would have fled from, Could he have done so. He remembered now, Whom struggle, and success, and guilt forgot. His selfish sorrow sought the hearth his youth Had quitted, and believed partaken grief Might freshen yet. He had not been three days Amongst their loves and tears, than he read chidings In every wrinkle of his fathers age, And accusation on his mothers pale And wasted cheek. Nay, in the curates words Of comfort, fancied a reproof more subtle Yet not less keen. Even, in his sisters smile, Which looked up to his face, like some pale flower Asking a rainy sky to weep no more The heavy tears that droop and dew its beauty, He felt reproaches, and again he fled Into the world. Alone, the curate said, That he did well. That which had bruised, should heal him. The sister threw her in her mothers arms, And, for the first time, all her grief found voice Amid her mothers sobs. Her gentleness No more could play the comforter. The sire Said not one word, but laid him down and died. CANTO FOURTN. Whom the world smites, had best not turn to smite, Unless he havo gQod muscle, will of iron, And the enduring purpose which outlives Battle and blow. To the upbraiding world The man returned reproaches. Had he not Replied in that fierce scorn which could not cringe, Although the wages of a supple back Had been an empirea less jealous judgment Might have forgiven or have taken home The more corrupted man, to finish him In its own fashion. It was well for him, He was stiff in neck and loin and could not bend. Some friends remained to him, and ~e of these, A more than precious frienda man who bore The stamp and mint of natures royalty A heart all golda lip that was the same 32 Pragmcd a. [Jan., Yesterday, as it is to-day, and will be When tested on the morrowa shrewd brain Tempered by kindliness and labor. Had he Been more expansive in the form and manner Which crust the inner life, with outer shapes That are in part a lie, perchance his knowledge Might have compressed the teaching of long years Into a closer space. Unhappily, For the one at least, they learnt to know each other, Slowly. Those sympathies that knit the men Who travel the same road, had not grown up In boyhood and companionship. The one Looked kindly on the errors of the other, And did him noble and self-denying service All honest service is so. But, he needed That cheaper sympathy, whose words like straws Float on the hour. Not yet, his grief has learned The single self-sufficiency of strength. Among his friends was onesuch rare exception To the uprightness of the intellect, As the world pets and slandersa brilliancy, Whose wayward act made mockery of all Which intellect should honor. Truth and faith And toil, the three compelling keys which open The treasure-chests of life, were but as lies To his abnormal and eccentric will. He lived upon the world, not by it, taking That which he needed, where or when he chose it, With or without returnor love or glory Raiment or food. The moral of his life Was the ill-comprehended text of the wise king The lily toils not, neither does she spin; Yet is her clothing beautiful and gorgeous. And, skower and sunbeam feed her. His fickle heart Capricious as a womans sense, which earth Has tainted from its bias to the pure Into an empty lustseized on a life Open to any teaching, from a lip That said it loved it. Weak of will, it heard, And liking the teacher went and did like him. But that which was brilliant in the one, became A darkness in the other. Faithlessness 18~5.] Pra~rna1ct. 33 And Falsehood which were truths in this ones nature Consistencies that slay or heal, as mercy Or judgment choose, in the other were but lies; And lies, are lies because they do not last. Want of successfruitless endeavor smote him. Before, there had been a sustaining power To hold him upthat inward trust in self, Which in his aimless toil or guilty passion Had not abandoned him: and, but for this, Long since had life upon the wayside cast him, To wither and to perish. But that trust Was banded with the avenging sorrows now A curse and scourge. Its self-compelling judgment Gave edge and venom to the bitter thoughts Which multiplied in him, like the sworded shapes That sprung from the sown dragons teeth. Soured heart Begat it biting words, and worldly friendships Shatter as readily as glass. The friend, An epicurean in his tastes, discovered That he had chosen ill; and from that hour Their paths on earth diverged, no more to meet Unless in wrong and scorn. A chance sent out The man whom he had loved in sport, and quitted In a caprice, to wander. The same chance, If such are chances, left him penniless An alien and a stranger, in a land Which did not know the tongue that was his bread. How he existed, he scarce knew. He had none To speak withnone to listen to himnone Except a single family, who were Aliens like him, and spake in the same tongue. The eldest daughterthere were twoan angel In purity and pity, lulled his anguish, With the calm comfort of her holy eyes, To rest and brief oblivion. Not more fresh The sudden coolness of a summer eve Beside the Middle Sea, when sets the sun, To fevers burning brow, than that short pause Of peace and calm. It came too soon. Not yet, The slackening sorrows tarry by the w~y For more than breathing. On his past, he traced Her image, picturing a new delight, As stormy and as sudden as the sin 3 Pragmdcs. Whose curse had darkened it. Upon the brink Of that engulfing habit, which destroys Body and soul, he tottered. Luckily Perchance for both, for innocence is frail And pity ripens fast to morethe shadow Of her who was his ruin, saved him here. He felt that he might love, .and a remorse, As for a treachery, smote upon and drove him Forth like a stricken hound into the waste. On the Carpathian Hills, and in the steppes Of Hungary he wanderedmighty rocks, Bare as a frozen waveeorn-growing plains, Oer which, unless twixt seed and sickle-time The peasant and the peddler drive the cart Oceans of mud in winter, where stray stems Stripped of their leaves are landmarksafter harvest, Deserts of sand and stubble, canopied By one unbroken gray or burning blue In wearisome alternationheard around him, The wail of the serf whose sweat supplied the revel Of his far-distant master, or the shout Of the same drunken helot in the hour His revel stole from laborsaw th~ youth Of woman, a mere plaything for the lust Of those who owned her, and her middle age That of the beast of burden. Misery Might have convinced him of his fathers words; But, here he saw the hard and horny hanct Which drove the plough, a sign of degradation And not of honor, by the changeless years Bequeathed in sweat and shame, from sire to son. His sister wrote to him. Come back to us. Why didst thou leave us? Dearest brother, come. We are alone on earth, I and thy mother. He had no tears, nor fellowship for grief That was not his. To him, his sisters words Were as dead cries that come up from the grave, Unanswered, save by terror. Suffering And self had rusted in the chord, the note Which should have spoken, and an agony Shrieked to the touch which should have woken love. Within himself he liveda single woe 34 [Jan., 1855.] Pragmata. 35 Which was as many thoughtsone, yet a world, Where self, alone, itself was text and teacher. So, staff in handa pilgrim on the earth Knowing not why, yet, watching how he went, He wanderedcounting every idle pulse, Keeping a curious day-book of desire And speculation, from which use may draw A future wisdom. Now, among the shrines In which the Christian art has stored its treasures, He strayednow, brooded oer the breathing stone, In whose all-earthly love a cruder fable Gropes %br belief, or, on the darker shapes Of a Titanic chisels childlike creed, Whose toll was gray long time ereHomer sung. The same the sky, the same, the sun and earth Which were when these were wrought. Their beauty laughs At change of time and season. They are truths, Parts in the march of faith, and can not die. Toil has a secret only search can master. The only jewel labor digs from life, Is not the bead it hangs upon the brow. He felt it now, and sweeping fast and thick Along his memory, came the morning dreams And hopes of boyhood, like the broken rays From some half-clouded and uncertain light, And, then he grew aware of a strange longing Which yet was a contenta sudden sense, Whose very consciousness of life was joy, Although it had not learnt to see or hear. Now, he remembered him of goodly thoughts, The bloom on the green stems of buried wisdoms That root eternal beauty into death Plucked by the hand of youth, and thrown aside In waste, as if they were not goodly things. Oftener than all, the text and parable Of that great Book, in whichas in the seas Whose bosoms lap the riches of the storms In their own pearl and coralworldly knowledge And a dlviner wisdoms wealth are strewn In mingled heapscame backthat simple Book In whose large depths strong brains, like lusty divers, May search, and brace their strength, while on the shore, 36 Pragmatct. [Jam, The child may count the treasures which they lift Thrcmc,h the long crystal ripples, to his eye. And new-baptized to such bright memories By the same needs which sought themloneliness And sorrowdid he feel, for the first time, That every separate splendor had its place, Like threaded jewels, on some hidden string Which blent their multiple loveliness in one. With this conviction, came a calm regret Not all unkin to joy. He had but read, As idle boys lie in the sun, and bask; Or toiled like children at the walls of sand Which the next wind will strew. He did not grieve For his sand-palaces and broken day-dreams. The will and toil were in themselves no shame. And tears, for wasted hours, will never use Those that remain. He had been right, who said That which had bruised should heal him. He himself Had been the wound. Himself must be the cure. Strength cometh from withinnot from without; Save in the way of fit and wholesome food, Chosen by that self-knowledge which is ever In him who dares to look on it. The soul Is never pure. It can but purify, And that, alone, by small and slow degrees Towards perfectioncleansing yet not clean, For perfect cleanliness of soul isGod. c& zTo PIrTII. When comes the morning of that mighty day The eye will faint in searchingthe great dawn, Kissed by whose lips of light, the shapeless question Of the long night, grows into shape and line? Too often, with the hour whose silent hand Looses the latch that opens on the tomb The End-all or the Learn-alleither way Perception or Absorptiontravail-pang To a comprehension so complete and full, It loses separate sense of separate fact, Containing all, or the scarce-conscious plunge 1856.] Pragmata. 37 Into an ignorant identity, Which in itself is all. Imperfect hope Let not thy promise linger by the way; Marvellous sunbreak! let thy wisdom quicken, Before it be too late, the eager eyes That lift them to the scattered lights which sow The night with splendors, like a coming day Whose herald flashes glitter in its van On the far spear-points of some distant host. Haply, even yet his soul may tire with gazing, Or lay it down to sleep, full-fed and drunken, With one fond look on that embattled beauty. Up, at thy post! Who would see more, must gaze Beholder, asker, tireless searcher, ever. The ladder he would mount who scales the skies Is endless, though each step may be an end. Under the ancient memories, which fell Upon his spirit in a golden rain, Glancing ~nd glittering like the falling stars Of a September midnight, rose a hope Out of commencing knowledge; the desire For one of those undying names which glow In beacon-glory through all life and time, Eternal landmarksno frail fame, the child Of the moment and the chanceno fading thing, The sunbeam looks on but to shrivel up; But such as forges into change itself Links, Titan hands would tear in vain asunder. Strong in the will, his yearning thoughts brake out Into spontaneous song, and he believed In that he did, and wrote it. But the doubt Begotten on his past, was as a seal Upon the page, conviction dared not break. And so he labored on, and sung and wrote, Hoping and willing, yet undoing ever What hope and will had done. His mother died His sister weddedother ties and cares Blended and shared her beautiful love for him With their new duties. And he stood alone, In the shadow of the light which opened round him. It fell, the chance which is no chancethe teacher That never fails desire to learnthe same, 38 Pragmata. [Jan., Whose willful hand had led his ignorance Into that many-branching way, to which Faith only holds the clue, so timed his foot, It trod close on two men whose slanting step Tended near his. The one was a large brain, Earnest and honestsparing and chin in word, Yet large of heartmore practical than wise, As are the children of the worldstill young, Younger than he, and not yet hard of will, But hardening dailya toiler at the task His strength had set it, confident that labor Achieves and conquers. The other, a quaint dreamer, Open of hai~d as day,yet miserly Of heart, as a pool hiding in the woods Frogi the search of prying sunbeamsa huge idler And worshipper of other wisdomscurious Into the secrets of the humanity He was a part in, for no earthly use His idleness would put them toa reader Of the strange books whence students fish up pearls They never string together, idled on, A truster in the hour, whose quaint abstractions Or loves of habit, made his whole of joy. Ay, Fame and Name are well, so that they come When sense and self enjoy them. To the dead Life is no more. What matters it to him Who rotteth piecemeal, if a human lip Says that heonce was great? Hepnly lives For those who are alive, as he was, then. Labor for tangible and actual things Possesses and enjoys them. No to-morrow May rob to-day of having and erijoymen~. So spake the first. The other laughed, and laid His finger on an open book and laughed. It was as if he said what said the first, Although in different form. It was a volume Which was the record of a holy thought, Whose sainted pilgrimage towards the light Was wrapt in rosy cloud and purple beam, Although the thorn had torn its foot, and blood-drops Marked its pure path through earthon which the hand Of the quaint idler rested.He has plucked; I taste. He wrought, and I enjoy. He is 1855.] Pragmata. 39 A God, and I his worshipper. But few May tread within the circle of the glory Which held him upthe living incarnation - Of his convinced and self-sustaining soul. The first was right so far as went his creed. Why toiled he, then? Why not possess, at once, The joy the hour may pluck? The asker wondered; And, like the cloud-spires of a shaken dream, What might be, crumbled from him. Worldly wisdom Is strong to break the hope:it can not build. - But then the last, and him of whom he spake. The worshipper is wise. Yet should the God Be wiser than the kneeler in the temple, Or why the worship? If it be, that few May do what this has done, yet some may do The same; and if the doing were no joy, Why was it done? He could not answer this, Yet brooded on it, like the making Word Which in the Genesis brooded on the wave Instinctively believing it must quicken. But toil had bred the need. No more, the thirst For that undying glory which anoints Thoughts kings was in him; yet he labored still, And labor was contentment. Why, was this? Or was his father right? Was constant labor Or at the plough or pen, the wheel or hammer, The loom or lamp, the sceptre or the sword The only good, and only all in all? Was it the means and-end, allke2 -Yet why, If this were so, such many shapen ways Of toil? Why not, alone, the plough and harvest? As he wrought on, he chanced upon a truth, And saw that it was nuch, and made it his; It was an old and well-worn truth. But truths Are not as truths to us when only seen And wondered at. Their roots must enter us, And live and drink our life-blood. Then we l~now them. He felt that he knew something new. His brain Throbbed fast, and in his quick delight he smote His hands together~ although, not without A pang that sudden joya pang which said How easy such a truth had been to find 40 Pragrnatct. [Jan., If he had searched for it. He spake of it. The practical toiler knew its face at once. He had met it, often. Yes, it was a truth; And well enough in its way, but very threadbare. The finder marvelled, why, if this man knew it, He had not known it long before. He saw not, It was a knowledge of eye and ear alone. Though somewhat shamed, he took him heart to speak To the worshipper of the dead splendors. There, He found another answer.Yes. He knew it. It was one of the fair rank of holy beauties, Each one of which develops on its stem Often and manifold, like crowded blooms Upon one rose-bush. This seemed stranger still; It seemed a truth, once known should live for ever, Single and manifest, without the need Of duplication and constant evidence. He knew not yet, how hard it is for truth To win belief; even when duplication Has made it as common a certainty, as the morrow Which never fails to bring the Eastern sun. But ever he went on, and as he went, The milestones on the way were ancient truths, That still were new to him; and when convinced Of one there came a craving for the next, For habit breeds desire. So while his foot Consumed the path, the task became the will, Instinctively rejoicing in its toiL And, to his toil, the lesson of his life Grew clearer and more visible; not as if Itself were larger, but, as if his soul Were as a waxing flame within ~whose circle Of growing light, it grew more luminous, Throwing back light and golden flash, in turn, Whence came the golden flash and growing light. And still, as he went on, the regular years Made change of Spring and Summer. Autumn bound The sheaf; and with the Winter came the snow.. And, the world ate and smiled, and wept and slept, And multiplied and died out, with a sound Of many voices which when near are loud, But to the ear of one who stands aloof Among the mightier thoughts whose base is built 1855.] Prctgmata. 41 Into the universe, no more than were The travel-wearied sound of a far wind Chiding with ocean. And, ever as he toiled, The texture and the muscle of his brain Grew to its toil; and, still he grew more calm, And the more heavy foot and larger tread Dinted a visible footprint where he went, And, manhood strengthened daily, and his brow Waxed broader, and his pulse-beat grew less quick But stronger, and the regular years made change Of Spring and Summer; and the Autumn came, And Winter folded Autumn in its white And frozen armsand what was russet Autumn Bi~rst from that white embrace a yellow spring. And, still he askedWhy come the Spring and Summer, Autumn and Winter, if but to renew And recommence again? But, now he asked, Humbled yet glad. The labor of his soul Had labored in his soula two-fold work; Single, yet twin; a toil which should make fruitful, And yet bear fruit itselfa double joy. 42 Ireland and Iri8hrnen. [Jan., IRELAN~D AND IRISHMEN. ALTIIOUGBI the interference of the press, the people, and the government of England, with our doftiestic institutions, and their persevering attempts to sow dissensions and propagate the most bitter prejudices among the two great sections of the Union, under the mask of ~ympatliy for African slaves, furnish a full justi tion,~it is~not our design in this arti- cle to retaliate these hostile demonstrations by pursuing a simi- lar course toward the members of the United Kingdom. It is neither our wish nor our intention to adopt a policy of which we have such just reason to complain. All we aim at in this arti- cle is to do something like justice to the conduct and character of a nation, which it would seem has been stigmatized as irre- claimably barbarous, only to afford a plausible pretext for treating it as such. Hundreds of thousands of Irishmen have sought refuge in the United States, and hundreds of thousands of our fellow-citizens are the descendants of Irishmen. Their blood is everywhere mingled in the same bodies and the same veins; they are identified with our race, and in doing them justice we arc only vindicating ourselves. The loyal and orthodox writers of England, from the times of Spenser, Raleigh, Temple, and Davis, who all shared in the plunder of Ireland, have uniformly represented the Irish as a race of semi-barbarians, insensible to kind treatment, and irre- claimable by any course but that of civil and religious persecu- tion. Let us briefly inquire whether England has ever tried the former experiment on them. Almost the first we hear of Ireland, in connection with au- thentic English history, is the invasion of that island by Earl Strongbowe and his band of Fillibusters The two coun- tries were at peace with each other at the time; but it seems the Earl, being a stalwart freebooter, acknowledging no laws but those of chivalry, was invited over by some bare-footed,

Ireland and the Irishmen 42-52

42 Ireland and Iri8hrnen. [Jan., IRELAN~D AND IRISHMEN. ALTIIOUGBI the interference of the press, the people, and the government of England, with our doftiestic institutions, and their persevering attempts to sow dissensions and propagate the most bitter prejudices among the two great sections of the Union, under the mask of ~ympatliy for African slaves, furnish a full justi tion,~it is~not our design in this arti- cle to retaliate these hostile demonstrations by pursuing a simi- lar course toward the members of the United Kingdom. It is neither our wish nor our intention to adopt a policy of which we have such just reason to complain. All we aim at in this arti- cle is to do something like justice to the conduct and character of a nation, which it would seem has been stigmatized as irre- claimably barbarous, only to afford a plausible pretext for treating it as such. Hundreds of thousands of Irishmen have sought refuge in the United States, and hundreds of thousands of our fellow-citizens are the descendants of Irishmen. Their blood is everywhere mingled in the same bodies and the same veins; they are identified with our race, and in doing them justice we arc only vindicating ourselves. The loyal and orthodox writers of England, from the times of Spenser, Raleigh, Temple, and Davis, who all shared in the plunder of Ireland, have uniformly represented the Irish as a race of semi-barbarians, insensible to kind treatment, and irre- claimable by any course but that of civil and religious persecu- tion. Let us briefly inquire whether England has ever tried the former experiment on them. Almost the first we hear of Ireland, in connection with au- thentic English history, is the invasion of that island by Earl Strongbowe and his band of Fillibusters The two coun- tries were at peace with each other at the time; but it seems the Earl, being a stalwart freebooter, acknowledging no laws but those of chivalry, was invited over by some bare-footed, 1855j Ireland and Iriskmen 43 bare-legged chief; who pretended to be the le~imate king of all Ireland. The invasion was successful, owing to the same cause which has been the ruin of Ireland from that day to this; namely, the treasonable subserviency of the nobility and chiefs to the policy and interests of England. The King of Eng- land, though he contributed nothing but his royal permission, reaped the lions share in the fruits of the enterprise. The monarch of all Ireland, who had invited Earl Strongbowe over to sustain his title, was in good time set aside, and his ma- jesty of England became the legitimate heir to his throne. Then commenced that series of measures to civilize the wild Irish, as they were styled, & f which the loyal and or- thodox writers of England boast as consummate efforts of a wise and benevolent policy. The first step was to parcel out the lands of Ireland among loyal Englishmen and Irish traitors. The whole Frovince of Connaught was, by a decree of the Lord- Deputy Carew, wrested from its ancient owners, and distributed among English adventurers, and Irish chiefs who had sold their country: and at this moment a great portion of the largest estates in Ireland are held by no other tenure.* Such was the first step toward civilization. To this suc- ceeded others, equally just, humane, and efficacious. The few Irish chiefs, such as Desmond, ONeill, and Macarthy, who fe1~ like Irishmen for the wrongs of Ireland, were outlawed, hunt- ed, robbed of their property, and either sought refuge in for- eign lands, were massacred by British soldiers, or perished as criminals by sentence of a British tribunal. Armies of red- coats were distributed throughout the country to let out their wild blood by that great political lancet, the bayonet; and armies of black coats and bands, to preach to empty churches, and convert the 1?eople from their ancient faith by persuasive tithes and seductive denunciations of eternal perdition. Eng- land, too, sent them Lord-Deputies, Lord-Lieutenants, and scores of aides de camp, to give them lessons of loyalty and ex- amples of refinement. In order to render these efforts more availing, England, by a series of legislative tyranny, neutral- ized all the great natural advantages possessed by Ireland for trade and commerce, and placed her under worse than colonial vassalage. Finally, to cap the climax, finding all her mater- nal or fraternal efforts vain, she denounced them to the worl * See Staffords Pacataffibernia. Stafford was one of the English beneficiaries, and therefore his authorityin thIs case is unquestionable. His work is dedicated to Queen Elizabeth. 44 Irel d and Iri8hmen. [Jan., as a race of obstinate, impracticable barbarians, who could nei- ther be persuaded to renounce their faith, relinquish their rights, or starve with decency. Surely these turbulent Irish must be more wild than our wildest Indians, to be insensible to such toyings and caresses! Such, with occasional relaxations, or new impositions, has been the condition of Ireland, whether as a tributary kingdom or an integral portion of the British empire, ever since the reign of Elizabeth. With the exception of a few brief inter- vals, this condition has been gradually and steadily growing worse. In one of the most fruitful regions of the peopled earth, and under the fairest skies, famine and its twin-sister pestilence, have year after year desolated the land, and driven more than a million of its wretched inhabitants to seek refuge in the United States. To famine and pestilence is added the inflexible despotism of the bayonet and the bludgeon. The most oppressive and vexatious species of martial law prevails in Ireland. Soldiers and police-officers are associated together, and act in concert almost without restraint under the late acts of Parliament, courteously styled, The Crown and Govern- ment Security Bills. A friend who made a tour in that coun- try last year, declared to us that at least every tenth man he saw wore the badge and uniform of a police-officer. In short, at this moment, Ireland is the most miserable country under heaven, and, of all Christian nations, is reduced to the most abject slavery under the protection of a government which is perpetually stunning the ears of the world with its canting, hypocritical, nauseating pretensions to superior piety, morality, and philanthropy. - The consequences of this unique and original plan for con- ciliating a nation are such as might have been expected. On one hand, the efforts of British loyal and orthodox writers em- ployed for the purpose of misrepresenting and caricaturing the Irish, in order to justify that course of policy which has been one of the great causes of the degradation of the people of Ire- land, have taught the English to look down on their fellow- subjects of the Emerald Isle as inferior beings. On the other hand, these assumptions of superiority, and the long series of misgovernment inflicted on them, have engendered and fostered in the heart of the Irish nation an immortal hatred of those who at one and the same time have oppressed them by their power, calumniated them by their press, and insulted them by their arrogance. There are perhaps no two nations in the world that cherish 1855.] ]i~eland and Irt8krnen. 45 a more inveterate antipathy toward each other than the En g- lish and Irish, most especially since that Union which was brought about by corrupting the Irish nobility and bribing the leading members of the Irish Parliament. Hence, the eight or nine millions of Irishmen, so far from strengthening the United Kingdom, are only elements of weakness, al- though their poverty tempts so many of them to enlist in the British army, and thus become, in fact, the instruments of their own oppression. Hard dealing on one hand, and enforced sub- imission on the other, can not cement two nations into one. Every man must know this from his own experience, and the present state of Ireland is a sufficient exemplification. That wretched adoption of a stern, inflexible step-mother, is saturated with red-hot lava, ready to burst forth whenever the superficial crust which conceals it is removed. The people stand pawing and foaming at the mouth with the bit between their teeth; and, were they not disarmed and overawed by a standing-army, backed by a host of armed police-officersone of whom is at every mans elbowas well as emasculated by hun- ger and privation, they would without doubt try the issue be- tween starvation and rebellionuse the scourge applied to the oppressors of mankind when nations arise in their might to crush their oppressors. It is no ebullition of peevish discontent, which a moment may produce and a moment allay; no sudden squall, to be suddenly succeeded by a dead calm; no freak of turbulent im- patience springing from any peculiar excitability in the national temperament; nor is it the mere personal influence of such men as OBrien, Mitehel, and Meagher, however potent their eloquence and devoted their patriotism. It is not these causes, either single or combined, which has caused that throbbing in the heart of Ireland, which is swellim7lg it almost to burst- ing, and driving Irishmen by hundreds of thousands to seek refuge in the capacious home of the disinherited children of the world. It is a cause whose consequences are everywhere the same, and can not be avoided but by its removal. It is oppression, want, hunger, misery, despair, and vengeance. Tradition, history, feeling, and suffering are perpetually administering new fuel to the flame, which, however it may be smothered, will never be extinguished but by a long series of good offices and gentle treatment. Political and social, here, as they ever will, produced moral degradation to some extent; and abject, hopeless poverty continued from generation to generation, brought forth its bitter fruits, Individual suffering, 46 Ireland and Irishmen. [Jan., aggravated by that religious bigotry always rendered more inveterate by persecution, is .now operating silent and unseen; and the period has arrived which presents the alternative of effectnal relief; emigration, or partial extermination by famine, pestilence, and the sword. In crushing Ireland to the earth, they have almost broken her heart. In reducing her to despair, they have deadened, if not destroyed, that principle of renova- tion which enables nations to rise as it were from the grave. Aware of this, and becoming conscious that the long series of misgovernment inflicted on Ireland is beginning to recoil on themselves in the spectre form of a nation reduced to beggary and starvation, the Britisl~i government has resorted to tempo- rary expedients to mitigate the calamity which itself had caused. And how has this been done? First, by an arbitrary edict of the British Parliament, where Ireland is always in the mi- nority, obliging the holders of deeply-mortgaged property to sell their lands at a period of .depression when it is probable they will scarcely sell for half their value. This, it is supposed, will transfer them to the hands of proprietors possessing the means of improving and cultivating them to advantage, and thus by increasing production obviate the danger of famine in fntnre. By this process it is thought probable many English capitalists may be tempted to invest their money in Irish lands, and introduce a better system of agriculture, at the same time that they improve he condition of the Irish tenantry and farm- laborers. But how is this to improve the condition of these classes? To stock and cultivate a farm, however small~ requires more or less capital, and the beggared rural population for whose spe- cial benefit this new expedient was devised, has scarcely bread to their mouths, much less money in their pockets. How are they to stock their farms and pay their rents? To obviate this objection, the British government has appropriated a sum, which, however large, is but a drop in the bucket. At best it can afford but a limited as well as partial and temporary mitigation of an evil that is universal., This national fund of charity is placed at the disposal of a commission, no doubt composed of a majority of loyal and orthodox gentlemen, probably selected for their devoted attachment to the Queen and the Church. There is not enough for all, and it will be absolutely necessary to make a selection from the great mass of millions. Can we doubt that a decided preference will be given, by the loyal and orthodox commissioners charged with e distribution of this fund, to those who are equally loyal and 1855.] Ireland and Irishmen. orthodox? Will they bestow the national alms on a solitary Irish patriot, unless he renounce his principles, or a reprobate Catholic, unless he renounce his heresies? In short, is there the slightest reason to doubt that the distribution of this na- tional fund will not be made an instrument to reward those who are already both loyal and orthodox, and to induce those who are not loyal and orthodox to become so as soon as pos- sible? It is said by many respectable persons, and denied by others equally deserving of credit, that this new nostruna has already accomplished wonders, and will eventually prove the grand panacea of Ireland. We are also informed, and the fact is undoubted, that large numbers of Irish emigrants are return- ing home to enjoy their new paradise; and we should not be at all surprised if all that can, were to follow their example, since there seems to be a fair prospect that under the new regime of Know-Nothingism both their civil and religious rights will fare pretty much as they have long done in Ireland. But we fear many, if not all of them, will be greatly disap- pointed. They may get land at a reasonable, perhaps a cheap price or a low rent; but alas! they will not find Ireland re- generated as if by miracle. They will find the same old taxes; the same old tithes; the same old distinctions of rank; the same airs of proud superiority on the part of Englishmen; the same old rags and the same degradation. They will be bullied by red-coat soldiers, and police-officers in green; the evil eye will be upon them wherever they go; and every act and every word be noted by these invisible agents of a despotism ten times more galling than that of Nero or Caligula, because it is not confined to the precincts of a court, but extends to every poor man, and enters the door of every poor mans home. Nothing in fact has been done by the legislation of England that strikes at the root of the wrongs of Ireland; nothing to effect a radical cure of the social and political evils of the peo- ple of Ireland. The whole system is so pregnant with abuses, that these constitute the vital principle of its existence. They are the cement of the edifice, and to remove them would cause the destruction of the entire building. Temporary expedients may produce a temporary rei~ction; but so long as the barb is left sticking in the wound perfect recovery is hopeless. Charity never resuscitated a nation; nor was there ever an instance of a people recovering from the effects of a long series of misgov- ernment and oppression under the domination of the same tyranny which precipitated them down the ladder of degrada 48 Ivdand and Irishmen. [Jan., tion. Ireland can only be regenerated by herself. The pool must be stirred fr@m the very bottom before the waters can subside clear and pure. Ireland Las been crushed to the earth by the iron heel of power, and to rise from the earth Ireland must be free. But in the midst of our zeal, let us endeavor to be just. The condition of Ireland is not alone the work of England. Ire- land has been over and over again betrayed by her own sons. It is they that have stabbed her to the heart and sold her dead body to the enemy. The aristocracy of that country are, in our opinion, the meanest, the basest, the most degenerate race that ever aspired to distinction among men. Cowards in defense of their native land, they sell themselves to England for honors and rewards, and become the bravest defenders of the power which oppresses them. Since the days of the Ma- carthys and ONeills, not one of them, with the exception of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, has ever offered up his life for the freedom of his countrymen; nor has a solitary Irish nobleman ever associated himself with the cause of Ireland, except for the purpose of gaining an influence over his credulous coun- trymen that would make him worth purchasing by England; and if at any time one of these titled renegades acquired any official influence in the counsels of that country, he has inva- riably sought to maintain it bysignalizing his zeal in fastening new chains on his countrymen, and adding new items to the long list of their wrongs. Such was Castlereagh, andwould it were not sosuch was Wellington. When, irritated by oppression and maddened by famine and despair, the people of Ireland were on the eve of making an effort to cast off their chains, these craven scions of a degenerate stock, instead of joining with their suffering countrymen, and lending their powerful aid in wresting from the government of England at least some concessions that might mitigate their sufferings, crouched like spaniels at the foot of the throne, and begged for new fetters to bind the necks and limbs of the poor wretches already perishing by pestilence and famine. They invoked the sword as an auxiliary, and sneaked behind the omnipotence of Parliament for protection against those fellow- countrymen they had deserted. If we are not mistaken, only two of the Irish members of the House of Commons, and not one of the Irish Lords, voted against the Crown and Govern- ment Security Bills, which converted compassings, imagin- ings, devices, and intentions, into high treason. Among the most conspicuous of these noble apostates, are the Beresfords 1856.] Ireland and Iri8lnmen. and Ponsonbys, whose exemplary loyalty has secured to them a large portion of the high offices and fat bishopricks of the land they have betrayed and sold. Nor can it be denied that the people of Ireland have been accomplices in their own ruin. They have submitted to the government of priests, and such a people can never be free. They have more than once been befooled and bamboozled by hollow, worthless concessions on the part of England, which if they offered any benefits, they were precisely those in which the people at large could not partake; and that generous con- fidence, amounting to crediulity, which is one of their charac- teristics, has been often abused by those to whom they looked up as their leaders and protectors. Whenever royalty conde- scended to pay them a visit, they hayc fagged at its heels, and shouted lialleluias of weie~ome with as niiich enthusiasm as if they were the happiest, best-governed, and most loyal people in the world. No doubt Queen Victoria returned from her late visit fully imbued with that conviction. The Irish are justly celebrated for their chivalrous deference to the sex; and though we would have had them receive Her Majesty with all due courtesy, we think there was no special eccasion to wel- come her with enthusiasm. We believe Queen Victoria to be a very harmless, respectable body; and it is certain she is a special breeder of sinners. The last charge we have to bring against our friends the Irish, is by far the most serious. It is, that they dont stand by their leaders. H& w, then, can they expect their leaders to stand by them in the hour of trial? They looked on quietly and saw Lord Edward Fitzgerald martyred in their cause. They stood by and saw John Mitchel and Thomas Meagher sentenced to perpetual exile; and again, they actually deserted Smith OBrien, and left him at the mercy of his enemies, on the appearance of a band of police-officers. It has been urged in extenuation of this inexcusable delinquency, that the popu- lace were without arms; that they were neither organized nor prepared for the crisis; that they were overawed by the presence of the soldiers and police-officers, and in truth so weakened in flesh and in spirit, by want and privation, that they had neither hands nor hearts for resistance. All this is doubtless true. Yet we read, that when the Swiss peasantry rose against Austrian tyranny, and the veterans of their oppressor presented a forest of bayonets which resisted all their efforts, a peasant threw down his scythe, and rushing on the line of the enemy, grasped as many bayonets as he could 4 50 Ireland and Irishmen. [Jan., compass in his arms, received them in his bosom, and thus made a breach for his comrades to enter and conquer. So, too when the last of the Horatii was fleeing before the three surviving Cariatii, and his sister asked the brave father, What could he do against such odds? DIE! said the noble Roman. And die men must,or be ready to die, when they undertake to wrest their freedom from the grasp of the tyrant. Unless they are prepared to offer themselves up as victims, they should? never dare to approach the shrine of liberty. We must fight, Mr. Speaker, we must fight, said the most eloquent of his countrymen, when the enemy was at the door, and they were talking of conciliation. If the Irish ever expect to be free, they too must fight with axes, scythes, and pitchforks; and if these can not be procured, with clubs. The pitchfork, in the hands of a brave peasant, is. more than a match for the bayonet, and the scythe cuts down men as well as grass. When the people rise in mass, with hands and ~hearts equally resolved, they are all but invincible. Their ardor and determination are more than a match for the mere spiritless discipline of hireling soldiers in the end; for though they may be often defeated, every disaster will serve as a new lesson, and they will at length learn to conquer their conquerors. It is worse than idle for the oppressed peo- ple of Ireland, or any other country, to look forward to eman- cipation by peaceable means. If they had rather starve by inches, and see their wives and children starving, than die in the attempt to relieve them, they merit their fate and are unworthy of pity. Eight or nine millions of Irishmen have no business to be slaves; for if determined, they can free themselves. Two millions of bayonets are pointed at the breasts of the people of Europe, and two hundred and thirty millions of people are there to oppose them. United, they are invincible, whatever may be the boasted superiority of a military 6rganization. If they sit down coolly to calculate the chances of success, or wait for a more favorable opportunity of action, they will pem adventure fare like the fool who sat down on the bank of a river, waiting for the waters to cease flowing, that he might pass over dry-shod. The tide of tyranny will never cease to flow until arrested by the strong arms of the oppressed. It never volunta- rily relinquishes its prey, and nothing but force or fear can check its course. The price of liberty is blood. Like religion, she must have martyrs, and those who are afraid to die in her defense had best remain willing slaves. Neither talking nor writing, bombastic speeches, empty threats, or stout denunciations will 1855.] Irdami and iriehmen. 51 answer now-a-days. They are mere brutum fulmen, or at best but Chinese-crackers that singe the eyebrows a little sometimes. Those who aspire to lead revolutions must not run away by the light of the fires they have kindled; or, at all events, they should be the last to run. Like the captain of a sinking ship, they should stand by her to the latest moment, and if it please God, go down with the vessel. As to those garrulous philosophers who seem to believe they can achieve the freedom of mankind by mere dogmas of philosophy and long speeches about solidarity and all that sort of thing, we have little faith in their theories or their practice. Too many of them seem to belong to that class of heroes who amuse themselves by pushing their adherents into danger and looking on at a distance. Like the trumpeter in the fable, they incite others to battle but are non-combatants themselves. They may some- times awaken the fears of cowardly despotism, but will never become the deliverers of nations. 52 [The 2Jfilitc~ry Career of Wellington. [Jan., TH1J~ MILITARY OARE~R OF WELLINGTON. BY ~iR~ WEMYS JOBSON, AUTHOR OF HISTORY OF THE FREI{OH REVOLUTION. WITHoUT entering into the question, whether it be a matter of felicitation or regret, little doubt can be entertained that, in the estimation of the great majority of mankind, pre~iminent military prowess ranks higher than a corresponding degree of mental power. In the judgment of the reflecting few, the stately thoughts of Plato and glowing fire of Homer still impart de- light and excite admiration which will die, probably, only with the last generation of man; while the victories of Alexander and triumphs of Oa~sar are forgotten, or mentioned only in ac- cents transient as their issue. But with the multitude it is otherwise, and he whose name stands at the head of this article will be the individual that, of all his countrymen, will live longest in the memory of future ages. The unborn statesman may dwell with pleasure on the genius of Fox and of Pitt, the rhetorician hang with rapture on the eloquence of Grattan and Grey, but the names of Marlborough and Wellington alone will will be mentioned by the masses of posterity.* Long after the petty deeds of the present d~y are forgotten, and those engaged in them consigned to kindred oblivion, these sylla- bles will still linger on the lips of men. When the power of England itself; shall, in the lapse of ages,t have passed away; when of all its glorious achievements nothing but the re- collection remains, an idle scroll in the Temple of Fame; when its language itself perhaps shall be forgotten, their names will * We have the highest respect for the judgment of our contributor~ but we rev- erence the right to differ. Pope, Addison, and Swift were contemporaries of Marl- borough, and are they not better known, more loved, more honored at the pre- sent day ?Ed. ~ Is the power of England to endure through the lapse of ages? We await the next mall from the Crimea ?~Ed.

Mr. Wemys Jobson Jobson, Wemys, Mr. The Military Career of Wellington 52-68

52 [The 2Jfilitc~ry Career of Wellington. [Jan., TH1J~ MILITARY OARE~R OF WELLINGTON. BY ~iR~ WEMYS JOBSON, AUTHOR OF HISTORY OF THE FREI{OH REVOLUTION. WITHoUT entering into the question, whether it be a matter of felicitation or regret, little doubt can be entertained that, in the estimation of the great majority of mankind, pre~iminent military prowess ranks higher than a corresponding degree of mental power. In the judgment of the reflecting few, the stately thoughts of Plato and glowing fire of Homer still impart de- light and excite admiration which will die, probably, only with the last generation of man; while the victories of Alexander and triumphs of Oa~sar are forgotten, or mentioned only in ac- cents transient as their issue. But with the multitude it is otherwise, and he whose name stands at the head of this article will be the individual that, of all his countrymen, will live longest in the memory of future ages. The unborn statesman may dwell with pleasure on the genius of Fox and of Pitt, the rhetorician hang with rapture on the eloquence of Grattan and Grey, but the names of Marlborough and Wellington alone will will be mentioned by the masses of posterity.* Long after the petty deeds of the present d~y are forgotten, and those engaged in them consigned to kindred oblivion, these sylla- bles will still linger on the lips of men. When the power of England itself; shall, in the lapse of ages,t have passed away; when of all its glorious achievements nothing but the re- collection remains, an idle scroll in the Temple of Fame; when its language itself perhaps shall be forgotten, their names will * We have the highest respect for the judgment of our contributor~ but we rev- erence the right to differ. Pope, Addison, and Swift were contemporaries of Marl- borough, and are they not better known, more loved, more honored at the pre- sent day ?Ed. ~ Is the power of England to endure through the lapse of ages? We await the next mall from the Crimea ?~Ed. 1855.J [like ililiUtary Career of WelUngton. 53 be heard and will excite awe in the hearts of the timid and ardor in the breasts of the brave. In the military annals of their country their fame will stand alonefar apart from that of those ordinary conquerors whom every century produces, and every generation adm~es and forgets. It will be mentioned as what the past generations of their countrymen had not seen, and the fnture can scarcely hope to see. ARTHUR WELLESLEY, a younger son of the Earl of Morn.. ington,was born in the year 1769.* Napoleon was born in the same year, but, said Louis XIVIIL, while eating his artolan in the Tuileries, alluding to the former, Providence owed me that consolation. He was educated, in the ~i~st instance, at Eaton, and afterwards dispatched to Angiers, for the purpose of receiv- ing the usual branches of military instruction. On return- ing home he joined the army, in hi~ eighteenth yenr, as an en- sign in a regiment of Infantry, in 1787; and rapidly rose through the inferior gradations of the service, as in 1793 we find him a major in the 33d, of which he obtained the lienten- ant.colonelcy, by purchase, in the course of the same year. In command of this regiment he proceeded in June, 1794, with Lord Moira, to Ostend, and that nobleman having determined to abandon the place, in oid~r to assist the Duke of York, then lamentably involved in the neighborhood of Antwerp, Colonel Wellesley participated in the calamities that followed; and was, in consequence of the coolness and circumspection he had evinced in every action, appointed by Sir David Dundas to secure the rear when the army withdrewthe post of honor as well as danger in retreat. The dnty required all his vigi- lance. Their route lay through a bleak, barren country, naturally dismal, and rendered still more repulsive by the in- clemency of winter and the coldness of the inhabitants. Pierc- ing winds, drifting snows, and the still more withering indiffer- ence of those they had been sent to save, at every step met the wearied troops; from which no relief was to be found but in sleep, and those who gave themselves up to its embraces generally sank into eternal slumber. In this emergency it re- quired all the energy of the young commander to discharge the task assigned; but he accomplished it with ability, and with the few troops that survived that disastrous campaign he re- turned home inured in body and improved in mind. He had * Our friend has forgottem~-a frequent orniasion or memory with most English. men we have metto mention that the Duke was born in Ireland, of Irish parent- age.Ed. 54 The JifiUtctry Career of W~llington. [Jan., in this war enjoyed the advantage of seeing the evils that flow from discordant allies and distracted councils, the folly of at- tempting to fight for a people indifferent or opposed to exter- nal aid; for it is a painful fact that the English army, in consequence of the licentious spirit that prevailed in its ranks, left the Netherlands pursued alike by the execrations of the plundered inhabitants and the shouts of the triumphant French; and it was by observing the lamentable effects of such irregu- larity that the Duke of York and Wellington were induced afterwards to devote so much attention to that discipline, by means of which the former brought the British army to such perfection, and the other enabled it to achieve such triumphs. A wider field of exertion now opened to the enterprising officer; and it is interesting to think on what trifles the great- est events depend. On his return from Holland, the 33d was ordered to proceed to the West-Indies, and the troops had actually embarked and made several vain attempts to set out to sea, when they were as often driven back by the winds; and the Marquis of Wellesley, (then Lord of Mornington,) having in the interval been appointed Governor-General of India, his brothers regiment was countermanded, and with its commander, now raised to the command of colonel, dispatched to India. But for an adverse breeze of wind, the future con- qeror at Assaye and Waterloq~iight thus have been consigned to a West-India island, to die of its noxious fever, or at least be deprived of that opportunity of conducting military opera- tions on that extensive scale which he learned in the East, and afterwards brought to bear with such splendid effects on the plains of Europe, where the might of England had previously been frittered away in petty expeditions and contemptible exertions. The East at this period presented a noble field for enterprise. Hyder Ali, the cruel and astute Sultan of Mysore, had con- cluded his eventful career, and been succeeded by his equally brave and relentless, but far less subtle son. The power of Tippoo was declining; for, though generous and indulgent to his adherents, his grasping and despotic character had so alienat- ed the affections of the natives that they were more disposed to aid than resist the Company in crushing him. But still his power was formidable, his capital strong, his forces numerous, as well as disciplined by French officers in his service, and it required all the efforts of Lord Cornwallis to subdue him. The siege and capture of Seringapatam are too well known for re- capitulation here. After a fierce assault of some hours it was 1855.] The Aliilitary Career of Wellington. 55 carried ultimately by storm, but in the first instance by sur- prise; the attack having been commenced shortly after mid- day, when in the East all nature is buried in profound repose. The Sultan Saib, after defending it with his own bands to the last, died fighting, as a soldier should, and his body was found beneath a mountain of the slain. Colonel Wellesley, though present, did not participate in the attack; having been intrusted with the command of the reserve, which was never brought into action, his duty necessarily constrained him to remain in the rear; but. he was appointed governor of the city on its sur- render, and by his mingled flrmn~ess and integrity he rapidly restored order in a manner equally agreeable to the Company and natives.* The next service in which Colonel Wellesley was employed was to put down an adventurer name~d J2~hoondia Waugha freebooter, who, from the condition of a robber and a recent prisoner in the hands of Tippoo Saib, had, by one of those rapid revolutions then so frequent in the. East, where every brigand who possessed a bold heart and good sword was sure to be joined by others equally desperate and reckless as himself; at- tained to the command of five thousand horsemen. Though fearless individually, and formidable collectively, espeeially if in pursuit of a flying enemy, or ravaging a country, which they swept with all the rapidity and devastation of a simoom, these forces were unable to stand the shock of the Western bayonet, and were easily outmaneuvered by European tactics. Colonel Wellesleys pursuit of Dhoondia can, therefore, scarcely be considered as a military operation, nor was it looked on by himself in this light. He entered on the expedition rather with the feelings with which a man enters on a chase than an action; and his description to the late Sir Thomas Munro, of the pur- suit of the king of the two worlds, as Dhoondia had modest- ly and magniloquently termed himself; presents all the anima- tion of a well-recorded fox-chase. The Eastern reynard was caught at last; after a resolute charge of British Dragoons, led on by Wellesley in person, poor Dhoondia was defeated, the greater part of his followers cut up, and his own lifeless body * Equally agreeable to the natives! Having stormed and pillaged the city, the blessings of Britiz~-L civilization were graciously extended to the natives at the bayonet-point. At least such is the American (that is, the only reliable) version of the affair. British writers use the strangest pleasantries of language in describing the extirpation of a nationality; they manifest an unconsciousness of their cou2ztr~s atiocities almost sublime in its indifference to the moral aspect of whatever benefits them.Ed. 56 The 2rliilitary Career of Wrellin~on. [Tan., carried in triumph to the English camp, strapped behind the quai~ters of a trooper.* Wellesley, promoted to the rank of Brigadie-General, was now upon the point of being despatched with the expedi tion which the English government resolved to send from India to Egypt, in order to attack the French on one side, while Sir Ralph Aberoroinbie, from the Mediterranean, assault ed them on another. But a new insurrection in the East caused him to be countermanded, and pte~ented him coming in con~ tact with the forces of Bonaparte at this period of his career. The alteration was auspicious to his fame; for the Eastern contingent by the Euphrates, having to march across the desert, did not arrive in Egypt until three months after Aber crombie had annihilated,the power of the French by his glo rious death; and it permitted Wellesley to perform an exploit in the East, unequalled perhaps by any of his future deeds in the West. Scindia and the Rajah of ~3erar, alarmed by the encroach- ments of the Company, (or, as the friends of the Company said, determined to make encroachments upon it,) had secretly formed a union, and suddenly took the field with a body of 20,000 infantry and 30,000 horse. The danger was great, the crisis was urgent; every adventurer from the adjoining states, who could raise ~ horse, mustet a musket, or shoulder a pike, was flocking to their standards; and the British had only a few thousand troops in this quarter to oppose them. Nevertheless, the Maxquis of Wellesley, with~~eat spirit, resolved on hosti- lities; and his brother, with still greater, achieved his design. Setting out at the head of about 4800 European and 2000 native troops, General Wellesley came up with the enemy in the neighborhood of .Assaye, where he beheld their countless host stretched out far as the eye could reach, their gorgeous eastern plumes glittering in the r~u.ys of the morning sun. Un- dismayed by the tremendous odds, he resolved t~ make an in. stant attack; and, having descried with rapid glance a small ford hard by, which his adversaries had neglected sufficiently to guard, he brought them to engagement on a spot where the circumscribed nature of the ground prevented their num. bers from acting with adequate? effect. But the enemy dis- played unexpected intellig~nee. They quiekly brotight a bat- * Hunting to death the poAriot c~deftaik1s, ~ho at enipt1z~4.tend their eounti7, has long been as well the amu~ment na the be suiifBritlgh officers. All rebels are brigands, we had a rebel ourselves Mr. George Washingtoneo de~eribe.d in the paternal proclamations of George 111.Ed. 1855.J TAo )~fititary (ktreer of IVellinqton. 57 tery to bear upon the British, which decimated their ranks and struck down the orderly by Wellesleys side. The Brit- ish commander, however, effected his passage; but his gtlns, few in number, were instantly silenced by the tremendous fire from the opposite side. His position was now critical; his artillery was discomfited, his men and horses were knocked down at their guns; but the emergency only called forth the ability of the commander. With aspect unaltered, he changed his plan; ordered the guns to be abandoned4 and the men to advance with the bayonets The eoinmftnd was bravely given, and as gallantly obeyed. Th~ infantry ad need with determined steadiness; and, after a brief but fierce struggle, drove the enemy from their guns. Colonel Maxwell, a gal- lant officer, in command of the cavalry, coming up to their aid, the Maliratta horse were repulsed, and the ~rictery seemed decided. But the appearance was delusive. The great mass of Eastern horse, which had never yet been engaged, now rushed upon the British with a noise which shook the ground, and a fury that threatened to sweep all before them. The battle was renewed, the enemy regained possession of their guns, and the fortune of the day was on the point of being turned, when Maxwell, by a desperate charge4 stemmed the tide. But the respite was purchased with the iit~e of that gallant officer, who was killed in the course of the charge. Wellington immediately placed himself at head of the men, arid led them on in person. his horse was struck down; but he in the end prevailed. Nothing in the- Eastern ranks could resist the fury with which the 78th English infantry and the 7th native cavalry rushed on the enemy; and Wel- lesley reposed a conqueror on the ~field of ba,ttie. Never, says Southey~ speaking with little exaggeration, was any victory gained under so many disadvantages. Superior arms and discipline have often prevailed against as great a nu- merical difference; but it would be describing the least part of this days glory to say, that the number of the enemy were as ten to one. They had disciplined troops in the field under European officers, who more than doubled the British force; they had a hundred pieces of cannon, whi~h were served with perfect skill, and which the British, withotit the aid of artillery, twice won with the bayonet. The politician may doubt the Quarterly IReviewers par4ality, and th~ rheto- rician question his grammar, or at least. the precision ~f his dic- tion; but the most inveterate opponent can find little to gain- say in the accuracy of the statement. 58 like Hilitary Career of JfelJington. [Jan., With the battle of Assaye concluded General Wellesleys service in the East. In 1805, he returned to England, and joined the expedition of Lord Catheart to Hanover, in com- mand of a brigade; from which, however, he, with the rest of the troops was soon obliged to withdraw, by the ascendency which Napoleon acquired on the Continent after the battle of Austerhtz. He was shortly afterward appointed to the command of a district at home, and took his seat for Newport in the Isle of Wight, as a menib~r of Parliament. He had pre- viously received the thanks of both Houses and the East-India Cempany, as well as a sword and gold vase from the inhabit- ants of Calcutta, for his services; and was, in 1806, married to the Honorable Catherine Pakenham, a sister of the late Earl of Longford. He had previously been made a Knight Commander of the Bath; and, while at home, his time was not spent in inglorious inaction. In 1807, he became Irish Secretary, under the Lientenancy of the Duke of Richmond. During his administration, he, among other measures, intro- duced the Dublin Police; and had a short time before ren- dered a more important service to his country by dissuading the ministry of the day~from an absurd pinn which they had concocted for employing negroes as troops in the East-Indies, in lieu of Sepoys, who were to be withdrawn to the West, in order that the European troops might be disengaged for domes- tic duty. In the course of this year, Sir Arthur was again called into active military service, and sailed in the expedition which pro- ceeded under Lord Catheart to Copenhagen. In the only action of importance that took place, Sir A~thur commanded; and the Danes, after a strenuous resistance, were defeated; but he took no part in the bombardment of their capital that fol- lowed.* His duty, happily, placed him in the rear, though there can be no question, thai~, had it been otherwise, he must have borne his full share in that measure of stern severity. On the termination of hostilities, he was employed in the dip- lomatic arrangements that ensued; and his mingled firmness and amenity, in a considerable degree, tended to realize the ob- jects of the expedition, and allay the indignation of the Danes. The time now approached in which Sir Arthur Wellesley was to take part in those great scenes, in union with which his * It pleases us to find that our friend has not the hardihood to approve thatout- rage, (the bombardment of a neutral city.) lie modifies, indeed, to a stern severity; though commentators, not British, universally denounce it as an act of unparalleled and murderous treacheryEd. 185& ] The iifilitarij Career of Wellington. 59 name will descend to posterity. The ambition of Napoleon, which no longer found any obstacle in the north of Europe, was at this moment directed upon the Peninsula, with the two- fold intention of placing members of his own family on the thrones of Spain and Portugal, and of then uniting the strength of the north and south for a decisive attack upon England. An edict in the ilfoniteur proclaimed with insulting brevity, that the House of Braganza had ceased to reign ; and the dethronement of the royal family of Spain, by means of the imbecility of the father, the turpitude of the son, t~e baseness of the mother, and the intrigues of Godoy, the Prince of Peace, was about to follow. Au expedition of 30,000 troops, under Junot, aided by a like number of Spaniards, and supported by a French army of reserve, 40,000 strong, at Ba onne, was fit- ted out to overrun the one; and means equally effective, though more secret, were preparing for the subduction of the other. Fully aware of the importance of these operations, if not of the consequences which they ultimately involved, the British ministry took immediate steps to counteract them, but not on a scale commensurate with the demand. To Spain, where affairs attained a crisis much sooner than anticipated; an expe- dition was sent out1 wholly inadequate to the occasion; and that dispatched under Sir Arthur Wellesley, to Portugal, owed its success, partial as this was, chiefly to his. decision. Early in the summer of 1808, Sir Arthur Wellesley set sail from Cork, with an expedition of 9000 men, which had previ- ously been destined to attack Spanish interests in South-America, but was now, in consequence of the unexpected turn affairs had taken, dispatched to their succor at home.* It was designed to land at Oporto, the Bishop of which had formally claimed the aid of England, and demanded ammunition and clothing for 50,000 men; but Sir Arthur, who had outstripped the expedition in a quick-sailing frigate, having, on landing, discovered that this application was futile if not fallacious; and the Spanish Junta in Gallicia having, with overweening confidence, declined his aid, proceeded to the Bay of Figueras, where he disembarked * What a picture of the policy of Britain Iof the principles in behalf of which, she would force us to believe, ishe makes war I She hated Napoleon, and was about to send an army against the Spanish interests in South-America. Napoleon threatened Spain, and through Spain the European supremacy (the supre- macy of despotism) which England arrogated. Hey! presto! as the conjurors say. The armament against Spain is directed to her succor; and British histo- rians, with these facts before them, gravely claim the admiration of the world for their generoses and disinterested he~p of a nationality threatened with extinction! Proh! pudor/Ed. 60 The lIiili(ary Cctreer of ~ [5an~, his troops, between the 1st and 5th of August. Being imme- diately after reinforced by the division of General Spencer, he lost no time in commencing hostilities; advanced to Lena, which he entered on the 10th, and prepared for decisive ope- rations. Meanwhile, the Peninsular career of the French had been a scene of almost uninterrupted triumph. Portugal had been overrun; and Massena, after his imperial master had obtained the abdication of the king by art, and possession of the person of Prince Ferdinand by force, was master of Madrid. A sa~- age insurrection an~ massacre, which broke out On the morn- ing of the 2d of May, had been their only check; but this having been suppte~sed by Mutat, andthe blood of 700 French, who fell, avenged by the execution of 200 citizens, the power of Napoleon was restored, and his brother Joseph prepared to take possession of the vaCant throne. The calm which suc- ceeded, howevCr~ was the still that precedes the storm. The example or the pliTnialinient of the metropolis had aroused not only the whole of Spain, but also communicated a spirit of independence to Portugal. These circumstances hastened SirArthur Wellesleys advance1 and in a considerable degree facilitated his progress. Freire, the Portuguese commander, in union with the Junta of Oporto, acted indeed with timidity, if not with tr~aehery; hut the whole body of the inhabitants, with few exceptions, supported the liberator.* In this state of affairs, though numerically infe- rior, he resolved to advance and meet the enemy. iRolica was the first place where he came up with his opponents ~ and in his first encounter he wets trittmphent An encounter near this village, on the 17th, when, aft~r much hard fighting, he eventually drove back the French, with the loss of 500 or 600 killed on each side, wa~ but a prelude to the more decisive success at Vimeira that followed. Scarcely 4000 of the English were engaged in this actioni; but Sir Arthur Wellesley, having been joined by the divisions of Anstruther and Ackland, on the 21st took the field with 16,000 men. Junot, whom he resolved to encounter, was in the neighborhood, with 2Q~O~X~, and showed no inclinatiott to avoid engagement. A design formed by Sir Arthur to turn his * A. British ger~eral, desirou~ of fighting ThItnli~qonrtel *~& in~t Thitalns R*, makes Spain the diastrous theatre of the conflict. ~.bis6eth~ Mr. Jobson, with n patriotism we can un.derstand withont edmiring, d~sfr~s thd~Wel1es1ey should be called the liberator of the country whom wesnt misfortunes were the result of his presence there.Ed. 1855.] The Jkfilitary caree~~ of Wellington. 61 opponents flank, by a forced march on Torres Vedras, had been prevented by the superior orders of Sir Harry Burrard, an offi- cer of considerable abilities, but in whom age had already produced its wonted indisposition to enterprise; but his more eager yet not less wary second in command was not baulked of his desired engagement. On the evening of the 21st, the British patr6ls brought in intelligence of Junots approach; and on the morning of the 22d the sun arose in splendor upon both armies, in the neighborhood of ~~i~eiraa village whose picturesque tranquility contrasted strongly with the scene of strife about to prevail. At eigh~ o~clo~k, an advanced po~t of the enemy commenced the action; and shortly afterward their whole force, now diminished by pickets, etc., to 14,000, ap- proached with furious shouts to the encounter. Their principal division, led on by Laborde, behaved with iine~ampled bravery. ~otwithstanding a heavy fire from the British guns, whichhurled death and destruction to their ranks, they moved with all the steadiness of parade to the summit of the rising ground where the English were posted; and it was not until a heavy volley, within twenty paces from the 50th regiment, which stretched their whole front rank on the ound, while the other with the bayonet completed the confusion, that they were induoed to retire. Colonel Taylor at this moment arriving with the 20th Light IDragoons, followed up the disaster; but advancing too far, in the ardor of pursuit, he was assailed by a heav~y column of French cavalry, and numbered with the slain. This formidable body of horse for awhile carried all before them, and threatened to change the fortune of the day. The British infantry, however, under General Fergusson, by their steady position presented an insurmountable obstacle, and by their uninterrupted volleys of rolling fire, nithuately brought down the assailants. The whole force of the French shortly after- wards withdrew, and the victors were on the point of pursuing their advantage, when Sir Harry Burrard, who had arrived at an early period of the day, but generously refrained from assuming the command, lest he might be supposed to have deprived Sir Arthur W~llesl4y of his laurels, asserted his privilege as superior officer3 and, satisfied with the advantage already gained, interdicted pursuit. But for thi~ interruption, the whole of Junots artillery and many thousand prisoners would, in all probability, have fallen into the hands of the British. The effect of stich divided command was still more displayed next day, w~hen Sir Heu Dalryinple arriving, super- seded Burrard in his turn, and formed a CONVENTION with 62 lTke i~1ilitar~~ Career of Wellin gton. [Jan., the enemy at Cintra, in conformity with which they were permitted to retire with all their arms, ammunition, and acqui- sitions of every description, from the country* The terms of this memorable convention were loudly arraign- ed in Britain, where the conduct of Wellesley was universally admired, and that of Burrard and Dairymple as generally (and justly) condemned. In a court of military inquiry, instituted to investigate the affair, four general officers approved while three censured the proceeding. .A sentence of disapprobation would, in all probability, have been pronounced by the tribu- nal, but for the evidence of Sir Arthur, who, from motives of delicacy, doubtless, and a high-minded sense of honor, which can not be too much admired when it does not interfere with public duty, gave liis testimony in favor of those whose inde- cision and incapacity had deprived him of reaping the full harvest of his laurels. Sir Arthur Wellesley, who, with the other officers, was sum- moned to England to attend this inquiry, remained some time at home. In the following year he again set out for the Pen- insula, to engage in new actions and enjoy new triumphs. We must pass over the events that occurred in the interval the memorable campaign of Sir John Moore, in which, after a hesitating advance, owing more to the misdirection of Frere, the British ambassador at Madrid, than to his own indecision and a retreat of unsurpassed ability, the fame of which belongs exclusively to himself; expiated an enemys errors by a soldiers death. The Passage of the Douro, Sir Arthurs first act in his new campaign, was one of those achievements which stamped him as a great general, even in the estimation of Napoleon himself. Soult, after overrunning Portugal, subsequent to the battle of Corruna, had posted himself strongly at Oporto, whither Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had in the interval refused the command of the Portugese arm , which Marshal Beresford assumed, now approached, with the view of throwing himself between that general and Victor. In the supposition that Loison yet remained in the Tameja, the French commander made arrangements to evacuate that city, believing that, if the British tried to cross the Douro at all, the attempt would be made by means of vessels below the town. In this anticipation, however, he was deceived by the enterprise of * Apply these remarks upon divided command to the present operations of the Allies before Sebastopol, and we have the essential secret of their rn-success. Ed. 1855.] The 3filitary Career of Wellington. 63 Wellington, who, coming up at the head of 14,500 infantry, 1500 cavalry, and. 24 guns, resolved to make upon his adver- sary an immediate attack. The French, being inferior in force, retired, burning the bridge on their retreat; but Soult, confid- ing in his opinion, still remained at a chateau in the neighbor- hood of the town, while his army leisurely withdrew. The British commander, on coming up, ordered a boat to be found; and Colonel Waters, an active and zealous officer, was fortu- nately enabled, by the discovery of a small skifl to comply with the demand. WithQut loss of time the latter threw him- self on board, and, passing over by the aid of a few peasants, returned with three or four barges from the opposite side. An officer with twenty-five men immediately crossed, followed by General Pajet, who unhesitatingly, with only three companies of fbot, threw himself upon the line of the retreating French army. He had scarcely, however, landed and seized upon a building, called the Seminary, adjoining, when the whole force of the ene- my turned upon him and the feeble band who had taken posses- sion of the house. A fierce encounter ensued, and Pajet himself was struck down, but General (afterwards Lord) Hill, coming up, supplied hig p lace, and maintained the combat for some time until the divisions of Sherbrooke and Murray, (Sir George,) who had crossed higher up, arriving, the French find- ing their flank in danger retired, leaving 500 dead on the field; and Wellington who thus obtained possession of Oporto by the small sacrifice of 120 men, passing over, took up his quarters in the city in the house lately occupied by Soult, a dinner prepared for whom he and his staff with much satisfac- tion enjoyed. Continuing his pursuit next day, he, on the afternoon of the 16th, again came up with Soults rear, and having defeated it a second time, he withdrew from the chase, abandoning the flying French to the disasters of the road and the vengeance of the natives. Having thus drawn ~ff Soult, who, in the course of ten weeks, by these operations lost the greater part of his artillery, ammunition, baggage, and one fourth of his army, Sir Arthur Wellesley directed his attention upon Victor, who, having been joined by Sebastiani and the spurious kii~g~f Spain, was posted behind the river Guadarama, with 90 guns and 50,900 men. The forces of the British scarcely numbered 22,000; but the Spaniards, under their leader Cuesta, in the neighborhood, raised his troops to an equality with the enemys; though the rude, undisciplined levies of Spain bore no resemblance to the veteran battalions of France. The conduct of their leader pre 04 ffke f1iz~a~y Career of Wdlington. [Jan., sented to Sir Arthur a still greater obstacle; though brave to excess, Cuesta was possessed of an obstinacy which amounted to f~tuity, and his resolution to attack the French on the strong ground where they lay had nearly proved fatal to his allies and himself. On the afternoon of the 27th of July, the French light infantry penetrated a wood so suddenly, near Casa des Salinas, that the British general narrowly escaped capture, and 6000 of the Spaniards precipitately fled. Colonel (late Sir Rujane) Donkin, who was posted on a height towards the left, received an attack so severe that he was obliged to withdraw; and General Hill, who had incautiously advanced with his aid-dc-camp to ascertain the cause of the unexpected fire, found his bridle suddenly seized by i~ FrenQh gr~nadier. Dashing spurs in his horse, however, he quiekly broke away, and as rapidly returning with a division of infantry, repelled the assailants; but the result was not attained without a severe wound to himself and the loss of nearly 1000 ~nen. The descent of day put an end to the combat, but the British remained all night under arms, though the advanced posts of the hostile armies pacifically met to quench their thirst on the banks of an intermediate brook. Next morning, July 28th, 1809, the celebrated action of Talavera was fought. The French, who had at dawn of day made a partial attempt, commenced the assault at mid-day with determined fury~ Under the mask and aid of 80 pieces of artillery, the Imperial army moved down in four divisions on ~he British, falling first upon the brigade of General Camp- bell, who, remaining motionless until the enemy had approached within thirty paces~ then discharged their i arms,~and rushed on to complete with the bayonet the confusion created amongst the French by their fire, which had been made with an aim so true and steady that it stretched the whole of the front rank of their opponents on the ground. Ten guns were the result of this brilliant effort; but the Frexich did not ~~quiesce in their loss without a struggle; they returned -to the attack with gladness; a Spanish cavalry regime~it, however, which behaved with great bravery, assailed them in flank and forced them to retreat. The right of the British army was thus victorious, but a monienta~y disaster threatened destruction to the left. The 23d Light Dragoons and Kings German Legion, which had been ordered to counteract an attempt of the French to turn it, were broken while passing heedlessly through a ravine, and for some time exposed to a imurderous fire from the squares of the enemy. Still, they maintained their ground, and, rallying 1855j The ]diilitary Career of IFellinqton. under Major Ponsonby, the 23d, made good their charge, but were received with such determined steadiness, and so envel- oped by the Imperial squares, that scarcely half of them suc- ceeded in cutting their way through the enemy. Nevertheless they effected their object; for the French being thus baffled in their design against the British left, turned their forces upon the centre,where, though they partially succeeded in two attempts, they were ultimately also compelled to withdraw by the spirit with which they were received by the Guards and 48th Regiment, and the terrible fire that played from the artiL lery on their flanks. Beaten back on every side, the French desisted from farther attempts; and both arr~iies, too exhausted for a renewal of the strife, reposed at night-fall in peaceful silence on the plain, after 6000 on the part of the British, and 8000 on that of the French, had been consigned to a slumber deeper still. Soult, who had hitherto experienced success more unvarying than had fallen to the lot of any other French commander, was next dispatched by Napoleontempted also, it is said, by the promise of a throneto restore his falling fortunes in the Pe- ninsula, and experienced the same reverses. He, in the first instance, repulsed Byng; ~ aided by the slumber of the videttes on their posts, surprised Lord Hill, and had nearly defeated the whole British army; but, after an action of seve- ral days duration in the Pyrenees, he was finally driven back with a loss of nearly 10,000 men, though he had but a few days before promised to celebrate Napoleons birthday at Vit- toria. St. Sebastian, which had previously repulsed the arms of Wellington, was taken by General Graham (Lord Lyn& x~h) as a consequenQe. of this defeat; and, after another desperate attack on the Hermitage of Mount La Rhune, which the enemy evacuated during the night, Wellington next day, in the be- ginning of winter 1813, pitched hi~ camp on the plains of France, having previously completely cleared the Peninsula of its invaders. Events now followed in rapid succession. Overpowered by superior numbers in Germany, Napoleon re~intered France ; the Allies followed; Paris fell; and the Empire was no more. After the memorable adieu to his Old Guard and Eagles at Fontainbleau, he retired to Elba a fugitive, while Wellington repaired to Paris as a conqueror. After a short stay in this eapital, the British general returned to Madrid, and thence to England, where he took his seat in the House of Lords as Vis- count, Earl, Marqnis, and Duke simultaneously; he having ad- 5 66 The ifihitary Cad~eer of Wdlington. [Jan., vanced through these stages in the peerage successively; and never visited his country since the first grade was conferred till the last was bestowed. The Commons at the same time voted him 100,000, and tendered the thanks of the Honse with the greatest distinction; all the members present rising and uncovering as he entered; while the Speaker compliment- ed him in a style of eulogium surpassed only by the modesty of the generals reply. The re~ippearance of Napoleon in France again summoned Wellington to the field, and to the greatest of his achievements. The events of the brief but decisive campaign of 1815 are too well known to require recapitulation here. Napoleon, with 160,000 troops, hastily commenced hostilities; defeated a Bel- gian corps, with a few British, at Les Quatre Bras, on the 16th of June, and still more signally overthrew the Prussians at Lig- ny, on the 17th; but the battle of Waterloo on the following day proved fatal to hi~ cause, and was attended with conse- quences more momentous than any engagement in modern or ancient annalsActium perhaps excepted. The merit of this day almost exclusively belongs to Wellington and the British army, who, with a few thousand Belgians and Hanoverians, for nearly twelve hours withstood all the efforts of Bonaparte, and repulsed the frequent shocks of his veteran guard; though some have had the folly to assert that to the exertions of the Pins- sians, who arrived not until the last charge of the French had been signally repelled, the victory was duea report originat- ing with the brutal and gascanoding Blucher himselg who although his sole share in the engagement was, when the French were defeated and defenseless, to sabre them down wrote to his wife, with equal falsehood and vulgarity, that lie, in conjunction with his friend Wellington, had put an end to Bonapartes dancing. * t Without the aid of the Prussians, Na- * See Southeys Life of Wellington, p. 25fian authority not likely to de- fame this coarse, inebriated dragoon. .~. The merit of this day almost exclusively belongs to Wellingtonso says our able and esteemed contributor. The few thousand Hessians, ilanoverians, and Black Brunewiekers were mere spectators, doubtless, of British valor. Nor did Blucher render the least assistance; although the very day before the fight of Waterloo he had held the French in desperate conflict at Ligny, and thus forced them (though repulsed himself) to march without rest, without food, and with in- sufficient ammunition, upon the last fatal field of Napoleons greatness. Napoleon dared not delay the combat: the British and Prussian arniics, if combined, could overwhelm him by sheer weight of bayonets and artillery. Thus, with men wounded, jaded, and hungry, he met the British, and knew full well that, unless he could utterly rout them before Bluchers arrival, his army and his throne were lost. He did partially succeed in disordering them; and the Duke, though not yet 1855.] The ilfilitary Career of Wellington. 67 poleon was subdued, as, even had he triumphed at Waterloo, it would have been impossible for him to withstand with his feeble resources the immense hordes coming up from the Dan- ube and the Vistula; and to Wellington,whatever glory accrues from the day undoubtedly belongs. His country acknowledged its gratitude by another gift of 200,000, to purchase an estate that might vie with Blenheim. With the military exploits of Wellington this memoir ceases; for, whatever be his administrative powers as a states- man, it is as a soldier that he will descend to posterity. despairing, made arrangements looking to the probability that a retreat upon Brus- sels would be necessary. ThQ mere announcement that the Prussians were march. ing in force against the French right decided the contest. After one desperate charge made by the whole line of Guard~ the.Emperor resigned himself to defeat. It was the moral force of the Prussian contingent on its way, that won Waterloo, aud gave to Britain the power of slowly murdering in a pestilential climate, on a sea-hound rock, under a menial and ferocious jailer, the loftiest European intellect that ever battled for human rights against the linked and banded powers of priest- craft, aristocracy, and feudal caste.-.~Ed. 68 Saint Valentine8 Day. [Jan., SAINT VALENTINES DAY. HISTORICAL AND POETICAL. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. ANERICANS hold but few secular days of the year as worthy of particular regard. It is contrary to the genius of our pie to throw away much time on idle celebrations; they are too much engrossed with business and the concerns of life, to give many seasons to themselves, in this sense. Each day has its necessary avocation and its earnest purpose. Where na- tions have men to think for them, and rulers self-constituted by divine right to govern them, it is well enough to amuse the masses with shows, feasts, and spectacles, in order to keep them from meddling with matters which their rulers wish to preserve exclusively in their own hands. But here the thing being unnecessary no obtain, and hence feasts or holidays are seldom held by us. What few we have were made by our- selves, or are a part of our history, and the associations give eclat to the day. Our Saturnalium, our grand demonstration, occurs on the Fourth of July; and the event it commemorates is more worthy of celebration than any or all others occurring in profane his- tory. It is a day which, we are sorry to say, has not been ob- served as it should have been, though lately there has been a manifest improvement. Not that we are opposed to burning gunpowder, and firing cannon, and parading the militia, and unfurling the star-spangled banner, and making speeches and hurraingfar from it. But there has been usually an excess of liberty indulged in, which was not to the credit of our citi- zens. Generally, we have had a large assortment of gin-slings and shot-slingsbrandy-smashes and omnibus-smasheswhis

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel Saint Valentine's Day. Historical and Poetical 68-73

68 Saint Valentine8 Day. [Jan., SAINT VALENTINES DAY. HISTORICAL AND POETICAL. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. ANERICANS hold but few secular days of the year as worthy of particular regard. It is contrary to the genius of our pie to throw away much time on idle celebrations; they are too much engrossed with business and the concerns of life, to give many seasons to themselves, in this sense. Each day has its necessary avocation and its earnest purpose. Where na- tions have men to think for them, and rulers self-constituted by divine right to govern them, it is well enough to amuse the masses with shows, feasts, and spectacles, in order to keep them from meddling with matters which their rulers wish to preserve exclusively in their own hands. But here the thing being unnecessary no obtain, and hence feasts or holidays are seldom held by us. What few we have were made by our- selves, or are a part of our history, and the associations give eclat to the day. Our Saturnalium, our grand demonstration, occurs on the Fourth of July; and the event it commemorates is more worthy of celebration than any or all others occurring in profane his- tory. It is a day which, we are sorry to say, has not been ob- served as it should have been, though lately there has been a manifest improvement. Not that we are opposed to burning gunpowder, and firing cannon, and parading the militia, and unfurling the star-spangled banner, and making speeches and hurraingfar from it. But there has been usually an excess of liberty indulged in, which was not to the credit of our citi- zens. Generally, we have had a large assortment of gin-slings and shot-slingsbrandy-smashes and omnibus-smasheswhis 18~i6.] Saint Yalentines Day. 69 key-punches and double-fist punchesblack-eyes and black- legs, et id omne genus. As a rule, we are not in favor of holi- daysthough we love to see the Glorious Fourth celebrated standing, with cheers; and Washingtons birthday and the tenth of September duly remembered. A less close attention to business would be beneficial; but to get wild, drunk, and crazy, two or three times a year, is not according to the doctors. But it was not with this intent we took up the pen. Our object was, to inquire somewhat concerning Saint Valentines Day, and we shall now proceed, secundu?n artem,to compass our determination. The iRomans were great observers of days, and of times, and of feasts. There were many dies festi in the IRoman year, and at least one fourth of the month of February was spent in these observances. The great feasts of this month were called the Supercalia, in honor of Pan and Juno. Pan, the god of Shep- herds, was supposed to preserve the sheep from wolves; and Juno was the Goddess of Marriage, and, therefore, held in great reverence by young women. During this feast, therefore, the Superci, the priests of Pan, ran up and down the city naked, having only a girdle of goat-skin about the waist, and thongs of the same in their hands, with which they struck, particu- larly married women, who were thence supposed to be rendered ~~rolific. It was at this festival, also, that Anthony, in the character of a priest of Pan, offered the crown to Ca~sar. In fine, it was a day of general relaxation; and one of the games adopted was to put the names of young women into a box, from which they were drawn, as chance directed. Doubt- less, this game occasioned many a romance in real life, many a strange linking, and many an apt choice; while, on the other hand, many a joke and hearty laugh resounded through the forum, when a name was read by the drawer. This feast oc- curred on the 15th of February, and the pastors or shepherds of the early Christian Church, who, by every possible means endeavored to eradicate the vestiges of pagan superstitions, and chiefly by some commutations of their forms, substituted, in the present instance, the names of particular saints instead of those of women; and Saint Valentines Day, which hap- pened on the fourteenth of February, wash accordingly chosen for the celebrat~n of this new feast; but how long the names of saints were put into the box, to the exclusion of women, we are not informed. It is certain, however, that it was a sport practised after the 70 & rdnt Valentine8 Day. [Jan., old Roman fashion, among the gentry in England, as early as 1476; and we may justly infer, that the common people had long held it a custom, before it ascended to the nobility. It is not practised now, quite as it was then. Instead of putting names into a box, and drawing them out, and thus choosing Valentines, and the person drawn making presents to the drawer, letters, billets doux, and presents are sent from one to another, as choice inclines, without the risk of drawing. Thus, many exchanges of courtesy, many acts of kindness, many generous gifts, come and go on Saint Valentines Day. Nevertheless, it is a custom which we think more honored in the breach than the observance; not from any thing in itselg but on account of its shameful abuse. It is made the vehicle of slander and of insult, it is the channel through which cow- ards and villains threaten and denounce. Comic, indecent, and caricaturing Valentines fly like hail from a wintry sky. A lady fears to receive or open a missive of this nature, The evil is a great one, and cries for redress. There is no question that the senders of these things would be liable to an action for libel, if they could be discovered. At all events, such pro. ceedings tend to breaches of the peace, and in that light would be actionable. Year after year it is getting worse. For ourselves; we have never sent a Valentine, except this to the UNITED STATES REVIEW, and we never expect to send another. We regret the abuse to which so beautiful a custom has been subjected, we regret the deep degradation into which it has fallen; and we do hope, that, if it is to be continued by the rising generation, it will be altogether reformed. Whether, as the poet intimates, birds mate upon this day, and, connubial leagues agreed, fly to the woods on domestic thoughts and affairs intent, is doubtless fabulous. Neverthe- less, the conceit is pretty enough and romantic enough, and we could believe it for its poetry; and in any case, we feel sure that birds commit no such gross indecencies as men sometimes do. To them, Saint Valentines Day, is one of love, plea- sure, and innocent coquetry. SAINT vALEYTnINS DAY. IN times, so far removed from us that memory doth not run, The festive sportings of this day already had begun; On Englands shores, on Scotlands hills, in Frances sunny vales; The custom has long since prevailed, aye, and it still prevails. 18~5.] Saint Valentrne8 Day. Ti Now many an eye is sonneted, and many a ringlet sung, And tokens of respect and love are sent from old and young; For man learned of the birds that choose a mate upon this day, And now trim up their ruffled plumes, and once again look gay. Although for months unused to sing, kind nature breaks the spell, The love and hope so long pent up, how aptly they will tell; With arching neck and roguish eye and plumage spruce and fine, With soft and gently cooing voice, they sing a Valentine. What pretty coquetry is there, and with what female art The coy young birdlings seek the grove, and guard the yielding heart; And though they hear, will not attend their lovers glowing strain, But busied with a ruffled plume, affect a slight disdain; And careless thus to wound a heart with coquetry, they dare To ask another young gallant, the boon of love to share. With glossy neck, and leering eye, and feathers flaunting gay, They hop about from branch to branch and all their airs display; With graceful motion, easy mien, yet coy and bashful glance, In the deep woods they hide their charms as if by merest chance; The bough that half conceals the form lays open the design, Which is, in truth, to coax a youth to sing a Valentine. But whether birds all know this fact, I cant pretend to say. I wish they did, ,t would give them great success throughout the day; And since we see the female kind undoubted art employ, Tis only fair to predicate, that all know how to toy. Now all the arts Dame Nature taught by each are brought to bear. A symmetry of face and form is prayed for by the fair, And though they may coquette at noon, by eve that mood is past; For those who take nQt mates to-day must die old maids at last. So though despair awhile may cast the gallant suitors down, Yet, in the end, love with success will all their efforts crown; And thus we see upon this day, tis Natures grand design That those who love should tell their love, and choose a Valentine. From nature thus mankind have learned the uses of the day; And many a missive charged with love is speeding on its way, And many a nameless billet doux by fairy fingers penned, Makes the blood tingle in the veins of lover or of friend. The timid wooer tells his tale, the bashful maid can write; Feelings long pent within the breast this day brings forth to light; For each one has the privilege the plaintive verse to twine, And from the fairest, noblest ones, to choose a Valentine. T2 Saint Thlentine8 Day. [Jan., The love a maiden dare not speak, can thus be all confessed, And sentiments but now made known, may warm a mutual breast; And Citpid has throughout the land devices quaint and rare, By which this secret of the heart is told to ladies fair; Two billing doves, two pierced hearts the tale of love can tell, A little line, a simple word, can make the bosom swell; A rose-bud will a flame declare; but do not lightly twine A sprig of myrtle in a wreath, that asks a Valentine. Tis thus, the frolic birds of air, upon this sacred day Choose a companion who shall drive the cares of life away; With whom to spend the summer-months till winter comes again, But part to meet no more on earth in bleak Decembers rain. But not so will I choose my love, we never more will part. In heat or cold Ill wear her ever nearest to my heart, For if she will but bless my suit, Ill never more repine; (Till she is found,) my dear Review, I am your February, 1855. VALENTINE. [We rather suspect that our friend, Ccl. Eidolon, is not so insensible to female attraction as he would have the world believe. Deeply complimented as we should feel by a monopoly of his addresses, we rather think that some iady-fWr has been before us in the field. On opening our treasure-drawer, (we mean the drawer in which we preserve our most valued M$S.,) we f6und the following, which we can ascribe to no other hand. Come, Colonel, is it a true bill? Guilty, or not guilty, on your honor?Ed.] THE VALENTINE. Not only in the spring of life, When young and gay, Thy ruby lips, with kisses rife, Are Cupids stay; Not only when the blushing rose Strives in thy cheek; Not only when thy bright eye glows, Thy love I seek. But when Decembers snow and rain, Oercloud the sk~t, To thee, as in the spring again Id gladly fly; Not like the birds when summer~s oer, Would I resign One, who long cheeredthe weary hour, My Valentine. 1855.] Greek and Roman Literature. 73 GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE. Tni~ science of criticism, like every other, has been of gra- dual growth and development .among every intellectual people. It has for its foundations the principles of taste, not only as they are col1e~ted from the most approved performances, but also as they are deduced from an appeal to individual conscious- ness, which leads men to pronounce upon the objects of taste as they are apprehended by certain internal and primordial faculties of our mental constitution; an operation of the mind which is defined by Selilegel to be genius in its elective energy. But as every .sgience is a mere classification of rela- tions, so also the science of criticism can only be carried to perfection by a wide and extensive comparison of existing models with each other, and with those original perceptions of the beautiful, which have an existence independent of all examples of approved performances. The principles of taste, as at present established and received, derive their chief autho- rity from the classic productions of Greece and Rome, in which they were first exemplified and embodied; and it is principally by a diligent and philosophical study of these works, and a careful generalization of particular causes and effects in the literary world, that the laws of criticism have been expounded in modern times with such force and accuracy. There are ob- vious reasons why the literature of these two nations attained a degree of finished and consummate excellence, far surpassing that which has been reached by any other people; a pr& xni- nence which has been acknowledged by the implicit deference and universal admiration they have commanded during all sub- sequent ages of any enlightenment, from the period of Alex- andrian learning to the present day of general illumination. It has not been until later times, however, that the true spirit of a philosophical criticism has imbued the minds of classical students.

Greek and Roman Literature 73-90

1855.] Greek and Roman Literature. 73 GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE. Tni~ science of criticism, like every other, has been of gra- dual growth and development .among every intellectual people. It has for its foundations the principles of taste, not only as they are col1e~ted from the most approved performances, but also as they are deduced from an appeal to individual conscious- ness, which leads men to pronounce upon the objects of taste as they are apprehended by certain internal and primordial faculties of our mental constitution; an operation of the mind which is defined by Selilegel to be genius in its elective energy. But as every .sgience is a mere classification of rela- tions, so also the science of criticism can only be carried to perfection by a wide and extensive comparison of existing models with each other, and with those original perceptions of the beautiful, which have an existence independent of all examples of approved performances. The principles of taste, as at present established and received, derive their chief autho- rity from the classic productions of Greece and Rome, in which they were first exemplified and embodied; and it is principally by a diligent and philosophical study of these works, and a careful generalization of particular causes and effects in the literary world, that the laws of criticism have been expounded in modern times with such force and accuracy. There are ob- vious reasons why the literature of these two nations attained a degree of finished and consummate excellence, far surpassing that which has been reached by any other people; a pr& xni- nence which has been acknowledged by the implicit deference and universal admiration they have commanded during all sub- sequent ages of any enlightenment, from the period of Alex- andrian learning to the present day of general illumination. It has not been until later times, however, that the true spirit of a philosophical criticism has imbued the minds of classical students. 74 Greek and ]i?onian Literature. [Jan., During the revival of letters, it was a biblomania that pre- vailed to the exclusion of every other object, and the long- neglected manuscripts, in search of which men underwent long and toilsome journeys, and cheerfully encountered perils by land and sea, were only sought and rescued from the accumu- lated dust of centuries that they might be transcribed with cor- rectness and neatness. The scholars of that age devoted their studies almost exclusively to verbal criticism, and the restora- tion of the injured and almost illegible text to its original reading; for which task, quickness and facility in the tiresome manipulations of penmanship constituted a talent in greater requisition than the powers of a vigorous intellect, united with a correct taste. They were, in fact, laborious pioneers to the more fortunate scholars who came after them. For a long time subsequent to the agitation of the iReforma- tion, the minds of men were distracted from the peaceful pur- suits of literature by the strifes of religions contention and ci~ril war. The bold proclamations of the fiery Luther, and the persuasive arguments of the meek Melanethon, which ar- rested and fixed the attention of the king upon his throne and the peasant at his plough, compelled the scholars of Wittem- berg and the doctors of Sorbonne to forego the enjoyment of a lettered ease, and yield to the spirit of the times. The men who considered themselves called by the voice of God to fight the battles of religious freedom against papal intolerance, of truth against error, devoted their time, their talents, and their energies to the fulfillment of the glorious mission upon which they were sent, and classical literature was only cultivated as subsidiary to their grand design; while their adversaries, who joined with them in the fierce invective and harsh dialectics of theological controversy, could not be expected to affect the amenities of a classic taste or attain any high degree of scholarship. Some of the most distinguished of the reform- ers, as well as many of their cotemporaries, were remarkable for the extent of their learning, and the correctness and ease with which they wrote and spoke the Latin tongue. But it was not until the last and present century that humane letters~s they were called, became the objects of proper appre- ciation, combined with intelligent criticism. Bentley was among th& ~rst of the English who brought to the study a devotedness of ~ppl1catiQn, and a hearty earnestness of pur- pose, which, however he may have failed in execution, do honor to his name, and ought to rescue it from the reproach and contumely with which his cotemporaries conspired to 18~5.] Greek and Roman Literature. 7,5 blacken his memory. He was, doubtless, a too trenchant critic, yet, amid all his blunders, says Dr. Parr, all his frivolous cavils and hardy conjectures, all his sacrifices of taste to acute- ness, and all his rovings from poetry to prose, still his mistakes are found light in the balance when weighed with his numer- ous, his splendid, and matchless discoveries. Had he made no other discovery than that of the .iEolic digamma in the original versification of the Homeric poems, it would be suili- cient to save his genius, and evince the logical acumen of his mind; a discovery at which he arrived, after a patient and laborious investigation, conducted according to the strictest rules of philosophical induction, thus literally applying the method of Bacon to the researches of criticism. But it is to Germany, the land of scholars, which seems to have taken all knowledge and literntnre a~ its province, that we look for examples of those who ha~re penetrated most deeply into the heart and inner life of the ancients as revealed by their literature. Hermann, who stood at the head of the scholars of his day, claimed for his countrymen a facility of adaptation and flexibility of mental constitution, which, aided by the peculiar structure of their language, enabled them to apprehend the modes of thought and expression proper to other nations. Accordingly, the mind of Germany was so long engaged in studying, admiring, and illustrating the literature of other countries, that it is only within the last century that she began to frame one of her own; a literature of which we may say, as Plutarch said of the appearance presented by the Parthenon at its erection, that it unites the venerable air of anticjuii;y with the freshness and grace of a modern construc- tion. The Germans first combined vivacity, and elegance of illustration with the discussions of philology, by accompany- ing the drier details of grammatical analysis with what were called A~kt1ietic annotations. Thoroughly imbued with the fer- vent spirit of classicism, they discarded alike from their feel- ings and the canons of criticism the nil admirari sentiment of colder hearts. We do not, as in Bentleys performances, per- petually see the slashing knife gleaming before our eyes, and which did such fearful havoc upon the mangled forms of Lu- cretius, and the skeleton remains of Menander and Philemon. Considering the study of the ancients as a school for thought, for feeling, and for taste, they initiated us, as has been re- marked, into the great mystery of reading every thing in the same spirit in which it had originally been written. Gesner laid the foundation of this system of criticism, but Heyne de 76 Greek and Roman Literature. [Jan., veloped its principles in their fullest scope and bearing. To this school has succeeded in later times, or rather out of it has been formed, a Pyrrhonic sect of critics, who, while they fully appreciate and delight to acknowledge the intrinsic beauties and unrivalled excellence of the classic authors, have poured a flood of skepticism and doubt over the whole field of ancient history and literature, attacking at once the authenticity of the former and the genuineness of much of the latter. Foremost in the van of this squadron of incorrigible doubters stands Wolf; a precedence awarded him, not so much by right of seniority as by reason of the audacity and prowess he has manifested in utterly annihilating or putting to flight so many of his antagonists. Unawed by the divinity that doth hedge a king, he bravely thrust 61d Homer, the facile ~ririceps of antiquity, from the throne he had suqeceded in occupying alone, and divided the usurped empire among his peers. Wolf, how- ever, can not aspire to the p raise of entire originality in all his speculations; for it is evidcut from the statements of iElian and Eustachius that the scholars of the Alexandrian school entertained, in a great degree,. t~ie doubts and misgivings so clearly and forcibly promulgated by the German professor; among the moderns, Perrault, a Frenchman, is believed to be the first who suggested that the Iliad and Odyssey were a col- lection of bardic songs, (such as are found in every nation at a certain stage of its civilization,) infinitely superior, it is true, to those of any other people, but possessing the same distinctive characteristics. Heyne complained that Wolf (who had been his pupil, and attended his lectures,) had borrowed many of his ideas and conclusions, which he appropriated, wiThout acknow- ledging the eource whence he had derived them and it is more than probable that much of the learning and argumenta- tion so conspicuous in the P~olegomenct of the latter, had been derived from the Prelections of the former; and if Wolfe was forestalled by Perrault, he was out-Wolfed by the learned Hardonin, the most unconscionable of all these classic icono- clasts, who maintained, with great eloquence and seeming plausibility, that all the Latin classics are as much forgeries as the fabled language of Formosa or the Bristowe Tragedie of Chatterton, except only some of the writings of Cicero, the Georgics of Virgil, the Satires and Epistles of Horace, and the Natural History of Pliny; and we would advise those who do not wish to have their faith shaken in the genuineness of the ~neid to keep aloof from the acute speculations and plausible sophistries of this most ingenious Jesuit. ,flr 1856.] Greek and Roman J2Uerature. What a contrast is presented between the classical enthusi- asm of Petrarch and Poggio, and that of Perrault and Wolf! Between Petrarch feasting his delighted eyes with the sight of Homer, while unable to construe a line, embracing with rapture the cherished volume and uttering half-querulous, half-pathetic plaints over the precious casket which he could not open; and the equally ardent and plodding Wolf; calmly dissecting this chef dceuvre of antiquity, poring over its immortal pages, analyzing each line, scrutinizing each word, not so much in searchof the cesthetic, as that he might show the disconnections in its narrative, the want of homogeneity in its parts, and worse than all, the probable interpolations of Cyclics and iRhapsodists. Or with regard to history, compare the easy cre- dulity of IRollin, which led him to impose implicit confidence in every statement and legend of the ajncient annalists, as though Greeks and Latins could not lie, with the audacious effrontery of the paradox-hunting Niebuhr, throwing ominous doubt and conjecture over long-established opinions and facts, questioning the intelligenc~e, impugning the veracity, and asserting the stupidity of the old fathers of Greek and iRoman history; at one fell swoop he levels all authoritiesLivy and Tacitus, Appian and Plutarch. Equally opposed to the purblind reverence of Goldsmith is the stout unbelief of Mr. iMlitford, which, however, never failed to relax at the recital of noble deeds and virtues ascribed to Spartan despots, or stale charges of meanness and violence, tacked upoli Athenian ora- tors and democrats. Barring this exception, he has neverthe- less done much towards a comprehensive and true detail of Grecian history; for as Macaulay justly remarks, he w~i~es of times with respect to which almost eyery oth0r writer was in the wrong, and therefore by resolutely deviating from his pre- decessors, he is often in the right. There are those to whom this skeptical spirit seems incom- patible with a fervent and loyal devotion to the classics, and equally destructive of a delicate and exquisite sensibility to genius. They are unwilling to be convinced that the names which have long been as familiar as household words, and around which have clustered the recollections of youth and the cherished pleasures of riper years, until they have assumed the guise of intelligible forms and fair humanities~that these names which they have embalmed in their memories and gar- nered up in their hearts inner core are mere abstractions of the mind, as unreal as the Persian Oromadzes and Arimanes; and they are disposed, like the good Friar in one of Fords 78 Greek and Roman Literature. [Jan., old English dramas, to rebuke these wits that presume on wit too much : Dispute no more on this: Such questions know are fond; for better tis To bless the sun than reason why it shines; Yet those thou talkst of are above the sun. No more! I may not hear it. Whoso increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow, saith the wise man of Proverbs; and to such as these, this knowledge truly seems to be vanity and vexation of spirita wisdom bootless and comfortless as that with which the serpent be- guiled Eve, and deceptive and unsatisfying as that book beheld in apocalyptic vision by the Apostle and Prophet of Patmos, which, though sweet to the taste, turned to gall and bitterness. The perverse inquisitiveness which can not rest satisfied with the cultivation and enjoyment of the possession, but must needs vitiate the title by which it is held, in their estimation is as unwise as the curiosity of the boy is foolish, who cuts open his drum to seek the origin of its noise. Sir Walter Scott was one of those who could not endure that Gothic critics should lay their ruthless hands upon chaplets and crowns which had so long encircled the brows of their possessors, and been worn with the unanimous suffrage and applause of a long line of ages. These disputatious critics, who, to him, seemed only eager to discover some defect or flaw in the title by which we held the inestimable legacies of the mighty dead, he re- garded as pestilent disturbers of the republic of letters, whom he could no more tolerate than the unscrupulous judge or ma- lignant barrator who should call into requisition every power of a perverted ingenuity in Qrder to filch him of the home of his ancestors and the repository of his heir-looms. In perusing an excursus of Heyne, he was affected with feelings similar, we imagine, to those which he has attributed to his own antiquary, Mr. Oldbuck, when so cruelly undeceived by Edie Ochiltree, respecting the Kaim of Kinprunes. Monkbarns wished the bedesn~an to the devil for his impertinence in daring to assert that the hillocks and mounds on the bit bourock of land at Kinprunes, so far from being the veritable trenches and dikes, the circumvallations and Pra~torium of Agricola, were all of so recent a date that he kenned the bigging ot, and that instead of being planned and constructed by the old Roman during his last Caledonian campaign, he and a wheen hal- 79 1855.] Greek and Pom~an~ literature. lenshakers likeAiimself and the mason lads just set to work about twenty years syne and built this thing here that ye Ca thethePra~torian and a jnst for a bield at auld Aiken Drums bridal. The ancient and venerable names of the classic authors had been so long identified in the mind of Scott with the ii~mortal productions to which they were attached, that it was impossi- ble to mar or detach the former, without marring the harmony, majesty, and beauty of the latter; like the image of himselg which Phidias carved upon the buckler of Minerva, and which could only be removed or obliterated by destroying the grace- ful proportion and finish of the whole statue. To him, Homer was something more than a mere namehe was a great poet to be admired, loved, worshippedand he felt towards those who questioned the actual existence of this high-priest of Nature, as the Moslem feels when he hears the taunt of the Giaour, Allah is not God, nor Mahomet his prophet. Under the refining touches of his plastic fancy, the image which has been transmitted from antiquity of the old poet, with its ex- pansive front and laurelled brow, seemed to take a shape of life and motion as though imbued with thought and feeling. He loved doubtless to fancy the blind old man of Scios rocky isle, like his own last minstrel with withered cheeks and tresses gray, moving amidst some favorite scene, the chosen haunt of faun and nymph; or perchance seated along the strand of the loud-sounding- sea and striking the chords of his deep-toned harp in unison with its echoings, as though he would still commune with the majestic voice of na- ture, now that his eyes were for ever closed upon heavens stars, which make glad the shepherds heart, and earths hills kirtled with flowers, and her vales where she caused to spring up for the son of Chronos the decoy lotus and crocus and hya- cinth thick and soft.* The same inquisitive and skeptical spirit which has exploded the pretensions of a few old Greek and Roman names has played equally wild work with the historical and classical ~ri- ticism of the present day. It is probably both just aiad proper that we should bring the light of our more enlarged and philo- sophical knowledge to the discussions of ancient history and literature; and it is undoubtedly true, as Mr. Savigny has re ToZo~ 6v~-~ X& v eta ~bi~ev veoO~?u6a rcoi~v ~ IL Lib. xiv. 346, S49. A& rov de~o~nevra, z6~ IcQ6Icov, ??6 v~ tvOov Tlvicvev itat jza2uait6v. 80 Creekand Roman Literat~tre. [Jan., marked, that the application of certain universal and cardinal principles which have been generalized by the inductive methQd of modern times, has rendered efficient aid in all our speculations upon the past; though we are hardly disposed to go all lengths with him, and assert that these more recent dis- coveries of the continental school have enabled Niebuhr to penetrate deeper into the secrets of Roman greatness than was ever done by the liomans themselves during the brightest pe- riod of their national literature.* The danger is, lest in solving the complex enigmas pro- pounded in the annals of every nation, we be tempted to draw our inferences from preconceived opinions respecting the na- ture of the questions presented to our consideration. The conclusions to which we are brought by a partial analysis, con- ducted entirely upon modern principles and data, must be eliminated and corrected by due allowances to be made for the peculiar nature of the facts to which they relate and the d~is- tinctive characteristics of the times to Which they are referred. It is not our design, as it is far from our wishes, to disparage what is called the philosophy of historythe object of which is to investigate the great and priinaxy truths that are hidden in the confused details of history, as grains of gold in a mass of orewhich is not satisfied with the mere statement of events, but traces them to their ultimate causes, and duly estimates their effects. It develops the gradual formation of states, the growth of powerful dynasties, and, as it were, stratifies the dif- ferent deposits left by the mighty stream of Tendency upon the face of society, at successive periods, as the geologist de- velops the alternate layers which form the crust of our globe. Every nation has an inner as well as an outer life, and it is only by a thorough analysis and comprehension of the former that we can properly comprehend the latter. The overthrow of existing governments, the conflict of armies and the list of the slain, the formation of treaties and leagues, are the least in- teresting events in the history of a great and intellectual peo- ple, if we confine ourselves to their mere recapitulation. Every school-boy can repeat, in regular succession, the line of English sovereigns from Egbert the Saxon to Victoria; but if he knows nothing of the condition and progress of the nation during their reigns, his knowledge is as worthless as that of the Etrus- can alphabet, of which not a word remains. Without general- ization, history is a vast collection of hieroglyphics, for the ex * Vide Savignys History of the Roman Law. 18553 Creek and Roman Literature. 81 plication of whose mysteries there is no Rosetta stonea mere shell without a kernel. But it is not to be pretended that, after a lapse of two thou- sand years, we can interpret every idiosyncrasy in Greek and Roman manners, or apprehend the causes of all those political mutations, which, by their strangeness and frequency, resemble the ever-varying phases of a revolving kaleidoscope. To attempt to assigu the specific reason of every institution peculiar to an- cient society frequently leads to the most chimerical, not tosay preposterous conclusions. Because the ruling passion of the Athenians was that of amusement, to whidi the emulation of glory, lively though it was,was made subordinate, Jeffrey would have us believe that the law of ostracism, which disgraced the Athenian commonwealth, had its origin in a wise and cautious dread lest they might beiinduly influenced by a rapturous ad- miration of successful talent. It is a proof; says he, how much they were afraid of their own propensity to idolize: they could not trust themselves in the presence of one who had be- come too popular. We are persuaded that this regulation was established from no such recondite and metaphysical self-inqui- sition on the part of the gay Athenians and, like honest Ho- ratio, in his reply to Hamlet, we are disposed to think, that twere to consider too curiously to consider so. Equally fan- ciful and absurd is the idea of Blackstone, who, in his Com- mentaries on the laws of England, labors to prove that the tu- mults and dissensions which vexed the fierce democratic of Athens, and finally wrought the total subversion of the state, are to be attributed to the operation of alienation by devise, unrestrained by the conservative influence of the law of primo- geniture. ~ My Father, in Tristram Shandy; fairly mounted on his physiological hobby-horse, never curveted more ridicu- lously. The philosophy of history, like every other science, has its ultimate questions, beyond which human intellect can not pierce. The great error of modern speculation upon past events is, that we are unwilling to leave any thing unexplain- ed, to which, by the most tortuous process, a reason can be assigned; where the ignorance is most profound, there is the dogmatism most presumptuous. Some historical questions, from the very nature of the sub- jects to which they refer, and others, from the contradictory statements of conflicting authorities, defy the powers of the most searching analysis, and elude every effort towards their * Vide 2 Black, chap. xxiii. 6 82 Greek and Roman Literature. [Jan., exposition. Who, for example, can explain all the social and political vicissitudes of a period of English hi~tory as late as that included between the first outbreak of the Great Rebellion and the consummation of the revolution under William and Mary? Who can reduce the fragmentary and detached events of that most interesting era to a consistent whole ?can ex- plain how it was that the stern republicans who rose up in arms against the perfidious yet amiable Charles, could tole- rate for an instant the usurpation of Cromwell ?how it was that the same army which had battled, with llampden in its ranks, against the tyrant father, hailed with loud acclaim the accession of his son ?how the murmurs which greeted the mild protectorate of Cromwell were changed into j tibilant shouts of applause at the coronation of the second Charles ? how it was that the godly slang of the Puritan, and the rav- ings of Fifth Monarchy-men, shouting for the personal reign of King Jesus, died away amid the oaths and ribald songs that rose from the streets of London, and the maudlin mirth and revelry which resounded in the courts at Whitehall,where the prince upon his throne, and noble lord and jeweled lady, held high carousal with a rabble rout of shameless men, and still more shameless women, inflamed with wine and lust a motley group, more loathsome and obscene than the best- ial herd that thronged the temples of the Cyprian goddess? how it was that the same multitude which darkened the doors of the conventicle to-day, and groaned and sighed responses to the canting prayers of brother Seek-the-Lord-while-he-may-be- found, on the morrow gathered around the foul orgies of li- cense and debauch in a wild Saturnalia of rampant vice, un- seemly as a dance of Satyrs or unloosed demons at the high carnival of hell ?or, finally, how it was that the same House of Commons, which had acc{uiesced in the domination of the odious James, and even imprisoned one of its members for slightly reflecting on the language of the Crown, voted the va- cancy of the throne and invited over the Prince of Orange? These are great and leading events in English constitutional and social historyevents to which the so-called Anglo-Saxon race look back with mingled pride and regret, composing as they do a checkered picture of so much glory and so much shame; but how few are agreed upon the determination of the causes to which they are referable! There are numerous his- toric doubts and difficulties in our own short existence as a na- tion which can never be conclusively settled; and it is reason- able to suppose that no sagacity, however marvelous, can 1855.1 Greek and Roman Literature. 83 follow the erratic course of such a changeful Proteus as the populace of Greece and Rome. What is there which comes home nearer to the business and bosoms of men than the laws to which they owe obedience? Yet who can define and embody the Common Law as it prevailed in our country prior tQ, and contemporaneously with, the Revolution? It is to that law we look as the great well-spring of all our j urisprudence, the glorious birthright of our race, gentis irteunabaics nostree. There are a few probably who still remember the surprise pro- duced by an opinion of Judge Chase, when, in 1798, he declared that while each individual state had a common law of its own, the United States had none. From the very nature of the case, it is impossible to define how far as of force, in legal phraseology, the jus commune of England was recognized in our country at the formation of th& Constitution, though it is obvious, as Judge Story has remarked, that the framers of that instrument presupposed the existence of the common law. The great defect, therefore, in our estimation, which detracts from the historical criticism of the present day, is that it aims to compass too much; just as the metaphysicians, before the day of Des Cartes or Reid, refused to admit scarcely any of the ab- struse and complex phenomena of psychology to be inexplica- ble: in their eagerness to master everything, they made no per- manent acquisitions, and hence the deciduous fame of such men as Hobbes and Malebranche. Reid, in his Inquiry, we think rather erred on the other side, and did not push his re- searches with sufficient intrepidity. Horace has laid down a rule, which applies to all such disquisitions as well as the prac- tical pursuits of every-day life: Est modus in rebus, sunt certi denique fines Quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum. Jeremy Taylor said of his times, We live in an age, in which men have more need of new fires to be kindled within them and around about them than of any thing to allay their for- wardness. That age has passed away, and there is little ne- cessity now, it is presumed, for any cautions against the ex- treme of citraism, if we may coin a word from our quotation; for ultraism of the wildest kind is the order of the day in all speculations, moral and political, mental and physical. If such be the fact regarding the tendency of modern in- quiry, we might naturally expect that the history and literature of Greece and Rome would form an endless theme upon which 84 Greek and Roman Literature~ [Jan., ingenious refiners might expend their bold hypotheses and sage conjectures; and that it is so, is abundantly proved by the labored treatises and learned productions of such as MUller and Niebuhr and Creuzer. To this warped interpretation of his- tory, which conforms every fact to the Procustean bed of some darling theory, we almost prefer the childlike confidence with which they were received by Goldsmith and Bartholemi: the omniverous farrago of IRollin is scarcely less tolerable than such stall-fed histories. In all investigations into the inner life and feelings of the ancients, the chtics and philosophers of literature and history should endeavor to avoid those mental delusions, which Bacon has classed under the head of idola 8pecus. The facts of which they treat must not be contem- plated through the distorting medium of some favorite theory, or the mist of passion and prejudice. Dry light, says Heracli- tus, is ever the best; and we should close our eyes against that which is infused and drenched in our own affections and customs. * The literature of a nation presents a transcript of a nations mind, the image of which will always be mirrored forth by it, unless counteracted by extraneous causes. It is not to works professedly historical, that we are most indebted for our knowledge of the every-day life and manners of a par- ticular age or the customs and peculiarities of a people. For this purpose, in regard to Grecian history, the Homeric poems and the plays of Aristophanes or Euripides are worth more than the chronicles of Herodotus and the contributions of Xeno- phon. or Thucydides. If we seek an introduction to the iRo- man, aloof from the noise of the bustling forum at home, or the march of armies abroad, do we turn to the pages of Livy or Sallust or Ca~sar? To none of these, but to the familiar let- ters of Cicero, the works of Horace, and the satires of Juvenal. Every one knows how far Sir, Walter Scott~ the novelist, is su- perior to Hume, the historian, when they treat in common upon any particular part of English history: the very ballads of a countrythe native literature of the common mind, are strik- ingly significant of the state of society in which they take their origin, and in which they are longest cherished. For the sake of this atone we would not exchange Chevy-chase or the Lytell Geste of Robin Hode, for very many chapters we could point out in Robertson. To the literature of Greece and Rome, there- fore, we must resort, as affording the most reliable sources of information from which to make up our estimate of their re- spective character and genius, and we are in no danger of being * Vide Essays of Bacon, xxviii. S 18~5j Greek and Roman Literature. 85 led astray, provided we consent to be fair interpreters. But first we must be permitted to premise that the advantage pos- sessed by the production of the Latin authors over the Greek, arising from our greater familiarity with them, is to be attri- buted to far other. causes than the superiority of the former over the latter. There are obvious reasons, however, why the literature of Rome has heretofore been, and will continue to be, more culti- vated than that of Greece; for of all the nations that at success- ive periods have swayed the destinies of the world, the influ- ence of the former upon modern civilization is most visibly and directly operative. We are much more familiar with the lan- guage and literature of the Latins than of the Greeks, because they were later in their prevalence, and are necessarily forced upon the attention, not only of the classical scholar, but of every one who makes the least pretension to a philosophical knowledge of the causes to which modern civilization owes much of its peculiar development, or who has examined, in even the most superficial manner, the history of the world since the days of Roman greatness and glory. Everywhere may be traced the impress which her overshadowing dominion has left for good and for evil upon after-times and generations. No pent-up Utica confined her powers; her victorious eagles were borne by an indomitable soldiery into every quarter of the known world, until her dominion extended from the ex- treme limits of Dacia beyond the frozdn sources of the Borys- thenes, to the scorching plains of Africa, where Atlas upheld the heavens; and from the Tigris and Euphrates on the east to the Pillars of Hercules and th~ Western Ocean. The Greeks, once masters of the world, were forced to acknowledge her po- litical supremacy, and the nations that had been once borne down by the Macedonian phalanx quailed again before the Ro- man legion. Her territorial acquisitions, however, were not like the fabled conquests of Sesostris or Bacchus; over the people whom she had smitten with the sword, she extended the beneficent shield of her laws, and deprived them of a dis- tinctive and independent nationality only to make them citi- zens of a world-spread empire. The barbarous Cantabrian and warlike Lusitanian, the rough Sarmatian, the refined Greek, and dusky Mauritamian, were alike included in the comprehensive policy of a nation whose prerogative it seemed to be not only to vanquish the world but also to legislate for all mankind: ______ pacisque imponere morem Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos. 86 Greek and Roman Literature. [Jan., Wherever the iRoman conquers, he inhabits, said Seneca: the language and institutions of her colonies were assimilated with those of the parent city, and reflected in miniature the image of the great metropolis. In consequence of this it was, that we see the Punic dialect of Africa gradually melting away until it sank into desuetude, while the Celtic was driven into the for- ests and mountain fastnesses of Wales, of Cornwall, and of Ar- morica to find an asylum among their rude and unconqnered peasantry. To this day the face of Europe is strewed with evidences of the overwhelming tide of IRoman arms and civili- zation that once poured over itevidences which after the lapse of almost two thousand years since the subsidence of the mighty flood, attest the universality of its prevalence. Her language, though mute, still forms the key to half the spoken tongues of the continent; the rescripts and decrees of her em- perors, interwoven with the dogmas of the feudal system, are recoonized at the present day in the jurisprudence of southern Europe; the Eternal City is still acknowledged as the head of a vast hierarchy through whose rituals and imposing ceremo- nials the Latin still speaks with its majestic voice; the crozier of the friar and the cassock of the priest are emblems of a power which has survived the fasces of the lictor and purple laticlave of the senator; the golden palace of Nero has long since crum- bled into dust, but in its stead has arisen the Vaticanto the Pantheon has succeeded St. Peters, and his holiness the Pope still sways a sceptre over the minds of men more powerful than the Cresars ever wielded. As late as the sixteenth century, the Latin was the language of ordinary intercourse; it was heard alike in the synods of divines and the courts of princes, in the metaphysical jargon of the schools and the polemics of the IRealists and Nominal- ists, and was read in the correspondence of foreign diplomats and the dialogues and satires of Erasmus, in the specula- tions of Thomas Aquinas and the Novum Orgctnon or Cogitata et Visa of Bacon. Thus it has happened that the language, and with it the literature of the IRoman has, in a measure, supplanted or rather overlaid that of Greece. During the long black night of the middle ages, Grecian literature underwent a total eclipse; not so its less deserving but more fortunate rival, the Latin. Boccacio informs us that during those times of worse than Egyptian darkness, there was not a scholar in Italy who was acquainted even with the Greek characters; and ilallanit states that there is not a line quoted from any poet in that language from the sixth to the fourteenth century; the Greek and Roman Literature. 87 whole western world seemed to have forgotten that they were indebted to Grecian inspiration for the few Latin authors, which here and there some solitary and laborious monk, immured in his cloister, still delighted to study and transcribe. During the tenth and eleventh centuries, the darkest period of medi2e- val times, the literature of iRome was not entirely neglected; and though many a classic manuscript was erased to make room for a homily or commentary of a favorite saint or some miraculous legend, yet not a few of the monastic order were as much remarkable for their devotion to classical studies, and elegance of their trahscriptions, as the majority of the clergy for a barbaric indifference to the choicest remains of Roman as well as Grecian genius; many works of the Latin authors were translated by those studious men into the lingua volgare, a work in which ttie Benedictines vied with the Carthusians, the Cis- tercians with the monks of Monte Casino; but the language of the Grecian bards, and of Xenophon and Plato, was as unin- telligible as the hieroglyphics of Egypt. Even in the better days of Petrarch, we find him lamenting that Homer to him was dumb, or rather that he was deaf to his majestic tones. At the revival of letters in the fifteenth century, the Italians being ignorant of the Greek tongue, all works in that language were suffered, for the time, to lie untouched in the dusky al- coves of the libraries that were attached to every monastery, while the monks were passionately engaged upon the Latin authors in the literary drudgery of corrective and emendatory criticism, washing away the rust and canker of time, in the words of Mr. Payne Knight; and bringing back those forms and colors, which are the objects of taste, to their original purity and brightness. The study of the Greek, moreover, was at first positively prohibited by the clergy, and the monk- ish scholars were exhorted to acquiesce in their blissful ignor- ance; for Greek, said the reverend fathers, devoutly crossing~ themselves, is the language of the devil. When Erasmus introduced the study of the prohibited tongue in Cambridge University, he encountered a fierce tempest of obloquy and denunciation; while at Oxford, where it had been patronized by Grocyn and Linacer during the reignof Henry YII., the learned men were divided into hostile literary parties, under the names of Greeks and Thojans; between whom, for a long tin was waged a paper warfare of a most virulent and often scurrilous animosity; the latter, particularly, were not at all select in the epithets they affixed to the adverse fac- tion, styling them, indiscriminately, preachers of damnable 88 Greek and Roman Literature. [Jan., heresies and winnowers of the devils chaff.* When Erasmus returned to Germany, after his short sojourn in England, he was regarded by the pious Dominicans of Louvain as one who had bartered his soul to taste of the forbidden fruit, obsonium dcemorium, as Grecian literature was then called by the theolo- gians of Leipsic. Dr. Faust, with his mysterious red-letter Bibles, was not shunned more sedulously; while iReuchlin, the first who mastered the language, and hence called by his ad- mirers AX~a eruditorurn, was persecuted by the theological faculty of Cologne, with all that unrelenting eagerness which has rendered the odium theologioum proverbial.t In Italy, the opposers of any and every literature, except, the Latin, were, if possible, more violent and denunciatory. Indeed, such was the devotion of some of the learned Italians to the Latin tongue in the sixteenth century, and such was the jealousy they entertained of even their own vernacular, the bet parlar Tos- careo, which had just been called into life, and endowed with strength and beauty by Dante, Petrarch, and Boccacio, that they endeavored to crush the new-formed dialect at its birth. We actually find iRomolo Amaseo, Professor of Eloquence and Belles-Lettres in the University of Bologna, inveighing, in a Latin harangue, against the Italian language for two successive days, before Charles V. and Pope Clement VII., eloquently maintaining that the native tongue of Italy, to which its three great masters had already given majesty, elegance, and copious- ness, was a rude and vulgar }zatois, fit only for peasants and higglers. But this infatuated hostility and exclusiveness were not destined to be of long continuance, and the literature of Greece was soon successfully studied under Chrysolorus, Bes- sarion, and others, though not reYnstalled in its due predmi- nence. In truth, it seems impossible that any mind of the least enlargement or inquisitiveness, and not blinded by some unaccountable prejudice, could long remain complacently satis- fied with a knowledge of Latin literature alone, when the IRo- mans themselves recommend theexemplctria Grceca as the high- est standards of literary excellence, and as worthy of the most assiduous study: Vos exemplaria Grmca Nocturn& versate mann, versate diurna, * Vide Erasmi Opera lii., c. 5P, ed. clerici. ~ Vide Epistolce Obscurorum. Virorum, a neglected work, which, as Herder justly says, has effected incomparably more for Germany than Hudibras for Eng- land, or Garagautna for France, or the Knight of La Mancha for Spain. 18~5.] Greek and Roman Literature. 89 was the advice of Horace, in the most finished of all his com- positions. We should imitate the example afforded by the most ingenuous and liberal-minded Petrarch, who longed to slake his thirst, in his own words, at the very wells of Grecian eloquence, ex ips~s Grceci eloquii scatebris. In our examination, therefore, of the splendid literature of Greece, we shall endea- vor to show its superiority over that of Rome, and to state at the same time, the causes which have decided this superiority; in the progress of which, we think it will be discovered that almost every thing which Roman talent has left behind it, has a more beautiful counterpart in the language of A~schylus and Plato. In an epigram of Julius C~esar, Terence is compared to a half-Menander, and the inferiority of Roman to Grecian genius will appear in an equal degree, if we institute a compa- rison between almost any two authors of the respective nations, who have cultivated the same departments of literaturebe- tween Homer and Virgil in the stately epic, Demosthenes and Cicero in eloquence, Pindar and Horace in lyric poetry, and Thucydides and Sallust in history; while, for ~Eschylus and Aristophanes, we look in vain for other than parodists with whom to compare them. [To BE CONTINUED.] 90 [Eke Fall8 of St. Anthony. [Jan., THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY. AN INDIAN TRADITION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. THE territory of Minnesota is very rapidly filling up with settlers, and in a short time another star will be added to that glorious galaxy, which now sheds its lustre over the world; lighting to freedom, and- consequently to happiness, the op- pressed and miserable people of the kingdoms and prin6i~ali- ties of Europe. If there were any thing needed to satisfy the popular mind of the old world of the superiority of our institutions and government, the unexampled rapidity with which our whole western country, from Oregon to California, is growing in wealth, and commercial and political importance, would be an argument which no sophistry could cover, and no logic could refute. A territory as large as the whole of Europe taking an independent position as a sovereign State among its sisters, sending out ships, and building cities and railroads, in less time than it used to take to build a bridge across the Thames at London, is a phenomenon so great, so startling, that the slow minds of the Continent may well be excused a shrug of the shoulders and a dubious shake of the head. Among the most flourishing of our settlements in the West, is the far-famed territory of Minnesota, the home of many a traveller, and the theme of many a travelle~-s story; a country extending from the Mississippi and St. Croix rivers, and the western extremity of Lake Superior on the east, to the Mis- souri and White-Earth rivers on the westa distance of over four hundred miles; and from the Iowa line (latitude 430 30) on the south, to the British line (latitude 490) on the north,

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel The Falls of St. Anthony. An Indian Tradition 90-98

90 [Eke Fall8 of St. Anthony. [Jan., THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY. AN INDIAN TRADITION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. THE territory of Minnesota is very rapidly filling up with settlers, and in a short time another star will be added to that glorious galaxy, which now sheds its lustre over the world; lighting to freedom, and- consequently to happiness, the op- pressed and miserable people of the kingdoms and prin6i~ali- ties of Europe. If there were any thing needed to satisfy the popular mind of the old world of the superiority of our institutions and government, the unexampled rapidity with which our whole western country, from Oregon to California, is growing in wealth, and commercial and political importance, would be an argument which no sophistry could cover, and no logic could refute. A territory as large as the whole of Europe taking an independent position as a sovereign State among its sisters, sending out ships, and building cities and railroads, in less time than it used to take to build a bridge across the Thames at London, is a phenomenon so great, so startling, that the slow minds of the Continent may well be excused a shrug of the shoulders and a dubious shake of the head. Among the most flourishing of our settlements in the West, is the far-famed territory of Minnesota, the home of many a traveller, and the theme of many a travelle~-s story; a country extending from the Mississippi and St. Croix rivers, and the western extremity of Lake Superior on the east, to the Mis- souri and White-Earth rivers on the westa distance of over four hundred miles; and from the Iowa line (latitude 430 30) on the south, to the British line (latitude 490) on the north, 185~.~ The Falls af St. Anthony. 91 also comprising a distance of four hundred miles; comprehend- ing an area of 106,000,000 acres, of a rich soil, and salubrious and mild climate, interspersed with numerous beautiful lakes, and well watered by rivers navigable for steamers. On the third day of March, 1849, the territory of Minnesota was organized, and the inhabitants now number over twenty thousand. St. Paul, the seat of government for the territory, had not, five years ago, a tree cut from its virgin bosom; now it contains over five thousand citizens. The Mississippi River rises at Itasca lake, in the northern part of t)ie territory; and, in addition to the other rivers, many of them navigable for a great distance, will give to Minnesota advantages second to none in any State of the Union. The Minnesota, the sky~ tinted, in the beautiful language of the Dakotas, isa magnifi- cent stream, emptying into the Mississippi near the town of St. Paul. And yet, although apparently so lately known to many of our own people, this ~region, now so fast filling up, is an old country to many of the early adventurers from Europe. In 1658, nearly two hundred years ago, Father Menard, a devoted Jesuit ~missionary, was lost in the wilderness, and his cassock and bi~eviary were long preserved as medicine charms by the tribe of Dakotas, once a very formidable tribe in the North- west. In 1680, Hennepin, a name remembered with love and reverence, reached the Mississippi, and gave to the foaming waters of St. Anthonys Falls their baptismal name, in honor of his patron-saint. Among the Indians who dwelt within its borders, may be mentioned the Dakotas, Ojibway, Shianu, Ausinabwaun, Win- nebago, loway, Ozaukie, and Muscjuakie. The Dakotas, known also as Sioux, were a numerous and powerful band of war- riors, and had encamped on prairies east of the Mississippi, vagrants between the head waters of Lake Superior and the Falls of St. Anthony. Between them and the Chippewas existed a hereditary warfare, as terrible and fierce and sanguin- ary as any on record. They spared neither age nor sex, and all the country of the Upper Mississippi bears witness to the mightiness of the struggle. . But their wars are over, their battles are fought, their vic- tories are won; no more do the trusty warriors gather round the council-fires to plan the surprise and the attack; but a little longer, even in the forests of the farthest west, will the whoop of the Indian disturb the silence of nature; he will have de- parted for ever, and the pale-face will have taken up the late 92 The Falls of St. Anthony. [Jan., deserted hunting-grounds, and the sound of the axe, the puff of the steamboat, and the whistle of the locomotive, with all the various sounds of civilization, will have rendered still more true the prophecy: Westward the star of empire takes its way. But the races of men which have left us, have stamped upon many localities imperishable names, connected, in many in- stances, with some romantic or tragic incidents, awakening the attention of the traveller, the imagination of the romancist, or the melancholy muse of the poet. Connected with one of the most romantic spots in the territory is a story, whose details lend still greater charms to the already celebrated Falls of St. Anthony. These falls are two thousand and seventy-eight miles from the mouth of the Mississippi, about eight miles from the flou- rishing town of St. Paul; and there is even at the falls a village of the same name, numbering over two thousand inhabitants. There is nothing more beautiful in the western country than the Falls of St. Anthony; and they deserve, in its fullest ex- tent, the musical appellation given them by roving and war- like Dakotas Minne-rara, the laughing-water. From many of these places civilization strips the robe of romance, and doubtless in a few years, as is already to some extent the case, the laughing-water will be chained to some machinery, and the noise and bustle of business will prevent the sojourner from seeing the sights which were familiar at a former period. Let us haste, then, and to this brief sketch add the Legend of the Falls, while yet the ancient ground may be traced, and the shadowy form be seen. An Indian of the Dakota nation had united himself in early life, to a youthful female named Ampota Sapa, which signifies the Dark Day, with whom he had lived happily, enjoying every felicity of which their nature was capable. Two child- ren were the pledges of their affection, and seemed to bind the parents together with still more tender ties. The young Da- kotan was a brave man and an active hunter, and his reputa- tion had drawn about him many families of his tribe. The deference they paid him awakened ambition in his heart, and at the solicitation of friends he consented, in view of his grow- ing honors and importance, to take a second wife, comforting himself with the assurance that it was to relieve the first from the accumulating drudgery, which the numerous visitors and friends he was drawing about him would occasion. 1855.1 The FctU8 of St. Anthony. 93 Fearing, however, that the consent of his first wife could not be obtained, he determined to marry first, and obtain permis- sion afterward. Upon mentioning the subject to Ampota, she besought him tearfully, by all their former love and happiness, by all their recollections of the past, by his affection for their children, to abandon a project so filled with unpleasant conse- quences, and so pregnant with unhappiness. Nothing could induce Ampota to give her consent. She declared that she was equal to the task of preparing for all of his guests, that it was her happiness to labor for his comfort, and that it was not at all necessary that another need be joined with her in the labor to which she had consecratea herself. Finding all persuasion useless, he informed her that the act was already consummated, and that she must at once conclude to receive his new wife in their wigwam. Distressed beyond measure at the information, and believing that she had now nothing to live for, her husbands love being withdrawn, she watched an opportunity, and with her two children escaped to her father. In some of their journeyings, the party to which her fathers family belonged, encamped near the falls. In the morning when they left it, she lingered near the spot, then launched her light canoe, and having entered it with her child- ren, paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. The cataract presently drowned her voice, and as the canoe rapidly neared the precipice, it could be perceived for a moment en- veloped in spray, but never afterwards ws a trace o.f the frail bark, or any of its passengers, seen. Yet it is asserted by the Indians that often, in the morning, a voice has been heard to sing a doleful strain along the edge of the fall; and that so far as the words can be distinguished, the burden of the song is the inconstancy of the love of man. Nay, it is even said that her spirit has been seen wandering near the spot, as in life, accompanied by her children; and the mimic boat again glides down the rapids, passes over the falls, and disappears. Tis morn, and from the reddening east The joyous day begins to flow, The stars grow dim, and ia the west The clouds with streaks of daylight glow. Each blade of grass, each shrub appears To bow its tender head in tears; But as the day-star rises high, Full quickly does the illusion fly; 94 like Falls of St. Anthony. [~Tan., For what seemed once a tear; seems no~v~ A gem to deck a queenly brow, And glitters in the morning beam, Like diamond of the purest stream. The river sparkles in the light, And seems all joyous and all bright; Laughing, as though upon the earth, There were no songs but those of mirth. Would it were so! but tales of joy Need, as a relish, some alloy; And hearts are better for an hour Spent where grim Death has shown his power, Where every clod the foot may stir Lies oer some long-dug sepulchre. And who could wish a brighter grave, St. Anthony! than thy sparkling wave? Who that has trod thy shore so green Has heard thy roar, thy rainbow seen, Has watched thy waters beauteous play, As rushing on they near the brink, And seem a moment there to stay, Glistening in light before they sink Has not wished that his lot were cast, So he might sleep in thee at last? Say, couldst thou wish a prouder bed? Green ness shall circle round thy head, And neatly carved is many a cell Where spirits of the water dwell; And glad they welcome thosewho go To revel in their joys below, And there forget their former woe, Their love and hate, their friend and foe. And they will braid thy flowing hair With many a diamond rich and rare. And gems as sparkling as thine eye, Deep in their caves unnumbered lie. Say, who could wish a brighter grave, St. Anthony! than thy sparkling wave? Tis morn, and near the Falls are seen A band in peaceful garb arrayed, With trusty bow and hatchet keen, And skins and spoils of peaceful raid. No war-paint streaks the swarthy cheek, The ]iiall8 of St. Anthony. 96 1856.] No startling whoop rings oer the hills; Bright Minne-rara seems to speak A tone the fierce Dacota thrills. It tells him of the day of rest That followed Allacoosas fight, When all his wrongs had been redressed, And nine scalps graced his belt at night. It may be, that he dreams how here He sought the maiden of his heart, How the next moon, with vow sincere, He meets her, never more to part; And now with winter store returns To her for whom his bosoms burns, With various skins and shining fur, The best and warmest culled for her. For think not that the savage breast With loves sweet passion neer is blest True-hearted are Dacotas maids; Their virgin lips warm kisses seal; No change their constant mind invades, Time weakens not their early zeal. The band has gone, and lonely now And wilder far becomes the scene; The smouldering fires are burning low The only traces left to show Where late the camp had been. Stay, see! upon that pleasant seat, Built as a cool and calm retreat, Beside that sparkling nil, Sits one, as passionless and still, As if the goddess of the wood With spells and charms had her subdued, To guard this awful solitude. Vacant that eye which once could tell The story of the heart full well; And all unbound that raven hair Which once was decked with jewels rare; A fairy girl and beauteous boy Unnoticed play about her feet. Ah! what can give a mother joy, If not her childrens smile to greet? 96 YJ/ie Pails of St. Antkony. [Jan., And now she takes by either hand The little prattlers standing by, And long she gazes as they stand, Into each laughing eye. This is a sturdy boy, Five summers scarce hes told; His fathers pride and joy, The young, and free, and bold. Already had his eagle eye Flashed at the stories of his sire, His counterpart in spirit high, In eloquence and fire. The other was a lovely child; It gazed into her face and smiled; Most sweetly did its dark eye beam, Like fairy in a poets dream Its raven tresses loosely hung, And to the morning breeze were flung, While in its folds were wrought with care Such trinkets as the Indians wear. Now move they slowly to the shore Where rides a tiny bark-canoe, Tis music, Minne-raras roar A fitting music to the deed Ampota Sapa seeks to do; Will not hei womans heart recede? Will not the wife at last repent? Perhaps the mother will relent? No! see her place her laughing child Upon the waters foaming wild; Eager the boy springs to her side, His bright eye sparkling in its pride; She quick the frail canoe untied, And, seated by her childrens side, With buskined feet she spurned the shore And calmly plied the trusty oar. A moment, and her gentle eye Conversed with river, earth, and sky, Turned on her babes a last long look, Which half her constant purpose shook Then fixed on vacant space, rehearsed The woes and wrongs her life had cursed. 185,5.] like falls of St. Anthony. 91 DEATH-SONG. I perceive thy beautifhl form, 0 my mother! In the mists that arise from the laughing water. Thou beckonest me to come to. the fhr sprt shore, Where there is no deceit, and no unhappiness for ever. Age is not measured so much by the number of winters Whose snows have settled upon our heads, As by the sorrows which have left their traces upon our hearts. Ampota has sufferedher love has Been rejected; her smiles have ceased to please; Her endearments have palled upon the appetite Of her husband. She is no longer beloved; She is no longer caressed. Another shares the wigwam of the once beloved Ampota. Another rests on the bear skin, and Sleeps on the bosom of her husband. I come to thee then, 0 my mother !I bring The pledges of my love and my virtue. Receive Me to thy arms as in childhood. Embrace me, As I embrace my tender babes. As wildly she her death-song sung, Her babes in silent teri~or clung About her kneesbut none could save The boat from Minne-raras wave. A momentit is faintly seen Among the spray that rolls between; Anotherand tis fiercely tost It hastens on-~--tislost.-.tis lost. Down, down it goes, and no one there Shall sing a requiem, say a pxayer; None shall disturb the bones that lie Down where the waters meet the sky, Entombed in moss, where spirits play Who shun the grosser light of day, And sport within a twilight land Which eye of mortal never scanned. No masses for her rest were said No exorcist her spirit laid For oft is seen aloi~g the bank At early morn, in clothing dank, The figure of an Indian maid, One child upon her bosom laid; 7 98 The Fall8 of St. Anthony. And tripping sprightly by her side, Her only son, her joy, her pride. A magic boat is on the shore, And slow they enter it once more; See through the mist they calmly glide, A shadow on the rivers breast Now lost, now seen, upon the tide The phantom boat floats by unblest. You see each form of yielding air; The mother, boy, and child are there, And as they pass, in mournful voice She sings the husband of her choice; In lively strains she t~lls the tale Of mutual love in flowry vale; Of pledges oft and oft renewed By purling brook or shady wood; Of pleasure love will always give; Of hope, on which we mostly live; Of happiness that still must flow, When truthful hearts are joined below; And then, in wild lamenting strain, Mans fickle love and cold disdain. Meanwhile, the bcat speeds swiftly by; Again it nears the dizzy brink~ Where down the catract wild and high, The sparkling waters sink. It rests a moment, and no more; One bound, one plunge, and all is oer; Quick close the waves above her head, And moss and stones entomb the dead!

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The United States Democratic review. / Volume 35, Issue 2 United States magazine, and Democratic review Democratic review United States review J.& H.G. Langley, etc. New York, etc. February 1855 0035 002
Saint Jonathan 99-107

THE UNITED STATES REVIEW. FEBRUARY, 1855. SAINT JONATHAN. MANKIND universally possess a desire to deify their favorite heroes and teachers. The mythology of the polished nations of antiquity is crowded with the names of those fortunate children of earth who were transformed into gods and demi- gods. Every weeping maid became a nymph, and many an unfortunate adventurer was transferred to the heavenly constel- lations. Lofty mountains and ocean solitudes were the realms of the mighty and terrible, while the lovely and benign graced pleasant green groves and cool crystal fountains. The Peru- vian had his Incas, who came down from heaven, the paragons of earth and children of the sun. The fierce Aztec gazed anxiously over the dark waters of the Atlantic, impa- tiently waiting for the return of Quetzelcoatl in his mystic skiff of serpent skins from the fabled land of Tlapallan. The Persian, melted by the eloquence of Zoroaster, at once invested him with supernatural powers. The ancient Briton saw deity in the venerable Druids as they performed their mystical rites in the dark oaken groves. The German and Scandinavian be- held their former heroes in the person of Odin or Thor, wel- coming them to the joys of Valhalla. The modern savage has 100 Saint Jonathan. [Feb., his great Medicine; the Chinaman his Confucius; and the Brahmin enthusiastically dwells upon the glorious reign of Vishnu, and ardently prays for the promised blessings of his tenth and final transformation. Not only does the gratitude. and the admiration of men prompt them to deify their benefactors, but the unscrnpnlo~as and powerful are prompted to strive after it by their ambition. Alexander caused himself to be proclaimed the son of Jupiter. Cai~sar exacted divine homage; and were the names of all those who have endeavored to cause themselves to be revered as pos- sessing supernatural powers written, they would be greater than any man could number. The heavenly bodies, when viewed through fogs and clouds, appear enlarged; so heroic men are exaggerated to the stature of gods, when seen through the misty atmosphere of an ignorant and superstitious age. Christianity and civilization have cleared up in a measure these mental obscurities, and enlightened communities have laid aside the gross ~onceptions of their rude ancestors. Yet the light is so much shaded by adverse customs and unnatural prejudices, that this predominant inclination is far from being obliterated, and manifests itself in the thousand and one credu- lities of the day. This apotheosistal current is too strong to be turned back, and men have been content to give it a new direction, by substituting canonization for deification, just as the once depraved convert says darn for damn. Formerly every village had its tutelar god; in modern days every ham- let has its patron-saint.. Fashionable habits easily become national customs; and, accordingly, each nation ha~ its saint par exceUencea kind of universal embodiment of the powers and virtues of the whole community. Till recently there was one exception to this now universal custom. The land of the Pilgrim, the country of Washington, with powers so great and hopes so bright, had no saint to whom they might repair for support, no earthly penates, to guard and protect. The world progresses; and, as wise men had foreseen, this deficiency was supplied in due time. On the 22d of December, 1851, at the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims, it was announced to the listening world that a new Saint had been admitted into the calendar. Sir E. Bulwer performed the consecratory cere- monies, and now the admiring nations render homage to Saint Jonathan, as the personification of the Yankee nation-univer- sal and particular, the last and greatest of the saints; while in all lands it shall be proclaimed there is but one Uncle Sam, and Jonathan is his saint. Now, since he has become our 1855.] Saint Jonathan. 101 tutelar defender, we will proceed to note some of his prominent characteristics. He is not one of your indifferent personages having nothing to distinguish them from the crowd around, but one that may be known if not read of all men. For his character is peculiar, his person is peculiar, his mode of life is peculiar, his country is peculiar, the age in which he lives is peculiar, and in a word he is peculiarity peculiarized. The manner in which he was canonized was in perfect keeping with his attributes, being entirely unique and without prece. dent. Some have been canonized on account of eminent ser- vices, some on account of large donations, some on account of powerful friendsSaint Jonathan on account of personal respect. The requiem of some wafted them to the calendar; others rested many years in their graves before they attained this honor; but none, except Saint Jonathan, has ever been placed among the saints while living. Some nations represent their patron-saint as a wise teacher and philosopher, instruct- ing the people and softening their rude and barbarous manners; some, as a philanthropist, healing the sick and relieving the un- fortunate; some, as the pioneer of civilization, destroying the reptiles, and blessing the earth with peace and plenty; others, as a warrior, armed cap-d -pie, mounted on his fiery steed, spread- ing death and consternation among his foes. But no martial mien nor dignity of years adorns our hero; no ancient nor modern sculptor ever conceived such a figure. Fancy before you a young giant in the bloom of youth, graceful yet stalwart, dressed in all the peculiarities of rustic and fashionable cos- tume. He wears his hat on one side, in true wide-awake~ style; his coat is one of the true blues, each button bearing the star and eagle. His unmentionables seem reluctantly tak- ing leave of his boot-tops, and ineffectually endeavoring to make the acquaintance of his gay-colored vest. In a pair of huge hands, placed at a most respectful distance from his coat- cuffs, are the ever-accompanying jack-knife and piece of pine, which, with untiring industry, he manufactures into articles of every fashion and use, from a fancy tooth-pick to the model of a steamship, which Uncle John Bull strives in vain to imitate or equal. His whole apparel is more striking than elegant, presenting a niost strange combination of foreign gew-gaws and substantial home-spun. His pockets are well lined with the genuine California metal; and, while he tickles his ear with its alluring jingle, he gives you to understand that there is more a-coming. Every thing about him has the appearance of wealth, and the scantiness of his garments results from the 102 Saint Jonctikan. [Feb., extraordinary fact that his tailor can not keep pace with his growth. He is inquisitive rather than dignified; intelligent rather than refined; having more energy than caution; more perception than experience; more strength than tact; present- ing a queer combination of gentility with a kind of imperti- nent familiarity, that excites the mirth, curiosity, and dread of every beholder. Yet there is a fascination about him that is almost irresistible; and, upon an intimate acquaintance, his in- congruities seem to harmonize, his rough ways to soften, and new attractions to unfold. He appears so frank and open- hearted, that one would think his character might be read at a glance; yet, after years of observation, we are in doubt. What at first seemed simplicity assumes the appearance of cal- culation, and that artless verdancy ripens into deep design, though all appears honest, straightforward, and free from de- ception. His manners are perfectly free and careless. He plants the foot and swings the arm with the air of one who cares for nothing, and swaggeringly tells the world that he is his own master, and is not to be controlled nor trammeled. Yet no one is more sensitive to public opinion; and, should some ignorant, prejudiced foreigner make him the subject of a philippic or lampoon, his indignation knows no bounds. Although canonized, he still keeps up an establishment on earth, and prides himself much upon the ampleness of his board. Being no epicure, plenty rather delicacy is his aim. He is generous, and hesitates not to send relief by the ship- load to the destitute, being a truly liberal, benevolent person- age, well worthy to be the patron-saint of all cheerful givers. Not having patience in so eminent a degree as the patriarch of Uz, the impositions of the unprincipled sometimes induce him to roughly repulse the worthy, and make him prone to believe that the lame limbs and backs of the mendicants by whom he is besieged require no better ointment than his stout hickory- staff. These are but the temporary outbreaks of the Old Adam, which his saintship has not yet been able to subdue; and which soon subsiding, leave him the same liberal soul as before. He is the patron of all the philanthropic movements of the age, and his hospitals, charity asylums, and prisons are well worthy of imitation. Having a strong religious tendency, his faith is more fruitful in good works than that of any other saint on the calendar. Spurning all priestcraft and supersti- tion, he is tolerant and conscientious in his doctrines oranting to all whatever he may claim for himself. He is a true friend of education, and would not only have each one thoroughly 1855.] Saint Jonathan. 103 acquainted with all that pertains to his own sphere, but would have every one know every thing; desiring that the philoso- pher should be initiated into all the intricacies of domestic economy, he would have the luckless skater aware that it is a law of gravitation that brings him down when his foothold fails, and would have him able to calculate the exact distance the earth adyances to meet his head, and to explain, upon scientific prin~ciples, why the stars are so numerous and brilliant at the moment of concussion. He is full of expedients, ever engaged in some new enterprise, or perfecting some scheme, or putting forth some new theory, though by no means one of those non-practical visionaries who stud the air with castles, and waste their strength in fighting imaginary demons and windmills. On the contrary, he is the most energetic, perse- vering, practical saint on the calendar, being decidedly utili- tarian in his views, and very much inclined to value things according to their direct bearing upon the dollars and cents. He has not only made the elements, steam, and the weapon of Jove his servants; ~but has also made poetry subsidiary to commerce and education, by giving the rudiments of science to young learners, in the form of epic poems, and advertising unpoetic commodities in smooth measures and harmonious rhyme. He is too apt to have an eye single to a good bar- gain, and too often passes by as useless that which can add no- thing to his profits. He loves the bright sun, because it will make hay; welcomes the rainbow as the harbinger of fair weather; thinks paintings, statuary, etc., very well forchild- ren; admires the fertile valley rather than the picturesque mountain. He can find no beauty in the overhanging rock or frowning cloud, but sees a paradise in the luxuriant plain. Can discover only nice timber in the noble oak, and exclaims, on seeing Niagara: Grand! wonderful! stupendous! T4~hat a powerful saw-mill it would drive!, He is constructed wholly upon the high-pressure principle, and is ever crowding on all the steam the most inflammable fuel can create, and by it is whirled impetuously onward, like a congreve rocket. This is manifested in all his actions, often making his haste a hurry. He is never at ease; hurrying through youth, he reaches man- hood, and then flying through the country grumbling at the slowness of the cars and telegraphic uncertainties, endeavors to contrive some method whereby he may increase his speed. This haste leads him into a thousand dangers, as he had much rather run the risk of being blown up than of being left be- hind. A weeks delay harasses him niore than a loss of a for- 104 Saint Jonathan. [Feb., tune. He is prone to cut across, in language as well as fields, as the numerous contractions in every-day use testify; and has the spirit of the wooden-legged hero, who refused to ride in the mail-coach because he couldnt stop, for all such vehicles are to him an abomination. His favorite motto is Go ahead I and were the devil to take only the hinder- most, his salvation would be sure, however great his depravity. He desires to be educated, but it must be done quickly, and he hurries through his routine of studies, like a superstitious boy through a church-yard. No pleasure charms him unless it be brief. He has fast horses, fast steamboats, fast locomo- tives, works fast, p lays fast, and in great principles stands fast. He lays out splendid gi-ounds, but can not wait for the shrub- bery to grow; builds fine h& uses, but is in too much of a hurry to lay up substantial walls; makes sumptuous feasts, but can not stop to enjoy them, and so goes a-puffing through the world like one of his own locomotives, ever-restless, ever- changing, and only quiet ~#hen. making a great bustle. As might be expected, this impetuosity causes him a thousand dangers, which a little consideration would enable him to avoid, but he rushes on, undeterred, from peril to peril, and not unfrequently passes through a dozen crises in as many days. This continual excitement, want of rest, etc., began to in- jure his health; for like the Boa-constrictor, he never bites, but swallows his victuals whole, bolting down whole ship-loads of not the choicest viands of Europe at a single meal without so much as giving them a single shake. This he has done for a long time, and its effects have become so apparent that his physicians declare, that unless he exercises more care in selecting, and increases the period of mastication two or three times, his constitution will become seriously impaired. Another detriment to his health is a most malignant malady called the black measles, which he inherited from his mother. When young they covered his whole body; but careful treat- ment has removed them from his upper extremities, and unfor- tunately no further. They are a very great annoyance and distress, disturbing him to his very hearts core. Various remedies have been proposed for his cure. Some advise him to take a strong emancipatory purgative which, at the risk of his life, would remove them at once. While others insist that owing to certain constitutional defects, such a course would inevitably cause immediate and violent death; and by their advice he has applied mild compromise ointments and the like. These quiet for a little time; but soon the itchings and burn- 18551. Saint Jonathan. 105 ings return, an~ so agitate the unfortunate Saint, that some over- anxious and timorous souls live in constant dread lest these convulsions will break up the Union of his members, and send them off tangent-like to form a fragmentary cluster of saintly asteroids in the canonical system. But we bave no such fear. His vigor of youth and soundness of constitution are not to be interfered with by trifling causes; for we invariably find his general health is very good, and his courage and perseverance unexampled. His whole life has been but a series of trials, struggles, and victories. When he has once determined to do any thing, no dangers deter, no toil discourages, no re,sistance disheartens him; he rests not, turns not aside until his object is accomplished. Hercules, while in his cradle, killed two serpents; but St. Jonathan, at his very birth~, w~ae exposed to famine and disease, forced to defend hj~aself against wild beasts, hostile savages, and hi~ ow~uman parent that sought his destruction. Yet never has he shrunk from the conflict, never repined. Onward, has ever been his motto; Victory or Death, his battle-cry; and Liberty, his most earnest invocation. CEesar was ambitious, Napoleon was ambitious, and it must be confessed that St. Jonathan is ambitious, fond of power, and has a great love of riches, which, combined with an unfortunate hallucination, making him sometimes forget the means when anticipating the end, an unaccountable mania for acquiring land, enable his neighbors to exclaim with more than poetic fervor, Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. And with reason; for notwithstanding he has recently annexed a million of square miles to his farm, he would not object to grasp Canada with one hand and Central America with the other, while he gazes with longing eyes upon Cuba. One of the probable causes of this is, that disputed territories have annoyed him so much that he has resolved to annex all adjoining lands, in order to prevent any dispute that might arise about boundaries. Yet he is honest at heart, and it is b t the ardor and temptations of youth that cause these temporary backslidings. He is a democrat to the core, in the purest sensc of the word; ever opposing tyrants and lending a hand to the oppressed. He is the great leading spirit in all the reformatory movements of the age. These qualities, with his native strength and growing power, make him the accomplisher of great and wonderful works. Thoughout all his domains peace and plenty abound, and ere long he will stand without a rival, leading all and controlling all. Even now he is the hope and solace of the downtrodden, and tyrants tremble as 106 Saint Jonathan. [Feb., is rebuke continually sounds in their ears. All honor to him; for notwithstanding all his incongruities, he is a noble being, and take him all in all, the most perfect saint in the calen- dar: high-minded, virtuous, ever at his post, ever laboring; his great motive, duty; his great desire, right. High he sits, the saint from the people, the saint of the people. Let the proud Spaniard, as he views his countrys crumbling power, call upon St. Jago. Let the inconstant Frenchman, as he bears the yoke of his puppet-like tyrant, cry aloud to St. Denis. Let the passionate Italian, as he shrinks from foreign bayonets amid the crumbling monuments of his countrys former greatness, beseech St. Peter. Let the aristocratic Eng- lishman, surrounded by his peers and his paupers, shout St. George and Victoria. But we sons of Columbia, descendants of the Pilgrims) the true votaries of Liberty, will invoke no saint but St. Jonadian, and our children and our childrensr children to the latest gelieration, shall revere his name, resolv- ing that henceforth and fQr ever_St. Jnnatham shall be the patron-saint of the universal Yankee nationand the Fourth of July, St. Jonathans Day. 185~.] Humar~ Nature in Chunk8. 107 HUMAN NATUIIE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 5. THE ORDEAL OF A YANKEE PEDAGOGUE. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.S.Q., ETC. Vitaque tristis p~edagogL I HAD once the honor to receive an invitation to act as the knight of the birchen rod. But an ordeal had to be passed the fiery trying ordeal of an examination. The time and place were appointed, and thither I repaired, with the district func- tionary, my employer. I found assembled the honorable Court of Judgment, ready to fulfill their august duties. Let me, reader, in language of brevity, describe the dignified com- mittee, of consequential look. The Presbyterian clergyman, wearing the deep solemnity of Sabbath-time the Baptist, looking knowingly from neath his specs, ready to immerse me in a sea of perplexitiesthe Methodist, whose sanctimo- nious brow seemed heavy with ponderous thoughtthe corpu- lent Doctor, whose apothecarys shop was in his pocket, grunt- ing at every breaththe learned Esquire, well versed in the blind abstractions of old Lindley Murray, and the abbrevia- tions. Last of all, the Village Lawyer, who seemed to hold himself before the world as Blackstone, Jr., deep-learned in spelling-book aphorisms. The room was thronged with spec- tators, to see the Master go it, as they said. The exercises were opened with prayer by the Rev. Baptist divine. The conclusion of his off-hand ejaculations was in these words: Kind Heaven, bless thy young servant in instructing, if he passes examination ; to which the brother Methodist respond- ed, Amen. I concluded, in my own bosom, that a failure should equally demand a blessing. The Presbyterian clergy- man commenced the examination, with questions from the old

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 5- The Ordeal of a Yankee Pedagogue 107-111

185~.] Humar~ Nature in Chunk8. 107 HUMAN NATUIIE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 5. THE ORDEAL OF A YANKEE PEDAGOGUE. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.S.Q., ETC. Vitaque tristis p~edagogL I HAD once the honor to receive an invitation to act as the knight of the birchen rod. But an ordeal had to be passed the fiery trying ordeal of an examination. The time and place were appointed, and thither I repaired, with the district func- tionary, my employer. I found assembled the honorable Court of Judgment, ready to fulfill their august duties. Let me, reader, in language of brevity, describe the dignified com- mittee, of consequential look. The Presbyterian clergyman, wearing the deep solemnity of Sabbath-time the Baptist, looking knowingly from neath his specs, ready to immerse me in a sea of perplexitiesthe Methodist, whose sanctimo- nious brow seemed heavy with ponderous thoughtthe corpu- lent Doctor, whose apothecarys shop was in his pocket, grunt- ing at every breaththe learned Esquire, well versed in the blind abstractions of old Lindley Murray, and the abbrevia- tions. Last of all, the Village Lawyer, who seemed to hold himself before the world as Blackstone, Jr., deep-learned in spelling-book aphorisms. The room was thronged with spec- tators, to see the Master go it, as they said. The exercises were opened with prayer by the Rev. Baptist divine. The conclusion of his off-hand ejaculations was in these words: Kind Heaven, bless thy young servant in instructing, if he passes examination ; to which the brother Methodist respond- ed, Amen. I concluded, in my own bosom, that a failure should equally demand a blessing. The Presbyterian clergy- man commenced the examination, with questions from the old 108 Human Kature in Chunks. [Feb., John Rogers Primer. Sir said he into the world , , when did sin come When God gave free-will to man, I replied. Relate the fall of Sisera the death of Saul. Methinks, sir, I replied, you may be forgetful of the occasion. How so, sir? said he. Why, sir, I replied, I am not on examination for admis- sion to the ministry. It matters not, rejoined the clergyman; you should un- derstand the principles of divinity, so that you could satisfy the inquiring mind, at request. Divinity should go hand in hand with Science; and when the mind becomes learned, it will be also good. Science bows her lordly brow only to religion. Thats my mind, said the Baptist. I perfectly accord with your views, Brother, added the Methodist. Come, gentlemen, proceed, proceed; dont waste the night with ethics, said the Doctor. The Baptist brother, after arranging his dignity, in the form of a white cravat c . , id he, what is lan guage ? ommenced Sir sa The telegraph of the mind, I replied. Incorrect, sir, incorrect; tis the utterance of articulate sounds; and I wish, sir, that you would confine yourself to the text-books. I was on the point of informing him, that it would be an approximation toward the better, if he would take his own re- quest to heart, and stick to the text. But, continued he, what are ideas ? Thoughts, journeying to do reverence to God, I answered. Too Utopian for my comprehension, replied the clergy- man. I was then delivered over to the Methodist divine. Said he, on a high key, What does A. M. stand for ? D. D.? B. L. ? etc., etc. As I was about to answer, a little red-headed urchin, suiting his words to a quick departure, exclaimed, Mr. Priest, what is Amen ? Shameful, shameful, that in this enlightened era so little reverence is paid to reverend sta- tion. The minister felt quite abashed at so sudden an inter- rogatory, and gave place to Calomel. llumph! sir, define cctput emetic, erysipelas, etc., etc. I ask you this important question, continued the M.D., to impress upon your mind 18~5.] Human Netture in Chunks. 109 the necessity of instructing your pupils in the principles of physiology. I sat in silence, wondering what relation emetics had to school-teaching. I however concluded that they bore about the same relation as salivation to salvation. The venerable Esquire, feeling the dignity of his honorary title, was requested to continue the cross-examination. Com- mencing the preface of Murrays Grammar,~with much pom- posity, he ceased not to interrogate me on its every principle. Such was his zeal in syntax, that he leaped the Finis into a grammatical world of his own. The Esquire closed his exam- ination by asking me to define a period and to call up and see his gals. The village pettifogger, full of legal consequence, said, Sir, who concocted the Master Declaration of Independence ? Who aniiihilated nullificatioii in this glorious Union ? Who was the immortal Blackstone, that concocted laws for the universe and Great Britain ? I should have concluded that our lawyer was an honorable M.C., had I not other- wise been informed. The examination having been concludeJ, the legal examiners retired into an adjoining apartment to de- liberate. During their absence, whisperings ran along the crowd. Wonder if hell pass ? they gin him a hard an; hell go it ; dang him, hes got the real Simon-pure grit. Soon the Committee returned, a perfect phalanx of Law, Gospel, and Medicine. The reverend Presbyterian acted as Chairman, or rather the oracle of that tribunal of brains. Said he, Sir, after much consideration and deliberation, we have concluded to award you a certificate; and, should you not succeed as an instructor, we shall feel compelled, cx officio, to discharge you from the position we have conferred upon you.~~ llumph! humph! one question more, one question more, said the Doctor, with a medical squint. Were a child to dis- obey, would you chastise him ? Indeed, sir, I would, I replied. Blast ye, you wouldnt me, growled an urchin in the corner. llumph! humph! shut up, sir, shut up, or Ill physic you, replied the doctor gruffly. Coine on, you cant catch me, you old puffy pill-peddler, rejoined precocity, taking hasty departure. But, added the Rev. Methodist, I suppose you will open your school with prayer? 110 Human Nature in.~ Chunks. [Feb., That question was a stumper, as the Hoosiers say; but I thought I should be regarded as heterodox, if I refused to an- swer, so I replied, that prayers among little urchins in the school-room would be answered by paper-wads, instead of a blessing. Yes, yes, humph I added the Doctor; the Amen would be the echo of a popgun.~~ Yes, continued the legal pundit, praying in school to diminutive children, is like proclaiming glad tidings of salva- tion to squalling infants in the tabernacle. I, sir, have seen ministers look reverential anathemas at infants in the sanctu- ary. Well, well, said the Esquire, it is getting late; rather guess we had better adjourn. Let us implore a blessing, said the Methodist divine. I will give his prayer verbatim et literatim, for the benefit of such township functionaries: Kind Heaven, we thank thee for this pleasing interview with thy young servant: give him wisdom from thy bounty to discharge every duty in the great drama of thought; make him instrumental in giving moral tone to the harp of life, for spheres of usefulness and honor; and when lifes weary pilgrimage is oer, receive us at thoughts banquet in heaven. At the conclusion of this eloquent offer- ing, each arose and bestowed on me friendly congratulations. All were anxious that I should find opportunity to give them a visit, for each was blessed with loving daughters, excepting the l6gal gentleman, who was too pompous for Cupid to assail. After passing the evening adieus, I took my departure, with the District Committee, my employer. We soon reached his residence on a bleak and barren hill, where sunbeams were ever chilled by cold northern blasts. On entering, the Com- mittee introduced me to his wife. She raised not her eyes, nor even bowed the compliments of the evening, but sat cold and gloomy, fulfilling a matrimonial dutyrocking cradle. At last, said she, turning to her beloved consort, What on arth did you bring the school-master home forsay? didnt I tell ye that there want nothing in the ho4se to eat, but codfish and turnips; and as for being tormented to death, as long as I haint got children to send to school, I wont, so there! I am dis- couraged, so Ilie still, hush! 0 d-e-a-r me I continued she, or Ill box your ears ! addressing the domestic jewel. I could not conceive how such a little delicate structure of humanity could manufacture so much thunder. The music of a scolding woman and a squalling baby should be introduced as the sub- 1855j Human1 ATature ii~ Chunks. 111 base in the nr~tnrn~l i~n~d~ of a cat-orchestra. A tornado followed by a score of thunder-storms and five respectable earth- quakes multiplied by the numeration table, would fail to arrive at a shadow of comparison to that good woman. I di- gress. This modern Amazon continued to scold, scold, and infancy to bawl, bawl, till I could endure the agony no longer. Said I, Good woman, (what a lie!) that is decidedlythe pretti- est child I ever saw; why, madam, it resembles you. Its fea- tures so strikingits eye like a jewelindeed, like your own. Do you think so, sir? replied she. (A smile just dawning on her cheek.) Certainly I do, marm, said I. I think it looks like mother, continued the woman, (the smile complete.) Shant I rock the cradle ? said I. I love to rock cradles. You may, sir, if you please, rejoined the lady, while I prepare some refreshments. (Her cheeks blushing with smiles.) Baby encomiums will quell the terrific discharge of a scolds patent battery. That baby looks like you marm, wonderfully pro- vided for me. The soft-soap banner is unfurled; It rules the heart, it rules the world. Who, who would tear that ensign down, And write on woman s cheek a frown? I would cheerfully recommend to pedagogues generally, that they lay aside hic, hcec, hoc, and inform their minds in relation to the live baby parlance. A pedagogue well versed in the infant vocabulary will be dearly loved, by dearly beloved mothers. Ittlee darlin, eettle shugie, ma-mas baaby. Babies are the pedagogues refuge in his hour of needkitchen celebrities and squalling accidents. God bless the pedagogue! CHUNK No. 6.SCHOOLMASTER BOARDING ROUND. Haud igi~arus mali miseris succurrere disco. As December knocked at the outer gate of the year with an icicle, I sallied forth as the Knight of the Rod. What conse- quence attaches itself to the pedagogues sphere! My school- house was perched on the summit of a bleak and barren hill resembling much an antiquated castle. It was constructed so

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1855j Human1 ATature ii~ Chunks. 111 base in the nr~tnrn~l i~n~d~ of a cat-orchestra. A tornado followed by a score of thunder-storms and five respectable earth- quakes multiplied by the numeration table, would fail to arrive at a shadow of comparison to that good woman. I di- gress. This modern Amazon continued to scold, scold, and infancy to bawl, bawl, till I could endure the agony no longer. Said I, Good woman, (what a lie!) that is decidedlythe pretti- est child I ever saw; why, madam, it resembles you. Its fea- tures so strikingits eye like a jewelindeed, like your own. Do you think so, sir? replied she. (A smile just dawning on her cheek.) Certainly I do, marm, said I. I think it looks like mother, continued the woman, (the smile complete.) Shant I rock the cradle ? said I. I love to rock cradles. You may, sir, if you please, rejoined the lady, while I prepare some refreshments. (Her cheeks blushing with smiles.) Baby encomiums will quell the terrific discharge of a scolds patent battery. That baby looks like you marm, wonderfully pro- vided for me. The soft-soap banner is unfurled; It rules the heart, it rules the world. Who, who would tear that ensign down, And write on woman s cheek a frown? I would cheerfully recommend to pedagogues generally, that they lay aside hic, hcec, hoc, and inform their minds in relation to the live baby parlance. A pedagogue well versed in the infant vocabulary will be dearly loved, by dearly beloved mothers. Ittlee darlin, eettle shugie, ma-mas baaby. Babies are the pedagogues refuge in his hour of needkitchen celebrities and squalling accidents. God bless the pedagogue! CHUNK No. 6.SCHOOLMASTER BOARDING ROUND. Haud igi~arus mali miseris succurrere disco. As December knocked at the outer gate of the year with an icicle, I sallied forth as the Knight of the Rod. What conse- quence attaches itself to the pedagogues sphere! My school- house was perched on the summit of a bleak and barren hill resembling much an antiquated castle. It was constructed so 112 iluman Nai~ure in Chunks. [Feb., as to admit of constant ventilation. Its internal architecture was a complete triumph of inv~uI~ive ~euiu~. The old desks fronting the centre were defaced by that magic tool, ~the school-boys knife. Names were there carved for immor- tality. Paper-wads, those little harmless missiles used in childhoods bombardments, adorned the walls. An old Frank- lin stove stood in the centre, to perpetuate the name of old Ben, and to smoke. Portraits of former pedagogues. Its pipe showed the artistic skill of my pupilscharcoal sketches here and there were discernible on the ceiling, portraying my illustrious predecessor, who was alike distinguished for making marks. At an early hour, the urchins began to convene. Each little idea as he entered, gave a sharp glance at the master, and hid under the desks. Some came with cold fingers. Some desired of me to remove their tiny coverings. Some came with their little shining pails, well stored with frosted cakes. The immortal hour of nine -arrived, and I ordered the urchins to their posts. Such an array of red cheeks I never saw before like twenty summer dawns on the cheek of one summers day. Some of the young lads came with their pockets filled with birch, to eat, and perchance to counteract the effects of an external application, to keep it from striking in. As soon as silence was established, I remarked to them on the subject of their duties, but was often interrupted by repeated requests, Maint I gwout ? While I endeavored to instil into their tender minds the vast importance of diligence, a little red- haired urchin cried out, Sams a-pricking on me! As I strove with heart and might to fill their minds with honor- able emulation, a pale-faced idea screamed out, Sals pullin my h-a-i-rI As I expatiated on the necessity of constant assiduity, a paper-wad struck me on my cheek. My anger was roused. I smote the desk with my sceptre, deter- mined on flogging the first disobedience, but ere I could ad- vance, I was met withShctnt Jim give me my knife ? I cried, Order! order! Just then a little specimen of humanity inquired very meekly, W-h-e-r-e-s the lesson ? Nose bleeds ! bawled another. Wash my slate ! cried the third. May I go ome ? interrogated another. My patience was exhausted. I told my pupils that they might enjoy a recess, and out they went. Such crashing of boots I never heard before. Every boy was a miniature earthquake. Once beneath the blue sky, they screamed, and tore, and swore. One poor unfortunate wore a blue cast around his eye, from a snow-ball. Another lost his plush cap. It was a terrible time. I soon 1855.] Human Nature in, Chunk8. 113 called them in. Mr. Birch immediately gave a complimentary dance. Ill tell maIll tell ma! they cried, as they came to the quick step. I broke my whiplost my patienceand and came considerably within a league of swearing. I tried to hear the lessons, but none were readynot one. I called up a little curly-headed fellowpatted him on the head, told him he looked smartwould make a man some timepulled his cheeks, etc. Finally, I asked him Who made him ? and the little idea looked me in the eye very knowingly, and said, He waut made, hut grew. The scholars all laughed, and I I. It was enough. I dismissed school. It was the cus- torn of the district to have the teacher board rounda direct insult on soul and bodyan unpardonable district sin. Just as school was dismissed, I informed one of my pupils that I would accompany him home. Said he, Ma says as how she didnt want the school-mas- ter bout till arter cleaning house. Very well, I replied. I addressed the same remark to another. She replied, that the baby was sick, and her ma couldnt have me. Very well, I replied. I addressed the same to a third, but she replied that her folks were killing hogs, and I mustnt come. I told my intentions to a fourth, but he said his ma was sick with the toothache. Well, Ill, go home with you, said I to a fifth. The baby has got the measles, and pa has gone away, and weve got company, replied the fifth. Well, I turned to the sixth. But the sixth was no go ; for ma was making sausages, and Aunt Somebody was there on a visit, and she said she would not have the school-master then for all Texas. I gave up in despair. I raved like a school- master. I swore moderately. No spot to receive me ! I cried. At last, driven by the hand of necessity, I set forth to seek quarters. Darkness overspread the earth crc I found quarters. Quarters, forsooth! It was impiously called a dwelling. Mother, children, and old black dog were all over in the suds. The old dog growled a recognitionthe children fawned around me. I called them little gems, but humbled myself a week in sackcloth and ashes for the lie. Wherever they touched me appeared a grease-spot that no soap could remove. Tea was soon ready. I sat at the tableto grease I gave my shining blade. TYhat viartds !sausages and pork. Doughnuts were abundant. The young uns criedthe cat 8 114 iluman Nature in Chunks. [Feb., mewedthe old dog growledinterspersed with be still, aint you ashamed ~ Get out ! Scat! I prayed for a club to slay the cat, and kill the dog, and murder thethewell, the youngsters. A domestic squall and kitchen thunder, with a mewing cat and a growling dog, in a smoking room, around a green-birch fire, is, in a word, the poetry of boarding round. I soon retired. A shingle block surrounded with fine cotton, composed my pillowmy covering two yards of tape. I looked through the crevices of the roof; and watched the wakeful stars. The Plejades smiled at my sweet repose. I gazed on Orion as he led his starry warriors on for the con- quests of night. My dreams were kissed with memories of absent loves. I awokeswallowed a sausagepocketed two doughnuts, and hastened for my field of labor. I found, ere my labors were concluded, that the exclamation-point for boarding round was a baby cutting teeth! Hurrah for doughnuts! Three cheers for cradle responsibilities I Long life to old maids! Vive les pedagogues! CHUNK No. i.REOIPE FOR MAKIN~f HONEST MEN. Fraus mendaci tecta colore. WE hear, now-a-days, much in relation to daring frauds on corporations, financial croups, and monetary spasms. Busi- ness men have become distrustful of their worthy compeers. Every graduated swindler, denominated business man, regards his neighbor as a fit subject for State honors in the States prison. Since pippins grew in the garden of Eden to bait the devils trap, there has never been quite so much self-respect as at present. I will give, in brief; a recipe for making honest men, found on the track of the New-York and New-Haven Railroad, by a consummate villain, who, in an evil hour, di- vulged it. Firstly, (as our good parson says, after an hours inspired eloquence.) Borrow, if you do not inherit it, a progressive devil, and then play honesty as president of some vaunted corporation. After a little time, become indisposed, financially indisposed. For your suffering, take ten thousand dollars, or so, as an opiate, and charge the same to old Esquire Sundries, a very clever old fellow that often foots legislative bills.

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 7 - Recipe for Making Honest Men 114-116

114 iluman Nature in Chunks. [Feb., mewedthe old dog growledinterspersed with be still, aint you ashamed ~ Get out ! Scat! I prayed for a club to slay the cat, and kill the dog, and murder thethewell, the youngsters. A domestic squall and kitchen thunder, with a mewing cat and a growling dog, in a smoking room, around a green-birch fire, is, in a word, the poetry of boarding round. I soon retired. A shingle block surrounded with fine cotton, composed my pillowmy covering two yards of tape. I looked through the crevices of the roof; and watched the wakeful stars. The Plejades smiled at my sweet repose. I gazed on Orion as he led his starry warriors on for the con- quests of night. My dreams were kissed with memories of absent loves. I awokeswallowed a sausagepocketed two doughnuts, and hastened for my field of labor. I found, ere my labors were concluded, that the exclamation-point for boarding round was a baby cutting teeth! Hurrah for doughnuts! Three cheers for cradle responsibilities I Long life to old maids! Vive les pedagogues! CHUNK No. i.REOIPE FOR MAKIN~f HONEST MEN. Fraus mendaci tecta colore. WE hear, now-a-days, much in relation to daring frauds on corporations, financial croups, and monetary spasms. Busi- ness men have become distrustful of their worthy compeers. Every graduated swindler, denominated business man, regards his neighbor as a fit subject for State honors in the States prison. Since pippins grew in the garden of Eden to bait the devils trap, there has never been quite so much self-respect as at present. I will give, in brief; a recipe for making honest men, found on the track of the New-York and New-Haven Railroad, by a consummate villain, who, in an evil hour, di- vulged it. Firstly, (as our good parson says, after an hours inspired eloquence.) Borrow, if you do not inherit it, a progressive devil, and then play honesty as president of some vaunted corporation. After a little time, become indisposed, financially indisposed. For your suffering, take ten thousand dollars, or so, as an opiate, and charge the same to old Esquire Sundries, a very clever old fellow that often foots legislative bills. 1855.} Human Nature in Ghunk8. Secondly. Join the church, a fashionable church, and pray every time you are requested for out-door sinners. The stronger your zeal, the greater the blessing. If you can spare a cool thousand for benevolence, so much the better; your name will be sure to appear in the papers as a friend of the widow and the fatherless. Stealing for the poor and unfor- tunate is disinterested benevolence, a kind of financial Christ- ianity. Give to charity at all times, but stick for the half-cent with your maid-servants and your man-servants. Be an active temperance man, but occasionally take a sly drink to feel well. No sin in drinking privately; but praying should be done openly. Thats honest to a proverb. Thirdly. Advertise very largely; talk of stocks, stocks, to your friends; borrow freely of your friends for speculation; furnish your dwelling with carved work; import carpets from Brussels; supply plate of silver and gold. Present some valued token of consideration to your pastor; visit Newport or Saratoga in summer; but swell, by all means swell; there is a great deal in the swell. Pray every morning, when sur- rounded by friends; but if you omit it at other times, it is of no consequence whatever. The negligence will not be noticed by the Lord, or cared for by the devil.. Fourthly. If you again feel diseased in soul or pocket, just run your hand into the treasury, and take out the small sum of one hundred thousand dollars or so, as a sort of cathartic. Should it be discovered ~y the keen-eyed directors that there is a loss, be perfectly astonished that mankind will be so ras- callysuch robbers. You may see in the daily papers, SOME- BODY TO BLAME, MONSTROUS FRAUD, $100,000 LosT. Take no notice of it; a very common occurrence; head up, and on- ward! No one will think you, the very charitable and reli- gious gentleman, to blame. Should the Daily Blackmail surmise that you are the notorious Somebody, dash out a clean five hundred. You can have your every sin wiped away for that amount. The Daily Blackmail is the literal Bethesda of the press, since its editors return from his ministerial duties. Understand well the game of this and that, and you will in time have HON. appended to your dignity. Should you be troubled with convulsions, make a mistake, for relief, of five hundred thousand dollars. Mistakes are the natural consequences of fallibility. Act as poor as the Scriptural Job, feel lonely, show a slight tinge of insanity, get advised by your family physicians to travel; and travel, by all means, travel. Cross the billowy deep; visit la belle France, robed in her 116 human Nature in~ Chunks. [Feb., vines; ascend the Alpine spires; become enraptured with Ita- lian sunset, and love the bright-eyed senoras; visit Turkey, and hold sweet converse with the Sultan; enjoy the soft glance from the queens of the harem; embrace the faith of the Mos- lem, and hourly cross your arms beside the shrine of St. So- phia; swear hatred to the ruthless Czar, and eternal adherence to the Koran and the ~Crescent; visit Hungary, and espouse the cause of Liberty, yea suffer within some Austrian dungeon for freedom of speech. The world will call you a martyr. Re- turn at last to the land of your fathers, compile a history of your adventures; write your own biography, and immortality is thine. Should you be mistrusted by some unlucky stock- holder that had advertised you as five feet eight inches in height, with lean cheeks, and long ears, die suddenly in all the public prints, but come to life somewhere, no matter whereonly die, and come to life. By all means die. Kick up a dust, and you are soon out of sight. CHUNK No. 5.ADVERTISIN~ FOR A WIFE. Dura pati discit plurima~ quisquis amat.T As I sat lonely and gloomily on the~barren strand of Bache- lorism, away from sunbeams, away from the stars, where never a flower offered its sacrifice of odors, a thought entered my bosom that determination might overcome my bashfulness, and I yet might live in some conjugal paradise. How can I relieve myself of this galling chain of bachelorism? my heart seemed to inquire. I had long heard of the potency of advertising. I had seen around me, men arise from poverty to opulence through the language of the press. A thought leaped into my brain, I will advertise for a wife. After much writing and re- writing, I at last prepared the following as an advertisement: A young man, of twenty-five, possessing an income of five thousand a year, of mild disposition, gentlemanly in manners, of liberal education, is desirous of forming a matrimonial alli- ance with some accomplished lady. Address Alpha, Box City. My advertisement was forwarded and duly pub- lished. I saw, in reading it the next day, that I had omitted to require communications to be post-paid. But my card was before the world. I began to feel an anxiety to rend

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 8 - Advertising for a Wife 116-119

116 human Nature in~ Chunks. [Feb., vines; ascend the Alpine spires; become enraptured with Ita- lian sunset, and love the bright-eyed senoras; visit Turkey, and hold sweet converse with the Sultan; enjoy the soft glance from the queens of the harem; embrace the faith of the Mos- lem, and hourly cross your arms beside the shrine of St. So- phia; swear hatred to the ruthless Czar, and eternal adherence to the Koran and the ~Crescent; visit Hungary, and espouse the cause of Liberty, yea suffer within some Austrian dungeon for freedom of speech. The world will call you a martyr. Re- turn at last to the land of your fathers, compile a history of your adventures; write your own biography, and immortality is thine. Should you be mistrusted by some unlucky stock- holder that had advertised you as five feet eight inches in height, with lean cheeks, and long ears, die suddenly in all the public prints, but come to life somewhere, no matter whereonly die, and come to life. By all means die. Kick up a dust, and you are soon out of sight. CHUNK No. 5.ADVERTISIN~ FOR A WIFE. Dura pati discit plurima~ quisquis amat.T As I sat lonely and gloomily on the~barren strand of Bache- lorism, away from sunbeams, away from the stars, where never a flower offered its sacrifice of odors, a thought entered my bosom that determination might overcome my bashfulness, and I yet might live in some conjugal paradise. How can I relieve myself of this galling chain of bachelorism? my heart seemed to inquire. I had long heard of the potency of advertising. I had seen around me, men arise from poverty to opulence through the language of the press. A thought leaped into my brain, I will advertise for a wife. After much writing and re- writing, I at last prepared the following as an advertisement: A young man, of twenty-five, possessing an income of five thousand a year, of mild disposition, gentlemanly in manners, of liberal education, is desirous of forming a matrimonial alli- ance with some accomplished lady. Address Alpha, Box City. My advertisement was forwarded and duly pub- lished. I saw, in reading it the next day, that I had omitted to require communications to be post-paid. But my card was before the world. I began to feel an anxiety to rend 1855.] Human, ~Ya?5ure in Chunks. 117 asunder those little gilt-edged missives that my fancy had strewed around my brain. Two days after the appearance of my desire, I called at the post-office. Such an amount of letters was never received before by one individual; and not one was post-paid. I hastened home with my trophies~- advert ising trophieslocked myself in my room, and commenced tearing the envelopes. Oh! how fanciful; pink, blue, buff; white, gilt, red, and finally all kinds of colors. My heart beat a quick-step. I perspired. I felt as if I stood a chance in the lottery of hearts. I slowly unfolded the gilt-edged leaves how delicately written, how charming-fine! The first that met my eye commenced so sweetly, My dear Alpha. How soothing to my soul, called dear for the first time in my life. It was so touchingly affectionate, I must give it verbatim et literatim: June 1, 18. Mr DEAR ALPHA: I noticed in this mornings ~-, your advertise- ment for a partnera life-partner; one that can lore tenderly, and bind your bosom with joys. I can love as sweetly as a seraph, and twine every hour with garlands of affection. I possess an amiable disposition, soft as this mornings hour. Mine it is to lore; without my love, kindled by an- gels, gloom and sorrow would soon lead me to the chamber of sepulchres. I would gladly embrace your heart and hand. I would soften the little cares of life, and steal the tear-drop from your eye. Dearest Alpha, shall I be yours, and shall we together tread lifes flowery meads? Do write immediately, my love, and believe me yoin~ own I read that little missive over and over. I believed that Sophia was inspired. I thought I could behold her robed in simplicity and love. I sighed, Sophia; I sang, Sophia. I thought that I had found the twin-spirit, the one to fill my destiny. But a hundred more unread missives were before me. I must read theni all, though partiality is a law of love. I gently unfolded another; oh! how beautifulbeautiful. May 31, 18. DEAREST ALPHA: I saw in this mornings issue, that you were desirous of forming a matrimonial alliance with a lady. I am happy to present myself as a candidate for your affection. I am eighteen, with d~xr7c eyes and raven hair. But ah! how deep and pure my love. Affection is ever mine; my bosom is ever calm; heaven taught me how to love. As I sit by my window, I gaze upon the cloud-ships of the sky, freighted with sunsets golden leaves sailing over the etherial billows. I would that they could hear a gem of my love to thee. Write me, loved one Your dear KATr. 118 Human Nature in Chunks. [Feb., Well, after reading dear Katys epistle, my regard for Sophia fell about two degrees. Oh! the thought to me of a pair of black eyes, and a bower of ringlets; and that little love-gem, too, that she wished to send me in token of her heart. 0 Katy! I sighed, for one moments view, and thou art mine. I fell in love, too,, with the name. Katy, Katy, how pretty it does sound. Some one that knows hath said, all Katys are good-natured and pretty. I partially concluded to strike up a partnership without looking any farther among my extensive female correspondence. But no, I looked again; carefully unfolded the sheets. Oh! what met my eye! a neat, pretty little heart, worked with hair, so delicate, so emblematical, so- so generous. I laid the heart down to peruse the contents. , June 1, 18. DEAREST ALPHA: Thou shalt be mine. Long have I dreamed of a kindred spirit; thou, dearest, art the one. Ill love thee as none other can. I will be the angel of thy hours, and gild your life with one sweet dawn. Dearest, I yet am young, gay, and loving. No sorrow dare intrude within my heart. Educated in all branches; I can sing, can waltz, can love. My father has given me enough of this worlds gold. AhI dearest! gold without a heart is dross. Come and see meahl to love. Devotedly yours, JENNIE. Well done, I thought to myself; Im in for Jennie; she has the pewter, I reasoned stoically. She may be cross-eyed, lame, red-haired, toothless. But then what are all of those to a plenty of pewter? 0-old will extinguish all defects. She will be my angel too, and furnish the rocks. Well, Im in for Jennie. Katy and Sophia were erased from my heart. It was JennieJennie. But I read further from my pile: ,18. MosT WORTHY SIR: You want a good and confiding wife, one that can beatify home; one that can drive the clouds of sorrow away; one that can 1q~e. I possess wealth with energy, beauty with education. My cheeks are like the dawns, my eyes like diamonds. I can play the piano or rock the cradle, work embroidery or ply the mop. I can dance gracefully or knead bread. I want a husband; one of means, one of energy, one that knows the true significance of love. If you are such, answer this; if not, remain single till you are. Your obedient servant, MATILDA. When I had finished reading this epistle, my mind was set- tled. Matilda shall be the one. I possess all the qualifications 1S55.] flun~an Nature in~ Chunk8. 119 that she requires. I felt as if she possessed the stuff. I thought I should never do any better in this worldah! I was confident. Beauty and activity blended in her person. Hea- vens! I thought of angelsseraphs. I walked the room; I looked at the glass; I thought what an advantage I had gained by advertising. Every girl in love with meall want to marry me. 0 Matilda! I sighed; a kingdom for one hour with thee. Oh! for the heaven of one moment within sight of you. I laid aside all other communications, and tried to sleep; but no, little CRpids hovered around me. I saw ring- lets, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes. I could not rest. The next number will contain the reasons why I always after that signed my advertisements Omega, provided always they be acceptable to mon ami, D. W. H. CIIUNK NO. 9. MODERN CLERKS HOW MADE UP. Simplex munditils. (Elegant on $300 a year.) HuMAN Nature commenced in Eden, and was beautifully consummated in the person of a Modern Clerka dry-goods clerk. A Modern Clerk is the eleventh wonder of the world. Who or what was the architect of that extraordinary concoc- tion of special humanity, is a matter beyond the researches of the erudite. Were I to rear the structure of a clerk, I should commence with the lower extremities. My first effort would be the creation of a pair of patent-leather gaiters, with high heels and silver buckles. If they failed to squeak politely, I should furnish them with an oblivion, or send them to the , where they might possibly become fashionable, or at least serviceable. My next effort would be to procure the highest finished broadcloth, striped on either side to resemble a naval uniform, or to show pantaloon.respect to the American escut- cheon. A cork-screw pattern might be more respectable. I should prepare a vest of the richest silks, neatly embroidered with hearts and vines. I should make a capacious vest pocket on each side, to accommodate sci8sors and tape; and one to accommodate a full-holed jeweled lever, five carats fineim- properly called, by ordinary men, a turnip. I should suspend to a button-hole, a snake-headed hook, supporting a pound of

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 9 - Modern Clerks - How Made Up 119-122

1S55.] flun~an Nature in~ Chunk8. 119 that she requires. I felt as if she possessed the stuff. I thought I should never do any better in this worldah! I was confident. Beauty and activity blended in her person. Hea- vens! I thought of angelsseraphs. I walked the room; I looked at the glass; I thought what an advantage I had gained by advertising. Every girl in love with meall want to marry me. 0 Matilda! I sighed; a kingdom for one hour with thee. Oh! for the heaven of one moment within sight of you. I laid aside all other communications, and tried to sleep; but no, little CRpids hovered around me. I saw ring- lets, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes. I could not rest. The next number will contain the reasons why I always after that signed my advertisements Omega, provided always they be acceptable to mon ami, D. W. H. CIIUNK NO. 9. MODERN CLERKS HOW MADE UP. Simplex munditils. (Elegant on $300 a year.) HuMAN Nature commenced in Eden, and was beautifully consummated in the person of a Modern Clerka dry-goods clerk. A Modern Clerk is the eleventh wonder of the world. Who or what was the architect of that extraordinary concoc- tion of special humanity, is a matter beyond the researches of the erudite. Were I to rear the structure of a clerk, I should commence with the lower extremities. My first effort would be the creation of a pair of patent-leather gaiters, with high heels and silver buckles. If they failed to squeak politely, I should furnish them with an oblivion, or send them to the , where they might possibly become fashionable, or at least serviceable. My next effort would be to procure the highest finished broadcloth, striped on either side to resemble a naval uniform, or to show pantaloon.respect to the American escut- cheon. A cork-screw pattern might be more respectable. I should prepare a vest of the richest silks, neatly embroidered with hearts and vines. I should make a capacious vest pocket on each side, to accommodate sci8sors and tape; and one to accommodate a full-holed jeweled lever, five carats fineim- properly called, by ordinary men, a turnip. I should suspend to a button-hole, a snake-headed hook, supporting a pound of 120 IFlurnan Nature in, Chunk8. [Feb., solid links, immaterial as to quality, but only possessing the shine. I should attach to the chain a very heavy engraved locket, covering with its shining case the beloved semblance of some fortunate lass; linked in holy ties by its side, an invalu- able seal, with a yard-stick and scissors thereon engraved a kind of coat of arms. I would construct the coat of the very best imported French doe-skin; and it should be fitted only by some tailor who had already immortalized his goose and his name. I would have it long-tailed and blue, nicely trimmed with a snakish kind of gimp. I would deeply insert two pockets in the rear, for the special accommodation of fancy notions ; and one under the arm, for untarnished linen and odors. The buttons should be of cheap but comely gilt, stamped with curious devices, such as deers, lions, and bears particularly the bears. I would order a fancy cravat, with a kpot as large as a modern conscience. I would insert upon it a pin, a locket-pin, containing a pair of miniature cheeks, so roseate as to eclipse a pair of soft eyes. The under-garment, whose title would bring a blush but any way, the garment that carries a bosom, should be speckled with little green sprigs, resembling violets kissed by the frost. To keep its folds neatly adjusted, I would insert a something resembling a jewel, attached with a tiny chain to keep it from running away. The collar should of the finest twined linen, starched to perfection, and ironed with a spermacetti candle. I should make it lofty, so as to hide the ears and prevent any serious jesting. To finish the head may seem a laborious undertaking, but it is not sothe least sensitive place on the whole fabric. The hair I should part with the utmost precision, and keep it well satu- rated with bears grease or lardimmaterial. I should sprinkle it often with cologne, in order to keep up a constant evapora- lion; else the ile might strike to the stomach, and sickness and misery ensue. Should the hair resemble in some features a con- flagration, I should apply immediately a solution of nitrate of silver. Red hair is very abominable in all countries but France, especially among the clerks. Red hair can not compete with raven soap-locks. Oh! ye immortal sons of calico, worship and adore at the shrine of science, for presenting you with a sovereign panaceaI mean the red-haired, genteel, special ser- vants of tape I should lay out exactly a half-acre of whiskers, in the form of a triangle, leaving to nature that sweet little bunch of hair over the chin, so poetically denominated a goatee. Goatees are the admiration of the ladiesthe }oetry of hair. No wonder they love them, they can pull and twist them 1855j Ilumctn Hature in Chunks. 121 so bewitchingly. Goatees are the handle of the head. Hurrah for the handles! I should assuredly furnish moustaches, and advise my concoction to give them a semi-circlea pig-tail finisha something undescribable. Moustaches resemble a problem of geometry worked on the cheek with a piece of charcoalthey give to delicacy an air of heroism. After finish- ing my clerk, and presenting him with a tobacco-box, I should install him behind the counter. I should teach him to round his words, and do the agreeable; tell him to say s-a-r and ge-e-rls. I should teach him the philosophy of gassing as the ultirnat- urn of mercantile successfurnish him with a life of Chevalier Woolly-Horse as the latest approved treatise on Humbuggery. If he did not know already by instinct, I should explain to him fully the main objects of the looking-glass. I should want him to bow precisely to an angle of forty to the ladies. I should insist upon his wearing a ring on each finger, to keep him from being light-fingered. After the labors of the day, I should expect that he would promenade with ten yards of changeable silk, and swing a cane. Such little gentilities would give him a very polite standing. I should prefer that he would take his dinners at the Astor, and go without the rest of his meals. I might furnish him with a prayer-book, but no extra spending money. I should send him into the country once a year to swell, and teach common folks the exalted ideas of a gentleman. My clerk is ready for a situation. Apply by letter, post-paid, to No. 1776, opposite the Know-Nothing Lodge, Creation street. P.S.I forgot the beavertake mine. And the gloves, too well, borrow, s-a-r, one for one hand, and genteelly keep the other in your pocket. N. B. Another feature of orthodoxy just discovered. Clerks, like lawyers, have no heaven. 122 Peril8 of our Steam .Afari~ne. [Feb., PERILS OF OUR STEAM MARINE. ThERE is at present before Congress a bill, having for its object to promote the safety of our ocean-steamers, and to ren- der them not quite so utterly helpless in ease of accident, as they hitherto and most disastrously have proved. The Grand Jury of New-York have likewise made a presentment upon the subject; and it appears to be conceded upon all hands, that the evil has become of a magnitude no longer to be endured without some substantial efforts at remedy and amelioration. To recite the mere names of the Presiden4 the Amazon, City of PAilade~pkia, City of alasgow, Humboldt, Franklin, San Francisco, and Arctic, must be sufficient to convince all who are interested in the saving of life and property, that this fearful waste of both the one and the other calls for the most prompt and judi- cious interference of Congress. That something must be done is admitted; but what that something is to be, has been made the subject of criminative and recriminative discussion, with no other result than that of disgusting and disheartening all candid and unprejudiced in- quirers. Mr. Merriam, a scientific philanthropist, propounded the very novel idea that a vessel injured in the bows, by reversing her engines could run back so fast that the pursuing and sur- rounding water would in vain attempt to overtake and leap in through the gaping leak! Thousands of well-meaning and short-sighted people became clamorous for life-boatssufficient life-boats for the passengers, and ticketed seats for every mdi- vidual, in case of accident. We believe that this plan, so far as it goes, would be an improvement upon the systemor ab- sence of system, which received its climacteric illustration in the Arctic. In a smooth sea, in a well-ordered vessel, and within a days rowing distance of shore, these life-boats would not be without their use. But ships as a general thing, exdept

Perils of Our Steam Marine 122-125

122 Peril8 of our Steam .Afari~ne. [Feb., PERILS OF OUR STEAM MARINE. ThERE is at present before Congress a bill, having for its object to promote the safety of our ocean-steamers, and to ren- der them not quite so utterly helpless in ease of accident, as they hitherto and most disastrously have proved. The Grand Jury of New-York have likewise made a presentment upon the subject; and it appears to be conceded upon all hands, that the evil has become of a magnitude no longer to be endured without some substantial efforts at remedy and amelioration. To recite the mere names of the Presiden4 the Amazon, City of PAilade~pkia, City of alasgow, Humboldt, Franklin, San Francisco, and Arctic, must be sufficient to convince all who are interested in the saving of life and property, that this fearful waste of both the one and the other calls for the most prompt and judi- cious interference of Congress. That something must be done is admitted; but what that something is to be, has been made the subject of criminative and recriminative discussion, with no other result than that of disgusting and disheartening all candid and unprejudiced in- quirers. Mr. Merriam, a scientific philanthropist, propounded the very novel idea that a vessel injured in the bows, by reversing her engines could run back so fast that the pursuing and sur- rounding water would in vain attempt to overtake and leap in through the gaping leak! Thousands of well-meaning and short-sighted people became clamorous for life-boatssufficient life-boats for the passengers, and ticketed seats for every mdi- vidual, in case of accident. We believe that this plan, so far as it goes, would be an improvement upon the systemor ab- sence of system, which received its climacteric illustration in the Arctic. In a smooth sea, in a well-ordered vessel, and within a days rowing distance of shore, these life-boats would not be without their use. But ships as a general thing, exdept 185~j Peril8 of our Stectn~ illarine. 123 by the grossest mismanagement, are not endangered during fine weather; and in the panic which follows a collision, the boats, however ample, are apt to be either swamped or rendered unavailable by the conflict of the passengers with the crew. In the great majority of cases of shipwreck, they come off the best who stick longest to the ship. The sea which broke the paddle-wheels of the San Francisco, and disabled her machinery, would swallow up the staunchest boat that ever desperation launched. We affirm, after much deliberation, and having carefully examined the various plans proposed and recommended to Congress, that the bill for the better security of ocean-steam- ers should first provide for the most efficacious machinery to save the ship; and not, as now, direct its whole attention to affording the frightened and unskillful passengers an opportu- nity of going half-way to meet the death which threatens them, by deserting her. Let deep, rigid keelsons of plate-iron, water-tight bulkheads, and reliable fire-engines be provided as among the most efficacious for making the ship itself a life-boat; and still more important, let sufficient steam-pumps be supplied, under penalty, to every ship; and at the same time let the capacity and number of the life-boats be increased as a dernier r~sort. For long days after the San Francisco received her fatal in- juries, she floated like a log upon the waters; and had her steam-pumps been available, that vessel would undoubtedly have reached some friendly port. But the same shock which broke her paddle-wheels, likewise dislocated and disabled the machinery; and as the means of motion and of safetythe paddles and the pumpare made dQpendent on the same identical motor,it follows that when any disaster has occur- redat that critical juncture, when the services of the pump are most needed and the safety of the vessel and all on board depends on their capacity and the regularity with which they workat the time the disaster demands their most efficient exercise, the disaster itself has been pr& viously instrumental in utterly destroying their efficiency, and rendering them a mere encumbrance and weight to the already over-burdened ship. To sum the matter up in the concisest terms: the ship, in case of disaster, is dependent on the pumps; while the pumps, again, are made dependent on that portion of the ship and machinery most liable to disaster. The accident which calls upon the pumps for help, does not call until it has first disa- ited them. 124 Perils of our Steam Afarme. [Feb., For this senseless blunder what remedy can Congress find? Does it not suggest itself with all the force of an obvious and inexpugnable truism, that the pumps should be made inde- pendent of and completely isolated from, the motive machinery of whatever vessel they are really designed to help? If pumps are to be on. board each ocean-steamer for mere ornament, or to satisfy the hysterical tremors of some spinster hesitating to embark, then let the present system be persevered in, until the last of the floating slaughter-houses is engulfed in the ocean, whose terrors it has recklessly and wilfully defied. But if Congress desire to increase the safety of life and property as they pretend, let them insist that some pumping-engine, thoroughly detached from the machinery, and dependent only on the vessels boiler, shall be put on board each ship before it receives its clearing papers from the Custom-House. One of Gwynnes pumping-engines, recently sent to Boston to be used in Simpsons dry-dock, we believe discharges six thou- sand gallons per minute, while the cost of it is a mere trifle, and its portable and compact nature, independent action, and ready applicability in case of fire, peculiarly recommend it to the adoption and requirements of our steam marine. These engines are of every size, and the larger class are capable of throwing up thirty thousand gallons each minute of the four and twenty hours. Let some arithmetician of more leisure cipher up the grand total this would make. At any rate, Congress should insist on pumping-engines being made independent of the machinery. We have no par- ticular partiality for Mr. Gwynnes inventionand if any thing better can be found, let it be adopted: we merely cite the best remedy we know. A pumping-engine of some kindand Gwynnes is the only one we knowshould be put on board the new steamer Arago, and also in the vessel proposed to replace the Arctic on the Collins line. Will Congress assume the credit of the initiative in this matter; or will it permit private enterprise for ever to perform the work which it is paid to suggest and supervise? 1865.1 Yankee Doodle. 125 YANKEE DOODLE. AN ADDENDUM TO THE POETS AND POETRY OF ANCIENT GREECE. [Tm~ interesting and important discovery, which forms the subject of the accompanying communication, was first made known many years since. As few, comparatively, are aware of the real origin of our national song, we venture to repeat it.] JANKE DOULE. THE experience of every year more fully discloses the won- derful treasures of Grecian literature, and the comparative poverty of modern genius. Originality has long been extinct. The most celebrated literary productions of the present day consist of the wisdom and wit of antiquity, bedecked in the tinsel of modern languages. This age produces nothing which a little research may not find, already better expressed in the golden pages of classic lore: Nil novum, nil quod non semel audisse, sufficiat. It was remarked by Boilean, with equal wit and truth, that the ancients must, indeed, once have been moderns, though it is by no means equally certain that the moderns will ever be ancients. All the writers in the modern tongues appear to have done little else than re-model the thoughts of a former age, and they not unfrequently palm off~ as original, that which is directly translated from the more rare productions of antiquity. Laud- er professed to have discovered the original Latin poem from which Milton translated his Paradise Lost. It is little to the purpose to reply, that Lauder was an impostor; the moderns

Yankee Doodle. An Addendum to the " Poets and Poetry of Ancient Greece" 125-131

1865.1 Yankee Doodle. 125 YANKEE DOODLE. AN ADDENDUM TO THE POETS AND POETRY OF ANCIENT GREECE. [Tm~ interesting and important discovery, which forms the subject of the accompanying communication, was first made known many years since. As few, comparatively, are aware of the real origin of our national song, we venture to repeat it.] JANKE DOULE. THE experience of every year more fully discloses the won- derful treasures of Grecian literature, and the comparative poverty of modern genius. Originality has long been extinct. The most celebrated literary productions of the present day consist of the wisdom and wit of antiquity, bedecked in the tinsel of modern languages. This age produces nothing which a little research may not find, already better expressed in the golden pages of classic lore: Nil novum, nil quod non semel audisse, sufficiat. It was remarked by Boilean, with equal wit and truth, that the ancients must, indeed, once have been moderns, though it is by no means equally certain that the moderns will ever be ancients. All the writers in the modern tongues appear to have done little else than re-model the thoughts of a former age, and they not unfrequently palm off~ as original, that which is directly translated from the more rare productions of antiquity. Laud- er professed to have discovered the original Latin poem from which Milton translated his Paradise Lost. It is little to the purpose to reply, that Lauder was an impostor; the moderns 126 Yankee Doodle. [Feb., are not candid judges in the premises; and a generation who have regarded with distrust the antiquarian labors of McPher- son and Chatterton may, it is not unlikely, look with incredu- lity on the discovery about to be disclosed in this communica- tion. So late as 1794, Joseph Vella could not convince his in- vidious contemporaries of the genuineness of his copy of the seventeen lost books of Livy, (though he actually published one book, consisting to be sure of but two pages, and those had unluckily been stolen by Florus,) and not only was his an- cient Arabic History of Sicily suppressed, but he was impris- oned, as an impostor, for attempting to publish it! That Shakspeare borrowed as largely as Milton, there can be no reasonable doubt; and, notwithstanding the pretense that he was ignorant of Greek, yet I shrewdly suspect that if the lost plays of Euripides and Aristophanes should ever come to light, the originals of his best productions would be found among them. When I consider these monstrous frauds, I am scarcely less skeptical with regard to modern erudition, than was Father llardouin with regard to the ancients. He showed, with im- mense erudition, that, except the Bible and Homer, Herodotus, Plautus, Pliny the Elder, with fragments of Cicero, Virgil, and Horace, all the pretended remains of antiquity are forgeries. But, to keep you no longer in suspense, I shall announce, without further preface, the immediate object of this commu- nication, which is to make better known the GREEK ORIGINAL of our celebrated national ballad YANKEE DOODLE I, In com- mon with the rest of the learned world, you will doubtless be curious to learn ffie history of this truly fortunate discovery. I had always been of opinion that this sublime poemsublime when properly understood, but puerile in the extreme as usually recitedwas not the production of a modern age. Its Doric simplicity and Laconic brevity, its Attic wit and Tonian sweetness, all seemed to indicate that it emanated from a mind not debased by the effeminate associations of modern times. The conjecture has proved to be correct. Yankee Doodle i9 of classic origin. It was chanted by the tuneful sons and daughters of Miletus, certainly in the days of Herodotus, and perhaps in those of Homer. The original of Yankee Doodle, (or fanice Doule, as I shall show it ought to be written,) is contained in the fifteenth volume of Schweighaeusers splendid edition of Atheneus, pub- lished in Greek and Latin, at Strasburg, in 1807, pp. 1003 et seq. It will be gratifying to learn how closely our popular 1855.] Yankee Doodle. 127 American version adheres to the original, following even the evident false readings of some editions. I say American ver- sion; for it shall be conclusively shown, in the course of these remarks, that this relic has come down to us through some other channel than the literature of England. But, to postpone your curiosity no longer, I transcribe the original at once, according to the text as adopted by Schweig- haeuser; from whose judgment, however, in one or two parti- culars regarding this poem, I shall, in the course of my re- marks, be obliged to dissent. H TOT AOTAOT ~2AH. Har~p Icayo, GyP ?LoXaycd, E~ UTaO/sov~ fl?baGaJsev, Exet 7z-atdaGre ic& t xopa~ ~i2~ lcptftvov, opaua/iev. ~trov ,cop~ao~ 7/ttoetv, Tpo~ot af1a~n~ urp~qetv. ~e icara~bepero ~arava~! Tire~jo~ o?~uov icowretv. Avrtirpo~. IayXe 6ov?~e, av6poetv! layXe ~ov2~ [Ca~tera desunt.] How accurately the very spirit and language of the original have been preserved in the vernacular melody, will appear to the learned, by a critical comparison of the above with the fol- lowing most co~rect and authentic text, as sung at the present day: YANKEE DOODLE. Father an I went down to camp, Along with Captain Gooding, And there we see the gals and boys, As thick as hasty pudding. 128 Yankee Doodle. [Feb., Corn-stalks twist your hair, Cart wheels surround ye, Old Dragon care you off, Mortar-pestle pound ye I Yankee Doodle, be a man I Yankee Doodle Dandy! Yankee Doodle, kiss the gals, Sweet as lasses candy. The only word not properly found in the original, is Gooding in the second line; an evident gloss which has crept into the text, or is introduced, ex necessitate rei, to rhyme wit pudding, a word of which may be said, almost as of the name of the town in Horace, ~vuod non est dicere versu I think the words Old Dragon, are substituted for some expression more point- ed and direct in a more ancient copy; a change probably intro- duced by our forefather~, who were great admirers of this ode, but had a peculiar aversion to the direct use of what is most naturally suggested by ~arav4~-. The last two lines of the an- tistrophe are surreptitious; they bear intrinsic marks of a later origin than the former parts of the poem; and, as they are not contained in the original, little doubt can be entertained that they are the production of some scholiast who attempted to supply the hiatus valde deflendus in the text. YANKEE DOODLE, the popular name of our national melody, has exercised the critical ingenuity of the most eminent scholars and lexicographers. Some have had the folly to regard it as wholly insensate and ridiculous; others have supposed it to be the echo or imitation of some bird or animal, known to the earliest inhabitants of this continent, but now extinct. Such imitations were sometimes embodied in the Greek plays, as in the celebrated chorus of froge in Aristophanes, B~eKeIcexe~, icoa~ ,coa~, (Aristoph. Ran. 20910 Ed. Dind.,) which so much annoyed Dionysius in his passage over the Styx. Others, with that reverence for antiquity which characterizes the true scholar, have sought for the origin and meaning of the words in the Saxon and German languages, and some have supposed them to be of Indian origin. Heckewelder, and after him the truly learned Dr. Webster, consider ~ Yankee as an Indian corruption of English. This, and other theories equally fanciful, will be fully discussed in the excursuses to the 1855j Yankee Doodle. 129 forth-coming edition. Happily, all doubt upon the. question has been dissipated by the discovery of the original text. The melody must hereafter be known by the name we have given it, IANKE DOULE, being in fact the Greek words JATXE L~OTAE ;16yx~ the imperative perfect of the verb IAJN~2, (to rejoice,) and Aoi3)~ from Aoii2~o~, (a slave:) meaning, Rejoice, o slave ! or Let the enslaved rejoice ! Thus, what was before obscure and insensate becomes at once lucid and beauti- fully pertinent. This derivation, were it even conjectural, and not founded, as it is, upon irrefragable proof; would be -no more indirect and equivocal than Dean Swifts celebrated etymology of Pelo- ponnesus, which it is not necessary for us to repeat; or Baileys Hocus pocus from Hoc est corpus meum, used at the moment of transubstantiation, in~ the IRomish service: or helter-skelter from hilariter et celeriter, the benediction of the priest at the breaking up of the assembly. Other and more important inferences, however, may be drawn from this valuable discovery. The American version is evidently indigenous, and has not been transmitted through the English, to whom indeed the original appears to be wholly unknown. There is internal proof of this in the fragment itself Kpqivov (v. 3) is a coarse mealy pudding of Indian corn, a grain to which the English were strangers until the discovery of America. This popular condiment, called Hasty Pudding in the American version, is certainly not of English origin, and even the name is scarcely known abroad. Again, the expression ~2ii-ov ~O~ftO~ in v. 5, evidently refers to the same American grain corn-stalks, in the only sense the passage admits of; being unknown in England. Thus a fair and conclusive inference may be drawn from this brief relic, that Indian corn was known to the Greeks, at least four hundred and fifty years before Christ; that is,in the time of Herodotus; a fact which throws much light upon the origin of the Aborigines of America, and may yet afford a clue to un- ravel the mysterious enigma. Indeed, it may not unlikely be found, upon further inquiry, that the Greeks, and the Abori- gines of this continent, both derived this sublime production from a common and more ancient sourcefrom the Sanscrit or Persian, for instance; and thus may yet be discovered the ori- gin of the literature of hoth races. Moli~re borrowed his Am- phitrion (as he did many of his comedies) from Plautus; Plau- tus translated it from the Greek; and, as all scholars know, it has been discovered by Dow in the Hindostanee! 9 130 Yankee Doodle. [Feb., The Ephesian Matron of La Fontaine was avowedly taken from the Italian; the Italians derived it from Petronius, and Petronius from the Greek. It has since, as we know, been discovered in the Arabian Tales; and finally Du Halde de- tected the same tale among the versions made by the Jesuits from the Chinese! But these speculations are leading me too far. The Greeks, it is well known, had different songs for the various trades, for the names of many of which I must refer the learned reader to Atheneus. The corn-grinders, the workers in wool, the weavers, the reapers, the kneaders, the bathers, and the galley-rowers, had each their respective songs. Atheneus has not preserved any of them, but we have, from another source the song of Callistratus, to the glory of Harmo- dius and Aristogiton; which we learn, from current Grecian literature, was sung by the potter at his wheel, and the mariner on his bench. We have an anonymous translation of the crow-song, (which is preserved in Atheneus,) commencing as follows: My good worthy masters, a pittance bestow, Some oat~meal or barley or wheat for the crow; A loaf, or a penny, or e en what you will From the poor mae, a grain of his salt may suffice, For your crow swallows all and is not over nice; And the man who can now give his grain and no more, May, another day, give from a plentiful store, etc. But once again I forbear to follow out this inexhaustible subject, leading as it does to innumerable conjectures and in- quiries interesting to the scholar and archicologist. All these matters will be discussed in a forthcoming edition of the poem. Indeed I am not without strong hopes of discovering the original of several other celebrated and popular ballads. Among them, the elegiac verses commencing Heigh, diddle diddle, The cats in the fiddle! etc, etc. bear a strong resemblance to the celebrated Greek ode, A IdiPuta I Idl2Lta and are not unlike, in metre, to Horaces Ehen f~igaces, Postume! Postume! (Oar. Lib IL 14.) 1855.] Song. 131 I shall not, however, any longer tantalize the curious with further indications of my discoveries, but subscribe myselg Your obedient servant, PORSON JuNIo1~. S 0 N G. THE rose blooms fair at mornings hour, And scents the noon of day, But few that watch the fragrant flower, Will smile on its decay. While yet a freshness clothes its leaves Theres wisdom in our care.; For who his lot with beauty weaves, Will beautys praises share. But when upon the drooping stalk The faded rose we see, And scattered in the garden-walk Its withered leaves shall be, How few there are whose anxious care Will prop the fallen stem, Or with a careful footstep spare, What lived and bloomed for them.

Song 131-132

1855.] Song. 131 I shall not, however, any longer tantalize the curious with further indications of my discoveries, but subscribe myselg Your obedient servant, PORSON JuNIo1~. S 0 N G. THE rose blooms fair at mornings hour, And scents the noon of day, But few that watch the fragrant flower, Will smile on its decay. While yet a freshness clothes its leaves Theres wisdom in our care.; For who his lot with beauty weaves, Will beautys praises share. But when upon the drooping stalk The faded rose we see, And scattered in the garden-walk Its withered leaves shall be, How few there are whose anxious care Will prop the fallen stem, Or with a careful footstep spare, What lived and bloomed for them. I?ecollections of TlTeimar. [Feb., RECOLLECTIONS OF WEIMAR, THE NATIVE PLACE OF GOETHE. IN our childhood we are apt to regard events or persons with indifference. They appear natural and common; and the most celebrated seem but ordinary men. Our living near them, in daily intercourse, prevents the effect that would be otherwise produced. But, in after-life, when experience has taught us severe lessonswhen we find out how many blossoms are lavished for a single fruit, how many vain attempts for one success, it is then we become more attentive. Recollections, long since faded away, revive in youthfal freshness. The clouds disappear; we behold the vanished stars; those flaming, ever- lasting constellations are sure tobe no vision of imagination. Dust and clouds concealed them from our eyes, but they were never extinguished. Yet a few years, and where are our works, our fame, our fears, our hopes? The house built, the field with the golden earswhat has become of both? Where did we plant? Where do we reap? What cares, what efforts for the ~hance of an hour! What toil to arrange the details of a life, which a breath may destroy. To contemplate, to enjoy, accords better with our being, than to build, to know, to possess. Invisible Supreme Being! I wonder at thy work in the life of man. I feel myself sunk, in his annihilation. Such thoughts are sometimes awakened in me by recalling thedaysofchildhood, when I walked in the shady avenues of the park at Weimar, merry and joyous, in ignorance of what surrounded me; regardless of. my uncles words, when he would say, drawing the little prattling child apart, There is Baron von Goethe. Goethe walked daily in this park; he had there his favorite spots, his pines, his oak against which he used to rest himself. The narrow limits of a small town, the external

Recollections of Weimar. The Native Place of Goethe 132-137

I?ecollections of TlTeimar. [Feb., RECOLLECTIONS OF WEIMAR, THE NATIVE PLACE OF GOETHE. IN our childhood we are apt to regard events or persons with indifference. They appear natural and common; and the most celebrated seem but ordinary men. Our living near them, in daily intercourse, prevents the effect that would be otherwise produced. But, in after-life, when experience has taught us severe lessonswhen we find out how many blossoms are lavished for a single fruit, how many vain attempts for one success, it is then we become more attentive. Recollections, long since faded away, revive in youthfal freshness. The clouds disappear; we behold the vanished stars; those flaming, ever- lasting constellations are sure tobe no vision of imagination. Dust and clouds concealed them from our eyes, but they were never extinguished. Yet a few years, and where are our works, our fame, our fears, our hopes? The house built, the field with the golden earswhat has become of both? Where did we plant? Where do we reap? What cares, what efforts for the ~hance of an hour! What toil to arrange the details of a life, which a breath may destroy. To contemplate, to enjoy, accords better with our being, than to build, to know, to possess. Invisible Supreme Being! I wonder at thy work in the life of man. I feel myself sunk, in his annihilation. Such thoughts are sometimes awakened in me by recalling thedaysofchildhood, when I walked in the shady avenues of the park at Weimar, merry and joyous, in ignorance of what surrounded me; regardless of. my uncles words, when he would say, drawing the little prattling child apart, There is Baron von Goethe. Goethe walked daily in this park; he had there his favorite spots, his pines, his oak against which he used to rest himself. The narrow limits of a small town, the external 1855.] Recolleetion8 of lYeimar. 133 \ monotony of a life which, in later years, was somewhat wasted in ceremonious forms, the title of privy counsellor, the honor of being called excellency, then satisfied in his advanced age, the gigantic mind of Goethe, who had here risen, from the son of a plain citizen to the dignity of a minister of state. He was absorbed in his existence at Weimar. The little valley of fLhuringen, the stiff hedges of the Grand Dukes Belvi- dere, the quiet river Ulrn, gentle as a rivulet, were pleasant to him. The poet who had enjoyed Italy with all the ardor of his fiery soul, now longed for nothing more than a trip from Weimar to the Bohemian spring, Carlsbad or Miarienbad. But perhaps he designed to move in every-day life with so muQh apparent pleasure, because his nature transformed all things into poetry! Yet when I read, in matured age, the works of Goethe, I was far rather inclined to judge him a thinking, penetrating, cold, calculating mind, than a flaming nature glori- fied in its own ardor. Goethe was thoroughly cold and mea- sured. It seldom happened that he smiled, and still more seldom were the graces of his soul developed in playful wit. But it was the eye of the king of spirits! It commanded, it governed, it flattered, it defied! His look was the symbolic expression of his souL This look was an infinitive communi- cation, showing him an interpreter of the impenetrablethe holy; the priest of his language, one who had created his own faithhis own religion. Besides this, his deportment was dig- nified, though there was, perhaps, too much assumption and too little inborn nobleness. He wore a dark-blue surtout, but toned to the neck, the left hand generally hid in his waistcoat. He walked slowly, bowed his head formally to those who met him, said affew civil words, and then walked on. My uncle thought himself obliged to talk to me of the glory of Weimar, of the height of literary improvement in this place; and though, doubtless, at that time the butterflies had more interest for me than Goethe, and all the poets in the world, I could not help listening; and thus became acquainted with the classical German names which made Weimar so celebrated. The great ones were no more; all, except Goethe, who received in his plain house and small rooms, with his daughter-in-law, a little circle of friends and admirers in the evening. Goethes residence was rather a humble dwelling for a prime minister, but the poet could here repose more comfortably in the arms of the muses. The steps were narrow, and led to a passage to the study. In this room Bettina, the poetical child, so cele- brated in Germany by the Letters of a Child to Goethe, may 134 Recollectiom~ of IFeimom. [Feb., have climbed often up on his lap, when he used to say to her: Make yourself comfortable, my dear little girl 1 My uncle and I were seated on chairs opposite Goethe. When he heard that I liked mineralogy, he showed me his fine collection, and took me in a room decorated with his Ita- lian plaster-casts. A sunbeam shone just then in the room, and a rainbow could be perceived after a passing shower. The science of colors, mineralogy, the productions of art, all were mingled like a chaos in my mind. I confessed to myself that here was a world within the world, a mixture of the past and future, of antiquity and the present. What were to Goethe the movements, the aims of the crowd, the astounding events of the history of tliat ~epoch? what to him even his father- land? He possessed that in himself which creates and de- stroys, which led him far away from the rolling stream of events, and furnished him with inexhaustible, ever-burning material. He did~aot love but despised mankind, and created himself other tiesthose of philosophy, taste, and knowledge. All that is lawful, consistent, systematic, was of importance to him; he introduced his own form of language in the world his style was that of geniris. He clung to that which he had acquired in those solitary hours, when perhaps a sweet longing after something elevated ~fllled his mind, because he felt that there was a degree more to win. The train of his thoughts passed rapidly, like storm-driven clouds; he revealed them to himself and to others; he made them dearer and lighter, but never dispelled them. The Farnesian bull in his collection of plaster-casts, the noble, ideal head of Van Dycic, were placed near the skull of a common criminal, only to show the opposing contrast of the noble to the meanest. Such contrasts Goethe tried to render prominent. What now appears striking to me, is the plain furniture of his rooms, consisting only of a few chairs and tables. Was it to show that he did not need out- ward magnificence, while he valued his titles, his distinctions, his princely friends, of whom the highest had his preference? Goethe was a man in whom many contradictions met; he was sovereign and slave, free and dependent, exhibiting a thousand different colors, sipping from a thousand different sources, poet and politiciandemon and angel! Among my recollections of Weimar, two have made a deep and pleasant impression on my mind. The one was when I assisted in tableaux vivans, represented in Goethes house; the other, when I drew and painted in the attelier of the high- gifted Countess Julia Egloffstein, while she was seated before 1855.1 Recollections of IYeimar. 135 her easel, absorbed in her creations. This interesting and highly-gifted woman possessed one of those natures which may be called powerfuL She had none of the littleness of her sex; all in her was created in large outline. Her superior talents formed a marvellous accompaniment to the flight of her spirit, now enthroned in the skies, now descending to the depths of the foundation of things. Strong as a man, she was, at the same time, impressible and delicate as a tender female. The soul was the sovereign of the whole being; it chained her fugitive fancy, and moderated her artistic enthusiasm. Often it appeared to me that this artist (who resided till within a few years at Rome) was wedded to some invisible spirit. The palette would fall sometimes from her hand, and she would lean back in her chair perfectly motionless. At such times I, a timid child, thought of spirits, was terrified, and would make noises to call her back to realities. Knowledge and art had opened to her their secret treasures; her conversation might be compared to a sparkling stream, rushing sometimes too ra- pidly along; but never exhausting itself. Art had taught her moderation as well as observation. The world was spread before her in quiet beauty. She had discovered its invisible excellences, and was continually longing in her gentle melan- choly after what is beyond the reach of common mortals. The Countess occupied the attelier of the late celebrated painter Tagernctnm; there she painted those sweet children of Rubens with flowers in their hands, and many scenes from her life in Italy, which now ornament the palaces of the first sove- reigns in Europe, besides portraits of her dear friends and rela- tions. Goethe was an intimate friend of her mother, and the friend and preceptor of her childhood. Under his eyes this German Corinne was educated; he first perceived the genius in his little proteg~, and by him it was awakened and encou- raged. With such native powers, developed by such a tutor, how could she be otherwise than superior? Usually she spent her evenings with Goethe; and I accompanied her there, when she arranged the tableaux. One evc ~mg we had scenes from Goethes Faus4 in which the grandsou~ of Goethe represented the demon ]Jkphistc~pheles. The room in Arhich the spectators were assembled was dark, while the other apartment where the tab- leaux were arranged was flooded with light. I can still see #iephistopheles entering with Faust to the poor deluded Grottchen, who is admiring herself in the glass adorned with the jewels she has found. Grottchem was represented by a young lady of honor of the Grand Duchess of Weimar, with golden ringlets 136 Reeollecttofl8 of Weimctr. [Feb., and a charming, delicate figure, her costume arranged most tastefully and becomingly by Countess Julia. The demon was a real demon, so striking did the young Goethe know how to express malice in his looks and motions. After this and other scenes, Countess Egloffstein went over to Scriptural history. The sacrifice of Abraham. was selected, and I was transformed into littli Isaac. But in the midst of this representation, when the resigned Abraham was about to consummate the sacrifice, and I began to feel quite lamb-like, a terrible noise was heard among the spectators. Abraham and Isaac started from their immovable position, lights were called for; Goethe himself seemed uneasy in the darkness, and when the torches blazed again it was found that a statue of Minerva had fallen from its pedestal, and was lying broken in pieces on the floor. Every body looked at Goethe, who valued highly this statue, one of his Italian treasures. We feared the pleasure of the evening was over for him, but presently he asked for some music; and when he saw us still lingering over the shattered ilfinerva, he exclaimed: Let the dead rest ! Goethes daughter-in-law was a pretty and delicate-looking Blondine, who, besides a highly-cultivated mind and great suavity of manner, with the most unbounded adoration for Goethe, had the merit of having presented him with blooming grandsons. How did the poet love these young inheritors of a name invested by him with glory, which they will transmit to their descendants? Among those children the loving side of his soul was to be seen. In them were concentrated his brightest hopes for a promising future; they were to him the embodiment of his dearest wishes, the originals personified by him. With the house of Goethe, the court at TFeimctr formed a temple for literature, in which the memory of the departed was kept sacred, and where ~he last who remained on earth was deeply idolized. Never has there existed a German court that could boast of so many celebrities, and manifested so ar- dent a zeal for knowledge and truth. The riper judgment of the aged sovereigns was united to the enthusiasm, with its lofty aims, of the younger generation. Conversation there was bril- liant, and free from all egotism. Liberty had become united with trust and confidence. The true destiny of literature, the advancement in the cultivation of nations, was here acknow- ledged and elevated to that noble standard which belongs to the development of the human mind. Speculative ideas found here responses. What was attempted was appreciated, as well as what was effected. 1855.] Jail Journal. 13T Charming recollections! I feel again the young breath of spring over the freshly-turned soil; how it rushes through the blossoms! how cheerfully ripple the waves of the Ulm! Such is the power, the charms of memory! It gives to strength a revived energy; stars seem to descend from the heavens; flowers speak to us; and in the silent recesses of the soul the mystery of our existence is uttered in marvellous legends! JAIL JOUPNAL.* IT is the fateperhaps we should say, the price and penalty of earnest genius, that, while rendering its possessor more con- spicuous than his fellow-men, it rarely tends to increase his happiness, or soften those asperities of the life-path over which we all, with more or less heroism, drag the burden of exist- ence. We speak of earnest genius; for to that inferior endow- ment, that frivolous though able intellect which men eall talent, a very different and more immediately desirable can- dition has been assigned. While Emmett made his dying speech and leaped from the ladder of the gallowsthe brilliant and versatile Mr. IRichard Lalor Shiel laid the foundation of that fame which rendered the purchase of his apostasy of some consequence to the British government. While Lord Edward Fitzgerald, badly wounded and in prison, breathed his parting sigh in an aspiration for his countrys deliveranceMr. Thomas Moore procured the entr6e into fashionable life, and dedicated ( with permission) his first volume of translations to the Prince of Wales. And yet again, this lesson has been repeated in the immediate past of Ireland. While Thomas Davis died of a broken heart and overtaxed abilitieswhile John Mitchel * Jail Journal; or Five Years in British Prisons. By John Mitchel. Citizen Office, New-York.

Jail Journal 137-140

1855.] Jail Journal. 13T Charming recollections! I feel again the young breath of spring over the freshly-turned soil; how it rushes through the blossoms! how cheerfully ripple the waves of the Ulm! Such is the power, the charms of memory! It gives to strength a revived energy; stars seem to descend from the heavens; flowers speak to us; and in the silent recesses of the soul the mystery of our existence is uttered in marvellous legends! JAIL JOUPNAL.* IT is the fateperhaps we should say, the price and penalty of earnest genius, that, while rendering its possessor more con- spicuous than his fellow-men, it rarely tends to increase his happiness, or soften those asperities of the life-path over which we all, with more or less heroism, drag the burden of exist- ence. We speak of earnest genius; for to that inferior endow- ment, that frivolous though able intellect which men eall talent, a very different and more immediately desirable can- dition has been assigned. While Emmett made his dying speech and leaped from the ladder of the gallowsthe brilliant and versatile Mr. IRichard Lalor Shiel laid the foundation of that fame which rendered the purchase of his apostasy of some consequence to the British government. While Lord Edward Fitzgerald, badly wounded and in prison, breathed his parting sigh in an aspiration for his countrys deliveranceMr. Thomas Moore procured the entr6e into fashionable life, and dedicated ( with permission) his first volume of translations to the Prince of Wales. And yet again, this lesson has been repeated in the immediate past of Ireland. While Thomas Davis died of a broken heart and overtaxed abilitieswhile John Mitchel * Jail Journal; or Five Years in British Prisons. By John Mitchel. Citizen Office, New-York. 138 Jcu, Journal. [Feb.~ was carried off from the land he loved so well, a chain- bound prisoner in a felons cartMr. M. J. Barry sells his ser- vices for a salary to Irelands enemy, and Mr. Charles Gavan Duffy steps out from the jail, where a pretense of prosecution had been made, into a seat in that British legislature he had often denounced as a fraud, and a participation in that plun- der whichwhile as yet he had no share in ithe called gods and men to witness, he abhorred as the Iscariot-price of Ire- lands betrayal and blood, That John Mitchel possesses geniusgenius of the most ear- nest and honest orderhe .can exhibit the Irishmans best cer- tificatethat is, an indictment and conviction for high treason against his countrys oppressor. John Mitchel, Thomas Devin Reilly, Michael Doheny, and James Fenton Lalor were the men who by their pens first infused the democratic republican idea into the last ill-starred movement for Irelands liberation. Of these but two survive. Mr. Lalor, physically weak, though mentally indefatigable, did not long survive his hopes; he sleeps in the green land that gave him birth; nor ever did that land lose a love more intense, a devotion more supremely un- selfish. Thomas Devin Reilly has a grave in American soil, within the shadow of a monument which it is our shame to say has not yet been completed. Who that remembers the fiery and impetuous declamation, the linked and exulting logic, the seething and riotous sarcasm of his pen as it flashed through the numbers of the old iDemocrati8 Review, can fail to ap- preciate his worth? Should they do solet us at least trust that the political intriguers who made a capital out of his ge- nius and anonymity, and on the reputation of his articles as- sumed an importance and obtained a recognition to which the printers devils who set up his manuscript had about equal claimlet us trust, we say, that these residuary legatees of Devin Reillys genius will not prove ungrateful to his memory. Michael Doheny, we believe, has returned to his old profession of the law; and occasionally there appears an article signed Publicola, which we know has a ring of the old rebellious spirit in it. As for John Mitchel, the most earnest, perhaps, and assuredly the most able of the radical, or fighting Young Ireland party, he suffered for five years with unflinching forti- tude the penalty of his devotion to a hopeless cause; and, hav- ing effected an honorable escape from his British captors, is now in that chrysalis condition from whichthe Know-Nothings to the contrary novwit]astancIing~we- shall be proud to welcome him a full-fledged and active citizen of the Republic, whose in- 18~i5.] Jail Journal. 139 stitutions were the model, to the realization of which in his own land he sacrificed the ease of a luxurious home and the advan- tages, present and prospective, of a lucrative and increasing profession. There is a thoroughness about the man and in all his utterances, whether of tongue or pena simplicity and directness of thoughta clearness and fixity of purpose and an earnest, unfaltering, unswerving pursuit of the obj ect he has once determined to attain, which we too rarely meet with in these days of expediency and cant. He is a living embodi- ment of that love of liberty, that hatred of a foreign yoke, that relentless insurrectionary spirit which even six~ centuries of British bloodshed, agreeably diversified by British famines, have failed to eradicate from the Irish heart. That the Journal of such a mana Journal written while he was plucked, yet glowing, from the furnace in which, like another Cyclops, he had been forging the thunderbolts that were intended to strike down the Demogorgon of British tyranny; written while he surveyed the granite walls of Spike Island, or looked out on the chain-gangs of Bermuda from his dreary cabin on board a convict-hulk, or witnessed the success- ful resistance of the Cape colonists, or wandered through the savage though romantic solitudes of Tasmania, a prisoner and a law-dubbed felonthat such a journal should contain much bitterness and fierce contempt, so written, is neither unex- pected nor unnatural. But there are no complaints in it hav- ing reference to his individual sufferings: he had staked his all upon a die; and, when the hazard went against him, bore his ruin with the steadfast immobility and not a little of that savage pleasantry which made the fiery martyrdom of John fuss the occasion of the only jests that grim reformer ever ut- tered. The Journal itself has already appeared in the Citizen, and the public are so well aware of its character and diversified at- tractions, that we deem no comment necessary. The preface is, however, original; and contains the best and briefest out- line and justification of the last Irish movement that we have either heard or read. It is the vinum Mihyrratissimum of a political vintage which has been bottled up and intensifying since the occupation of the Pale by Strongbow. 140 The New Civilization,. [Feb., THE NEW CIVILIZATION. THE highest order of civilization, which is the democratic, received its first permanent existence in this country. Many evdnts, it is true, in the remote history of the world, prepared it for the reception of ,this principle, yet the peculiar duty of this country has been to exemplify and embody a civilization in which the rights, freedom, and mental and moral growth of individual man should be made the highest end of all restric- tions and laws. To this result the discipline of Providence has tended from the earliest history of these States. The old world was not the theatre for the development of the new civilization, so different from all that had preceded it, so incompatible with the spirit and hostile to the prejudices of existing things. It needed a broader sphere than institutions founded in exclusive- ness could afford, and in which so many elements of restriction and partiality mingled. A land separated from the influences of ancient habits, peculiar in its position, productions, and extent, wide enough to hold a numerous people, admitting with facility inter-communication and trade, vigorous and fresh from the hand of God, was requisite for the full and broad manifes- tation of the bold spirit of tlLe new-born democracy. Such a land was prepared in the solitudes of the Western hemisphere. And then the men, sufficient to accomplish the work, needed to be peculiar men. They were not to be strip- lings made effeminate by the luxuries of courts, or weak and artificial by corrupt refinement, but stern, resolute, enduring men, ardent worshippers of truth, profoundly penetrated by great thoughts, living by faith in eternal principles, and ready to face death in defiance of conscience and right. Such men were the sires of the busy multitudes that now fill the land. Both the circumstances of their origin and early history, and the relations of equality instituted among them as they set foot in the wilderness, codperated in the formation of the right

The New Civilization 140-143

140 The New Civilization,. [Feb., THE NEW CIVILIZATION. THE highest order of civilization, which is the democratic, received its first permanent existence in this country. Many evdnts, it is true, in the remote history of the world, prepared it for the reception of ,this principle, yet the peculiar duty of this country has been to exemplify and embody a civilization in which the rights, freedom, and mental and moral growth of individual man should be made the highest end of all restric- tions and laws. To this result the discipline of Providence has tended from the earliest history of these States. The old world was not the theatre for the development of the new civilization, so different from all that had preceded it, so incompatible with the spirit and hostile to the prejudices of existing things. It needed a broader sphere than institutions founded in exclusive- ness could afford, and in which so many elements of restriction and partiality mingled. A land separated from the influences of ancient habits, peculiar in its position, productions, and extent, wide enough to hold a numerous people, admitting with facility inter-communication and trade, vigorous and fresh from the hand of God, was requisite for the full and broad manifes- tation of the bold spirit of tlLe new-born democracy. Such a land was prepared in the solitudes of the Western hemisphere. And then the men, sufficient to accomplish the work, needed to be peculiar men. They were not to be strip- lings made effeminate by the luxuries of courts, or weak and artificial by corrupt refinement, but stern, resolute, enduring men, ardent worshippers of truth, profoundly penetrated by great thoughts, living by faith in eternal principles, and ready to face death in defiance of conscience and right. Such men were the sires of the busy multitudes that now fill the land. Both the circumstances of their origin and early history, and the relations of equality instituted among them as they set foot in the wilderness, codperated in the formation of the right The hew CiviU~aticn. 141 character. They sprung from nations, whose bloody wars had nourished the manly spirit of courage and endurance. They lived at a time when unrelenting religious contests prepared all minds for desperate trials, and infused in them the sternest moral convictions. They brought with them none to reverence. Kingly power they scarce recognized, aristocratic pretension they repelled, and priestly supremacy they had long resisted unto death. They came simply as men, with the sacred rights and eternal interests of men. The peculiar hazards of their position placed them upon grounds of equality. Mutual dan- gers strengthened mutual sympathy, whilst a common purpose fired them with a common zeal. Their first act, having reached this then barren shore, was to frame a constitution whose object was the common good. A singular consistency pervaded the spirit of the early settlers, and the manifestations of it, in actual customs and laws. They asserted with remarkable directness and force the great doc- trines of popular sovereignty, of political equality, of sacred individual rights. The supreme power they held to be derived not as a divine gift from God, not from the consent of mon- archs, nor the concessions of nobility, but directly from the whole body of men. The perception of this truth distinguished them from the rest of the world. The same freedom from usurped authority, which marked their religious career, they carried into their political inquiries. It is true, it is to be regretted it was only comparative freedom, not entire. Many errors were mingled in their conceptions of mans sacred, in- alienable rights. Their notions were strong, but not compre- hensive. They allowed truth with limitations. Without being grossly inaccurate, they were strangely confused. They re- spected private judgment, but confined it to certain subjects of thought. Conscience was sacred only within a circumscribed sphere. The full and ample discussion of certain topics was prohibited by painful penalties. The discipline and doctrine of a church themselves had organized was too high a theme for vulgar approachtoo holy to be disturbed by profane touch. Religion, or the mysterious aThnities of man to higher beings, they were unwilling to leave to his own soul. It was a thing to be controlled and regulated by the State, for which the arm of civil power was to be invoked, to compel outward conformity and force inward faith. Here was their weakness. Here they departed from their own principles, and submitted to the prejudices of the past. Here they were as intolerant and narrow-minded as the bigots of other nations, and a re- moter age. 142 The JATeW Civili~atiom. [Feb., Yet it was impossible for a people of an origin like theirs, or of such convictions as they had, long to submit to oppression of any sort. Much as they were willing to concede to religious injustice at home, they were disposed to yield nothing to po- litical usurpation abroad. The spirit of resistance awakened with the very first assertion of foreign control, and arose as the arrogance of authority grew bold. The more formidable the danger, the more bold and unrelenting became their oppo- sition. Purposes of freedom kept pace with despotic pretension. Every year gave them energy, by augmenting the justice of their cause, and discovering new means and materials of strength; when, at last, after expostulation and remonstrance failed, a transcendant expression of popular will severed the chains of allegiance, and made a whole nation free. The Declaration of independence was a tremendous act of revolution, founded upon the rights and sanctioned by the natural justice of mankind. The history of the world records nothing like it either for sublimity of purpose or importance of result. It was as peculiar in its design as it has been perma- nent and extensive in its influence. A nation, poising itself upon the rights of its people, solemnly absolved its political connection, and instituted a government for itself; it did more, it instituted a government drawn from popular choice and establishing the equal rights of men. This was the origin of democratic libertythe source of true civilization. It estab- lished the distinct existence of democracy as a social element, and began a reform destined to cease only when every nation in the world shall be finally and triumphantly redeemed. What, then, is the nature of this democracy? What are its claims and objects as a social element? What its views of government? and what its means as well as hopes of success? Simply, it is the political ascendency of the people; but let us attempt to state in what sense. It is not the government of a people permitted, in the plenitude of their power, to do as they please, regardless alike of the restraints of written law or indi- vidual right. A more terrible condition of society than this, the wickedest despot could not conceive. Wild uproar would make room for fanatic excesses o~passion or the alternate bloody triumph of miserable factions. Nor is it the govern- ment of the majority carried into the determination of all questions that concern the rights and duties of men. As a safe and wise arbiter of controversy, the will of the majority is to be respected. Where thought and expression are free, it can seldom become oppressive. Adverse parties watch the 1855.] The New Civilization. 143 movements of each other with sleepless vigilance, and, in cases of manifest violations of right, never fruitlessly invoke the correcting spirit of reform. Nothing is more certain to pros- trate even the most triumphant party than the usurpation or unjust exercise of power. Still, to prevent the beginning of evil, majorities must submit to restraint. There are some things over which they can rightly exert no control. There are personal feelings, social dependencies, commercial rights, too exalted or subtle to be meddled with by human legislation, and which legislation touches only to wither and destroy. They are to be set apart as sacred things, which the ruthless hand of power should never invade. Democracy, therefore, is the supremacy of the people, restrained by a just regard to individual rights; that condition of society which secures the full and inviolable use of every faculty. It recognizes the distinct existence of individual man in himself as an independ- ent end, and not merely as a means to be merged in a mass, and controlled as a thing by public caprice or policy.~ His instinctive convictions, his irrepressible desires, his boundless capacity for improvement, conspire with all the indications of Providence, with all the teachings of history, and all the de- signs of his internal condition and adjustment, to make the doctrine of individual rights the greatest of political truths. Clearly to define and religiously to respect those rights, is the highest, almost the only duty of government. All its action beyond this tends to gross abuse and wrong. When it insti- tutes partial laws, when it grants monopoly, when it lays re- straints upon free intercourse and trade; in short, when it establishes any law or custom of unequal operation, it departs from its true functions, it begins a course of injustice and fraud, it opens the way for any degree of oppression. So severe is even-handed justice, that not even in the name of liberty can liberty be violated. Hence governments perfect themselves in proportion as they allow a larger measure of freedom to remain with the people. Their first care should be to expand the sphere of individual action, and to harmonize the interac- tion of mutually dependent wills, by removing the distance and separation which is the source of jealousy and contest. As an element of social progress, the recognition of these principles is of the utmost importance and weight. Until they are widely received and permanently adopted, there can be no complete civilization. If we apprehend it, civzation consists in the establishment of elevated social relations, upheld by lofty and refined personal character; or, in other words, the

The Pleasure-Boat 143-144

1855.] The New Civilization. 143 movements of each other with sleepless vigilance, and, in cases of manifest violations of right, never fruitlessly invoke the correcting spirit of reform. Nothing is more certain to pros- trate even the most triumphant party than the usurpation or unjust exercise of power. Still, to prevent the beginning of evil, majorities must submit to restraint. There are some things over which they can rightly exert no control. There are personal feelings, social dependencies, commercial rights, too exalted or subtle to be meddled with by human legislation, and which legislation touches only to wither and destroy. They are to be set apart as sacred things, which the ruthless hand of power should never invade. Democracy, therefore, is the supremacy of the people, restrained by a just regard to individual rights; that condition of society which secures the full and inviolable use of every faculty. It recognizes the distinct existence of individual man in himself as an independ- ent end, and not merely as a means to be merged in a mass, and controlled as a thing by public caprice or policy.~ His instinctive convictions, his irrepressible desires, his boundless capacity for improvement, conspire with all the indications of Providence, with all the teachings of history, and all the de- signs of his internal condition and adjustment, to make the doctrine of individual rights the greatest of political truths. Clearly to define and religiously to respect those rights, is the highest, almost the only duty of government. All its action beyond this tends to gross abuse and wrong. When it insti- tutes partial laws, when it grants monopoly, when it lays re- straints upon free intercourse and trade; in short, when it establishes any law or custom of unequal operation, it departs from its true functions, it begins a course of injustice and fraud, it opens the way for any degree of oppression. So severe is even-handed justice, that not even in the name of liberty can liberty be violated. Hence governments perfect themselves in proportion as they allow a larger measure of freedom to remain with the people. Their first care should be to expand the sphere of individual action, and to harmonize the interac- tion of mutually dependent wills, by removing the distance and separation which is the source of jealousy and contest. As an element of social progress, the recognition of these principles is of the utmost importance and weight. Until they are widely received and permanently adopted, there can be no complete civilization. If we apprehend it, civzation consists in the establishment of elevated social relations, upheld by lofty and refined personal character; or, in other words, the 144 The New Civilization~ [Feb., development among men of the best powers of the mind and heart. It suggests at once the idea of a high degree of ad- vancement in social organization and in individual culture. It supposes a conditionof prosperous trade intellectual elevation, and moral development; but literature, science, politics, and morals must have reached a considerable progress, and physical comfort~ commercial ease, and mental attainments be generally possessed by the people. Now, our proposition is, that the highest degree of civiliza- tion can only be reached by a rigid application of the demo- cratic principle. Society can only find its true perfection by a broad recognition of the doctrine of individual and equal rights. As to its influence, in the first place, on outward prosperity merely, can any thing be clearer than that industry will be productive in proportion to the freedom with which its energies are applied and its gains appropriated? To leave men free in the direction of their pursuits, not only imparts immediate happiness, but gives tenacity to their purposes and strength to their power of execution. They labor more effectively, be- cause they labor willingly. What would be otherwise drudg- ery becomes pastime, attended by a pleasing conviction of use- fulness and the calm assurance of ultimate competence. Stupid inertness is exchanged for cheerful vigor, and the depressing prospect of endless toil is brightened into a future of seductive ease. For acquisition would be secure from the exorbitant taxes of unrighteous government, whilst no pampered aristo- cratic class would hang or make weight upon society, or exclu- sive interest absorb and impede all the channels of commerce. Such a change would produce results of immeasurable magni- tude and uniformly good. It would tend to equalize the distribution of wealth. With- out wholly removing poverty, it would lessen dependence. The strange contrasts created by over-grown affluence and wretched indigence would give place to apportionments of pro- perty more equitably adjusted to the degrees of personal capa- city and merit; whilst the poor would be raised, the rich would be made better; restless heart-burnings would cease to embitter the intercourse, or provoke the embittered feelings of classes feeling themselves to be equals; arrogance on one side would engender no spleen on the other; and destitution,which is the fruitful parent of crime and misery, would occur only as the retributive consequence of ignorance and vice. All ranks of men would begin life on a fair field, the world before them. where to choose, and Providence their guide. Inclination and

A Third Gallery of Portraits. By George Gilfillan Book Notices 144-146

144 The New Civilization~ [Feb., development among men of the best powers of the mind and heart. It suggests at once the idea of a high degree of ad- vancement in social organization and in individual culture. It supposes a conditionof prosperous trade intellectual elevation, and moral development; but literature, science, politics, and morals must have reached a considerable progress, and physical comfort~ commercial ease, and mental attainments be generally possessed by the people. Now, our proposition is, that the highest degree of civiliza- tion can only be reached by a rigid application of the demo- cratic principle. Society can only find its true perfection by a broad recognition of the doctrine of individual and equal rights. As to its influence, in the first place, on outward prosperity merely, can any thing be clearer than that industry will be productive in proportion to the freedom with which its energies are applied and its gains appropriated? To leave men free in the direction of their pursuits, not only imparts immediate happiness, but gives tenacity to their purposes and strength to their power of execution. They labor more effectively, be- cause they labor willingly. What would be otherwise drudg- ery becomes pastime, attended by a pleasing conviction of use- fulness and the calm assurance of ultimate competence. Stupid inertness is exchanged for cheerful vigor, and the depressing prospect of endless toil is brightened into a future of seductive ease. For acquisition would be secure from the exorbitant taxes of unrighteous government, whilst no pampered aristo- cratic class would hang or make weight upon society, or exclu- sive interest absorb and impede all the channels of commerce. Such a change would produce results of immeasurable magni- tude and uniformly good. It would tend to equalize the distribution of wealth. With- out wholly removing poverty, it would lessen dependence. The strange contrasts created by over-grown affluence and wretched indigence would give place to apportionments of pro- perty more equitably adjusted to the degrees of personal capa- city and merit; whilst the poor would be raised, the rich would be made better; restless heart-burnings would cease to embitter the intercourse, or provoke the embittered feelings of classes feeling themselves to be equals; arrogance on one side would engender no spleen on the other; and destitution,which is the fruitful parent of crime and misery, would occur only as the retributive consequence of ignorance and vice. All ranks of men would begin life on a fair field, the world before them. where to choose, and Providence their guide. Inclination and 18t6.] [like New Civilization. 141 sagacity would select the sphere, and dictate the mode and measure of exertion. Frugality and vigilance would compel success, and defeat and ruin be felt only as the requital of ill- desert; or, if such things be, as vicissitudes inflicted by Heaven among its inscrutable designs. Every kind of labor being thus effectively supplied, an abundance of product would compensate its toils. At the same time, means and leisure for nobler pursuits would be pro- vided. Prosperity admits of various employments among men, by augmenting the number and wants of a population, and, at the same time, commensurately multiplying its resources. As physical comforts increase, the taste for elevated and refined enjoyment springs up. The demand for artists, poets, and philosophers expands, science becomes a distinct pursuit, lite- rature is made profitable, and all the more delicate and enno- bling modes of exerting human faculties receive invigorating rewards. Discovery and invention enlarge the scope, master- strokes of genius stimulate the activity, lofty moral instructions refine the nature of thought. A benign influence spreads itself through public sentiment. High notions ofjustice soften while they give dignity to manners. Mind, warm in purposes of generosity, strong in adherence to virtue, takes the control; in short, we behold a people rich, powerful, and enlightened. Nor less auspicious would be the adoption of the democratic idea to the elevation of individual character. In times past, the greater number of men have been nothing at all, because nothing was made of them. There was little in their circum- stances to let them know that they were moral agents. All the influences around them were adapted to produce impres- sions directly the reverse. Living creatures they were, ma- chines of curious workmanship, admirable as drudge-horses, effective as self-moving engines of destructionthings where- with superior classes might pamper themselves, or ruin and destroy their adversaries; but more they were not. Neither the society of the past, nor its governments, could teach men their true nature, or inspire them with self-reliance, or cheer them with hope. Were they not the unreasoning tools of power ?were they not curs to be cuffed at will ?chips to be hurled about at caprice? Well might they have said to their heartless oppressors, We have obeyed like cowering slaves, we have toiled until blood has stood upon our limbs sa sweat, we have drained the dregs of lifes bitterest cup, for your gratifl~ cation; and what have you given us in return? 10 ~Feb., 142 The New (iYivili~ation. But matters have since advanced. The grinding foot of op- pression has been raised, if not removed. Better notions have grown up in the hearts of men; but alas I how much is there to stifle and impede full growth. A hateful despotism still too often actuates human will; the spirit of exclusion, of scorn, of tyranny, of selfishness, still lingers about the high places, and makes itself felt in the depths of society. Nothing short of the full recognition of the principles of democracy can re- generate man. There must be something in his circumstances to remind him of his inherent worth; something that, amid withering and depressing care, will ever bring back the fresh consciousness of his manhood. How can he, whose life is perpetual toil, whose only exercise of conscience and free-will is in the stern struggle for subsistencehow can he attain a true insight of his immortal value? Some virtue, it is true, is found in the least favored conditions. There is room enough in the lowest walks for the sweet play of affection. There are everywhere friends to be esteemed, kindred to cherish, or a wife and children to love. There are endurance and energy imparted everywhere by the discipline of life; but how little is all this compared with the perrect stature of a man. No!. let it be understood that the same nature is common to men; that they have equal and sacred claims; that they have high and holy faculties; that society respects, and the whole force of 0overnment is pledged to protect their rights; and then will they acquire some adequate notion of who and what they are. A feeling of exaltation and nobleness would pass into their souls, and the humblest person would expand with a sense of innate dignitya sense that would raise him above the dusty, beaten paths of life, give a respite to depressing care, strengthen self-respect, infuse rarm and liberal eniotions, quicken the best sympathies, and lend animation and support to the noblest powers. He would feel at Once that he was man, known and honored as such, of higher importance and more inestimable worth than the whole outward world. In this ennobling in- - fluenee, Christianity and democracy are one. What, indeed, is democracy but Christianity in its earthly aspectChristian- ~ty made effective among the political relations of men? Christ- ianity, in which it accords with every design of Providence, begins with individual man, addressing its lofty persuasions to him, and makes his full development its chief solicitude and care. The obstacles reared by artificial life it throws aside; the rubbish heaped by centuries of abuse upon the human

The Pilgrims of Walsingham; or, Tales of the Middle Ages. By Agnes Strickland Book Notices 146

~Feb., 142 The New (iYivili~ation. But matters have since advanced. The grinding foot of op- pression has been raised, if not removed. Better notions have grown up in the hearts of men; but alas I how much is there to stifle and impede full growth. A hateful despotism still too often actuates human will; the spirit of exclusion, of scorn, of tyranny, of selfishness, still lingers about the high places, and makes itself felt in the depths of society. Nothing short of the full recognition of the principles of democracy can re- generate man. There must be something in his circumstances to remind him of his inherent worth; something that, amid withering and depressing care, will ever bring back the fresh consciousness of his manhood. How can he, whose life is perpetual toil, whose only exercise of conscience and free-will is in the stern struggle for subsistencehow can he attain a true insight of his immortal value? Some virtue, it is true, is found in the least favored conditions. There is room enough in the lowest walks for the sweet play of affection. There are everywhere friends to be esteemed, kindred to cherish, or a wife and children to love. There are endurance and energy imparted everywhere by the discipline of life; but how little is all this compared with the perrect stature of a man. No!. let it be understood that the same nature is common to men; that they have equal and sacred claims; that they have high and holy faculties; that society respects, and the whole force of 0overnment is pledged to protect their rights; and then will they acquire some adequate notion of who and what they are. A feeling of exaltation and nobleness would pass into their souls, and the humblest person would expand with a sense of innate dignitya sense that would raise him above the dusty, beaten paths of life, give a respite to depressing care, strengthen self-respect, infuse rarm and liberal eniotions, quicken the best sympathies, and lend animation and support to the noblest powers. He would feel at Once that he was man, known and honored as such, of higher importance and more inestimable worth than the whole outward world. In this ennobling in- - fluenee, Christianity and democracy are one. What, indeed, is democracy but Christianity in its earthly aspectChristian- ~ty made effective among the political relations of men? Christ- ianity, in which it accords with every design of Providence, begins with individual man, addressing its lofty persuasions to him, and makes his full development its chief solicitude and care. The obstacles reared by artificial life it throws aside; the rubbish heaped by centuries of abuse upon the human

The Home Cyclopedia, in Six Volumes. Book Notices 146-148

~Feb., 142 The New (iYivili~ation. But matters have since advanced. The grinding foot of op- pression has been raised, if not removed. Better notions have grown up in the hearts of men; but alas I how much is there to stifle and impede full growth. A hateful despotism still too often actuates human will; the spirit of exclusion, of scorn, of tyranny, of selfishness, still lingers about the high places, and makes itself felt in the depths of society. Nothing short of the full recognition of the principles of democracy can re- generate man. There must be something in his circumstances to remind him of his inherent worth; something that, amid withering and depressing care, will ever bring back the fresh consciousness of his manhood. How can he, whose life is perpetual toil, whose only exercise of conscience and free-will is in the stern struggle for subsistencehow can he attain a true insight of his immortal value? Some virtue, it is true, is found in the least favored conditions. There is room enough in the lowest walks for the sweet play of affection. There are everywhere friends to be esteemed, kindred to cherish, or a wife and children to love. There are endurance and energy imparted everywhere by the discipline of life; but how little is all this compared with the perrect stature of a man. No!. let it be understood that the same nature is common to men; that they have equal and sacred claims; that they have high and holy faculties; that society respects, and the whole force of 0overnment is pledged to protect their rights; and then will they acquire some adequate notion of who and what they are. A feeling of exaltation and nobleness would pass into their souls, and the humblest person would expand with a sense of innate dignitya sense that would raise him above the dusty, beaten paths of life, give a respite to depressing care, strengthen self-respect, infuse rarm and liberal eniotions, quicken the best sympathies, and lend animation and support to the noblest powers. He would feel at Once that he was man, known and honored as such, of higher importance and more inestimable worth than the whole outward world. In this ennobling in- - fluenee, Christianity and democracy are one. What, indeed, is democracy but Christianity in its earthly aspectChristian- ~ty made effective among the political relations of men? Christ- ianity, in which it accords with every design of Providence, begins with individual man, addressing its lofty persuasions to him, and makes his full development its chief solicitude and care. The obstacles reared by artificial life it throws aside; the rubbish heaped by centuries of abuse upon the human I 18~5.] 17w Plea8ure -Boat. 143 spirit it removes, the better to unfold man~s inward beauty, and bring forth mans inward might. The proudest thrones may crumble, the broadest empires contract and become nothing, but the spirit of the humblest man can never perish; for it is the germ of an immortal, ever-expanding, ever-quickening existence. THE PLEASURE-BOAT. Swxn~ from the flowry, verdant shore, The pleasure-boat is gliding, With flashing prow and dripping oar The silvery wave dividing. The gentle winds but kiss the lake, Nor raise the rolling billow; While soft and low the small waves break, And soothe the mermaids pillow. But soon, alas! the storms arouse The waves to wild commotion, The helpless galliots gilded bows Are buried neath the ocean. Thus when we launch, on Lifes broad stream, Our hearts with hope are glowing, And whilst we live in pleasures beam Our tide is onward flowing. But soon the stream is ruffled oer, On hidden rocks we re steering; The skys oercast, and hope no more Our darkened way is cheering. But lo! an opening, broad and clear, Among the waters raging; Boldly and firm we onward steer, Faith all our fears assu~ging. 144 Book Notice8. [Feb., F BOOK NOTICES. A Third Gallery of Portraits. By George Gilftflan. Yew- York: Shel& m, Lam- tort & Blakeman. 1855. Wu have some how got an idea into our heads, that we should put the title Rev, before the name of the very vigorous author of these lingual portraitures. We suspect Mr. Gilfihlan of being a pastor of some reli- gious denomination; but, at any rate, by the help of his glowing genius and ever-busy pen, he has erected for himself a pulpit more lofty, a con- gregation more extensive and intellectual, than has fallen to the lot of any practical parson within the hemisphere of our acquaintance. The portraits in this volume are not mere mechanical similitudes of the various and conflicting characters which, in turn, claim the attention of the essay- ist. He has imbued them all with his own superabundant vitality; and however wrong he may behowever much he may exaggerate the foibles of an enemy into glaring faults, or soften down the guilty actions of a friend into the mere aberrations of geniuswe, at least, are never bored with a monotonous rehearsal of common-place; we never fall asleep while we watch the as yet undeveloped likeness leap into light and life beneath the artists hands. Gilfillan is a passionate and rapid writer; his quick and impetuous thought has moulded for itself an utterance of language more vigorous, more terse and emphatic, than any man of less genius would be able to handle or control. His words, in their accumulative and fiery flow, seem to feel no rein, nor to acknowledge any rider; but, if we forget the superficial heedlessness, and examine only the true worth of the various judgments upon men and things contained in the book before us, we shall find, to our astonishment, that the rapidity and care- lessness belong to the expression only; while the sense with which each paragraph is pregnant has in it all the ripeness and maturity of a long- weighed and firmly-settled conviction. The review of Edgar Poe is an illustrious tribute to the genius of the most illustriousthe most unfortunate of all our literary men. Unfortu- nate, indeed! not only in his life, but in that immortal part of him which has yet survived the attack of the envious and malignant editors to ~whose care with his dying breath, he confided his scattered gems. Mr.

The End of Controversy Controverted Book Notices 148-152

144 Book Notice8. [Feb., F BOOK NOTICES. A Third Gallery of Portraits. By George Gilftflan. Yew- York: Shel& m, Lam- tort & Blakeman. 1855. Wu have some how got an idea into our heads, that we should put the title Rev, before the name of the very vigorous author of these lingual portraitures. We suspect Mr. Gilfihlan of being a pastor of some reli- gious denomination; but, at any rate, by the help of his glowing genius and ever-busy pen, he has erected for himself a pulpit more lofty, a con- gregation more extensive and intellectual, than has fallen to the lot of any practical parson within the hemisphere of our acquaintance. The portraits in this volume are not mere mechanical similitudes of the various and conflicting characters which, in turn, claim the attention of the essay- ist. He has imbued them all with his own superabundant vitality; and however wrong he may behowever much he may exaggerate the foibles of an enemy into glaring faults, or soften down the guilty actions of a friend into the mere aberrations of geniuswe, at least, are never bored with a monotonous rehearsal of common-place; we never fall asleep while we watch the as yet undeveloped likeness leap into light and life beneath the artists hands. Gilfillan is a passionate and rapid writer; his quick and impetuous thought has moulded for itself an utterance of language more vigorous, more terse and emphatic, than any man of less genius would be able to handle or control. His words, in their accumulative and fiery flow, seem to feel no rein, nor to acknowledge any rider; but, if we forget the superficial heedlessness, and examine only the true worth of the various judgments upon men and things contained in the book before us, we shall find, to our astonishment, that the rapidity and care- lessness belong to the expression only; while the sense with which each paragraph is pregnant has in it all the ripeness and maturity of a long- weighed and firmly-settled conviction. The review of Edgar Poe is an illustrious tribute to the genius of the most illustriousthe most unfortunate of all our literary men. Unfortu- nate, indeed! not only in his life, but in that immortal part of him which has yet survived the attack of the envious and malignant editors to ~whose care with his dying breath, he confided his scattered gems. Mr. 1855.] Book JAThtioe8. 145 Gilfillans view of Poes private life is false as the blackest and most cowardly calumny can make it; but that calumny, that falsehood, belong not unto him. Let them be laid, where they belong, at the door of that treacherous~ friend, who has blackened Poes monument with a thousand crimes, and all to throw out into bolder contrast the virtues and the gener- osity which he does not scruple to ascribe to himself at the cost and to the ruin of him whqse toml5 he desecrates. But we have not space for such a notice of this Gallery as its merits strongly urge that it should have. We must, therefore, content ourselves by quoting, as concisely as we can, its various headings and contents. First, we have a file of Frelich revolutionists, comprising Mirabeau, Marat, Robes- pierre, iDanton, Vergniaud, and Napoleon. After this stormy group, a con- stellation of sacred authorsEdward Irving, Isaac Taylor, Robert Hall, and Dr. Chalmerslook mildly out upon us, and seem to plead for holier thoughts and gentler teachings to humanity. Next, we have a cluster of new poetsSydney Yendys, Alexander Smith, J. Stanyan Bigg, and Gerald Massey; whether all these are but passing meteors or bright particular stars, will be found candidly and kindly and most genially discussed in the essays and copious extracts devoted to each aspirant for the sacred bays. Having disposed of those inoffensible animalsthe minstrelsthe critic next essays his undaunted pen upon those great modern critics whose very names are a terror to authors of less hardy nerves; he has chapters upon Hazlitt and Hallarn, Jeffrey, Coleridge, and Delta, Thomas Babington Macaulay, and last (by no means least) upon the well-beloved and frequently re-read Thackeray. Whatever awe these names may convey to common men, they have none for the robust Gilfillan; he paragraphs and alliterates and passes judgment on their various claims to leadershipstill preserving a due cour- tesy for their high placeas coolly as though he were dissecting some poor devil who possessed no organ through which to thunder back a reply. Lastly, we have miscellaneous sketches of Carlyle and Sterling, Emerson, Neale, and Bunyan, Edmund Burke, Edgar A. Poe, Sir Edward Bulwer Lyt- ton, Benjamin Disraeli, Professor Wilson, Henry Rogers, ZEschylusthe whole concluding with a masterly and analytical dissertation upon the plays and poems of sweet William Shakespeare. If our readers can not find in this extended catalogue much to amuse, instruct, and better them; much to make them smile,~ and much to arouse that nobler and more human emotion whose symbol is a tear, then we can only recommend them to look out for such books as they require themselves; for we can find no recent issue of the American press which, for so many reasons and so strongly, we can recommend. This book is, of course, a reprint from the English edition; and its typography and style will compare not unfavorably with the original. Messrs. Sheldon & Co., it is but justice to add, did not avail themselves of that privilege of literary piracy to which we owe the present agitation for the establishment of an International 1413 Book Notices. [Feb., Copy-right: they purchased the advance-sheets of Mr. Gilfihlan at a round price, and their volume contains all the latest revisions and addenda of the author. The Pilgrims of Walsingham; or, Tales of the Middle Ages. An HistoriealRofllArsCe. By Agnes ,Strickk~nd. New- York: Garrett & Co. IT is one of the gravest questions in literature, whether the noble phi- losophy which is taught by historyor, in other words, by the experience of the pasthas not suffered more from those romances which, attempting to render the study popular, have melo-dramatized its features, than from all that callous indifference or courtly flattery have effected by neglecting its pursuit on the one hand, or altogether pe~~erting i~s tea~~hhigs to gratify a reigning family upon the other. Be these things as they may, however, it is certain that, for the ordinary reader, those works of fiction which deal with widely-known and once-exalted characters, possess a peculiar and by no means unaccountable interest. There is instruction mingled with the amuse- ment; and though we be deceived in our ideas of the people and the age described, we are, at least, most agreeably deceived; and carry away with us from our pleasant studies much of that easy, superficial knowledge of men and things which forms the staple of conversation in good society, and enables us to bear a part in discussions not too abstruse, relating to the subject. Of all writers of historical romance, Miss Strickland is alike to our thinking the best qualified and by far the most conscientious: she may heighten the colors of her picture; and that, indeed, is the artists privilege; but she neither distorts the facts nor falsifies the general accuracy of tradi- tion in the characters she selects to sustain the interest and variety of her plot. Her Lives of the Queens of England, are already enshrined in every library which pretends to cultivate the l~elles Zettres; and her P11- grims of Walsingharn, introducing us colloquiallyto the court of that great though dissolute and unbridled monarch, Henry VIII., will be found a valu- able and delightful addition to the light reading and historical education of t~e age. The style throughout is admirably sustained; and the character of Charles V. will be found to recompense the most assiduous attention of those who care to trace the effect of unlimited power upon the mind of a man endowed by nature with a noble and not unamiable disposition. The plot of the story is too intricate to be detailed in such limits as we find our- selves confined to: we shall therefore do what little justice we can, alike to our readers and the fair authoress, by advising all true devotees of the higher and the nobler order of romance to purchase and to read these Tales of the Middle Ages. The Home Cyclopedia, in Si~c Volumes. Each complete in itself. ~New- York: A. S. Barnes & Co., 51 John street. Cincinnati: H. W. Derby & Co. 1854. THE student of polite literature will not need to be told the value of com- prehensive and reliable Encyclopedias; the labor that they save him, the 1855.] Book Notice8. 147 information they condense and impart, the accessibility which they give to abstruse and valuable knowledgeall these, and a thousand other advan- tages, speak trumpet-tongued to recommend them. They place before the merest tyro, in a form at once pleasant and unlaborious, the concrete result and deductions of the great thinkers and explorers who have gone before him; he can master a subject in a paragraph, at least obtain a sufficient mastery for all conversational and superficial purposes, because that para- graph is itself the distilled quintessence of all that has been thought, dis- covered, and reasoned out in relation to the particular point of which it treats. An Encyclopedia of the Fine Arts was especially needed upon this side of the Atlantic, by those who have not yet availed themselves of the facilities for visiting Europe. We may build railroads, steamships, aqueducts, and arsenals, to order and by contract; but art is not a com- modity that can be raised by any patent process, nor can a correct taste in the matter, so essential to those who aspire to the fullness of a polite education, be received by intuition, or created without reference to those works which are the standard of perfection. Mr. Ripley and l3ayard Taylor, who have combined to edit the Cyclopedia of Literature and the Fine Arts, have discharged their duty in a manner worthy of their respective reputations, and the nobility of the subject-matter of their compilation. Dr. Antisell, whose fame as a chemist and natural philo- sopher guarantees his ability to edit the Cyclopedia of Useful Arts, fully equals what our knowledge of his manifold acquirements led us to anticipate; his volume is full of the soundest information, and com- plete in all its departments. The Cyclopedia of Europe, by Francis II. Ungewitter, LLD., may be taken as reliable authority for all facts con- nected with the history and geography of the continent it refers to; with- out either pedantry or prolixity, the German statician gives us a rapid sur- vey of the history, condition, extent, population, government, military strength, and manufactures of the various cities, nationalties, and countries which successively claim his attention. The Cyclopedia of Geography, edited by T. Carey Callicot, may be looked upon as the most perfect uni- versal gazeteer yet published. Carefully condensed and abbreviated, the volume contains an account of many places altogether omitted or erroneously set down in gazeteers of greater bulk and pretension. McCullochs, and all other European works of this description, reprinted and in circulation in America, will frequently be found either lamentably deficient or most grossiy mistaken in the topography and statistics of the United States. Mr. Calli- cot has remedied their negligence by a thorough and elaborate study of all the best authorities upon the subject. The Cyclopedias of Science, by Professor Samuel St. John, and of Universal Biography, by Parke God- win, we have not yet received, but hope to do so soon. A few such works as these we are now noticing, would obviate the ne- cessity of an elaborate and expensive library. They may be called the 148 Book Nohees. [Feb., 1855. pemican of literary foodcondensed in substance, nutritious in the ex- treme, and safe and portable companions through the vast fields of inquiry over which the human mind is occasionally called to travel. The End of Controversy Controverted. Two vol.s. 900 ~p. New- YorA: Pudney & Russe74 79 John street. WE have been favored with a copy of the new work of Bishop Hopkins, being a reply to that well-known work of the Romish Dr. Milner, entitled The End of Controversy. This titlenot a very modest one by the way is happily made use of by the Bishop of Vermont, who entitles his brilliant work The End of Controversy Controverted. We do not pretend to be judges of theological matters; but we risk nothing in saying that, in this book, the Bishop of Vermont, who is universally recognized as one of the most learned theologians in the country, and one of the most powerful with his pen, has fairly outdone himself. History, logic, wit, and patristic lore, together with perfect clearness, manly vigor, and lively interest of style, render it the most readable specimen of theological controversy which it has ever been our fortune to meet. These letters of the Bishop are addressed to the Romish Archbishop Kenrick, of Baltimore. A previous controversy on the Papal Supremacy having already taken place, some years ago, be- tween these two prelates, Archbishop Kenrick can not, of course, leave this latest work of Bishop Hopkins unanswered, without judgment going against him by default. And in the present excited state of the public mind, in opposition to Romanism, not only will this capital work of the Bishop of Vermont have a large and rapid sale, but thousands will be on the qui vive to see what the Romish Archbishop will make out to say in reply.

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The United States Democratic review. / Volume 35, Issue 3 United States magazine, and Democratic review Democratic review United States review J.& H.G. Langley, etc. New York, etc. March 1855 0035 003
The Disruption of Parties, Here and in Great Britain 153-159

TIlE UNITED STATES REVIEW. MARCH, 1855. DISRUPTION OF PARTIES, HERE AND IN GREAT BRITAIN. -THE As to governments, this fact is clear: that in no country not absolutely aristocratic, can there exist of necessity less thail two parties; nor can there, of a like necessity, be more. There may be factions divided upon minor issues, mere sectional dis- putes, or what we call ism-atic differences. But in no country having more than the will of a single individual to be its law, whether governed by a prescriptive oligar4iy, as in ~itain, or by a self-elective hierarchy as in ~Rome, or by the ~whole body of the people, as amongst ourselves, can there be more or less than two antagonistic camps. In Russia, Austria and in France where the divergence of individual opinion is suppressed, at least in its expression, by the ~pse dixit of a dictator, the natural and healthy formation of two great rival parties takes the form of a thousand abnor- mal and occult conspiracies. In Britain, hitherto there have been whigs and tories; in Rome, the adherents of an absolute papacy and their rivals, who would make the triple crown a mere bauble in the hands of the more earnest disciples of Loyola; amongst ourselves the people rallied equally around the federal and democratic standards. 11 1~i4 7k Di8ruption of Parties. [March, We say that whigs and tories have hitherto been the rivals contending for the control of Britains policy. That they no longer are so, the coalition cabinets of Aberdeen, the incapable, and Palmerston, the insidious, sufficiently attest. The whig and tory issues have unwittingly accomplished their design; and must now make room for graver, sterner, and more hostile questionings. For whigs and tories were but two rival branches of a dominant and ambitious aristocracy, each hostile to the other, but united in their still bitterer hostility to popular ad- vancement. They used the monarch as a mere automaton, a puppet to be obeyed and adored by the people .so long as he subserved the wishes of his lordly promptersa puppet to whose shoulders by dexterous sophistries and the claptrap of a constitution, they could shuffle off any inconvenient respon- sibility or too intolerable despotism. Until within the past few years, the aristocracy had absolute possession of what, with courtly sarcasm, they called the House of Commons. His Grace the Duke of Marmalade had his he- reditaryseat and~ vote up-stairs; his sons the Marquis of An- chovy, and the lords Henry, Augustus, Fitzplantagenet, and Charles all occupied their rotten boroughs in the popular branch and to the popular cost. When the farce of an elec- tion came, each titled county magnate sent down his rescript to his agent: Tell the chaw-bacons on my property either to vote for my nephew, the Hon. Shuffle Tadpo e and my friend Mr. Toady Fitznoodle, or to prepare to face my strongest and most legitimate displeasure. In other words, they might obey their consciences at the sacrifice of lands and home; or preserve their freedom by the entailment of utter ruin on themselves and families. And so the aristocracy controlled alike the king and tI,iie commons, and yet managed to escape the dangerous responsibility, of such a power, so exercised; and when the people grew enraged at some more than ordinary grievance, the commons made a mighty show of popular deter- mination; they pointed to the throne and muttered Cromwells name; and the monarch pointed back to the ministry, and the ministry retorted on the peers~ and the peers protested that king and commons had conspired against them,.and that the enormous and undue authority which the people arrogated was becoming every day more dangerous! And so the three estates of the realm played thimble-rig with responsibility; and when the people thought they had fixed the little joker under the crown, or the woolsack, or the speakers chair, be- hold! they were deceived by combination, and relapsed into 1855.] The Disraption~ of Parties. 155 despairing apathy. The government of the mightiest empire this world has ever seen was gambled for by about five hun- dred families, and the game had this advantage to its players that, whoever lost, tl~e British people paid the stakes. Such was the system of the British Government; and whigs and tories were as such its rightful and prpper exponents. The former played the crown against the whigs; the whigs, when hard pressed, played the people as their counterbalancing trump. And thus the tories out of office were whigs in theory; and the whigs in office were very truculent tories in fact. And both, in heart and spirit and deed, were banded oligarchs, having the suppression of popular right for their fun- damental objectthe tories desiring to meet and conquer it by open force; the whigs preferring to cajole and swindle it out of its existence. But every temporary gain that the whigs made in their rivalry, they effected at a permanent cost; every trivial con- cession made to popular clamor both increased the appetite of the claimants for a share in their own government and in- creased, moreover1 the means at their command whereby their wishes could be realized. Thus the Reform Bill was intro- duced, alike to suppress discontent and ingratiate the whig ruling faction with the masses: and when its miserable god- father, Lord John Russell, produced his crippled bantling, and declared that, it was the final measure of concession, he could not see, for his lack of foresight, that the bantling so sedulously swathed in cerements, and crippled by red tape, would inevitably outgrow restraint and become a Revolution in its manhood. That manhood is now imminent: the mutterings of that re- volution may be heard. The feudal enemies, in presence of their common foe, now coUlesce and attempt by their united strength to bear back the impending danger. Democracy has come of age in England; and whigs and tories are no more. The veil has been rent in twain from the top to the bottom; the idol of aristocratic prestige lies buried under the corpses of the fifty thousand soldiers, starved, massacred, or frozen on the bleak heights of the Crimea; and while the pirate crew of lordly Ministers and Right Hon. Nincompoops roar, wrangle, and recriminate, the rat of the London Times takes leave of the ruined ship of State, and with its rat-like instincts abuses now what of late it deified as the envy and the admiration of surrounding nations. Aristocracy and democracy stand face to face in England; 156 The Disruption of Parties. [March, and one must fall and which it is not difficult to predict. The former may, and not unlikely will, endeavor to stave off the evil day by giving to the crown (under cover of the exigencies of the war) an imperial and unlimited authority. Already we see hints to this effect through all the aristocratic journals of Great Britain: the government of the French as- sassinis lauded to the skies, and the hireling writers zealously ejaculate, Oh! had we some such syste~a of concentrated au- thority, how different a history would this Crimean campaign acquire I Having given this brief review of the present disruption of British parties, we have now to notice the same remarkable phenomenon amongst our own. For it can not be denied, even by the most sanguine whig or democrat, that these names have ceased to represent the two great political camps into which our people are divided. Originally hostile to the simple democratic principle which the wise founders of these united republics made the key-stone of the Constitutionthe whigs, or federalists, were reluctantly compelled to accept a condition repugnant to their desires and aspirations: some of them still hankered for the flesh-pots and fat places with which a British Colonial Secretary used occasionally to reward the loyalty of a devoted Colonist; while very many were enraged to see the people elevated to an actual sovereigntywhereas, to the federal mind, a federal oligarchy would have been in every way more agreeable. A National Bank, with all its unlimited, incomputable influence, was just such an instrument of corruption and intimidation as the whigs desired: with the keys of the treasury in their hands, and the credit of the country and the control of commerce absolutely vested in the executive, and that executive a mere creature of their ownthey still had hopes of curtailing the injudicious liberty which Thomas Jefferson had planned, and the people by their strong right hands achieved. They would not openly abolish vote by ballot; but by their bank, its favors, and its terrors, they would secretly emasculate what they dared not publicly attack. It was a specious scheme, and one which threatened a success that would be ruinous to freedom. Each day its corrupting influence became more bold and profligate; each day the men of wealth and large commercial speculation became more inextricably entangled in its meshes; if they resisted, it could crush them into bankruptcy; while they flattered and promoted it, their paper met a ready discount. The history of that bank seems now to us like a hideous and 1855.] The Disruption of Parties. 157 unreal night-mare; and yet had it not been for the iron nerve and self-devoted wisdom of Andrew Jacksonhad that great federal freedom-crusher been able to cajole or conquer the jealous anxieties and everwatchful genius of Old Hickory,~~ our country would have this day been the play toy of the meanest and the foulest money-tyranny that earth has yet witnessed. But Jackson gave to whiggery its death-blow; and that it lingered on with intermittent syncopes until the last presidential election is merely another proof of the cohesive power of public plunder. There is no whig party proper at the present day: no demo- cratic party proper at the present day. There are whigs and democrats; but their parties, as distinctive organizations with regular principles and platforms, are now the legitimate orna- ments of our grand political museum. One party can not stand without another to oppose it; and the utter annihilation of the whigs entailed the prostration of their enemies. One side of the arch can not stand if yolr remove the other: it is the pressure of an almost equal opposition that combines indi- viduals into a mass. The power of federalism was broken byAhe~axrest of the national bank; it has been destroyed by the gradual ascend- ency which British proclivities and, their natural sequence, abolition treason have gained in the whig councils. The ablest leaders of the present movement now openly proclaim that war upon the South, and war against the Constitution, form the legitimate mission of the party whose traditions they disgrace; they accept the aid of every faction that will swear fealty to their cardinal dogma, and, in return for such fealty, offer their whole influence and advocacy to the advancement of whatever C ism their precious recruits have fixed their hearts upon. Mormonism, Spiritualism, Bloomerism, Millerism, Socialism, Womans-rights-ism, Protectionism, Anti-marriage-ism, Anti- IRent-ism whatever ism, whatever cause either knavery may suggest or a frenzied brain find attraction in, these self- made leaders of degenerate whiggery adopt and incorporate in their disunion creed. They have seduced many worthless democrats moreover into their unclean fold; and we wish them every joy of their allies. We have not deemed it necessary, nor do we now deem it, to make more than a passing allusion to moribund Know-No- thingism. The motive which originated the llindoo associa- tion was doubtless good. Warm-hearted and enthusiastic youths grew weary of the vileness and the villainy of dema 158 [Eke Disruytion1 of Parties. [March, gogues; and finding the whig party in utter ruin, and the democratic party in a state of internal feud, they felt the promptings of ambition, so natural to adolescence, and deter- mined themselves to remedy this evil or perish in the attempt. They went to work with a vehemence which argued ill for any permanent success; they did not stop to examine the things that had really disgusted and estranged them from both whigs and democrats, (more especially from the whigs;) but seized upon the first good cry that came to hand, and (as Lola Montez proclaimed aloud that she had been ruined and was still persecuted by the Jesuits) so, these aspiring and unhesi- tating youths now declaimed, with all the eloquence of a de- bating club, that the Society of Jesus had a council in every State, an emissary in every village, a spy in every family, and a fixed resolve in every Jesuitical heart to tie the Union hand and foot, and carry it bodily to the foot of St. Peters chair. But it would be cruel as well as useless to break a broken reed; they meant well, did those unthinking ilindoos; and when their zeal finds a worthy channel, and their worship a fitting shrine in the new Constitutional party that is so rapidly, though silently being fotmed, we have every trust they will again become respectable and useful youths. Let them read St. Pauls eulogy of Christian charity, and endeavor to apply his precepts to their fellow-citizens of foreign birth. What, then, is the inevitable upshot of this entire disrup- tion? We think there can not be a doubt, and we look for- ward to the issue without fear. There will arise from this general confusion a purified and triumphant democracywhe- ther called by that name, or called the Constitutional party, it matters little. And on the other hand, we shall have all the factious fanatics and frenzied factions arr~yed around the abo- lition standard. All true republicans and men who venerate the Constitution upon one side; all traitors and disorganizers on the other. Who that believes in an over-ruling Providence can question the result? 1855.] JXtnton. 159 D ANTON. It was just a year ago that I was the means of instituting the revolutionary tribunal. May God and man forgive me for what 1 then did; but it was not that it might become the scourge of humantty.Danton. THE haughty Tribunes life Was drawing to its dark and dismal close, And many a gloomy thought usurped in strife That hour of gathering woes. For the last time he stood Among the herd who shrank before his name, And proudly bore himself against the flood Of undeserved shame. He braved them as their lord, With voice of thunder and with eye a-flame Thrilling with fear the fierce, besotted horde, Who envied his great fame. The ghastly Robespierre Shrank from the terror of the storm he raised; St. Just beheld his cloudy front with fear, And trembled as he gazed. He pointed to the past His services to France and freedoms cause; Taunts and defiance at his foes he cast Sworn traitors to all laws! Blood he had caused to flow, When Freedoms price was blood and blood alone. He could not gaze on agony and woe, When that excuse had floWn.

Danton 159-162

1855.] JXtnton. 159 D ANTON. It was just a year ago that I was the means of instituting the revolutionary tribunal. May God and man forgive me for what 1 then did; but it was not that it might become the scourge of humantty.Danton. THE haughty Tribunes life Was drawing to its dark and dismal close, And many a gloomy thought usurped in strife That hour of gathering woes. For the last time he stood Among the herd who shrank before his name, And proudly bore himself against the flood Of undeserved shame. He braved them as their lord, With voice of thunder and with eye a-flame Thrilling with fear the fierce, besotted horde, Who envied his great fame. The ghastly Robespierre Shrank from the terror of the storm he raised; St. Just beheld his cloudy front with fear, And trembled as he gazed. He pointed to the past His services to France and freedoms cause; Taunts and defiance at his foes he cast Sworn traitors to all laws! Blood he had caused to flow, When Freedoms price was blood and blood alone. He could not gaze on agony and woe, When that excuse had floWn. 160 .Da~nton~. [March, For thisand he must die! Champion of Mercy and of Freedom proved And he must see insatiate Murders eye Gloat oer the land he loved. This is he doomed to bear! But yet his soul, emerging from the tomb, Will on the banquet of the guilty glare A retributive doom. Day passedbut not before His howling foes their sentence sent abroad; He heard the clanging of the dungeon door, Yet stood erectunawed! But when the solemn night Displayed her pitying stars in heavens high dome, He felt the lordly consciousness of might To gentler thoughts give room. The scenes of youth again Before his softened vision were unrolled; Sad voices whispered, that were joyous then; Hands touched him that were cold. Oh! gloriously they came, In shining garments through the darkness driven; His dungeon faded, or, at worst, bec~me A vestibule to heaven. Again the green hill towers, Up which he strained with boyhoods hurrying breath, While yet uncrewned, nor conscious of those powers Which purchase fameand death. What riches memory hath! His mother, father, and those early friends, Who watched with flushing cheek his upward path O God! and here it ends! He had won famebut now Her gilded mask veiled anguish under pride! The envied laurels burning on his brow He cast with scorn aside. 1855.] Danton. 161 Oh! for one glorious hour Of his free boyhood under the free heaven, Not trammeled by the crown and curse of power, His fame he would have given. * * * * * * * * * Dawn brokeand at its breath, All softer passions in his breast were urned; Against the surges of despair and death The Tribune grimly turned. Twas his last day of life, Yet many a barb of bitter jest he hurled; The smiling front betrayed no inward strife He knew and scorned the world. Grandly he marched to death, With a calm scorn and a prophetic eye Bold, stern, gigantic to his latest breath, He well knew how to die. He diedhis spirit soared He died and Freedom staggered in his blood; It was the signal, and the Fates outpoured Oer France the crimson flood. 162 Greek and Roman Literature. [March, GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE. PART II. THE most striking characteristic of Grecian literature is doubtless its genuineness and that unborrowed intellectual development which has excited the wonder and admiration of all after-times. It is emphatically a national literature, the indigenous product of a virgin soil, and not the stunted growth of a transplanted exotic. The Greeks were not servile copyists or imitators, but the originators of every branch of literature in which they excelled. That was a just and candid remark of Ciceros, when he exclaimed, Jllce, omnium doctrinarum inventrices, Atlience I To our mind there is something morally sublime in the wonder-working faculties of a great people, ex- ercising boundless dominion over the world of thought which they had themselves discovered. To pass from the known to the unknown, even in physical speculations, is an effort of genius to which few may aspire, and we are inclined to wonder by what peculiar felicity the Grecian mind was en- abled to shake off the fetters which bound it to the earth and assert its heaven-born originalby what potent charm it was empowered to break the. spell which had so long bound the worldby what miraculous energy it called down manna for the famished nations and brought out rills of water from the barren rock. The only land to which they could possibly be indebted was Egypt, where upon the banks of the Nile was seen the first organization of civil society, and where the arts of peace were cherished, while the rest of mankind were banded in savage hordes; but that their obligations were slight and unimportant may be at once inferred from a con- sideration of the peculiar and distinctive character of the two peoples. The whole constitutionthe foundation and super- structure of society and civilization in the one was radically

Greek and Roman Literature 162-186

162 Greek and Roman Literature. [March, GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE. PART II. THE most striking characteristic of Grecian literature is doubtless its genuineness and that unborrowed intellectual development which has excited the wonder and admiration of all after-times. It is emphatically a national literature, the indigenous product of a virgin soil, and not the stunted growth of a transplanted exotic. The Greeks were not servile copyists or imitators, but the originators of every branch of literature in which they excelled. That was a just and candid remark of Ciceros, when he exclaimed, Jllce, omnium doctrinarum inventrices, Atlience I To our mind there is something morally sublime in the wonder-working faculties of a great people, ex- ercising boundless dominion over the world of thought which they had themselves discovered. To pass from the known to the unknown, even in physical speculations, is an effort of genius to which few may aspire, and we are inclined to wonder by what peculiar felicity the Grecian mind was en- abled to shake off the fetters which bound it to the earth and assert its heaven-born originalby what potent charm it was empowered to break the. spell which had so long bound the worldby what miraculous energy it called down manna for the famished nations and brought out rills of water from the barren rock. The only land to which they could possibly be indebted was Egypt, where upon the banks of the Nile was seen the first organization of civil society, and where the arts of peace were cherished, while the rest of mankind were banded in savage hordes; but that their obligations were slight and unimportant may be at once inferred from a con- sideration of the peculiar and distinctive character of the two peoples. The whole constitutionthe foundation and super- structure of society and civilization in the one was radically 1855.] Creek and Roman ]9~tercdure~ 163 different from that of the other. Among the Egyptians all knowledge was confined to the esoteric order of the priests and rulers, while the mass bowed down in the most profound ignorance and abject superstition before Apis and the sacred crocodile. Their hieroglyphic lore has been compared to the mummies embalmed in their own catacombs,wrapped in a thousand folds that preserve the form, but preserve it with the living principle gone. The majestic pyramid and towering obelisk are monuments at once of the mighty and misdirected mind of ancient Egypt; they attest the pride and superiority of the few and the degradation of the manyeverlasting me- mentos of her glory and shame. In Athens the whole mass shared an equality of civil rights and a community of privi- leges, from the sailor on the Pir2eus to Pericles the Olympian. It was a cultivated and refined mob, which criticised a frieze by Phidias, applauded a speech of Hyperides, and hissed or clapped the drama of Euripides. Theophrastus had dwelt a long time at Athens, and piqued himself on the correctness of his pronunciation. A hucksteL-woman, with whom he was chaffering in the market, detected his foreign accent, and ad- dressed him to his great mortification as To Z~ve; Demosthenes was hooted from the rostrum for an incorrect accentuation of a single letter, and when, by a forensic finesse, he purposely mis- pronounced a word, he was corrected by a simultaneous outcry of the whole assembly. It would seem that our own John Ran- dolph of IRoanoke was not a greater stickler for ortho~py than this Athenian mob. A social organization, therefore, so essen- tially diverse from the Egyptian, it is evident, could not possi- bly have been deriyed from it. The Greeks had advanced through the initial stages of their civilization, had poured forth from an exhaustless source the treasures of poesy, had given birth to agitating forms of eloquence, and founded a mighty dynasty, while Egypt was regarded as a far-off land, over which brooded a solid and unapproachable mystery. Instead of imitating or borrowing the wisdom of Egypt, they were rather inclined to bow in awe before it: it seems to have im- pressed them with a feeling of solemnity, similar to that which the son of Misraim himself experienced as he bent in worship at the mysterious veiled statu~ upon which was inscribed, I am all that has been, that shall be, and none among mortals has hitherto taken off my veil. The learned and cunning priests delighted to impose, by their vast pretensions to antiquity, upon the credulity of the children, as they ridiculously styled the Greeks: when Solon was travelling through Egypt 1~t Creek and Roman l2iteratt& re. [March, in quest of knowledge, they derided him with the taunt that the Greeks had not among them one ancient dogma derived from the tradition of their fathers, nor one branch of knowledge covered with the hoar of time.* It is evident that the Greeks looked upon the gift of the Nile with something of awe and veneration, even in the days of Herodotus, and after they had overthrown the armies and humbled the pride of the Persian. They drank in with a greedy ear all the wondrous stories related by the old father of history, who more justly deserves to be called the father of his- toric romance. With a childish simplicity of mind, they pon- dered over his accounts of monstrous men and birds and beastsof fountains which grew hot at the rising sun, intricate labyrinths whose mazes no man could thread, rivers that flowed from an unknown source, temples upon which were carved mysterious symbols, eternal obelisks inscribed with secrets too sacred to be uttered. The religion of the Greeks was doubtless indebted for many of its myths to that of the Egyptians; but this surely is not to be wondered at, as at all anomalous, when even many of the ceremonial rites and institutions of the chosen people of God have their archetypes in the mystic worship of that strange land in which they had sojourned, and from which they departed under the guidance of a leader, whose praise it was to be skilled in all the wisdom of the Egyptians. But whatever was thus appropriated by the Greeks passed through an entire transformation in its accommodation t~ their own pe- culiar capacities of belief; so that what was engrafted seemed like the natural efflorescence of the parent stem. Imaginative and airy, they found little congeniality in the sublime but ob- scure pantheism of the Egyptian hierophants as they sought to trace the wide extended plan Which links in bonds of brotherhood the beetle and the man. The architecture and statuary of the two nations are strik- ingly characteristic of the respective Pantheons which they con- spired to beautify and adorn. The Egyptians seemed to have aimed, by the massive and ponderous structure of their tem- ples, whose very columns threatened to burst from the weight resting upon them, and by colossal sphinxes, Staring right on with calm eternal eyes * Vide Plato in his Tim~iis, (Vol. yii. p. 5, Leip. ed.) 1855.] Greek and I?om~ctn ]i1terati~re. 165 upon the beholder, as though endowed with reason but refusing to speak, to express that ali~~uid i~nmensum infinitumque, which they at the same time felt to be unutterable. Their minds were filled with a conception, that by its vastness eludes the firm grasp of thought, and stretches into the boundless domain of imao-ination: they strove to embody the infinite in the finite. But to the rationalistic art of the Greeks a different problem was proposed: their religion was the worship of the beautiful, and they delighted to send their thoughts upon vast excur- sions amidst all that was fair and good until they were lost in the contemplation of that fair and first good which, like a glit- tering apex, crowns the symmetrical pyramid of their mytho- logical system. The beauty which the eye drank in and the heart enshrined was reproduced in the Parthenon by the creat- ive art of Phidias and still beams in the statue that enchants the world. The influence, therefore, of Egypt upon the civilization, liter- ature, and art of the Greeks was demonstrably slight. They regarded no predecessors or rivals as objects of imitation, and hence the whole cast of their thought was original and natural; and the rise, progress, and decline of their literature was in ac- cordance with the order of naturefirst rude, ~then gradually moulded into elegance, and finally polished into insipidity. The early Greeks, says an eminent critic, had but one task to perform: they were in no danger of comparisons or imputa- tations of plagiarism, and wrote down whatever struck them as just and impressive, without fear of finding that they had been stealing from a predecessor. The wide world was before them, in short, unappropriated and unmarked by any preced- ing footstep, and they took their way without any hesitation by the most airy heights and sunny valleys. Emerging from the uncouth barbarism of a pre-historical age, they described every object and incident which came under their observation with all that fervor of inspiration which can only exist in a rude era of natural emotions and untainted feelings, before reflection and generalization have imparted to language a philosophical dialect. There is a poetic imagery of expression peculiar to the men of a fresh age, which arises at once from their greater sus- ceptibility to the illusions of fancy, and is the legitimate conse- quence resulting from the paucity of their language. More, we think, is due to this latter consideration than has been generally conceded. No language is more highly imaginative than that of the rude sons of our western forests, and we think the figura- tive dialect in which they clothe their conceptions is attributa 166 Creek and Roman Literature. [March, ble in a great degree to the necessity which compels them, in describing abstract qualities or general ideas, to employ the few symbols which compose their ordinary medium of intercourse in a metaphorical signification. In the Indian it can not, as in the Greek, arise so much from that natural excitability of mind, which is fostered in a rude age, and which invariably characterizes a poetic temperament; for the. rigid discipline to which he subjects himselg tends to suppress this impassioned ardor of feeling and delicate sensibility to external impressions. He is, in fact, the untutored stoic of the woods, and if his lan- guage were derived from his mental habitudes alone, we should find it to resemble the curt and formal laconism of Sparta. There is, however, a natural proneness in men of rude and uncultivated minds, to suffer themselves to be deluded by their own imaginations, and, like Prospero, to start in aifright at the spectres which their own fancy has conjured up. These illu- sions, in which consists the power of true poetry, to induce a belief of the actual presence and being of that which has only an ideal existence, are more vivid and impressive in a dark age before the light of civilization has been too widely diffused. We all know that to an ignorant and superstitious person, whose mind is impressed with stories of goblins and apparitions, there is no time so weird and alarming as the faint and dubious twilight at the dusky dawn of day, when there is just sufficient light to reveal to his startled vision the dimly-defined forms of the objects around him: whatever the eye can not clearly dis- tinguish is distorted by the imagination, converting the most familiar sights into gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire ; and as the increasing light of day dispels these deceptive appear- ances, so also the advancing light of knowledge and science dis- p els the ideal creations of the vision and the faculty divine. But occasionally in an age of general illumination, we meet with a few instances in which the poetic temperament quite absorbs the powers of reason and just discrimination. John Bunyan, in whose mind an overgrown imagination ran riot, affords an apt exemplification of the mental state which we have been endeavoring to describe. He was in the world but not of it, among men but not of them; he lived, as Judge Ed- monds and the spirit-rappers now live, in a world of his own creation, and peopled it with the creatures which his own fancy engendered. His mind was, in truth, a perfect chamber of imagery, hung with hideous and frightful p~ictures of torment- ing fiends, or radiant with celestial smiles of seraphs and ~ngel~. Read that most interesting narrative of his religious experience 1855.] Greek and Roman 1~tercdure. 16~t detailed in Grace Abounding, where his spirit seems now and then to catch some gleam of hope heavenly fair, and bursts forth into strains of lyrical rapture, like a lark rising from his bed of grass, and anon as though the pains of hell got hold upon him, he is beaten back into the horrible pit and miry clay, and his soiig of joy is turned into wailings, a dirge like the moan of a lost soul. The ~Pilgrims Progress towards the bright and smiling land of Beulah, which he has described, is to him something more than mere allegory; he had felt his own feet sinking in the Slough of Despond; he had seen Apollyon with his own eyes, as he strode right across his path, and filled it up; he had gone down into the dark valley of the shadow of deathhad walked close by the mouth of the bottomless gulf; where the flames and the smoke of torment ascended for ever and everwhere doleful voices and fiendish yells smote upon his ears, and the clanking of chains sank into his soul like iron; he had seated himself among the Delectable Mountains, trodden the Enchanted G~ound, and jiis heart, too, leaped up within him as he beheld from afar the land of promise, and drank in the music of celestial voices wafted from the streets of pearl and gold, which were gleaming in sunhght beyond the cold waters of the black river of death. We know no work more psychologically curious than the auto-biography of the preaching tinker of Bedford, or one which more vividly depicts the strong delusions which possess the mind when the imagination usurps the throne of reason and judgment. It is like Delilah making mock of Sampson after she had shorn him of his locks, and the Philistines had put out his eyes and bound him in chains of brass. But to return to our theme. In a rude age, the emotions are excited by every breath which moves over the great deep of mans internal feeling; and naturalsensibility is not repressed by a calm and philosophic skepticism. Men have not yet learned to reason logically or abstract carefully, and the rational faculties of the mind are duped by the enchantment of the senses. Hence the frenzy, the inspiration, the plenitude of belief which filled the eyes of the Homeridce with tears, and caused their hair to stand on end and their heart to beat with unwonted vehemence,* while the rapt throng that gathered around them, stamped and raved alternately with rage and * Vide Platos H2N ;Ey~ yJ~ irav e2Lectv6vi-t ?~yw, eaic~n~w ~yIwur?~avrai fiov 0 o~b6a2yiot, ~-av re ~o/3e& v ~ Jetv6v, 6~& a al r~t~e~ ~ci~av~at ~7fld TOy ~o/3ov i1 ica~x5ia ir~6d. (Vol. III. Leip. Ed.) 168 Gree7~ and Roman Lilerature. [March, defiance, or dissolved in tenderness and pity. To enjoy this fine frenzy, requires a child-like simplicity of mind and an enthusiastic credulity, which permits the passions of oui nature to be transported with an ecstasy of enjoyment. This, we are conscions,is not the enunciation of any new principle in poet- ical criticism; it is a doctrine at least as old as the day of Plato, and it is darkly intimated and expressly taught in many of his Dialoguesin his PhaArus and Gorgias and Ion; and is, moreover, sanctioned by Horace, who, speaking of poetry, said Hic error tamen et levis h~ec insania, quantas Virtutes habeat, sic collige. There is a period in the history of every people where their early native literature, if they have any, is marked by the characteristics to which we have adverted; and this similarity is found not only in the materiel of primitive poety, but in its modulation likewise, so that even the same airs which are sung by the Scottish peasant on the banks of Ayr or bonnie Doon, exist among the village children of India, and are chaunted by the Bengalese boatman as his bark floats down the Jumna or the sacred Ganges.* Of the same nature was the proven~al poetry which prevailed at a time, over a great part of Europe, essentially modified, however, by the spirit of chivalry and the Christian religion. The poetry of the beautiful language of Oc, was that true poetry of feeling which is the effervescence thrown off from the agitated surface of societya poetry which found a response in the bosom of the Andalusian peasant and Richard of the Lion Heart. What ulterior form it might have assumed, had the peaceful glens of Languedoc never been visited by the fire and sword of Simon de Moutfort, it is im- possible to tell. Sudden in its rise, universal in its prevalence, and instantaneous in its extinction, it resembles the profuse vegetation of an arctic summer, which bursts forth as soon as the ice and snow have passed away, covering the hill-side and plain with its verdure, but destined prematurely to wither and die beneath the blasts of returning winter. Fortunately for th~ Greeks, fortunately for all mankind, their genius, so peculiarly adapted to the production of that * The common people are all fond of singing, and some of the airs which I used to hear from the boatmen and the children in the villages, reminded me of the Scotch melodies. I heard more than once My Boy Tammy, and Heres a health to those far away, during these twilight walks after my boat was moored, which wanted only society to make them delightfuL (Bishop Ilebers India.) 1855.1 Greek and Roman Literature. 169 objective poetry which deals not in dry and impalpable abstractions, found interpreters in Hesiod and Homer. We can not here pause to discuss whether the Homeric poems were originally composed by a number of wandering minstrels and sung by them throughout Greece, in detached and broken descants, or were poured out from the exhaustless fancy of a blind old bard. Whether we choose to believe in a thousand Homers or in a single one the thousand-souled~~o~typog ~tvpt6voi3~. our conception of Grecian genius must be the same. What particularly strikes the admiration of the reader, in these unrivalled ballads, is the wondrousness of the know- ledge which they display, so that we can almost believe with Cornutus, the Stoic, that it pleased the heavenly deities, under the veil of fables and in the pleasing guise of poetry to give mankind all knowledgelogic, rhetoric, philosophy, and art. Besides the pleasure which their intrinsic beauties must ever impart, they are invaluable historically, as evidences of the social condition and every-day life of Greeks. One of the most distinguishing traits of Grecian genius observable in its primitive poetry is the purity of taste which never indulges in exaggerated description. There is a minuteness of detail, it is true, which savors of redundance, but the whole is told with such a simple and unaffected air, that it resembles not the tedious garrulity of drivelling dotage, but rather the pleas- ing repetitions of lisping infancy, rejoicing in its newly- acquired faculty of speech. The early Greek poets tell every thing because nothing had been told before them. To the same purity and propriety of their taste is to be attributed the grace and elegance of all their mythological creations. There is something exceedingly characteristic in the early religion of all nationsin the graceful mytholdgy of the Greeks, the genie superstition of. the Orientals and the demonology of the North. Far different from the light and airy forms of the nymphs and nai~ids with which the Greeks peopled every wood and water-course, were the sombre phan- toms which haunted the sons of Odingiants clothed with spell-wrought armor, dragons keeping sleepless watch over hidden treasure, wailing ghosts that sighed upon the night winds, vagrant shadows gliding over the smooth surfaces of glassy lakes. While the peaks of Parnassus and the foutitain of Castalia are invested with a charm as the fabled retreat o Apollo and the Muses, the genii and fairies have failed to ~ni. part this character of divinity to the enchanted gardens of Aladdin on the golden waters of Parisade. But beautiful and 12 170 Greek and Roman Literature. [March, even sublime as are some of the mythic fables of the Greeks, it is not to what in the technical language of criticism is called the machinery of the poems, that the modern reader turns with the greatest delight. For us, Jupiter and the Immortals holding high debate over the fall of Troy, or mingling with the contend- ing hosts about its gates, possess inferior attractions to those which draw us towards the human characters that are revealed before us as our fellow-men. It was objected to Homer, by Longinus, that he had made the men of the Iliad gods, and his gods men; and it is often unquestionably a great relief to turn from Olympus with its dissensions and intrigues to the human agents that acted. their parts around the Sc~ean gate and on the walls of Troy. Among them we behold the imperious Agamemnon with his stately and sustained elevation; Achil- les, the wrathful, the inexorable, who comes to the banquet of death, doomed by the fates to return no more to his native land; Nestor, whose speech flowed sweeter than honey; the craven Paris flying from before the face of injured Menelaus; Hector, laying aside his helmet that its waving crest may not frighten his boy; Andromache fainting at the sight of Hector borne to the chariot of his conqueror and trailing in the dust; Priam borne down by the weight of years and a heavier load of sorrow, going forth to crave the body of his son, kneel- ing at the feet of Achilles, and kissing those hands, the blood~ stained, the murderous ; Helen lamenting over the corpse of Paris, the fond and gentle-hearted, charming us, by her love- liness and tears of sorrow, into a forgetfulness of her fraiity. In turning from the Greeks of the Homeric age to the early Ilomans, we discover at once we have passed to another and a far different race of men a race distinguished only for a rude and rustic simplicity in peace, and an invincible ferocity in war. Composed of a .heterogeneous mixture of all kindreds and nations and tongues, they were nevertheless united in de- votion to their Agreste Latium, and bent all their energies to its aggrandizement. They had founded and reared a city which was destined to become the mistress of the world and be pre- eminent in arms, as Athens had been in literature and art; and had organized a system of government, which, in after-times, their generals and pro-consuls spread over the known world, and all before their spoken language had received any definite form or stability from literary composition, and while it was so constantly fluctuating, that the men of one generation could not, without the greatest difficulty, decipher the treaties, records and other columnar inscriptions of the preceding. We have no knowledge of any other people arriving at so great a de 185~j Greek and Roman Literature. 171 gree of grandeur and power in a state of such rude civiliza- tion and barbarian ignorance. There seems to have been among them a complete and universal predominance of the physical over the mental; it was enlargement of territory and dominion, not of mind, that was their chief object of national concern. lit is true they had their heroic songs; that they borrowed from Etruria its Attelane farces, and imported from the same country the Fescennino verses with its hallet and rail- lery; that the Fratres Arvales chaunted rude hymns to the gods; but we look in vain for that higher order of primitive poetry which is to be distinguished from the refrcdns of sol- diers at a military ovation, or the praises of departed heroes celebrated by the guests around a festive board.* It has been conjectured in modern times, and with the greatest plausibility, that the ballad poetry of the Romans still lives in the fabulous legends of their early history; and Niebuhr, whose incredulity upon some subjects often led him into the greatest credulity with regard to others, conceived that there must have been extant at one time, in Rome, a grand and complete epic poem, commencing (for so he thought it should) with the inaug- uration of Tarquinius Priscus, and ending with the battle of Lake Regillus. Though we can hardly bring ourselves to believe in the existence of this magnificent epopee, we have not the least hesitation in believing with Schlegel that the fugitive ballads and popular songs which incontestably appeared in the early days of Rome, have been transmuted into history or incorporated with it; that the fabulous birth of Romulus, the rape of the Sabine women, the most poetical combat of the lloratii and Curiatii, the pride of Tarquin, the misfortunes and death of Lucretia, and the establishment of liberty by the elder Brutusthe wonderful war of Porsenna, the steadfastness of Sc~evola, the banishment of Coriolanus, the war which he kindled against his country, the subsequent struggle of his feelings and the final triumph of his patriotism at the all-power- ful intercession of a mother; that these and the like circum- stances, if they be examined from the proper point of view, can not fail to be considered as relics and fragments of the ancient heroic traditions and heroic poems of the Romans: but the poems themselves have perished for ever; Cicero even in his day asked, Nostri veteres versus ubi sunt ? Quo~ ohm Fauni vatesque canebant, Cum neque Musarum scopulos quisquam superaret, Nec dicti studiosus erat. Ciecro in Bruto, ec~p. xviii. * Vide Ciceros Brutus, chap. xix. 172 Greek and Roman Literature. ~arch, With these old ballads perished Roman literature, if compo- sitions so rude deserve such a name.* That which is known to us as the literature of the Latins is a recension of the Greek a Grieco-Roman literature, of which almost the only thing Roman is the language. It dates back to Ennias as its Alter Homerus; so powerful and lasting was the influence of whom upon the Romans that they were termed by Quintilian, ~n En- nian peoplepopulus Enrtianus. It was from the conquest of the Greek colonies, planted in Italy along the ancient Calabrian coast, that Rome derived her first knowledge of any produc- tions superior to the rugged lays in honor of her heroes and * One would imagine from Niebulirs positive and dogmatic manner, that these lays formed a part of the extant literature of Rome, and that he was as familiar with it as we are with the odes of Horace. We extract from his history as fol- lows: The poems, out of which we cull the history of the Roman kings, were resolved into a prose narrative, consisted partly of such as are detached and with- out any necessary connection. The history of Romulus is an epopee by itself: On Numa there can have been only ~hort lays. Tullus, the story of the Horatii and of the destruction of Alba, form an epic whole, like the poem on Romulus; indeed, here Livy has preserved a fragment of the poem entire in the old Roman verse. On the other hand, what is related of Ancus has not a touch of,poetic coloring. But afterwards, with Tarquinius Priscus, begins a great poem which ends with the battle of Regilus. Knowing nothing of the unity which characterizes the most perfect of Greek poems, it divides itself into sections answering to the adventures in the lay of the Niebelungen. We beUeve it is Vockerodt, who speaks of the literary societies that existed before the flood; Niebuhr lathe very man to inform us what specific subjects were canvassed by those antediluvian Pickwickians, Maha- label, Methuselah, and Lamech. Had he lived at the court of Nebuchadnezzar, he doubtless could have made known to the king his dream and the interpretation thereof as well as DanieL Livy, it seems, has invented in his history a fragment of a poem entire in the old Roman verse. If to possess the scansion of Saturnian verse be proof of a ballad original, we can furnish another fragment in that section of the last-men- tioned epopee, which rehearses the wrongs of Lucretia: Tace, Lucretia, inquit, Sextus Tarquinius sum, Ferrum in manu eat, moriere si emiseris vocem, is an extract from Livy, divided almost exactly into the Saturnian measure. But this alone to our mind proves nothing. We have somewhere seen the following sentence from Robinson Crusoe reduced to measure, and which may lead some future Niebiibr to argue most learnedly that De Foe, instead of writing a novel, was the author of a strange species of drama, of which the following is a strophe: As I was rummaging about her, . lambicus dimeter hypercatalectus. I found several . . Dochmaicus. Things that I wanted; . . Dactyhicus dimeter. A fire-shovel and tongs, Doebmaicus ex epitrito quarto et syllaba. Two brass kettles Doebmaicus. A pot to make chocolate, . . Periodus brachycatalectus. Some horns of fine glazed powder . Euripideus. A grid-iron and seve-,,. . . Dactylica peuthinulmeria. Ral other necessaries. . . . Basis anapmstica cum syllaba. 1855.1 Greek and Roman Literature. 173 demigods. How long she would have remained without in- venting a native literature worthy of the name, had not cap- tive Greece, in the words of Horace, taken captive her rude conqueror, and introduced the arts into rustic Latium, we have no means of deciding. As it was, her invention was forestalled, and her intellectual eye, instead of being aided to explore untrodden heights, was dazzled by the excess of light which Grecian genius shed around it; but probably it was better even so, for that eye might have remained for ever closed had it not been couched by Greece. The original poetry of Romethe ballads which rehearsed the valor of Herminius, the mournful fate of Virginia, the heroic self-devotion of Curtius was suf- fered to sink into oblivion; while the senator and plebeian flocked to the theater on Mount Aventine to applaud a homely version of Antiopa by Livius, or the Medea of Ennius. To the Camcena3 of Latium succeeded the Muses of Greece, and the loose numbers of the Saturnian measure gave place to the majestic flow of the hexameter. The Pomans, however, are not the only people who have been taken captive by the refinement and art of their enemies. The Arabians, after having almost extinguished literature and science by the devastating conquests of a rude and fanatic sol- diery in the seventh century, were converted during the eighth into the almost sole cultivators of letters: the same people which had ravaged Egypt and swept over the land of the Magi and Chaldee, and laid waste the smiling plains of Asia Minor during one century, in the next, under Haroun al IRaschid and Al-Mamoum, literally ransacked these countries in search of books and parchment and works of art, so that hundreds of camels might be seen entering Bagdat, laden with the intellect- ual treasures of the very nations they had depopulated, and whose libraries they had burnt. The Tyrt2ean strains of the Cambrian harpers the lays of high-born Hod and the soft Llewellyn, were chaunted by the courtiers in the royal halls of the ruthless king~ Edward. The gaya scienda of the Spani~h cavaliers was derived from the hostile knights of refined Grenada, and at no time did the literature of the Moors acquire a greater ascendence over the mind of Spain than when the Catholic banner of the cross was hung out from the watch-tower of the Alhambra along with the cres- cent flag of the Moslems. Such then, as we have stated, was the origin of literature among the Pomans, and, as its institution was due to ac- knowledged plagiarism and the most slavish imitation, soal~o 174 Greek and Roman Literature. [March, its subsequent amplification was effected by the depredations they committed upon the literary wealth, the poetry, eloquence, and philosophy of their refined and polished neighbors of elder Greece. The spirit of conquest, which had so long tended to retard their progress in civilization and refinement, no longer clogged but guided and accelerated their steps; and the day which witnessed the overthrow of the Acha3an league and the subjection of Greece under a iRoman pro-consul, signalized her intellectual supremacy over the minds of the rade conquerors, whom, then as afterwards, in the palmiest days of their glory, she regarded as little better than barbarians. Between the in- ception, therefore, of Greek and iRoman literature, there was the widest difference: the one was the bold sally of original and inventive genius, essaying an untried excursion; the other an entrance upon a road, which had been already opened, the hills graded, the valleys filled up, and every obstruction re- moved. The Greeks delighted to follow nature, and ever kept their eye with admiring reverence upon all that was fair and beautiful and good: the IRomans followed the Greeksafar off and kept their eye upon the finger-boards which they had erected. llav~ng thus imperfectly noticed the rising dawn of literature in Greece and IRome, we will presently proceed to. a consideration of the respective periods in the history of the two nations at which it attained its highest splendorthe ages of Pericles and Augustus. In all antiquity there are probably no two eras more inter- esting or illustrious than the administration of Pericles in Athens and the rule of Augustus ~n the imperial city of the world. The former seems to have been the great embodiment of Grecian art and genius: the latter seated upon the throne of universal dominion, swayed a sceptre which Virgil and Horace loved to wrap with sprays of bay and myrtl& . There are probably no two names in the annals of biography, which awaken in the mind of the classical scholar so many pleasing reminiscences, and around which gather so many associations of our school-boy novitiate: types of whatever is great and glorious in Greek and Roman story, they act like the magic incantation of some charmed word of Arabian fable, at whose utterance the portals of memory fly open, revealing a thousand cherished recollections of our childhood, the familiar school- room, the loved class-mates, the revered preceptor, the well- thumbed lexicon, the soiled Xenophon, and the dog-eared Horace. They are bright particular stars, each constituting the nucleus of a constellation of luminaries, from which shall issue 1855j Greek and I?oman~ Literature. 175 rays of light and glory to the remotest times and generations. It has been the rare province of a few choice and imperial spirits, ~o stamp upon their own and all after-time the indelible impress of their genius and memorial of their fame. In the history of our race, there have been a very few, who nobly emancipating themselves from the shackles of ignorance and superstition, have risen superior to those Lhree often passive yet ever potent agenciestime, place, and circumstance: a very few, who, like Homer looming up amidst the faint gray light that precedes the dawn of civilization, have scattered the rear of darkness, and projected the gigantic shadow of their fame far beyond the narrow precincts of a single land or age: A shadow which shall grow As down the heaven of time the sun descends, And oer the world shall throw Its image, till it sinks where hlends Times dim horizon with eternity. But small, very small is the number of those whom Heaven has dispatched on a mission so glorious or intrusted with so proud a prerogative. In giving expression to the lively oracles of genius, or in working out the deep counsels of Omnipotence, providence resorts in the order of nature to a different process. So far from having ordained that an age or nation should be like clay in the hands of a potter, He has imbued them with a plastic power by which to mould, and a spirit with which to inform those who are to be their types and representatives. In the moral world, it is by the gradual infu- sion and slow percolation of great truths, that the whole age and body of the time is permeated, and the vast heart of society quickened into newness of life. Great changes in the political and mental, as in the physical world, do not take place per saltum, nor do they always come with observation; their progress is not like the mighty rushing tide of Fundy, but steady and imperceptible as the setting in of the waters upon the wide sea-shore, where wave succeeds wave until the whole sea is heaved up. The reconstruction of society upon new foundations, the institution of new systems of religion and forms of government, the refinement of literature and art are not brought at once into full existence, like the castles of fairies beneath the wand of enchantment, but rather like that struc- ture of the wise man of Israel, upon the holy mount, where though there was heard no sound of axe, or hammer, or any 176 Greek and Roman Literature. [March, tool, a temple arose such as the world had never seen gar- nished with precious stones for beauty, and overlaid with gold of Parvaim. The body politic is something more than a mere passive automaton to be moved by the wire-works and whis- tled through by the ventriloquism of jugglers and magicians. Humanity ever true to the tune of the times, sometimes speaks in a still small voice, and sometimes, to use the majestic diction of Milton, in a seven-fold chorus of harping sympho- nies. It is not an organ, upon which a few master-performers can sound what stops they please; but resembles rather the A~olian lyre, which sends forth notes, now high, now low, as its chords are swept by the rushing tempest, or lightly touched by the finger of the dying zephyr. Great genius has been evinced, not only by those whose Soul was like a star and dwelt apart ; whose golden urns drew streams of light denied to others; but also by that power, which, like the converging specu- lum, condenses and brings to a focus the light common to all. It is no~ bythe erratic flight of genius that would pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, that the man of his age is known; but rather by the calm and equable progress, - which enables him, while following the direction of his age, to outstrip it in its course: all are iending towards a common goal; but it is for the few stout hearts and master spirits, who reach it in advance of their fellows that we reserve the crown and laurel. The formative influence which time and place exert upon human character is, forcibly illustrated in the lives and histories of Pericles and Augustus: they seem to have been at once the creatures and creators of their age, and doubt- less the true exposition of the relation that subsisted between them and their times, is that of a mutual action and reiiction. Of Pericles, this is eminently the fact. It has been truly re- marked by Bulwer, in one of his productions, that the life of this surprising man is rather illustrated by the general light of the times than by the blaze of his own genius; no relics, save a few bold expressions, remain of that eloquence which awed and soothed, excited or restrained ~he most difficult audience in the world. It is partly by analyzing the works of his cotemporaries, partly by noting the rise of the whole people, and partly by bringing together and moulding into a whole the scattered masses of his ambitious and thoughtful policy that we alone can gauge and measure the proportions of this master 1855.] Greek and Poman Liieratare. 177 spirit of his time. The age of Pericles is the sole historian of Pericles. Augustus, too, stands out in bold relief as the great representative of Roman sovereignty and munificent patron of that literature, which has shed such a halo of glory around his name. He is the exponent of that most interesting period of the history of iRome when the arts of peace had superseded those of war and the people which had so long tossed to and fro in the agitations of civil conflicts, sank to repose upon the silken couch of an easy despotism. The armies which had conquered the world were disbanded, and the men who had passed their lives in the camp, and cherished the eagles of the legions as their domestic gods, retired to the tranquil pursuits of husbandry and the peaceful enjoyment of their lar etfitndus. To the race of stern republicansBrutus, and Cato, and never- smiling Cassiushad succeeded Thecenas, and Horace, and Anthonya race of courtiers, poets, and voluptuaries. In contemplating the Grecian of the Periclean, and the Ro- man of the Augustan age, it will be seen that a great change had been wrought in the national mind of either countrya change that is gradually superinduced in the history of every national literature, which has been carried to a high degree of cultivation and refinement. During these two several pe. nods, the Greek and Roman character received its fullest and fairest development, and the star of their glory and literature reached its culminating point, and soon began to decline to- wards its setting. The earlier authors of a country excel in the native and original powers of a creative genius; but have not learned to discriminate between that which pleases by being intrinsically beautiful and true to nature, from that which charms by its novelty alone or some conventional and acci- dental association, and hence invariably mingle much that is trivial, common-place, and superfluous with their descriptions; the early poetry of a rude age has its own peculiar concetti, as well as that which is the offspring of a deteriorated and cor- rupted taste; but, in the one case, they spring from ignorance, ~s the conceits of Ennius or Chaucer; in the other, from affec- tation, as those of Claudian and Cowley. It is reserved for a taste, chastised and refined by experience and cultivation, to separate and exemplify those genuine and substantive princi- ples of beauty to which it is attracted by a kind of elective affinity, while it revolts from the offensive and incongruous circumstances with which they were originally combined. It is to a certain extent with literature as with the fine arts: th~ first painters may design with all the boldness of Michael 178 Greek and Roman ]Ji~~erature. [March, Angelo or Raphael, but can not color with the softness of Titian or the grace of Correggio; it remains for the artists of another age to achieve the felicities of tint, tone, and chiaro-oscuro, to retrench all superfluous concomitants that mar the simplicity of nature, and thus give form and expression to those living principles of beauty which are not dependent upon custom or fashion, but have a foundation deep-seated in human conscious- ness. There alone it is, that forms majestic like the Olympian Jove of Phidias, as lovely as Anadyomene of Apelles, where she seemed to rise from the bosom of the sea, can spring into life beneath the chisel of the sculptor and pencil of the painter. But this period is of short duration; the mind of man, vari- ous and studious of change, becoming sated with uniformity, though it be the uniformity which arises from the perfection of art, turns away from the longer contemplation of unadorned nature, and forms redolent of uncreated beauty come to pall upon the taste; so that art having reached the limit of ideal excellence, beyond which it can not pass, proceeds to diversify and variegate its creations with garish and adseititious ornament, which, like a quaint and affected mannerism or gaudy coloring in literature, serves only to mark the deteriora- tion of taste and declension of genius. What the age of Raphael, Angelo, and Corregio was to Ita- lian art, the age of Pericles and Octavius was to the literature respectively of Greece and Rome. Under the administration of the former, Grecian genius reached its grand climacteric, while the literature of Rome underwent a transformation dur- ing the reign of the latter similar to that of the city itself which the emperor boasted at his death he had found composed of brick, but left marble. It would be particularly interesting to dwell upon the gradual transition of the Grecian mind from its comparative rudeness to the height of its ultimate refine- ment; it would be interesting to depict the era of the old Pc- lasgi, with its semi-barbarism relieved by the amenity of pas- toral life, and its twilight of fable broken by faint streaks of the approaching light of a brighter day; it would be interest~ ing to mark the breaking clouds as they melted away from the sky at the ruddy dawn of the heroic age; its effulgence, like the light of a painted medium, colored with hues of a wild romance, which reveals itself in the mournful story of Thesens. In such a retrospective review, the age of Solon would strike our attention as one of the salient points of Grecian history, an age in which the Athenian people received at the hands of the Great Archon an organic law, which, by its adaptation 1855.] Greek and Roman Ijierainre. 179 to their national character and social condition, evinced the consummate sagacity and profound statesmanship of its author. After this period, events of stirring interest would begin to thicken upon us the overthrow of the commonwealth of Solon, the usurpation and splendid despotism of the Pisistra- ti& e, the daring attempt of Harmodius and Aristogiton, the fall of Hipparchus, and the final expulsion of Hippius. And then we would arrive at the period of the Persian invasion, a period replete with events of momentous import to the civil, political, and intellectual progress of the Grecian and the whole human race. The vicissitudes of prosperous and adverse for- tune are crowded into such a short space of time, and the scenes of that drama in which Miltiades and Themistocles, Aristides, and a host of kindred spirits were the actors, are shifted with a startling rapidity that resembles more the wild extravagancy of a troubled dream than the authentic rehearsal of history. The bloody plain of Marathon, the pass of Thermopyhe, Athens deserted, and her temples, palaces, and towers laid in the dust, the shores of Salamis, the stricken field of Platea, and the promontory of Mycale, all would be successively pre- sented to our view. But this, though both interesting and instructive, would involve rather a discttssion of the philo- sophy of Grecian history, which is not so much the object of this essay to elucidate, as to educe and exhibit a few of the original intellectual peculiarities which, combined with extrinsic influences, have impressed themselves upon the productions of Grecian genius, and which show its pre~minence over the Roman. The first and chiefest characteristic of the Greek mind, is one to which we have already alludedits originality; and it seems to have been endowed not only with a creative faculty, which delighted to expatiate over the boundless realms of the imagination, but was instinct also with a plastic power and artistic skill to render objective the beauty which it at first apprehended as a subjective principlea power which created and a skill which embellished the world of letters and the world of art, until their waste places were converted into royal gar- dens, where pleasant fruits, and trees, and flowers grew in wild yet tasteful luxuriance. The Greeks felt that they possessed a spiritual as well as a physical nature, with its own peculiar longings and appetites, but capable of higher enjoyments and a more exquisite gratification than the most refined pleasures of sense can afford. To gratify their intellectual taste, and satisfy the cravings of their mental constitution, required a Creelc and I?onian, Literature. 180 [March, pabulum far different from that upon which all anterior nations had subsisted. The civilization of Egypt was a partial civili- zation of esoteric art and religion; the civilization of the Si- donian and Tyrian Phcenicians was a civilization of commer- cial opulence and luxury; the civilization of Babylon was a civilization of voluptuousness and physical power; but the civilization of the Greeks was a civilization of literature, phi- losophy, and ~esthetic art. They were the first who gave ade- quate expression to thought and feeling, in strains of poetry and song, in the revelations of the drama, the disquisitions of moral and metaphysical speculation, the records of history, and in the disciplined arts of a popular and forensic eloquence. These are the triumphs, these the proudest conquests of Gre- cian genius; and in them it is, more than in that patriotic de votion to national pride, and the magnificence and power of a national confederacy, that the surpassing glory of a race con- sists. We look back with reverence to Greece, not so much as the land of warriors, military commanders, and civil rulers, as of poets, philosophers, and oratorsas the land of Demos- thenes and Plato and Homer, rather than of Lycurgus, Leoni- das, and Alexander. In the Grecian mind, moreover, there existed a pleasing amenity and sprightliness of spirit, as contradistinguished from the severity of the IRomans, and that imperturbable stoicism of their character and feeling, which by its congeniality to their disposition seems to have been an untaught, innate philosophy; The Greeks possessed a taste and sensibility feelingly alive to the sensuous enjoyment of nature and art, and a delicacy of tact which enabled them to apprehend the most fugacious im- pressions. Labuy~re himself had not a finer or more subtle perception than the Greeks have exhibited in many of the thin-spun speculations of a refining philosophy, in the minute portraiture of dramatic character, and in the artifices of rhetoric and oratory. The sensitiveness of the Grecian mind to be impressed by that which strikes the senses, is shown not only by its mere delineation of nature and of the passions, but also by the influence which their dramatic representation exerted upon the feelings of the refined populace before whom they were exhibited. The tragic poet, whose pathetic tones had drawn too freely upon their tears, and cruelly waked all the tenderest emotions of the human soul with an ecstasy of woe, was only rewarded by the fine which they imposed upon him for the painful agitation and deep distress he had inflicted upon them. Never did a people possess such an appreciation of the 1855] Greek and Roman Li~eratu~e. 181 spirit of dramatic representation, or surrender themselves more unreservedly to the wizard enchantment of that divine inspira- tion of genius, by which he creations of the fancy, mere fig- ments of the brain, are imbued with the breath of life, and pre- sented to the minds eye as real and acting existences. The Titan chained to the rock, beneath which roll the riversof hell; Philoctetes with his loathsome wound, sent to pine in exile on the dreary shores of Lemnos.; cEdipus, blind and heart-broken, clasping with a fathers tenderness the daughters whom he never more may see; Ajax bidding a reluctant adieu to the sweet sun which never shall again receive his greeting ;~7 Electra holding in her hands the sacred urn, that contains, as she believes, the ashes of beloved Orestesall were to the Greeks vital realities, and sent away from the theatre in their turn, an agitated throng swaying to and fro with sympathetic emotion, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possest beyond the muses painting. Analogous to this great susceptibility of the Greeks to the illusions of dramatic representation, and equally illustrative of their fondness for the pleasures of a refined sensation, was the exquisite zest with which they entered into the most delicate and intricate delights of musical combination. Among them, music was inseparably married to immortal verse, and those bursts of choral rapture with which the .iEschylean and Sopho- clean drama is replete, were accompanied with the sound Of instrumental harmony, that breathed Heroic ardor to adventurous deeds, and chaunted in sweet and solemn breathing airs, which sometimes seemed to take the imprisoned soul and lap it in Elysium, and sometimes, like the Done flutes of Milton, inspired instead of rage, deliberate valor. It is evident from the comedy of Aristophanes, that he considered the metrical and musical innovations of Euripides as exceedingly prejudicial to the taste and morals of the Athenians; and that a necessary connection subsisted between the national morals and the national music, strange and incomprehensible as it may appear to our more phlegmatic temperament of mind, is a truth which has been handed down to us by many ancient authors, and is confirmed by irrefragable facts and instances. There is extant a singular decree purporting to have issued from the 182 Creek and Roman Literature. [March, magistrates of Sparta, condemning Timotheus of Miletus for despising the harmony of the seven-stringed lyre, poisoning the ears of the young men by increasing the number of strings, and introducing a new and effeminate species of melody. Whether we choose to regard this decree as genuine, with the learned Dr. Cleaver, or as the forgery of some old grammarian, with Professor MUller, it serves to illustrate the jealous circumspec~ tion with which the Doric communities kept watch over the integrity and simplicity of those national melodies, which were associated with all that was touching or sublime in their civil and religious celebrations. Plato, in his Model Republic, actu- ally proposes to soften and subdue the natural wildness and ferocity of his citizens, by the refinements of music and the inixturesof harmony, for which some have thought fit to make him the butt of their bungling ridicule, not being able to discern the exquisite sensibility of the Greek mind to the voluptuous enjoyments of melody in its most simple strains or complicated variations. The Roman mind, on the contrary, had none of that quick- ness of apprehension, that keen perception of the beautiful, or that delicacy of intellectual tact, which characterized the Gre- cian: and independently of the essential differences that existed between the intellectual constitution of the two nations, it is natural that the literature of Rome should have been inferior to that of Greece, from its almost total want of originality, and consequently of that freshness and living grace which is beyond the reach of art. The IRomans received the litera- ture of Greece at a time in which their intellectual character had not been sufficiently developed or matured to enable them properly to imbibe its spirit. A familiar acquaintance with foreign models, and an enthusiastic devotion to a foreign lan- guage and literature, at the period when a people are just set- tling down into a defined and established form of social and political organization, are always necessarily attended with mischievous consequences to their future intellectual progress. Men should not be introduced to this intimate acquaintance with the highly-flnished productions of superior genius, until their own original and characteristic faculties have received a thorough development. They should be capable of duly ap- preciating the most approved performances without servilely imitating their exterior forms and modes of expression. Every nation has its own peculiar idiom both of thought and language, between which there subsists a mutual adaptation, that ought not to be warped by any intellectual subserviency, or violated 1855.] Greek and Jioman Iii~erahtre. 183 by the introduction of a foreign phraseology. It was finely said of Cowley, that he wore the garb of the ancients but not their clothes; it can not be said of the iRomans that they merely wore the garb of the Greeksthey actually wore their clothes they invested themselves with the gorgeous panoply of Gre- cian genius, and mere pigmies though they were in comparison with the Greeks, attempted to wield their weapons of etherial temper; but, hampered in the freedom of their intellectual movement, and after staggering beneath the burden which they were ill able to sustain, they remind the poetical reader of Tassos Erminia arrayed in the armor of Clorinda, and her delicate form bowing and trembling under its weight. Col durissimo acciar pr~me ed offende fl delicato collo e laurea chioma E la tenera man Jo sendo prende Pur troppo grave e insupportabil soma; 0 con quanta fatica ella sostiene Linegual peso, e move lenti ii passI, Ed A la fide compania, sattiene Che per appogio andar dinanzi fassi. Modern Italian literature also affords an illustration of the point under consideration. Immediately after the revival of letters nuder Dante and his contemporaries, an exclusive devo- tion to the classics checked the progress of Italian literature, and precluded the exercise of the least originality. Men bathed their souls in the pure streams of ancient eloquence and poesy, but lost, for a time, all native intellectual vigor, just as those who dipped in the waters of the Salmacian fountain were said to emerge weak and impotent. During the whole of the fif- teenth century, the Italians, instead of perfecting their own beautiful language, turned away fron it to pay assidaous atten- tion to the language of the ancients; their own genius was not put into requisition, but suffered to lie dormant. From Boo- caccio to Politiano there was a dearth of any thing like original thought, either in poetry or prose; a dull and dreary pedantry was all that prevailed; and Sismondi truly says, Another age was required to knead afresh the clay for the formation of a nobler race. At the close of the fifteenth century, a divine breath animated the finished statue, and it started into life. The IRomans were endowed with a genius, which, powerless to create, was capable only in its highest reaches of embellish- ing the forms of literary development which had been domici- hated in their midst. Virgil certainly was more than a fair 184 Creek and Roman Literature. [March, representative of the lioman mind as it was revealed during the Augustan age; yet what evidence has he afforded of even the least inventive powers? The Eclogues derive their con- structions, their finest touches and most enchanting pastoral descriptions, from the Idylls of Theocritus; the Georgics, the most finished didactic poem in the Latin language, is written avowedly in imitation of the Works and Days of Hesiod, while as to the ~Eneid, Niebuhr correctly observes that Virgil him- self felt a misgiving that all the foreign ornament with which he had decked that poem was not his own wealth and that this at last would be perceived by posterity; so that when death was releasing him from the fetters of civil observances, he wished to destroy what in thpse solemn moments he could not but view with melancholy as the ground-work of a false repu- tation. He who puts together elaborately and by piece-meal is aware of the chinks and crevices which varnishing and polishing conceal only from the unpractised eye, and from which the work of the master, issuing at once from the mould~ is free. The iRomans, then, were inferior to the Greeks in their creative powers; and besides this inferiority of mental consti- tution, there were many national and extraneous causes which operated against the literary culture of the Romans, which it was our intention to have discussed. Among these we will merely instance their absorbing passion for the physical aggran- dizement of their country the despised and degraded con- dition of those who were the first cultivators of letters at IRome who being slaves consequently rendered the profession of literature less honorable in the estimation of the patricians the want of homogeneity in the population, arising from the incessant immigration of aliens and the enfranchisement of slaves, and the aristocratic nature of their government, which symbolizing with that of Sparta, repressed the freedom of speech that was enjoyed by the Athenians, who are the true exponents and representatives of the Grecian genius and cha- racter. To condense and close these remarks, if we seek for an ex- hibition of the predominant spirit of IRome, we must transport ourselves, in imagination, to some scene of her civil and mili- tary magnificence and display to some triumphal pageant, in which her mighty men of war, the conquerors of the world, are seen moving with pomp and circumstance along the Sacred Way, and bearing in solemn procession the Spolia Opima up to the temple of Feretrian Jove. The streets are strewed on 1855.] Greek and Roman Literature. 185 every side with flowers, and a thousand altars smoking with in- cense, send up clouds of fragrance from their consecrated shrines. At the head of that long line march a band of musi- cians, clashing their brazen cymbals and blowing with horn and pipe a hoarse blare in unison with the song of triumph; next~ follow with solemn step and slow the priests and fla- mens in their sacrificial robes, and, close behind, the destined victims of Jupiterthe white oxen of Clitumnus, with their gilded horns and their heads crowned with garlands and wreathed fillets; and next, accompanied by their weeping wives and children and servants,come the leaders of the captured army, spared only to grace the triumph of the conqueror; there too, are the haughty lictors, bearing the laureled fasces, behind whom follow a motley host of musicians and singers, dancing like baccants, attired as Satyrs and w& aring crowns of gold on their heads; and next, standing proudly eminent in his golden chariot drawn by four milk-white steeds, the conquering leader moves along, arrayed in a purple robe embroidered with gold, a crown of laurel around his brow and a laurel branch in his right hand while the left grasps the ivory sceptre, on whose top perches the spread eagle of Rome; and next come the stately consuls and grave senators, arrayed in their gorgeous vestments of purple and gold, and glittering with the insignia of office, and last, the victorious army, shouting the praises of th~ir general or singing the battle-hymns which have so often risen above the din of conflict and the clash of arms; while on all sides the thronging populace of the Eternal City, all clothed in their robes of white, send up to heaven the exultant shout, lo triumphe! lo triump he I This is Rome in her day of pride and glory. In turning to Greece we will avail ourselves of a picture that has already been drawn to our hand by the pencil of a master. It is the Olympic festival. To conjure up an image of that scene we would invoke the imagination of the reader to that sacred ground, decorated with the profusest triumphs of Grecian artall Greece assembled from her continent, her colonies, her isleswar suspendeda sabbath of solemnity and rejoicingthe Spartan no longer gravethe Athenian forgetful of the forumthe high-born Thessalianthe gay Corinthianthe lively gestures of the Asiatic lonian ;suffer- ing the various events of various times to confound themselves in one recollection of the past, he may see every eye turned from the combatants to one majestic figurehere every lip murmuring a single nameglorious in greater fields: Olympia 13 186 Cuidado. LMarch, itself is forgotten. Who is the spectacle of the day? The- mistocles, the conqueror of Salamis, and the savior of Greece! Again the huzzas of countless thousands following the chariot- wheels of the competitorswhose name is shouted forth, the victor without a rival? It is Alcibiades, the destroyer of Athens! Turn to the temple of the Olympian godpass the brazen gatesproceed through the columned aisles, what arrests the awe and wonder of the crowd? Seated on a throne of ebon and of ivory, of gold and gemsthe olive crown on his liead, in his right hand the statue of victoryin his left, wrought of all metals, the cloud-compelling sceptrebehold the colossal master-piece of Phidias, the Homeric dream em- bodied, the majesty of the Olympian Jove! Enter the ban- quet-room of the conquerors; to whose verse, hymned in a solemn and mighty chorus, bends the listening Spartan? It is the verse of the IDorian Pindar! In that motley and glit- tering space (the fair Olympia, the mart of every commerce, the focus of all intellect) join the throng, earnest and breath- less, gathered around that sun-burnt traveller ;now drinking in the wild account of Babylonian gardens, or of temples whose awful deity no lip may namenow, with clenched hands and glowing cheeks, tracking the march of Xerxes along exhausted rivers and over bridges that spanned the sea ; what moves, what hushes that mighty audience? It is Hero- dotus reading his history! OUIDAD 0! A WOMANS tenderness and trusting heart, A childs quick faith, that very soul of art Vain gifts to own, but perilous to show! They are like jewels on the chieftains crest, That signal forth his rank, but twards his breast Invite the lead they never can arrest The sharp lead of the foe,

Cuidado! 186-187

186 Cuidado. LMarch, itself is forgotten. Who is the spectacle of the day? The- mistocles, the conqueror of Salamis, and the savior of Greece! Again the huzzas of countless thousands following the chariot- wheels of the competitorswhose name is shouted forth, the victor without a rival? It is Alcibiades, the destroyer of Athens! Turn to the temple of the Olympian godpass the brazen gatesproceed through the columned aisles, what arrests the awe and wonder of the crowd? Seated on a throne of ebon and of ivory, of gold and gemsthe olive crown on his liead, in his right hand the statue of victoryin his left, wrought of all metals, the cloud-compelling sceptrebehold the colossal master-piece of Phidias, the Homeric dream em- bodied, the majesty of the Olympian Jove! Enter the ban- quet-room of the conquerors; to whose verse, hymned in a solemn and mighty chorus, bends the listening Spartan? It is the verse of the IDorian Pindar! In that motley and glit- tering space (the fair Olympia, the mart of every commerce, the focus of all intellect) join the throng, earnest and breath- less, gathered around that sun-burnt traveller ;now drinking in the wild account of Babylonian gardens, or of temples whose awful deity no lip may namenow, with clenched hands and glowing cheeks, tracking the march of Xerxes along exhausted rivers and over bridges that spanned the sea ; what moves, what hushes that mighty audience? It is Hero- dotus reading his history! OUIDAD 0! A WOMANS tenderness and trusting heart, A childs quick faith, that very soul of art Vain gifts to own, but perilous to show! They are like jewels on the chieftains crest, That signal forth his rank, but twards his breast Invite the lead they never can arrest The sharp lead of the foe, 186~.] Rape of DearlAorgil. 187 RAPE OF DEARBIIORGIL. AN HISTORICAL BALLAD. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. Tni~ early history of Ireland is involved in great obscurity, and though the subject is tempting and at the same time romantic, yet as it would not necessarily be an introduction to this ballad, I shall for the present confine myself to the case before us. The incidents are suffici~ntly obscure, and the time long enough past, to make the matter a proper subject for the imagination. The scene is laid about the year 1167, according to some historians; according to others, the event happened about the year 1150. There is, however, no dispute about the facts, although many of the collateral incidents may have been lost. The ballad is founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to Ireland, if, as we are told by the Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of profiting by their dissensions, and of subduing them. Ireland was at this time divided into a number of petty principalitiesfive at leasteach of which was governed by its own prince, sometimes heredit- ary, though more frequently gaining position by usurpation and the power of the sword; and over the whole reigned a monarch, generally elected by the chiefs of the different principalities. It may be easily imagined that the crown did not rest very firmly on the head of any one, and that rapine, murder, and bloodshed were the order of the day. With no power to restrain and no law to punish, might became right, and the sword was king. Such was the state of affairs in Ireland when the events occurred which form the ground-work of the ballad. Ollalloran relates the circumstances as follows: The King of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter of the King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to ORuark, Prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel Rape of Dearbhorgil. An Historical Ballad 187-191

186~.] Rape of DearlAorgil. 187 RAPE OF DEARBIIORGIL. AN HISTORICAL BALLAD. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. Tni~ early history of Ireland is involved in great obscurity, and though the subject is tempting and at the same time romantic, yet as it would not necessarily be an introduction to this ballad, I shall for the present confine myself to the case before us. The incidents are suffici~ntly obscure, and the time long enough past, to make the matter a proper subject for the imagination. The scene is laid about the year 1167, according to some historians; according to others, the event happened about the year 1150. There is, however, no dispute about the facts, although many of the collateral incidents may have been lost. The ballad is founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to Ireland, if, as we are told by the Irish historians, it gave England the first opportunity of profiting by their dissensions, and of subduing them. Ireland was at this time divided into a number of petty principalitiesfive at leasteach of which was governed by its own prince, sometimes heredit- ary, though more frequently gaining position by usurpation and the power of the sword; and over the whole reigned a monarch, generally elected by the chiefs of the different principalities. It may be easily imagined that the crown did not rest very firmly on the head of any one, and that rapine, murder, and bloodshed were the order of the day. With no power to restrain and no law to punish, might became right, and the sword was king. Such was the state of affairs in Ireland when the events occurred which form the ground-work of the ballad. Ollalloran relates the circumstances as follows: The King of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter of the King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to ORuark, Prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his 188 Rape of Dectr6horgil. [March, passion. They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that ORuark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an act of piety frequent in those days,) and conjured him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she destested to a lover she adored. MacMurchad too punctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns. The monarch, Roderick, espoused the cause of ORuark, and they drove MacMurchad from his dominions. He fled to England, and obtained from Henry IL letters permitting any of his subjects to engage with MacMurchad in the enterprise against Ireland. A considerable force was soon mustered, and both parties prepared to take the field. Dissensions and bribes soon weakened the Irish; and Roderick, finding himself unable to maintain the combat, surrendered. It was a long time after, however, before the con- quest was considered complete, but the English had gained a foothold, and there was not patriotism enough left to expel the ruthless invader. While MacMurchad was in England, Dearbhorgil entered the convent of St. Bridget, at Kildare. MacMurchad died in the year 1171, four years after he had carried off the Princess of Breffni. ORuark was assassinated at a conference between him and Hugh De Lacy, by his own nephew, Gryffyth, in 1172. WHAT gives to the Princess of Breflni this mood? Why seeks she so often unbiest solitude? From moming till night on the turret she walks, She gazes on vacancy, vacantly talks; Or sings with low voice as the day wears along, To calm her wrought-spirit, some snatches of song. ORuark has far on a pilgrimage gone, And his lady now sighs in the castle alone. No one to console her, she pensively sees Birds courting their mates on the blossoming trees; All nature looks gay in the flowering spring, The insects, bedizzened with gold, are on wing; The butterfly-tribe sport from flower to flower, In pleasure and love pass the sunshiny hour; But ORuark has far on a pilgrimage gone, And his lady now sighs in the castle alone. Tie sad thus to count every hour of the day, And then think of weeks, when ones love is away: When the sun in the evening sinks down in the west, How sweet in the arms of a dear one to rest I No wonder the lady so pensively roved, For absent was he whom she tenderly loved. ORuark had far on a pilgrimage gone, And Dearbhorgil now sighed in the castle alone. Rape of Dearbkorgil. Oh! does she so speedily wish his return? For him does her eyenow so languidly burn? Is it grief that has faded the rose on her cheek? Do watching and weeping their wild work hero speak? Tis watching, tis weeping, anxiety, care, That gives to the lady so restless an air; For ORuark has far on a pilgrimage gone, And Dearbhorgil now sighs in the castle alone. What flushes her cheek as she looks oer the plain? What brightens her eye? Tis that cavalier train That gaily caparisoned rides through the wood, Which changes so quickly the fair ladys mood. The foremost rides fleetly; his steed is well tried A chaperoned psifrey is led by its side. ORuark has far on a pilgrimage gone, And Dearbhorgil now sighs in the castle alone. She waves her kerchieg the signal he knows, And straight to the hall of the castle he goes, Unbinds the gay paifrey, and carelessly throws The rein on its neck, all regardless of foes Dismounting, he raps with the hilt of his sword, And calls to the warder, Ho! where is thy Lord? ORuark has far on a pilgrimage gone, And my Lady now sighs in the castle alone. Then call me thy Lady. Thus spoke the bold chief MacMurchad of Leinster; be prompt and be brief. My retainers are yonder, and here is my sword. Throughout the whole castle like fire flew the word: MacMurchad is waiting below at the hall Send hither the guardsmen, and arm, one and all; For our Lord has afar on a pilgrimage gone, And our Lady shall sigh in the castle alone. The lady came not. He impatiently blew A note on his bugle; a squire to him flew. He flung him the reins, then strode to the hall; The lady was ready, and waiting his call. The guard circle round her; he reaches the door, And two of the foremost lie stiff in their gore; All their efforts are vain, for Dearbhorgil is gone, And ORuark may sigh in his castle alone. Oh! lightly I ween to the saddle she sprung, On the neck of her courser the reins loosely hung; They waved an adleu as they rode from the door ORuark shall see his young bride never more; 185~.] 189 I?qpe of Dectrborghl7. 190 [March, For swiftly in flight over hill and oer plain Their steeds bravely bear them; pursuit is in vain. Their retainers are near them, for valor enrolled, Those who join us shall stay, says MacMurchad the bold. And though there was arming for fight to prepare, ORuark was absent! ah! would he were there; Not then had Dearbhorgil forgotten her vows, MacMurchad in triumph not borne off his spouse. Throughout his dominions beloved and revered, The brave Prince of Breffni by foemen was feared; High feats of his prowess in arms have been told, But little of this recked MacMurchad the bold. Now quickly their steeds the ORuarks bestrode; Some followed MacMurchadto the monarch some rode; And a faithful retainer soon hurried away To relate to ORuark the deeds of the day, Who from his devotions full quickly returns To marshal his bands, and march to the Ferns; But the spies hovering round him, his doings unfold: Let him come with his clan, says MacMurchad the bold. The King sent a courier to Leinster to say MacMurchadshould answer and not make delay; Should give up his bride to ORuark again, And make reparation most fully, in pain Of the monarchs displeasure, who sought to restrain The lawless, licentious, and wished to maintain Both morals and government, pure as of old. I shall keep my young bride, says MacMurchad the bold. At once to the rescue most willingly flew, To aid brave ORuark the pure and the true; The prayers of virtue ascended for him, And husbands and fathers with anguish looked grim; And Roderick, the King, with his followers came; They marched over Leinster with sword and with flame. And now, as his army the allies enfold, Fast flies from his country MacMurchad the bold To Henry of England MacMurchad now hies, While ORuark is watched byretainers and spies; And Henry soon granted the succor desired, At once with the conquest of Em inspired. Though the King and ORuark are still in the field, And justice is theirs, in the end they must yield; For backed by his hirelings, and flushed with his gold, Returns to his country MacMurchad the bold. 191 1855.] The Daily Spct8m. It boots not to tell of the deeds that were done, how freely the blood of the patriots run; At last, how dissensions their councils divide; Forgotten was honor, and country, and pride: How the banner of green at last trailed in the dust: How base England triumphed, unrighteous, unjust: How Ireland was conquered by treason and gold, Dearbhorgil the frail, and MacMurchad the bold. THE DAILY SPASM. A NEWSPAPORIAL IDYL. in Press: THE MEMOIRS OF JAMES GORDON BENNETT, and his Times. By A JOURNALIST. THIS work gives a complete Panoramic View of Public Events and Newspaper Literature for the past thirty-five years. Its pages are characterized by a spirit of candor and justice that will command the admiration of its readers, while the views entertained with respect to the facts recorded will show that Journalism, up to the present time, has been only in a transition state in this country. The true character of the principal subject of the work is now, for the first time, made known to the public by one who can not be charged with any bias of friend- ship, or for prejudice, against THE LEADING JOURNALIST OF THE UNITED STATES! [TUE above advertisement c~11ed to mind an article we have had for some time lying in our drawer. As the subjects refer to the same dogma of newapaporial influence, we make ready room for the contribution of our correspondent.EDJ EVERY evidence of the weight attached to the printed utter- ance of opinion is eagerly scrutinized by the public, and forms a peculiarly gratifying bolus to the chronic self-complacency of the editorial corps. We have, therefore, proposed to our- selves, as the thesis of this well-pondered but not ponderous essay, to consider in some of its most salient aspects the supremacy over public affairs in this Republic exercised by one solitary member of the daily press in this, the~ self-dubbed Empire City of the Union. lix uno disce omnes /

The Daily Spasm. A Newspaporial Idyl. 191-199

191 1855.] The Daily Spct8m. It boots not to tell of the deeds that were done, how freely the blood of the patriots run; At last, how dissensions their councils divide; Forgotten was honor, and country, and pride: How the banner of green at last trailed in the dust: How base England triumphed, unrighteous, unjust: How Ireland was conquered by treason and gold, Dearbhorgil the frail, and MacMurchad the bold. THE DAILY SPASM. A NEWSPAPORIAL IDYL. in Press: THE MEMOIRS OF JAMES GORDON BENNETT, and his Times. By A JOURNALIST. THIS work gives a complete Panoramic View of Public Events and Newspaper Literature for the past thirty-five years. Its pages are characterized by a spirit of candor and justice that will command the admiration of its readers, while the views entertained with respect to the facts recorded will show that Journalism, up to the present time, has been only in a transition state in this country. The true character of the principal subject of the work is now, for the first time, made known to the public by one who can not be charged with any bias of friend- ship, or for prejudice, against THE LEADING JOURNALIST OF THE UNITED STATES! [TUE above advertisement c~11ed to mind an article we have had for some time lying in our drawer. As the subjects refer to the same dogma of newapaporial influence, we make ready room for the contribution of our correspondent.EDJ EVERY evidence of the weight attached to the printed utter- ance of opinion is eagerly scrutinized by the public, and forms a peculiarly gratifying bolus to the chronic self-complacency of the editorial corps. We have, therefore, proposed to our- selves, as the thesis of this well-pondered but not ponderous essay, to consider in some of its most salient aspects the supremacy over public affairs in this Republic exercised by one solitary member of the daily press in this, the~ self-dubbed Empire City of the Union. lix uno disce omnes / 192 like Da~7y Spasm. [March, The paper which, after much mature deliberation, we select for special notice, is called the Daily iSpasm; and is printed, edited, and published by a gentleman of foreign birth, who has generously consecrated to our service that ge,nius which he does not hesitate to confess he finds to be his principal ingre- dient. He may properly be styled the Paul Jones of pub- lishers: and there were at one time certain rumors very scan- dalously current, to the effect that he desired to import and engraft upon the literature of his adopted country the fine feudal practice of black mailso highly eulogized by Sir Walter Scott, in his Rob Roy and other similar productions. Whether his boyish predilections really tempted him to revive, or attempt the revival of this Border Law, as it was called; or whether the report had no foundation save in the malice of his enemies and rivals, we can not undertake to say: any correspondent having the organ of inquisitiveness very largely developed, may consult the judicial records of New- York upon this point. When he finds that the slander is unfounded, we shall be glad to hear from him. But let him write to us, in any case, the result of his researches, for other- wise the condition aforesaid might not improbably involve an eternal separation. The Editor of the Daily Spasmor as for euphony and briefness we shall call him, the spasmodic editorpresents in his person a beautiful illustration* of the foresight with which kind Nature has adapted a special instrument to every sepa- rate end. Not only mentally but physically, as well, hi~ organization enables and compels him to look on both sides of a subject at one and the same moment. And as there is a silver lining to every cloud, and a golden one to a great many and as he can always see both sides, and has a singularly strong partiality for the auriferous appearancewhat wonder, we ask, that he occasionally presents to the public in all the gorgeous drapery of euphuistic phrase a subject, or a fact, which, to their partial vision, has all the blackness, all the horror of an impending thunder-storm? And as, moreover, every golden cloud must have a sunless gloom upon its outer side, what wonder, we again inquire, that the same double- sighted, double-minded censor should not unfrequently attempt to darken and befoul what seems most bright and most auspicious to the single-sighted, single-minded observer? Add * We use the term, a beautiful illustration, after the fashion of the dissecting- room. Thus doctors tell us of a lovely tumor, a most perfect cancer and a really beautiful suppuration. 1855.] The Daily ASfpct8mi. 193 to this duplicating obliquity of vision, that his. skin has the toughness and insensibility requisite to the passive part of his profession, and that his jaws, being provided with high cheek- bones, offer every desirable facility to those who would make him, nolens volens, swallow his own libelsand we cease to wonder at the very questionable eminence these qualities have raised him to. With the hide of a rhinoceros, the vision of a squinting wolf; the swallow of a hungry anaconda, what needs he but a pair of horns to realize the dream of the apocalypse? So much for the exterior and mere physical adaptations of the gentleman to whose genius and urbanity we dedicate this first-rate notice. We have now to speak of the influence he wields, and of the policy by which he wields it. We shall likewise embellish our discourse by some recent and illustrious examples of the victories achieved by the consummate indirectness of the spas- modic chief. And first, as to his influence: it is immens~1 Immensefor he confesses it himself: his subordinates are proud of it: his correspondents exult in it: his paper-folders fall into an ecstatic trance whenever it is alluded to: and the ragged little news-boys, as with condor lungs they~ bellow, Extra ASpa-a-a-a-sm I assume all the appearance and charac- teristics of delirious pride. His circulation, he assures us, is immense; and on each successive sheet of each edition, and in every issue, there is a spasmodic paragraph referring to the Daily Spasms enormous influence 1 Ask any of those name- less quacks who advertise mysterious cures of all unmentiona- ble maladies; inquire of any horological astrologer or septi- filial fortune-teller; ask all the humbugs of the age; ask Barnum, IRrandreth, the Bearded-Lady, Professor Holloway, or Perham, the great founder of panoramic-lotteries; ask all or any one of these what publication they consider most likely to attract the notice of the disreputable class whose patronage they respectively solicit; and can there be a doubt but that the Daily Spasm will be their verdict and their choice? As for the editor; more libel suits have been brought against him, more personal assaults made upon him, more savage epi- thets applied to him, than ever fell before to the lot of any less- aspiring publicist; his name has become a household word throughout the length and breadth of the United States; and even the sad natives of New-Jersey, as they sit beside the Hackensack or gather clams, their only esculent, along their 1915 The Daily Spasm~. [March, wreck-strewn beach, are not unconscious of the syllables which indicate the potential man. The influence he wields is, therefore, beyond the suspicion even of themost captious caviller. It is gigantic, inscrutable, resistless; and all by indirectness! But to illustrate this influence, we must describe his policy; while, vice versa, his policy can be made comprehensible and apparent in no other mode than by reciting some of the latest samples of its success. Let our readers now sharpen their wits and prepare to follow our experienced pilotage through the tortuous sinuosities of spasmodic power. And first we would impress on them a very evident, but by no means obvious truism. It is this: That the forces of at- traction and repulsion, though essentially antagonistic, are neither equal nor of like availability. The latter, by all odds, is the most serviceable, as we hope pre~ently to demonstrate; and likewise, that it is to his repulsion or repulsiveness the spasmodic editor applies for the accomplishment of his designs. Repulsion proper is equal to attraction proper; but diplo- matic repulsiveness, by placing itself on the side opposite to its natural positionin other words, upon the wrong side, or behind any object which it desires to impel forward, can accom- plish all that attraction would do by drawing the said object after it in its advancing course. Thus while Greeley, Abby Folsom, and Lloyd Garrison would lure on, or attract the abo- lition chariot (hearse were the better word) to the chasm of dis- union and annihilation, the Daily Sjasm, by placing itself in the rear of the dismal ve~aicle, adds terror to its flight, and lends the glandered jades and broken-winded hacks who work its tottering machinery a vigor not their own. What it desires, it execrateswhat it lauds, it hates. Let it be understood at this point, that we speak of diplo- matic repulsiveness when exercised by the cool judgment of the great spasmal founder. There are times when he permits his excessive friendship to destroy a friend by its confession; times, too, when the rancor of scme personal disappointment, such as that of a foreign mission, may blind him to the benefit his most atrocious calumnies confer. For examples of diplomatic repulsiveness, we shall cite a few cases still fresh in the public mind. For the Judas-kiss with which he can kill an enemy, let the present disorder and disintegration of the Hindoo association suffice. He has estab- lished for himself a reputation most disastrous to whatever cause he advocates; and that the Constitution has survived, 18551 The Daily ~pa~sm. 195 not only the vindictive denunciations of its foesfor these are flea-bitesbut likewise the more deadly imputation which such a friendship casts upon it, is perhaps the highest evidence that could be given of its permanent and indestructible vitality. That the gentleman we refer to in these terms of strong but all too feeble eulogy was born a British subject is not denied; that for quarter of a century he remained among us without renouncing his original allegiance to a monarchical govern- ment, even while aspiring to influence democratic men and democratic measures, is somewhat strange; but that he should recently have been seized with admiration for the republican form, insomuch as to embrace the citizenship long open to his option, and so long contemned; this fact, we say, is one of ominous and most alarming import. While king-craft enjoyed his voluntary allegiance, no thinking man could have a ques- tion of its infamy. And as his conversion to democracy took place about the time of Mr. Henry Nykoffs dismissal from the British secret-service force, a suspicion naturally suggests itself which, until better informed, we do not care to state more openly. We can not think so meanly of Lord Palmerston. Andyct * * * * * * * * * * * * At any rate this thing is sure: that the Daily SBasm, whe- ther actuated thereto by foreign hire or by the mere malignity of its conductor, has done, and is daily doing throughout the country, a work for which the enemies of hyiman freedom rightly understood, might well be supposed to re~rnburse it a work to make angels weep, and all the satanic myriads thrill joyously in their fiery lairs. We do not now allude to the reckless mutilation by which, through his daily columns, he has reduced the tongue which Milton wrote and Patrick Henry spoke to be a barbarous billingsgate and unintelligible jargona mutilation which has devolved on the respected ghost of Lifidley Murray the r6le of a grammatical Prometheus, with a spasmodic vulture for ever preying on his tenderest parts of speech. We do not mention any of his minor crimes against moral- ity, the panics he has stimulated, or the characters he has un- deservedly traduced. But we allege that it shakes the very pillars of the faith with which n~any thousand well-disposed, ill- judging persons regard the Constitution of these States to hear the charter of true liberty admired, and praised, and fulsomely beslimed by such a man. The men of Massachusetts knew not where to choose a 196 The Daily ASpa8m. [March, Senator; they looked around in vain, and could not fix on any candidate. But when they heard the spasmal chief revil- ing, with well-simulated detestation, Mr. Henry Wilson, they began to suspect that gentleman of some occult ability, some undeveloped virtue, some talent, or political probity of which they had never hitherto had any sample. The paper piled its agonized pretenses up to an amazing height; it belched forth libels, falsehoods, sneers, and imprecations in every issue and on every page. Thus recommended to the confidence of an unwary people, what wonder Mr. Wilson was successful? So also in New-York; the whirlwind of curses from the same quarter filled the sails which Mr. Seward set to victory; and we do firmly believe, and have the best possible evidence to convince us, that such was the deliberate design with which the assaults were made. Again, this editor of foreign birfh, whether misinterpreting his home-instructions, or actuated by the mere spirit of de- struction, we can not say, allied himself to the young and, until then, victorious Hindoo association. He lapped its weak and inchoate existence in his pestiferous breath, and his em- braces strangled it. The Hindoos lost caste; they became political pariahs, t3ae shunned of all untainted parties. Their bitterest enemies were ceaseless in proclaiming that the i5fpas~m applauded them, and the leprosy of such a love eat up their sOuls.* But this repulsive power is one which requires a~head of no common coolness to control and manage with safety. Its wielder must never drop the iron mask, nor yield even a moments ascendency to an emotion however strong. He must beat down those gushes of natural and tender feeling, which so constantly threaten by their effervescence the disgrace and utter ruin of a friend. His love must find utterance in libels; his gratitude in scurrilous abuse. While, on the other hand, no pang of personal indignity, no rage of disappointed lust, no frenzy of dishonored age, no fury of the worlds con- tempt should ever wring from him to a foe the benefit and recommendation of one spasmodic curse. Like the splenetic wife of Hercules, he must send presents to his enemies and * We hardly think Lord Palmerston would feel obliged or feel inclined to pay for such a service. As a consistent enemy to America and to human freedom, the editor in question should, very evidently, have given to the association in question the immeasurable assistance of his most determined hate. Had he done so, many ~ timid conscience, alarmed to find itself agreeing with him, would have joined the flindoo ranks. 18~5.1 The Daily Spas~m. 197 sting them unto death in the Nessus garment of his approbation. Like a rower, he must turn his back upon the haven he would make; and treat the public, as did the Irishman his piglay hold of it by its meanest part and feign to pull it back in the direction he desires it to advance. As illustrations of this double danger, we may briefly allude to two particular and prominent examples. Some few months since, a gentleman whose name (as a matter of mere taste) we prefer to omit, was thought by the few who thought any thing at all about him a well-meaning, hot-headed, rather am using specimen of the enfants rerdus genus. His abduction of an elderly but wealthy spinster, we palliated by a comparison of her over-plus and his necessities; we called to memory the rape of the Sabines and hurried over, with as little attention as possible, the pecuniary alternative for which the prudential Romeo made offer to resign his claim. We heard that he had been employed as spy or secret emissary by some foreign and. tyrannical government; but we shut our ears to the fact and resolved to remember him (if at all) only as a prompt, polite, but dangerously-speculative tea and coffee seller. Another great point in his favor was the abuse once diplomatically heaped upon him by the spasmodic chief. Alas! the gentle- man had been long absent from his country; he returned, we believe, through Paris; and, on revisiting his old friend in New-York, the ecstasy of such a meeting overcame the caution of the editor and blinded him to the\ injury his affection would inflict: he publicly confessed his affection for the jilted diplo- mat, and the ex-coffee sellers reputation withers as, day by day, those pestilential puffs convulse the Daily Spasm. On the other hand, a Pennsylvanian colonel, who has the happiness of enjoying to an unusually acrid degree the detesta- tion of the editor in question, was still further fortunate enough to have roused the spasmodic ire beyond its diplomatic point. The canny Scotchman was, for once, too enraged either to stab with insidious praise or mould his maledictions into admi- ration. For six long weeks preceding the day appointed for the election of a clerkship to which this colonel not in vain aspired, the Daily Spasm seemed alike to have taken leave, of sense and what little decency the laws against obscene publica- tions had hitherto enforced upon it. It foamed with rage and reeled through ever-deepening sloughs of blasphemous inde- cency. As the natural consequence, the colonels majority, great an~t certain as it was before, augmented beyond measure. The editor too late was made aware of the service his insanity had rendered. 198 f/ike Daily Spa& m. [March, We think we have enlarged upon this point enough. We have given the public of America a glimpse behind the scenes for which they stand indebted to us. We have stated the plain truth, as all who care to examine for themselves may find it. We have stated a conviction which has grown with our growth and to which each day adds further, aThpler confirmation. We state what we do know and speak the thing we understand. Should any captious critic object to us that the claims of General Pierce were advocated by the Daily ASpasrn, and were nevertheless successful, we answer that it is an evidence only of the good sense and sound judgment of the American people. The election of a President is a solemn act; and where their hearts and reason direct that their choice should fall, even the concurrence in that choice of the most obnoxious individual, can not sway the settled faith or shake the settled confidence of the intelligent and thoughtful mass. General Pierce was elected even although the Daily Spasm implored and begged that it might be so; and in despite of the superlative vitupera- tion of such an advocacy. But now that its editor has thrown off the mask, and in his disappointed and insensate fury assailed the man whose honesty and genius even then he dreaded, and with cause; now that he openly and so ruinously advocates the interests of the rival who then had the benefit of his hostility, how much more easily do the wheels of the ad- ministration and executive revolve! What an increase of con- fidence is felt in both by the good and patriotic of all parties. We have painted no imaginary portraitno ideal head: our sketch would be inartistic if we, had; for nothing but a well-known reality can justify the introduction of repulsiveness and horror into any picture. Let whoso suspects the cap of fitting him, try it on and amuse the public by its exhibition. For ourselves we are contentedshould the public be soto consider this a highly-wrought. and all but speaking likeness. 18~i5.] Pragmxt~. 199 PRAGMATAContinued. BY C. G. ROsENBEnG. CANTO SIXTH. Tmis, while he dug him down towards-the truths Which never changethe self-dependent laws, In which, alike, what makes and what is made Are rooted, and by which alone they live Unquickened yet, but quickening, the sixth sense, Which is the sense of the soulthat living eye Which looks undazzled upon God himself The strength that treads upon the wave a.nd cloud, As if it were a god itselfthe faith Which to its own use masters and compels All things, and is a God, opened within him. It grewas yet a tongueless worda thought Without an act, a lifeless pulse and will. It happened, here, he met a common truth Such all men meet, and manya womans heart Just blossoming from childhood, pure and clean. And when he met, he wondered. Not but often He had met such before, and seen them blight Upon the stem, or wither as they bloomed; But with his toil, a passion for the pure Had woken in him. Labor cleanses ever; And all which cleanses, hungers for the clean. Now might he see its beauty. Like a lily Opening her virgin petals to the sky, It stood before him. With a curious eye He searched itwith a speculative finger, Touched it, and called out musicheard its joy

C. G. Rosenburg Rosenburg, C. G. Pragmata - Continued 199-204

18~i5.] Pragmxt~. 199 PRAGMATAContinued. BY C. G. ROsENBEnG. CANTO SIXTH. Tmis, while he dug him down towards-the truths Which never changethe self-dependent laws, In which, alike, what makes and what is made Are rooted, and by which alone they live Unquickened yet, but quickening, the sixth sense, Which is the sense of the soulthat living eye Which looks undazzled upon God himself The strength that treads upon the wave a.nd cloud, As if it were a god itselfthe faith Which to its own use masters and compels All things, and is a God, opened within him. It grewas yet a tongueless worda thought Without an act, a lifeless pulse and will. It happened, here, he met a common truth Such all men meet, and manya womans heart Just blossoming from childhood, pure and clean. And when he met, he wondered. Not but often He had met such before, and seen them blight Upon the stem, or wither as they bloomed; But with his toil, a passion for the pure Had woken in him. Labor cleanses ever; And all which cleanses, hungers for the clean. Now might he see its beauty. Like a lily Opening her virgin petals to the sky, It stood before him. With a curious eye He searched itwith a speculative finger, Touched it, and called out musicheard its joy 200 Prctgmatct. [March, Laugh up in bubbling whispers to his ear, And listened to the rarer voice of sorrows, Its fullness dreamed, from very need of grief To balance joy and laughter. The girls heart Albeit he was olderspake to his. True things need no long knowledge, ere they speak One to another. Even mirth and tears May have communion. So they spake together. She was not lovely. Neither painters hand, Nor poets passion wouia have taken her To bed in the rieh labor of their love, And make immortal. Yet for him she wore A robe of dazzling lovelinessa girdle More beauty-giving than the magic cestus Of Aphroditea crown, such as those Which star angelic brows with light divine The whiteness of the soul. One might not tell Of goodness, but the crimson of her blood Kindled on cheek and browa wail of woe Brought alms from eye or handone gentle word Lit all the dimpled smiles, whose laugh is love. Yet words, which call up blushes that know more ~Chan she knew, were as if they were not spoken When uttered near her. Like some weedless wave, Her glass-clear face let see her innocence, Unconscious of the shadow of the cloud. Under the beauty of that gentle heart, His own more calm and silent seriousness Expanded into joy, as wind-harps find Song, in the kisses of the winds. He learnt, And loved. Her girlhood knew not what he knew; Yet it believed in more than he believed. Her ignorance tarried far behind his knowledge, Yet was its innocent faith a higher wisdom. And so they spake together. He found reasons For that she felt, while she rejoiced to see The meaning of her faith unrolled before her, And looked up to his eyes. And still she told him New feelings, which were questions to his thirst For truth, and ever in the analysis Of his own toil he found her, reasons still. And sometimes was her soul, the stone, whose touch Tested the metal of a new-found truth, 18i55jJ Prctg~inata. 201 Working conviction, or detecting lies, Which rung like gold. She had a faith in him, Because she saw that all he did believe Had roots of iron; and he worshipped her, Because he saw a more complete belief In her, so full of blossom and of fruit. They talked of Time, and of Eternity, And Human Life. She could not see the whole Of grief and woe, he saw upon ~i earth Where Godheads daily work is life and beauty. She felt all labor should be joy, because It ought to tend to joy. Then first he learnt, Want of success and inwi~rd weariness, And the disgust and anguish, are not children Of circumstance they only seem to spring from; ~ut of the man, who makes the circumstance An impulse and an action. Then he found The meaning of the porch in which the Greek Once stripped him to the soul of worldly care, That its own nakedness might be a mail, Which, like the slippery limbs of well-oiled wrestlers, Offered no spot for gripe or planted blow But found for better use. That soul must take All which is humanwant, and weariness, And woe, and tears, an~ suffering, into it, Which would be mailed against themnot divorcing From earth to strengthen, but by wedded share In all that laughs, or weeps, or lives, or loves, Or perishes, or withers, gaining strength. And so, they spake togetherhe, confirming Her faithshe, widening and enlarging his, Until their souls almost became as one, Yet separate still. Perfected unity Is an absorption, and absorptiondeath. Not in themselves can things that love, absorb, Although their instincts, by a strange compulsion, Tend to identitydimming the act Which is the promise of more perfect bliss, With a desire, like an imperfect shadow Projected backwards from the tomb, on earth. And then they spake of this, and saw that each Must have a separate path, and separate task, Although alike, or cheering each the other That love, and truth, and faith, arc only lovely 14 202 Pragmata. [March, To toil and knowledgetoil and knowledge only To faith, and truth, and love. And so they loved, Because each one was lovely to the other Separate, yet interlacedinwoven hearts The blending threads, whose varying colors paint The web of gladness, in which each has part. Who say, the course of true love runs not smooth, Lie in their teeth. How, other, can it run? What strength has earth to change or trouble truth? There wanted not who told the girl the story Of what he had been. She had heard it first From his own lips, in all its guilt and sin, Nor with one palliation; and she saw Labor had done its need. He did not tell her Of penitence and suffering. These may be, And yet, not cancel error. Not by tears Does cleansing come. There is one pool alone Of healingone Bethesda for the soul. She loved him all the more, because she knew The past was as a mighty fire, whose ash Manured the soil, which, but for that dead past, Might have been ever barren. There were those Who had claims of kindred on her, bade her shun him, As if he were a pestilence. But ever, She bade him wait, and in her gentleness He learnt the strength of patience. Soon or late Patience must gather. So, it came to pass As she had said; and their still-growing love, Undarkened by that jealousy and doubt Which never spring from truth, won silent favor, Until none chid it; and the man became In his ripe age the husband of the girL Such loves endure and strengthen, until Death Perfect and merge them in the greater love To which they ever tend. The end of toil Is that perfecting and absorbing love. Only reward of labor, thisthe joy Of its own working and progressing will, Which is a fullness and delight, embracing All that it looks oneven as the stream Which belts the beauty of the earth with tides That never tire of kissinga delight Which is all love, and only, unlike God, 18554 Prctgmata. 203 In that it can not all contain the life It fain would drink into its own large heart. No hindrance, varying intensity What is more like, is nearer God himself. So love itself; loves that it is most like. Strength clings to truth, and truth to faith, and faith To that which it believes, and have more love For these, though they love all thingsnone the less In love for all, that they love these the more. And so the Pilgrim travelled ever on, To the mute gates which open outward, ever. And ever with him, with an equal step, Went the companion of his pilgrimage, The wedded wife of his body and his soul Younger in life, and yet as old in faith, Sharing and cheering every step he took. Sometime they slackenedsometime hurried pace, As if their love sufficed them; yet, as if Their conscience chid the very love which seemed As if it could suffice them. So they went, And ever as they went, they found new reasons To feel that earth is good, and God is good, And life is meant for labor and for growth. Nor did she feel that he knew more than her Nor he, that she was feebler. His wanderings Had been in the circle only, and led him back To the very starting.point where she stood ready, Bathed in the blushes of her innocence, All wonder and belief; to take his hand A marvellous gazer, waiting for a guide, More sure of foot, on the threshold of a life Which seems to ignorance as it is to wisdom, All joy and beauty. He, in cancelling His past, had grown again a child in heart, Although a man in years and strength. He placed His palm in hers, and hand,in hand, and limb To limb, and heart with heart, alike in hope, In faith, and love, they went upon their way. 204 The Fall of & 6astopol~ [March, THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. Ii it were done, when tis done, then twere well It were done quickly. THE English and French reports of the present European war, while affording infinite amusement to the American reader, can not have failed to enlighten an observing public as to the reliability of any statements made by a monarchical press, in matters where the interests of their masters are in any wise concerned. At one time an English mail teems with de- tails of an expedition, by which, if their statements are to be believed, Cronstadt is to be demolished within a few hours after the arrival of Sir Charles Napiers splendid armada that gloKous and powerful fleet of 44 vessels, 22,000 guns, 160,000 horse-power, and 22,000 seamen and marines /and that the world may not hesitate to accept, as gospel truth, such gasconading assurances, we are furnished, in addition to these startling statistical statements, with long lists of terrible battle- ships with more terrible nameswith minute accounts of an asphyxiating bomb, intended to suffocate, smother, and ut- terly deprive of breath such unfortunate Russians as may escape the unerring aim of those dreadful Mini6 rifles. We have scarce time to recover from the unpleasant contem- plation of such devastating implements, and to become, to a degree, reconciled to their recitals of wholesale slaughter, when our feelings are again shocked by more recent reports of the annihilation of Sebastopol. All our preconceived notions of fortificationsall our early opinions in regard to military defenses are upset by the intelligence that, The colors of the allied army are now floating over Sebastopol. With a slight change, only to be accounted for by a difference of idiom, the same information is promulged to the world by the declaration of the French press, that The capture of Sebastopol in 1854 avenges France for the defeat of Moscow in 1812.

The Fall of Sebastopol 204-209

204 The Fall of & 6astopol~ [March, THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. Ii it were done, when tis done, then twere well It were done quickly. THE English and French reports of the present European war, while affording infinite amusement to the American reader, can not have failed to enlighten an observing public as to the reliability of any statements made by a monarchical press, in matters where the interests of their masters are in any wise concerned. At one time an English mail teems with de- tails of an expedition, by which, if their statements are to be believed, Cronstadt is to be demolished within a few hours after the arrival of Sir Charles Napiers splendid armada that gloKous and powerful fleet of 44 vessels, 22,000 guns, 160,000 horse-power, and 22,000 seamen and marines /and that the world may not hesitate to accept, as gospel truth, such gasconading assurances, we are furnished, in addition to these startling statistical statements, with long lists of terrible battle- ships with more terrible nameswith minute accounts of an asphyxiating bomb, intended to suffocate, smother, and ut- terly deprive of breath such unfortunate Russians as may escape the unerring aim of those dreadful Mini6 rifles. We have scarce time to recover from the unpleasant contem- plation of such devastating implements, and to become, to a degree, reconciled to their recitals of wholesale slaughter, when our feelings are again shocked by more recent reports of the annihilation of Sebastopol. All our preconceived notions of fortificationsall our early opinions in regard to military defenses are upset by the intelligence that, The colors of the allied army are now floating over Sebastopol. With a slight change, only to be accounted for by a difference of idiom, the same information is promulged to the world by the declaration of the French press, that The capture of Sebastopol in 1854 avenges France for the defeat of Moscow in 1812. 1855j The Fall of Sebctdopol. 205 This last grand achievement, alike unequalled in magnitude, in rapidity, and in its results, scarce leaves us room for furthe~ expectation. We sit down, and with mingled feelings of fear and wonder, proceed to pore over the self-congratulations of the two victorious nations, who have so generously taken charge of the cause of Christianity and civilization; and while we felicitate ouselves that their invincible legions are so many thousand miles distant, it is not, we confess, without an in- voluntary twinge of the nerves that we recall to mind how recently the Great Thunderer intimated that it would be our turn next. When Mr. Richard Cobden told the good people of England that he could crumple up the Czar of Russia like a piece of brown paper, a few incredulous persons thought that the distin- guished Free-trader, in speaking so contemptuously of the Czar, had either overrated his own abilities or had undervalued the capacity of another. When Blackwood and the Edinburgh, years ago, demonstrated to their confiding readers the utterly helpless condition of the Czar and compared Russia to a bottle, the mouth of which once closed, its unfortunate inmates must, of necessity, miserably perish; there were some so obtuse as to fail to exactly comprehend the fitness of the comparison of those far-seeing British political writers. When the daily fabricators of British public opinion explained how, in the event of war, the Czar would inevitably be assassinated by some one of his notoriously disaffected subjects, many Ameri- cans, ignorant as we must confess them to be of such matters, wondered why one tyrant should incur greater risk than an- other by the commission of the same act. When our own good sense had begun to tell us that such an uncivilized and dis- affected set of barbarians, led on by an unpopular and cruel master, could never, for any length of time, withstand the prowess of by far the bravest and most loyal of troops, an oc- casional intimate would betray an unwillingness to accept our dictum with his wonted unreserved confidence. That not a shadow of doubt may remain on the mind of our most incredulous reader, and for the benefit of disbelievers in general, we have been at the pains of colhiting, from the most authoritative and reliable sources, detailed accounts of this last and most glorious feat of arms; and when we assure our readers that the following extracts are copied verbatim from the Lon- don Times, the Paris Mioniteur and the Constitutionnel, we trust that a perusal may not only silence discussion as to a great historical fact, but lead, as well, to a serious consideration 206 The Fall of Sebctstopol. [March, of the approaching danger arising from this speedy termination of the European warand, perhaps, incidentally suggest early action on the part of Congress in the matter of Harbor de- fenses. But to our extracts. It has been charged that British officers are generally such men as have succeeded, by dint of their relatives, in buying commissions, and have more arrogant bravery than war skill. What will their calumniators say to the following? On the 23d, Fort Constantine was destroyed by the Allies, and Fort Alexan- der was taken. On the 24th, the redoubts and forts around Sebastopol, the batter- ies, and the Arsenal, were in the hands of the Allies. The flag of the Allies was hoisted on the Church of St. Valdimin. Menchikof surrendered at discretion on the 26th. The remainder of the Russian fleet is safe in the hands of the Allies. London Times. Again The Russians have lost 18,000 men in killed and wounded, and 20,000 prison- cr5. Six ships of the line and Fort Constantine have been destroyed. Fort Con. stantine blew up afterfise hours bombardment, and 10,000 Russians were buried in the ruins. Prince Menchikoff fled to Fort Alexander, where 18,000 Russians shortly after surrendered.London Times. Again, we have the assurance of the Constitutionnel, the quondam organ of M. Thiers, that universal interest has been provided for, Europe saved, civilization taken under special protectionand all in the name of nniversal interest. A landing, which will reckon as one of the most wonderful feats of the age-; a citadel, supposed to be impregnable, surrenders at discretion, after a few hours re- sistanceall this would seem a prodigy, if it was not well known for centuries what the abilities ef our generals and the impetuosity of our soldiers can do1854 HAS HEROICALLY AVENGED 1812. It belonged to Napoleon III. to take a marked revenge on Russia for the glorious disaster which prepared the sublime downfall of Napoleon L And what is noble and grand in this revenge is, that it is taken in the name of a universal interest, that it saves Europe and protects civilization, that itpre- pares for the world A LONG FUTURE OF PEACE, CALM, AND TRANQUILLITY.. Constitutionnd. Not only has Europe been saved and civilization been pre- served, but, as we learn from the same reliable source, iRus- sia is now effaced- from the list of nations. The colors of the Allied army are now floating over Sebastopol. The march of the troops bay been only one series of successes and victories, and afew daijs 1855.] The Fall of Seba8topol. 207 have sufficed to accomplish one of the most glorious campaigns that the history of modern nations will have hadto enregister. A few days have been sufflcientto strike to the heart the power of RUSSIA NOW EFFACED FROM THE LIST OF NATIONS. Con- stitutionne~ La Presse, displaying a praiseworthy prudence in preparing for future exigencies, thus comments The centre of gravity of European policy is displaced. The capture of Se- bastopol is the starting-point of a new policy. The jackass of the London Times kicks at what he supposes to be a dead lion:. When the particulars of those memorable acts of war can be ascertained and related with precisionwhen the plan of operations of the Allied armies is un- folded to our view~when it is possible to record some of the exploits of those who in that triple army have deserved so well of their country and their allies, we shall have ample opportunities of reverting to the topics on which the ardent curiosity of the world is naturally fixed. But there is one part of this subject on which we feel no such hesitation, and are held back by no suspeitse. The grand political ob- jects which first directed the attention of the Allied powers and of this nation to the enterprise against Sebastopol, may now be Considered to be within our grasp; the important results which we promised ourselves from that expedition are either achieved, or upon the verge of achievement; and, as no enterprise of war was ever sent forth upon a scale of more colossal magnitude, or conducted with greater energy or more rapid success upon the scene of action, so none, we confidently believe, will deserve a more brilliant page in history, from the political conse- quences it is calculated to secure. * * * * * * * * * But the loss of that strong fortress, on which so many millions of money and so many thousands of lives have been expendedthe destruction of that fleet which has paid within ten months the penalty of Sinopethe defeat and capitulation of that army which had been assembled and intrenched to defy the united vanguard of England and Francethe utter humiliation of that haughty emissary Prince Menchikoft who may ere long return as a prisoner to Constantinople, which he quitted to threaten invasion and to give the signal of warthe discomfiture of all these over-reaching attempts, the exposure of so much falsehood, and the chastise- ment of so much ambition, are only, as it were, the more transient and local incidents of this just catastrophe. If we proceed to take a more general view of the effects of this stroke upon the Russian empire, they extend far beyond the defeat of an army, the loss of a province, or the failure of a cam- paign. For the first time since Russia has assumed a leading part in Euro- pean affairs, she has found herself vigorously resisted in the prosecution of her policy by England and France, and immediately a total reverse has overthrown her schemes. The Emperor Nicholas is the first sovereign of his house who has seen the rank of his empire sensibly lowered, and an important province of his do- 208 f/ike Fall of Sebastopol. [March, minions held by foreign armies. The j~ricks and disguises which had thrown an air of exaggerated mystery and importance over his resources are rapidly falling away. His diplomacy, which was said to rival that of the adepts of Jesuitism itself; has grossly deceived him, from ignorance of the real spirit of Europe and fear of wounding the ears of an autocrat by the keen language of truth. His fiect has never ventured beyond the cover of his land batteries; his army has never stood its ground in any position or on any field of battle since the opening of the war, except against the feeble Turkish corps in Asia; even his fortresses, which seemed built for all time, have surrendered in a few days, and his only attempt to take a fortress from the enemy was signally defeated. What, after such a series of mis- haps and mistakes, remains of the political prestige and military renown of Russia? We are told, indeed, that the emperor has still the resources of an inaccessible ter- ritory and an indomitable will, and that he may retire behind his steppes to pre- serve somewhere between Moscow and Kasan the palladium of his dynasty. But is that the part of a great European powerto abandon frontiers he can not defend, and to pride himself on a gloomy endurance of evil when his own weapons are turned against him? And, if his own frontiers can be assailed and invaded with impunity, much less can he ettend a protecting hand to those foreign courts which have unwisely preferred the protection of Russis to the confidence and respect of their own subjects. Those courtiers of the north have long been unable to understand, or unwilling.to believe, that their idol had limbs of clay, though its face was of brass; and they may have yet to learn that the sa e force which dealt this blow has ot rs in store to do by the north of Europe what the loss of the Crimea has done by the East. The awful rapidity, the overwhelming force, the retributive effects of this visitation seem to arm it with the terrors of a divine judgment; and those rash and blasphemous appeals to the Eternal Justice, which served to kindie and inflame this war, have not been unheard. We trust that on our parts, favored as we have been by a variety of circumstances, and by the course of events, this victory may give us not only the power but the will to exercise the authority of this nation for noble purposes, for the progress of civilization, for the defense of freedom rightly understood, and for the strengthening of those ties of faith and con- cord which unite us in peace to every nation, but one, throughout the earth. Allied to France by the same efforts and the same triumphs, the incidents of this war have already immeasurably increased the mutual confidence and respect of two nations which have just shown that they are the most powerful states in the world. London Times. It is to watch over the destinies of the two hemispheres said the Earl of Clarendon, referring to the alliance, of which he was one of the godfathersand now, since the fate of one hemisphere has been decided, we must calmly and coolly await our fate. For who can turn the stream of destiny ? 1855.] Ifumam Nature in Chunks. 209 HUMAN NATURE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 10.ADVERTISING FOR A WIFEContinued. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.5.Q., ETC. Where seest horns or hoof or tall ?GoErnE. I COULD not sleep. My fancy wandered through the regions of romance. I saw in every silvery moonbeam the winged semblance of Matilda. He who, for the first time, dreams of love, beholds a paradise of senseless, beautya. cottage beside a lakelet. At first I determined to peruse no more of my epistles; but curiosity is not easily overcome by the assaults of love. Curiosity is the schoolmistress of the world. I at length broke the seal of another, beautifully stamped with a heart, when, lo! the following poetic appeal greeted mine eye. I inferred she must have been a warm admirer of the renowned poet whose modesty never ascended above the letter II, at least the rhythm seems to breathe of the chemisette : 1855. 0 ~Alpha, let the fairest yet That eer loved mortal kindly, dearly, But once to know thoult not forego The hopes that flow to you sincerely! So fufl, replete with loves most sweet And tender passions is my bosom I sighI longnor is it wrong (At least in song) thus to disclose cm. Your Own Lucy. A poetess for a wife! Who knows, thought I, but she may be famous in the literary worldthe centre of literary attrac- tion. I read and re-read the production; II tried in vain to sing it to some familiar air. Suddenly my mind took another

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 10 - Advertising for a Wife - Continued 209-216

1855.] Ifumam Nature in Chunks. 209 HUMAN NATURE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 10.ADVERTISING FOR A WIFEContinued. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.5.Q., ETC. Where seest horns or hoof or tall ?GoErnE. I COULD not sleep. My fancy wandered through the regions of romance. I saw in every silvery moonbeam the winged semblance of Matilda. He who, for the first time, dreams of love, beholds a paradise of senseless, beautya. cottage beside a lakelet. At first I determined to peruse no more of my epistles; but curiosity is not easily overcome by the assaults of love. Curiosity is the schoolmistress of the world. I at length broke the seal of another, beautifully stamped with a heart, when, lo! the following poetic appeal greeted mine eye. I inferred she must have been a warm admirer of the renowned poet whose modesty never ascended above the letter II, at least the rhythm seems to breathe of the chemisette : 1855. 0 ~Alpha, let the fairest yet That eer loved mortal kindly, dearly, But once to know thoult not forego The hopes that flow to you sincerely! So fufl, replete with loves most sweet And tender passions is my bosom I sighI longnor is it wrong (At least in song) thus to disclose cm. Your Own Lucy. A poetess for a wife! Who knows, thought I, but she may be famous in the literary worldthe centre of literary attrac- tion. I read and re-read the production; II tried in vain to sing it to some familiar air. Suddenly my mind took another 210 Human Hature in Chunle8. [March, tour of conjecture: she could easily compose nursery rhymes fond lullabiesaffectionate sonnets. Lucy must be the one, thought I. Butbut theres Matilda, the girl with grit and change, domestically educated and domestically suited to me. I ha~ heard somewhere that poets were always on the verge of starvation. But Lucyno poetry in the namea simple, plain, and unmistakable evidence that she is female. I can not live on couplets, thought I; nor entertain my friends generally with iambics and hexameters. She loves meshe honors meah! she may prove a traitor in the citadel of hearts. Letters may abound with affectionate strains, and may not in the least shadow forth the heart. Well, what can I do to render a poetical bride happy and content? No poetry in me, no harmonious breathings, no inspiration, but a cool practical manone that looks only at facts, one that studies with a scowl on his brow, as if each new idea was painful. But a poetess may serve to awaken the beautiful in my heartlead me away to the ideal world. It may make me populara poetic wife, a poetic dear. I can easily, with such a wife, move in the first circles, receive calls from my wifes literary friends and admirers, and in the papers read the poetical effusions of Mrs. Doe. But, then another consideration aroseshould I return hastily from my labors and desire conjugal attention, do you suppose my domestic poet, busily engaged in some exalted conceptions of the beautiful, would lay aside her Pegasus to sew a button, mend a rent, darn a stocking? I am doubtful I think not. I am fearful she would scold in dactyls look anap~ests. I fear she might sing on a high key, Old teasing, scolding Mr. Doe, I know nothing, sir, I know Go sir, go sir, go sir, go. It would be awful in the extreme for me to be compelled to wage a domestic war against my poet-wife. I began seriously to reflect on my bold advertisement. However, once enlisted, fight or die. Live or die, sink or swim, Ill marry. I at last determined to call, in regular order, on each one, as I had their respective addresses. Accordingly, one pleasant July morning I took the cars for , where bloomed and lived the captivating Sophia. Upon inquiry, I soon found her residence, called at the door, rapped for a full half-hour, was finally ushered into the kitchen by a very delicately-con. structed old maid-~--inquired for Sophia, was told that was 1855.] ]iisman J[ature in Chunks. 211 her nameinformed her that I was the identical individual who had advertised for a life-partner. Glad to see you, sir, said she; guess I can make you happyany way, Ill trydelays are dangerous, they say. I looked at her with an eye single to mine own glory. Silence, I thought, would be unbecoming on such an occasion. Will you tell me your age ? Yes, sir, replied Sophia; I was twenty-five the first day of last April. 1 look old now; for Ive been sick for some time with well, the doctors call it, general debility. I am so glad to see you, sir; I feel better already. A kingdom for a clearance, thought I. Finally, I informed her, that I was down to on business, and thought I would just call in, as I had under- stood that she was indisposed. Told her I wished to be ex- cused just now, and at the first convenience would tall again. Accordingly, I departed, trusting that the Lord would never grant that first convenience. As I bade her adieu, it struck me that she was born on a very suitable day in the year. Not exactly disheartened, nor cast down, I determined to visit Katy The idea of dark eyes and raven hair was poetical to me. I soon reached her residencewas ushered into the sitting-roominquired for Katy. Soon a tall, overgrown specimen of womanhood enteredtold her my name was Alpha, and had come to reciprocate her polite missive of the 31st of May. Glad to see you, sir, said Katy; saw the advertisement, and concluded there could be no particular harm in addressing you. Katys voice was slightly cracked, or rather resembled an untuned violin. Judging from her sunken cheeks, I inferred she had seen the vicinity of thirty-five, the very anxmus period in female progression. Her dress was old-maidish, and her ringlets were the result of the barbers skill and ingenuity. Her eyes were a beautiful light blue, soft and melancholy, resembling in brilliancy an untrimmed lamp. Katy presented her qualifications as exquisitely as circum- stances would allow. She said that domestic duties were hers by instinct, and that love was ever present in her bosom. She said she possessed an ear for music, but unfortunately was de- nied the inestimable blessing of a musical education. As for the needle, she had acquired wonderful skillcould embroider a heart, or rejuvenate ancient hose. In the mean time, I felt an anxiety to conclude the meeting, and hasten home to the shades of Bachelordom. I told Katy dear, that necessity (the grandmother of excuse) compelled me to take leave. She sighed, Oh, dear! sorrydo come again. I took my hat, while she manifestv~d a desire to kiss an adieu. I reluctantly 212 Human JV~tture in chunks. [March, afforded an opportunity, which. she readily embraced. Such a kiss never leapt the shrine of lips before. lit was peculiarly soothingthe catnip-tea of the heart. I left, remembering Lots wife. I then set forth at railroad speed to visit Jennie, the devotedly yours. Ere sunset I reached her home, called at the door, inquired for Jennie, was told by Margaret or Biddy that Mi-s. Jennie was sick with the measles, and that no company was received. I had scarce left before I imagined that the foul malady had seized me. I thought II was sick. I eyed my personal appearance in the mirror to see if I could see any symptoms of a breaking out. Measles or no measles, I was bound to call on Matilda, who resided but a short distance from . I hired a fast team, and set forth; reached at sunset; songht and found Matildas residence, and soon was in the presence of your obedient servant. I told her I was Alpha. Yes, sir, said she; couldnt get a wife without advertising, could you? Poor stick, I guess. I told her my reputation was immaculate, and that I had ne- glected in my youth to effect a happy alliance. Her eye was piercing as an eaglesher hair, as red as sunset. Rather guess, said Matilda, (my obedient servant,) you cant come in here; dont like your personal appearance; you are too oldgray-haired. Nowwhy you look as if you were on the verge of fifty. Youd be in your grave in less than a year. I dont want to be a widow at the altar. II answered your silly advertisement out of curiosity. You must be green to think Id leave my home with youbetter chances every day. You neednt call again. If I arose deliberately, it was not inten- tional. I left. If ever I swore inwardly, without violating Christian respect, it was about the period of my de~arture. In this instance, I unequivocally got the mitten. I di nt say good-by, nor did she whisper an adieu. I never sighed Matilda~~ again, nor did I ever hear the word curiosity with- out having my passion aroused. It struck me she could ply the broomstick with more efficiency than she could the piano. Sour grapes. The wager of a bachelor once aroused, knows no restraint. I perfectly detested everything in the shape of black eyes, ringlets, and rosy cheeksfelt that total destruc- tion could alone afford a balm. I was not long in getting my steed to his destination. In my jouimey, I saw nothing but scowls. The very zephyrs seemed to~ whisper, You cant ~ome in ; the very rivulets seemed to chant that melancholy allusion, Poor stick! The stars, wan~e~ing oer the blue meads, attired in their sheeny robes, seemed~ to laugh at my 1855j Human Nature in Chunice. 213 misfortunes. I will not be thus thwarted in my purposes, I declared. I will make one more effort; and then if I fail I will retire to the lone haunts of bachelorism, and there pine away and die. I will see the poetess, the sylph-like Lucy. I inwardly declared, happiness and domestic felicity may yet be mine. I yet may become the companion of beauty, the solace of some loving heart. After a good nights repose I determined, despite the cold- ness of Matildas reception, to enjoy a few felicitous moments with the companion of the muses. After a few hours ride I reached the residence of the poetess. Upon making inquiry for Lucy, I was pointed to a neat cottage at the base of a hill. Thither I rep~tired with becoming alacrity. I pulled long and loud at the bell, and soon was ushered into the par- lor. I inquired of the servant for Miss Lucy; was told that she would be down in a moment. My knees began to tremble; my heart palpitated; my cheeks seemed flushed with feverish excitement. How shall I appear, I thought to my- self; in the presence of a renowned poetess? She may ask me to repeat some favorite song. I know none, without it may be some effusion of Watts, or that little simple, metrical oration, Youd scarce expect one of my age. I heard footsteps; shes coming, I thought; I brushed my hair, looked at my boots, twitched my vest, straightened out my galvanized chain, put on a smile, and ate a clove or two. She entered; I arose, and bowed very politely. She returned the compliment. I told her that my name was Doe, Richard Doe, of , and that I was the identical Alpha that advertised for a wife. Oh! Mr. Doe, said she, without the sign of a blush on her cheek, you afford me the most exquisite felicity in meeting you. I read your advertisement with much pleasure. I felt that yoa were a gentleman, one that moved in the highest circles. I told her I did. With a sharp glance of her keen, piercing eye, Sir, continued she, with whom of the literati are you personally acquainted ? I pondered a moment in un- speakable agony. Well, I answered, Dr. Watts, andand and Oh! dear, said Lucy; Dr. Watts. Well, you are, indeed, a favored one. You need not name another. Are you fond of poetry ? Very much so, I replied. You may write poetry~ perhaps? continued she. Y-e-sII do, sometimes. Have you any of your productions with you ? queried she. At this point I began to think that it was about time for me to beat a retreat; but I must answer. I think I have, I replied. Afford me the pleasure of hearing it read, 214 Human Nature in Chunks. [March, if you please, said she. Now, by-the-by, I had a little pro. duction of my own, that I had spent days in effecting. So I opened my pocket-book, and pulled it out. I read it to her. It was this: I walked out one pleasant night, The moon was very high; And every star shone very bright, And I was very dry. Very pretty, indeed, said Lucy. You will undoubtedly make a poetbut allow me, dear sir, to inquire, when you were very dry, did you drink? I thought that was rather insulting at first, but I had read somewhere that geniuses were very eccentric. I answered plainly that I did. I thought she would think it strange if Ii did not ask her to read some of her own compositions; so I put on a smile, and made the request. Oh! certainly I will, she replied; and out she went in hot haste, but soon returned with an armful of her productions. She glanced hastily over her pile, an~1 produced one. Said she, I dont know how you will like this; it is not as good as some of my effortswas written more hastilywith less care. Itoldhertomakenoexcuses; that I had no doubt they were all first-ratetip-topnot to be beat. Well, said she, your judgment, I fear, will embar- rass me. Now, dont criticize; dont laugh. I promised sacredly not to say a wordnot to smilenor even to breathe a word in relation to it. Lucy beganshe did not read, but sang. Alas! for meunfortunate mortal. Heigh ho! my verdant beau, The fair can only win; Before you go, Youll surely know, You cantyou cant come in. Heigh ho! ileigh ho! good Richard Doe, You cant smile, but to grin, And you will find well to your mind, You cantyou cant come in. Heigh ho! Heigh ho! my foolish beau, Too old are you to win; Youve been too gray This many a day You cant-you cant come in. Heigh ho! 18~5.] Human Nature in Chunks. 215 Heigh ho! poor Dickey Doe As ugly you as sin Youll never sip My ruby lip You cantyou cant come in. Heigh ho! Immediately I demanded an apology. Oh! Mr. Doe, you did not take, did you ? said she, with a peculiarly knowing smile. I did, I replied. Well, sir, I am gratified if you can comprehend a hint. You know more than I thought you did. Did you, sir, suppose that I could love such a toothless, sunken-cheeked specimen of humanity? Youyou, the acquaintance of Dr. Watts! If I married you, it would be simply for tbe purpose of having a subject for comedy con- stantly at hand. You have but one idea about you, and that is in a fainting condition, and will soon die for the want of associations. You would have no need of me; you write ~p-o.e.try yourself. Poet Doe, ahem! You had better write your name, after this, Dough I Well, if ever a fellow felt the immediate necessity of finding his hat, that individual was myself. I found itI left. For a full half.hour I swore savagely, fiercely, wildly, terribly, but inwardly. I declared positively that Ii never would read a line of poetry again, and that I never would speak to a woman again, but would ever use my influence against them. That confounded Heigh-ho ! rang in my ears. You cant come in, I heard in every breeze. I took the first train for home; talked very imperti- nently to the conductor for not getting along with more speed. I reached the New-Haven Hotel, worn down, and worn out. Mine host, who ever caters for the heart as well as for the palate, provided me with most excellent quarters~ and seem- ingly understanding my position, whispered in my ear: Love, though invisible, is invincible. I have not since looked at a woman; never read advertisements, and, to this day, have lived in quiet seclusion. I shall will my property to Sophia. 216 A Pertinent Que8tion. [March, A PERTINENT QUESTION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. WHO is VIcTORI~?Victoria is the daughter of the Duke of Kent, who was the son of George the Third; who was the grandson of George the Second; who was the son of the Princess Sophia; who was the cousin of Anne; who was the sister of William and Mary; who were daughter and son-in-law of James the Second; who was the son of James the First; who was the son of Mary; who was the grand- daughter of Margaret; who was the sister of Henry the Eighth; who was the son of Henry the Seventh; who was the son of the Earl of Richmond; who was the son of Catharine~ widow of Henry the Fifth; who was the son of Henry the Fourth; who was cousin of Richard the Second; who was the grandson of Edward the Third; who was the son of Edward the Second; who was the son of Henry the Third; who was the son ofJohn; who was the son of Henry the Second; who was the son of Matilda; who was the daughter of Henry the First; who was the brother of William Rufus; who was the son of William the Conqueror; who was the bastard son of the Duka of Normandy, by a tanners daughter, of Falaise. IF the above be correct, and there is no reasonable ground to dispute the pedigree of her majesty, we see no great reason why she or her subjects should rejoice in the immaculate blood royal. The tanners daughter may have been quite as amiable a wdman as her glorious and high-blooded descendant, the present Queen of England; but how would she and many more of her nobility turn up their aristocratic noses at the smell of a tan- nery, and get up a holy horror at her want of chastity! And yet, if we look back over the history of the so-called nobility of England, we shall find more wantonness among the women, and more libertinism among the men, than among the same number of any class of people in any other civilized country under the sun. These pages shall not, however, be defiled by the chronicles of any of the private histories of the dukes or duchesses, lords, counts, ladies, or maids of honor. Seeing the

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel A Pertinent Question 216-219

216 A Pertinent Que8tion. [March, A PERTINENT QUESTION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. WHO is VIcTORI~?Victoria is the daughter of the Duke of Kent, who was the son of George the Third; who was the grandson of George the Second; who was the son of the Princess Sophia; who was the cousin of Anne; who was the sister of William and Mary; who were daughter and son-in-law of James the Second; who was the son of James the First; who was the son of Mary; who was the grand- daughter of Margaret; who was the sister of Henry the Eighth; who was the son of Henry the Seventh; who was the son of the Earl of Richmond; who was the son of Catharine~ widow of Henry the Fifth; who was the son of Henry the Fourth; who was cousin of Richard the Second; who was the grandson of Edward the Third; who was the son of Edward the Second; who was the son of Henry the Third; who was the son ofJohn; who was the son of Henry the Second; who was the son of Matilda; who was the daughter of Henry the First; who was the brother of William Rufus; who was the son of William the Conqueror; who was the bastard son of the Duka of Normandy, by a tanners daughter, of Falaise. IF the above be correct, and there is no reasonable ground to dispute the pedigree of her majesty, we see no great reason why she or her subjects should rejoice in the immaculate blood royal. The tanners daughter may have been quite as amiable a wdman as her glorious and high-blooded descendant, the present Queen of England; but how would she and many more of her nobility turn up their aristocratic noses at the smell of a tan- nery, and get up a holy horror at her want of chastity! And yet, if we look back over the history of the so-called nobility of England, we shall find more wantonness among the women, and more libertinism among the men, than among the same number of any class of people in any other civilized country under the sun. These pages shall not, however, be defiled by the chronicles of any of the private histories of the dukes or duchesses, lords, counts, ladies, or maids of honor. Seeing the 1855.] A Pertinent Que8tion. 217 source from which the main stream has sprung, we may well leave the tributaries to their natural impurities, and turn to other points. William the Conqueror was a Norman, and his wife Matilda, of Flanders; so that England has constantly been governed by foreign blood. James IV. of Scotland married Margaret, the eldest daughter of Henry VII., and thus, in the person of James VI. of Scotland and I. of England, a Stuart displaced the Plan- tagenets. A little Saxon blood is mixed with them, but even the Saxons are foreigners in England. In a republican country, like ours, where worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow, it matters not at all whether our President is the son of a tanner or a judge; but where blood is considered a sine quc~ non, it seems a little out of the way to start it as the Duke of Normandy started the royal blood of England. It is somewhat strange, too, that people who boast so much of pure nationality as our good cousin Bull, should yet live so long under what is in all respects a foreign government. Bro- ther Jonathan at a very early period showed a most decided disinclination to such a state of things; and we have ever since been governed by native Americans, our good friends the Know Nothings, to the contrary notwithstanding. Queen Victoria must look out and see that none of them cross the Atlanticthey are down on ~~foreigners7~* Where titles and position are made the cloak and screen for actions which would otherwise be a lasting disgrace, and which are overlooked, disregarded, or imitated, on account of such titles and position, then can we look to our own high standard of morals in our public men and distinguished women with national pride, and to the public opinion on such subjects with the highest confidence and respect. Would the Duchess of Cleaveland, or hundreds of others of noble blood, have been tolerated in the United States? Upon all these questions public opinion here is sound and, healthy; nor is it easily cor- rupted. Men willing to cater to the basest passions of human nature flooded the land with books, pamphlets, agents and pictures, designed to mislead the young and infect the oldto cast loose the morals of the nation upon the tempest-tossed sea I~3 * We fear our contributor has not done justice to our good friends, the Know NOthings. It appears to us their antipathy to foreigners extends no further than to the Irishthe Catholic Irish. Besides, can Cousin Bull desire a more efficient and determined ally than the new faction? Have they not fought desperately, and with success, under the banner of philanthropyBritish philanthropy?En. 218 it Pertsne,d Qw8t,on. [March, of passionto teach doctrines subversive of all morality and all decency, degrading man to the brutes, aud inculcating views at variance with all religion, natural and revealed; but although for a short time the seed seemed to take root and show signs of a flourishing growth, yet the reii~ction has already com- menced, and hundreds who were inveigled into subscriptions and purchases are turning with loathing from the pollution, and returning from the new lights and higher laws to the pure morality and orthodoxy of childhood. In many things the democratic party has become the conser- vative party of the Union. The higher law, and abolition, has become the anti-marriage, amalgamation party, tending to the subversion of every wholesome doctrine in politics and re- ligion. Tn their insane desire to outstrip the Democracy, they have become womens-rights men, foolishly supposing that anarchy means liberty, and incapable of striking the line be- tween freedom and despotism on the one hand and lawless con- fusion on the other. We shall resume this subject in another paper, and in the mean time close this digression. Who, however, is Queen Victoria, or who are any of the crowned heads and potentates of the old world, that they by a divine right should govern the nations and peoples who ac- knowledge their sway? Is she, or any of them, heaven de- scended? Of how much purer clay are they composed, than the millions whom, without the shadow ~f a right, they now gov- ern? Could any of them at an election by the people secure a majority of their suifrages? We trow not; and if not, whence their right to rule? If merit has raised the daughter of a French tanner to the throne of England, as it did the son of a Corsican lawyer to the throne of France, then all is right, and republicanother- wise, not. Nevertheless, if they are willing to live under such an ar- rangement, we do not object. We desire only to point out to them the great truth that men, are capable of self-government, and that they have the right to choose their own rulers; that they shall analyze the blood royal, and see by how much its purity exceeds that of the m~illions who obey its behests. Let them be just to themselves, there is then no fear of injustice to others. 18~3.1 Zenobi~e. 21~3 Z E NOBIA. T w~s holiday in Rome. Her seven-fold hills Were trembling with the tread of multitudes, Who throtiged her streets. Hushed was the busy hum Of laborsilent in the shops reposed The instruments of toil. * * * .~. * * * * * * ~c Alas! around that days magnificence Has spread a web of shame. The victors sword Was stained with cowardicehis dazzling fame, Tarnished by insult to a fall& n woman. Returning from his conquests in the East, Aurelian led in his triumphant train Palmyras beauteous queen, Zenobia, Whose chiefest crime had been the love she bore To her own country, and her household gods. * * * * * * * * * * * Rome had passed her noonher tyranny Was overgrownan earthquake was at work Akher foundations, and new dynasties, Striking their roots in ripening revolutions, Were soon to sway the destinies of realms. The East was in revolt. * * * Amid the fierce contention, mid the din Of wars sublime encounter, and the crash Of falling systems old, Palmyras queen Followed her valiant spouse, Palmyras king. Ever beside him in the hour of peril, She warded from his breast the battles rage, And in the councils of the Cabinet, her prudent wisdom was her husbands shield.

Zenobia 219-222

18~3.1 Zenobi~e. 21~3 Z E NOBIA. T w~s holiday in Rome. Her seven-fold hills Were trembling with the tread of multitudes, Who throtiged her streets. Hushed was the busy hum Of laborsilent in the shops reposed The instruments of toil. * * * .~. * * * * * * ~c Alas! around that days magnificence Has spread a web of shame. The victors sword Was stained with cowardicehis dazzling fame, Tarnished by insult to a fall& n woman. Returning from his conquests in the East, Aurelian led in his triumphant train Palmyras beauteous queen, Zenobia, Whose chiefest crime had been the love she bore To her own country, and her household gods. * * * * * * * * * * * Rome had passed her noonher tyranny Was overgrownan earthquake was at work Akher foundations, and new dynasties, Striking their roots in ripening revolutions, Were soon to sway the destinies of realms. The East was in revolt. * * * Amid the fierce contention, mid the din Of wars sublime encounter, and the crash Of falling systems old, Palmyras queen Followed her valiant spouse, Palmyras king. Ever beside him in the hour of peril, She warded from his breast the battles rage, And in the councils of the Cabinet, her prudent wisdom was her husbands shield. 220 Zenobict. [March, Domestic treason, with insidious stab, Snatched from Zenobias side her warlike lord, And threw upon her all the anxious cares Of an unstable and capricious throne; Yet was her genius not inadequate. * * * * * * * Under her rule Palmyras fortunes rose To an unequalled altitude, and wealth Flowed in upon her like a boundless sea. Her wide dominions, stretching from the Nile To far Euxine and swift Euphrates flood; Her active commerce, whose expanded range Monopolized the trade of all the East Her stately Capitol, whose towers and domes Vied with proud Rome in architectural grace Her own aspiring aims and high renown All, breathed around the Asiatic queen An atmosphere of greatness, and betrayed Her bold ambition, and her rivalry With the imperial mistress of the world. But tis the gaudiest flower is soonest plucked. * * * * * * * * * Twas holiday in Rome. The morning sun, Emerging from the palace-crested hills Of the Campagna, poured a flood of light Upon the slumbering city, summoning Its teeming thousands to the festival. A playful breeze, rich-laden with perfume From groves of orange, gently stirred the leaves, And curled the ripples on the Tibers breast, And oer the flowery plain it sea-ward bore The rising P~eans joyful melodies. Flung to the breeze, high from the swelling dome That crowned the Capitol, the imperial banner, Broidered with gold and glittering with gems, Unfurled its azure field; and as it caught The sunbeams, and flashed down upon the throng That filled the Forum, there arose a shout, Deep as the murmur of the cataract. * * * * * * * * * Zenobias thoughts were not at Rome. The billows of the mad excitement dashed 221 1865.] Zeno6ia. Unheeded, and broke harmless at her feet. Dim reminiscences of former days Burst like a dreamy deluge on her mind, Leading her backward to the buried past, When in the artless buoyancy of youth, She sat beneath Palmyras fragrant shades, And wondering, gleaned the long historic page, Red with Romes bloody catalogue of crime. Little she dreamed Palmyras palaces Would eer be scene of Roman violence. Little she dreamed that hers would be the lot, A captive queenand led in chains, to grace The splendors of a Roman holiday. Alas! the blow she thought not of had fallen! But in the wreck of her magnificence, With eye prophetic, she beheld the doom Of the proud Capitol of all the world. She saw the quickening symptoms of revolt Among the nations, and she caught their cry For freedom and for vengeance. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Hark! theGoth Is thundering at the gate. His reckless sword Leaps from the scabbard, eager to avenge The cause of the oppressed. A thousand years, The sun has witnessed, in his daily course, The tyranny of Rome, now crushed for ever! The mighty mass of her usurped empire, By its own magnitude at last dissevered, Is crumbling into fragments, while the shades Of long-forgotten generations shriek, With fiendish glee, over the yawning gulf Of her perdition. 99) Sir De Lacy Evans. [IMiarcli. SIR LIE LACY EVANS, K.O.B.; C.U.R Tnrs gasconading English generalwho committed the foul outrage of burning our Capitol in the war of 1814, is, we perceive, attempting to conceal his recent cowardice and skulking in the Crimea by the usual practice adopted among English officials in like circumstancesnamely, causing venal scribblers to puff him in the newspapers, and getting up a testimonial to himself at home. As he has been successful in the former respect, not only in the London Iiime8, but in some of the smaller fry journals here, we deem it well to present the American public with a few details of his history. We remember a few years ago a work was projected in Paris, with the re- markably piquant title of Generals, Noted for their Defeats ; and it was designed that the C. U. R., whose name stands at the head of this article, should figure in the first number, inasmuch as he had but a short time previously returned from his ludicrously abortive campaign in Spain, after a miserable career of boasting, falsehood, flogging, and failure, wholly unpre- cedented. We know not what was the result of this desirable work; but we know enough of Evans to make our readers in some degree familiar with the man. Ireland, we regret to say, has to blush for the circumstance of this fellows birth; but she may console herself for the disgrace by the reflection, that, ever since he entered the British service, he has systematically defamed her. Like a few other of her unworthy sons, he is ashamed of the land of his nativity, and has never omitted any opportunity of libelling her. He was born in Limerick some sixty-five years ago; and, when about eighteen or twenty years of age, he entered the British service, where he attempted raising himself into note by pursuing the avocation of a draughtsman. Being without aristocratic influence or fortune, however, he was not permitted to creep on in this humble fashion; and his personal courage having once or twice been called in question, he was at last goaded into the seemingly despe- rate, but often remarkably safe, course ofjoining a forlorn hope. Having suc- ceeded in driving his men before him, he thus obtained a captains commis- sion; and the speculation was so profitable, and at the same time so secure, that we believe he actually volunteered on a second occasion, these being the

Sir De Lacy Evans, "K. C. B.; C. U. R." 222-225

99) Sir De Lacy Evans. [IMiarcli. SIR LIE LACY EVANS, K.O.B.; C.U.R Tnrs gasconading English generalwho committed the foul outrage of burning our Capitol in the war of 1814, is, we perceive, attempting to conceal his recent cowardice and skulking in the Crimea by the usual practice adopted among English officials in like circumstancesnamely, causing venal scribblers to puff him in the newspapers, and getting up a testimonial to himself at home. As he has been successful in the former respect, not only in the London Iiime8, but in some of the smaller fry journals here, we deem it well to present the American public with a few details of his history. We remember a few years ago a work was projected in Paris, with the re- markably piquant title of Generals, Noted for their Defeats ; and it was designed that the C. U. R., whose name stands at the head of this article, should figure in the first number, inasmuch as he had but a short time previously returned from his ludicrously abortive campaign in Spain, after a miserable career of boasting, falsehood, flogging, and failure, wholly unpre- cedented. We know not what was the result of this desirable work; but we know enough of Evans to make our readers in some degree familiar with the man. Ireland, we regret to say, has to blush for the circumstance of this fellows birth; but she may console herself for the disgrace by the reflection, that, ever since he entered the British service, he has systematically defamed her. Like a few other of her unworthy sons, he is ashamed of the land of his nativity, and has never omitted any opportunity of libelling her. He was born in Limerick some sixty-five years ago; and, when about eighteen or twenty years of age, he entered the British service, where he attempted raising himself into note by pursuing the avocation of a draughtsman. Being without aristocratic influence or fortune, however, he was not permitted to creep on in this humble fashion; and his personal courage having once or twice been called in question, he was at last goaded into the seemingly despe- rate, but often remarkably safe, course ofjoining a forlorn hope. Having suc- ceeded in driving his men before him, he thus obtained a captains commis- sion; and the speculation was so profitable, and at the same time so secure, that we believe he actually volunteered on a second occasion, these being the 1865.] Sir De Lacy Evans. 223 only periods of his life in which he ever exposed himself to real danger, though he has never ceased to gasconade about them ever since. With the peace of 1815, Lieutenant-Colonel Evans, of course, was shelved; and, for fully fifteen years, nothing was heard of him, except as a small pot- house orator in Westminster, where he attempted to raise himself into noto- riety by the assumption of democratic politics. That city being then, and since, governed by a small knot of corrupt radicals, Evans was selected to contest its representation with Sir John Hobhouse, when that worthy, or the late Sir Francis Burdett, refused any longer to stump (or post) the money for their benefit. He succeeded, chiefly by professing his abhorrence of the custom of flogging in the army; and his constituents must have been lost to every feeling of shame when they allowed the fellow himself to retain his seat after he had a few years subsequently carried the atrocious practice to an extent never before heard og in the course of his wretched campaign in Spain. During the whole of the period he was in command of the unfortu- nate British Brigade there, the lash never ceased. From morning till night the meh positively groaned under its infliction. It need scarcely be added that the expedition thus signalized was a failure. It was, in fact, the most miserable failure on recordnot even excepting that of the English in the cotton-bags of New-Orleansan exploit in which Evans also took part, and distinguished himself by his alacrity in running away. During the campaign in Spain his cowardice was equally conspicu- ous. He never once exposed himself to danger, except in one action into which he was unexpectedly forced by Zumalacarreguy; and when Cabrera shortly afterward attempted to engage him in another, the courage so oozed out at the extremities of our heros fingers as to communicate a remarkable speed to his limbs. In other words, the knave actually ran away, and deserted his army in battle. We need not remind our readers of the result of this affair. Any of them who may have chanced to visit London for several years subsequently must have been shocked by the miserable spectacle which the unhappy wretches concerned in it presented, as they dragged themselves, maimed, wounded, destitute, and in tatters, through the streets of that metropolis, the cur who had thus abandoned them meanwhile revelling in wealththe fruits of a matrimonial speculation in a wealthy widowand decorated by Palmerston, his secret employer, with the empty title of Knight Compan- ion of the Bath, to conceal his defeat. Saving election at Westminster, nothing was heard of Evans for fully fifteen years more. During the whole of his parliamentary career, though professing to be a democrat, he has in reality been merely an unscrupulous tool of the English Whigsoccasionally professing or offering some sham opposition on trifling occasions, but invariably supporting them in every tyrannical measure (especially against Ireland) in their hour of need. The Irish patriots met with no more virulent traducer after their unhappy out- break of 1848, and the continental republicans were equally insulted by him 224 Sir De Lacy Evans. [March, on the occasion of the infamous coup of the 2d of December, by Louis Na- poleon. It is well known that he even went over to Paris for the purpose of complimenting that perjured ruffian on his successful usurpation. It was this, probably, in addition to his lick-spittle service, which induced the Whigs to intrust him with his late appointment in the Crimea; an d here, it is a matter of notoriety, that he signally disgraced the arms of England. On every important occasion the coward skulked in his tent when there was the slightest probability of battle; the only time in which he was ever in- duced to present himself being after his second in command had triumph- antly repulsed an attack of the Russians at Inkermann. Evans then pomp- ously appeared on the ground when the danger had passed and the day was won; but shame and the indignation of the troops prevented him from assuming the command, as he designed, for the purpose of monopolizing the honor. Such is the man who signalized the commencement of his career by the atrocious attack upon our Capitolan act unprecedented even in the annals of savage warfareand who has appropriately concluded it by getting up a testimonial or sword of honor (!) for himself in the petty English dung- hill of Folkstone, where he vegetates during the summer, and has conse- quently acquired influence enough over the bakers, butchers, and small tradesmen of the place to induce them to subscribe for its purchase. As in the instance of Sir Henry Smith at the battle of Aliwal, it is no secret to the initiated that the thanks of the venal Parliament of England have been voted to him solely to enable him to conceal his defeat. It is our province, however, as a distant nation, to judge of men and of matters with more im- partiality. As such, we can speak with the stern voice of posterity, though we ought to beg posteritys pardon for in any degree coupling it up with this Sir De Lacy Evanss name at all; for if it notice or remember him in the slightest degree, it wrn only be in some such terms as we have appended to his name. 1855.] Nicholas of Russia. 225 A FEW FACTS IN REGARD TO NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA. THE death of Alexander, though it produced no change in the foreign policy of the Russian Empire, was the commence- ment of a series of domestic incidents full of the deepest interest. After closing the diet of Warsaw, in June, 1825, the Emperor commenced a tour through his extensive dominions. Tn No- vember, being on a visit to the Crimea, he was taken sick at Taganrog, a town situated on the Sea of Azof. Symptoms of Alexanders declining state of health had been apparent for some time; and a few days after he was taken ill at Taganrog, his situation began to grow critical, and he expired on the 1st of December. His physicians ascribed his decease to a bilious fever; but he himself considered his malady an erysipelas driven in upon his stomach. The unexpected death of Alexander, in the vigor of man- hoodfor he was only forty-eight years of agecreated much uneasiness throughout Europe. Not that the Emperors intel- lect was such as to command admiration abroad; nor his policy of a nature to acquire for him the unqualified respect of the wise. Alexander was temperate iind prudent, but not a great monarch. His influence in foreign affairs depended on his mighty military power, and the weight of his vast empire in the scale of nations. His principles of~administration had not always been uniform, nor consistent. At one time he was the friend of peace, abounding with expressions of good-will, although maintaining the greatest standing army in the world. At another, he was disposed to favor liberal ideas and to extend the blessings of education to his subjects. But subsequently, the development of his policy, as head of the holy alliance~ tended to destroy that esteem for his character which his early

A Few Facts. In Regard to Nicholas of Russia 225-234

1855.] Nicholas of Russia. 225 A FEW FACTS IN REGARD TO NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA. THE death of Alexander, though it produced no change in the foreign policy of the Russian Empire, was the commence- ment of a series of domestic incidents full of the deepest interest. After closing the diet of Warsaw, in June, 1825, the Emperor commenced a tour through his extensive dominions. Tn No- vember, being on a visit to the Crimea, he was taken sick at Taganrog, a town situated on the Sea of Azof. Symptoms of Alexanders declining state of health had been apparent for some time; and a few days after he was taken ill at Taganrog, his situation began to grow critical, and he expired on the 1st of December. His physicians ascribed his decease to a bilious fever; but he himself considered his malady an erysipelas driven in upon his stomach. The unexpected death of Alexander, in the vigor of man- hoodfor he was only forty-eight years of agecreated much uneasiness throughout Europe. Not that the Emperors intel- lect was such as to command admiration abroad; nor his policy of a nature to acquire for him the unqualified respect of the wise. Alexander was temperate iind prudent, but not a great monarch. His influence in foreign affairs depended on his mighty military power, and the weight of his vast empire in the scale of nations. His principles of~administration had not always been uniform, nor consistent. At one time he was the friend of peace, abounding with expressions of good-will, although maintaining the greatest standing army in the world. At another, he was disposed to favor liberal ideas and to extend the blessings of education to his subjects. But subsequently, the development of his policy, as head of the holy alliance~ tended to destroy that esteem for his character which his early 226 Nwlwlas of Rus8ia. [IMiarch, misfortunes, when attacked by Napoleon, had inspired, and which his subsequent successes confirmed. Still, when he died, anxiety was felt for the consequences. Would not his death be followed by some act on the part of his successor to disturb the present course of events? was the universal question in Europe and America. But these speculations were abruptly termi- nated by the singular events which transpired in the capital, on the news of his decease being received there. Alexander left no children: of course, in the order of succes- sion, as prescribed by the testament of Paul, which was regard- ed as a fundamental law, the imperial crown would descend to his elder brother, the Grand Duke Constantine, who was in Warsaw at this period. Intelligence of Alexanders death was sent from Taganrog to St. Petersburg by express, and imme- diately communicated to the Grand Duke Nicholas, Alexanders second brother. It was generally believed that Constantine had, at the instance of Alexander, renounced his right of succession in favor of Nicholas. Nevertheless, Nicholas fmmediately as- sembled the palace guards, and after taking himself the oath of allegiance to Constantine, caused it to be administered to the guards and the prominent officers of the army. These acts were done with the advice and the approbation of the empress mother. Scarcely had Nicholas discharged this duty, when he was apprised by the Senate, that the late Emperor had deposited in their hands, in Qetober, 1823, a, letter under his seal, with a direction upon it, in his own handwriting, to open the packet immediately on his decease, and before proceeding on any other business. This packet contained a letter of Constantines, dated January 14th, 1822, addressed to Alexander, by virtue of which, he renounced the succession of the throne, belonging 4 to him by right of primogeniture; and a manifesto bearing the signature of Alexander, dated August the 16th, 1823, ratifying Constantines renunciation, and declaring Nicholas to be his successor to the empire. Documents of the same tenor had been deposited also with the directing senate and the holy synod, and in the cathedral Church of the Ascension at Moscow. Nevertheless, Nicholas refused to abide by an abdication which, when it took place, was not proclaimed openly, and had not received the force of law, as irrevocable. Accordingly, the Senate took and subscribed the oath of allegiance to Constan- tine, caused him to be proclaimed by ukase; and despatched orders to every department of the empire, to have the oath ad- ministered to all the male subjects of Constantine. 1855.] Nwlwlas of Russia. 22~ Surely this reluctance to invade what he considered a moral rightthis self-denial which could exercise itself even at the cost of the widest empir9 in the world, argues well for the cha- racter of Nicholas. Such facts are in themselves a sufficient re- futation to the charges of reckless ambition, and an insa- tiate spirit of self-aggrandizement, now so lavishly bestowed upon their (once) model Emperor by the minions, toadies, fools, fiatterers, and dupes of that empire upon which the sun never sets. Intelligence of Alexanders death reached Warsaw, direct from Taganrog, two days before it was known at St. Petersburg. Constantine immedi& tely, before hearing from the capital, ad- dressed letters to the empress mother, and to Nicholas, in which he persisted in renouncing the throne. Meantime, he continued to reside at Warsaw as a private individual, and when acquaint- ed with the proceedings at the capital, he again wrote to Nicholas, solemnly persisting in his previous declarations, and refusing the proffered allegiance of the iRussians. Nicholas no longer hesitated to assume the imperial dignity. By a manifesto dated December the 24th, he announced the foregoing facts, annexing copies of the writings and correspond- ence of which we have given an abstract. On the 25th he com- municated these documents to the Senate, and was immediately proclaimed Emperor. On the next day, the manifesto was pub- lished, and orders were issued to the guards to re~issemble and take the oath of allegiance to the new Emperor. These remarkable incidents could not but fill Europe with astonishment. The world hesitated to believe that both Nicholas and Constantine were so ready to relinquish their claims to the greatest empire on earth. Curiosity was busy, above all, to discover the motives of Constantines renunciation in 1822. They who suspect duplicity in every act of a court, insist that Nicholas was insincere, and that Constantine was authoritatively compelled to abdicate in favor of his younger brother. On the other hand, if it were so, never did compul- sion wear more completely the air of cheerful willingness. In his letter of abdication, Constantine says: I do not lay claim to the spirit, ~the abilities, or the strength which would be required if I should ever exercise the high dignity to which I may pos- sess a right by birth. He afterwards says: the circitm- stances of my present situation induce me still more to adopt this measure. These expressions furnish much color to the gen- erally received idea that Constantine was prevailed on by Alexander to do this, in consideration of the Emperors con- 228 Nicholas qf Russia. [March, senting to his marriage with a Polish lady of humble circum- stances. But the submissiveness of temper implied in such an act for such a cause, and his disqualifying expressions concern- ing himself above cited, are by no means in unison with the impetuous and warlike character which Constantine had always been supposed t? possess. Notwithstanding the deliberate caution with which Nicholas proceeded previous to ascending the throne, and the reiterated acts of renunciation voluntarily executed by Constantine, so great a change in the order of succession was not effected with- out disturbance and bloodshed. Opposition to the new Emperor was first exhibited by part of the regiment of Moscow, who, when required to take the oath of allegiance to Nicholas, left their barracks in martial array, proclaiming Constantine. They marched to the square of Isaac, where they were joined by one or two other corps, which increased the number of the seditious to about two thou- sand men. General Mioradovitch, the military governor, instantly repaired to the square, and endeavored to reclaim the mutineers; but was shot at and mortally wounded with a pistol. Nicholas also addressed the rebels himselg but in vain. At length, when night approached, the soldiers persisting in their mutiny, it was found necessary to order up the troops, who soon dispersed the rebels, and killed about two hundred of their number. Tranquillity was quickly restored; and all the rest of the troops in the city remained faithful to Nicholas. To justify the measures of severity ado p ted, the new Empe- ror issued a proclamation. He announced that the mutineers were not actuated by any regard for Constantine. His name had been used merely .as a pretext for their disorders. Their object, he affirmed, was long meditated and matured in dark- ness; it being no less than to cast down the throne and the laws, and overturn the empire. A special commission was immediately instituted, consisting of the Grand Duke Michael and several high officers of state and the army, to inquire into the causes and the extent of the alleged conspiracy. Numerous arrests followed, chiefly of military officers. One of the orders led to another disturbance, more deliberate and persevering than the first. Lieutenant Colonel Mouravieff Apostol, one of the accused, attacked and wounded his colonel, who attempted to arrest him, and insti- gated six companies of the regiment to revolt under pretence of fidelity to Constantine. After pillaging the military chest, setting free the nialefactors imprisoned at Yassilkofi and plun 1855.] Nicholas of Russia. 229 dering the town, the insurgents marched towards Bela-Teher- koff. They were overtaken, and all who were not killed in the engagement, laid down their arms and were taken prisoners. Arrests continued to be made, pending the sittings of the commission, until at length their proceedings were concluded and published, when it became publicly known that a num- ber of officers who had served in France and Germany, and imbibed some notions of liberty, but neither sound nor practi- cable ones, on their return to IRussia, had combined with foreign and secret societies for the purpose of disseminating their prin- ciples. The parent society was called the Union of Safety. No harmony existed among the different leaders, whose views were utterly at variance, some proposing a republic, some a constitutional monarchy; and no rational plan of operations had been concerted. The report of the commission on secret societies, was made May 30th, and was directly followed by the appointment of a high court, for the trial of the parties accused. After a labori- ous examination of all the evidence, the court convicted one hundred and twenty persons. They were classed and sen- tenced according to the aggravation of their respective offences; five to be drawn and quartered, and the rest to various pian- ishments, from death down to exile and degradation. By imperial ukase, the proceedings of the court were ap- proved, but all the punishments commuted to less severe ones. Five persons only were executed capitally, and they simply by hanging, which took place July 25th, 1825. And thus, in the termination of the affair, Nicholas had an opportunity to exer- cise his clemency, which he did not fail to improve; thereby effacing the memory of scenes and incidents which threw a gloom over the commencenient of his reign. Scarcely was the tranquillity of his empire restored, when he was called to the defence of his territory, against a Moham- medan Persian invasion. A brief struggle ensued, followed by a treaty of peace, which was concluded on the 22d February, 1828. By this treaty large concessions were made to Russia. Besides large territories, Persia ceded to Russia all the waters flowing into the Caspian Sea, and a pecuniary indemnity of twenty millions of silver roubles ($15,000) for losses and dam- ages sustained by Russian subjects during the war. The generous spirit and~ humane temper of the manifesto of the Emperor Nicholas, proclaiming the treaty of peace, is not the least glorious of the triumphs which crowned the termina- tion of the Persian war. We now pass to scenes of deeper 230 Niciwlas of RUs8ia. [March, interest and more momentous consequences. Immediately after his accession, the Emperor Nicholas had informed the IRussian ministers at all the courts, that he should continue the general course of policy which had been established and pur- sued by his brother. Conferences were soon after opened at Ackerman, for the adjustment of the differences between the Russian government and the Porte; and the Duke of Welling- ton was sent by the British government as a special embassy to St. Petersburg, ostensibly to compliment the Emperor Nicholas upon his accession to the throne, but in substance to press upon the Russian government the importance to the gen- eral peace of Europe, of the pre~ervation of the Russian peace with the Porte, and to come to an understanding of the terms on which the leading Christian powers of Europe should inter- pose in the affairs of Greece. This was settled by the protocol of 4th April, 1826, signed by the Duke of Wellington on the part of Great Britain, and Count Nesselrode for Russia. In the meanderings of the human heart, and in the labyrinth of state policy, may be found the clue to this protocol of the 4th April, 1826, matured into the treaty of 6th July, 1827. It was an anomaly in diplomacya triple alliance against one of the parties to itsa bargain by which, under the ostensible pre- tence of interposing to reestablish peace between the Ottoman Porte and the people of Greece, Great Britain and France in- tended to tie the hands of Russia, and thus prevent her from emancipating Greece from the thraldom of Turkish oppression. To this treaty, the ministers of the Emperor Nicholas sub- scribed, and thereby the sovereign of Russia suffered his hands to be bound, as the hands of Samson were bound by the Phi- listines, because they had discovered the secret of his strength. The motives assigned in the preamble of the treaty of July, 1827, were the protection of commerce, the pressing request of the Greeks to the kings of France and Great Britain for their interposition, and the desire to arrest the effusion of human blood and other evils which might arise from the continuance of the existing state of affairs. But the suppression of occa- sional piracies, and the stoppage of the effusion of blood, would, if they could justify one power in its interposition be- tween the government of another and its revolted subjects, always afford the same motives in every war that might arise. The request of the Greeks was certainly no new thing. They had, for years and years before, urged the same request to deaf or unlistening ears. The real motive was to tie the hands of Nicholas, and to prevent the emancipation of the Greeks. 18~i.~.] Nicholas of Russia. 231 Although this treaty led immediately to its inevitable result, the destruction of the Turkish fleet at Navarino, it is plain that such an event was not intended or expected by the high con- tracting parties; they believed that its result would be to over- awe the Sultan, and extort from him a suspension of hostilities, without requiring that a blow, should be struck on the part of the allies. But how little of real concert there was between them, is sufficiently indicated by the fact, that within a fort- night after the conclusion of the treaty, one of its articles, rn- tended to have been kept strictly secret, as well as the rest, crept into the public newspapers of London. Of course, no one was able to discover which of the high contracting powers betrayed the others by divulging their secrets to the world. The occupation of Adrianople by the Russians was the sig- nal for an offer for a negotiation on the part of the Turks, which shortly afterwards terminated in a treaty of peace. This treaty was dictated by the Emperor Nicholas to an enemy, whose powers of resistance against him were extinguished. For the first time since the Hegira, the standard of the prophet was prostrated in the dust. The city of Constantinople and the empire of the Osmanlis were vanquished. It would have been as easy for Nicholas to have reconsecrated the church of St. Sophia as it had been for Mahomet the Second to convert it into a mosque. The Sultan and his TIaliphat were in the reach of his hand. In the history of the world, there are few examples of the forbearance with which the victor permitted his commanding general to sign the peace of Adrianople. But this was strictly conformable to the declaration with which he had commenced the war He had disclaimed all purposes of aggrandizement. He had promised to meet with a hearty welcome any overtures from his adversary during the progress of the war; and the promise was faithfully kept. For this forbearance, he obtained no credit with his allies. On the contrary, they were the first to clamor against the rigor of the terms which he had imposed. They were quite shocked at the amount of the indemnities exacted, to cover in part the expenses of the war. They shuddered at the securities re- quired for the future protection of Russian subjects in the Otto- man dominions, by placing them under the jurisdiction of their own ministers and consuls. They took umbrage even at the article by which the Sultan acceded to the treaty of 6th July, 1827, and to the protocol of 22d March, 1829, to which they themselves were parties. It has been said, on the other hand, that some dissatisfaction 232 Nicholas of Russia. [March, was manifested in Russia, that the career of victory was arrest- ed short of Constantinople. The fact is perhaps to be regretted, as it recrards the cause of Christendom and of humanity; but b it affords a signal proof of the Emperors faithfulness to his word, the most illustrious of the qualities that can adorn the character of an absolute monarch. In the declaration at the commencement of the war, perhaps the Emperor gave too ready .a pledge to the jealousies and invidious fears of his allies; but having given it, the fulfilment of its promise was due no less to his justice than his magnanimity. Pass we now to Poland. Europe had already seen the three north-eastern monarchies, Austria, Prussia and Russia, combine for the partition of Poland, thus breaking down the doctrine of the status in quo, that common law in Europe, by which alone the weaker powers subsisted. The western powers seemed rather terrified than shocked and aroused by the high-handed violation of the i~ational sovereignty of the Poles; and the show of indignation on the part of England and France had evapor- ated in idle and fruitless popular sympathy with the sufferers. But the Poles were left to fight the battles of their independence single-handed, and this gallant and free-spirited nation, which, within less than a century, had numbered twenty million souls, was, after a desperate struggle, swallowed up and destroyed. Such was the state of affairs in the time of Alexander. The hope of independence under every discouragement, wait- ing only a favorable moment, was still kept alive; and it is al- most inconceivable what extraordinary effect the Three days in France exercised over the sympathies of the inhabitants of Warsaw. The agitation among the Poles acquired new in- tensity, and the revolution was precipitated. The time for action had now arrived: that for deliberation had passed. The arrest of some eighty young Polish students, who had been ac- customed to assemble every year in commemoration of the storming of Praga by Suwarrow in 1796, when that General had put to death 30,000 of its inhabitants, filled the measure of endurance among the patriots. The news spread through Warsaw with the quickness of thought, and prompted the con- spirators to commence the revolution. Poland for ever was the animating cry. To secure the person of the Grand Duke Constantine was their first aim. It was conceived that if in their possession, he could be beneficially employed as a hostage or mediator with the Emperor Nicholas. But the Grand Duke, having been apprised of his danger, had already made good his escape. The successes of that day, however, 1855.] Nicholas of Russia. 233 seemed a realization of their long-hoarded hopes of independ- ence. Of the glorious struggle which ensuedof that heroic and self-sacrificing resistance, which, all things considered, has scarce a parallel in history, all Americans are still mindful. For the repealing of the Constitution of Poland, in defiance of the acts of the Congress of Vienna, and by virtue of which alone lie held the kingdom, Nicholas has yet to atone. Since thenif we except the elironic war along the Caucasus the wheels of the Russian empire have silently and pacific- ally progressed. The Emperor, freed from foreign embroil- ments, steadily devoted his administrative talents and ceaseless personal supervision to the organization and construction of that nation which, yet inchoate, his great predecessor Peter had bequeathed to him. That he did not abandon his traditionary policy, his recent measures leave us no possibility to doubt. For many years past, the Porte, moved by the most inveter- ate animosity, has eagerly embraced every opportunity of em- bittering her relations with Russia. During the last four years, and since Napoleon began to exercise an influence in Constan- tinople, the conduct of the Porte has become more and more offensive. A religious animosity, existing for several centuries, has increased the intensity of this hereditary feudthis unre- lenting antagonism, which can only end with the destruction of one or the other. England, clothed in all the show of sanctity, and France, im- pelled by the domineering nature of her national character, and directed by an upstart of the darkest treachery and most shame- less perjury, have at length succeeded in forcing Russia into a war, which they desire the world at large, and more especially these United States, to believe a holy crusade. But it is for power, and power alone, that these two hitherto hostile nations have taken each other by the hand. They already give a~ fore- taste of how they would exercise it, if their sway, by destroy- ing Russia, should become firmly established. Let us hope that the calm, quiet self-reliance with wjiich Nicholas accepled the challenge of the allies, may indicate a speedy and successful termination to a war which has been thrust upon him. 16 234 Book Notice8. [March BOOK NOTICES. Stanh& pe Burleigh. The Jesuits in our Homes. A Novel By Helen Dhu. New~ York: Stringer & Townsend. THIS novelor rather this politicaf dissertation, enveloped in the thinnest and most ifimy figments of romance, has made considerable noise in the world, and stands a not contemptible chance of being favorably noticed in the columns of The London Times. It is, we confess, very readable, very thrilling, very handsomely got up, every way creditable to the publishers, and every way worthy of an extensive perusal in Hindostan and amongst the faithful Hindoos generally. We must confess, likewise, that we fear the name is a misnomer; for Helen Dhu is, very emphatically, a foreign appellation, having Helen Macgregor (the wife of Iloderick Dhu, or dark Roderick, a marauding Scotchman with no very accurate estimation of the laws of meum and tuum) for its originaL [We may observe, in a parenthe- sis, that there are Scotchmen amongst ourselves, who, by all accounts, pre- serve the traditionary adherence to black maiL] The book before us represents upon its title-page a gentleman in an excited condition and rather riotous habiliments, who grasps his hat in one hand and shakes the other very vehemently against some party not particularized by the artist. He has one foot upon a scroll, which is fortu- nately not the Constitution, but the business-card of the engraver; and there is something in the lineaments of his face which reminds us forcibly of an ex-clerical, ex-consular, ivory-crested correspondent of a celebrated London daily. On the page opposite this every-way remarkable picture, we see an her- aldic eagle crouching excitedly on the segment of a flabby circle which may possibly be intended to represent the globe, but reminds us much more strongly of an exaggerated pumpkin. We are confirmed in this latter sup- position by the fact that, beneath the segment indicated, there is a consider- able fire and a much more considerable smokea smoke, in fact, which half envelops, the excited bird, and n~akes us anxious for his plumage. Beneath the torches from which proceed the fuliginous vapors aforesaid, there hangs a drapery, which, in the absence of any other explanation, we must suppose to be a flannel petticoat, and a not over-modish one at that. The hook and eye which should confine it round the waist must long ago have fallen from the dilapidated garment; for we see that a bell-pull rope and worsted tassel is substituted in its stead. Having said thus much, and so lavishly belauded the title-page, we find ourselves conveniently short of space for further comment. The book is a fine book for those who admire its particu- lar style, and adhere to its cardinal dogmas. It is a work that can not fail

Stanhope Burleigh. The Jesuits in our Homes. A Novel. By Helen Dhu. Book Notices 234-235

234 Book Notice8. [March BOOK NOTICES. Stanh& pe Burleigh. The Jesuits in our Homes. A Novel By Helen Dhu. New~ York: Stringer & Townsend. THIS novelor rather this politicaf dissertation, enveloped in the thinnest and most ifimy figments of romance, has made considerable noise in the world, and stands a not contemptible chance of being favorably noticed in the columns of The London Times. It is, we confess, very readable, very thrilling, very handsomely got up, every way creditable to the publishers, and every way worthy of an extensive perusal in Hindostan and amongst the faithful Hindoos generally. We must confess, likewise, that we fear the name is a misnomer; for Helen Dhu is, very emphatically, a foreign appellation, having Helen Macgregor (the wife of Iloderick Dhu, or dark Roderick, a marauding Scotchman with no very accurate estimation of the laws of meum and tuum) for its originaL [We may observe, in a parenthe- sis, that there are Scotchmen amongst ourselves, who, by all accounts, pre- serve the traditionary adherence to black maiL] The book before us represents upon its title-page a gentleman in an excited condition and rather riotous habiliments, who grasps his hat in one hand and shakes the other very vehemently against some party not particularized by the artist. He has one foot upon a scroll, which is fortu- nately not the Constitution, but the business-card of the engraver; and there is something in the lineaments of his face which reminds us forcibly of an ex-clerical, ex-consular, ivory-crested correspondent of a celebrated London daily. On the page opposite this every-way remarkable picture, we see an her- aldic eagle crouching excitedly on the segment of a flabby circle which may possibly be intended to represent the globe, but reminds us much more strongly of an exaggerated pumpkin. We are confirmed in this latter sup- position by the fact that, beneath the segment indicated, there is a consider- able fire and a much more considerable smokea smoke, in fact, which half envelops, the excited bird, and n~akes us anxious for his plumage. Beneath the torches from which proceed the fuliginous vapors aforesaid, there hangs a drapery, which, in the absence of any other explanation, we must suppose to be a flannel petticoat, and a not over-modish one at that. The hook and eye which should confine it round the waist must long ago have fallen from the dilapidated garment; for we see that a bell-pull rope and worsted tassel is substituted in its stead. Having said thus much, and so lavishly belauded the title-page, we find ourselves conveniently short of space for further comment. The book is a fine book for those who admire its particu- lar style, and adhere to its cardinal dogmas. It is a work that can not fail 4 1855.] Book Notices. 235 to become the standard volume of any library where intelligence, good taste, sound judgment, liberal policy, and the proprieties of language are entirely disregarded. We congratulate Messrs. Stringer & Townsend on the popu- larity which this work has achieved. It well sustains the reputation they have established as publishers of the most excited light literature. Pride and Prejudice. By Miss Austen. l2mo. doth. New- York: Bunce & Brother, 134 Nassau street. Wx entertain the profoundest respect for female genius, and are well assured that, when confined to its proper sphere, its productions are not only ornamei~tal, but requisite to the completeness of any national literature. We would not see our wives or sisters plunge into the arena of politics or meddle with pursuits unsuited to them; but in the walks of fiction or romance, in song, and in all those branches of intellectual culture where sensibility and tenderness are required, the finer and more delicate mind of woman might greatly aid the full development of human nature. Miss Edgeworth, Miss Porter, Mrs. Sigourney, Mrs. ilemans, and Miss Landon might well be pointed out as exemplars of female genius working steadily in its true direction; and to this catalogue, so illustrious, Miss Austens name may well be added. Her novels are life-portraitures of society, neither exaggerated above belief nor f~Iling down into commonplace detaiL The genial vivacity and sparkling wit of her conversational~pages have rarely, if ever, been equalled; and a perusal of Pride and Prejudice would form a valuable lesson to all aspirants for a ready and fluent utterance of their ideas. The dull conventionalities of life become instinct with intcrest in her hands. The L~fe and Beauties of Fanny Fern. New- York: 1i Long & Brother. 18~5. WE have an indistinct recollection of having heard or read the name of Fanny Fern in some newspaper or literary journal at some former but forgotten time. We are therefore the more pleased to find in a compendious volume, the Beauties of the lady whose voluminous writings have doubt- less engrossed the laborious hours of her eulogist for many months. And here we may remark, that the anonymous compiler has selected a strangely bad device: he professes to give the Life and Beauties of his authoress, and yet represents himself upon the embossed cover as a viper biting a file. We have not read Ruth Hall, we are happy to inform the public; and therefore can not venture an opinion as to whether this volume be the ebullition of the rage of Mr. Tibbetts, or the real admiration of a distracted adorer. We learn from it, however, that the fair anonymity whose perfec- tions pretend to be here chronicled, was a most undutiful daughter to a most indulgent father a most reckless critic of the faults and foibles of a ringletted and super-exquisite brother. If these are to be esteemed the Beauties of a female character, we (not belonging to the school of Lucy Stone) can not properly appreciate them. On the whole, the book is very readable, and would make a good accompaniment to Mr. P. T. Barnums exhibition of the Happy Family.

Pride and Prejudice. By Miss Austen Book Notices 235

4 1855.] Book Notices. 235 to become the standard volume of any library where intelligence, good taste, sound judgment, liberal policy, and the proprieties of language are entirely disregarded. We congratulate Messrs. Stringer & Townsend on the popu- larity which this work has achieved. It well sustains the reputation they have established as publishers of the most excited light literature. Pride and Prejudice. By Miss Austen. l2mo. doth. New- York: Bunce & Brother, 134 Nassau street. Wx entertain the profoundest respect for female genius, and are well assured that, when confined to its proper sphere, its productions are not only ornamei~tal, but requisite to the completeness of any national literature. We would not see our wives or sisters plunge into the arena of politics or meddle with pursuits unsuited to them; but in the walks of fiction or romance, in song, and in all those branches of intellectual culture where sensibility and tenderness are required, the finer and more delicate mind of woman might greatly aid the full development of human nature. Miss Edgeworth, Miss Porter, Mrs. Sigourney, Mrs. ilemans, and Miss Landon might well be pointed out as exemplars of female genius working steadily in its true direction; and to this catalogue, so illustrious, Miss Austens name may well be added. Her novels are life-portraitures of society, neither exaggerated above belief nor f~Iling down into commonplace detaiL The genial vivacity and sparkling wit of her conversational~pages have rarely, if ever, been equalled; and a perusal of Pride and Prejudice would form a valuable lesson to all aspirants for a ready and fluent utterance of their ideas. The dull conventionalities of life become instinct with intcrest in her hands. The L~fe and Beauties of Fanny Fern. New- York: 1i Long & Brother. 18~5. WE have an indistinct recollection of having heard or read the name of Fanny Fern in some newspaper or literary journal at some former but forgotten time. We are therefore the more pleased to find in a compendious volume, the Beauties of the lady whose voluminous writings have doubt- less engrossed the laborious hours of her eulogist for many months. And here we may remark, that the anonymous compiler has selected a strangely bad device: he professes to give the Life and Beauties of his authoress, and yet represents himself upon the embossed cover as a viper biting a file. We have not read Ruth Hall, we are happy to inform the public; and therefore can not venture an opinion as to whether this volume be the ebullition of the rage of Mr. Tibbetts, or the real admiration of a distracted adorer. We learn from it, however, that the fair anonymity whose perfec- tions pretend to be here chronicled, was a most undutiful daughter to a most indulgent father a most reckless critic of the faults and foibles of a ringletted and super-exquisite brother. If these are to be esteemed the Beauties of a female character, we (not belonging to the school of Lucy Stone) can not properly appreciate them. On the whole, the book is very readable, and would make a good accompaniment to Mr. P. T. Barnums exhibition of the Happy Family.

The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Book Notices 235-236

4 1855.] Book Notices. 235 to become the standard volume of any library where intelligence, good taste, sound judgment, liberal policy, and the proprieties of language are entirely disregarded. We congratulate Messrs. Stringer & Townsend on the popu- larity which this work has achieved. It well sustains the reputation they have established as publishers of the most excited light literature. Pride and Prejudice. By Miss Austen. l2mo. doth. New- York: Bunce & Brother, 134 Nassau street. Wx entertain the profoundest respect for female genius, and are well assured that, when confined to its proper sphere, its productions are not only ornamei~tal, but requisite to the completeness of any national literature. We would not see our wives or sisters plunge into the arena of politics or meddle with pursuits unsuited to them; but in the walks of fiction or romance, in song, and in all those branches of intellectual culture where sensibility and tenderness are required, the finer and more delicate mind of woman might greatly aid the full development of human nature. Miss Edgeworth, Miss Porter, Mrs. Sigourney, Mrs. ilemans, and Miss Landon might well be pointed out as exemplars of female genius working steadily in its true direction; and to this catalogue, so illustrious, Miss Austens name may well be added. Her novels are life-portraitures of society, neither exaggerated above belief nor f~Iling down into commonplace detaiL The genial vivacity and sparkling wit of her conversational~pages have rarely, if ever, been equalled; and a perusal of Pride and Prejudice would form a valuable lesson to all aspirants for a ready and fluent utterance of their ideas. The dull conventionalities of life become instinct with intcrest in her hands. The L~fe and Beauties of Fanny Fern. New- York: 1i Long & Brother. 18~5. WE have an indistinct recollection of having heard or read the name of Fanny Fern in some newspaper or literary journal at some former but forgotten time. We are therefore the more pleased to find in a compendious volume, the Beauties of the lady whose voluminous writings have doubt- less engrossed the laborious hours of her eulogist for many months. And here we may remark, that the anonymous compiler has selected a strangely bad device: he professes to give the Life and Beauties of his authoress, and yet represents himself upon the embossed cover as a viper biting a file. We have not read Ruth Hall, we are happy to inform the public; and therefore can not venture an opinion as to whether this volume be the ebullition of the rage of Mr. Tibbetts, or the real admiration of a distracted adorer. We learn from it, however, that the fair anonymity whose perfec- tions pretend to be here chronicled, was a most undutiful daughter to a most indulgent father a most reckless critic of the faults and foibles of a ringletted and super-exquisite brother. If these are to be esteemed the Beauties of a female character, we (not belonging to the school of Lucy Stone) can not properly appreciate them. On the whole, the book is very readable, and would make a good accompaniment to Mr. P. T. Barnums exhibition of the Happy Family. 236 Book Notices. [March, 1855~ Wolferts Roost and other Papers, now first collected. By Washington Irving~ New- York: Putnam. Tine name of Irving almost renders any notice unnecessary. We do not seek to paint the lily or gild refined gold: and any further notice of the author of the Sketch Book, his quaint peculiarities and ever-genial style, might seem a work of supererogationmore especially within such limits as our literary table is confined to. This volume is a revised and judicious collection of those inimitable stories which have, from time to time, been contributed by Mr. Irving to the periodicals of the day. They form a most delightful melange, neither so long as to be considered tedious, nor too brief to arouse our interest. The stories possess the most diversified character, and are laid in every age and clime: we cordially commend the book to the attention of all readers of standard romance as the most valuable contribu- tion that has been made of late to the light literature of our day. We owe to the authors genius a debt which posterity must in part repay; neverthe- less, we cheerfully acknowledge the further obligation of this volume. We are indebted to the respective publishers for copies of the following books, notices of which will appear in our next: Russia As It Is. 4By Count Adam De Gurowaki. D. Appleton & Co. New- York: 1854. A Year of ~he War. By Adam De Gurowski. D. Appleton & Co. New-York: 1855. Annual of Scientific Discovery; or, Year Book of Facts in Science and Art for 1855. Edited by David A. Wells, A. M. Boston: Gould & Lincoln, 59 Wash- ington street. 1855. Notes on Duets and Duelling, alphabetically arranged, with a preliminary histori- cal essay. By Lorenzo Sabine. Boston: Crosby, Nichols & Co., 111 Washington street. 1855. The Virginia Comedians; or, Old Days in the Old [Dominion. Edited from the MSS. of C. Effingliam, Esq. In 2 vols. New-York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. London: 16 Little-Britain. 1855. A Complete Treatise on Artificial F h-Bree~Ting. Including the Reports on the Subject made to the French Academy and the French Government; and Particulars of the Discovery as pursued in England. Translated and edited by W. II. Fry. Illustrated with engravings. New-York: Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. 1855. The Battles of the Crimea. Including an Historical Summary of the Russian War, from the Commencement to the Present Time, giving a graphic Picture of the great Drama of the War, and embracing a new Plan of SebastopoL New-York: G. S. Wells, 140 Nassau street. 1855. A South-Side View of Slavery; or, Three .Alonths at the South. NEREMIAH ADAMS, D.D. Boston: T. 11. Marvin, and Mussey & Co. 1854. ify Courtship, and its Consequences. By HENaY Wyxorr. New-York: J. C. Derby. 1855.

Wolfer's Roost and other Papers, now first collected. By Washington Irving Book Notices 236-236B

236 Book Notices. [March, 1855~ Wolferts Roost and other Papers, now first collected. By Washington Irving~ New- York: Putnam. Tine name of Irving almost renders any notice unnecessary. We do not seek to paint the lily or gild refined gold: and any further notice of the author of the Sketch Book, his quaint peculiarities and ever-genial style, might seem a work of supererogationmore especially within such limits as our literary table is confined to. This volume is a revised and judicious collection of those inimitable stories which have, from time to time, been contributed by Mr. Irving to the periodicals of the day. They form a most delightful melange, neither so long as to be considered tedious, nor too brief to arouse our interest. The stories possess the most diversified character, and are laid in every age and clime: we cordially commend the book to the attention of all readers of standard romance as the most valuable contribu- tion that has been made of late to the light literature of our day. We owe to the authors genius a debt which posterity must in part repay; neverthe- less, we cheerfully acknowledge the further obligation of this volume. We are indebted to the respective publishers for copies of the following books, notices of which will appear in our next: Russia As It Is. 4By Count Adam De Gurowaki. D. Appleton & Co. New- York: 1854. A Year of ~he War. By Adam De Gurowski. D. Appleton & Co. New-York: 1855. Annual of Scientific Discovery; or, Year Book of Facts in Science and Art for 1855. Edited by David A. Wells, A. M. Boston: Gould & Lincoln, 59 Wash- ington street. 1855. Notes on Duets and Duelling, alphabetically arranged, with a preliminary histori- cal essay. By Lorenzo Sabine. Boston: Crosby, Nichols & Co., 111 Washington street. 1855. The Virginia Comedians; or, Old Days in the Old [Dominion. Edited from the MSS. of C. Effingliam, Esq. In 2 vols. New-York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. London: 16 Little-Britain. 1855. A Complete Treatise on Artificial F h-Bree~Ting. Including the Reports on the Subject made to the French Academy and the French Government; and Particulars of the Discovery as pursued in England. Translated and edited by W. II. Fry. Illustrated with engravings. New-York: Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. 1855. The Battles of the Crimea. Including an Historical Summary of the Russian War, from the Commencement to the Present Time, giving a graphic Picture of the great Drama of the War, and embracing a new Plan of SebastopoL New-York: G. S. Wells, 140 Nassau street. 1855. A South-Side View of Slavery; or, Three .Alonths at the South. NEREMIAH ADAMS, D.D. Boston: T. 11. Marvin, and Mussey & Co. 1854. ify Courtship, and its Consequences. By HENaY Wyxorr. New-York: J. C. Derby. 1855. ~11

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The United States Democratic review. / Volume 35, Issue 4 United States magazine, and Democratic review Democratic review United States review J.& H.G. Langley, etc. New York, etc. April 1855 0035 004
Russia and the Anglo-French Alliance 237-248

THE UNITED STATES REVIEW. APRIL, 1855. RUSSIA AND THE ANGLO-FRENCH ALLIANCE. SUCH is the vast extent of the Russian Empire, that it is no hyperbole to say it is neighbor to all the world. Speaking of the Kurile Islands, a late intelligent and entertaining traveller* says: This archipelago, of which the more soutLwestwardly islands belong to the Japanese, completes the line on which Russia directly and immediately influences nearly all the powers of the old continent~ Sweden, now extending to the Atlantic; Prussia, virtually including all the minor states of Germany; Austria, with her vassals of Rome and Naples; Turkey, grasping all the Danube with one hand, and with the other over-reaching the Cataracts of the Nile; Persia, border- ing on the sea that washes the coast of Malabar; Central Asia, marked by the footsteps of nearly all the conquerors of Ilin- dostan; Thibet, containing the sources of the Burrampooter and the Ganges; China, meeting Spain in the Philippines, and Portugal and England in her own islands; and lastly, that mysterious empire which stands aloof alike from the commerce and the warfare of the world Yet this colossal empire, thus bordering on the opposite extremes of the world, remained for ages almost as little known 17 * Sir George Simpson, i54~. 238 Ru8sia and the Angloi4ench Alliance. [April, as the interior of China or Japan, at least so far as respects its people and its government; and what little may have been lately learned has, for the most part, been distilled through the me- dium either of prejudice or ignorance. The most learned at least of modern travellers in Russia, Doctor Clarke, saw every thing through the cloud of feelings perhaps justly excited by the capricious tyranny of the half-crazed Emperor Paul; and among all of them there is not one who had either opportunity or capacity to grasp the mighty edifice of the Russian Empire. They scratched the surface without penetrating the soil; and identifying the idea of despotism with that of tyranny, have represented what is in reality more of an oligarchy than a despotism, as a government of the irresistible will of one man alone. The present struggle for the restoration of the balance of Europe has, however, brought Russia into more intimate con- tact with the western powers of that quarter, and excited more intensely the curiosity of the civilized world towards this for- midable empire, which has become, it seems, of sufficient con- sequence to excite the fears and provoke the hostility of the most powerful combination the world has witnessed since the downfall of the great Napoleon. Accordingly we have lately been treated with abundance of books of travels in Russia, most of them evidently written for political purposes, and a large portion of British manufacture. These are, as a matter of course, all calculated and intended to impress on their readers an un- favorable opinion of the state of society, the condition of the people of Russia, and most especially of the character of the monarch who has so grievously excited the fears of the Anglo- French alliance. As just and impartial delineations, they are for the most part utterly worthless for all purposes of correct information. They are the mere vehicles of political jealousy or spleen, and present not so much a picture of Russia as a caricature drawn by her enemies exhibited in the deepest colors of gall and bitterness. What little we really know of Russia is therefore to be gath- ered from travellers who visited that country before the passions of nations were so violently excited by the newly-awakened apprehensions for the liberties of Europe, and the progress of civilization. Among these are the Marquis de Custine, a French- man; Adolph Erman, a Prussian, a worthy successor of Hum- boldt; and Sir George Simpson, Governor of the Hudsons Bay Company. All these gentlemen travelled in Russia pre- vious to the period when the long series of negotiations at Con- 1855.] Ras8ia and the Anglo-French Alliance. 239 stantinople had placed iRussia and the powers of Western En rope in the toils of a Gordian knot that could only be cut by the sword; and consequently they had no obvious motive at least, to misrepresent or exaggerate either on one side or the other. The Marquis de Custine wasor if living still, isan aristo- crat of the old school, as he takes all occasions to announce to his readers. He is a remnant of the feudal system, is quite as impatient of despotism as of republicanism, and looks back on the days of Louis le Grand as the golden age of France. In dealing with the Czar and his people, he rather inclines to severity than flattery, and his pictures are much less tinged with light than shadow. On the whole, however, he appears to be sufficiently impartial to prevent his indulging in misre- presentation, and sufficiently sagacious to avoid being grossly deceived, lie had frequent access to the Emperor Nicholas, with whom he held various conversations, which he gives at length, and in which that monarch appears to have freely ex- pressed his feelings ansi opinions, his policy and his projects for the benefit of his subjects. One of the charges daily re- iterated by the Anglo-French alliance, and re~hoed by the Anglo-American press, is that the Emperor is totally without faith and without honor, and that in his late negotiations he has over and over again violated both. Let us hear what M. de Custine says in his summary of the character of the Czar: The problem proposed, not by men but by events, by the concatenation of circumstances, to an Emperor of Russia, is to. favor among the nations the progress of knowledge, in order to hasten the emancipation of the serfs; and further to aim at this object by the improving of manners, by the en- couraging of humanity and legal liberty; in short, by ameliorating hearts with the view of alleviating destinies. Such is the condition of any man who would now reign even in Moscow. But the peculiarity of the Emperors position is, that he has to shape his course towards his object, keeping clear on the one side of the mute though organized tyranny of a revolutionary administration, and on the other of the arrogance and conspiracies of an aristocracy so much the more formidgble as its power is undefined. It must be owned that no sovereign has yet acquitted himself of this terrible task with so much firmness, talent, and good fortune, as has been displayed by the Emperor Nicholas. He is the first of the modern Russian prinees who has perceived the necessity of being a Russian, in order to confer good on the Russians. Undoubtedly, history will say this man wa~ a great sovereign. 240 J?us8ia and the Anglo-French Alliance. [April, Again: My idea of the possibility of making Christian sincerity subservient to politics is not so chimerical as may appear to statesmen, and men of busi- ness; for it is an idea of the Russian Emperor, practical and clear-sighted as he is undoubtedly. I do not believe that there is at the present day a prince on any throne who so detests falsehood, and who falsifies as little as this monarch. To this the British translator, in the true spirit of John Bull magnanimity towards an enemy, appends the following note by way of protest: If the writer had written his Travels more recently, he would hardly have failed to modify his opinion. Touching the progress of civilization in Russia, the Marquis is of opinion that so far from having been aided by an imita- tion of French and English manners and habits, it has been, in fact, seriously obstructed by the propensity of the Russian Boyars to adopt all their pretended refinements. Nothing, he observes with great truth, more injures the natural dispo- sition, and consequently the mental powers, than continually dwelling on the social superiority of other nations. Though applied to Russia, the maxim is equally suited to the United States, which are daily undergoing the process of being ener- vated, debauched, and sophisticated by their miserable, awk- ward imitation of the effeminacy, folly, foppery, and profli- gacy which make up the sum total of the civilization of old superannuated nations. The Marquis, like almost all French travellers, occasionally indulges in the luxury of sentiment, and becomes pathetic. The Russian serfs and the Siberian exiles most especially awaken his sympathies, and call forth most eloquent strains of philanthropy, somewhat similar to the lamentations of the British press over the imaginary woes of the African slave in the United States. Yet we learn from him that a serf may become proprietor even of lands in the name of his lord, without the latter daring to violate the moral guarantee by which he is bound to his wealthy slave. To despoil this man of the fruits of his labor and economy, would be an abuse of power which the most tyrannical Boyar dare not permit himself under the reign of the Emperor Nicholas. Sir George Simpson, in his Overland Journey Round the World, says: These serfs appear to be as comfortable as any peasantry can be; to be 1855.] Russia and the Anglo-French Alliance. 241 better off in fact, in many points than the free laborers of other countries, inasmuch as they have a claim to the assistance, care, and protection of their owner in times of sickness and scarcity. In reference to the exiles of Siberia, he has the following passages. Speaking of the town of Katchooga, he says: Some of the most influential among the inhabitants were exiles, to whom, so far as he could judge, no stigma was attached. In fact, consider- ing the numbers sent to Siberia for political offenses, the mere idea of banishment could hardly be supposed to involve the same moral and social consequences as among ourselves. Throughout Siberia, the descendants of the exiles, generally speaking, are dassed with the serfs of the crown, being practically neither more nor less than unprivileged subjects; and such of these as may have risen above the rank of laborers are as little liable to be dragged down from their actual position as any nobleman in the land. In the whole length and breadth of this portion of the empire, slavery, properly so called, the submission of one subject to the irresponsible caprices of another, is entirely unknown. The exiles are virtually left to carve their own fortunes. A well- dressed man, who spoke with a strong German accent, introduced himself to us. He proved to be a Gallician, who had been banished twenty-six years before, for smuggling, but had raised himself; by his steadiness and talent, to be one of the most respectable inhabitants of the town. He had an excellent house, with a very neat little wife in it; and as a proof of the extent of his business and resources, he supplied us all the horses for five successive stages. In England, this man would have been hanged. Speaking of Siberia generally, he says: Not only are the peasants of Siberia remarkable for their civility, but all grades of society are, perhaps, decidedly more intelligent than in most parts of Europe. The system on which Siberia has been, and continues to be colonized, is admirable alike in theory and practice. No perpetrators of heinous crimes are sent to the mines those who have been banished for minor delinquencies are settled in villages or farms; and political offenders, comprising soldiers, authors, and statesmen, are generally established by themselves in little knots, communicating to all around them a degree of refinement unknown in other half-civilized countries. And he thus sums up his observations on the subject: In fact, for the reforming of the criminal, in addition to the punish- ment of the crime, Siberia is undoubtedly the best penitentiary in the 242 Russia and the Anglo-French Alliance. [April, world. When not bad enough for the mines, each exile is provided with a lot of ground, a house, a horse, two cows, agricultural instruments, and for the first year with provisions. For three years he pays no taxes whatever, and for the next ten only half the full amount. To bring fear as well as hope to operate in his favor, he clearly understands that his very first slip will send him from his home and his family, to toil as an outcast in the mines. Thus does the government bestow an almost parental care on all the less atrocious criminals. At Krasnozarsk, Sir George met an exile of distinction, of whom he says: Among the exiles in the place was General Davidoff banished for par- ticipating in some attempt at revolution. He was very comfortably, nay happily settled, with hi~ whole family about him, song in-law, brothers-in- law, and so on, and appeared to enjoy all the luxuries and elegancies of life. So far as the eye could judge, General Davidoff was no more an exile than Governor Rapioff himself. Let our readers compare these testimonials of a man of high station and character, himself an Englishman too, with the sys- tem of exile called transportation, which has long been pursued by the British government, and with the penitentiary system adopted in that country, and ask himself which is preferable, that of the barbarian despotism of Russia, as it is called, or that of the great champion of civilization and humanity? The fact is, that the penal code of Russia is practically the most mild in the world, and the punishment of death scarcely ever inflicted. Sir George thus concludes his highly amusing and interest- ing tour, with the following tribute to the Emperor Nicholas: The absence of the Emperorfrom St. Petersburg prevented my friend Baron Wrangle from introducing me, as he was desirous of doing, to his majesty. In my peculiar circumstances, I deeply regretted this disap- pointment. Even if I had never set foot on the patrimony of Nicholas, I could not fail to regard him in common with every man of knowledge and reflection, the autocrat of three continents, the master of the most extensive dominion of ancient or modern times, as an object not merely of philanthro- pic interest, but mysterious awe. But, after seeing more of this colossal em- pire than any other foreigner, living or dead, I was naturally anxious, as an appropriate termination of my wanderings, to enter as it were into commun- ion with the spirit that animated it. Independently of these general con- siderations, the present Czars personal qualities, physical, intellectual, and moral, must induce every mans judgment to acquiesce in the homage which 1855.] Ru& ~ia and the Anglo-French Alliance. 243 his feelings are constrained to pay. Nicholas is universally allowed to pre- sent the noblest mould of form and feature, to be the ablest and most labor- ious sovereign of the age, and what is higher praise than all, in an indivi- dual of his exalted station, to set before his people the brightest example of all domestic virtues. The distinguished Prussian traveller, whose name is men- tioned at the beginning of this article, though the object of his visit to Russia was purely scientific, wherever he has occasion to refer to the social and political condition of that country, substantially corroborates the testimony of the Marquis de Custine and Sir George Simpson with respect to the character of the Emperor Nicholas, the nature of his patriarchal govern- ment, and the condition of the people. But we do not deem any further extracts necessary. In thus attempting to place before our readers the real cha- racter of the Emperor Nicholas, and the system of government which has descended to him by inheritance, we have been in- fluenced as well by motives of justice as of policy. The An- glo-French alliance has not only made war against the Czar with the sword but the pen, and thus far been much more suc- cessful with the latter than the former. The press of England and France, one the mere echo either of the popular feeling or of ministerial policy, the other the pliant or enforced slave of a hard master, have united in one chorus of obloquy against the man, who, so far as we can see, has given the two powers no cause of offense but that of devoting himself to developing the resources of his empire, and cautiously preparing the way for the emancipation of his subjects. The growth of Russia, like that of the IlTnited States, is natural and spontaneous, and in conformity with the laws of nature and Providence. As the young buds of spring succeed the dry leaves of autumn, and the son his father, so is it with nations. They can not be made to grow and flourish by the mere will of man, nor can all the power of the most arrogant presumption, though seated on thrones, prevent them from un- dergoing the process of decay. If the progress of Russia has frightened France, or that of the United States al~rmed Eng- land, it is not so much their fault as the effect of causes which we apprehend will be somewhat difficult to control. One thing is quite certain; they can not be stopped by the pen, and the stn- pendous efforts of the press of the Anglo-French alliance to out- law the Czar and ostracise the United States from the community of Christian civilized nations, will only result in establishing a 244 J?u& sia and the Anglo-F~in~ch Alliance. [April, common interest and a common feeling through the mere force of the outside pressure. Distant as they are in their centres, the two great growing empires of the world almost touch at their extremities; and their being both placed in the same pre- dicament by force of circumstances, we hail as the omen of a friendly feeling, the precursor, of long ages of harmony be- tween two powers whose hereditary friendship will be one of the best guarantees of the future peace of the world. Without some sufficient counterpoise to the Anglo-French alliance, which is gradually either bullying or subsidizing all the minor states of Europe into becoming accomplices in their own subjugation, there will be no safety to the rights of nations, and they must depend altogether on the moderation and mag- nanimity of England and France for the establishment of the just equilibrium of power. This counterpoise can at any time be established and maintained by a cordial good under- standing between the United States and IRnssia without an alli- ance offensive and defensive, which will only be required iu the event of the Anglo-French alliance persisting in its war of diplomacy and intimidation, and in preventing any co~iperation of the states of the New World in establishing a continental system which will enable them to maintain their commercial and political rights. There are certain great antagonistical principles and interests, both commercial and political, between the New and the Old World, and most especially the United States and the great commercial powers of Europe, which have been accustomed to prescribe laws to the seas, that every expe- rienced statesman must see will necessarily eventually bring them into collision. Asia and Europe once disputed the em- pire of the world in the East, and who knows but the great con- test may be renewed in the West. At all events, the United States should gradually prepare themselves for such a crisis by reserving a principal portion of their lands and surplus revenue for purposes of permanent defense~ instead of applying them almost exclusively to railroads, and revolutionary soldiers, in payment for the performance of a duty which every citizen owes to his country; and at the same time cultivating a good understanding with the only great European power whose inter- ests do not conflict with their own. They may be assured their polfey of non-intervention will not insure perpetual peace, and that the period is approaching when they will be called upon either to assert or abandon what is called the Monroe Doctrine. Once driven from that, and it will not be very long before a great portion of this continent will relapse, if not into the co 18~5.] Ruesia and the Anglo-French Alli ce. 245 lonial, at least into a state of equally abject dependence on the Anglo-French alliance, should it be successful and perma- nent. Taking into view the mutual declarations of Great Britain and France7 clearly intimating a scheme whose object is equally to arrest the progress of the United States and Russia, it must be obvious to all who reflect on the subject, that the former have a deep and direct interest in the result of the present European war. If it should terminate in the success of the Anglo-French alliance, and the attainment of all its objects without absolutely exhausting or crippling the victors, there can be no reasonable doubt that the attempts already made. and now being made to overawe and intimidate the United States, and to counteract their policy everywhere in the New World, will be followed by more direct exhibitions of hostility that will place before them the unavoidable alternative of resistance or acquiescence. The Czar once compelled to submission, and the next attempt to establish the equilibrium of power will be that of hum- blingas is the phrasethe United States, whose rapid ad- vances in commerce and in p& wer are peculiarly obnoxious to the great potentates who have undertaken to regulate the world. In the attainment of this sublime purpose, they seem to rely almost as much on the pen as the sword, and their hostility appears not so much directed against Russia and the Russians, as the Emperor Nicholas personally. He is the great delinquent they have summoned before the great tribunal of the world, and it is against him they have sought to enlist the feelings of the people of the United States. For this purpose, the whole power of the British and French press has been brought to bear against him, and all the ingredients of hypocrisy, falsehood, and decla- mation, distilled into the cup of obloquy. The man known to be a model in private life and in his domestic relations, is repre- sented as a monster of treachery and ambition in his public character, and the most irreconcilable virtues and vices thus coupled together in one and the same person. A despotic prince by birth and necessity, he is represented as a ruthless tyrant; and devoting his life, as he is known to do, to the gradual eman- cipation of his subjects, he is placed before the world as their inexorable oppressor, by the organs of those very governments which have leagued with the oppressor of the East, and the Neapolitan petty despot, whose cruelty and persecutions were only recently denounced to the world by the hypocritical Brit- ish press. Whatever may be said of the Emperor Nicholas, he ascended the throne, if not by hereditary right, at least by th 246 J?u8siia amd tk Anglo-E~ench Alliance. [April, voluntary resignation of his elder brother, and the equally volun- tary recognition of his subjects. He never betrayed those who had placed him in power, or violated his faith towards a consti- tuent branch of the government he had sworn to support, nor had he sprinkled the streets of his capital with the blood of its citizens, in the attainment of imperial power. The Anglo-French alliance commenced the present war under false colors, and are at this moment attempting to practise the most stupendous imposition ever meditated on the credulity of mankind. They began with the pretext of maintaining the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, the most rotten of all despot- isms, and at the same time affected to be the champions of Christ- ianity, civilization, and liberty. They invoked the sympathies of the Christian world in their behali at the very moment they were sustaining a Mohammedan despot, whose predecessors had for five hundredyears been the scourges of Christianity. At this moment, they are arrayed against the Christians of European Turkey on the side of the Musselman, and have assisted in forcing the Christian Greeks to submit to the dominion of the Crescent. Not only this, but it has lately distinctly appeared from the revelations of the Vienna Conference, that the principal point at issue is the claim of the Czar, under his treaties with the Sultan, to become a party at least in the protection of the Christians of Moldavia and Wallachia, who belong to that Church of which he is the head. They wish them, it seems, to be pro- tected by the Catholics of France and Germany, who hate them most cordially, and by the Protestants of England, who despise them still more. Thus their civil and religious rights are to be placed under the exclusive guardianship of their most inveterate foes. The Christians of the Greek Church differ little in their creed with the Roman Catholics, except in denying the supre- macy of the Pope; but the history of the Church everywhere demonstrates that the nearer the different sects approach each other in their great fundamental principles, the greater their antipathies. There are no three great denominations of Christ- ians so closely identified in their doctrines as the Greek, the Roman Catholic, and the Protestant churches, and there are no three that so heartily hate and despise each other. Yet the two latter are, it seems, to protect the former against the tyranny of Islamism. But these glaring inconsistencies could not long impose on the clear-sighted, intelligent people of the United States, whc stand aloof looking on with their own eyes, and judging for themselves. They now begin to clearly comprehend the real 1855.] J?Useia and the Anglo-French Alliance. 247 objects of the Anglo-French alliance, which are scarcely less hostile to the United States than Russia. While waging open war with one, they are carrying on a war of diplomacy and intimidation against the other. Both are alike included in the great scheme for establishing that equilibrium of power which is to make England and France the arbiters of the fonr quarters of the globe. For the attainment of this purpose, England, the great enemy of African slavery, is purchasing white slaves by tens of thousands of their bankrupt masters, to be shot at, at so much per head, in a quarrel with which they have no concern whatever. For this the Anglo-French alli- ance, either by bullying, bribery, or diplomacy, are gradually drawing all Europe into the great vortex of strife, deluging the Crimea with blood, offering up thousands of gallant sob diers, not at the shrine of glory, but discomfiture and disgrace, and disturbing the peace of the world with their clamorous appeals and abortive arms. Never in the darkest ages of the world was there exhibited so insolent an attempt, at one and the same time, to impose on the credulity of mankind, and convert them into instruments for their own subjugation. Instead of being the defenders of the Christian faith, they are leagued with its most ancient, in- exorable oppressor; instead of extending the sphere of civil- ization in the East, they have long labored by intrigne and diplomacy to sustain a power which has for ages past been the greatest obstacle to its progress; and for the better subserving the interests of freedom elsewhere, they have nnited with the most rigid and notorions despotisms of Western Europe. But even if they were really sincere in their professions, this would not relieve them from the imputation of folly and presumption. They are aspiring to snatch the helm from the hands of the gre at Captain, to place it in those of the cabin-boy; they have impiously assumed to be the great instruments of Providence in regulating the affairs of the world; and in all the records of human presumption, there is not to be found so stupendous an example of visionary, dreaming hallucination. In short, the Anglo-French alliance is attempting to arrest the wheel of Time, and turn the world backwards. Will it not be crushed by the recoil? Will not Atlas find the world too heavy for hi8 shoulders? 243 & xddened Hearts. [April, SADDENED HEAI~TS. A SADDENED heart! tis a fearful thing! A lroken note in the choir of spring, A withered leaf mid the dancing green, The blight of death in the summers sheen, A troubled wave on the streamlets breast, A waning star in the glowing west, Or a wounded bird, come back to die, When the morn is up, and the sun is high! A saddened heart! Oh! who may tell If sorrow guideth the spirit well? Ye bind the wreath oer a smiling brow, Ye dance in the light and the sunshine now, Ye look on the seaand its waves are still, Ye speak of a music in fount and rill, Ye weave sweet songs: oh! what can ye know Of the voiceless heart with its throbbings low? Ye joy in the world of life and youth, Ye scan the page of Eternal Truth, Ye feel no chain; and your spirit high Spurneth the stars in their mystery; Ye read of the might of high-born trust And deathless hope oer the fainting dust; Ye kneel in prayer for the hope thus given, Ye live in the dawning light of Heaven! But oh! for the hearts that must pine alone, With the toils of grief around them thrown, With the fettered thought and the tear-dimmed eye, That long in their anguish but to die! Ye see them not! by the scanty hearth Where a wailing blends with childhoods mirth, Where the night is long, and the taper dim, Are the harps that break in the great life-hymn!

Saddened Hearts 248-250

243 & xddened Hearts. [April, SADDENED HEAI~TS. A SADDENED heart! tis a fearful thing! A lroken note in the choir of spring, A withered leaf mid the dancing green, The blight of death in the summers sheen, A troubled wave on the streamlets breast, A waning star in the glowing west, Or a wounded bird, come back to die, When the morn is up, and the sun is high! A saddened heart! Oh! who may tell If sorrow guideth the spirit well? Ye bind the wreath oer a smiling brow, Ye dance in the light and the sunshine now, Ye look on the seaand its waves are still, Ye speak of a music in fount and rill, Ye weave sweet songs: oh! what can ye know Of the voiceless heart with its throbbings low? Ye joy in the world of life and youth, Ye scan the page of Eternal Truth, Ye feel no chain; and your spirit high Spurneth the stars in their mystery; Ye read of the might of high-born trust And deathless hope oer the fainting dust; Ye kneel in prayer for the hope thus given, Ye live in the dawning light of Heaven! But oh! for the hearts that must pine alone, With the toils of grief around them thrown, With the fettered thought and the tear-dimmed eye, That long in their anguish but to die! Ye see them not! by the scanty hearth Where a wailing blends with childhoods mirth, Where the night is long, and the taper dim, Are the harps that break in the great life-hymn! 1855.] Saddened Hearts. 249 Where the soul all worn with its weary cares, And the sorrowing weight of life it bears Goes wandering on, this beauteous day, A shrouded pilgrim all the way, That shrinks when the cheeks it loved grow pale, That sees no star in the distant vale, That sits in the brooding night of gloom Mid the bursting buds and the summer bloom! O God! that the life that Thoit hast given, Should thus from its purpose high be riven! That the star-linked thought shoi~ld be hushed and still, The boundless trust be warped with ill, And Hope, that giveth our being here The breath of thy purer atmosphere, Should sicken and droop, and pine in vain, As a captive pines in his clanking chain! Oh! a saddened heart is a weight to bear; Yet the morrows dawn, and the skies so fair, Woven of light to thee, may smile Oer manyah! manywho weep the while, Many who pray not the prayer ye send Through the gates of mornfor the morn may lend Never a ray to the darkened tomb Of the heart that yearns for its dead in gloom! Then come, oh! come, tis a holy thing To wake on the night some trembling string Of that buried harp which God hath given, To swell through the boundless courts of heaven! The mourning weeds from the soul to cast, Till a bridal wreath it bear at last, Woven in tears, yet chastened and bright For the marriage-feast, in the world of light! 250 Lileral Education. [April, LIBERAL EDUCATION. BY J. P. 0. THE world is slow to recognize the truism that mind makes the man. Philosophers in all ages haye preached from this text, and a few have practised what they thus preached. But the mass of men would regard one as prodigal, insane, or at least verging upon simplicity, if in the practical affairs of life, he should venture to exalt mind over money. Man is a creature of circumstances, says one; and the chief circumstance of manhood, according to the principal re- ceivers of this doctrine, is money. But money is commonly sought as an end, as it ought not to be, rather than as a means~as it ought tobe; and as the romance and small talk of most men and some women must seek its final relief from the common longings for worldly enjoyment, by laying hold of one horn or the other of the altar of intelligence, by seeking either the useful or the orna- mental of knowledge, both of which ultimate in the same final result, (the most beautiful being the most true, and the most useful being the most beautiful,) education of a necessity, comes up here to the dignity of a secondary consideration as a means to the end. No body invested with common-sense needs to be told that educationreal education-is, and must be, first and foremost with real men and real women; for truths and facts, alone, are the aliments of their mental existence. But extravaganzas are the surest article in the commerce of fashionable life; Miss Dollbaby tumbles over fifty thousand volumes in her ransacking search for some dubious fable, or to obtain amouldy tit-bit of a legend. Mrs. Tiptoe fastens the slen

J. F. C. C., J. F. "Liberal Education" 250-257

250 Lileral Education. [April, LIBERAL EDUCATION. BY J. P. 0. THE world is slow to recognize the truism that mind makes the man. Philosophers in all ages haye preached from this text, and a few have practised what they thus preached. But the mass of men would regard one as prodigal, insane, or at least verging upon simplicity, if in the practical affairs of life, he should venture to exalt mind over money. Man is a creature of circumstances, says one; and the chief circumstance of manhood, according to the principal re- ceivers of this doctrine, is money. But money is commonly sought as an end, as it ought not to be, rather than as a means~as it ought tobe; and as the romance and small talk of most men and some women must seek its final relief from the common longings for worldly enjoyment, by laying hold of one horn or the other of the altar of intelligence, by seeking either the useful or the orna- mental of knowledge, both of which ultimate in the same final result, (the most beautiful being the most true, and the most useful being the most beautiful,) education of a necessity, comes up here to the dignity of a secondary consideration as a means to the end. No body invested with common-sense needs to be told that educationreal education-is, and must be, first and foremost with real men and real women; for truths and facts, alone, are the aliments of their mental existence. But extravaganzas are the surest article in the commerce of fashionable life; Miss Dollbaby tumbles over fifty thousand volumes in her ransacking search for some dubious fable, or to obtain amouldy tit-bit of a legend. Mrs. Tiptoe fastens the slen 18~LS.] Liberal Education. 2~1 der talons of her mental capacity into the off-shoot elaborations o some crack-brained or scape-goat philosopher, and after a long endeavor, flits across the horizon of society with the swingle- tow of his erratic genius wisped about her pedal extremities, deeming these hang-bird fibres amply sufilcient to ensnare some one of the lions of the day; while Mrs. Simpkins, in an excess~ of ambition, catches a spark of transcendentalism, and shoots herself through the realm of fancy, and through the company upon whom she inflicts her presence, with all the sublime ec- centricity of a comet. And at length, assembled in a tonnish lair, these tramping terrors of letterdom roar out a monster p~an to some rising whelpwho often owes his literary success to the hitherto hidden genius of anotherthus ah~rming the young fledgling that sits in panting but quiet seclusion beside a coquetting myrtle of the neighboring vale, or disturbing the repose of some old goose that has sat in the downy nest of authorial distinction for an entire generation; and in that assembly, the individual who takes the lions share of renown, is not unfrequently a princess regnant over some province of light literature. To keep pace with the mental march of the age, and posi- tion among the lettered high-flyers of the day, in all their celestial pironetings and circumgyrations, it has become quite the fashion for promising young men to obtain a liberal edu- cation ; a term which, like the emotions of love, every one understands for himseli but no one can adequately define. Now, our grand-dam knows that we never did and never could say any thing agin edication ; and all our gals know that we like to see them under good trainin, all the way up from the nursery to the tallest seminary on the tallest mountain of light in all Ameriky And as for boys, sensible parents and guardians knoW That their motto, in helping them on in the world, must be, Educate! Anywhere and everywhere, at any time and at all times, that is ~he one monition which must not be disregarded. Educate your children, sir or madam, in the common school, in the seminary, in the college; this is right, and necessary, to a greater or less extent, according to your childs capacity, inclination, or genius. But you will tell us you do this now.~ We answer with a paradoxical provincialism, You do, only you dont !,~ We know you send your children to school, mechanically, and without any regard to their various natural endowments, which demand for them various spheres of action, and conse 252 Libercd L~Zueatzon. [April, quenily, to some extent, various modes of training, even in their earliest years. Now, that education is illiberal and radi- cally incomplete, which offers nothing more than this. Geo- graphy, grammar, and arithmetic are dealt out in equal pro- portions, and with mechanical uniformityas one deals out food to a horse, a dog, or a catalike to the child who is fleshless, nervous, and precocious, and to his associate who is dull for the time, only because nature, in laying the foundation broad and strong upon which to build the future man, has made him fleshy to rotundity, and thus given his earlier years more to sleep and sport than study, till having gathered the ele- ments of physical strength about him, he is able, and with a right training and hereditary influence in his favor, must always have the inclination, as well as the power, to become mentally, as well as physically, great; while his slender school- mate is either hastened. to an early grave by the exhausting labor of a morbid mentality; or, the mind failing for want of physical aid, its energies become latent, while the long recupe- rative process of the physical system is going on, till at length the table turns, and the vigorous body conquers the quiescent brain, and the smart boy becomes the inefficient and witless man; while the dumpy boy expands into the commanding genius. Illustrations of this principle are numerous; why, therefore, is this policy of ignorance still followed, when the ignorance which originally accompanied it no longer prevails? Custom certainly ought to surrender here, if nowhere else. Physical, social, and moral training, not as abstractions, but as concomitants of all the higher exercises of the intellect, are imperiously demanded. It is of no use to cram the young man or young womans head full of philosophies, chemistries, algebras, rhetorics, and languages, if you have not given him or her the power to make use of these. It is of no use to force one through each individual volume of the Astor, or the Alexandrian Library, if it requires all his or her strength to effect the perforation, and no power remains to appropriate aught there discovered. A book is a book ; a book-worm is a book-worm, only. The book-worm that walks abroad in the image of man, and his grub prototype that puts himself through the choice volumes of your library, by the skin of his teeth, occupy, practically, very nearly the same level. Both, for a day, leave their tracks on the world; but neither leave any thing for the good of posterityin fact, posterity suffers from the burden of their idle maintenance. We want, in addition to this, an acquaintance with human 1855.] Liberal Education. 253 nature, and a knowledge of life out of the college inclosure, to enter into the education of the ministers, the lawyers, and the doctors of the age. It is enough to make one sick of his kind to see how many men come forth from a seven or nine years course of academic instruction, at a cost of thousands of dollars, with heads full of Homer and Virgil, running over with sophomoric effervescence, or pressed down with opaque masses of theology, yet no more fit for any sphere of practical life than is a dunce fo~ a doctor of divinity; while, as often as they pass the corner of the street, asperities stick out from their undeveloped natures and over-grown habits, sharper than the point of a triangle; and they are so constantly at logger- heads with the irresistible current of daily events, that cour- teous men call them only well-meaning, while a more inde- pendent type of human nature pronounces them fools. Now, in the name of Lord Timothy Dexter, while these things continue, away with ranting about liberal education. Let the name no longer be swallowed up by the thing. Give us education defacto, in place of education merely de jure. Know ye not, 0 eminent Professor! that nine tenths of your A.B.s are a libel upon manhood, and that their diplomas are a multiplied slander upon true education? Hundreds of them would be distanced in a common-school examination, the most important of all, by many a poor but resolute boy of twelve years; while in English grammar, nineteen twentieths of the graduates whom you have honored with a parting benedic- tion, could not hold their way with the more intelligent por- tion of farmers girls at the age of sweet sixteen; so that in the most essential qualifications of literature, as well as in the other walks of life, these Greek and Latin automatons are as totally unfit for the constant dutiesalways constant struggles of life, as if they had been trained in a wilderness beyond the reach of commercial, industrial, educational, and all other progressive influences; in fact, practically, precisely such has been the training of most of them. Ex nihilo nihil fit. And of what use is the so-called bachelor of arts, sent forth under such auspices and with such attainments? Ignorant of the first initial of business and business men, his honorable abbreviation should have no signification among men, unless it be as a license to commence the a-b-abs of practical edu- cation. Liberal education, forsooth! Liberal for its looseness, its inefficiency, its incompleteness. One might almost pronounce the process of its attainment, teaching ignorance to the 18 Liberal Education. 254 [April, heathen ; for no one can deny its general disregard of every thing but scholastic discipline, which, of itself considered, is nowhere adequate to the performance of the duties of man- hood and good citizenship. It is true, in fact, that many men come forth from our highest schools, flushed with their pecu- liar honors, less in almost every thing that promises manly greatness than when they entered them. Pardon us ig in this connection, we write a short memoir to illustrate our position; the subject being an A.B., of whom we have heard several interesting anecdotes, and with whose family we were person- ally acquainted. Paul Auburn was by many years the youngest of a family of several sons, of an intelligent and wealthy but vain and credulous gentleman, who rose from the condition of a country merchant to that of a farmer. Two of Pauls brothers were already on the road to theology, and a third had determined to remain a tiller of the soil, when Paul arrived at the age of twelve years, and was regarded as a remarkably brilliant lad, almost a prodigy. The legal profession was fixed upon as Pauls destiny, and to school he was sent. He passed from the academy to college with very good prospects, though with less superiority of fit- ness than was anticipated for him in the commencement of his career. As freshman and sophomore, he appeared among his class-mates to more than ordinary advantage; but early in his junior year he began to cave in perceptibly, especially when brought to grapple with any thing out of the exact routine of his class; and before he reached his senior year, he took to writing poetry, of which the following is a specimen: When I go home, Ill go to Rome, Ill take a string, and hang the king, Ill take a knife, and kill his wife, Ill take a garter, and hang his darter. It is plain enough that this anti-catholic ebullition borders close upon downright imbecility; but when it is remembered that there was no taint of insanity in the family, prior to that period, this quotation becomes a frightful commentary upon the ruinously defective system under which our hopeful young men are trained. Paul went through his senior year, graduated, and received his diploma, as many others have done, with a depletion of all his mental facultiesa mournful spectacle to contemplate. 1855.] Liberal Education. 255 But the end is n@t yet; let us hear Paul Auburn, A~B., speak for himself. Soon after he left college, a friend who had heard of the above-recited poetical gem, asked Paul, with ostensible eager- ness, how he went to work to make poetry. Oh! ho! thats easy enough, said Paul; very much as they went to work to make a lawyer of me. Set down the words you want at the end of the line, and then fill up with an~y thing. This was a patent promulgation upon the science of poetry; and shows the educated Paul to have been immensely ahead of Robert G, who, a few years since, figured in some of the New-York journals as a poet~ solely upon the strength of a rhyming dictionary. Since flilibusteros have become teachers of ethics, however, other poetasters have brought into requisi- tion a more convenient and expeditious method than either of these, and one possessing superior utility, furthermore, by being equally applicable to prose and poetry; but upon this point we have dilated enough for one period, and we will have done in short order, aftei~ one or two more brilliant and pertinent illustrations from Paul. An old acquaintance asked him what he learned at college. What did I learn ? repeated Paul, staring at the interro- gator, with mingled wisdom and wonder; what did I learn? I learned to be a d-a.r-n-e-d fool! Again, subsequently, he was asked what good he got by going to school so long; his ready answer shows what he was by nature, and renders still more painful the contemplation of his suddeu decline. I got a liberal education! a-n-dconsumption, and so forth I was his instant reply, accompanied by a waggish wink. Such was the fact; and with these attainments, a liberal education, consumption, and vicious moral habits, poor Paul Auburn, A.B., ceased to live at the age of thirty-five. Peace to his ashes; he did as well as he had been taught! There are a multitude of similar cases, although we do not deny that this is an extreme one; and we know personally of several others very like it. As a nation, we boast much of our intelligence and our sys- tem of education. But great as our pride is in this respect, and great as has been our improvement in the last few years, one may safely insist upon the recognition of the fact, that, not one in twenty of the aggregate number of our institutions of learning, from the infant school up to the theological seminary, 256 Liberal Education,. [April, is any thing like what it ought to be, or any thing near what it might easily be made. We pay a fearful tax in mortality, want, and crime, for that emasculation which results from the still almost universal neglect of physical science and social law in the education of our young men and maidens, as well as ourselves for this education is life-long, and belongs only less to the man or wo- man, than to the girl or boy. Mind, in spite of the popular notion, is so much greater than matter, that it destroys the body unless that be educated with it; it exhausts itselg like the spent hurricane, without the presence of the physical flame to equalize its etherial ele- ments and sustain its sleepless impetuosity. Muscular train- ing, in order to promote physical strength, must prevail in regular alternations with mental labor. Gymnastic exercises, or something akin to them, are as necessary, from the cradle to the grave, in order to promote perfect health and perfect man- hood, as food for the stomach, or raiment for the back, a fact which all men in sedentary life may do well to remember. This idea realized and carried into effect, and the social facul- ties cared for by frequent gatherings together of both sexes in one congregation, in all our institutions of learning, in order to promote natural harmony among men and women, little need be feared for their future welfare. This is the liberal education which the race demands, and must yet have; and which alone can exalt man, and make him an honor to his kind and his Creator. 1855.J Aiv Alle~ory. AN ALLEGORY. UPON a dark and fearful way, Which through a hideous desert lay, Where crags and fens the genial ray Shut from the travellers path, A few of brave and noble soul, Which not adversity could tame Lofty though scornedin strength forth stole, Pledged, all, to reach their distant goal, And wear the flowers of fame. Each bore a sword and noble shield, That oft on Dangers darkened field Bade threatening shapes of evil yield, And shrink away in awe. But Passion sent her ardent throngs, Witching and beauteous as the eyes A serpent lighteth, when he longs To charm the gazing bird, whose songs Guided towards the prize. Een these they slighted, (though they shone Like beauty, in her star-gemmed zone, Rose-crowned upon her pearly throne,) And on unfallen moved: Yet one a golden chalice held, In which the rosy grape-juice glowed; Another swept the lyre, and thrilled With music, soft as ever filled Pleasures embowered abode: And some, with sweet bewitching glance, And grace that might the heart entrance, Moved in the airy, mazy dance But tempted them in vain.

An Allegory 257-259

1855.J Aiv Alle~ory. AN ALLEGORY. UPON a dark and fearful way, Which through a hideous desert lay, Where crags and fens the genial ray Shut from the travellers path, A few of brave and noble soul, Which not adversity could tame Lofty though scornedin strength forth stole, Pledged, all, to reach their distant goal, And wear the flowers of fame. Each bore a sword and noble shield, That oft on Dangers darkened field Bade threatening shapes of evil yield, And shrink away in awe. But Passion sent her ardent throngs, Witching and beauteous as the eyes A serpent lighteth, when he longs To charm the gazing bird, whose songs Guided towards the prize. Een these they slighted, (though they shone Like beauty, in her star-gemmed zone, Rose-crowned upon her pearly throne,) And on unfallen moved: Yet one a golden chalice held, In which the rosy grape-juice glowed; Another swept the lyre, and thrilled With music, soft as ever filled Pleasures embowered abode: And some, with sweet bewitching glance, And grace that might the heart entrance, Moved in the airy, mazy dance But tempted them in vain. 258 An, Alleyory. [April, Towards the wild pass, and through the deli, They journey on, where torrents rave In raging might that none can quell, And where the wolf and panther fell, Scream from their bone-strewn cave. At times upon the mountain-crown, Where the keen frosts come thickly down, And wintry clouds most sternly frown, The night their steps did check; But trials of a fiercer cast,~ (Dark spoilers, armed with mace and darts,) Rushed on them, like a winters blast, And prompted all to stand aghast, Except the bravest hearts. Yet all, their courage gathering, fought, And deeds of lofty daring wrought, Till all their foes the cover sought Of forests dense, and night: And then, while lying on the ground, The joy of conscious right to share, Delightful visions hovered round, As, after fearful storms, abound Sun-gleams and rainbows fair. Nor these alone their blissful beams; For lovely dovesas fair as dreams Of innocence, by flowery streams In rosy slumber couched Came floating to their fainting band, Like spirits of refreshing even, Bringing rich fruitage from the land Where lifes fair trees immortal stand, Clad in the blooms of heaven. At times, when oer their thorny way The tempest blotted out the day, There stole from heaven a genial ray, Rich with its holy love; And, now and then, amid the lone And howling deserts where they went, Some stately castle on them shone, Mid groves with April blossoms blown, Whose lord a welcome sent. 1855.] The London Times. 25~ Within, reclining in the rooms, Where maidens, ripe in beautys blooms, Made them forget the deserts glooms, They thrilled to music~s voice: And the warm hand, in welcome given, Scattering the thoughts of all theyd feared And (fairer than the blush of even) Bright glimpses of the gates of heaven The weary pilgrims cheered. THE ]IJONDON TIMES. WE were lately not a little amused with the following stu~ pendous pufi purporting to b~ an extract of a letter from the London correspondent of one of the New-York papers. Speak- ing of the London Times, he says: The influence which it exerts extends to all Europe; it is overpowering, bearing down all opposition, and can be seen, felt, and realized daily7 in the financial operations of the day, in the counting-house, in the ministerial cabinet, in the kings palace, in the saloons, and in the street. * * * To say that the Times is at this moment exerting a more powerful influ- ence in the political destinies of the English people than is exerted by the government itself, would net be an exaggeration. Throughout Europe this influence is strongly felt, etc., etc. That the political influence of the London Times is very con- siderable among the inhabitants of England and her colonies is probable; but we doubt very much whether it extends to all Europe, or whether it is so overpowering as to bear down all opposition. Having correspondents in all parts of the world, and, most especially, in those where great interests, either commercial or political, are concentrated, it is among the first -

The London Times 259-263

1855.] The London Times. 25~ Within, reclining in the rooms, Where maidens, ripe in beautys blooms, Made them forget the deserts glooms, They thrilled to music~s voice: And the warm hand, in welcome given, Scattering the thoughts of all theyd feared And (fairer than the blush of even) Bright glimpses of the gates of heaven The weary pilgrims cheered. THE ]IJONDON TIMES. WE were lately not a little amused with the following stu~ pendous pufi purporting to b~ an extract of a letter from the London correspondent of one of the New-York papers. Speak- ing of the London Times, he says: The influence which it exerts extends to all Europe; it is overpowering, bearing down all opposition, and can be seen, felt, and realized daily7 in the financial operations of the day, in the counting-house, in the ministerial cabinet, in the kings palace, in the saloons, and in the street. * * * To say that the Times is at this moment exerting a more powerful influ- ence in the political destinies of the English people than is exerted by the government itself, would net be an exaggeration. Throughout Europe this influence is strongly felt, etc., etc. That the political influence of the London Times is very con- siderable among the inhabitants of England and her colonies is probable; but we doubt very much whether it extends to all Europe, or whether it is so overpowering as to bear down all opposition. Having correspondents in all parts of the world, and, most especially, in those where great interests, either commercial or political, are concentrated, it is among the first - 260 The Londom Times.~ [April, to receive and communicate intelligence, and thus far may be said to exercise great influence over the financial operations of the day, in the counting-house, in the ministerial cabinet, in the kings palace, in the saloon, and in the street. But this influence is nothing more than the result of the facts which it communicates, not of its opinions or arguments. It is simply that of the telegraph or steamer which first communicates the intelligence that raises or depresses the price of stocks, gives tone to the commercial mart, influences the deliberations of ministerial cabinets, and sets the quidnuncs of the saloons and streets talking. 11 as the writer affirms, it at this moment exerts a more powerful influence in the political destinies of the English peo- ple than is exerted by the government itselg we presume it is in a great measure an influence derived from that very gov- ernment; since it is supposed to be, if not a ministerial organ, at least deep in the secrets of the cabinet, or some one of its membersLord Palmerston, for example. This reflected influ- ence, therefore, is not so much that of the reasonings or opin- ions of the Times, as of the weight and authority of those who are presumed to give them a direction~ Without doubt, however, much of this overpowering influ- ence of the Times, on the future destinies of Europe, if it really exists at all, is owing to its matchless dexterity in accommodat- ing itself to circumstances, and in adapting its course to every change of wind and tide, instead of resorting to unavailing efforts to give them a direction. Such, indeed, is its adroitness in this mode of leading public opinion, such its admirable second-sight in detecting its earliest indications, that its sagacity almost equals that of the Indian of our prairies, who, with un- erring instinct follows the track of the buffalo or deer when even the hounds themselves are at fault. It is thus it has gained the reputation of leading, and in fact creating public opinion, by scenting the popular feeling before it becomes ob- vious to less sagacious observers. That this is one of the most valuable instincts of a political leader or a political organ, can not be questioned; but, after all, it is only on a par with that of the animal, which in the estimation of the first-born of Egypt, who monopolize the Flesh-Pots, is the legitimate re- presentative of what they are pleased to call the swinish multi- tude, and who anticipates a storm with a sagacity far surpass- ing that of th~ almanac maker, or even the Times itself. Like that oracle, however, he does not raise the tempest, but merely snuffs it at a distance before it becomes obvious to others. 1855.] like London [LVme8. 261 We think, however, there is little doubt that the opinions and arguments of a journal of such extensive circulation, and con- ducted with such acknowledged ability, would exercise no small influence if they did not so often, in nautical phrase, run foul, and knock out each others brains. Thus, before its disciples have had time to digest one oracle, the priestess has received a new inspiration; the pious devotee, though ever so willing to believe, can find nothing to believe in, and is placed in the predicament of the hunter who is often lost on the prairies for want of a landmark to direct his course. Those who set out on a pilgrimage in search of the opinions of the Times, are only chasing the horizon which recedes as they approach. Neither with all its innumerable correspondents, and other means of acquiring information from almost all parts of the world, is the Times always to be relied on as a faithful chronicler. It is often deceived and often deceives its readers, whether inten- tionally or not, we dont pretend to say. Like all the conduct. ors of public journals, with few exceptions, it is so solicitous to give the earliest news, that it seldom waits to hear it verified before communicating it to the public; and thus each succeed- ing issue of the paper is a sort of errata, such as we see at the end of an ill-printed book, where all the blunders of the writer are ascribed to those unlucky scape-goats, the printers. We have, however, heard conductors of public journals, far more experienced than ourselves, affirm that a newspaper which always confined itself to the literal truth would find few read- ers and still fewer subscribers, since notwithstanding the assertion of my Lord Byron that Truth is strange, stranger than fiction, an editor who should confine himself to that alone, would be sadly put to it to fill his columns. What, for exam- ple, would become of the New-York Herald or the leading abolition organs, which are so well aware that a lie believed only a single day may answer all the ends of the most irrefra- gable truth, and that in all probability the correction will never reach a large portion of those it has deceived. There is. also another great advantage in publishing every thing before in- quiring as to its truth, and contradicting it afterwards. The reader is thus twice gratified: first by the excitement of the news, and next by the additional excitement of finding not one word of it true. We therefore think the Times not altogether inexcusable in its anxiety to give the earliest information without being particular as to its authenticity. The same apology may be made for its frequent veerings towards. oppo 26~ The London fThnes. [April, site points of the compass, which equally answer the purpose of creating an agreeable surprise to one class of readers, and a salutary disappointment to others. We doubt, however, whether a man without any settled opinions of his own, is qualified to direct the opinions of others. The pilot must look steadily ahead in order to steer the ship, and to sail by the stars it is necessary they should be stationary. ~ The Times may appeal successfully to opinions already formed, or in embryo; but will scarcely, we should think, ever make many converts to its political faith, inasmuch as that will, in all probability, be changed long before the disciple can comprehend its hidden mysteries. We are therefore somewhat incredulous as to this astounding influence of that journal throughout all Europe, as asserted by the correspondent of the New-York paper. We do not believe it is overpowering, bearing down all opposition, among the people of that quarter who neither speak, read, nor understand its language; and have serious doubts, whether the Czar of Russia and his seventy millions of subjects; or poor Sultan Abdel Medjid, who seems to have lately been lost in the fog of diplomacy; or even the Confer- ence at Vienna, are either of them swayed by the overpower- ing influence of the London Times. That it has no inconsid- erable influence among British residents in the United States, and some of the posterity of the old Tories, who now call them- selves Whigs; or that it is in a great measure the oracle of our Anglo-American press, no one will deny; but the Times may rest assured, it will never influence the course of the gov- ernment, or the popular feeling in the United States.. There is one point, however, in which we will frankly do the Times justice. It must be acknowledged that in its capa- city of general superintendent of the morals, manners, and politics of the United States, it treats us generally as gentle- men do each other. It seldom, if ever, resorts to downright scurrility or abuse; but says the severest things without trans- gressing the bounds of the most scrupulous politeness, or deal- ing in vulgar epithets; and if it sometimesno doubt from a sense of dutyknocks us down, it seldom fails to hold out its hand, make a low bow, and pay us a compliment. No doctor or apothecary is more dextrous in sugaring over a bitter pill. It generally either begins or ends with a soul-subduing civility. It speaks respectfully of our progress in arts and civilization, commends our enterprise, admires the rapidity of our growth, predicts our future eminence as a leading power of the world, is almost in ecstasies with our railroads and public improve- 1855j The iWiedical Controversy. 263 ments, and by way of neutralizing this homage, incidentally insinuates it is a great pity so promising a people should be such a set of pirates, filibusters, man-stealers, and dealers in human flesh. Thus it is that the Tames gives additional ven- om to the sting, by assuming the disguise of a friend or moni- tor, while throwing the poisoned arrow. But we have already said more than was originally intended, and shall only add that the people of the United States do not especially covet the praise of the Times, and can laugh at a good jest even when at their own expense. But Non estjoeus esse medignum. THE MEDICAL CONTROVERSY. THE OLD AND THE NEW SCHOOL. [THE following essay, from the pen of an esteemed and able friend, has been handed to us for publication. It is, we are given to understand, but a fragment of a volume now in course of preparation for the press. We commend it, without by any means indorsing its principles, to the careful perusal of all those who would understand the meaning and the merits of the monopoly of medical practice now sought to be obtained by legislative enactment in this State, for the Old School physicians. We say, without indorsing its principlesfor we are really not qualified to form a positive opinion on the subject. The New School have many plausible arguments to advance; but while they leave the whole medical press and journals of the country, almost without exception, in the hands of their rivals, we fear they .11 find it difficult to effect any revolution in public sentiment. Let the promoters of the monopoly bill look sharp for the coming volume. We publish the following extract as a friendly warning, which they should not permit to pass unheeded.En.] WE have no sympathy with those fanatical~nnovators, who pronounce every change an improvement, every novelty a beneficial reform. On the contrary, we readily admit that age

The Medical Controversy. The Old and the New School 263-271

1855j The iWiedical Controversy. 263 ments, and by way of neutralizing this homage, incidentally insinuates it is a great pity so promising a people should be such a set of pirates, filibusters, man-stealers, and dealers in human flesh. Thus it is that the Tames gives additional ven- om to the sting, by assuming the disguise of a friend or moni- tor, while throwing the poisoned arrow. But we have already said more than was originally intended, and shall only add that the people of the United States do not especially covet the praise of the Times, and can laugh at a good jest even when at their own expense. But Non estjoeus esse medignum. THE MEDICAL CONTROVERSY. THE OLD AND THE NEW SCHOOL. [THE following essay, from the pen of an esteemed and able friend, has been handed to us for publication. It is, we are given to understand, but a fragment of a volume now in course of preparation for the press. We commend it, without by any means indorsing its principles, to the careful perusal of all those who would understand the meaning and the merits of the monopoly of medical practice now sought to be obtained by legislative enactment in this State, for the Old School physicians. We say, without indorsing its principlesfor we are really not qualified to form a positive opinion on the subject. The New School have many plausible arguments to advance; but while they leave the whole medical press and journals of the country, almost without exception, in the hands of their rivals, we fear they .11 find it difficult to effect any revolution in public sentiment. Let the promoters of the monopoly bill look sharp for the coming volume. We publish the following extract as a friendly warning, which they should not permit to pass unheeded.En.] WE have no sympathy with those fanatical~nnovators, who pronounce every change an improvement, every novelty a beneficial reform. On the contrary, we readily admit that age 264 The Aliedical Cont~over8y. [April, and long-established use have a prescriptive title to respecta right by no means indefeasible; but which can only be voided by the production of better and more satisfactory title-deeds on the part of the new claimant. Again, on the other hand, we are well convinced that a system, intrinsically worthless, will be worthless none the less, thongh you assign to it an ante-diluvian origin; nor will a beneficial reform be any the less a positive blessing, though. its enemies prove to demonstra- tion that it was but matured an hour ago. The breath of free discussion has penetrated alike the cloister and the court, and cleared a deal of rubbish out of each, and greatly purified their atmospheres. It is true that the bats were annoyed by it, and the owls looked most dismally indignant; they protested against this violent infringement of their vested rights ; but no one heeded themor heeded but to ridicule. And now the wiser portion of the community having disposed of church and state, and cleared the pubilo mind of many antiquarian cobwebs, are beginning to turn their attention to the only science of really vital interest (so far as thi8 world is concerned) to every individual member of the human family. Need we say that we allude to the practice and development of medical intelligence amongst the masses? The present moment appears to us one peenliarly opportune for a public discussion of the principles and practice of the rival schools of medicine; a discussion divested of those mys- terious technicalities which are only useful as the shield of elaborate ignorance, arid brought down to the ordinary lan- guage and comprehension of the non-professional reader. It needs not to be told that the self-styled Regular practi- tioners of medicine are at the present moment making extra- ordinary exertions in order to compass a bill to protect them- selves from the too powerful competition of the New School or Reformed practitioners. In fact, they desire by legislative enactment to secure and perpetuate a monopoly in their busi- ness; and such is the indifference of the public, the force of received impressions, and the weight of that outside influence which a wealthy corporation can at pleasure bring to bear upon our Legislature, that there does not appear such an impossibility of success as the nature of their demands would at first lead us to imagine. Let it, then, be understood that our object, in the first place, is to expose the radical fallacies of that School, which now aspires to make itself by statute, the only practical arbitrator between life and death, health and disease, for the three mil 1855j The Jifediccd Controversy. 265 lions of inhabitants in this State. Should they succeed here- in this, the intellectual heart of the Unionthey foresee no difficulty in bringing the remainder of the States to follow an example so potent and infectious; therefore it is that, beside the unquestionable influence of the iRegular Faculty amongst ourselves, we find a general conspiracy of their body from Maine to California, having special referencq to the result of the present wire-pulling and political agitations in this State. The danger which threatens us can only be prevented by one course of actionnamely, by a thorough exposition of the un- fitness and utter urtteacliability (to coin a word) of those aspir- ing to exclusive practice; so that the intelligent people of this State may be aroused from an apathy which threatens the most disastrous results, and make their voices heard in the decision of a question so vitally concerning their greatest in- terests. We allege, and shall shortly prove to the conviction of every candid, every unprejudiced mind, that, while every other hu- man art has steadily progressed and improved, from the crude condition of its discovery down to whatever advances to per- fection it may at present possess, the art of healing, as now practised by those who boast of their unreformed and in- eradicable faith, has rather gone, crab-like, bapkward, and into still deeper ~1arkness; and that the medication they pursue to- day, is just as unreasonable and far more dangerous than the system inaugurated and reduced to theory by Hippocrates four hundred years before the birth of Christ. They have occa- sionally altered, it is true, the nature of the drugs to be ad- ministered; but this they did without any fixed principle to guide them, without any well-digested observation of the effects and analogies of their prescriptions. Horrified, now and then, by the murderous result of one medicament, they abandoned it, and picked up some other; haply to see, if the second remedy would prove less immediately pernicious than the first! As chemistry developed new agencies an4d new poisons, each was in turn adopted as the grand elixir of good health the life-prolonging harbinger of immortality. Like the Jews, they could give no reason for the faith that was in them ; the logic of experience fell dead upon the minds of men who had resolved that neither argument nor novelty should disturb the lucrative and tranquil mystery which sur- rounded and sustained their existence. The better to delude and keep in ignorance the public, they invented a peculiar jargon, a scientific ghiberish, which should be at once their bulwark against any intrusion of Common-Sense, and the 266 The Aliedical Controver8y. [April, means of investing them in the eyes of the vulgar with some- thing of mystical and superstitious terror. Omne ignotum pro magnfflco. So the monk mutters his orisons in an un- known tongue; and the doctor writes his prescription in that very questionable doctors Latin, which a mistaken abbre- viation has unjustly and injuriously laid to ~the door of the dogs. That they have rejected reason as a possible auxiliary in their combat with disease, the very programme of their studies is enough to prove. They look for the means of sustaining life, not to the living man, and to the various results produced upon the disorganized human mechanism by the various medi- cations they prescribe; they regard not the periodicity and regularly recurring character of all disease; nor take advantage of those intervals of comparative health which are observable in all disorders, even the most acute and malignant, and which afford the fairest opportunity for the successful application of those remedies which experience proves best calculated to prevent, or at least indefinitely postpone, a recurrence of the crisis and attack. On the contrary, these Anti-Improvement pundits have solemnly resolved that the secret of life and health, if any such secret there be, ~ question which their private experience very naturally inclines them to deny,) can only be found, if at all, in the body of decay and death! A-proposition which rather leads us to suspect that the doctors must have been educated in that terra incognita where the monkeys dig for daylight. As well might they tell their disciples to study the aspect, character, and causes of the rainbow in a dungeon, upon whose primeval darkness no ray of light had ever intruded, as instruct them to ferret out and eliminate by anatomical research the true understanding of health from a body, in which neither health, nor life, nor the most,trivial function necessary to either, exists or is in action. That a knowledge of anatomy may be serviceable to a physician, in leading him to form a correct opinion of the nature of the disorder he is first called in to rectify, we readily admit; nor could any sane person deny so evident a truism. But the doctors business, if we understand it rightly, is not, so far as his patient is concerned, to form a correct diagnosis or opinion of the functional derangement; it is to cure that derangement, and restore the functions to tbeir natural and requisite activity. In support of this ridiculous dissection-theory, they have recourse to a very specious analo- gical argument, which, when itself dissected, proves to be no argument at all. They say: Mail is a mechanism; so is a 18~.] Ike Medical Controver8y. 267 watch. If a watch be out of order, and the motion, which is its life, dies out, will not the artificer open the case in order to find out and rectify whatever may be wanting, or out of order in the works? And can not this competent artificer, such examination being made, tell precisely what was the cause of the original derangement and chronornetrical death, so to speak, of the time-piece? Does he not learn from an examination of the interior of the watchits mechanical anatomyhow to cure its aberrations, and restore it to normal regularity? The like rule applies to all like cases; and as man is a mechanism, we can only learn how to restrain his living deviations from good health by examining and acquainting ourselves with his interior structure, its various adaptations and eccentricities2 That this argument is a specious one to men not accustomed to examine any problem independently, we admit; but place it, even for a moment, in the crucible of logic, and all its false though glittering sophistications melt and evaporate away. In the first place, the watch is a mere mechanism, having a man-devised, man-made, and palpable motor. While man is a mechanism, it is true; but one of utterly infinite complexity, and having for his motor an essence so subtle, so etherial, and divine, that no lancet yet has probed its electric natureno microscope made it apparent to the eye. Moreover, when the watch ceases to move, the motor mainspring can still be found within it; and, if injured, there is but trifling trouble in mend- ing it, or replacing it altogether. But when the man ceases to breathe, his motive principle, his life, all that distinguishes his animated body from the senseless clod beneath our feet, has returned to the great source whence it came. You can neither mend it, nor recall it; nor have the Regulars, though performing many other wonders, yet quite succeeded in replac- ing it. So much for the analogical error of the postulate. But the second error in demonstration is, if possible, more gross. They say that the artificer learns how to correct his watch by making himself acquainted with the mechanical ana- tomy of his time-piece; ergo, the study of the anatomy of the human body is the chief thing requisite for the cure of human ills. They forget that the watchmaker has to study the ana- tomymot of watches in general, nor of any utterly ruined watch, but must directly open and examine the innermost and most delicate machinery of the watch put before him to be mended. Now, when the anatomical theorists are prepared to cut open and examine every patient who applies to them for cure, we admit that there will then be (but not till then) a practical ana- logy between the cases upon which they build their argument. 268 The lJliedical Controversy. [April, When they cut into the heart to see if it is ossified, or explore the centre of the brain to detect any symptoms of hydro- cephalus; when they prove by ocular demonstration that we live and move and have our being by the grace of a main- spring, which it is their peculiar privilege to wind up, and keep in vigorous activity; then, but not till then, they will find, us amongst the most clamorous petitioners for the establishment of that monopoly which they are now so feverishly soliciting. Anatomy is of service to the physician, by enabling him to form a general idea of the character and location of the func- tional derangement; but it does not enable him, per se, to remedy what is wrong; and far from being the first necessity and most perfect qualification of the healing art, as our would- be monopolists pretend, it may be rated as a valuable, but by no means indispensable, auxiliary. To know what is wrong, does not, of itself; imply the ability to correct it. If it did, the ploughman might mend the broken mainspring of his watch, and the mere anatomist check the ravages of tubercular con- sumption. While justl~y ashamed of that branch of the medical pro- fession which, contenting itself with a mere profession, has so long made one of the highest human arts the subject of the poets satire, and the sneer of the philosophical essayist; and justly proud and hopeful of that reformed and aspiring branch which avails itself of every improvement, and which, by its attainments and intelligence, is rapidly dissipating those clouds of prejudice and misunderstanding which an interested rivalry was at first too successful in raisingcommon justice compels us to admit that manyindeed, we fear the majorityof bene- ficial remedies introduced into the pharmacopeia, were the casual discoveries of non-professional and, in the sense of me- dical science, non-educated persons. The healing virtues of many herbs, long dubbed the old women~s cures, and de- nounced for their simplicity alid accessibility by the Regulars of medicine, are now pretty generally acknowledged, and made available. Peruvian bark, one of our best remedies, was found by the Spaniards in common use amongst the savages inhabiting the country where it grew; while mercury, and other mineral agents, originating with the Arabians, were only introduced into Europe towards the close of the fifteenth cen- tury, by Theophrastus Paracelsus, a reformer, though in many points a mistaken one, of Switzerland. But why swell a cata- logue, which alone would demand larger limits than we have proposed as the extent of this essay? The shameful fact is admitted; and, when we regard the rigidly anti-innovative at- 1855.] The Aliediccd Controver8y. 209 titude which the Old-School doctors have so consistently main- tained for centuries, we cease to wonder, though we can not but deplore, that so it is, and could not have been otherwise. It required no ordinary courage to enable a practitioner so much as to confess the use of a new remedy. By doing so, he created alarm and disturbance in the profession; unsettled their profound self-complacency, and increased their appre- hensions lest some thinker and reformer, some medical com- pound of Luther and Mirabeau, should overturn the super- structure of the system they had elaborated, and done their best to fortify. Every medical innovator has paid for his pre- sumption the penalty of loss of practice, and professional estrangement. Harvey was denounced, and thrown out of business, because he had the audacity to discover and make known the circulation of the blood; while the great Jenner suffered professional martyrdom and legal persecution for years as a reward for having introduced the vaccine as a preventive for small-pox. And here, indeed, the present fee-system is an illustration of the great error by which the public, to their own inappreciable hurt, have made their interests directly ant~onistic to those of their medical attendants; have established~ In fact, a proportion between the reward of their attendant physician and the in- tensity and duration of the suffering~ he either inflicts, or fails to relieve. They do not, as in t)nur other business transac- tions, make it to the advantage~ of their employs to have his duty performed as well and ajjuickly as is possible. On the contrary, the present fee-system which prevails amongst the Regulars, and is, indirectly, the source of their incorrigible hatred of improvemenk, has for its actual, though unacknow- ledged basis, this stdpendous principle: The worse I grow under your care~The more I suffer, and the longer you protract my sufferings, the greater shall be your reward 1, Poor hu- man nature is too fallible, too avaricious, too capable of deceiv- ing itself where interest suggests that the deception may be profitable, to stand this test. We would not suggest that any individual practitioner would deliberately injure a patient in order to prolong his profitable visitsthough this is quite sufficiently possible to suggest unpleasant suspicions; but we do aflirm, that a system such as this is a reward placed upon incompetence, and must inevitably disincline its beneficiaries to depart from their established routine in quest of difficult and money-losing imprOvements. We are no advocates of the no cure, no pay idea; for 19 270 The Jiifiediecd Controversy. [April, that would incline unprincipled practitioners to exaggerate the danger of every case; and fright, we know, invariably aggra- vates the character of any derangement, and not unfrequently produces a disease where before it had no existence. More- over, there are many chronic maladies, if not incapable, at least extremely diflicult of cure; and such, of course, could not legitimately be brought within the sphere of such a bargain~ But what we advocate, and what the common-sense of the community will finally take up as a juste milie?s, or proper compromise between the interests conflicting, and ever destined to conflict, would be this: that a certain reasonable compensa- tion should be made to each physician for his attendance and medicameuts, in proportiou to the extent and duration of the services required; but that a fixed sum should likewise be named and agreed uponits payment being made to depend upon the speediness and completeness of the cure. By such an arrangement the physician would be secured, at least, of some moderate compensation for his services; while, on the other hand, his positive and full remuneration would depend upon the skill aiid attention he employed. Such an arrangement would be the death-blow of that sys- tem which now tyrannizes over the mind, and levies a tribute on the health of a docreasing majority of the public of this enlightened land. It would give to the five thousand practi- tioners of the New School a fair field of competition, and dis- play, by infallible statistics, ~he beneficial character of those deviations from established practice, which all who have witnessed or experienced well kn~~ to be improvements of most vital need. The New School would gladly erabrace the offer of pay- ment, based on such a principle as that we have endeavored to suggest. They recognize the fact, that tixr~e is money, and health a possession, for the insurance of which, ho price could properly be considered as excessive; and they, therefore, feel assured that for a speedy and efficacious restoration to health and business, the public will freely pay. They feel that they are masters of the art they profess, and do not fear to adopt this maxim as the motto of their business: Let our pay be proportionate to the skill we exhibit, the relief we afford, and the speed with which we cure Ill the Old School practitioners entertain, or have reason to entertain, a like estimate of their own ability, let them adopt a similar motto. The public will act as umpire, and decide after a careful perusal of the undertakers bills on either side. 1865.] Burninri of 3loscow. 271 BUI~NING OF MOSCOW. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. To prefix a long historical introduction to an event so well known, in all its causes and results, as this, would be a work so unnecessary and so superfluous, that I shall not attempt it. The action of the following poem commences at midnight on the 15th of September, A.D. 1812. The city had been fired on the night of the 14th; but owing to the stillness of the air, and the exertions of Marshal Mortier, who had been appointed governor of the city by Napoleon, with the command of the Young G~uard, it had been extinguished. On the night of the 15th, however, the wind was so strong, that it overcame the exertions of the wearied troops. According to the best author- ities, the city burned from the 15th to the 20th, constantly. On the third day, the fire-brands, borne by a violent north- west wind, set fire to one of the towers or pavilions of the Kremlin, adjoining the arsenal where Lariboissiere, commander- in-chief of the artillery, had caused the ammunition of the artillery of the Guard to be deposited. Napoleon had taken up his quarters in the Kremlin, arid did not leave it till the night of the 16th, after it was surrounded with flames. He then transferred his head-quarters to the imperial palace of Petershoff, about a league from the outer circuit of the city; after which he gave orders for the evacuation. We left Moscow, says General Dumas, under a real rain of fire. The wind was so violent, that it carried to a great distance the iron plates which were torn from the roofs and made red-hot by the flames. The feet of our horses were burnt. It is impossible to form an idea of the confusion that prevailed in this precipitate evacuation. The noise of the fire r ~embled the roaring of the waves- it was truly a tempest in

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel Burning of Moscow 271-276

1865.] Burninri of 3loscow. 271 BUI~NING OF MOSCOW. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. To prefix a long historical introduction to an event so well known, in all its causes and results, as this, would be a work so unnecessary and so superfluous, that I shall not attempt it. The action of the following poem commences at midnight on the 15th of September, A.D. 1812. The city had been fired on the night of the 14th; but owing to the stillness of the air, and the exertions of Marshal Mortier, who had been appointed governor of the city by Napoleon, with the command of the Young G~uard, it had been extinguished. On the night of the 15th, however, the wind was so strong, that it overcame the exertions of the wearied troops. According to the best author- ities, the city burned from the 15th to the 20th, constantly. On the third day, the fire-brands, borne by a violent north- west wind, set fire to one of the towers or pavilions of the Kremlin, adjoining the arsenal where Lariboissiere, commander- in-chief of the artillery, had caused the ammunition of the artillery of the Guard to be deposited. Napoleon had taken up his quarters in the Kremlin, arid did not leave it till the night of the 16th, after it was surrounded with flames. He then transferred his head-quarters to the imperial palace of Petershoff, about a league from the outer circuit of the city; after which he gave orders for the evacuation. We left Moscow, says General Dumas, under a real rain of fire. The wind was so violent, that it carried to a great distance the iron plates which were torn from the roofs and made red-hot by the flames. The feet of our horses were burnt. It is impossible to form an idea of the confusion that prevailed in this precipitate evacuation. The noise of the fire r ~embled the roaring of the waves- it was truly a tempest in 272 Burning of Ziloscow. [April, an ocean of fire. . . . We bivouacked on the skirts of a little wood, from which we could behold this frightful spectaclethe image of hell. Napoleon himself said: It was the spectacle of a sea and billows of fire, a sky and clouds of flame, mduntains of red rolling flame, like immense waves of the sea, alternately burst- ing forth and elevating themselves to skies of fire, and then sinking into the ocean of flame below. Oh! it was the most grand, the most sublime, and the most terrific sight the world ever beheld. On the 10th of October, the Emperor commenced his return to France. On the 6th of December he quitted the army in disguise at Smorgonce, and on the 18th he entered Paris at midnight. This campaign cost him, including prisoners, 167,500 men. How often, when the wished-for prize is near, And all its beauties agitate the soul, Is the gay smile exchanged for sorrows tear, And every feeling bursts without control? How often i~ mans feeble arm upraised In opposition to unchanging fate; How often is the hero men have praised, Made, but by great circumstances, great? Yet would I not decry the name of him Before whose name all Europe once could bow; Before whose brightness other flames grow dim, Whose laurel is yet green upon his brow. No, no, I would not pluck one laurel leaf From out the crown Napoleon proudly won; The first, the last, with reign as bright, as brief As meteors, rushing headlong to the sun. Aye, proudly could I worship at thy shrine, Napoleon, Europes greatest, brightest son; For none has lived whose fame can equal thine, In cabinet or field, save our own Washington. Tis noon of night, the wind is high, And clouds and tempests shroud the sky, And sleet, and snow, and wind are driven From every quarter of the heaven. None are abroad at this wild hour, And Mescows streets deserted lay; For show and pomp, and pride and power Had all been shorn away. 185~.] Burning of .Jlkscow. 273 No beauteous moon in splendor rolled, And tipped with gold her thousand spires; No twinkling stars their love-tales told, No Boreales lit their fires. Twas silence allsave when a blast More keen and shrill came sweeping by; The snow in clouds was upward cast, As winds were warring with the sky. Around, the snow in hillocks piled, Each hut and palace covered oer; Man shrank aghast from scene so wild, Each moment wilder than before. The sentry marched his lonely round, Lonely indeed on night so dire; He stopswhat is that startling sound? The Kremlin sentrys cry of fire ! What! ho! Mortier! awake! awake! But Mortiers ear had caught the sound, For balmy sleep will oft forsake One girt with dangerous horrors round. Fire! fire ! the sentiles loud proclaim, The dreadful drama has begun; Moscow is wrapt at once in flame From every point the people run. The scene had openednight and storm, And fire and shouting filled the air; On every hand was loud alarm, On every face was blank despair. The flames arisehuge balls of fire Appear as falling from the clouds; Now crashes some high-towering spire, Forth rush with shrieks the startled crowd& Sullen explosions shake the earth, And dull and rumbling sounds are heard, Such ~s presage an earthquakes birth, When every secret depth is stirred: Then burst the flames on every side, The clouds seem waves of liquid fire, A whirlwind fierce directs the tide That rolls oer Moscow in its ire. Most dreadful night! Confusion reigns, At every point is raging fire; The elements have burst their chains,! And still grow fiercer, wilder, higher. 274 Burning of 3loseoW. [April, Onward it drives, like ocean-wave When tempests make the waters rave. Mortiers Young Guard amid this scene Of awful desolation rushed, Blacked and begrimed, they sprung between The crushing and the crushed; More swiftly still the flames arose, And nobly, yet in vain, they strove; They seemed to triumph oer their foes, And toward the Kremlin drove. Tis morn, tis noon, tis night; and still The city burned with fiercer glow; The howling storm and shouting fill With terror friend and foe. Napoleon holds the Kremlin yet, But watches with an anxious eye, Nor leaves it, though the stern Murat Beseeches him to fly. He paced the chamber to and fro, The element comes sweeping nigher; When rises from the crowd below, The cry, The Kremlin is on fire ! Slowly he left the palace then, With sullen movement of despair, Like to a goaded lion when The hunters near his lair. Again tis day~again tis night; The hurricane with fiercer blast Drives oer the city in its might; The burning roofs are upward cast; The city was a sea of flame; The heavens a canoPy of fire; The clouds like boiling waves became; Now they advance and now retire; And here and there a trembling spire Looms darkling, like a ships tall mast, Above this desolation dire; A momentand tis downward cast. Behold, that palace, proud and fair, That rears its turrets to the skies, Reels, trembles, falls in ruins there, And crushed beneath, the cottage lies. 1855.] Burning of iUo8cow. 275 The mothers gaze with tearful eyes Where once their homes and children smiled; The infants scream with piteous cries, Aifrighted at a scene so wild. They rush along the fiery street, Bearing whateer they love the most; Or, gathered into groups, they meet Death, when each hope is lost. Tis done: grim Desolation bends Her form where once a city rose, Destroyed by those who were its friends, To save it from its foes. Now may we pause; the shout is dumb, The hurricane is stilled at last; No more is heard the distant hum, That told the swiftly coming blast. The fire is quenched, save here and there Bursts fiercely forth a fitful flame; In sullen mood, in dire despair, The troops retire with naught but fame. Tis silence, sadness, ruin all, And friend and foe look on aghast; Does it presage Napoleons fall, That thus he should be checked at last? A day of Empire, brief and bright, To set at last in endless night. 276 I91uinan~ 7fc& turo in, Chunks. [April, HUMAN NATURE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 11.JONATHANA CHARACTER. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.5.Q., ETC. JONATHAN was thirty yesterday, and is still the tender object of maternal solicitude. Born where nature never amply passed her bounteous hand; reared where cold sterility slumbers in her granite robes; alike in boyhood and in riper years, to Jonathan age is naught. He is an only son, tall and slender as the shadow of a spire. Nature forgot to crown his brow with intelligence, or to light his eye with one bright beam of intellect. However, what nature neglected to grant, parental love strove hard to supply. Jonathan was the idol of his home. What Jonathan said was household orthodoxy. When Jonathan smiled, his mother invariably answered with a smile; and when Jonathan sighed, his mother hastened with sympathy to alleviate the tender suf- ferer. His mother thought him unsurpassed in polite attain- ments. She saw in him the beau ideal of a polished gentle- man, and in these matters Jonathan thought just as his mother did. Whether at church or ,home, Jonathan was conse4uen- tial. His labors were principally confined to the knife exer- cise at the family board; in fine, eating, drinking, and sleep- ing were his tutors. As Jonathan reached the high road of legalized manhood, his mother advised him, for his own pecu- liar happiness, to seek among the fair and the beautiful a life- companion, to smooth adversity and refine happiness. To reach the goal of love seemed to him an undertaking of no small momenta pilgrimage that would pass endurance. The future seemed to possess no matrimonial torch to light him along the rosy meads of happiness. Jonathan, however, thought himself qualified for matrimonial honors. His mother

Richard Poe, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Poe, Richard, B.L.E.S.Q., Etc. Human Nature in Chunks. Chunk No. 11 - Jonathan - a Character 276-281

276 I91uinan~ 7fc& turo in, Chunks. [April, HUMAN NATURE IN CHUNKS. CHUNK No. 11.JONATHANA CHARACTER. BY RICHARD DOE, B.L.E.5.Q., ETC. JONATHAN was thirty yesterday, and is still the tender object of maternal solicitude. Born where nature never amply passed her bounteous hand; reared where cold sterility slumbers in her granite robes; alike in boyhood and in riper years, to Jonathan age is naught. He is an only son, tall and slender as the shadow of a spire. Nature forgot to crown his brow with intelligence, or to light his eye with one bright beam of intellect. However, what nature neglected to grant, parental love strove hard to supply. Jonathan was the idol of his home. What Jonathan said was household orthodoxy. When Jonathan smiled, his mother invariably answered with a smile; and when Jonathan sighed, his mother hastened with sympathy to alleviate the tender suf- ferer. His mother thought him unsurpassed in polite attain- ments. She saw in him the beau ideal of a polished gentle- man, and in these matters Jonathan thought just as his mother did. Whether at church or ,home, Jonathan was conse4uen- tial. His labors were principally confined to the knife exer- cise at the family board; in fine, eating, drinking, and sleep- ing were his tutors. As Jonathan reached the high road of legalized manhood, his mother advised him, for his own pecu- liar happiness, to seek among the fair and the beautiful a life- companion, to smooth adversity and refine happiness. To reach the goal of love seemed to him an undertaking of no small momenta pilgrimage that would pass endurance. The future seemed to possess no matrimonial torch to light him along the rosy meads of happiness. Jonathan, however, thought himself qualified for matrimonial honors. His mother 1856.] Human A~tture in Chunkg. 27~ thought so; his father willingly assented to home instruc- tions. A trinity of opinions does not equal one effort. His mother thought him the pink of agreeableness, the peculiar favorite among the sisterhood of maidens. She told him affec- tionately and confidentially that the only sure way to secure a heart was to bait his countenance with a smile, and any gal7 would most cheerfully bite. Jonathan was at first reluctant to make an effort to secure a help-mate, but the success of less worthy aspirants at length gave him more confidence. The Mecca of love is not reached without heart palpitations and trembling knees. Jonathan long and seriously pondered the glorious anticipation; dreamed over the prospect, and at length began to verily believe himself the idol of some dark-eyed maiden. Riches were among his family inheritances; his family connections respectable; his grandfather, a recipient of Uncle Sams generosities; his uncle had been a member of the Legislature; his aunt married a deacon, and one of his cousins was in college. Prospects were favorable. One thing alone troubled him; he had never mingled in the out-door life never had mingled with gayetynever had learned the philo. sophy of a kiss. I say neveronce he was persuaded to advance one step beyond the leading lines of his mothers apron; but that was purely a parental oversight. It was at a May- day festival, when the bright-eyed maidens had gathered to crown the Queen of Spring with garlands, and to wake an- thems of rejoicing in the saddened heart. Youths fresh from valley and mountain top, with cheeks like the first blushing woodland trophies, which they bore with them, came to swell the throng. Jonathan was thereslim, silent Jonathan. His eyes, expanded to their utmost capacity, seemed watchful of every event. Dark eyes looked on him witchingly, and Jona- than began to think himself a permanent structure in their affection. But nothing could move him from his position; he was firmly planted on the eternal r6ck of indifference. Both hands were firmly imbedded in broad-cloth. During the gay- ety of the hour, a pair of red lips vainly strove to implant a kiss-germ on his cheek, but to no purpose; he showed a stern resistance to every attack, and declared openly that his uncle had always warned him, in such cases, to beware of tempta- tion. Jonathan left the scene of merriment at an early hour. His recital of events to parental ears was touching and melan- choly. Still, marriage was the goal of his ambitionthe honest striving of his heart. His parents were anxious to crown their gray hairs with fresh garlands of affection; and Jona 278 Human Yature in Chunks. [April, than, obedient to the parental wish, determined to make a real, borne fid~ matrimonial effort. A new suit of iron-gray was pnrchased, a new hat was added to his wardrobe, his old cow- hides were thrust aside, and patent leather substituted. Now, there lived in the valley below a very pert maiden that bore the sinless cognomen of Sallie Ann. Sallie was fair as a rose, and as smiling as the natal cheek of Spring. She loved the woodlands for their songs, and the mountain sides for the flowers they nourished. One calm Sabbaths eve, Jonathan set forth on a visit. For one hour before his departure, he was drilled in the code of politeness; told to say this and say that, to do this and do that. His journey thither was one of much excitement, his heart throbbed violently, his cheeks were flushed with fears, every shrub that he passed seemed to shield an enemy, every stone seemed to whisper an ominous word. Jonathan was soon in sight of the mansiona hesitancy overcame him, he paused for breathto reflectturned his footsteps homewardpaused againadvancedretreated againonward. But Jonathan had heard of couragehad heard that faint heart never won fair lady. Victory or no wife seemed finally to be his motto. After superhuman effort, Jonathan soon reached Sallie Anns mansionhis arm was upliftedthe blow fell. Soon bright- eyed, rosy.cheeked Sallie Ann was at the door. Salutations were exchangedJonathan paused on the thresholdretreat was defeat. Sebastopol must be taken. Sallie invited him to walk in. Jonathan obeyed instructions. After wasting a full half hour on the beauties of the evening, Jonathan sug- gested the propriety of union. Sallie blushed. She looked at the clock, twitched her apron in a thousand ways, opened and shut the book she held in her hand a thousand times, looked out of the window with a laughing earnestness, bit her lip, and at last snuffed the candle out. It was soon re-lighted and in its place. Finally, said she, twisting her handkerchieg Mr. Strong, I dont comprehend your meaning. Well, said Jonathan, cycing his boots; I and mother thinks as how it is time for me to kinder seek a companion, as I am bout old enough to begin life, and I knoWs of no one but yourself that would quite come up to my ideas of per. fection. Me, perfect? Why, Mr. Strong Well, you are a plagucy sight nearer it than any other gal I know in all this place. Ma says so, pa says so, and I say so. Aunt Maria said you was a likely gaL 1855.] Human, Nature in Chunks. 279 I think you are all mistaken, replied Sallie, snuffing the candle. Guess not. Aunt Maria, you know her, Deacon Nebs wife, says she has been acquainted with lots on em, and she says you are a likely, go-ahead sort of a person. I think SO7 ma thinks so. What do you wish me to understand by a union ? inter- rupted Sallie. Tying on us together, so that nothing on arth can pull us in two. I am getting along in years, dad is rather infirm, ma is naturally weak, constitutionallyplenty to do. Are you constitutionally weak ? inquired Sallie Ann, with a smile. No, guess not; had the measlesmumpstroubled with bile when I was smallpretty stout nowfirst-rate relish for food. Im sound as a roach, Sallie. Are you naturally kind ? Yes, I am. Dad often says he never see me riled. Do you read much ? Yes, m-a-r-rn. Dad takes the Messenger, and a politicical paper, that gives us lots of news. ilave you ever loved any one else ? Not a bit. There was Lucy Jones, pretty enough, but the critter has got red hair, and ma says thats the sign of a cross temper. I must marry affection all over. I am very cross, sometimes, said Sallie, with much em- phasis. Well, now, I never saw in all my born days. I sposed you was pretty free from that ar fault. Aunt Maria says you are good-naturedaint you Sallie ? No, Mr. Strong; I am a perfect scold. I will be obeyed in all things. My word is law. Every time I smile, it only covers my hate. II am uglya perfect tyrant. Should I marry you, it would, be only to find dome one to torment, The dogs and the cats run at the sight of me. Id pull your hair, sir; would put the broom over your head; I would torment you in a thousand ways. Well, said Jonathan, much alarmed; you and I cant tradethats so. I dont want any such kind of a union. Im dreadful glad you told me ont, for I should have got married right offi Aunt Maria is wrong. Its so, decidedly, replied Sallie, adjusting her hair. Well, said Jonathan, Im for home; sorry natur made you so, on my account. I was looking out for happiness here 280 Hur,w~n 1W~twre in, Chunks. [April, on arth, but I believe as how all the gals are gin to scolding. Time aint now as when ma was a gal. You are correct, Mr. Strong. Gals, as you call them, are a peculiar structure, susceptible of anger and ill. They are not to be trusted with such a valuable treasure as a heart. Never trouble them again with your presence; they will surely abuse your goodness. They may smile; but smiles dont al~ ways light the pathway to their hearts. They may imprint a kiss on your cheek, but that is not always the seal of affection. T advise you always to live singleandand die unmarried. Well, Ill be bound not to have a thing to do with the structures, as you call em, agin. Good night, Sallie. Good night, Mr. S-t-r-o-n-g, replied Sallie, rising with much graciousness. Jonathan departed in hot haste; he left distance in the rear. Breathless, he reached home. What luck? what luck ? inquired the anxious parents. Well, ma, Im down. I loved Sallie beyond ordinary. I really couldnt help liking the critter till to.night. I told her II wanted a wife. Sallie said she was a cross thingwould pull my hair, if she married me. She said all gals were just like her. I guess they are, ma. Dang me, Ill let em entirely alone. Whod thought that of Sallie? Aunt Maria lies. Ill bebe con well, cut into two hundred pieces, if I ever look atat a gal agin, with any intention of marriage. Gals are pretty enough in their places, but after this, Jonathan Strong aint arter them. 1855.] The Kagyar. 281 THE MAGYAR. His birth was humble, yet, by nature, he Was great in mind, and greater still in heart. To one, his nation bowed with reverence; But, to the other, clung with childhoods love. One was the thunderbolt which broke their chains The other was the giant harp which chained Their souls. In youth, he stood alone Bold advocate of rightresistless foe of wrong. He was the tyrants foehe staid their wrath, As pyramid the desert-storm. To him, Their bribes were bubblestheir decrees and laws He broke, as Samson broke his withes, and still Was free. They sought to quench the flame he lit With blood and prison-damps: the blood burned like Oil; but the dungeon-damps, for a moment, Checked the flames, as children, with tuft of grass, A moment check the mountain nil. His countrys sky was dark as Egypts in Her night of woe, but the clouds parted, and A single ray, Hopes golden smile, rested On his upturned brow. He was Futures child Restless in mind, he grasped the present and The past, to shape the future to his wish. His countrys wrongs preyed, like Promethean Vulture, on his heart. He spake; his country heard, Was breathless, quiveri~ig in every nerve. Magyars, arise! our children call for bread Our wives, for vengeanceour fatherland, for Justiceour God, to dutyour duLy Calls to sacrifice, to liberty, or death. Four hundred men, associates in power,

A. D. C. C., A. D. The Magyar 281-284

1855.] The Kagyar. 281 THE MAGYAR. His birth was humble, yet, by nature, he Was great in mind, and greater still in heart. To one, his nation bowed with reverence; But, to the other, clung with childhoods love. One was the thunderbolt which broke their chains The other was the giant harp which chained Their souls. In youth, he stood alone Bold advocate of rightresistless foe of wrong. He was the tyrants foehe staid their wrath, As pyramid the desert-storm. To him, Their bribes were bubblestheir decrees and laws He broke, as Samson broke his withes, and still Was free. They sought to quench the flame he lit With blood and prison-damps: the blood burned like Oil; but the dungeon-damps, for a moment, Checked the flames, as children, with tuft of grass, A moment check the mountain nil. His countrys sky was dark as Egypts in Her night of woe, but the clouds parted, and A single ray, Hopes golden smile, rested On his upturned brow. He was Futures child Restless in mind, he grasped the present and The past, to shape the future to his wish. His countrys wrongs preyed, like Promethean Vulture, on his heart. He spake; his country heard, Was breathless, quiveri~ig in every nerve. Magyars, arise! our children call for bread Our wives, for vengeanceour fatherland, for Justiceour God, to dutyour duLy Calls to sacrifice, to liberty, or death. Four hundred men, associates in power, 282 The ililiagyar. [April, Sprang to their feet, stretched their right arms, replied: Liberty or death ! Liberty or death ! Echoed from hill to vale, from crag to crag, Passed oer the summit of the highest mount, Descended, crag by crag, and filled the land. The peasants left their fields, their children, and Their homes: their flocks, unguarded, strayed: Bold armies met: the right, at last, prevailed: The tyrant fled: his throne was wrapt in flames; The Itliaqyars land wcts free! Wild joy prevailed. Meanwhile the tyrant gathered strength: his arms Increased; dark masses rushed upon the new- Born land, but backward rolled, like sea-foam from Eternal rock. Wild joy prevailed again. Meanwhile, the traitor camehis wiles prevailed The conflict ceased. The Magyars were in chains. Their father, shelterless, sought shelter neath The Eastern palmsand, for an hour, he slept. He was an exile, hated and beloved, Honored and despised. He was hunted down By tyrants, like a tiger in the fold. p Yet the flock sheltered him, as if he were Their feeblest lamb. He told his anguish to The worldthe world was dumb; but, oer the sea, A nation heard, and wept. She bore him to Her shores; her millions bowed with reverence, Swayed by his kingly mind, or melted by The fervor of his love. But tyrants oer A million, or a score of souls, alike Are tyrants stillso petty tyrants railed. Europe sleeps, but peacelessVesuvius sleeps, But not withinKossuth sleeps, but in his Breast revolutions gather strength. His hand Is on the key-stone in the arch of wrong It trembleshe hesitatesdraws back his Hand; for wisdom bids, another hour delay, Though every lingring moment adds frightful Horror to the final crash, which sure must come Nor lingers long. Vesuvius, aroused, Shall burst her furnace bars, pour forth her floods, And waste, and blast, and desolate the earth With waves of liquid rock. So Kossuth shall Awake, tear out the key-stone from the arch Of wrong, as Samson the pillar from the 1855j like iJliagyar. 283 Temple of his foes; yet shall himself escape, While revolution, from his breast, shall leap, Like Alpine deer, from hill to vale, from crag To crag, till Europe, mighty giant with his Thousand arms, shall wakefrom his prison burst, Cast off his chains-with one wild, raging breath, Like desert-simoons wrath, make tyrants bite The dust, or sink them, with their thrones, in the Wild vortex of the peoples wrath. Then Rome, Eternal, harlot Romethrice widowed Rome, Shall die, amid the conflagration of Her cursed shrines, or, on the funral pile Of her consort, Wrong; and, on Peters rock, A Church be built to Him, whose spirit sets Men free. Then shall the conflict cease, the storm- Clouds pass away. The sun, once more, in love And beauty smile upon unfettered man. A. D.C. 284 Ow Tran8c& tlantic Cousin8. [April, OUR TRANSATLANTIC COUSINS.7 BY COLONEL BIDOLON. Your Lordship will be glad also to hear that the union of the two governments, (France and England,) is not confined to the Eastern question; but that the habit of a good understanding between them has become general on nil matters of policy, and extends to all parts of the world; and that on the question of policy, there is no part of the world, in either hemisphere, with regard to which we are not en tirely in accord. ~S~peech of Lord Cf larendon. What firmer bonds can there in fact be than those bearing the names of victories belonging to the two armies recalling a common glory? than the same anxieties and the same hopes agitating the two countries? than the same views and the same intentions animating the two governments in every corner of the globe ? Napoleon III, 24th Dec., 1854. Our transatlantic cousins will become a trifle less insolent and overbearing when they find that the fleet which summers in the Baltic, can, without cost or eflort, winter in the Gulf of Mexico. North Briti8l& Review, for November, 1854. MANY more extracts to the same purpose, might be cited from English publications of a late date; but we have already enough for our present purpose, and we shall not therefore search further. The tone of the press throughout the United States, has been remarkably moderate in regard to any strictures on the present war in the Crimea. While the papers have been un- usually anxious to lay before their readers the latest news from the seat of war, they have, up to the present time, very gene- rally forborne to give opinions either of its justice or of its scientific conduct. They have observed a strict neutrality, and we venture to say that nothing has reached the camp before Sebastopol, or the city itseli by which either party could be justly offended. There has been some complaint by the Brit

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel "Our Transatlantic Cousins" 284-289

284 Ow Tran8c& tlantic Cousin8. [April, OUR TRANSATLANTIC COUSINS.7 BY COLONEL BIDOLON. Your Lordship will be glad also to hear that the union of the two governments, (France and England,) is not confined to the Eastern question; but that the habit of a good understanding between them has become general on nil matters of policy, and extends to all parts of the world; and that on the question of policy, there is no part of the world, in either hemisphere, with regard to which we are not en tirely in accord. ~S~peech of Lord Cf larendon. What firmer bonds can there in fact be than those bearing the names of victories belonging to the two armies recalling a common glory? than the same anxieties and the same hopes agitating the two countries? than the same views and the same intentions animating the two governments in every corner of the globe ? Napoleon III, 24th Dec., 1854. Our transatlantic cousins will become a trifle less insolent and overbearing when they find that the fleet which summers in the Baltic, can, without cost or eflort, winter in the Gulf of Mexico. North Briti8l& Review, for November, 1854. MANY more extracts to the same purpose, might be cited from English publications of a late date; but we have already enough for our present purpose, and we shall not therefore search further. The tone of the press throughout the United States, has been remarkably moderate in regard to any strictures on the present war in the Crimea. While the papers have been un- usually anxious to lay before their readers the latest news from the seat of war, they have, up to the present time, very gene- rally forborne to give opinions either of its justice or of its scientific conduct. They have observed a strict neutrality, and we venture to say that nothing has reached the camp before Sebastopol, or the city itseli by which either party could be justly offended. There has been some complaint by the Brit 185~.] Our Transatlantic Cousins. 28~ ish journals, that we of the United States did not enthusiasti- callyfor the complaint amounts to thatcheer on the Allies in their self-appointed task. When the battle of freedom is to be fought in reality, the United States will not be found on the side of despotism; but in the contest in the Crimea, in its present state, that is not by any means, the issue. It is, in spite of all the dust attempt- ed to be thrown into the eyes of the civilized world, a strug- gle for existence on the part of the Allies; for territorial exten- sion and mercantile position on the part of iRussia. We are rather inclined to the opinion, and time will test our sagacity, that the Allies will eventually, if successful, assume the pro- tectorate of Turkey. May not the three powers continue the war till Turkey is prostrate, and then divide herto defray expenses? Nous verrons. Our diplomatic relations with Russia have always been of the most amicable character, and we can see no reason why they should be changed; at least, not at the call of our unna- tural cousins of the British Isles. It is true the government of Russia is a despotismit is also true that ours, of the United States, is republican; but the despotism of the present day is not so bad and outrageous, even in Russia, as the reign of Henry VIII., in England. It bears no comparison with that of Charles I., and yet the Allies would call on us to break our faith with Russia, and stultify ourselves by hurraing for them. We have no apologies to make for Russia; but we intend to show that we are in no whif indebted to the Allies, jointly oi severally; and that we shall pay them what we owe them, and no more. In every government, individual hardships will occur, generally unwittingly, but sometimes through malice jprepeflse; and we can see little or no difference between the Botany Bay, and St. Helena of England; and the Kamtschatka and Siberia of Russiabetween crushing the body and soul in the factories of Manchester, or th~ mines of Cornwall; and performing the same labor of love in the serfdoms and salt- mines of Russia and Cracow. In our understanding, where the people are free, the government is free; and we would like some hair-splitting casuist in the pay of the Allies, to point out to us benighted Americans the difference. The Frenchwe confess to having a warm side for the French; nor is this either unreasonable or unnatural. We can not forget that he is our friend who showeth us a kindness; and that neither tribe, kindred, nor tongue avail any thing, when with those natural inducements to friendship, there is a 20 286 Our Trctwsatlarn~ic Cousin8. [April, constant display of inveterate enmity. Although it has been necessary, since the great event to which we allude, to indicate even to France, that while we ask nothing but what is right, we will submit to nothing that is wrong; yet there is in the heart of every American, a corner, in which smoulders at least, if not blazes, a flame on the altar long since raised in honor of our first, last, and only ally. It would be the height of ingrat- itude to forget, and the climax of meanness not to acknowledge our obligations, not only to such men as Lafayette, but also to his government, no , however, hesitate to add to these free acknowledgements, that France is fast putting herself out of the pale of our good wishes and our good offices. When there was a hope of the French Republic, our people were en- thusiastic in their expressions of friendshi an ood will, and they mourned like an elder brother, over the fall of their fickle imitator If now, having fallen into the hands of Napoleon the Little, France echoes the strain of his address of December last, and sustains him in the course that address indicates, then, is it time for America to look about her, and for France to calcu- late the value of our sympathy, when weighed against the in- terested connection which England has sought and obtained. We do not complain of that alliance per se, but if its object be truly unfolded, then we shall prepare, if we are wise, to take care of ourselves, as we-have always done; and as the world knows full well, we can do. That England has wheedled France in their present transaction there can be no doubt and if other proof were wanting, the armaments sent out by the different parties, and other warlike preparations, would be a sufficient answer. While England parsimoniously gets 20,000 or 30,000 men in the field, and Parliament passes the foreign mercenary bill, France sends out an equal number of troops in every respect superior, and Napoleon calls out 150,000 more men, and contracts a loan of twenty millions of pounds. But in addition to all this, the French emperor makes to his newly formed English friends magnificent promises, which, we are satisfied, the nation he governs will not permit him to fulfill. Our relations with England have never been cordial. From the time the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, there have been secret dissensions or open hostilities. Our people, our institutions, our country were at the first, treated with con- tempt. Nothing that was American, has, in their estimation, been even up to mediocrity. Neither our books, our orators, nor our statesmen were third rate. Our rights were trampled upon; in fact, in the estimation of England, we had no rights. 1855.] Our fliranscitkzntic Cousin& 287 Our treatment was worse than that of a bound boy at a wed- ding; but at length forbearance ceased to be a virtue, and a couple of wars taught John Bull the metal of which we were composed. They opened his eyes to a state of existing facts which he would gladly have ignored altogether. It is not necessary to condense the history of the United States, nor cite State papers to prove the constant situation of our political and diplomatic relations with England. Instances of insolent, overbearing, and ill-bred intermeddling are known to every citizen; and when, in the various mercantile transac- tions and connections of the countries, we would forget, a fresh outrage sharpens the memory. They object to the purchase of Louisiana; they assert the annexation of Texas to be a national disgrace; they declare the war with Mexico one of aggression, abhorred of God and man; they protest against the acquisition of Cuba in any manner; they sneer at the spirit of territorial extension in a republican country; loudly proclaim their abhorrence of such an aggrandizing sentiment in the nation; and then, as if to crown all, with the most con- summate impudence, ask our sympathy and our cheers, in what we cant help considering an unnecessary war in the Crimea for territorial acquisition. But the war in the Crimea is progressing. Already eleven thousand widows in England weep over the battles of Alma and Inkermaun; already the bones of many thousands of sol- diers lie bleaching on the battle-fields; but still, the heading of the programme is, Sebastopol not taken I, We confess to a feeling of malicious pleasure, when, after the boasting of the leading press of England, it turned out that Sebastopol was not taken ; and after reading such braggadocio as that standing at the head of this article, we submit, that it was not in flesh and blood to forbear. Our foes have had a forewarning with what sort of a people they will have to deal ; have they? Yea, verily. Sebastbpol not yet taken. The fleet which has summered in the Baltic, can winter in the Gulf of Mexico, can it? Aye marry, good sirs. But Sebast?pol is not yet taken. So runs the last bulletin from the Field- Marshal, the Lord Raglan. We have already checkmated, conquered, and despoiled our colossal antagonist, and that rapidly, silently, and easily, say the British press. How many thousand men lie cold and stifi rotting in the mounds of the Crimea, and Sebastopol not yet taken 7 The threat then, is meant for Brother Jonathan, and it is we who hereafter, ~ need to speak with bated breath, for fear of 288 Our Transatlantic Cousin3. [April, a visit by the fleet which summers in the Baltic. It is the United States, which are next to have an experimental know- ledge of what metal you are made, and wlien that know- ledge is communicated, France is to stand by and cry encore I All the envy of our growth as a nation; all the hatred of our success as a government; all the fear of our example to the world, of what men are capable; all the disgrace which two wars have heaped upon British arms, is now to be wiped off, and IRussian servitude, doubtless, will be freedom to ours. Amid all their plans for humbling the power of the United States, and wreaking their vengeance upon their transatlantic cousins, and while they are preparing to carry them into effect, let them rememh~r that Sebastopol is not yet taken. We repeat it therefore, that if there is in the United States, a feeling adverse to the Allies in the present war, that feeling is the result of causes within the ~ontrol of England herself. The extracts at the head of this article~ g~rning from the heads of the two nations, and from a leading journa~,~re not to be overlooked; and human nature is so constituted, that opposition engenders strife, and failure, under such circumstances, begets exultation. ~ need be no wonder that the people do not warmly sympathise with England in this contest. The hearts of millions of us were with Hungary and the Sultan, they are so now; but we are not to be bullied by the Allies to feign a sympathy we do not feel, or to applaud an act, of which we doubt the purity, as well as the disinterestedness. But it is time to view this matter seriously. Suppose Sebas- topol to be taken, and a peace concluded upon terms advan- tageous or satisfactory to the Allies. Suppose Russia to be blocked u~ in her narrow inland seas, commercially and po- litically; and England and France, in effect, masters of Eu- rope what, with the present programme, is to be the next step? Having settled, as seemed to them best, the balance of power in Europe, do they now come to make similar arrange- ments for us? We warn them in time, that the people of the United States will not permit any such meddling in their affairs. If~ when weak and disunited, such an attempt could combine and strengthen us, now such a pretension, by all the governments of Europe, would be folly. However, let the people awaken and look about themselves. A threat like that is not to be despised, even for its absurdity. Whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad. That there are causes of quarrel with England is not to be denied; and that those causes are of her own makir~g, is equally cer 1855.] ]?ondeau Exten~pore. 289 tam. None are so implacable as those who have committed a wrong or an injury, and none are so tenacious of an opinion or position, as those who know it to be false and indefensible. It is therefore not improbable that England, knowing that alone defeat is certain, if she can really secure the alliance of France, may push some of her insolent pretensions to an extremity. We earnestly hope that a difficulty, such as we have pre- sumed, may be averted; and although thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just, yet success is in all cases commensurate to previous preparation. Now is the time to prepare for war, and Congress ought, instead of paying old State spoliation claims, make such a disbursement of the surplus in the treas- ury, as would insure security for the future. That, in case of a war, we should be an overmatch for all that could be sent against us,is certain; but it is well to be readyfoolhardiness is ver.y far from true courage. We were pleased with the remarks of General Cass in the Senate on this question, and the country echoes the wisdom of his advice. We have already been warned, there is no reason that we should now be surprised. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. RONDEAU EXTEMPORE. TO THE ACCOMPANIMENT OF A CHIME OF BELLS. TOL de rol, tol do rol, (merrily,) The Allies took Sebastopol, Sebastopol, Sebastopol, The Allies took Sebastopol. Tol do rol, tol do roL Tol do rol, tol do rol, The Allies mis-took Sebastopol, Sebastopol, Sebastopol, The Allies mis-took Sebastopot. Tol do rol, tol do rol, (solomn chime.)

Rondeau Extempore. To the Accompaniment of a Chime of Bells 289-290

1855.] ]?ondeau Exten~pore. 289 tam. None are so implacable as those who have committed a wrong or an injury, and none are so tenacious of an opinion or position, as those who know it to be false and indefensible. It is therefore not improbable that England, knowing that alone defeat is certain, if she can really secure the alliance of France, may push some of her insolent pretensions to an extremity. We earnestly hope that a difficulty, such as we have pre- sumed, may be averted; and although thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just, yet success is in all cases commensurate to previous preparation. Now is the time to prepare for war, and Congress ought, instead of paying old State spoliation claims, make such a disbursement of the surplus in the treas- ury, as would insure security for the future. That, in case of a war, we should be an overmatch for all that could be sent against us,is certain; but it is well to be readyfoolhardiness is ver.y far from true courage. We were pleased with the remarks of General Cass in the Senate on this question, and the country echoes the wisdom of his advice. We have already been warned, there is no reason that we should now be surprised. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. RONDEAU EXTEMPORE. TO THE ACCOMPANIMENT OF A CHIME OF BELLS. TOL de rol, tol do rol, (merrily,) The Allies took Sebastopol, Sebastopol, Sebastopol, The Allies took Sebastopol. Tol do rol, tol do roL Tol do rol, tol do rol, The Allies mis-took Sebastopol, Sebastopol, Sebastopol, The Allies mis-took Sebastopot. Tol do rol, tol do rol, (solomn chime.) 290 The Belle. [April, THE BELLS. THE bells, the bellsoh! the bells Chilling tales their clanging tells; Still and cold the midnight air, No sound but of the bells is there. From far away a varying hum, The giant bells deep voices come, And with a quick, impetuous ring, The tiny bells for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever! fire! God help the poor this bitter night, The heart speaks loud, the shies grow bright; Preserve the sleeping babe from harm, And strengthen thou the firemans arm. For, oh! the bells, the wicked bells, Exulting as their chorus swells, All careless of the woe they bring, Clash on, and still for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire! But, hark! a shriek, as though despair Swept through the quiet winter air; The red line on the sky grows higher, The shriek is, Fire! fire! fire! The stamp and rush of countless feet Break forth from every wakened street; For, oh! the bells, with sullen swing Enjoying, sing, for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire!

W. W. The Bells 290-291

290 The Belle. [April, THE BELLS. THE bells, the bellsoh! the bells Chilling tales their clanging tells; Still and cold the midnight air, No sound but of the bells is there. From far away a varying hum, The giant bells deep voices come, And with a quick, impetuous ring, The tiny bells for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever! fire! God help the poor this bitter night, The heart speaks loud, the shies grow bright; Preserve the sleeping babe from harm, And strengthen thou the firemans arm. For, oh! the bells, the wicked bells, Exulting as their chorus swells, All careless of the woe they bring, Clash on, and still for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire! But, hark! a shriek, as though despair Swept through the quiet winter air; The red line on the sky grows higher, The shriek is, Fire! fire! fire! The stamp and rush of countless feet Break forth from every wakened street; For, oh! the bells, with sullen swing Enjoying, sing, for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire! 1855.] Kr. Jo8epA Hume. 291 To sleep, the bells shall be the strain Shall hush me back to sleep again; The bells, that bring such bitter woe, From me shall but this lesson know: That selfish man in safety sleeps, Nor cares he that a brother weeps, While all the bells in chorus ring, And shout and sing, for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire! W. MR. JOSEPH HUME. THE last steamer from Europe brings intelligence of the death of one of the most sordid misers that Britain ever pro- duced, and the . vilest political peddler that ever existed in any age. Mr. Joseph Hume, the self-proclaimed Middlesex Goose, is no more. We can not, however, receive this self-portraiture and desig- nation as veritable history. Mankind are proverbially divided into rogues and fools; and though Joseph would thus insinu- ate, with his usual complacency, that he belonged to the more innocent order, he assuredly had not one particle of it in his composition. He was one of the shrewdest, coolest, most selfish and calculating knaves that any country ever produced. This great country, which, at such a distance from the scene, can judge of European men and events with all the impar- tiality of posterity, has already pronounced its opinion upon Mr. Joseph ilume, so far as he was known at all; and the unanimous voice of its press has, been, that he belonged to that class of individuals who are better known than trusted. Few, however, comparatively are aware of him on this side of the Atlantic. We shall, therefore, give a few particulars of his history.

Mr. Joseph Hume 291-305

1855.] Kr. Jo8epA Hume. 291 To sleep, the bells shall be the strain Shall hush me back to sleep again; The bells, that bring such bitter woe, From me shall but this lesson know: That selfish man in safety sleeps, Nor cares he that a brother weeps, While all the bells in chorus ring, And shout and sing, for ever sing: Fire! fire! for ever fire! W. MR. JOSEPH HUME. THE last steamer from Europe brings intelligence of the death of one of the most sordid misers that Britain ever pro- duced, and the . vilest political peddler that ever existed in any age. Mr. Joseph Hume, the self-proclaimed Middlesex Goose, is no more. We can not, however, receive this self-portraiture and desig- nation as veritable history. Mankind are proverbially divided into rogues and fools; and though Joseph would thus insinu- ate, with his usual complacency, that he belonged to the more innocent order, he assuredly had not one particle of it in his composition. He was one of the shrewdest, coolest, most selfish and calculating knaves that any country ever produced. This great country, which, at such a distance from the scene, can judge of European men and events with all the impar- tiality of posterity, has already pronounced its opinion upon Mr. Joseph ilume, so far as he was known at all; and the unanimous voice of its press has, been, that he belonged to that class of individuals who are better known than trusted. Few, however, comparatively are aware of him on this side of the Atlantic. We shall, therefore, give a few particulars of his history. 292 iJft. Joseph ilume. [April, Mr. Joseph flume was of very humble origin a circum- stance for which we should honor him the more were it not that, while himself revelling amid all the luxuries of wealth, he allowed his nearest relatives to languish under all the hard- ships of indigence. He was born in an obscure street of the small Scotch town of Montrose, in the year 1777. His father is supposed to have been, in early life, a humble fisherman, and ]atterly he is said to have acted as captain of a coal-sloop. He died, however, when Joseph was in only the sixth year of his age; and the elevation of the future goose~~ consequently devolved on the mother, who discharged her duty faithfully, and it crrieves us to say, in common with the other members b of the family, was afterwards most shamefully requited. The elder Mrs. flume sustained her existence, and brought up her family creditably, by keeping a small crockery, or humble earthen-ware shop, in the town already named. By dint of many privations, and at the expense of numerous suf- ferings to his sisters, she reared him up, and qualified him for entering on the profession of a surgeonthat profession which he afterwards so much derided. Death happily removed her from the scene, before she experienced to its full extent that bitterest of all anguishesa favored childs ingratitude; but we remember only about a dozen years ago, while passing through that part of the country, witnessing one of Josephs sisters working, in a mans jacket, in a quarry; and the daughter of another attempting to earn a precarious existence by letting lodgings in the city of Edinburgh. The lattera perfect image of Joseph in appearance, but in no respect seemingly resem- blin~ him in mindhad a plaster bust of the patriot (as he styI~d himself) in her humble hall; and when a stranger acci- dentally remarked the likeness between the two, she would indignantly reply: That villain was my uncle. On being asked for an explanation of words so unlooked for, she would tell her tale of woe. Her husband was a poor cabinet-maker, and had died a short time before in circumstances of great dis- tress. I was so poor, the unhappy woman would add, bursting into tears,thatlcould not afford to ~uryhim. lap- plied to that monster (Joseph) for a little assistance, and the villain ~eferred me to the parish work-house. Heartlessness so base, at such a moment, wonid scarcely be deemed credible. Still, there are numbers in existence who heard it, in common with ourselves; and it was their generous aid which enabled the poor widow to set out in the world in her humble specu 1856.] hr. Jo8eph Hume. 293 lation, and attempt to earn an existence independently of her disgustingly penurious relative. Having completed his education, such as it was in those daysthat is, exceedingly imperfectflume found no difficulty in obtaining the post of surgeons mate on board of one of the vessels of the East-India Companys fleet, and ultimately was transferred to the land service, which then offered a bounty to every species of atrocity, and held out a fortune to every one disposed to commit or connive at crime. This was the time when the unhappy natives of the country were put to death by thousands, or rather by millions, by the iniquitous salt-fax. Miscreants sent out by England, frequently returned with for- tunes amounting to many millions of dollars, amassed by starv- ing the whole population of a province. It being flumes re- solution to obtain money in any way, he accordingly soon quitted the regiment and the medical service in which he was engaged, for this congenial species of speculation. In the regiment, he had distinguished himself by every sort of rapa- citygrasping at every office by which a guinea was to be earned or a shilling to be turned. Most of his avocations were wholly unprofessional, and some of them were absolutely ludicrous. He had monopolized the situation of regimental post-master, and likewise that of the district; and when a va- cancv occurred in the regimental chaplaincy with a good salary, of coursehe also applied for the appointment. Joe, as he was termed, here experienced an indignant refusal. He had previously been notorious for his infidel opinions, and to the latest years of his life he was noted for his blasphemy openly denying and deriding, in the instance of the cholera, the existence of a God, or of His interfering in the slightest degree to influence human affairs. The authorities accordingly scouted his infamous proposal, and in terms that must have made him wince had he not, during the whole of his existence, been equally insensible to honor and to shame. His medical colleagues,too, contemned him; and he consequently, shortly afterwards quitted this branch of the service to engage in the speculations to which we have already alluded. This was the secret of that hatred to the clergy and the medical profession, which flume retained to the last. He never omitted any op- portunity of sneering at or insulting a clergyman, because his cowardly nature told him he might insult with safety; and he was equally noted for hostility to medical men, though towards the latter he acted with secret animosity rather than open hos- tility. At a trumpery club in London, misnamed the Reform, 294 Joseph Ilume. [April, he systematically caused the exclusion of surgeons, though the majority of its members consisted of small attorneys, petti- foggers, and like fry, over whom he exercised a most despotic control. The late Mr. Dumergue, a medical officer of the Queens household, was excluded by him until he renounced his profession. Having amassed, in his new speculations, a considerable fortuneamounting to a hundred and fifty or two hundred thousand dollarsMr. Joseph flume returned to England, after an absence of eleven years; and, like all Indian adven- turers, became desirous of a seat in Parliament. To persons of his order and mental calibre, the legislature was, of course, only open by money; and, as a Tory of the hottest orderthat is, one of the fiercest enemies of the peoplehe entered the House of Commons as member for the corrupt borough of Weymouth. The seat was openly purchased; but we arraign him not on this ground; for such distinctions were then only, as now, attainable in Britain by money: but every man with the feelings of a gentleman must recoil from the course which Mr. Joseph flume subsequently adopted to secure his future election at a less expensive rate. He had paid the usual price for his returna sum varying from ten to fifteen thousand dollars; and sorely did Joseph, on finding himself received only as a bore in the House, mourn over the loss of his cash. With characteristic cunning, he quickly set to work to avoid the expenditure of such sums for the future, and the means he employed were congenial with all his former courses. The electors consisted of a few petty householders, but all subject to the control of one Sir Alexander Johnson, who then owned the fee simple. The baronet was a child, or at least under age, and the late Duke of Cumberland (afterwards King of Hanover) was his guardian. We are not going to defend such a species of property. We ,hold it, on the contrary, to be highly objectionable. But it then was common; and the in- fants patrimony, amounting to upwards of half a million of dollars, had been placed in this investment. Joseph knew~ this; and to rob the child, he promptly proceeded to cajole the electors. The baker was called upon, and was promised JoseRhs patronage for bread; the butchers wife was slily informed that Joseph, with a large establishment, designed to take up his abode in the neighborhood. All the petty tradesmen were in like manner waited on, and addressed on the advantages of having a wealthy Indian Nabob resident amongst them, instead of voting at the dictation of an absent prince, or the 1855.] 3ft. Joseph illume. 295 will of a mere boy at school. Joe, by these maneuvres, had made considerable progress, and was cicuackling over the pros- pect of at once saving his money, and securing his election. But, unfortunately, one morning, when in the full tide of fancied success, he found the whole plan was spoiled. The Duke of Cumberland had heard of the stolen march, and he promptly came down to arrest it. Summoning Joseph to his presence, he informed him he had heard of the manceuvres, and he asked if the report were true. Joseph at first, with unblushing effrontery, attempted to deny it; but finding the evidence too strong against him, he, with impudence still more brazen, attempted to justify his conduct. Patriotism, of course, was his cue. We have never known a scoundrel de. tected in any such dirty work, who failed to allege that he acted solely for the good of his country. The Duke listened with patience to a long and rambling harangue from Joseph, on the impropriety of rotten burghs ; and Joseph, taking courage from the silence, imagined he had made a due impres- sionthat the Duke, in short, was frightened, and that he (Joe) might in future walk over the course, undisturbed. In an in- stant, however, all wa~ changed. Pointing to the door, the Duke ordered his i-alet, or one of the attendant electors, to open it; and, pointing still more expressively to the toe of his boot, he gave Joseph the alternative of either instantly quit- ting th~ apartment, or of being kicked down stairs. Unwill- ing to have his passage accelerated by this pedal impulse, Joseph hastily retreated, like a cur with his tail between his legs,~ as the butcher of the place remarked. We are not going to defend the late Duke of Cumberland. A dark stain rests on his memory, which the discomfited Mr. Joseph Hume afterwards, from obvious feelings of revenge, did his utmost to fasten. But, as King of Hanover, he subse- quently acted with rare fidelity; refusing to enslave his sub- jects, when all the surrounding despots reduced theirs to the condition of serfs. As to his conduct in the case of the Wey- mouth election, only one opinioh can be entertained. He faithfully discharged his trust as the guardian of a helpless child, and held up to the scorn of the world a canting, hypo- critical, and sordid knave. Mr. Joseph Hume, of course, pur- sued him with ceaseless malignity, and afterwards brought in a bill in Parliament for the suppression of Orange Lodges, solely for the purpose of annoying his Royal Highness, their chief. But no one, we believe, will hesitate to say that the 296 M~. Joseph Hume. [April, Dukes conduct on the present occasion did him equal honor as a prince arid a man. Joseph, in this extremity, had recourse to his native burgh. He had previously tried it, but the inhabitants would have none of him. Tn some degree disposed to Liberalism, they abhorred the Tory colors under which he first presented him- self; and though he now came upon them as a flaming Radical, they evinced the same indisposition to the man. Montrose, however, formed but one of a circle of five burghs which joined in sending one representative to Parliament; and Joseph being taken up by a noted brute named Maule, subsequently Lord Panmure, secured the suffrages of two. Joes native burgh and another still held out, exhibiting the most praiseworthy defiance to Maule, and expressing the utmost contempt for his man. The small town of Brechin, the last of the cluster, showed a like disposition; but, unfortunately for the cause of freedom, it was adjoining to Maules patrimonial estate, and the insulting aristocrat threatened to cut off the water from the town, if the inhabitants dared to exercise independence of election. The source of their supply running through his grounds, they had no alternative but submission, as this domi- neering brute had long been accustomed, in consequence of his enormous fortune, to practise such freaks with impunity. Greatly to the disgust of his nominal electors, Joseph accord- ingly again took his seat in the House of Commons, but this time he appeared in new colorsas a Radical 7~ Such was the designation under which Joseph now recoin- menced his parliamentary career, and to which, to the last, he professed to adhere. He was, however, but a sham reformer at best; confining his effort to frivolous objections against the Tory accounts, and usually suggesting some such important measure as a saving of three shillings and sixpence in some leading branch of the public, service. During nearly twenty years, he was, in this respect, the bore of the House; fretting and barking at every financial document. Any man of ordi- nary sensibility would have been put down by the torrent of ridicule which he thus provoked; but Joseph had a rhinoceros hide, and, as we have already said, he was insensible to feelings of either modesty or shame. Some useful retrenchments he undoubtedly accomplished by his perpetual barkings; for the British government was then, as still, so corrupt and lavish in its expenditure, that it was impossible to examine even the most ordinary account without finding evidence of the most glaring malversations. But Josephs objections on the whole 1855.] A& . Joseph flume. 29T were so frivolous and costly, that he was suspected of drawing a per centage from the profits of the printer, who was intrusted with the duty of producing the returns, for which th~ conve- nient member continually moved. It was moreover observed, that so soon as the Whigs came into office, Josephs faculty for discerning abuses wholly ceased; or, at least, that with the view of cunningly lauding the party, he confined himself to some such momentous discovery as that of finding a deficit of tenpence half-penny in a great public account. lie, of course, had~ his reward in turn. His son, a raw youth, utterly unquali- fied for the post, was slily appointed as secretary of a commis- sion to inquire into the abuses of the Mint; but of which, so soon as the appointment was made permanent, not a word farther was heard, and several of his relatives received, in an equally under-hand manner, snug and lucrative situations in the West-India Islands. The great patriot, of course, re- mained without office, and without any seeming emolumQnt at home; but the quid pro quo was substantial, and well under- stood. Joseph had in the interval married, and the circumstances of his marriage were so atrocious that we feel bound to allude to the event. So soon as he became what is vulgarly termed well-to-do in the world, he paid his addresses to a Miss Buruley, daughter of a wealthy East-Indian director. Her father was a noted miser, and Joseph, being of a congenial dis- position, found no difficulty, notwithstanding his uncouth ap- pearance, of obtaining her hand in marriage. It would have been well had the affair terminated here, or if he had been content with his fair share of the old sordid mans fortune. But observing that Burnley had a son of gay and thoughtless and different disposition, Hume lost no time in trying to avert the wretched fathers affections from the legitimate heir. We regret to say he succeeded. The poor youth was disinherited, or cut off with a shilling; and the whole of Burnleys fortune, amountin, to half a million of dollars, was settled upon Josephs wife. The poor son died in exile and penury, but not disgrace. But the hour of retribution came, and through the circumstances of this identical bequest. Distrusting his son-in-law, the old miser so bound up his fortune that neither Joseph nor his wife could touch a sixpence of it, pyovided they had children, and so long as one of these survived. In due time there appeared six little Humes one, the future Mint Secretary, to whom we have already alluded, and five daughters, each the image of Joseph himself. When they ar 298 Air. Joseph ifume. [April, rived at the age of maturity, the fortunes of these girls at. tracted suitors; but the result of the nuptials of the first was so horrible that no man afterwards had the hardihood to attempt an alliance with Josephs family. A good-looking youth, named Gubbins, was the candidate for Miss flumes hand. The inci- dents associated with his name were ludicrous. In the early part of the century, an eating-match had taken place in York~ shire, between two noted champions named Gubbins and Mug- gins. It had lasted two days and a hali and great interest was excited concerning the ultimate victor, when the contest should finally close on the evening of the third. The people flocked in to the town of Bridlington, where it was going on, from all directions. An aged farmer, however, who had looked on the struggle with less interest, returned home about two hours before it closed. Hundreds met him on the way, eagerly rushing to the scene; and each interrogated him concerning the event. The old man had but one answer for all. Theyre a sayin, he replied, that Muggins ill lick, but I think Gub- bins ill lick him yet; for, when I cam awa, he was only twa guse and a turkey behind. Gubbins, the suitor of Miss flume, was said, by the wags of London, to be a son of the successful champion. But, be this as it may, he really was a very fine fellow, and worthy of a better fate than that which became his lot. He had early gone to India, and returned with a little money of his own. On this, and the interest of Miss flumes fortune, he proposed living modestly at home; but what was his horror, after marriage, to find that Joseph insisted that the new couple should. board, and occupy a garret in his house. The high-spirited youth fell into a fever; and in the height of it, he precipitated himself from the fourth-floor window of Josephs residence, in which he had been confined. He was taken up such a mass of disfigurement, that it would have been happy for him had death terminated at once his sufferings and his hideousness. He survived, however, greatly to the joy of Josephs niece in Edinburgh, who pointed to the unhappy man as an instance of Gods vengeance on the fatherinlaw. She farther signalized her fury against the wretch who had so grossly outraged her feelings, on the occasion of her husbands death, by putting a rope round the neck of his bust; and she expressed a readiness to die in peace so soon as she had wit- nessed a similar application to the living throat of the original. Another event, better known, had occurred between the dawn and the consummation of this catastrophe, tending to familiarize the public with the character of Mr. Joseph flume. During the 1855.] 2~. Joseph flume4 29~ ten years between 1817 and 1827, the noted Greek insurrection broke out, and, in the midst of the excitement caused through- out Europe by its thrilling incidents, a loan was proposed in London to aid the insurgents. Joseph took part in this, and, thinking it was to be highly productive, accepted also the office of a trustee. Like all such schemes of benevolence in England, however, it evaporated, and what was expected to be cash proved only to be smoke4 Joseph, with a keen scent to profit, early discerned this, and determined to get out of the scrape so soon as he could. Had he confined himself merely to such an escape, no one could have found fault, however inglorious it might have seemed for him thus to turn tail. But he was guilty of an act of gross dishonesty, too. Not satisfied with retreating without loss, he determined to realize a profit; and, in the midst of the enthusiasm, he suddenly raised the quotations of the loan still higher, by publishing a grossly fictitious report. When the fund thus rose in the market, he as promptly sold out, and pocketed a handsome sum by the fraud.* To the latest day of his existence he was taunted most deservedly with this, but in vain called upon to give an account of what he termed in his broad Scotch phraseology and ignorance of language, the tottle of the whole. In another public subscription, raised about the same time, Josephs conduct was still more sinister. During the out- burst of feeling caused by George IV.s prosecution of his wife in 1821, a large body of the inhabitants of London, and Britain generally, proposed showing their sympathy for the persecuted woman by presenting her with a superb testimonial. A large sum was collected, and Joseph contrived to be appointed treasurer. From that day, however, to the present, nothing more was heard of the testimonhd, and the funds have since fructified in Mr. Joseph Hume~s breeches pocket. But notwithstanding these acts, Josephchiefly by the in- strumentality of one or two clerks whom he employed at the * Francis, in his History of the (London) Stock Exchange, places the affair in a light still more disgraceful to Hume. He informs us that Joseph was originally allotted 10,000 of the loan, on his own demand; and that he repudiated, when it fell 16 per cent. He demanded payment of his loss of 1600, and the committee allowed him 300. The stock afterwards rose to par, and Joe then demanded 13~l 0. He received this, (at the expense of the poor Greeks;) and he ultimately had the effrontery to apply for 54, as interest, which the committee also paid to get rid of the hrazen hypocrite. Yet the English papers, in their recent fulsome memoir of him, have wholly ignored this incident. It is one of the few things which reflect credit upon the odious British East India Company, that they sys- tematically excluded this knave from the slightest share in their direction. 300 2W~. Joseph flume. [April, wretchedly low pay of seven shillings and sixpence a week, and afterwards provided with places in the IReform Club and public press, by way of remunerationhad acquired such a reputation among the beer-sellers. and lower orders of the British metro- polis, in consequence of his perpetual opposition to the Tories, who in 1831 had fallen to the lowest pitch of unpopularity, that he was selected to contest the representation of the county of Middlesex. A large purse was made up for him, and he succeeded. At next election, however, he had already become so unpopular that the constituency determined he should pay part of the expenses himself. He refused to disburse even a solitary pound, and was conseqi~ently ignominiously kicked out of the metropolitan county, which was thus, through his instrumentality, handed over to the enemy, and afterwards subjected to the degradation of returning such a political popin- jay as Mr. Bernal Osborne. Joe, however, to gratify his ancient grudge against the Duke of Cumberland, had lately assailed the Orangists of Ireland, and threatened them with a parliamentary inquiry. This re- commended him to the notice of Mr. Daniel OConnell, who then governed that country with an influence wholly despotic. By dint of Dans orders, he wa~ returned for the corrupt burgh of Kilkenny, and thus became a member of what was ignomi- niously termed the Agitators tail. But OConnell, with all his faults, had a soul superior to meanness; and he became so disgusted by Josephs sordid character, that ilume was summa- rily ejected at the next election. Mr. ilumes character was now becoming so generally appre- ciated, that he in vain essayed several constituencies in the hope of being returned to Parliament. He offered himself to Leeds, a radical burgh in England, Dundee, one of similar stamp in Scotland, and several other towns. But they all contumeliously rejected him, and he became so offensive at last by his perti- nacity, that, soon as he approached a burgh, the inhabitants put their fingers to thpir noses, and declared that the more he moved, the worse he smelled. We have put their language into a little more refined shape than the Saxon original, which, however euphonious, would scarcely bear presentation to our readers in the full strength of its vulgarity. Joe, thus out of Parliament, with his wonted hypocrisy, de- clared he had no desire to reenter it, but preferred reposing iii the buzom of his family. It soon, however, transpired how false was the allegation. A vacancy occurred in his old district of the Montrose burgh, and as the gormandizing Lord Panmure still 1855.] Kr. J~seyh Hume. 301 supported him, there was a probability of his being returned. But Joseph, with his wonted penuriousness, refused to pay even the legal expenses of the hustings, and a number of the inhab- itants consequently applied to Mr. Jobson, the historian of the French iRevolution, also a native of the county. Mr. Jobson was unwilling to oppose flume, whom he regarded on the whole as a useful public scavenger. He accordingly waited on Joseph, and offered him the priority. Joseph repeated the old story about the buzom of his family, and counselled Jobson to take the field. The latter accordingly entered it, and stumped so effectually for four weeks, that at the end of this period he stood alone, all the other candidates having given way before him. His return seemed sure; all the leading inhabitants of the burghs having promised him their support, in the event of flumes not presenting himselg and this was a supposition which was deemed impossible. It proved, however, to be a true one. Contrary to all the dictates of private honor and public principle, flume made his appearance as a candidate, after the whole of the difficulties of the course had been removed by the labor and pecuniary sacri- fices of Mr. Jobson. This was an act of turpitude previously unheard of; for the etiquette and the understanding, on such occasions in Britain is, that no candidate of similar politics shall take the field when another has previously entered it, still more when he has been offered the preference, and refused it. All such considerations of honor, however, were unknown to Joseph. Confiding in the Lord Panmures influence, he now appeared as a candidate, grinning even at the thought of hav- ing entailed all the expense of the contest upon Mr. Jobson, on whom, as a member of the public press, it pressed with considerable severity. The latter accordingly withdrew, un- willing to expose the electors again to the ferocity of the brutal lord, but not until he had administered to Mr. Joseph flume the most merciless castigation he ever received in words. Taking again the stump, Jobson, in two days, addressed the inhabitants of the five burghs, and, in a speech of upwards of an hours length, exposed the whole of Josephs public and private history. flume, for the first and last time in his life, was known to wince and blush under its infliction; and the dissection became so noted that the urchins of Montrose at last took up its heads, and saluted Joseph with the following song, which has the comprehensive merit of embodying the main points of his career: 21 302 J& . Joseph Hume. TilE BEGGARS PETITION. PICKED UP IN FRONT OP THE IIUSTINGS AT MONTROSE~ PITY the sorrows of poor Joseph Hume, Whose recreant steps have borne him to your door, Whose character now has dwindled to a span; Oh! make me member, as you did before. These vulgar rags of Radicalism tell, My Chartist politics proclaim my case; And many a furrow on my brazen cheeks Reveals my heavy kicks from place to place. A lofty seat, high in the niche of Fame, With tempting aspect drew me from my road; I left your Montrose burghs as too mean, And sought proud Middlesex for an abode. hard is the lot of those who would be great! There, as I craved to be again returned, The free constituency bade me begone, And all my toils and all my rogueries spurned. Oh! take me to your hospitable home, Good men of Montrose! try me once again! In pity take me to your sheltering arms! Let me not plead so earnestly in vain! Need I reveal how oft Ive sought a place In England, Irelandjoined OConnells tail Voted that black was white, and white was black Tried every dodge, and found them all to fail? Heaven sends afflictionsthis once I denied; But Heaven has brought me to the plight you see; I can be serious, when seriousness pays well Nay, even once I sought a parsons fee. A little sum in Greek Bonds was my lot; The tottle of the whole I will not telL But why should I lose money by the Greeks? Tis always best, when stocks get up, to sell. Kllkennyonce the comfort of my age Old Dan took from me, heedless of my case; And I was cast upon the worlds wide stage, Doomed to survive my infamous disgrace. [April, 1855.] ~2Jft. Joseyh Hurne. 303 Leeds and Dundee, which I to sooth my griefs And deep-felt anguish, coveted to gain, Refused to have meturned on me their backs: If tears will do, I wont from tears refrain. Then pity the sorrows of base Joseph Hume, Whose recreant steps have borne him to your door, Who gladly now would sit for any place Oh! make me member as you did before. One or two small points in this address require explanation. To gain the suifrages of the mob, Joseph had for the moment assumed Chartist politics, and, in his own elegant language, declared he would go the whole hog; though so soon as he reentered Parliament, he turned and abused his dupes. The allusion to voting black white, and white black, was in refer-. ence to Joes own announcement, that he would vott block white, and white block, as he pronounced the phrase, to keep the Tory, or gentlemanly party in England, from office. It only remains for us to add that all Josephs expenses at this noted election amounted to four-pence, the price of two oranges which he sucked upon the hustings, and could not persuade a costermonger to bestow on him for nothing. His dinner, a barn-door fowl, he daily brought with him from Lord Pan- inures, in his pocket. An English four-penny silver piece, issued about this period, was consequently named a Joe, to commemorate the event; and great is the contempt in which it has been held ever since. In this nest, or family dunghill of the house of Panmure, Joe continued till his death to roost. Latterly he enjoyed no influence or estimation whatever, his whole course in Parlia- ment ultimately being merely to yield a slavish support to the Whigs, in gratitude for their appointments to his son and other relativesthat gratitude which has been described as a lively sense of future favors. His appearances in public eventually were confined to fulsome laudations of the same party and of his own careera subject on the virtues of which Joseph descanted both in public and private with extraordi- nary pertinacity. If he ever ventured on any other topic, it was usually limited to the utterance of some vague platitudes on Reform, meaning nothing whatever, or holding out to his few remaining dupes some Utopian visions of amelioration which could never be realized. To Mr. Joseph Hume are the poor and people of England, more than to any other man, indebted for their present miserable condition and utter prostration at 301 2lfl~. Josej9h Hume. [April, the feet of a grasping but imbecile aristocracy, He invariably opposed every effort of any man from their ranks to ascend to a higher stage in the community, lest, forsooth, he should thus interfere with the prospects and position of Joseph flume, who had already attained the desired elevation; and latterly the whole burthen of his song was a hypocritical cry of Be con- tent with your situation, and that conditiou of life iu which Providence has been pleased to place you a piece of disgust- ing cant by means of which he at once hoped to get rid of his early character for infidelity, and perpetuate the dominion of the privileged classes. In this capacity he continued bustling and buzzing about, like a blue-bottle fly, to the last. As a public speaker, Hume was of the most wretched and tiresome description. Contrary to the rules prescribed in epic poetry, his speeches had a beginning, but they had no middle, and thi~eatened apparently to have r~o end. A miserable string of grammatical errors and illogical assertions, they teemed only with. complacency and self-conceit. They were a sort of per- petual peroration, if such a term could be applied to the crude and i 11-arranged statements of which they consisted. He per- petually led his audience to the belief that he was about to con- clude, and when he thus secured their patience in the expecta- tion of soon being rid of him, he as systematically abused it by continuing to talk by the hour, until both their and his own power of endurance at last gave way under the terrible in- fliction. In personal appearance, Mr. flume was a strong, thick-set man, under the middle stature in height, but of extraordinary breadth of shoulder. His face was large and heavy, the lower part of it being remarkably full and square at the base, denot- ing strong animal passions and the most unyielding obstinacy. The upper part was amazingly meana sharp ferret-like eye, low beetling forehead, on which bristles, more resembling those of a hogs mnteguments than human hair, stood on end. In his youth he had a striking resemblance to a boar, and under the two significations of the word as pronounced, he was considered the bore of the House. Latterly, when age had somewhat mollified the harsh features of his face, he had still the same porcine aspect, reminding one of the ludicrous ap- pearance of a scraped pig. Canning, the immortal wit and statesman, briefly described flume as an extraordinary ordinary man all the notice he descended to bestow on him. Our limits compel us on the present occasion to be almost equally concise. Joseph was a 1855.] iJfr. J~8e}9h Hu2me. 305 man designed by nature for a peddler, and would have been eminent as a pawnbroker. He amassed a fortune by trading in misery and trafficking in disaster. At the best, as already described, he was but a political scavenger. He had no quality to entitle him to the post of a legislator, and possessed not in the slightest degree any of t~e characteristics of a statesman. Avarice was the main feature of his character, and never was it seen in a form more debasing. Personally he gorman- dized, but those living around him were almost deprived of the necessaries of life. He was precisely one of those persons who, had they been careering to Heaven on an angels wing, (ig by the utmost stretch of imagination, Joseph could be sup- posed to be proceeding in that direction,) and perceived a six- pence on earth sticking in the mire, would have kicked and cursed until they had been permitted to descend and grub it up. His death may be bewailed by a few venal scribes in the service of the Panmure and Palmerston government; but by the world at large, it will be regarded with contempt and indifference. TO As in the clime where fierce Pizarro swayed, If some scant shower descend upon the land, Behold her waste of dark eruptive sand In golden smiles arrayed; So, if the dew of pure celestial love Fall on the head thy breath bath volcanized, Its very lava-ashes fertilized, A fruitful soil may prove.

To -------- 305-306

1855.] iJfr. J~8e}9h Hu2me. 305 man designed by nature for a peddler, and would have been eminent as a pawnbroker. He amassed a fortune by trading in misery and trafficking in disaster. At the best, as already described, he was but a political scavenger. He had no quality to entitle him to the post of a legislator, and possessed not in the slightest degree any of t~e characteristics of a statesman. Avarice was the main feature of his character, and never was it seen in a form more debasing. Personally he gorman- dized, but those living around him were almost deprived of the necessaries of life. He was precisely one of those persons who, had they been careering to Heaven on an angels wing, (ig by the utmost stretch of imagination, Joseph could be sup- posed to be proceeding in that direction,) and perceived a six- pence on earth sticking in the mire, would have kicked and cursed until they had been permitted to descend and grub it up. His death may be bewailed by a few venal scribes in the service of the Panmure and Palmerston government; but by the world at large, it will be regarded with contempt and indifference. TO As in the clime where fierce Pizarro swayed, If some scant shower descend upon the land, Behold her waste of dark eruptive sand In golden smiles arrayed; So, if the dew of pure celestial love Fall on the head thy breath bath volcanized, Its very lava-ashes fertilized, A fruitful soil may prove. 306 Our Language. [April, S OUR LANGUAGE DESTINED TO BE UNIVERSAL. THERE is, perhaps, no subject within the range of philoso- phical incjuiry of more legitimate interest and importance to man than the destiny of his race. Even as the individual when about to die, feels anxious that some successor should perpetuate his name, his accumulations, and character, so the aggregates of individuals, termed nation- alities, feel a like and, if possible, a stronger desire. Through all the long centuries of remembrance, humanity has been looking, hoping, anticipatiiig a brighter, a more per- fect era. This hope seems to be in part an intuition, necessitated by the limited capacities and infinite aspirations of the human heartin part the result of rational deduction, and not a little the effect of those dim promises of Revelation, which-though varying according to the character of each particular age and race preserve nevertheless a uniformity which may well be considered, from its spontaneity, an argument in favor of some original inspiration. Philosophy suggests to us, and Sacred Writ confirms the hope, that there is in humanity, degraded and perverted as it may appear, the foundation and the elements of a much nobler and more perfect nature; and history, by the great exemplars. which it furnishes, gives us some foretaste of the future. When we revert our gaze upon the ages that have gone before, and contemplate their tempestuous commotions, and still more deadly calms, their tyrannies and anarchies, their progress and decaywe might indeed despair of the high destiny that is promised us, were it not that occasionally, darting through the overwhelming storm-cloud, we see a ray of that divinity which lies beyond. Empire after empire spreads its sails across the ages that are given to it, but each and all go down in their self- made ma~lstrom of luxury and selfishness. For nations sur- vive or perish as they are virtuous or vicious. For them there

Our Language Destined to be Universal 306-314

306 Our Language. [April, S OUR LANGUAGE DESTINED TO BE UNIVERSAL. THERE is, perhaps, no subject within the range of philoso- phical incjuiry of more legitimate interest and importance to man than the destiny of his race. Even as the individual when about to die, feels anxious that some successor should perpetuate his name, his accumulations, and character, so the aggregates of individuals, termed nation- alities, feel a like and, if possible, a stronger desire. Through all the long centuries of remembrance, humanity has been looking, hoping, anticipatiiig a brighter, a more per- fect era. This hope seems to be in part an intuition, necessitated by the limited capacities and infinite aspirations of the human heartin part the result of rational deduction, and not a little the effect of those dim promises of Revelation, which-though varying according to the character of each particular age and race preserve nevertheless a uniformity which may well be considered, from its spontaneity, an argument in favor of some original inspiration. Philosophy suggests to us, and Sacred Writ confirms the hope, that there is in humanity, degraded and perverted as it may appear, the foundation and the elements of a much nobler and more perfect nature; and history, by the great exemplars. which it furnishes, gives us some foretaste of the future. When we revert our gaze upon the ages that have gone before, and contemplate their tempestuous commotions, and still more deadly calms, their tyrannies and anarchies, their progress and decaywe might indeed despair of the high destiny that is promised us, were it not that occasionally, darting through the overwhelming storm-cloud, we see a ray of that divinity which lies beyond. Empire after empire spreads its sails across the ages that are given to it, but each and all go down in their self- made ma~lstrom of luxury and selfishness. For nations sur- vive or perish as they are virtuous or vicious. For them there 1855.1 Our Language. 307 is no collective futureno immortality save that which history and the imperishable character of high genius confer. They are punished in the presentin the flesh, as we may say; and no fact is capable of more thorough demonstration than this that every national crime is followed rapidly by an equivalent penalty. The wrecks of empires strew the rugged declivities of the ages that have gone before us; and the perpetually- recurring phenomena of progress and decay almost would seem to forbid the hope that any permanent advances to perfection can be made. Our faith in philosophy shaken, our confident docility to the great logic which history inculcates removed, we turn in hum- ble trust to Revelation, and there read that all these things are appointedbut that the end is not yet. We read that the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of the Lord the heathen shall be His inheritance, and the utter- most parts of the earth his possession He shall rule from the river to the ends of the earth. Forty centuries looked up with eager hope to the advent of the Messiah: and all succeeding ages look back to it as the inauguration of a power on earth which is destined to universal dominion. All the light of those forty centuries was reflected back from the Christian era, and things that had been dark and unintelligible during their transaction, became, when viewed in this connection, not merely plain, but necessary and of divinest origin: and from that era the rays of revelation travel forward into the future, eventually to fill every region inhabited by man. Here rests our faith; and from this rock of Eternal Truth we gaze into the future with a tearless and unflinching eye, assured that there is indeed a common and a lofty destiny reserved for the human racea communion in which interest shall not clash with interest,nor effort paralyze endeavor, nor passion war with passion, nor thought be perverted into sophistrya com- munion in which the eternal paralysis of error shall leave truth an unobstructed vitality. The ways of the Eternal bear no analogy to those of mortals a thousand years are in his eye as a day; and a score of generations form the instrument which unwittingly performs his will. The work of creation is yet inchoate, but still pro- gresses; and every day and every hour is pregnant with the mission of a prophecy. Preparatory to this true golden era of peace to good-willing men, a common utterance for humanity is an evident essential. 308 Oar language. [April, ~vVhile half a million of men are isolated from their fellows by a peculiar tongue, their prejudices, their affinities, their passions, and their jealousies can never be assimilated: they are a fam- ily of Ishmaels, at variance with the human family, and without the bond of a common language can never be reduced into homogeneity. History not only furnishes us with a thousand examples, but an invariable law for this divergency; and Holy Writ assures us that the existing evil is not an accident but the penalty of overweening presumption. The whole human race, while yet the memory of the Deluge retained all its yivid horror as a supernal retribution, employed their united strength in an impious effort to confute and defy the Invincible. Upon the plains of Shinar they assembled, and there would build a tower, whose viewless top should soar beyond the clouds that threat- ened earth with an immersion. And this was not merely a pre- caution; it was a blasphemous incredulity: for had not He set his rainbow in the heavens as his promise against the recurrence of such a calamity? How impotent is man when he would war with the Omnipotent! Their language was confounded for Adams tongue had been until then universal; they were no longer unitedlike the disciples, when the voice of their Lord fell no longer upon their ears, they went each to his own, and the labor of their hands became the Babel monument of human impotency. The accomplishment of thali which we believe to be the final destiny of mankind, recluires an united and homogeneous action of the nations, as much as the building of the Tower of Babel needed the combined energies of the various tribes who had assembled for its construction: and as tongues were confused only when the design of man had become impious and intoler- able, it is not impossible, at least, that a common language should be restored to us, in order the better to universalize the one true faith of Christianity. Since then to the present moment, a difference of tongue has ever been the greatest barrier to the union of the human race. It has been the mountain barrier, which interposing has made enemies of nations which else, like kindred drops, had mingled into one. And on this point history presents this most striking fact: when the great masses, or great agglomerations of men have been left to the uncontrolled tendencies of their own natures, we find as many hostile nationalities as there are con- flicting tongues: and the union and harmony of any two of these nationalities, other things being equal, have been in pro- portion to the knowledge each possessed of the others language. 1855j Our Language. 309 Thus the martial slavery of Greece was converted into intel- lectual supremacy, by the prevalence of the Grecian tongue amongst the leading Quirites. This affinity of language, if left to its legitimate operation, would unite into one the many hostile German sovereignties, and give to the bundle of rotten sticks, which compose the Frank- fort Diet, the strength and unanimity of a mighty empire. It would rend the 4ustrian empire into as many fragments as there are languages, and give to Hungary that independence which her late struggle, without achieving, so well deserved; and had the Magyar aristocracy and Selavic serfs had the like tongue to combine their interests, despite the perjured Austrian and hireling Russ, we believe that Hungary would now be independent. So thoroughly did England see the importance of one common language, that in all her measures for the sub- j ugation of Ireland, she made the English tongue the only legal vehicle of thought or contract, and denounced the severest penalties against the Celtic tongue, the Celtic dress. To disorganize and disunite mankind, it was necessary to confound their language: to harmonize and reunite them, we must look for a common tongue. The phonetic theory will not avail; no human agency can alter the wise dispensations of Providence; a curse that was inflicted as a penalty has its appointed time, and we can confidently await an issue which is in the hands of Him who made man in His own image. But while submitting to the penalty, it is neither unnatural nor im- pious that we should look eagerly for its termination, and sedu- lously study any signs of promise which are accorded to our vigil. And that there are such signs it is the humble object of this essay to make clear. It was to check a common blasphemy tha~t God confused or destroyed a common tongue. To restore a common wor- ship, may it not be necessary that men should understand each other? The nature of the mind ,~ as historically developed, forces upon us the conclusion that the destiny of the human race can never be fully developed until a universal language has oblite- rated the dividing lines of race and nationality. Three questions properly arise from this conclusion. First: Will the Adamite or original language of our race again be re- stored to its pre-Babel prevalence? In answer to this inquiry, it seems sufficient to say, that philologists have made the most diligent search amongst all remembered or existing languages, but have failed to find any 310 Our Language. [April, trace of an original or common stock. That tongue was blot- ted out at Babel, nor can any thing but a miracle restore it; and we know that, where an end can be accomplished by any other means, Divine power is loth to manifest itself. In the second place: Will the multitude of existing lan- guages be blended into a mongrel universal speech? This is rendered exceedingly improbable, when we consider the difference between existing languages: between the Chinese and Sanscrit, for example; the former being purely simple or monosyllabic; the latter complex and very eminently the re- verse. So distinct are these peculiarities, that a neighborhood and acquaintance of four thousand years have not altered or abated them to any appreciable extent. The Chaldee, the Syriac, the Arabic, the old Phcenician and the other Shemitic languages, as well, have all preserved distinct existences for a like period; while the Basque, the oldest of known languages now spoken by an unimportant people in the region of the Pyrenees, and at present surrounded and hemmed in by French and Spanish, far from ,losing its originality, has very visibly impressed itself upon its more widely-spoken neighbors. Having exhausted these two alternatives, and still feeling the necessity of a solution, we are forced to the third question: Will some one of the existing tongues triumph over and swal- low up the others, and thus become the universal utterance? And if any tongue, what tongue is so destined? This, as we view the question, is the only one of the three queries that can be answered in the affirmative. That the end will be accomplished in this manner, we have but to look at the mighty and interminable influx of people from every clime under heaven, and see the readiness with which they lay aside their mother tongues and acquire our own, to recognize tbe beginning of the great work which must roll on to completion ere the sword shall be beat into the plough-share, the spear into the pruning-hookwhen nation shall not war upon nation, nor race be divided against race. The question here obtrudes itself: Will the tongue spoken by England and America be- come this universal medium for universal thought! What a field is here laid open to tempt the inquiring thought? A field almost unexplored, but of infinite prolificness. What in- terests cluster herewhat anxietieswhat hopes! But we can not tarry in this field of unbased speculation: our object is to give facts their due significance, and point out to every thoughtful mind the part which our Anglo-American tongue has played in the progress of the race during the last 1855.] Our language. 311 two centuries and a half. We must infer the future from the past. When the Pilgrim Fathers first set foot upon the snows of Plymouth iRock, there were less than three millions of men upon the face of the earth who spoke the Anglo-Saxon tongue. Now there are more than sixty and three millions of such men scattered over the islands, the continents, and the seas; so that it may emphatically be said, the sun can not look down upon land where the Anglo-American language is a stranger. Already it has invaded China, and the first whisperings thereof are heard in the secluded harbors of Japan. And this, in our tongue, is a very hopeful feature not ob- servable in any other language that has fallen within our ob servation. Wherever it may go, the force of our institutions, our character, our literature, and policy accompany it; the vigor of the race that uses it, almost as surely triumphs over all opposing obstacles as do their arms over all opposing na- tions. It seems to be a providential decree; and, no doubt, has a wise and beneficent object underlying it. The language of the seas is already our own. Nine tenths of the commerce of the ocean is transacted through the copious and fiexile medium of our tongue, and claims the protection of the Anglo-American fraternity. The barbarism of Australia, the heathen institutions and worn-out languages of India, the superannuated hieroglyphs of China, and the rude utterances of important parts of Africa and of numberless islands in the Eastern seas, are fast giving way to the institutions and the language of our race. But the great field for its most splendid and extensive deve- lopment, we believe, must be looked for in our own youthful and magnificent republic, and the supremacy she is yet destined to exercise over the whole of this Western world. And here we would remark, en parerith~se, that if we desire the future of our destiny to be as great and glorious as it promises, we should never cease to discourage all attempts to introduce any other language into our midst as the medium for either business or education. However convenient certain demagogic politicians may find it, about election-time, to curry favor with the Ger- man vote, by advocating the introduction of the German tongue into our public schools, no real friend to the progress of the human family could join, or even tolerate such a propo- sition. Nay more, though it may sound illiberal until examined carefully, we verily believe that none but newspapers printed in the Anglo-American tongue should be allowed amongst us. 312 Oit~ Language. [April, Above all, the municipal authorities (as they do in this city) should not encourage any purely German, German-written journal at the expense of papers that are native to the soil, and native in the character of their utterance. The foreigner who aspires to our citizenship, should at once endeavor to Americanize his habits and his language; and how can this be done, while he not only associates in greater part with his old countrymen, but likewise continues to receive his impres- sions of our government and society through a radically foreign channel? There are now in this land, where, but a little while ago, the howl of the wild beast, and the more terrific war-whoop of the savage, filled every plain, and startled the shrieking echoes in every mountain solitudethere are now, we say, nearly thirty millions of people speaking a language which is the herald of .a civilization, more magnificent, more expansive, more sub- stantial than has ever hitherto dawned upon our world. All the others of the sixteen hundred languages, now spoken in the two Americas, seem to vanish like the dew before the morning sun; and if our race shall, in the future, continue to advance and absorb other peoples, as it has in the past of its American history, there will be at the close of the present century more than one hundred millions in this Western world alone. And if it progress and overcome in the same ratio to the close of the next century, it will stretch over this entire hemisphere, upon whose shores four oceans roll their mighty tides, and promise to convey the argosies and commerce of all earth. The progress which the race may make in other quarters of the globe, we may briefly allude to as we pass. It is evident that Australia is destined generally to submit to the tongue we speak. Already they have adopted it from the necessity of colonization, and we know the vigorous nature of such a language must soon displace all riyalry. It needs but a glance to see that, of the thirty-six hundred languages, our own, with accumulative and seemingly irresistible power, has already and as yet it is only in its infancyattained a prevalence hith- erto beyond that attained by any other. And from what reason has it done so? From its elastic and assimilative character, we answerwhich permits and enforces upon it to adopt all the best idioms and phrases of whatever language it may be brought into contact with; and thus, possessing some peculiar and popular features of each tongue, it can be the more readily and cheerfully adopted by the speakers of them all. The genius of Homer, and the tongue he spoke, survive to 1855.1 Our Language. 313 the present day, but only in the form of a curiosity and exqui- site ornament. His tongue was the medium of the loftiest literature, of a most subtle, though too material, philosophy, and of a religion as beautiful to the artistic eye, as to the in- ward conscience it was incongruous and unsatisfactory. From the logic of necessity in the natural sequence of eventsthe Greek of Homer ceased to be a living tongue, be- cause it contained within itself no germ of those divine ideas which confer immortality, and win mankind to docile and im- plicit acceptance. These remarks may apply to all other tongues; for in proportion to the genius and the truth which an utterance embodies, will be its influence and perpetuity on earth. Our language is the medium of a literature almost as lofty as that of which Homer, iEschylus, Euripides, and Plato were some of the grand exponentsof a philosophy, the result of the distilled wisdom and experience of six thousand yearsof a religion more ancient than the world, and of a Truth as inde- structible, as immutable as the character and attributes of the Deity. We do not claim perfection for our race; we know and feel, with deep contrition, the avarice which has plundered India, and almost exterminated the lofty though unlettered Red-men of our own fair continent. There are spots upon the sun, and our countrys fair escutcheon is not immaculate. When we contemplate these evils, we are shocked at their enormity; but when we humbly look at the mysterious workings of Provi- dence, and see, or think we see, Him educing blessings out of bondage, and civilization from the cruelties which precede it, we still hope that, although these things are appointed, the end comes quickly on, and that our race will be the chieg if not the only instrument in the regeneration of the world; and that the prayers of a universal Christianity may yet be offered up in our language. 314 [l~o a Spider. [April. TO A SPI1YER~ SPIDER! thou needst not run in fear about, To shun my curious eyes; I wont humanely crush thy bowels out, Lest thou shouldst eat the flies! Nor will I roast thee with a damned delight, Thy strange, instinctive fortitude to see; For there is one who might One day roast me. Thourt welcome to a rhymer sore perplexed For subject of his verse; Theres many a one who, on a better text, Perhaps might comment worse. Then, shrink not, old free-mason, from my view, But quietly, like me, spin out the line: Do thou thy work pursue, As I will mine. Thou busy laborer! one resemblance more Shall yet the verse prolong; For, Spider, thou art like the rhymer, poor, Whom thou hast helped in song. Both busily, our needful food to win, We work, as Nature taught, with ceaseless pains: Thy bowels thou dost spin, I spin my brains.

To a Spider 314-315

314 [l~o a Spider. [April. TO A SPI1YER~ SPIDER! thou needst not run in fear about, To shun my curious eyes; I wont humanely crush thy bowels out, Lest thou shouldst eat the flies! Nor will I roast thee with a damned delight, Thy strange, instinctive fortitude to see; For there is one who might One day roast me. Thourt welcome to a rhymer sore perplexed For subject of his verse; Theres many a one who, on a better text, Perhaps might comment worse. Then, shrink not, old free-mason, from my view, But quietly, like me, spin out the line: Do thou thy work pursue, As I will mine. Thou busy laborer! one resemblance more Shall yet the verse prolong; For, Spider, thou art like the rhymer, poor, Whom thou hast helped in song. Both busily, our needful food to win, We work, as Nature taught, with ceaseless pains: Thy bowels thou dost spin, I spin my brains. 1855.] Th(tp~s and Dirn~y1e8. 815 IDIAPERS AND DIMPLES. BARNUMS LAST. Tuis is the age of noveltiesof the prostration of old ideas of the introduction of new, and the development of physi- cal as well as moral progress. Of all the nations of the earth, this country claims to take the lead in pioneering out the march of intellect; and, as an humble fugleman to the grand advance, we propose to ourselves to indite a prose p~ean in honor of and to commemorate the last decisive stage at which the progression of humanity has arrived. Arma virurn-qae, we do not sing; nor of Morse, with his telegraph; nor of Fulton, with his steam; nor yet can the ruins of Sebastopol claim from our sympathetic hearts the me- morial of an elegy. The Southern Cross now rising in the Australian wilderness must yet awhile wave its silken folds, if not unhonored, at least unsung, so far as we ourselves are con- cerned. A mightier theme claims our noticea more ancient, though perpetually renewing, facta subject which comes back to many myriad breasts legitimately, (and to many bachelors in a hand-basket)a fountain from which we ourselves have risen, and which, if a more general diffusion could be effected, would greatly tend to allay the present distressing agitation for womans rights. There have been poems on the subject; but all of them of the very simplest and most inartistic order; most of them the work of the female mind, and merely of the gentle, maternal, and material intellect, at that. There are no metaphysical subtleties, no super-terrene hifalutinism, no telescopic affection in these effusions, such as Miss Lucy Stone or the Rev. Miss A. L. Brown would throw into any specimen of her literary composition. They come from the heartnot from the head;

Diapers and Dimples. Barnum's Last 315-319

1855.] Th(tp~s and Dirn~y1e8. 815 IDIAPERS AND DIMPLES. BARNUMS LAST. Tuis is the age of noveltiesof the prostration of old ideas of the introduction of new, and the development of physi- cal as well as moral progress. Of all the nations of the earth, this country claims to take the lead in pioneering out the march of intellect; and, as an humble fugleman to the grand advance, we propose to ourselves to indite a prose p~ean in honor of and to commemorate the last decisive stage at which the progression of humanity has arrived. Arma virurn-qae, we do not sing; nor of Morse, with his telegraph; nor of Fulton, with his steam; nor yet can the ruins of Sebastopol claim from our sympathetic hearts the me- morial of an elegy. The Southern Cross now rising in the Australian wilderness must yet awhile wave its silken folds, if not unhonored, at least unsung, so far as we ourselves are con- cerned. A mightier theme claims our noticea more ancient, though perpetually renewing, facta subject which comes back to many myriad breasts legitimately, (and to many bachelors in a hand-basket)a fountain from which we ourselves have risen, and which, if a more general diffusion could be effected, would greatly tend to allay the present distressing agitation for womans rights. There have been poems on the subject; but all of them of the very simplest and most inartistic order; most of them the work of the female mind, and merely of the gentle, maternal, and material intellect, at that. There are no metaphysical subtleties, no super-terrene hifalutinism, no telescopic affection in these effusions, such as Miss Lucy Stone or the Rev. Miss A. L. Brown would throw into any specimen of her literary composition. They come from the heartnot from the head; 816 Diapers and Dimples. [April, they are merely kindly, and natural, and touching; and as such, are of course behind the requirements and expectations of the age. We allude to the volumes printed, published, and edited by our respected and venerable friend, Mother Goose. To come down to the matter in one wordthough it took us nigh a quarter of a century to rise therefromwe speak of babydom in general, and of Barnums grand baby-show in particular. It is the latest, the greatest, the fairest, the queer- est, the wildest, the mildest, and likely to be the most success- ful of all Phinny Feegees cx thing under the sun, it is, at ploits. If not absolutely a new metropolis; and we know least, a novelty in this civilized that many interested mothers, and many who are as yet only interesting, look forward to it with the most unbounded hope. Their bosoms swell as they think of the pride a certificate for the fattest baby would give them, and their needles, Once a shining store, are now more assidu- ous than ever in the making of microscopic shirts and Lillipu- tian linen night-caps. This show was advertised with all the necessary months for preparation; it comes off, we - believe, in the Crystal Palace; and the notice which the old directors appended to their circu- lars, may not be without advantage at presentit is this: Exhibitors are requested to have their goods on hand at the earliest possible moment. But this is not a theme for jocosity; for babies are very serious affairs, as the many restless nights we have passed, and, no doubt, caused to be passed, attest. We can not de- scribe, precisely, our own infancy; but we have heard, on the most reliable authority, that, except for an ugly temper, a most ravenous appetite, a disposition to scratch, tear, and destroy, and a voice that could run through the whole gamut of agony, and rage upon the slightest, either real or fancied, opposition, we were the dearest-earest-icky-dicky baby that ever mother bore. We, therefore, think we have a right to speak on behalf of the model infants, and our words should be of weight with all the swarming progeny not emerged from diapers and a milk diet. We would recommend them to encourage these shoxvs; to grow fat to facilitate them; to exercise their voices to the utmost, lest they be passed over by the carelessness or deafness of the judges. They should insist upon rehearsals, moreover, so that no stage fright should mar the public exhibition; they should form associations together, and refuse to appear unless fed for the preceding month upon any quan- tity of cake and comfits their infant stomachs m~may consume. 1855.1 Diapers and Dimples. 317 But some there are some dead-to-the-spirit-of-progress, forty-centuries-behind-the-age, ridiculously-and-old-fashionedly- sctueamish people we have met, who object to these exhibitions as indelicate. Indelicate, forsooth! Indelicate while Bar num manages them !why, they occupy in the exhibition-room the throne vacated by Joyce Heth, the woolly horse, the Fejee mermaid, and the calf that had twenty legs! Have we not had fat pigs and Shanghai roosters cackling and grunting in the very spot where the prize cradles are about to be located? Has not the moral American drama (with a distressed and distressingly virtuous seamstress, in corkscrew ringlets and des- pair, and a titled miscreant in corked moustachios, cotton gloves, and a passion) been exhibited directly over-head? Has not General Tom Thumb been there, and is not Barnum a philanthropist and a philosopher? But seriously, this matter of Baby-shows is an important, and what Carlyle would call a significant fact. It seems that this material age is rapidly swallowing up all the finer and more delicate emotions of mans nature; there is nothing sacred from its clutches, and all, in which we live and move and have our spiritual (our only real) being, is now to be brought down to the auctioneers hammer and ticketed at a set value. Even children those living dolls, whose smiles delight, whose pranks amuse, whose little sicknesses and troubles endear, while they alarm us-the cherubs of the hearth and of the heart, who repay our care with infinite though voiceless plea- surewho reconcile us to the burden and the toils of lifein whom we see ourselves reproduced as we were in those days of childhood to which, as years advance and the weariness and the futility of life grow more apparent, we more earnestly, more fondly referthe inheritors of our blood and name, of the features of her who stood with us before the altar in the long- past, unforgotten days of love and joyeven children, we say, must now be considered as commodities of value, as market- able ware, and the vows that were pledged at the altar become the mere license to manufacture a human article for exhibition! Often as Barnum has outraged decency anil patriotism played, as he has, with our veneration for our countrys father by the swindling representation of a filthy and decrepit ne- gresslied, as he has, about the woolly horse, which Colonel Fremont never DID catch among the Rocky Mountainsforged, as he has, the horrible abortion of a mermaid, and vonched it by perjurious witnesses traduced us, as he has, in that thing which he calls a book, whose aim and object is to elevate his 22 318 Diapers and Dimples. [April, own peddling cuteness at the expense of the common-sense of our national characterthis Baby-show we do not hesitate to denounce as the meanest, vilest, most degraded and degrading of all his dollar-getting schemes. Let him but be successful in this, and we shall soon have an exhibition of wives, of husbands, of brawny sinews and finely-rounded limbs! Where dollars can be made, what cares the chuckling panderer to human gul- libility? Let him but be successful in this pig-baby-and Shanghai exhibition, and there will be a second edition of his book to carry word to Europe (ever eager for every libel on America) of the coarseness, the rapacity, the brute indelicacy of our countrys matrons. With that dull, rooted, callous impudence, Which, dead to shame and every nicer sense, Neer blushed, unless, in spreading vices snares, She blundered on some virture unawares! Mothers of America! as you love your childrenas you would retain the respect of your husbands and of the world as ye would not see yourselves classed in the category with feculent swine and feathered fowldiscountenance, deny this black attempt to lower your position! 1855.] Cz Nickola8 Dead. 319 CZAR NICHOLAS DEAD. THE TRUCULENCE OF ENGLAND. THERE are two passions, Rage and Fear, analogous in origin, but diametrically diverse in result. Analogous in ori- gin, we say, for both arise from the apprehension of personal or social injury. But diverse in result; for Rage has many modifying, many noble features in its development; whereas Fear is the meanest, the most treacherous and vile of all the passions of the heart. Impelled by Rage, the warrior does not hesitate to pierce the bosom of his antagonistto struggle with him hand to hand, and play life for life in the great game of mortal combat. But the victory achieved, the foe subdued, or slain, or killed by any accidentin none but a demons breast could the hunger for revenge remain any longer unsatiated. The warrior, yet reek- ing with the sweat and blood and dust of the delirious con- flict, will pause to pay homage to the fierce though fruitless gallantry of his foe; he will not deteriorate his own prowess by degrading the remains and memory of his dead rival. The heat of battle past, the victors fling aside the sword and musket to grasp the mattock and the spade. They bury their dead enemies with reverence, and, if the exigencies of the campaign permit, do not fail to raise some monument, however hasty, however humble, to commemorate the valor, the misfortunes, that are inurned below. Not so with Fear. The vilest selfishness at its rootthe meanest cowardice, and dread of personal disaster for its only actuating principlethe lie of boasting valor on its lips, and the fact of disorganizing terror at its jaundiced heartFear revels in the contemplation of a prostrate foe, and spurns with its asss heels at the lion, whose living roar sent palsy to its heart, and paralysis to every bloodless limb.

Czar Nicholas Dead. The Truculence of England 319-321

1855.] Cz Nickola8 Dead. 319 CZAR NICHOLAS DEAD. THE TRUCULENCE OF ENGLAND. THERE are two passions, Rage and Fear, analogous in origin, but diametrically diverse in result. Analogous in ori- gin, we say, for both arise from the apprehension of personal or social injury. But diverse in result; for Rage has many modifying, many noble features in its development; whereas Fear is the meanest, the most treacherous and vile of all the passions of the heart. Impelled by Rage, the warrior does not hesitate to pierce the bosom of his antagonistto struggle with him hand to hand, and play life for life in the great game of mortal combat. But the victory achieved, the foe subdued, or slain, or killed by any accidentin none but a demons breast could the hunger for revenge remain any longer unsatiated. The warrior, yet reek- ing with the sweat and blood and dust of the delirious con- flict, will pause to pay homage to the fierce though fruitless gallantry of his foe; he will not deteriorate his own prowess by degrading the remains and memory of his dead rival. The heat of battle past, the victors fling aside the sword and musket to grasp the mattock and the spade. They bury their dead enemies with reverence, and, if the exigencies of the campaign permit, do not fail to raise some monument, however hasty, however humble, to commemorate the valor, the misfortunes, that are inurned below. Not so with Fear. The vilest selfishness at its rootthe meanest cowardice, and dread of personal disaster for its only actuating principlethe lie of boasting valor on its lips, and the fact of disorganizing terror at its jaundiced heartFear revels in the contemplation of a prostrate foe, and spurns with its asss heels at the lion, whose living roar sent palsy to its heart, and paralysis to every bloodless limb. 320 Czar Nicholas Dead. [April, What, then, shall we say of England, when we read the record, self-inscribed, of the atrocious orgies with which she received and celebrated the death of her Russian enemy? An enemy who, but a few short years ago, was her guest, and in whose eulogy the hoarse throat of London made the welkin ring. An enemy who, still later, was hailed by the truckling traders of Great Britain as the model monarch of the world an example of domestic virtues, un seduced by imperial power the great protector of law, order, and morality against those implacable foes, those incarnate fiends who wear the bonnet rouge, and believe that men have a right to a voice, at least, in the direction and control of their own affairs. Let it no longer be pretended that it is the mere governing classes of England who are truculent and bloodythat the British people, to a man, resemble the fine old English gen- tleman, who had a tear for every sorrow, and a loaf for every want. That pretense, though specious, this event of the Czars death has for ever swept away. On this occasion, certainly, it was the people proper who basely, and in an unguarded mo- ment, yelled out their innate infamy. Assembled in two theatres of London, with no other object than to be aniused, to pass an evening pleasantlywith no political harangues to excite themno tidings of a national disaster to palliate their horrid joythe populace of London received from the respect- ive managersaye, even in the midst of the dramatic enter- tainment, the pleasing intelligence that an old, old man, the grandfather of a numerous family, who had sustained throngh life, andy at a dizzy elevation, that steadiness of moral purpose which stamped him a good husband, a good father, and a generous princethe pleasing intelligence, we quote the ferocious words, that such a man had died of a deep-seated disease, surrounded by a weeping family, and having received the last offices of the religion, to support which had been the object of his life; and when th~y heard these words, the trucu- lence of the Cockney heart broke fortb, and men were deli- rious in their hosannas, and the jeweled fingers of Britains philanthropic ladydoni waved perfumed cambric in the air. When they went home, let us hope that they wrote another Sutherland circular to their Sisters of America~, requesting our republican maids and matrons to join them in a general jubilee for so auspicious an event. 18~i5.] Drift - TFood. 321 D II I F T - W 0 0 D. IN matters of religion, it too often happens that belief goes before exa- mination, and we take our creed from our nurse, but not our conviction. If the intellectual food should afterwards rise upon the stomach, it is be- cause, in this unnatural order of things, the act of swallowing has preceded the ceremony of tasting. In the whole course of our observation there is not so misrepresented and abused a personage as Death. Some have styled him the King of Terrors, when he might, with less impropriety, have been termed the terror of kings; others have dreaded him as an evil without end, although it was in their own power to make him the end of all eviL There is nothing for- midable about death but the consequences of it, and these we ourselves can regulate and control. The shortest life is long enough if it lead to a better, and the longest life is too short if it do not. Friendship often ends in love; but love in friendship, never. We should have as many Petrarchs as Antonies, were not Lauras much more scarce than Cleopatras. Taking things, not as they ought to be, but as they are, I fear it must be allowed, that Machiavelli will always have more disciples than Jesus. Out of the millions who studied and even admired the precepts of the Nazarite, how few are there who have reduced them to practice! But there are numbers numberless, who, throughout the whole of their lives, have been practising the principles of the Italian, without having even heard of his name. Speaking, says ~Lord Bacon, makes a ready man, reading a full man, and writing a correct man. The first position, perhaps, is true; for those are oftenest the most ready to speak, who have the least to say. But read- ing will not always make a full man, for the memories of some men are like the buckets of the daughters of Danae, and retain nothing; others have recollections like the bolters of a mill, that retain the chaff and let the flour escape. Neither will writing accomplish what his lordship has declared,

Drift-Wood 321-328

18~i5.] Drift - TFood. 321 D II I F T - W 0 0 D. IN matters of religion, it too often happens that belief goes before exa- mination, and we take our creed from our nurse, but not our conviction. If the intellectual food should afterwards rise upon the stomach, it is be- cause, in this unnatural order of things, the act of swallowing has preceded the ceremony of tasting. In the whole course of our observation there is not so misrepresented and abused a personage as Death. Some have styled him the King of Terrors, when he might, with less impropriety, have been termed the terror of kings; others have dreaded him as an evil without end, although it was in their own power to make him the end of all eviL There is nothing for- midable about death but the consequences of it, and these we ourselves can regulate and control. The shortest life is long enough if it lead to a better, and the longest life is too short if it do not. Friendship often ends in love; but love in friendship, never. We should have as many Petrarchs as Antonies, were not Lauras much more scarce than Cleopatras. Taking things, not as they ought to be, but as they are, I fear it must be allowed, that Machiavelli will always have more disciples than Jesus. Out of the millions who studied and even admired the precepts of the Nazarite, how few are there who have reduced them to practice! But there are numbers numberless, who, throughout the whole of their lives, have been practising the principles of the Italian, without having even heard of his name. Speaking, says ~Lord Bacon, makes a ready man, reading a full man, and writing a correct man. The first position, perhaps, is true; for those are oftenest the most ready to speak, who have the least to say. But read- ing will not always make a full man, for the memories of some men are like the buckets of the daughters of Danae, and retain nothing; others have recollections like the bolters of a mill, that retain the chaff and let the flour escape. Neither will writing accomplish what his lordship has declared, 322 Dr~ - Wood. [April, otherwise some of our most voluminous writers would put in their claim for correctness, to whom their readers would more justly award correction. Those who would draw conclusions unfavorable to Christianity, from the circumstance that many believers have turned skeptics, but few skeptics believers, have forgotten the answer of Arcesilaus, to one that asked him, Why many went from other sects to the Epicureans, but none from the Epicureans to the other sects? Because, said he, of men, some are made eunuchs, but of eunuchs never any are made men. Falsehood is never so successful as when she baits her hook with truth, and no opinions so fatally mislead us as those that are not wholly wrong; as no watches so effectually deceive the wearer as those that are sometimes right. It is better to quarrel with a knave than with a fool; for with the latter all consideration of consequences to himself is swallowed up and lost in the blind and brutal impulse which goads him on to bring evil upon another. The conduct of corporate bodies would incline one to suspect that criminality is, with them, a matter of calculation, rather than of conscience. The rich patient cures the poor physician much more often than the poor physician the rich patient, and it is rather paradoxical that the rapid recovery of the one depends upon the procrastinated disorder of the other. If a legislator were to transport the robbed, and to reward the robber, ought we to wonder if felonies were frequent? And in like manner, when women send the seduced to Coventry, but countenance and even court the seducer, ought we not to wonder if seduction were scarce? Mystery magnifies danger, as a fog the sun; the hand that warned Belshazzar derived its horrifying influence from the want of a body. There are those who cordially believe with Machiavelli, that the tongue was given us to discover the thoughts of others, and to conceal our own; and who range themselves either under the standard of Alexander VT., who never did what he said, or of his son Borgia, who never said what he did. He that threatens us, not having the power to harm us, would perhaps do so if he could; but he that threatens us, having the power, is not much to be feared. There can be no Christianity, where there is no charity. The censor- ious cultivate the forms of religion, that they may more freely indulge in the only pleasure of their lives, that of calumniating those who, to their other failings, add not the sin of hypocrisy. But hypocrisy can beat 185& ] Drift - Wood. 323 calumny at her own weapons, and can feign forgiveness, while she feels re- sentment and meditates revenge. Many books require no thought from those that read them, and for a very simple reasonthey made no such demand upon those that wrote them. It is sometimes lamented that learning is becoming superficial by being made common. But it may be doubted if that learning is worth having which can not be popularized without being degradedwhich loses its at- tractions for the scholar as soon as it becomes accessible to the mass. If Dickens and Thackeray become classics, the English vocabulary must be enlarged. Many lady readers ha~ve been sadly puzzled to share the furtive episodes of the Artful Dodger, or the resolute march of Mr. Arthur Pen- dennis. We find more difference of opinion as to the comparative merits of poets than of all other writers. For in science, reason is the guide; but in poetry, taste. Truth is the object of the one, which is one and indivisible; beauty is the object of the other, which is varied and multiform. The flatterer must act the very reverse of the physician, and administer the strongest dose only to the weakest patient. To cure us of immoderate love of gain, we should seriously consider how many goods there are that money will not purchase, and these are best; and how many evils that money will not remedy, and these are worst. Monsieur Jourdan talked prose all his life without knowing it, but certain modern writers can not even do that. Witness Gilfillan, and our own very noisy H. The ancients must have been very dull without novels. To a nation that made much of Gellius and Apuleins, we could very well have spared the hero of the Two Horsemen.~~ Virgil is the only great poet who has not given us characters. Yneas is a walking gentleman, and beside him who but fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthem ? The genius of Virgil is remarkable in having made amends for the tameness of his characters, and his frightful plagiarisms. Of the poets, it will be most safe to read chiefly those of times that are past, who are still popular in times that are present; and when we read a few of those that are ancient, this is the most pleasing and compendious mode of reading all that is good, in those that are modern. The press enables poets to deluge us with streams from Heliconrapid, overflowing, and inexhaustible, but noisy, frothy, and muddy withal, and profuse rather than profound. 324 [April, Dr~/t - IV~od. The wisest social philosophers have done little more than start themselves on their proposed courses, and their followers have rarely come up with them. A philosopher who is equal to his theory may not despair of re- creating the world; but we must find our philosopher. The health-doctor who, for a dollar, offers to put you into a way of living for ever is subject to bilious attacks, and shudders as much as yourself at the undertaker. It is no sin against our mother-tongue to use words not to be found in the dictionaries, provided they are necessary, and are not manufactured barbarously. Every word must have a beginning, and if our fathers had no inventive genius, we should have no language. Some one has remarked, with more of point than of politeness, that ladies are the very reverse of their own mirrors; for the one reflects, with- out talking, and the other talks, without reflecting. We should prefer preceptors who teach us to think, such as Bacon and Locke, rather than those that teach us to argue, as Aristotle and Cicero; and we should give our days and our nights to those who, like Tacitus and Tully, describe men as they are, than to those who, like Harrington and Bolingbroke, describe men as they ought to be. To be an object of compassion to friends, of derision to foes; to be sus- pected by strangers, stared at by fools; to be esteemed dull, when you can not be witty; to be applauded for witty, when you know you have been dull; to be called upon for the extemporaneous exercise of that faculty which no premeditation can give; to be spurred on to efforts which end in contempt; to be set on to provoke mirth, which procures the procurer hatred; to give pleasure, and be paid in squinting malice; to swallow draughts of life-destroying wine, which are to be distilled into airy breath to tickle vain auditors; to mortgage miserable morrows for nights of mad- ness; to waste whole seas of time upon those who pay it back in little, in- considerable drops of grudging applauseare the wages of buffoonery and death. Some people have a knack of putting upon you gifts of no real value, to engage you to substantial gratitude. Could the youth, to whom the flavor of his first wine is delicious as the opening scenes of life or the entering upon some newly-discovered paradise, look into my desolation, and be made to understand what a dreary thing it is when a man shall find himself going down a precipice, with open eyes and a passive will, to see his destruction, and to have no power to stop, and yet to feel it all the way emanating from himself; to perceive all goodness emptied out of him, and yet not to be able to forget a time when it was otherwise; to bear about the piteous spectacle of his own selfruins; could he see my fevered eye, feverish with last nights drinking, and feverishly 1855.1 Drift - Wood. 325 looking for this nights drinking, and feverishly looking for this nights re- petition of the folly; could he feel the body of the death out of which I cry hourly, with feebler and feebler out-cry, to be delivered, it were enough to make him dash the sparkling beverage to the earth, in all the pride of its mantling temptationto make him clasp his teeth, And not undo them, To suffer wet dcmnation~ to run through them. - Pedantry is not confined to men of books. It shows itself in every man who makes much of his own pursuits. There is a pedantry of the shop and the ledger, equally ridiculous with that of the closet; and it is hard to tell which is the more intolerable, affectation of commercial or scholastic techni- calities. The virtue of filial gratitude is overwhelmed with much well-meant non- sense. Gratitude only begins with the child when obligation ceases with the parent. To acquire a few tongues is the task of a few years, but to be eloquent in one is the labor of a life. If men would confine their talk to those subjects only which they un- derstand, that which St. John informs us took place once in heaven, would happen very frequently on earth, silence for the space of ha~f an houi~. Those who take their opinions of women from the reports of a rake will be no nearer the truth than those who take their opinions of men from the lips of a prostitute. Believe me, it is not arms, it is not food, it is not organization, opportu- nity, or union, or foreign sympathy, Ireland wantsit is spirit, a proud, defiant intolerance of slavery, and scorn of pretended legal penalties as well as other personal consequences. When this soul has come into Ireland, her opportunity is come; until then, never, never! There can be no life without labor; and labor is everywhere the destiny of the people. If civilization is to make any sufficient answer for itself, and for the many serious evils it promotes, it ought to be that it renders the vicissitudes of life less extreme, that it provides a resource for all of us against excessive want. What an air of self-sufficient arrogance the fellow has! By his precise dress, his stiff shirt-collar, his carefully-trimmed whiskers, his well-brushed hat, he seems to say, I am an Englishman, and therefore a superior being. I am a gentleman, and therefore a sort of duodecimo edition of a demigod. Could you listen to his conversation, you would find that he had a serene 3243 Drift - Wood. [April, contempt for all below him in the scale of fortunes favors; that he believed himself born to be waited on by the rest of the world, and that the rest of the world merely existed for his convenience. Twelve months association with intelligent and refined women will do more to soften our nature, and take off our natural roughness, than all the universities and voluminous libraries in the world. It will do more to refine a young mans manners than an age of attendance on the pompous, pedantic, periwigged pride of all the learned doctors of the age. I would rather sit in company with two or three sensible and well-bred women than all the Doctor Johnsons that centuries have produced; for a well-bred woman can be guilty of an indelicacy with more grace than Johnson could put on to present himself before the minister who pensioned him. Fame is an accidentMerit, a thing absolute. No gold but that comes from dark mines. The catalogue of true thoughts is small. They are ubiquitousno mans propertyand unspoken or bruited are the same. Fame has dropped more rolls than she displays. A man can not be expected to till his farm, build his house, make his sh6es, and mend his clock. St. Paul put a letter into the hand of a runaway slave, and sent him back to his master. A reverend New-England divine put a Colts revolver in the hands of a runaway slave, with a charge to use it with effect on the person of the first man who should dare to call or treat him as a slave; and afterwards boasted of it in the pulpit! If you want enemies, excel others; if you want friends, let others excel you. Alas! how has the social and cheerful spirit of Christianity been per- verted by fools at one time, and by knaves at a~iother; by the self-torment- ors of the cell, or the all-tormentors of the conclave. In this enlightened age, we despise the absurdities of the one and the atrocities of the other. When all is done, human life is, at the greatest and the best, but like a froward child, that must be played with and humored a little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep, and then the care is over. By a late official statement, the banking capital of the State of New- York amounted to upwards of 135,000,000 dollars, with a basis of about 10,000,000 specie! Were we inclined to pun, after the manner of Swift, on the name of 1855.] Dr9fl - Thood. 327 Mandeville, we might say that Mandeville was a devil of a man, who wrote a book to prove man a deviL Halley, the great mathematician, dabbled not a little in infidelity; he was rather too fond of introducing this subject; and once, when he was descanting somewhat too freely on it, in the presence of his friend, Sir Isaac Newton, the latter cut him short with this observation: I always attend to you, Doctor Halley, with the greatest deference, when you do us the honor to converse on astronomy or the mathematics, because they are sub- jects that you have industriously investigated, and which you well under- stand; but religion is a subject on which I always hear you with pain, be- cause this is a subject which you have not seriously examined, and do not comprehend; you despise it because y6u have not studied it, and you will not study it because you despise it Sailors and gamblers, though not over-remarkable for their devotion, are ever proverbial for their superstition; the solution of this phenomenon is, that both these descriptions of men have so much to do with things beyond all possibility of being reduced either to rule or to reasonthe winds and the wavesand the decisions of the dice-box. There are many dogs that have never killed their own mutton; but very few who, having begun, have stopped. And there are many women who have never intrigued, and many men who have never gamed; but those who have done either but once are very extraordinary animals. The dolphin is always painted more crooked than a rams horn, although every naturalist knows that it is the straightest fish that swims. With the offspring of genius, the law of parturition is reversed; the throes are in the conception, the pleasure in the birth. As no roads are so rough as those that have just been mended, so no sinners are so intoleraift as those that have just turned saints. Quantum memorke, tantum ingenii. Marriage is a feast, where the grace is sometimes better than the dinner. Neglect would have restored Diogenes to common-sense and clean linen, since he would have had no tub from the moment he had no spectators. Thus I trample, said Diogenes, on the pride of Plato. But, rejoined Plato, with greater pride, 0 Diogenes. Clear ideas are much more likely to produce clear expressions, than clear expressions are to call out clear ideas; but to minds of the highest order these two things are reciprocally to each other both cause and effect, pro- ducing an efficiency of mind somewhat similar to momentum in machinery, where the weight imparts continuation to the velocity, and the velocity im- parts power to the weight. 328 Book Notices. [April, BOOK NOTICES. R sia !As It Is. By Count A. De Curowski. D. App~etoa & Co. New- York: 1854. A Year of the War. By Adam De Curowski. D. Apj~eton & Co. 1855. Fox his participation, as one of the leaders, in the Polish insurrection of 1830, the author of these volumes was condemned to death; but whether he owes his present security to the clemency of the Czar, or to his better for- tune, we do not learn. At all events, Mr. De Gurowski has a decided ad- vantage over many of the book-makers of now-a-dayshe at least writes of things he has seen and known; and, if nothing else, this advantage of op- portunity entitles him to a hearing. At the time when the Counts first volrnne was published, and the early news of the present European struggle was fresh on our ears, the American press, with rare exceptions, were busily engaged in repeating the slanderous fabrications of the Paris and London newspapers, whose editors, disinter- ested souls, would have the world to believe that the destinies of Europe were oscillating between liberty and absolutism, and that nothing but the success of the Allies would prevent Russia from turning the scale against the apostles and worshippers of a political and social disenthralment. For a time our weak echoes of the London Times and Paris iJfoniteur were mis- taken for expressions of American feeling; and, from the tone of the volume Russia As It Is, we are led to think that the author fell into the popular error, and was in consequence misled as to the state of the market for which his wares were destined. In this way alone can we account for many of the statements of Mr. Gurowski, who, in his first volume, represents the Czar as a weak, vain, and capricious man, whose capacity has never risen above that of directing the various mawuuvres of a single regiment, etc. We can imagine circumstances under which a thorough hater might ven- ture such statements. In this instance, however, unfortunately for the writer, while there has been little to justify his assertions, every passing event of the Czars life shows more clearly the falsity of all such accusations. The brilliancy which surrounds the man may be, to a degree, spurious, but the candid historian will, we think, accord to him, not only firmness and

Russia As It Is. By Count A. De Gurowski Book Notices 328

328 Book Notices. [April, BOOK NOTICES. R sia !As It Is. By Count A. De Curowski. D. App~etoa & Co. New- York: 1854. A Year of the War. By Adam De Curowski. D. Apj~eton & Co. 1855. Fox his participation, as one of the leaders, in the Polish insurrection of 1830, the author of these volumes was condemned to death; but whether he owes his present security to the clemency of the Czar, or to his better for- tune, we do not learn. At all events, Mr. De Gurowski has a decided ad- vantage over many of the book-makers of now-a-dayshe at least writes of things he has seen and known; and, if nothing else, this advantage of op- portunity entitles him to a hearing. At the time when the Counts first volrnne was published, and the early news of the present European struggle was fresh on our ears, the American press, with rare exceptions, were busily engaged in repeating the slanderous fabrications of the Paris and London newspapers, whose editors, disinter- ested souls, would have the world to believe that the destinies of Europe were oscillating between liberty and absolutism, and that nothing but the success of the Allies would prevent Russia from turning the scale against the apostles and worshippers of a political and social disenthralment. For a time our weak echoes of the London Times and Paris iJfoniteur were mis- taken for expressions of American feeling; and, from the tone of the volume Russia As It Is, we are led to think that the author fell into the popular error, and was in consequence misled as to the state of the market for which his wares were destined. In this way alone can we account for many of the statements of Mr. Gurowski, who, in his first volume, represents the Czar as a weak, vain, and capricious man, whose capacity has never risen above that of directing the various mawuuvres of a single regiment, etc. We can imagine circumstances under which a thorough hater might ven- ture such statements. In this instance, however, unfortunately for the writer, while there has been little to justify his assertions, every passing event of the Czars life shows more clearly the falsity of all such accusations. The brilliancy which surrounds the man may be, to a degree, spurious, but the candid historian will, we think, accord to him, not only firmness and

A Year of the War. By Adam De Gurowski Book Notices 328-329

328 Book Notices. [April, BOOK NOTICES. R sia !As It Is. By Count A. De Curowski. D. App~etoa & Co. New- York: 1854. A Year of the War. By Adam De Curowski. D. Apj~eton & Co. 1855. Fox his participation, as one of the leaders, in the Polish insurrection of 1830, the author of these volumes was condemned to death; but whether he owes his present security to the clemency of the Czar, or to his better for- tune, we do not learn. At all events, Mr. De Gurowski has a decided ad- vantage over many of the book-makers of now-a-dayshe at least writes of things he has seen and known; and, if nothing else, this advantage of op- portunity entitles him to a hearing. At the time when the Counts first volrnne was published, and the early news of the present European struggle was fresh on our ears, the American press, with rare exceptions, were busily engaged in repeating the slanderous fabrications of the Paris and London newspapers, whose editors, disinter- ested souls, would have the world to believe that the destinies of Europe were oscillating between liberty and absolutism, and that nothing but the success of the Allies would prevent Russia from turning the scale against the apostles and worshippers of a political and social disenthralment. For a time our weak echoes of the London Times and Paris iJfoniteur were mis- taken for expressions of American feeling; and, from the tone of the volume Russia As It Is, we are led to think that the author fell into the popular error, and was in consequence misled as to the state of the market for which his wares were destined. In this way alone can we account for many of the statements of Mr. Gurowski, who, in his first volume, represents the Czar as a weak, vain, and capricious man, whose capacity has never risen above that of directing the various mawuuvres of a single regiment, etc. We can imagine circumstances under which a thorough hater might ven- ture such statements. In this instance, however, unfortunately for the writer, while there has been little to justify his assertions, every passing event of the Czars life shows more clearly the falsity of all such accusations. The brilliancy which surrounds the man may be, to a degree, spurious, but the candid historian will, we think, accord to him, not only firmness and 184~5.] Book Notioe8. 329 capacity, but candor and honesty of purpose entirely unknown to his present opponents. In the subsequent volume, written near a year after the publication of the work of which we have been writing, we find a clear and able exposition of the double-faced policy of the Allies, and a modification of the authors opin- ions in regard to Nicholas. However, in this connection, we would remind our readers that Cronstadt is still in the hands Russia, and that Sebas- topol remains in .statu quo; at least we have as yet received no Russian accounts of its capture. 31y Courtship and its Consequences. By Henry Wikoff. J. C. Derby. New- York, MR. DERBY 1S a~ most excellent publisher, and generally does the fullest justice to his writers: it is, therefore, with the more regret that we notice a disastrous omission in the volume under review. He should certainly have placed a portrait of the author of this lucubration on the title-pagenot merely as an ornament, which it might or might not bebut as Miss Gam- bles only answer to the charges herein brought against her powers of appre- ciation and resolve. If Mr. Wikofi looks as pretty as the version of his escapade that he would have us swallowif his lineaments be as graceful as his style, and his figure as forcible as his rhetoricwhy then, the heiress whose fortune he unfortunately coveted may very rightly be %xraigned for the insensibility which consigned the volatile and voluble diplomat to the tender mercies of an Italian jail. As to Mr. Wikoffs connection with the British government, we regret, for his sake, that the charge was too palpably true to admit of a denial: he does not shun the issue here involved, but openly avows his agency with as much frankness as he confesses his designs upon and ardent passion for Miss Gambles purse. For the work itselfa work disclosing without reserve the relations which the author held with all grades and conditions of foueign notableswe suppose we may laugh at its singularity, while by no means endorsing, as either commendable or reputa- ble, disclosures which excite our mirth. As matters must be judged, not by their intrinsic value, but by the value which each several individual may choose to place upon them; and as earnestness, according to the gospel of St. Thomas (Carlyle) is indissolubly connected with the sublime, we also suppose that we must ascribe a sublimity to the fortune-hunters pur- suit; for earnest it was, and indefatigable it was to a degreeto a degree that nothing but the dungeon bars of St. Andrea could abate. We com- mend this book to our readers, more especially to the gossipy, scandal- loving, on-this-side-of-forty female portion thereof as a volume in every way deserving the criticism of their conversationes and a~sthetic teas. Its native climate is the boudoir, and its presence there may act as a not unser- viceable caution. In conclusion of this hurried and all too general notice, we may express our wonder that a gentleman of a candor so unlimited that he seeks to take the whole public into his confidence, should at the same

My Courtship and its Consequences. By Henry Wikoff Book Notices 329-330

184~5.] Book Notioe8. 329 capacity, but candor and honesty of purpose entirely unknown to his present opponents. In the subsequent volume, written near a year after the publication of the work of which we have been writing, we find a clear and able exposition of the double-faced policy of the Allies, and a modification of the authors opin- ions in regard to Nicholas. However, in this connection, we would remind our readers that Cronstadt is still in the hands Russia, and that Sebas- topol remains in .statu quo; at least we have as yet received no Russian accounts of its capture. 31y Courtship and its Consequences. By Henry Wikoff. J. C. Derby. New- York, MR. DERBY 1S a~ most excellent publisher, and generally does the fullest justice to his writers: it is, therefore, with the more regret that we notice a disastrous omission in the volume under review. He should certainly have placed a portrait of the author of this lucubration on the title-pagenot merely as an ornament, which it might or might not bebut as Miss Gam- bles only answer to the charges herein brought against her powers of appre- ciation and resolve. If Mr. Wikofi looks as pretty as the version of his escapade that he would have us swallowif his lineaments be as graceful as his style, and his figure as forcible as his rhetoricwhy then, the heiress whose fortune he unfortunately coveted may very rightly be %xraigned for the insensibility which consigned the volatile and voluble diplomat to the tender mercies of an Italian jail. As to Mr. Wikoffs connection with the British government, we regret, for his sake, that the charge was too palpably true to admit of a denial: he does not shun the issue here involved, but openly avows his agency with as much frankness as he confesses his designs upon and ardent passion for Miss Gambles purse. For the work itselfa work disclosing without reserve the relations which the author held with all grades and conditions of foueign notableswe suppose we may laugh at its singularity, while by no means endorsing, as either commendable or reputa- ble, disclosures which excite our mirth. As matters must be judged, not by their intrinsic value, but by the value which each several individual may choose to place upon them; and as earnestness, according to the gospel of St. Thomas (Carlyle) is indissolubly connected with the sublime, we also suppose that we must ascribe a sublimity to the fortune-hunters pur- suit; for earnest it was, and indefatigable it was to a degreeto a degree that nothing but the dungeon bars of St. Andrea could abate. We com- mend this book to our readers, more especially to the gossipy, scandal- loving, on-this-side-of-forty female portion thereof as a volume in every way deserving the criticism of their conversationes and a~sthetic teas. Its native climate is the boudoir, and its presence there may act as a not unser- viceable caution. In conclusion of this hurried and all too general notice, we may express our wonder that a gentleman of a candor so unlimited that he seeks to take the whole public into his confidence, should at the same 330 Book Nolice8. [April, 1855. time be so sedulously careful to prevent any other writers sharing the honor of his biography. So long as he is his own historian, Mr. Wikoff is the most candidwe had almost written the most unscrupulousof confessors. But the moment the pen that would delineate him passes into another hand quanto mutatus, etc. A Complete Treatise on Artificial Fish-Breeding: including the Reports on this sub. sect made to the French Academy; and Particulars of the Discovery as pursued in England. Translated and edited by TV. IL Fry. Illustrated with Engravings. New- York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. IT appears that a discovery of the highest importancea mode of actu- ally creating fish, in illimitable numbers, was made in Germany nearly a century ago; but so much occupied were the people of Europe in the art and science of cutting one anothers throats, that it was lost sight of. Two poor illiterate French fishermen, entirely ignorant of what had been done in the way of artificial fish-culture, succeeded, by dint of unwearicd obser- vation and experiment, in reproducing, within a few years past, this lost or neglected discovery. Messieurs Gehin and Remy, the parties referred to, are also entitled to the credit of having made known a mode of rendering their discovery, in every respect, practically useful; so much so that, by the means laid down by the authors of this discovery, the most barren and impoverished streanis may be stocked to an unlimited extent with the rarest and most valuable breeds of fish, from eggs artificially procured, im- pregnated, and hatched. The value of the discovery, and the expediency of turning it to account, will speak for themselves. In Mr. Frys treatise will be found the results of the labors and expe- rience of Messrs. Gehin and Remy, as well as some most interesting papers by M. Coste, member of the French Institute, and Professor of the College of France; and the whole forms a work equally interesting to the farmer, the economist, and the man of leisure. A Long Look Ahead; or, the First & roke and the Last. By A. S. Roe, author of James Hountjoy, etc. New- York: J. C. Derby, Nassau street. ALTHOUGH a young publisherat least, only recently established in this cityMr. Derby has brought out very many new authors, new styles, and attractive volumes for public judgment. The book under notice, without any of the bigoted sectarianism of the Hindoos, is still decidedly American American in the best sense of the termin scenery, in incidents, and the characters it makes us acquainted with. It is a life-picture, beyond doubt; for the colors used, though heightened here and there, are generally true to our common experience of the world; and the impression of a genial, somewhat egotistic nature which the authors preface conveys to us, is preserved throughout. The moral is an excellent one, and not impaired by being made too manifest, too predominating, and obvious throughout; it is suggested and enforced by the story in a true artistic spirit, but does not stick out through the fiction, like a rusty nail through a butterfly.

A Complete Treatise on Artificial Fish-Breeding. Translated and edited by W. H. Fry. Book Notices 330

330 Book Nolice8. [April, 1855. time be so sedulously careful to prevent any other writers sharing the honor of his biography. So long as he is his own historian, Mr. Wikoff is the most candidwe had almost written the most unscrupulousof confessors. But the moment the pen that would delineate him passes into another hand quanto mutatus, etc. A Complete Treatise on Artificial Fish-Breeding: including the Reports on this sub. sect made to the French Academy; and Particulars of the Discovery as pursued in England. Translated and edited by TV. IL Fry. Illustrated with Engravings. New- York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. IT appears that a discovery of the highest importancea mode of actu- ally creating fish, in illimitable numbers, was made in Germany nearly a century ago; but so much occupied were the people of Europe in the art and science of cutting one anothers throats, that it was lost sight of. Two poor illiterate French fishermen, entirely ignorant of what had been done in the way of artificial fish-culture, succeeded, by dint of unwearicd obser- vation and experiment, in reproducing, within a few years past, this lost or neglected discovery. Messieurs Gehin and Remy, the parties referred to, are also entitled to the credit of having made known a mode of rendering their discovery, in every respect, practically useful; so much so that, by the means laid down by the authors of this discovery, the most barren and impoverished streanis may be stocked to an unlimited extent with the rarest and most valuable breeds of fish, from eggs artificially procured, im- pregnated, and hatched. The value of the discovery, and the expediency of turning it to account, will speak for themselves. In Mr. Frys treatise will be found the results of the labors and expe- rience of Messrs. Gehin and Remy, as well as some most interesting papers by M. Coste, member of the French Institute, and Professor of the College of France; and the whole forms a work equally interesting to the farmer, the economist, and the man of leisure. A Long Look Ahead; or, the First & roke and the Last. By A. S. Roe, author of James Hountjoy, etc. New- York: J. C. Derby, Nassau street. ALTHOUGH a young publisherat least, only recently established in this cityMr. Derby has brought out very many new authors, new styles, and attractive volumes for public judgment. The book under notice, without any of the bigoted sectarianism of the Hindoos, is still decidedly American American in the best sense of the termin scenery, in incidents, and the characters it makes us acquainted with. It is a life-picture, beyond doubt; for the colors used, though heightened here and there, are generally true to our common experience of the world; and the impression of a genial, somewhat egotistic nature which the authors preface conveys to us, is preserved throughout. The moral is an excellent one, and not impaired by being made too manifest, too predominating, and obvious throughout; it is suggested and enforced by the story in a true artistic spirit, but does not stick out through the fiction, like a rusty nail through a butterfly.

A Long Look Ahead; or, the First Stroke and the Last. By A. S. Roe Book Notices 330-330B

330 Book Nolice8. [April, 1855. time be so sedulously careful to prevent any other writers sharing the honor of his biography. So long as he is his own historian, Mr. Wikoff is the most candidwe had almost written the most unscrupulousof confessors. But the moment the pen that would delineate him passes into another hand quanto mutatus, etc. A Complete Treatise on Artificial Fish-Breeding: including the Reports on this sub. sect made to the French Academy; and Particulars of the Discovery as pursued in England. Translated and edited by TV. IL Fry. Illustrated with Engravings. New- York: D. Appleton & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway. IT appears that a discovery of the highest importancea mode of actu- ally creating fish, in illimitable numbers, was made in Germany nearly a century ago; but so much occupied were the people of Europe in the art and science of cutting one anothers throats, that it was lost sight of. Two poor illiterate French fishermen, entirely ignorant of what had been done in the way of artificial fish-culture, succeeded, by dint of unwearicd obser- vation and experiment, in reproducing, within a few years past, this lost or neglected discovery. Messieurs Gehin and Remy, the parties referred to, are also entitled to the credit of having made known a mode of rendering their discovery, in every respect, practically useful; so much so that, by the means laid down by the authors of this discovery, the most barren and impoverished streanis may be stocked to an unlimited extent with the rarest and most valuable breeds of fish, from eggs artificially procured, im- pregnated, and hatched. The value of the discovery, and the expediency of turning it to account, will speak for themselves. In Mr. Frys treatise will be found the results of the labors and expe- rience of Messrs. Gehin and Remy, as well as some most interesting papers by M. Coste, member of the French Institute, and Professor of the College of France; and the whole forms a work equally interesting to the farmer, the economist, and the man of leisure. A Long Look Ahead; or, the First & roke and the Last. By A. S. Roe, author of James Hountjoy, etc. New- York: J. C. Derby, Nassau street. ALTHOUGH a young publisherat least, only recently established in this cityMr. Derby has brought out very many new authors, new styles, and attractive volumes for public judgment. The book under notice, without any of the bigoted sectarianism of the Hindoos, is still decidedly American American in the best sense of the termin scenery, in incidents, and the characters it makes us acquainted with. It is a life-picture, beyond doubt; for the colors used, though heightened here and there, are generally true to our common experience of the world; and the impression of a genial, somewhat egotistic nature which the authors preface conveys to us, is preserved throughout. The moral is an excellent one, and not impaired by being made too manifest, too predominating, and obvious throughout; it is suggested and enforced by the story in a true artistic spirit, but does not stick out through the fiction, like a rusty nail through a butterfly. SECFUTPFY UP U25P~

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The United States Democratic review. / Volume 35, Issue 5 United States magazine, and Democratic review Democratic review United States review J.& H.G. Langley, etc. New York, etc. May 1855 0035 005
The New Crusade 331-346

TIlE UNITED STATES REYJEW. MAY, 1855. THE NEW CRUSADE. IN the year 1094, all Christian Europe was roused to arms by Peter the Hermit, Saint Bernard, and other zealous mis- sionaries in succession, and precipitated itself on the plains of Palestine for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre from the hands of the Infidels. It is computed that upwards of a mil- lion and a half of these Crusaders perished in the course of this holy war, and the sepulchre of the Prince of Peace was thus deluged with the blood of the victims of war. Jerusalem was finally taken, and this triumph of Christianity signalized by the massacre of all the surviving infidels in the city, without exception. Three days after the surrender, says the reverend histo- rian, * it was considered as a necessary piece of severity for their defense, to put all the Turks in Jerusalem to death, which was accordingly performed without favor to age or sex. The pretense was, the fear of treason in them if the Emperor of Persia should besiege the city. And some slew them with the same zeal that Saul slew the Gibeonites, and thought it unfit that these goats should live in the sheeps pasture. But noble Tancred was highly displeased thereat, because done in 2.3 * See Fullers Holy War. 332 f/ike New Cru8ade. [May, cold blood, it being no slip of extemporary passion, but a studied and premeditated act; and that against pardon proclaimed, many of these having componnded and paid for their lives and liberty. Besides, the execution was merciless upon sucking children, whose not speaking spake for them: and on women, whose weakness is a shield to defend them against a valiant man. To conclude, severity not in the fourth degree is little better than poison, and becometh cruelty itself: and this act seemeth to be of the same nature. It is thus that religion, when it degenerates into bigotry and intolerance, becomes a ferocious tiger, and that the first act of the soldiers of Christ was to violate his most impressive precepts. Among the arguments urged in justification of this Holy War, as it is called, the historian enumerates the following, as at that time considered most conclusive: All the East is Gods land let out to tenants; but Judea was properly his demesne which he kept long in his own hands for himself and his child- ren. Now, though the infidels have since violently usurped it, yet no pre~ scription of time could prejudice the title of the King of Heaven, but that now the Christians might be Gods champions to recover his interest. This war would increase the patrimony of religion by propagating the Gospel and converting of infidels. If any object that religion is not to be beaten into men by dint of the sword, yet it may be lawfal to open the way by force, for instructing, catechizing, and such other gentle means to follow after. Here certainly is a very nice distinction! The beholding of those sacred places in Palestine would much heighten the pilgrims devotion, and make the most frozen heart to melt into pious 7~ In order the better to exemplify this last argument, we shall present to our readers the following quotation from a very dis. tinguished and learned traveller who visited Jerusalem during the last century.* SpeaJ~ing of the miracle of the Sacred Fire annually exhibited in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, he says: The people are made to believe that on this day is to be seen in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and issuing out of the grave itself, a holy fire, a solemnity which, like many others of the same kind, seems to owe its original to policy, and to be supported by avarice; for the bishops not * Sec Egmonts Travels, vol. I., p. 354, etc. 77 e New Crusa e. 333 1356.] only suffer the people to remain in this belief, but cherish it in order to draw the greater number of pilgrims to Jerusalem, and thus enable them to defray those enormous expenses with which they are oppressed by the Turks. Nay, the interests of the latter are concerned in maintaining this miracle, by reason of the great profits accruing to them from the vast num- ber of foreigners whom curiosity draws thither. Some hours before the ceremony begins, a stranger can not but be highly entertained with the strange grimaces and gesticulations used on these occasions; and as no pilgrim would fail of being present, the church is a scene of confusion. We were seated in a gallery facing, the entrance of the Holy Sepulchre, with the fathers of the Romish Church (who, by the bye, are said to do all they can to explode this pretended miracle,) and some Turks of the Pashas retinue, who also come hither on this occasion. The whole church resounded with the noise and vociferations of a vast number of people who seemed frantic, running after one another, and playing such pranks as would be more suitable to a carnival, and were certainly quite inconsistent with the sacredness of the place, and the pretended miracle. Among others, I observed a man counterfeiting a dead person, possibly to personate our Saviour, being carried several times round the grave, and then disappearing. Some carried others on their shoulders and let them fall on the crowd; others again, rolled about the grave like tumblers on a stage, performing a thousand antics which continually afforded new subjects of laughter to the noisy crowd. In a word, nothing can be imagined more grotesque, wild, and fantastical than what we saw here~ in a place, and on an occasion which should naturally have occasioned seriousness in those who believed it. At last the head clergy made their appearance, but it was with great confusion that among this multitude of people they went through the processions. * * * About half or quarter of an hour after the above- mentioned ceclesiastics entered, the head-bishops came out with a bunch of wax candles tied together, which had been lighted at the holy fire. Then was the height of the tumult, for every one was thrusting to be the first to light his candle at that of the bishop, they being all firmly persuaded that the first fire is the most holy and pure, and that whatever it touches it does not burn. While every one was thus expressing his devout zeal for the possession of this divine fire, the Turks laid about them without distinction. But a that time no strokes were felt, their raptures taking away all sensation, and those who were behind furiously leaped on the shoulders of the foremost that they might also get their candles lighted. The conclusion was, that some of the most busy zealots among them lifted the bishop on their shoul- ders and thus carried him with great rejoicings to their church. With th~i Armenian bishop, or patriarch, matters did not succeed so well; for he no sooner made his appearance with his wax lights, than the people crowded so violently about him that they all went out, and be was obliged to light them 334 The N?w (1ru8ade. [iLy, at the candle of a pilgrim. However, two men lifted him up, and he wa~ carried away with the same formality as the other. And thus ended a solemnity begun in confusion, conducted by deceit, and concluded with superstition. We have given the preceding details of one of the most sacred and solemn of all the eeremonies performed by the Greek, Armenian, and Coptie pilgrims, who contribute per~ haps nineteen twentieths of the whole number of visitors to the Holy Sepulchre, that the reader may be the better able to judge whether the acquisition of the Holy Places has, to use the language previously quoted, much heightened the piP grims devotion, and made the most frozen heart to melt into pious devotions ; and we now present the question whether it is for the interests of pure religion, by which we mean a sincere and rational piety, divested of all grovelling superstP tion, that the Holy Places of Jerusalem, the possession of which was the object of the Crusades of the eleventh, should again become the real or pretended cause of another crusade in the nineteenth century, which threatens to involve the greater portion of Christendom in war, and deluge the earth with Christian blood? We ask this question, because it appears from a late brief but admirable exposition of the causes of the present war in the East,* that the question of the possession of the Holy Places in Palestine was its original source, at least as between ilussia and France. The late Emperor Nicholas, whose fame is destined to survive even the infamy of his base calumnia- tors, as the head of the Greek Church, had, on all occasions, and in every treaty with the Ottoman Porte, stipulated for the civil and religious rights of that Church, whose professors amount to thrice the number of the disciples of Mohammed in European Turkey. In this he has always been uniform and consistent; and though in hi~ wars with Turkey he may have had other objects besides in view, it can not be denied that he has never once forgotten this. The Czar, however, never as- sumed the character of Protector of the Greek Church. He iiever demanded any thing more than that the ancient and acknowledged rights of the Greek Church should be secured by written guarantee. These ancient and acknowledged rights * See Bishop Southgatos Tour in the East, recently published in New.York by Pudney & Russell. This eminent divine resided and travelled fourteen years in Turkey, and has given the clearest view of the question ever presented to the world. It should he read by every Amorie~ n, 18~5.] TAe Jew Crusade. 33~i had been conceded to the Greeks on the conquest of Constan- tinople as the condition of their submission. Standing in this relation with the Greek Church in the Otto- man Empire, the late Emperor Nicholas claimed for it the pos- session of a portion of what are called the Holy Places of Jeru- salem, and especially the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which was erected by the Empress Helena and her son Constantine the Great, who both belonged to the Greek Church, and lived long before the Bishop of Rome aspired to become the head of the Christian world. The guardianship of this Church and other shrines in Palestine, considered almost equally holy, has for ages past been a bone of contention to the Greeks and Latins, and they have frequently passed from one to the other. Independently of any feeling of piety or devotion, the posses- sion is exceedingly profitable, from the fees and donations of many thousands of pilgrims that annually flock there, most es- pecially from all parts of the East, as well Greeks as Armini- ans, Maronites, and Copts. Animated by opposite creeds as well as opposite interests, the Greek and Latin Churches in the East cherish a most orthodox hatred of each other; and, being equally despised by the Turks as infidels, have sought to attainthe ascendency over each other by placing themselves under the protection or guardianship of some one of the great Christian princes of Europe. In the more palmy days of Spain, His Most Catholic Majesty assumed the guardianship of the Fathers of the Holy Land, and by liberal donations of money enabled them to obtain possession of the Holy Places. Next came the most Christian King, Louis the Fourteenth of France, to whom Sultan Solyman conceded the protection of the Holy Places about the year 1670. In 1757 they again reverted to the Greeks, where we believe they re- mained until the Emperor Louis Napoleon, either from motives of piety, or with a view to obtain the support of the head of the Catholic Church, or perhaps as the legitimate successor of the most Chm4stian king, demanded their restoration, and they were again restored to the Fathers of the Latin Church. It will be seen from this brief summary that, from the time of the great schism between two of the most numerous denominations of the Christian Church, whose only fundamental point of differ- ence is, that one rejects while the other recognizes the supremacy of the Pope, the right to the possession of the Holy Places has never been permanently settled. The struggle between the two parties has, from time to time, given rise to scenes of contention, strife, and even bloodshed, that equally disgraced both parties, 336 like New Cru8ade. [May, and converted the Holy Sepulchre of the Prince of Peace into a theatre for the exhibition of the most malignant of the human passions. It would seem that it is now about to be exhibited on a scale of much greater magnitude, by becoming connected with the question of the balance of power. It was the osten- sible ground for the declaration of war on the part of France against Russia, and as between these two powers, the question as to the possession or guardianship of the Holy Places seems tbe only intelligible explanation of a war which threatens to in~ volve all Europe, and no inconsiderable portion of Asia. The Greek and Latin Christians mutually stigmatize each other as schismatics; and each claims to be the true original Catholic Church, and, as such, entitled to the possession of the Holy Places. It is useless, even if we had space and time, to discuss a question that has already exhausted polemical learning, and, to all appearance,is now about to be decided by the ultima ratio regum. Another Crusade is about being summoned to the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, and the domain of the Prince of Peace seems once more destined to become an Aceldamaa field of blood. That devoted land in which He was born, and lived, and was crucified, has from that hour been almost one con- tinued scene of anarchy and despotism, of robbery and plun- der, and seems destined so to remain, until it has made atone- ment for a crime which shook the heavens and the earth, and scattered a nation to wander over the world without a country or a home. May we not yet humbly hope that the advent of the Prince of Peace will yet prove the harbinger, however re- mote, of peace and good-will, at least among his disciples; that mankind may become pious without bigotry, and tolerant with- out indifference; and that the Christian Church may cease to merit the lamentable distinction of being next to that of the an- cient Jews, the greatest persecutor that ever appeared on the face of the earth? Neither Diocletian, Maximin, nor even Julian the Apostate, nor all the Pagan tyrants of the Roman world, whether separate or combined in their seven great perse secutrons, ever made so many Christian martyrs as have been since offered up at the shrine of bigotry and intolerance by the disciples of the most mild, forbearing, and forgiving faith ever propounded to mankind. It would seem, however, that this happy period, if ever des~ tined to come, is far away. The new Crusade, in which the An- glo-French Alliance is striving to draw almost all Christendom, is eminently calculated, if not expressly intended, to aclmnistem 1855.] The New crusade. 337 fresh fuel to the fires of bigotry and persecution, by placing two of the most numerous sects of Christians in arms against each other, and invoking all others to their aid. Whether the underground party of Know-Nothings is a secret agent in this religious war, we can not say; but certain it is, that their plot for obtaining p~ssession of the Holy Places, at the seat of government and elsewhere, through the meduirn of religious and civil persecution, is a worthy counterpart to the great scheme of the Anglo-French Alliance for a similar purpose in the Holy Land. The IRussians are an exceedingly bigoted people; and the Czar, however despotic he may be in other respects, is neces- sarily obliged to humor this national propensity. A great por- tion of the strength of his government depends on his identify- ing himself with the faith of his subjects. Religion is one of the great bonds that rivet this vast empire together; and the Czarplacing sect and conscience out of the questionis com- pelled to set the example of zeal in its behalg in order to sup- port his throne. On the other hand, the French are not, just now, supposed to be a very pious people. But experience teaches us that bigotry may exist independent of piety, and that men who individually are indifferent to religion may yet be zealots in behalf of their Church. Besides this, the throne of the French Emperor is not supposed to be founded on a rock, and it is of great consequence to its stability to secure the support of the Church,which, though shorn of much of its wealth and influence by the Revolution, still maintains great sway over the minds of the great mass of the people. To be recog- nized as the champion of the rights, real or pretended, of the Roman Catholic Church and the protector of the Holy Places of Palestine, will, therefore, greatly strengthen his influence not only with the head of the Roman Catholic Church, but the people of France, and, in fact, the entire body of Roman Catho- lics in Europe. Whether this is a sufficient justification for rousing the world to arms, and deluging the earth and sea with blood, we leave for our readers to decide. That the present, though undoubtedly mingled with political considerations, is essentially a religious war on the part of Russia and France, we think can not be questioned. The two governments may h~ve ulterior views; but, with the people at large, it is only a revival of that spirit which animated the disciples of Peter the Hermit. The position of Great Britain in this contest is, however, more equivocal. The Church of England sends no pil~rims to the Holy Shrines of Palestine, except now and then a solitary 338 Ike New Cru8ade. [May, traveller impelled by curiosity, or the caccellies scribendi; and the British government, even under its Catholic kings, never aspired to the protection of the Holy Places. It is, therefore, of little consequence to the Church or the people of England, whether these shrines are in the hands of the Czar of Russia or the Emperor of France, or whether the Greek or Latin Church presides over the ceremonies, and receives the fees and dona- tions of the pilgrims. The Protestant Church, so far froni any fellowship with either, despises the Greek Christians, and is at this moment warring with Papacy in the West, while at the same time an accomplice in extending its power and influence in the East. Great Britain is, therefore, influenced by other views, and is sacrificing the interests of the Protestant Church to political considerations. She first made her appearance in the great drama now performing, as the special champion of Christianity, civilization, and liberty; and in that charapter devoted herself to the maintenance of the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, which is certainly neither Christian, civilized, nor free, if we may believe the uniform testimony of travellers. However this may be, we were at first assured by the British journals and their correspondents in the East, that a convention had been entered into by the Anglo.French Alliance with the Porte, by which the civil and religious rights of the Christians of Turkey had been effectually secured. This at once operated powerfully on the minds of all those who felt an interest in behalf of Christianity, and awakened a strong sympathy for the parties by whom this great triumph over bigotry and intolerance had been achieved. There were those, however, who doubted whether this interference with the relations between the Sultan and his subjects was the best way of maintaining the independence and integrity of the Ot- toman Empire, which had been announced as the great object of the Allies. Accordingly, when this ruse had sufficiently operated, and the people of Europe, as well as of the Unit& il States, had begun actually to recognize the Anglo-French Alliance as the veritable champion of Christianity, civilization, and liberty, it came ont that though there really had been a convention, not a single stipulation had been made in favor of the civil and religious rights of the Christians in the Ottoman Empir& On the contrary, their ancient and undoubted rights had been actually surrendered. Lord John Russell declared in the House of Commons: It does not containI think it would have been wrong if it had containcdany stipulation with 1855.] The New Crusade. 339 regard to the internal government of Turkey; and at the same time Lord Clarendon, Secretary of Foreign Affairs, said in the House of Lords: The treaty contains no stipulations of any kind with respect to the Christian subjects of Turkey. We have proposed no such convention to the Porte. We have proposed to her a convention in the nature of a military con- vention. It provides for the assistance we shall give her; and provides that Turkey shall not make peace without the con- currence and consent of England and France. And thus, while abandoning the Christians to the tender mercies of Mus- sulman bigotry and intolerance, under pretense that stipulating for their protection would be a violation of the sovereignty of the Ottoman Empire, they inflicted the deepest possible wound on that sovereignty, by wresting from the Sultan one of the highest prerogatives of sovereignty, that of declaring war, or concluding peace at discretion. At length, however, wearied by such inconsistencies and contradictions, or perceiving that these pretexts could no longer impose on the world, the cat has been let out of the bag, and the universal language of the British press now is, that the present war is notfor Turkey but against Russia.~~ The old pretexts of maintaining the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, and protecting the Christians of European Turkey, have become threadbare; they answered their purpose for a time, and are now discarded like garments either out at the elbows or out of fashion. The war, at least on the part of England, is now placed on its true basis. It is no longer a crusade on behalf of Christianity, civilization, and liberty; or ~ war to sustain the integrity of the Ottoman Empire; or a war for protecting the civil and religious rights of Christians. It is a war to arrest the course of nature and the progress of nations; a war to humble a prospective rival to her usurpa- tions in the East, under color of maintaining the balance of power in Europe; and the principles on which it is based, apply equally to the United States as to Russia. One is the growing rival of England in commerce, which is the basis of naval power; the other a growing obstacle to her ascendency in the East. If she is justified in attacking Russia on one ground, she is equally justified in attacking the United States, when she has succeeded with the former. While in possession of almost every commanding maritime position on the globe, and prescribing laws for the ocean, she is, forsooth, the great champion of an equilibrium of power; and while aspiring to set bounds to the natural, sponta eons growth and expansion 340 [Eke New Crusade. [May, of other nations, makes not Vhe slightest scruple in extending her own by encroaching on the rights of those who are inca- pable of resistance. That the United States are as much an object of jealousy to England, as Russia, must be evident from the uniform language of her press, and the equally uniform tendency of her policy; and it requires no prophet to predict that the humbling of Russia will be a prelude to a like at- tempt against the United States. The Anglo-French Alliance has now no counterpoise in Europe but Russia, and the United States alone stand in the way of their lording it over the New, as they will over the Old world, should they succeed in crippling Russia. We are perhaps as sincere lovers of peace as some who make much louder, professions; but we frankly confess, we desire no peace which will leave the Anglo-French Alliance free to prosecute the scheme it has announced in relation to this continent, in case it succeeds in crippling the power of Russia, which is only another phrase for establishing its own. This is the light in which we view the present struggle for ascendency in Europe and Asia; and in our opinion, in this aspect and this alone, should it address itself to the sympathies of the people of the United States. As connected with the progress of Christianity, civilization, and liberty, its termination will pro- bably have little influence either one way or other. Conflicting religious, as well as political influences, are either marshalled against each other, or temporarily fused into a sort of harmo- nious discord. Despotism is arrayed against despotism; the Greek and Latin Churches are at issue, and neither Christianity, civilization, nor liberty, so far as we see, is likely to receive any permanent impulse from the issue of the conflict. There will be many martyrs, but they will not be those whose blood is the seed of the Church. The people of the United States have little to do in these matters, but they have a great deal to do with the equilibrium of power in the new world, which has been announced as part of the scheme of the Anglo-French Alliance. In this, the United States and Russia are equally concerned, and have a common interest. They occupy the same position in relation to that combination, and though they may not stand or fall together, in our opinion no patriotic citi- zen of the United States who loves his country above all others, should ever wish to see a peace between Russia and the Anglo-French Alliance based on the humiliation of the former. Let the Anglo-American press and the peace societies make the most of this avowal. In the discussion of this subject we lose 1855.] The New Cru8ade. 341 sight of solidarity and think only of our country. We do not look into the dark, inscrutable region of the future, to grope for consequences affecting the fate of distant nations, whether for good or evil no one can tell. We look at home, and ask ourselves what result of this conflict will be most con- ducive to the peace and prosperity of our country, and as to the rest, we leave the care of the entire human race, and the general welfare of the great community of nations, to the Great Being who knows all things, and can do all things, much better than those puny mortals who undertake to direct the system of the universe. The principles on which the Anglo-French Alliance is based, are alike dangerous to the peace and independence of all na- tions. England and France have assumed a right to arrest the progress of nations in their rise and in their fall; to push one down when it raises its head too high, and raise up another when it falls too low to suit their ideas of the equilibrium of power; and to regulate the general system of the world, which has hitherto been supposed to be under the direction of Providence, in conformity with their superior wisdom. If at any time a nation from its great natural advantages, its supe- rior energy, industry, and enterprise, or from a more liberal share in the bounties of Providence, becomes an obj ect of j eal- ousy or apprehension to England or France, however distant it may be, or however free from any intention to interfere with their interests or their safety, that is a sufficient reason for making war with it, and summoning the world to arms in order to preserve the equilibrium of power. Why, is not this a warrant for universal rapine? For a sys- tem of perpetual interference with the internal affairs of every nation however near, or however distant? Does it not, if the principle can be maintained, furnish a pretext and a justifica- tion for interminable wars, and strife and contention without beginning and without end? Dobs any man believe it is within the scope of any human power to regulate the great system of the universe, or to arrest the progress of nations from youth to manhood, from manhood to old age, from old age to the grave? And yet, this is what England and France have, it seems, undertaken to achieve. They mean to place the two most cx- teusive and growing nations of the world in a position exactly to suit their notions of the equilibrium of power; and what is more, they mean to keep them there, or at least knock them down when they pop their heads above water. They are too 342 like New (Jru8ade. [May, big already, and must not grow any more, because they will disturb the equilibrium of power. If their population in- creases too fast, it must be thinned out by the immolation of a few hundred thousand victims on the bloody shrine of war; or they must be reduced to a condition of misery and want, by the destruction of their property and the devastation of their fields, that if it does not prevent the rascals from breeding any more, will, at least, insure the starvation of their children. Great, progressive nations, according to the doctrine of the Anglo-French Alliance, are a sort of Ferce Naturce, and may be run down at pleasure. Like the giants of old, they are the common enemies of pigmy men, and these Jack-the-Giant- killers are determined to exterminate them from the face of the earth, leaving not one single soul of them alive but themselves; who, we presume, are to be preserved to keep up the breed. Nations, in short, must grow no more, and the laws of God and nature are to be arrested by the still more omnipotent power of the entemite cordiale. If hereafter, nations will persist in growing, it must be at their peril, and they may expect to be bled, and blistered, and purged, or if necessary, their limbs amputated by the great doctors who have invented the grand p~nacea of the general equilibrium of power. The decree has gone forth, and the bond sealed with blood under the walls of Sebastopol. Aside from the arrogant~ presumptuous hallucination mani- fested in this attempt to turn the world from its course, and to arrest the operation of causes which have everywhere, and at all times produced the same consequences, this scheme for estab- lishing an equilibrium of power, becomes more glaringly absurd and preposterons, from the position of the parties who have undertaken its accomplishment. On one hand is France, which only a few years ago was the great arbiter of Europe, and would have so continued, but for the very power which the nations of Western Europe are now invoked to humble in the dust. Even at this moment though shorn of its conquests under the great Napoleon, France is perhaps the most potent empire in the world; and is daily extending her possessions on the African shores of the Mediterranean, and among the islands of the Pacific. Compared with ~he powers of Continental Europe, with the exception of liussia, she is a giant, if not in size, at least in bone and sinew. Wc have recently seen her under her great captain, destroying and elevating kings, par cellin0 out kingdoms, and lording it over all Western Europe. All this was achieved by herself alone, and in spite of the 1855.1 7 e Mw (imt8Ctdc. 34( opposition of Great Britain, now united with her in the closest ties of amity, Md laboring for the attainment of the same ob~ ject. The population and resources of France are, at this moment greater than they ever were; her armies amount to half a million of the best soldiers in the world, commanded by officers equal to any in the world; her navy is now able to dispute the empire of the seas with that of Great Britain; and though, like every other European power, she is deeply in debt, it may safely be assumed that if any nation is in a position to disturb the equilibrium of power in Europe, it is France. On the other hand, we have England, the old despot of the seas, whose possessions extend through every region of the hab- itable globe, and are daily increasing; who, according to a late British writer of high authority, already commands all the highways and byways of the ocean and all its inlets ; and on whose dominion it is now the convnon boast of Englishmen th sun never sets. As respects the power of operating on the in- terests and repose of the different nations of the world, no niatter how distant, she is ten times more dangerous than iRus- sin; for she can carry war and extermination in her floating batteries wherever the ocean rolls its waves. Debt-ridden and tax-ridden as she is, still she is in a position to impose laws on all weaker nations, both on the land and the sea; and there are now no obstacles to her pretensions to prescribe to neutrals the rights they are to exercise, but the United States and Russia, They, once humbled, and the Anglo-French Alliance may, and assuredly will, revive those claims to the right of search which have been so graciously waived for the time being. Yet these are the two nations that are to establish an equili- brium of power, not by voluntarily relinquiThing any portion of their own, but by arresting the progress of the United States and Russia, under the apprehension of their one day be- coming rivals to their own supremacy! If it were possible foi two such immaculate powers, so r& nowned in the annals of Christianity, civilization, and liberty, and so infinitely superior to the barbarians of Russia and the semi-barbarians of the United States, to play the part of political Barnums, we i ight suspect that they were attempting to impose on the world by one of the most stupendous humbugs ever palmed on the credu- lity of mankind in the darkest of the dark ac~es. Two of the most powerful nations of the earth, voluntarily combining to abdicate their supremacyfor it must be evident that this will be necessary in order to establish an equilibrium of power in Europewould be a species of magnanimous self-denial which ~34{ TeiVen~ Grit ~d. we shall probably see when it~ pleases Providence. The true meaning of all this hypocritical cant, these diplomatic riddles, and these hollow prdfessions of moderation and magnanimity, is every day becoming more apparent. The war is not for Tur~ key but against IRussia. It is iteither to maintain the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, nor to protect the civil and religious rights of Christians from Mussulman oppressions; nor to estab- lish a balance of power in Europe. It is to cripple IRussia and the United States in turn, in order that England and France, so long as they can cling together, may lord it over the world. Having long disputed the exclusive possession of the prize, they have agreed. to divide it between themat least for the present. Yet there is unquestionably a party, by no means inconsider- able in the United States, whose organ is the Anglo-American press, which is exclusively influenced by its old inveterate pre- dilections in favor of England. Utterly regardless of the bear- ings of this Eastern war on the safety and interests of their own country, and of the public declarations of both France and England that the alliance of the two powers had the same ob- jects in view in both hemispheres, to wit, the establishment of a general equilibrium of power; and while every day eye-wit- nesses of a course of policy on their part toward the United States preparing the way for the accomplishment of their ulti- mate objects; while all this is clear as the light of day, these sympathizers with the Anglo-French Alliance are sighing for a speedy peace, which it must now be evident can only be ob- tained by the humiliation of IRussia, preparatory to that of the United States, because forsooth it will raise the price of stocks, and possibly revive the drooping commerce of the country, which is now suffering a temporary depression from other causes. As to the great permanent interests of, the country, its repose, its safety, and its honor, all such minor considerations are swallowed by the price of? stocks and a base subserviency to British interests. Hence, we see this Anglo-American party and this Angl& -American press echoing the hypocritical pre- texts of the British government in relation to the causes and objects of the present war, and joining in that disgraceful war of old women the British press ha~ waged, and is still waging, against the personal character of the Emperor Nicholas; a war equally beneath the dignity of a civilized, as inconsistent with the claims of a Christian nation. But this is what might have been expected from American journals, who have no other oracle but the London Times, and no other standard of national honor than the price of fancy stocks. - 18~5.j 1 New Crusade. 345 The Eastern war is pregnant with far greater consequences and more permanent results than this. It is an earthquake that shakes the foundations of churches, and the pillars of the po- litical edifices of nations. The Anglo-French Alliance, as pre. viously observed, is based on principles in which the entire community of civilized nations is equally concerned, and none more so than the United States. They afford a justification, nay they make it a duty to interfere with and arrest the pro- gress of every nation that may possibly, either in the present or the future, disturb the equilibrium of their power. The United States are one of these bugbearsat least to Great Britain; and to wish that power success in the present war is little less than treason to ourselves. We will not pretend to predict its consequences. They will come soon enough; and humble as we may be, and obscure our Review, we warn the government and people of the United States to be prepared in time; for, as sure as fate, the fall of Sebastopol and the crip- pling of Russia will bring trouble to their door. Their turn will come next. While war is going on in the East, intrigues are prosecuting in the West. We saw it lately announced in a semi-official Paris journal, that New-Granada had declared with the Anglo-French Alliance, which it thus appears is labor. ing to combine the new as well as the old world in this great crusade against Russia. We have no doubt that similar at- tempts are making to wheedle or bully other States of Central and South-America into the toils, and make them parties in the great scheme for establishing an equilibrium of power in the New World, by exciting their jealousies against the United States, and thus delude them into becoming accomplices in bringing back this continent to its old state of colonial vassal- age. Again, we say, let the government and people look to it in time. THEIR TURN IS COMING NEXT. Ro?nd Ta le of the Clever Fellow@. [ilay, THE HOUND TABLE OF THE CLEVER FELLOWS. (From the Frei~ch) IN the seventeenth century, poets, artists, and learned men were in the habit of meeting at taverns and dining in wine-cel- lars; and the high-priests of the muse to adopt a favorite ex- pression of the daydid not disdain a cask of wine for their altar. Under the reign of Louis XIV., Paris boasted of several of these places, where Bacehus, Poetry, Music, and Painting celebrated their incongruous nuptials, some twice or thrice a week. The Hound Table of the Clever Fellows, situate in a street which has been called les bon enfants ever since, was a particular favorite of the poets, who commonly repaired thither from the left bank of the Seine, partly to sip the wine of Mr. Bergerat, and partly to meet with the leaders of the literature of the day; for Boilean, Moli~re, IRacine, and La Fontaine pre- sided there every Thursday at a kind of academic sitting. The suppers, which usually followed, after discussions on poetical subjects, were habitually enlivened by such men as the Anacre- ontic Chapelle, Saint-Aulaire, the veteran revolutionary song- ster, and the gifted Lafare. On the 18th February, 1679, Boilean and his friend IRa- cine, after hearing mass together, repaired to their usual meet- ing-place at the tavern. Here they found master Bergerat taking his ease at the corner of the chimney. The centre of the hearth was occupied by a little man, dark in com- plexion, short in stature, and fleshy to a degree that bordered on corpulence. Gentlemen, said Bergerat, rising to meet the two friends, there is a good fire in the blue chamber, and the table is set. Has Moli~re come ? said Boilcan.

The Round Table of the Clever Fellows. (From the French) 346-353

Ro?nd Ta le of the Clever Fellow@. [ilay, THE HOUND TABLE OF THE CLEVER FELLOWS. (From the Frei~ch) IN the seventeenth century, poets, artists, and learned men were in the habit of meeting at taverns and dining in wine-cel- lars; and the high-priests of the muse to adopt a favorite ex- pression of the daydid not disdain a cask of wine for their altar. Under the reign of Louis XIV., Paris boasted of several of these places, where Bacehus, Poetry, Music, and Painting celebrated their incongruous nuptials, some twice or thrice a week. The Hound Table of the Clever Fellows, situate in a street which has been called les bon enfants ever since, was a particular favorite of the poets, who commonly repaired thither from the left bank of the Seine, partly to sip the wine of Mr. Bergerat, and partly to meet with the leaders of the literature of the day; for Boilean, Moli~re, IRacine, and La Fontaine pre- sided there every Thursday at a kind of academic sitting. The suppers, which usually followed, after discussions on poetical subjects, were habitually enlivened by such men as the Anacre- ontic Chapelle, Saint-Aulaire, the veteran revolutionary song- ster, and the gifted Lafare. On the 18th February, 1679, Boilean and his friend IRa- cine, after hearing mass together, repaired to their usual meet- ing-place at the tavern. Here they found master Bergerat taking his ease at the corner of the chimney. The centre of the hearth was occupied by a little man, dark in com- plexion, short in stature, and fleshy to a degree that bordered on corpulence. Gentlemen, said Bergerat, rising to meet the two friends, there is a good fire in the blue chamber, and the table is set. Has Moli~re come ? said Boilcan. 1855.] Round Table of the Gleve~ Fellows. 347 No, sirthis is rehearsal dayhe will not be here before one. Is Chapelle here ? inquired iRacine. As to him, answered the tavern-keeper, I am really anx- ious. He is habitually the most punctual of men on such oc- casions, and I am afraid that the three bottles of first-rate Her- mitage wine, I have uncorked for him, will remain on my hands. Mr. Chapelle must be ill from drinking too much at his , ,, royal Highness. Impudence 1 exclaimed Chapelle, who came in at this mo- ment, and playfully raised his cane as if to strike Bergerat. The smell of Hermitage has brought him in, said Boileau. Dont get angry, Mr. Chapelle, said mine host, Ii have made every preparation for you. Am I not your best customer ? Yes, indeed, for you drink like any four, and your friends pay the bill. I make up for that with songs and witty sayings, rejoined Chapelle. By the way, continued he, approaching the little fat man who ~still monopolized the hearth, there is a face I knowSignor Lulli, inspector of the kings fiddles, director of the kings musicdirector of the OperaSignor Lulli, who has received his ninth patent, and is half a millionaire. Good morning, Signor Lulli. Good morning, Florentine Orpheus. How now, king of fugues, trills, and octaves! you dont appear to relish my compliments ? I am waiting for Mr. de La Fontaine, answered the com- poser, stretching open his small, inflamed eyes. Youll have a good while to wait; I left him at the Luxem- bourg, and youre aware, probably, that the society of the adorable Marguerite de Lorraine is one hundred thousand times more agreeable than your own.~~ I will wait, cried Lulli, impatiently., At your own choice, Signor. Lest the time should appear long, come up stairs with me. Boileau and Racine will, at my recommendation, do you the honor to admit you to their table; though, most sublime minstrel, they know nothing of you, save through bad report. Bergerats wine is fine, and as you have more money than brains, we will permit you to pay the sup- plement to our dinner. I am neither hungry nor thirsty, answered the musician as he fairly twisted in his seat. Incorricrible miser, cried Chapelle, and despairing of being able to convert the shrewd Florentine to the religion of Bac- 24 318 Round Table of the Olever Fellow8. [May, chus, he directed his steps to the blue chamber, where Boileau and Racine had already taken their seats. Are you acquainted with that. miserable Lulli ? inquired Boilean, as he observed the young and joyous guest enter. Who does not know him at court? Throughout the city every one speaks of Lullihe is all the rage. Our fine ladies run mad after him. You mean those who have not seen him, says IRacine. Just so, replied Chapelle; for, after the first sight, the charm vanishes, and the blear-eyed Orpheus loses all his fasci. nation. I could never understand the strange infatuation of the king for these Italian charlatans, which have inundated France since the advent of the two Medici and of the minister Maza- rin exclaimed Boilean. Your foreigners for imposture. Ignoti magna cz{pido. A truce to proverbs, my dear Chapelle; I prefer your songs, said IRacine. Your healths, grand-masters of Parnassus ! cried Cha- pelle. The three bottles were empty, and the model of drinkers hummed the old song, Si le lion roi Henri Vou~ait me donner son Paris. Chapelle has made a prelude for our dinner, said Moli~re. who came in at this moment, followed by La Fontaine and the poet S6nec6, valet de chambre of Maria Theresa, wife of Louis XIV. I have always observed, answered the epicurean, that a bottle of good wine has a capital effect on the appetite. And for that reason you have drunk already three. More exquisite nectar never came from Hermitage. Good morning, La Fontainegood morning, Moli& re. I shall be able to please you to-day, for I feel in the humor for singing and laughing. Did you not see, when you came in through the kitchen, the Signor Lulli spreading himself before the fire and casting wistful eyes at the two capons that re being prepared for us? We came by the little corridor, answered La Fontaine. And what about the minstrel who awaits you, modern ~Esop? Awaits me? 1855.] Round Table of the clever Fellow8. 349 Yourself! I have been belaboring my head to divine what the fat Signor can possibly want of you. Why, the libretto of an opera, suggested Moli~re. Do you think so ? exclaimed Chapelle; why that would be a breach of the privileges of Quinault. The poor man, you Know, has sold himself body and soul to the Florentine manu- facturer of arias. liReally, I pity him from the bottom of my heart. I had rather do penance on board his Majestys galleys than to follow such a trade. Yearly, that ilelot of Literature prepares two or three subjects for operas, which are submitted to the approval of the king. A choice being made, the arti- sln.poet sketches out his ultimate plan, and disposes the seve- ral scenes under the inquisitorial supervision of Signor Lulli. When the poem is finished, the Florentine gets into a towering passion, declares that the versification is detestable, that he would rather set Low-Dutch to tusic, and poor Quinault goes to work afresh. At last, the Signor condescends to own him- self satisfied with the work, and our modern Pindar, after hay- ing altered, re-vamped, re-patched, andre~djusted scenes, stan- zas, and couplets, lays himself down to sleep under the shade of his laurels. What a trade, gentlemen, especially for a man of genius! For Quinault Acts genius, in spite of the malicious remarks of our friend Boilean. Let us be indulgent, and have pity on the unfortunate bard. While composers and opera managers are countenanced upon this planet, we shall have to deplore the rule of a capricious tyrant and the misfor- tune of a freeman reduced to the condition of a slave. Horri- ble torture! for of all bondage, that of Thought is hardest to endure. 0 Lulli! 0 shameless Florentine! Henceforward I devote thy head to the infernal deities, and thy fiddle as a pastime for the melancholy blind. My dear Chapelle, said Moli~re, who had been sipping a bowl of milk in silence, I hate soliloquiesas well at the tavern as on the stage. Give us a song. I feel as melancholy as an undertaker, and my heart swells with grief at the recollection of poor Quinaults tribulations. A prodigy I exclaimed La Fontaine, there is our friend Chapelle in the melting mood. Gentlemen, I am melancholy. Wine predisposes one to compassion, said Moli~re. If our conversation is to pursue this course, exclaimed Boilean, I must take my departure, and leave you to admire to your satisfaction, the rhymed prose of Monsieur Quinauh and the grotesque absurdities of Signor Lulli, 350 Roztnd Table of the Clever Fellows. [May, You are right, answered Chapelle, and as regards the fat Signor, I cant help recollecting those bitter lines of yours, which I need not quote, and which all Paris insists contain his portrait. This is a dry subject, though. Bergerat! more wine ! The landlord entered, bringing an armful of bottles which he placed upon the table, while the two cooks were busy bringing in the soup and the rest of the dinner. Gentlemen, said the keeper of the house as he was leav- ing the room, there is a mahogany-faced Italian in the kitchen that I cant get rid of. He says that he waits to see Mr. La Fontaine, and has threatened to call the police if I should dare to disturb him. I am Signor Lulli said he, grumbling, and I desire that so soon as Mr. La Fontaine arrives, you will let me know it. Show the gentleman up, said La Fontaine. Are you in earnest ? exclaimed Boilean, that miserable muswo bears about with him the Seven Capital Sins for a train, and is a tiresome bore besides. Well soon send him about his business, said Moli~re; I take charge of that part of the performance.,~ The Signor made his appearance, preceded by the master of the house; the little eyes of the little man turned purple with rage when he perceived his old enemy Boilean, at the end of the table. He nevertheless restrained every expression of ill- humor, feeling, no doubt, that he had too strong a party to contend against, and turning towards La Fontaine he said, coax- ingly: Monsieur La Fontaine, I have been running after you these two days. Last Saturday, His Majesty, the king, after having vouchsafed to hear my last opera, for the first time, said kindly, Lulli, I am well pleased with your works, but why do you always give us Quinault? You must find some other poet. The wishes of his majesty are imperative with his very humble servant. I at first thought of Molk~re, but that dear friend is so mach engaged at his own theatre that I can not rely upon him.~~ Say rather, cunning Florentine, exclaimed Moli~re, that I would sooner make street-ballads than to write a line for you, shameless plagiarist, who have stolen the music of my ballets to eke your own meagrc melodies. Dont get angry, my very dear friend; a man of sense takes what belongs to him wherever he finds it. 1865.] Round Table of the Clever Fellows. 361 And what about the thousand louis which the king gave you for that very same music ? said Moli~re. Off with you, Lulli, your presence has such an effect upon me that I can not answer for the consequences if you stay longer. Keep cool, Aristophanes, interposed Chapelle. Gentlemen, resumed Lulli, not at all disconcerted, I came with a view of making a proposition to the immortal La Fontaine. The king holds him in high estimation; and his stories, which court-virtue affects to blush at, find their way to the bed-rooms of our maids of honor, who read them clandes- tinely. Judge then, if II am not right, when I say that one of his poems would draw all Paris to the opera. Signor Lulli, answered La Fontaine, I write fables, stories, sonnets, and madrigals; and I have no idea now, in the decline of my life, to degenerate into a maker of an- ettas. Sir, exclaimed Lulli, if you will not write me a libretto, I am a ruined man I Go to Quinault. The king is tir~d of Quinault. Then propose the affair to Chapelle. To me ? exclaimed the model of drinkers. Stretch me a tight ~rope from St. Jacques to Notre Dame, and I will try to dance on it, but dont speak to me of librettos, especially when Signor Lulli is to be the composer. Well, then, suggested the fabulist, there is Moli~re. The author of Tartuffe here struck a theatrical attitude ex- pressive of supreme contempt. And you, Monsieur S6nec6; will you not help the Sig- nor Help him ?that clown of music, that meddling improver of opera style, self-called king of harmony, help him? Yes, to a sound drubbing with his own baton, if it be desired. Lulli, who was aware that S6nec6had just grounds of com- plaint against him, and withal was just the man to carry his threat into execution, drew back a step in terror. Yet deter- mined to carry his point if possible, he entrenched himself behind the table and took a position near the door in readiness to beat a retreat, if necessary. Meanwhile the classic Boileau was belaboring him most unclassically with all the rude energy of a Juvenal. The Florentine, undaunted by this storm of abuse, coolly took a chair and announced his determination there to remain, until the Fabulist had promised him a poem for an opera. 352 Round Table of ihe Clever Fellow8. [May, Signor Lulli, said La Fontaine, how much do you pro- pose to pay me? Double what I give Quinault8000 livres. Thats a pretty penny, remarked Chapelle. A great deal more, observed ilacine, than Barbin will ever give you for your Uontes. Eight thousand livres ! exclaimed Boileau. That is worthy of consideration. Make him pay in advance, said S6nec6; the Signor has no more liberality or good faith than a Genoese banker. State your subject, answered La Fontaine, and II will tell you if it suits me. The story of IDdphne changed into a Laurel tree. Mythology again U exclaimed Chapelle. So wills it the king. If I were La Fontaine, I would leave the king to write his own libretto, since he takes upon himself to select a sub- ject. Monsieur Chapelle, do you presume to question the taste of his Majesty ? inquired Lulli, whose little spiteful eyes glisten- ed with a sinister fire at the prospect of entrapping one of his antagonists into a disrespectful remark. Boileau, however, who knew the perfidious Italian, and saw the danger, resolved to put an end to the scene. We have had enough of this, cried he; if this Signor, who has forced his company upon us, will not go of his own accord, we had better call in a reinforcement from the kitchen and turn him out. The Composer saw that it was now high time to go. Be- sides, a glance at his poetical victim told him that he had gained his point. The Fabulist more absent-minded than ever, was perpetrating all manner of eccentric vagaries, sticking his cane into his pocket, and trying to lean his chin upon his pocket- handkerchief. Lulli turned to go; pausing, however, to make fun of the poet, he said in a whining tone: Monsieur de La Fontaine, my honor and my fortune are at stake. Good Monsieur de La Fontaine, will you write me my opera ? The metamorphosis of. Daphne I sighed La Fontaine ab~ stractedly. Exactly sowill you write it? 0 Monsieur de La Fon- taine, take pity on me; I h ye a large family to support. There is no telling to what extent the coaxing do nenee of 1855.] Her Na 353 the Florentine would have gone, if Chapelle, whose temper was nowise sweetened by Bergerats best, had not drawn the cane from the pocket of the Fabulist, and making violent onslaught upon Lulli, driven him fairly out of the house. Ours the field of battle I exclaimed the corpulent poet as he returned, out of breath. Lullis defeat, however, was a victory to him. The Fabu- list was visibly in an operatic study, and Moli~re, who sat sipping his milk and whispering with ilacine at the end of the table, smiled at the comic scene before him, and would proba- bly have given us its portraiture upon the stage under some such title as L~Auteur llfalgre mi, ( The Author in ~5pite of Him- serf) if the unexpected catastrophe to his Mialade Irnaginaire, had not one night dropped the curtain suddenly upon his labors and his life. HER NAME. HER name! I speak it not aloud, Lest overhead some babbling cloud Catch it; and, of its burden proud, Spread, with the dews, its fame Among the lilies of the field. Since met our lips, have mine been sealed, And never, never more revealed The secret of her name. Her name! I breatbe it with a sigh At night beneath a tropic sky, Where I behold it, writ on high In cbaracters of flame. Bright Southern Cross !* it tells how f r Parted by lands and seas we are; But then it letters, star by star, Her sweet melodious name. ~ The Souther Cres is a beautiful constellation, composed of four very bright stars.

Her Name 353-354

1855.] Her Na 353 the Florentine would have gone, if Chapelle, whose temper was nowise sweetened by Bergerats best, had not drawn the cane from the pocket of the Fabulist, and making violent onslaught upon Lulli, driven him fairly out of the house. Ours the field of battle I exclaimed the corpulent poet as he returned, out of breath. Lullis defeat, however, was a victory to him. The Fabu- list was visibly in an operatic study, and Moli~re, who sat sipping his milk and whispering with ilacine at the end of the table, smiled at the comic scene before him, and would proba- bly have given us its portraiture upon the stage under some such title as L~Auteur llfalgre mi, ( The Author in ~5pite of Him- serf) if the unexpected catastrophe to his Mialade Irnaginaire, had not one night dropped the curtain suddenly upon his labors and his life. HER NAME. HER name! I speak it not aloud, Lest overhead some babbling cloud Catch it; and, of its burden proud, Spread, with the dews, its fame Among the lilies of the field. Since met our lips, have mine been sealed, And never, never more revealed The secret of her name. Her name! I breatbe it with a sigh At night beneath a tropic sky, Where I behold it, writ on high In cbaracters of flame. Bright Southern Cross !* it tells how f r Parted by lands and seas we are; But then it letters, star by star, Her sweet melodious name. ~ The Souther Cres is a beautiful constellation, composed of four very bright stars. 364 like Public LaPtde. [May, THE PUBLIC LANDS* A CAREFUL consideration of the highly important and inter- esting public documents now before us, as well as the very general interest recently manifested, in private circles and in Congress, with reference to the public domain, added to a de- sire on our part to increase the meagre stock of knowledge relative to this branch of the public revenue, has induced this article, in which we propose to show the fallacy of the views entertained by citizens of this section of the country, who, as a general thing, maintain that the care of the public lands, the expenses attending their survey and sale, and the adjustment of the various grants heretofore made by Congress of portions thereog far outbalance the revenues they afford. On this point, we are of opinion that we can show, by accu- rate and reliable figures, that, since the completion of the pre- sent land system, in 1845, the public lands have been a source of considerable revenue rather than, as has been alleged, of un- profitable expenditure. We shall also show the utter fallacy of the argument, that the benefits derived from the public lands have fallen to those States in which the lands are situated, at the expense of the older members of the Confederacy. We do not propose to advocate the propriety, or the utility, of grants in aid of the construction of railroads, canals, and other important works, unless nuder such wholesome restric- tions as will insure the performance of the objects designed, and the proper use of the fund thus constituted. We shall likewise notice briefly some of the objections that have been urged against the various grants heretofore made for such purposes, and make brief mention of others to which public attention has not been especially directed. * Reports of Hon. John Wilson, Commissioner of the General Land Office. First and Second Sessions 33d Congress. 18534.

The Public Lands 354-366

364 like Public LaPtde. [May, THE PUBLIC LANDS* A CAREFUL consideration of the highly important and inter- esting public documents now before us, as well as the very general interest recently manifested, in private circles and in Congress, with reference to the public domain, added to a de- sire on our part to increase the meagre stock of knowledge relative to this branch of the public revenue, has induced this article, in which we propose to show the fallacy of the views entertained by citizens of this section of the country, who, as a general thing, maintain that the care of the public lands, the expenses attending their survey and sale, and the adjustment of the various grants heretofore made by Congress of portions thereog far outbalance the revenues they afford. On this point, we are of opinion that we can show, by accu- rate and reliable figures, that, since the completion of the pre- sent land system, in 1845, the public lands have been a source of considerable revenue rather than, as has been alleged, of un- profitable expenditure. We shall also show the utter fallacy of the argument, that the benefits derived from the public lands have fallen to those States in which the lands are situated, at the expense of the older members of the Confederacy. We do not propose to advocate the propriety, or the utility, of grants in aid of the construction of railroads, canals, and other important works, unless nuder such wholesome restric- tions as will insure the performance of the objects designed, and the proper use of the fund thus constituted. We shall likewise notice briefly some of the objections that have been urged against the various grants heretofore made for such purposes, and make brief mention of others to which public attention has not been especially directed. * Reports of Hon. John Wilson, Commissioner of the General Land Office. First and Second Sessions 33d Congress. 18534. 1855.] fEhe Pnhlic Lands. 355 It will be proper before advancing in these arguments to ex- hibit, in a brief form, the extent of the public domain; and here we are obliged to call to our aid the iReport of the Commis- sioner of the General Land Office, from which we extract the fol- lowing statement, exhibiting the extent, in square miles and acres, of the several States and Territories enumerated, being those in which the public lands are situated. Sq. Miles. Acres. Ohio 39,964 *25,5?16,960 Indiana 33,809 *21,63~,760 Illinois 55,410 35,462,389 Missouri, . 65,03~1 41,623,680 Alabama j~50,043 +32,021,490 Mississippi, . 131,337 j23,895,650 Louisiana 41,346 26,461,440 Michigan, . 56,243 35,995,520 Arkansas 52,198 33,406,120 Florida 59,268 31,931,520 Iowa j50,914 ~32 584,960 Wisconsin, . 53,924 34,511,360 California 188,981 120,941,840 Minnesota Territory, 141,839 90,116,960 Oregon Territory, 341,463 218,536,320 New-Mexico Territory, 210,144 134,816,160 Utah Territory, . 181,923 120,210,120 North-west Territory, 528,125 338,384,000 Nebraska Territory, 136,100 81,488,000 Indian Territory, 151,111 119,189,440 Total, . . . 2,519,039 1,612,184,919 This is exclusive of the Mesilla Valley Territory, recently ac- quired by purchase from Mexico under the Gadsden Treaty, the extent of which we do not remember to have seen esti- mated, but which will, doubtless, ada at least one hundred mil- lions of acres to the total above stated. This total is subject to reduction, as hereinafter shown, from the following several causes: 1. By the quautity of laud sold and located with land-war- rants and scrip, up to the 30th of June, 1854, amounting to 138,477,691.35 acres. * Includes reserves under deeds of cession. ~ Exclusive of Chickasaw cession. ~ Includes the estimated quantity of 560,000 acres of the Des Moines River grant, situated in this State, between the Raccoon fork and source of said river. 35~3 The Public Lands. [May, 2. By the quantity of land granted by Congress for special purposes, such as schools, act 20th May, 1826; internal ira- rovements, act of 4th September, 1841; swamp and overflow- ed lands, acts of 2d March, 1849, and 28th September, 1850; salines, seats of government, private claims, Indian reserves, and the various railroad grants; also, lands reserved to the United States for light-houses, military posts, live oak, etc., etc., amounting in the aggregate to 136,860,676.65 acres, thus leaving to the United States, of unsold and unappropriated lands, the enormous quantity of 1,337,846,551 acres, exclusive of Mesilla Yalley. It must be borne in mind, that by far the larger part of the sales, locations, grants, and reservations have been made in the older of the land States, and that the main body of the public lands yet remaining lies in the (comparatively speaking) new States of the Confederacy, and in the territories, and has been but partially brought into market; it is worthy of note, that, from this fact, these lands will not be subject, to any consider- able extent, to the reduced prices established by the act of 4th August, 1854, to graduate and reduce the price of the public lands. We shall now proceed to show that the public lands have been a source of revenue to the general government, and to this branch of our inquiry we court attention; the contrary has been so often and so vehemently urged, that, until by pro- per examinations we had convinced ourselves, we were inclined to go with the popular side, and credit the assertion. Careful and patient investigation, however, and a research among dry, uninteresting figures, have at length brought us to a different conclusion; and we lay the facts and figures before our readers with the utmost confidence. The elaborate statements append- ed to the Commissioners Report, which accompanied the Pre- sidents Message to the First Session of the Thirty-third Con- gress, 18534, afford ample and sufficient evidence; but, as our space will not allow us to transcribe them entire, we have pre- pared a brief synopsis of their contents, by which it is shown that the entire surveyed surface of the public domain, (em- bracing Minnesota, but not the territories more recently estab- lished or acquired,) after deducting the various Indian reserva- tions, private claims, etc., is set down at 424,103,750 acres, the cost of which, including the amount paid to Spain for the Floridas, to France for Louisiana, and for extinguishing the In- dian title, is fixed at $71,140,829.21, which, with certain reduc- tions for interest paid on stock, (which is not a fair charge, 1855.1 The Public Land8. 357 no interest being allowed on the proceeds of those lands,) is re- duced to $G2,121,71 7.12. This shows an average cost, of the whole body of land, of 14.41 cents per acre. It is further shown that the average cost of surveying, in- cluding the salaries of Surveyors-General, their clerks, and the expenses attending the surveys, amounts to 2.07 cents per acre. And it is also shown, that the average cost of selling and managing the public domain amonnts to 5.32 cents per acre. The summary we quote entire: Pe~ Acre. Average cost of purchase and extinguishing Indian title 14.41 cents. Average cost of surveying 2.01 Average cost of selling and managing 5.32 Total average cost per acre 21.80 cents. Aggregate amount received from the sale of public lands to Janu ary 1, 1849, per answer to Corxvins call $136,112,011 32 Deduct amount received from sale of chickasaw lands, per same document, as these lands are not included in statements relative to public lands . 3,116,059 44 133,596,011 88 Deduct, also, cost of purchasing the public domain, $61,121,111 12 Deduct cost of surveying the public domain 6,369,838 01 Deduct cost of selling and managing the public domain 1,466,324 19 14,951,819 38 58,638,138 50 Add amount of purchase meney received in 1849, fourth quarter partly estimated 1,143,015 29 Aggregate netual net receipt from public lands over and above every cost 60,381,213 19 If to this be added the value, at $1.25 per acre, of the lands grant- ed for military services in the revolutionary, late, and Mexican wars, (fourth quarter 1849 estimated,) it would be 11,814,425.83 acres, at $1.25 per acre 14,168,032 29 It would make the aggregate receipts 15,149,246 05 And if to this be added the value, at $1.25 per acre, of the lands donated for schools, universities, ~sylums, and internal improve- ments, individuals and companies, seats of government and sa- lines, 21,821,433 69 acres, at $125 21,284,292 11 Making the aggregate $102,433,538 19 And it is further shown that, at the same estimate of ex- penses, etc., the government, as the custodiin o-f the public lands, will have, eventually, received from their sale, over and 858 The Pullic La~d~. [May, above the total expenditure, the very considerable sum of $439,570,570.46. This, it will be remembered, does not em- brace the new territories of Oregon, Washington, Utah, or New-Mexico. We have seen it stated, and urged with much vigor, that Mr. Wilsons figures are greatly exaggerated; that he pro- ceeds upon the supposition that all of the public lands are equally good and alike desirable, while, in fact, one consider- able portion must be set down as barren desert, another as covered with mountain ridges, and a third as low swamp. Who doubts this? Is any one so unreasonable as to believe that between the Mississippi and the Pacific there is nothing but fine farming land? The geography of the country is proof positive to the contrary; we know that there are both moun- tains and deserts, and the fact that some thirty or forty mil- lions of acres have been already granted to the States as swamp and overflowed lands, is proof that there is some little of that kind. There are sandy deserts, impenetrable wastes, and rocky ridges; there are localities, not only inhospitable but i naccess- ible, where the beasts of the field may make their lair in per- fect security even from the step of the adventurous hunter; where the foot of man has never trodden the soil, and where centuries will make no change. If this be so with some of the country, it is not so with the larger part; and there is no question but that a great portion of that which, in the eyes of the present generation, is value- less, will, in the course of years, be ranked among the most valuable. The spread of settlements, opening new fields to the hardy sons of toil, the increased means of intercommuni- cation between distant points, and the rapid development of the mineral and agricultural resources of the West will advance this result more speedily, perhaps, than we would be willing to assert, or our readers to believe. Certainly, judging of the future by the past, there is every reason to believe that a few years will make a great change in the character of the West- ern country, especially that portion lying between the Missis- sippi and the Rocky Mountains, embraced in the territories of Minnesota, Kansas, and Nebraska. The great natural re- sources of the former will make it the chosen home of adven- turous spirits from all sections of the country, and the interest awakened in the minds of the people by the excitement attend- ant upon the organization of the two latter has given them great importance, and already induced an immense tide of emi- gration thither. This tide will still flow on, and we will ha- 1855.] The Public Lands. 859 zard the assertion that Kansas and Nebraska will, ere long, rival in prosperity the most flourishing of our Western terri~ tories. That the benefits resulting from the sales, etc., of the public lands have not been confined to the new States, or those in which they are situated, is apparent from the foregoing; when such considerable revennes are known to have accrued to the federal treasury from this sonree, it must be conceded that all of the States have been participants in the advantages. The assertion to the contrary is no new thing; it has been reYterated time and again, and generally by those whose limited knowledge has induced the unfounded assertion, or whose over- weening prejudices have prevented their ascertaining the true state of facts. The Commissioner, in his report for 1854, treats the subject in an able manner, and we will briefly review the arguments made use of by him to sustain his point. We quote from page 15 of the Report: The bounty lands for services in the Revolutionary war, and that of 1812, flowed mostly to citizens of the old States, and say one half of those for services in the Mexican war. The amount actually paid to the old States, under the act of 4th Sep- tember, 1841, and of the surplus revenue is, of course, charged to those States. As the proceeds of the public lands went into the treasury, and were applied to aid in defraying the expenses of the government, the necessity was thus obviated of increasing the tariff to that amount. The tariff, it is admitted, bears more equally on the entire population of a country than any other tax. The old States originally, and until within a few years, were vastly more populous than the new, and this relief; therefore, applied in the same proportion. Suppose, then, that for the entire period of the operation of the land system, the average proportion of the population of the old States to that of the new was as three to one; on this basis the people of the old States would have been benefited by three fourths of the proceeds of the public lands, and those of the new States by one fourth of those proceeds. To state the account, then, on this hypothesis, the old States are chargeable with the amount of lands given as bounties in the Revolutionary war, and that of 1812, including that under the acts of 1850 and 1852 Say 19,209,29~ acres, equal to $24,011,620 0 0 One half of the act of 184~, say 6,4fl,880 acres, equal to . 5,09Z,350 00 Amount actually paid the old States under the act of 1841, . 409, 912 42 Three fourths of the proceeds of the public lands, . . . 113,616,Th5 6~ $146,195,641 09 Making a total of. 360 Tke Public Iiand8. [May, The benefit of which has flowed chiefly, if not entirely, to th~ people of the old States. This amount, it will be remembered, is exclusive of the sum of more than for1~-eight and a quarter millions net receipts for imports at the ports of Florida and Louisiana, which went into the treasury, and by which the people of the old States were proportionably benefited. One of the greatest benefits, however, to tbe old States, and that which can not be estimated by dollars and cents, was the opening given by the new to the ambitious and enterprising citizens of the former, and the facili- ties furnished them by government of obtaining valuable farms at mere nominal prices. They have also enjoyed immense benefits from the pro- ducts of the West, the supply being vastly increased thereby, and the cost proportionably reduced. The report then proceeds to exhibit the benefits which may be said to have accrued exclusively to the people of the new States, showing a total of upwards of ninety millions in dol- lars and cents, leaving a balance in favor of the old States of $56,195,641.09. It must be here observed that, since the estimates from which we have quoted were prepared, a measure has been adopted which will secure still greater benefits and advan- tages to citizens of the old States. We refer to the bounty- land law passed at the last session of Congress, and known as The Old-Soldiers Law. This act extends bounties to many who have been engaged in the various wars in which our country has been involved, and who were excluded from the several grants heretofore made; it also grants to those who have already received bounties of less than one hundred and sixty acres of land, such a quantity as will make up that amount. While upon this subject, we may as well endeavor to do away with the erroneous impressions which exist relative to the quantity of land necessary to satisfy this grant. This has been variously stated as being between twenty-five and two hundred millions of acres. The law, as originally proposed, would doubtless have required an immense amount of land, perhaps one half of the largest amount above named, but, by the amendments introduced before its final passage, the quan- tity requisite to its complete satisfaction was most materially reduced. The rcqnirement of record evidence of service will be the means of limiting the benefits of the act only to those who were regularly enrolled in the service of the country. From the IYaskington Union we extract the following esti- mate of the amount of land which will be absorbed by the new law, namely: 1855.] The PabUc ]Jand8. uGI Acres. 60,000 applications for 80 acres each, 4,800,000 125,000 do. 120 do~ . . . . 15,000,000 Short service, (less than one month and over fourteen days,) 40,000 Naval service, 30,000 Wagon-masters, etc 10 000 Revolutionary 8,000 All others, 12,000 100,000 At 160 acres each, . 16,000,000 Total 35,800,000 The warrants issued under this law will, no doubt, be located upon the most valuable lands, and not upon such as by the act of 4th August, 1854, have been reduced in price to twenty-five or fifty cents, or even one dollar per acre. Con- tinuing the estimate at $1.25 per acre, and also estimating that one third of the benefits of this act will flow to citizens of the old States, we have a further advantage to them of nearly fifteen millions of dollars. But it is not alone by these direct means that the advantages to the old States must be shown; these, indeed, tell the exact amount of advantage in dollars and cents, but no figures can show the benefits which indirectly have flowed to the people of the old States; the enlarged field for agricultural and com- mercial enterprise; the profitable source for the investment of capital, not only in public works, but in the bringing to light of the great mineral resources of that vast section of country, embracing as it does, the iron of Missouri, the lead of Illinois the copper of Lake Superior, and the gold of California, are all advantages to the old States which have accrued to them from the governmental supervision of the public lands. The poor have been provided with homes at a price within the reach of every man, and by this means the old States relieved of the surplus population which clogged the wheels of progress by promoting too great competition, and among the hardy pioneers of the West has grown up a race of sturdy republi- cans whose very existence lends strength and stability to our institutions; whQ, are good citizens in time of peace, and bul- warks of defense against the horrors and devastations of war. We have also stated that the policy of liberal grants for works of public benefit, such as railroads and canals, if made under wholesome restrictions, would receive our cordial sup- The Pablic Lands. 362 [May, port. We are strongly opposed to any willful waste of the public lands, as well as to donations to bodies of reckless speculators, who, having secured a grant, dispose of the lands without fulfilling the pledges under which they were obtained; we are also opposed to grants bearing a private character, and designed for local institutions and local interests. Works of great public importance demand, and should receive, the liberal support of the government, and bodies of public-spirited indi- viduals should be encouraged in their zeal to promote the general welfare. Tf grants of the character contemplated in these remarks may be said to be attended with benefits to the States in which they are located, they are likewise productive of corresponding advantages to the government. Thus, in making a grant of lands for railroad purposes, the United States donates a certain portion of the lands within a definite limit, to aid in the con- struction of the road, and reserves to herself the lands remain- ing to be sold at an increased minimum, as the consideration of the grant; thus it is made without loss or injury, as the lands remaining yield as much as the whole body would have given had not the grant been made. But, in making such appropriations of the public lands, measures should be taken to guard against grants to irresponsible corporations, or for works of exaggerated importance; and on this point the sug- gestions of the Commissioner are valuable. He recommends that no grant should be made except on the application of the Legislature of the State; that the lands should be taken in alternate sections within a certain distance of the improvement, the minimum price of the remaining sections to be doubled throughout the whole extent of the grant; and the lands to be certified to the State as the work progresses, with a pro- vision of forfeiture in case of failure It seems to us that these provisions are sufficiently ample to secure the desired ends, and that question can not be raised as to the propriety of grants made nuder such restrictions. We have already said that by the reservation of a portion of the lands within a certain distance of the improvement to be sold at an advanced price, the government is kept free from loss, and we may here add, that it invariably foll6ws that the lands thus reserved find a much more ready sale, by reason of their contiguity to the road thus constructed, than they would have had under ordinary circumstances. To illustrate this, let us take the instance of the Illinois Central Road, and from the statements contained in the Report ~855.] TAe Put~lio L 618. 3433 before us, show that our arguments are well-founded. The Commissioner says: The great increase in sales and locations of land has occurred in those States where railroads have been projected and grants made for them, or where such works are in contemplation, or by the proposed construction of the Sault Ste. Marie Canal. As evidence of this fact, I would state that the lands withdrawn from sale in Illinois, to enable that State to select those granted to her by the act of 20th September, 1850,* were again brought into market in July, August, and September, 1852, deducting, of course, the 2595,O53yij~- acres selected by her under that grant. DuPng the fiscal year ending the 30th of June last, in that State there were sold for cash, - - - 298,861 acres. Located with Land-warrants 2,509,120 Total 2,807,981 acres. Being about one and a quarter million more than all the lands sold (exclud- ing the locations of warrants) during the preceding fiscal year, in al~ the land States and t rritories2 e Can any stronger evidence than this be needed to convince the most skeptical of the beneficial results that flow from such grants? In the instance which we have quoted, a great public work has been advanced, and is now nearly completed. The North and the South will be connected by iron bands as well in the far West as on the Atlantic border. The agricultural and mineral products of that great section of country have, by this means, been afforded facilities for an additional market; the mail facilities have been greatly promoted; and the labor~ ing classes provided with an extended field of honorable exer- tion. View it in whatever light we may, the results must speak in the most audible tones of its high practical utility. It is fair to presume, or rather, it would be unreasonable to doubt, that the same beneficial results that attended this will follow in all similar cases. The general benefits growing out of the grant for this road remain to be seen; to its projectors it may be an unprofitable speculation; we say may be, not that we think there is any chance of it, but merely for the sake of the argument; it may be years before it will pay even the interest of the outlay; but of one thing we may be assured, that to the, traveller, to the merchant, and the farmer, its bene- fits will be incalculable. This must be admitted upon all hands, and it is as easy to believe that without the aid of the grant it would never have been accomplished. To aid in the construction cf a railroad from Mobile to Chicago. 25 364 f/ike Public ]2tnd8. [M~ So will it be with a railroad to the Pacific, a work whi h, should it ever be completed, will throw into the shade, whether for its own magnitude or its general importance, any work ever contemplated; which will bring the extreme ends of this widely-extended Union within hailing distance of each other, and transport the products of one part into others where their consumption may be demanded without the delay, expense, and danger with which their transmission is now attended. This vast design will never be accomplished with- out the intervention of the government through the medium of the public lands, and we do not doubt but that the popular sentiment of the country is in favor of such a grant, Ai the event of competent and reliable men being selected to fulfill the trust. We will turn for a few moments to the proposition for a dis- tribution of the public lands, which has been, on several occa- sions seriously urged upon Congress, and this we can dispose of in a few words. Let us suppose that the government part with her interest in these lands to the States in which the same are situated; can it be believed that the settlement of the same would be by any means so rapid as at present, or can it be supposed that the same measures for their survey, management, and sale would be taken? Most assuredly not! The expenses which are now aggregated, and by this means reduced, would, by being brought within a narrower compass, and promising smaller profits, be greatly enhanced, and perhaps the work would never be accomplished. Thence would result an evil of which we can not now complain; the amount of produce would be less than necessity requires, and vast bodies of land would lie upon the hands of the States, unsurveyed and unimproved. The folly, or rather, the injnstice of such a course would lie in the fact that the government would thus be giving away, without a fair consideration, the share of interest which the older States have in the public domain, and which, as we have already shown, is by no means inconsiderable. But, the States do not need them. We will not say do not want them; for States, like individuals, want all they can get. The various grants, already made, insure them ample benefits. Thus, for every township of land surveyed, they are entitled to one section, or one square mile out of every six, for educa- tional purposes. By the act of 4th September, 1841, they each received 500,000 acres for internal improvements; and under ~he Swamp Land law they will become the owners of 1855.] The Public Lands. 365 much valuable timber-land, and much land which, after its reclamation, will become very valuable for agricultural pur- poses. By these, and other grants which we need not specially enumerate, a goodly share of substantial benefits have accrued to themenough, perhaps, for their own satisfaction. The government moreover, as the owner of the lands, will be much more likely than the States, to make judicious uses of such portions as are not demanded in purchase, by liberal grants thereof for praiseworthy objects, thus advancing not only the general good but the especial interests of the particu- lar States; a system already well organized will be perpetu- ated, and an easy road to competency kept open to the poor but industrious class of emigrants who are daily flocking to our shores. We have but little to say in conclusion. If it be true, as we have heard, that facts and figures speak for themselves there is no necessity of comment. A subject like the present possesses but little of that general interest which attaches to magazine literature; there is small room for rhetorical display, and still less for imagination or fancy. Mr. Wilson has succeeded in making more than read- able reports; they are indeed, as we characterized them at the outset, highly interesting and important public documents, and although they are the work of one attached to a different polit- ical creed, still as coming from one whose services have been retained by the present administration, the ability by which they are characterized, must be conceded. Had it been our purpose to examine the reports as political documents, we might have found points of difference, but our objects, as stated in another part of this article, had little or no relatio to party questions. We have thus, as we conceive, established the several points upon which we stated we intended touching; we have shown that very considerable revenues have already been derived from the public lands, and that still larger results may be ex- pected; we have also shown that the advantages have not all been in favor of the States in which these lands are situated, and it now remains for us to iusist that proper guards be placed against their willful waste; that the present system be extended as far and wide as possible, and the rights and inter- ests of the honest settler consulted in preference to the plun- dering schemes of reckless speculators. 366 De8tin~y. [May, DESTINY. A PORTUGUESE TRADITION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. THERE is a tradition. among the Portuguese, that certain pre- cious stones rule particular months, and confer upon persons born under their influence, certain qualities of body and of mind. According to the authority before us, they are con- nected in the following manner: January... .Jasper Constancy and fidelity. February... Amethyst This stone preserves from strong passions, and insures peace of mind. March Bloodstone Insures courage and success in hazardous enterprises. April . Sapphire Diamond. Repentance and innocence. May Emerald Success in love. June Legate Long life and health. July Cornelian ruby.... The forgetfulness of evils arising from broken friendship or faithless love. August Sardonyx Conjugal fidelity. September.. Chrysolite Preserves from or cures folly. October . ...Opal Misfortune and hope. November . .Topaz Fidelity in friendship. December... Turquoise The most brilliant success in every enter- prise or circumstance in life. He who possesses a turquoise is always sure of his friends. It is neither necessary nor important to go into a history of these traditioriary beliefs, nor need we stop to give a deserip

Colonel Eidolon Eidolon, Colonel Destiny. A Portuguese Tradition. 366-371

366 De8tin~y. [May, DESTINY. A PORTUGUESE TRADITION. BY COLONEL EIDOLON. THERE is a tradition. among the Portuguese, that certain pre- cious stones rule particular months, and confer upon persons born under their influence, certain qualities of body and of mind. According to the authority before us, they are con- nected in the following manner: January... .Jasper Constancy and fidelity. February... Amethyst This stone preserves from strong passions, and insures peace of mind. March Bloodstone Insures courage and success in hazardous enterprises. April . Sapphire Diamond. Repentance and innocence. May Emerald Success in love. June Legate Long life and health. July Cornelian ruby.... The forgetfulness of evils arising from broken friendship or faithless love. August Sardonyx Conjugal fidelity. September.. Chrysolite Preserves from or cures folly. October . ...Opal Misfortune and hope. November . .Topaz Fidelity in friendship. December... Turquoise The most brilliant success in every enter- prise or circumstance in life. He who possesses a turquoise is always sure of his friends. It is neither necessary nor important to go into a history of these traditioriary beliefs, nor need we stop to give a deserip 1855.] De8tiny. 367 tion of the stones which confer such distinguishing character- istics upon the different members of the human family. It does seem, however, that sbme men are born to greatness, while some have greatness thrust upon them; others, with just as fair prospects, with quite as much energy, and mayhap more merit, exhibit in their life nothing more than a series of misfor- tunes, against which no foresight would seem to protect them, and no prudence guard them. In the hands of some people every thing turns to gold; while, in those of others, even gold itself becomes dross. Sterne says, there is no resisting our fate ; and Shake- speare hath enunciated the dictum, that theres a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will. It is yet a consolation to know, that Intrepid virtue triumphs over fate; The good can never be unfortunate 1 In the battle of life, energy, economy, and prudence may be relied on as champions, who will insure to their votary ulti- mate success; and no possible chain of misfortunes can en- tirely overwhelm the man, who possesses the three faculties above mentioned. Let a man rely upon his own exertions~ discard offices and family expectations, and steady attention to his business, of whatever name or kind, is the great turquoise, which will insure him success and friendship. IT has been said that lifes a dream, And things are not just what they seem; And that, indeed, we only think We dress ourselves, or take a drink; That we are all somnambulists, That every thing by chance exists, And not a mortal eer can know, Whence he hath come, or where will go. But be that as it may, we see Man has a ruling destiny; In proof of which, the spangled sky Spreads to our eyes her lights on high; And when bright science raised the veil, Astrology could tell a tale, And drawing knowledge from afar, Could read a fate in every star. But it is not by stars alone, The destiny of man is known; 368 Destiny. [May, Foi~ the dark mine holds many a gem, Potent the ills of life to stem; And every month has some one stone, By Fate selected as its own; A talisman the good to guard, A charm the ills of life to ward. 1. She who is born when the young year Just starting, springs from Chaos arms, Receives a Jasper bright and clear, Patron of virtues highest charms. Implicitly rely on her, A bright example shall she be; For these upon her life confer Fidelity and constancy. The second month is joined by Fate To Amethyst, of violet hue; And if thou here wouldst seek a mate, II warrant thee a partner true: To these no fickle airs belong, They are not foolish, harsh, unkind; This stone secures from passions stron0, And grants them peace of mind. 8. Wouldst thou seek one courageous, firm, One to protect when dangers lower, One in decision prompt and stern, Yet kind with all his power? The third monthand the bright Bleodstone Insure both courage and success; Seek him; when to his arms thoust flown, Thou neer wiltlove him less. 4. The Sapphire Diamond reigns supreme Oer the fourth month of every year; And he will still preserve esteem, Who dates his birth-day here; 1855.] Destiny. 3~9 He will repent all evils done, And kindness will dispense, And truly at your feet lay down A heart of innocence. 5. Knowst thou a mind pure, firm, and true, A mind of strength and worth? Wouldst thou possess this jewel too, Found seldom on this earth? Go seek with hopethe ]Flrnercttd8 thine, Goall thy doubts remove: It is the earnest and the sign, Of full success in love. 6. Say, dost thou wish for life and health, The pleasures which on them await; The comforts and the joys of wealth, Which still attend the great? That when old age has bared thy head, Thy limbs should yet feel youth? Rejoice that thus thy lot has sped, The Legate gives them both. 7. Say, hast thou loved with all the soul, A young and artless being loves? Have all deceived? Shake off control, The Ruby all thy care removes. How deep soeer the sting has gone, The Ruby still can heal the smart, For with it comes, when all have flown, Forgetfulness of heart. 8. A loving and a faithful mate Is better than the brightest gem That, in the pride of sovereign state, Glitters in regal diadem. Wouldst thou have such to share thy heart? Then, in this month, thy search should be; The Sardonyx the bliss imparts Of conjugal fidelity. 370 Destiny. [May, 9. If thou, by any froward deed Hast caused a tender heart to break, By inadvertence caused to bleed A tender bosom for thy sake; Take courage yetbear up in spite Of the dark brow of melancholy; The triumphs thine~ The Cliry olite Completely cures from folly. 10. Has stern misfortune weighed thee down And pressed thee with a heavy hand? Bear up beneath her loding frown, Let faith and love thy hope expand. The 6~pat guides thy course in life, Gives power with all its storms to cope; And says, in tumult and in strife, Still in misfortune, hope. 11. Wouldst have a friend morekind and true In cheerless poverty than power, Whose bands of friendship