THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.FEBRUARY, 1820.Num. 1.

Art. 1. DON JUAN

Art. 1. DON JUAN

The career of Lord Byron, the author of this poem, has been more remarkable than that of any other living bard. The many changes, which his character and tastes have undergone, have succeeded each other with unparalleled rapidity. He has no uniformity but in his devotion to his passions. His political views, and his judgments of the great m?n of the last thirty years, have varied with the variation of his personal feelings, and of his domestic and social relations. He seems to have no fixed principles upon any subject, but is ENTIRELY A POET, a man of passion and imagination. He writes, because he is impatient of his own thoughts and impulses, and finds pleasure in expressing the workings of his soul. Whatever emolument he may derive from his publications, he would sacrifice in a moment, if it should interfere with the indulgence of his passions. Of fame he has now such a surfeit, that he can covet no more. He must continue to print for his own gratification, however little he may care for that of others. As it regards any moral or political instruction, which may be drawn from his works, he is perfectly reckless. We do not believe that he ever bestows a thought upon the tendency of his poems in relation to any of the great interests of mankind. He is a nobleman of genius and independence, and never checks his humour for a moment to inquire into consequences. He does not indeed wish to make the tendency of his production s bad 0005 2 but he will take no pains to make it good. He means neither to improve nor to corrupt, although, in regard to persons of different ages and propensities, he does both. Those, who are fortified by experience and wisdom, find a most important moral in Byron, the miserable effects of undisciplined passion. Those, who are quite young, who think less than they feel, who are caught and inflamed by delineations of voluptuousness without reflecting upon the price paid for unhallowed indulgence, who are hurried on by emotion, are, in a degree, debauched by the later productions of this astonishing poet. We do not however join in all the declamation, which we have been accustomed to hear against the moral influence of his Muse, previously to the appearance of Beppo. That work and Don Juan are different from the others.

Until lately, Byron has contributed to support the idea, that genius of the loftier kind, however employed, can hardly fail to inspire lofty sentiments, and to impose a restraint upon the immoralities of passion. With all his misanthropy and scorn,with all his skepticism and caprice, he makes his readers feel the dignity of mind, of truth, and of virtue; he forces the soul to an elevation and expansion which cannot but assist to deliver it from selfishness, obliquity, and vice. The mean and petty forms of transgression and contention, which constitute the great mass of misery in society, appear as despicable as they really are, when viewed in contrast with the splendid sins of our author's heroes. Although he is considered as having drawn the strong features of his fictitious personages from similar features in his own character, yet he is always dissatisfied with them, and points out their sufferings as distinctly as we would ourselves. Manfred is as wretched, under the operations of his skepticism, as any moralist can require. If a mystical and gloomy system of infidelity, which cannot feel the proofs of the immortality of the soul, while it wishes to believe the doctrine, can furnish no better compensation for the loss of religious hope and enjoyment, it surely cannot seduce a single mind, which thinks for a moment, from piety to atheism. The reader of Manfred is uncomfortable through the whole perusal 0006 3 of the work, notwithstanding the force of talent and poetry which it displays. He is never tempted to wish himself the hero, although he may desire to have the grand and awful conceptions with which Manfred's mind is labouring. A dignity is undoubtedly thrown around this anxious and unhappy skeptic, such as genius always gives to its own creations. We may sometimes feel an impulse to put ourselves in the place of Childe Harold, of the Corsair, or of Lara, and to be the subjects of the terrible workings of such spirits. But this impulse is only for the moment, and never acquires the character of an affection, or a habit of the soul. We should as soon covet the place and character of Milton's Satan. The occasional magnanimity and virtues of this celebrated and infernal chieftain, his courage and perseverance, his bold and unrelenting spirit under a full view of defeat and suffering for eternity, we must confess, have excited our sympathy in a degree, as well as our admiration. The skill of the poet is seen in the fact, that we almost wish success to the leader of the fallen host. This impulse is ?? dishonor to the law of human sympathy. It is only with the high and generous qualities of this distinguished personage in the Paradise Lost that we sympathize, and not with the guilt of his rebellion and intended usurpation. The truth is, that great and splendid conceptions, even when they are suggested by a character otherwise bad, cannot enter the soul without tending to purify it, to drive out what is low and mean, to produce a disrelish for ignoble actions, and to awaken the faculties to a consciousness of their dignity, and to an exertion of their power in the pursuit of great objects. It would be most unhappy for society, were not this the fact, since the heroes of works of genius are generally drawn with such a mixture of virtues and vices that they would corrupt the minds of all the reading part of the community, those especially who are devoted to the Belles Lettres, and who become favourites in elegant conversation. It is a narrow view of duty that allows us to admire none but the perfectly good.

But we return to Lord Byron. His successive publications show the changes in his taste. In his early poems, we do not discover what afterwards became his characteristic misanthropy. 0007 4 He seems very soon to have hated mathematics,* but not his fellow creatures, a hatred which has some relation to his future history. In his “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers” he shows how capable he then was of being provoked by any manifestation of contempt for his talents, and of revenging himself upon his assailants by severe and unsparing satire. He was conscious of possessing higher powers than he had evinced, or at least than the critics had allowed to him, and this estimate of himself he has since most amply confirmed. The promise was far less than the fulfilment.

* Thoughts suggested by a College examination. ldquo;High in the midst, surrounded by his peers, Magnus his ample front sublime uprears: Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a god, While Sc?rus and Freshmen tremble at his nod: As all around sit rapt in speechless gloom, His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome, Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools, Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules, Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, Though little vers'd in any art beside.” Byron's Works, vol: 1, p, 77.

The attack upon the Northern Reviewers was made when the poet appears to have preserved his regard for the regular structure of English verse in what is sometimes denominated the School of Pope. The first two cantos of “Chi???? Har??d” show that the author's misanthropical propensity had began to act upon his taste and sentiments, and to impart its influence to his notions of poetry. The verse however is more elaborate than any that followed it, and is more finished in all the mechanical parts. The writer did not yet presume upon his genius so far as to set aside the common rules of composition, and to disregard any censures, which roughness, abruptness, and an inattention to the final or cæsural pauses in his lines, might provoke. He did not yet venture to throw the reins loose upon the neck of his Muse, as well as of his Passions, and let them run whithersoever they chose. This entire independence we do not find till the “Third Canto” came out, which, like the “Fourth,” is extremely irregular, and apparently without the least elaboration of style. The whole, admirable as it is, is merely rough hewn. The plan, the materials, the putting together 0008 5 of the principal parts, the elements of the decorations, are provided for us, but nothing is finished according to the taste of the exclusive disciples of Pope's School. We do not like the poetry the less on this account, but are highly excited and gratified with it. The sketches of the great painters have often given us more exquisite delight than their laboured pieces.

We are not enemies, but are admirers of Pope, and take unceasing pleasure in reading his numbers. We have never paid the least regard to the silly attempts which have been made to prove, that the author of the Essay on Man, and of the Rape of the Lock, was no poet. But we are not exclusive in our admiration of this regular, smooth, and well balanced verse. We confess that we are entertained, instructed, and charmed with some of the poets of the New School. We see in this School excesses, defects, and many abuses, but also great merits. Cowper aided the transition from the one kind of writing to the other. The inartificial structure of his lines, the unpre?ending character of his rhythm, and the simplicity and plainness of his rhymes, take him entirely out of the School of Pope, while his regularity, good sense, deference to public opinion, and freedom from affectation and mannerism, prevent him from being ranked with those, whom the Scotch critics denominate the LAKERS, from the circumstance that some of the most distinguished of them reside near the lakes in the North of England. We can see very great poetical excellencies, not only in Southey,Scott,and Crabbe, but in Wordsworth,Hogg, Leigh Hunt, and even in Coleridge. The short piece, entitled “Pains of Sleep,” by the last writer, is an admirable picture of mental distress in a dream. Leigh Hunt's “Story of Rimini” contains some of the finest moral painting to be found in our language. Whatever the supporters of the Quarterly Review, who think it necessary to make their politics enter into their taste, and pervade every word of their criticism, may say about this author, we shall not cease to admire his fidelity to nature and the heart, and his affecting simplicity in delineating the passions, notwithstanding the unpardonable slovenliness and occasional affectation of vulgarity in his versification. The artificial 0009 6 and classical beauties, as well as others, are in the Old School, but there is more of nature, truth, directness, variety, and interest, in the New.

Since the entire independence of Lord Byron's taste showed itself in the last two cantos of Childe Harold, which are incomparably superior to the others in all the higher characteristics of poetry, he has gone several steps further in Beppo and Don Juan, and now boldly manifests his defiance and scorn of critics and their rules, as well as of moralists and their censures. His misanthropy has worn itself out, and, by the aid of travelling, of good eating and drinking, of pleasure and popularity, it is converted into the laugh of derision and the heartless mirth of satire against all that the world has considered as virtue, constancy, and fidelity, in the human character. While his genius was lofty, he was misanthropical. Since it is brought down, as it really is, by a life of passion and voluptuousness, he has lost his hatred of society, and his disgust with life, and is now disposed to sit at ease, and make as much as he can out of the contemptible race of beings to which he belongs, while he turns into ridicule all that pure minds hold sacred, and from which they derive their felicity. We have no doubt, that this nobleman is much amused with the conquest which he has made over the taste of his countrymen, and enjoys the comforts of society as well as any of his companions, who have never been famous for their misanthropy. We are among the number that bow to the supremacy of his genius, and are willing to be conquered by his talents, while we detest the life that he has led, the want of patriotism and philanthropy of which he has been guilty, the selfishness and egotism of his passions, and the prostitution of his brilliant powers in his last work. It is a paradox, capable of a complete solution, that we admire and detest Byron at the same time, that we condemn his heartlessness, and yet are excited, dazzled, and astonished, at his genius. We are compelled to think him a very selfish man at present, though we do not believe that he was so at first. But the mind, that yields itself habitually to passion, will always become selfish. Virtue and disinterestedness require continued discipline and effort Passion changes with every temptation to indulgence, and avoids all that does not promise immediate gratification.

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Of Don Juan we must now say something in particular. It is to be a poem in twelve cantos, at least according to its own profession. Two cantos only are published. The hero is represented as a young Spáaniard, commencing the formation of his character under the superintendence of a mother who is at once haughty, ignorant, sanctified, and intolerant. The son is in love at an early age with the young wife of an old man, and the connexion becomes criminal. Don Juan afterwards leaves his country, is wrecked upon one of the Cyclades, is beloved by the fair Haidee of the island, and they are married by their own vows. The story is carried no further at present. The hero however is to be a confirmed voluptuany, and finally to pass into the place of torment.

Upon this simple plan a variety of description is ingrafted, exhibiting both extremes of human feeling in a most incongruous mixture. What is grand is followed by what is mean; what is tender is dashed by what is ludicrous and unfeeling; pity is married to satire, and the most sacred affections of the heart to others the most grovelling and base. We are excited by what is beautiful, raised by what is sublime, melted by what is sympathetic, and then instantly plunged into the mire of sensuality and shame. Female loveliness is linked with female deformity and falsehood; all the consecrated expressions of affection are desecrated by an intermixture with the thoughts, and feelings, of the debauchee and the harlot; virtues and vices, good qualities and bad, purity and impurity, pathos and ridicule, love and lust, religion and hypocrisy, are all jumbled together in such a chaos that neither knows the other, and the reader can recognize nothing as he has seen it before. All this is done, it is true, by design, and shows the talents of the poet. But we are offended and disgusted while we are chained to the book, and we are forced to acknowledge its triumph at the moment when we pronounce its condemnation. The amount of the whole is, that an exalted genius has devoted itself to a most degrading subject, and made a successful attempt, as a poet, to unite what was never united before in feeling or description. Every thing is trifled with, and we are whistled back and forth from one point to another, and pleased and balked, just as often 0011 as the writer chooses. He cares for nobody and no thing, for no rules and no laws, for none of the common associations of nature, and none of the existing maxims of society. He mocks and grins at men and women, husbands and wives, priests and politicians, the chaste and the unchaste, saints and sinners, and makes them all stand for their carricatures till he is tired of his fiendlike fun, and then dismisses them, full of mortification and wonder, to praise his skill, while they anathematize his taste, his heart, and his character.

Of the morality of this poem, we must speak in a different way for different readers. It is decidedly bad for the young, and for every body whose passions are not under the control of reason and habitual virtue. Although it lifts the sheet from the disgusting carcase of vice, and shows the corruption of a sensualist's soul, and so far makes transgression revolting, and is so far favorable to virtue, yet, the bare fact that such emotions and passions have been excited in the mind, and have been kept there long enough for us to read the book, must show that a stain is left, unless the spirit of the reader has had no sympathy, in these portions of the work, with the spirit of the writer. We are not always secure against the contagion of bad passions because their punishment is proclaimed at the same time that they are excited. This is particularly true of the heart in early life, and is a law of nature which moralists ought to illustrate and enforce. Even Saint Augustine's confessions are liable to this censure, as is said in Don Juan itself, where “they make the reader envy his transgressions.”* Persons of a certain age will find themselves disgusted by the immoral part of the poem too much to be injured, but this is no apology for the author. As however he wants none, he would laugh at us if we were to offer it. In this respect, the book is a disgrace to him and to our language. The writer notwithstanding shows a most uncommon knowledge of the human heart. He seems to have observed with an accuracy, independence, and originality, worthy of a better cause, all the disguises which we practise upon ourselves under the influence of passion. No book points out, with such a fearless discernment, 0012 9 ? with such a sagacious arrangement of incidents and feelings, with such aptness of allusion, and with such searching directness of expression, the humiliating connexion of the higher and nobler forms of passion with the lower and the degraded. The relation and dependence, in common human nature, of mind and body, of sentiment and appetite, of enthusiasm and selfishness, of poetic affection and vulgar details, are developed with a most mortifying precision. Sentiment, virtue, beauty, dignity and intellect, acquire at last complete ascendency in the characters of those who perseveringly cultivate their natures, but not immediately in this state of being. While here, we must consent to the mortifications which spring from the union of the spiritual with the corporeal, the sentimental with the animal.

* Canto I, Stanza 47.

We will now call the attention of our readers to some other particulars in Don Juan, and to some of the stanzas. We begin with the first canto.

It has been said that Lady Byron is known among her friends for her progress in mathematical studies, and for her scientific conversation. Possibly the following expressions are in allusion to her, and intended as a satire which she may take, if she ever reads her husband's poems.

XII. “Her favorite science was the mathematical, Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity, Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all, Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity; In short, in all things she was fairly what I call A prodigy:—her morning dress was dimity, Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin, And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling.”

XVII “O, she was perfect, past all parallel Of any modern female saint's comparison; So far above the cunning powers of hell, Her guardian angel had given up his garrison: Even her minutest motions went as well As those of the best time-piece made by Harrison? In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine ‘incomparable oil.’ Macassar!

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XXII. 'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen, who, though well born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation: I don't choose to say much upon this head, I'm a plain man, and in a single station, But, O ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?

When these stanzas are taken in connexion with what we have already quoted concerning Lord Byron's early hatred of mathematics, and with what we have seen in the manuscript Journal of a friend in relation to the manners and accomplishments of his wife, we can hardly fail to consider the author as referring, in his own mind at least, to his late domestic condition and difficulties. The lines, “I don't choose to say much upon this head, I'm a plain man, and in a single station,” seem to be a key to the meaning, and to show, that, although married, the writer's station is at present single. We suppose that the following belongs to the private allusions, and has a general signification for the public, while it has a special one in family history for the lady.

XVIII. “Perfect she was, but as perfection is Insipid in this naughty world of ours, Where our first parents never learned to kiss Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss, (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours,) Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve, Went plucking various fruit without her leave.”

The satire in the quotation, which we are now to give, is extremely keen. We do not suppose that it is deserved by the wife, but the poet probably thinks that it is.

XXIX. “And then this best and meekest woman bor? With such serenity her husband's woes, 0014 11 Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore, Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose Never to say a word about them more.— Calmly she heard each calumny that rose, And saw his agonies with such sublimity, That all the world exclaim'd, ‘What magnanimity!’”

Miss Hannah More has furnished us with what she considers a model-woman in the character of Lucilla. While we approve of the tendency of this delineation, and are satisfied that the danger lies not on the side of precision in morals, we cannot avoid acknowledging the point and felicity of the following lines.

XVI. “Or ‘Cœlebs' Wife’ set out in quest of lovers, Morality's prim personification, In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers. To others' share let ‘female errors fall’ For she had not even one,—the worst of all.”

The power of genius shows itself in the selection of epithets, and wit appears in the association of ideas remotely related, but which have a resemblance that immediately strikes us when it is mentioned. The author, speaking of ripping up old stories by new quarrels, and of the addition of a lie or two made to give the victory to one of the parties, says, “And science profits by this resurrection,— Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.

Stanza XXXI.

The stanzas from XXXIX to XLV are an attack upon certain editions of the ancient classics. Whatever may be said of these, the author is undoubtedly right in condemning the practice of putting the offensive parts together at the end of the book. The satire tells in every word.

XLIV. “Juan was taught from out the best edition, Expurgated by learned men, who place Judiciously from out the schoolboy's vision The grosser parts, but fearful to deface Too much their modest bard by this omission, And pitying sore his mutilated case, 0015 12 They only add them all in an appendix, Which saves in fact the trouble of an index.

XLV. For there we have them all at one fell swoop, Instead of being scatter'd through the pages, They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop, To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages, Till some less rigid editor shall ?toop To call them back into their separate cages, Instead of standing staring altogether, Like garden gods,—and not so decent either.”

Stanza LVII is an excellent hit at fair game, the folly of that pride which limits purity of blood to family connexion. LX and LXI are an admirable description of female beauty and attraction. LXXI shows the progress of passion through a pressure of the hand. LXXIX, CXI, and CXVI, are a deserved castigation of the deception, which is so often practised under the name of Platonic affection. We have no doubt that the sentiment of passion will at last be freed from that portion of it which is properly called animal but not at all belong to the period of life when young persons of different sexes flatter themselves that they are not in love in the ordinary way, but only as brother and sister. LXXV, LXXVI, and LXXVII, unmask the heart of a woman indulging an erring attachment, but apologizing with various disguises that even cheat herself. The last line of XCIII develops the secret of the preceding. The last line of XCVII shows the real blindness of those personages who have acquired the reputation of being oracular women, and who are quoted as authority throughout their coterie.* LXXIII gives a fair shot at religious persecution. The compliment to Moore, in CIV, is merited and handsome. CXXII, CXXIII, and CXXIV, are truly beautiful. In CXCVIII is a specimen of the most happy observation of circumstances in themselves trifling, but contributing, more than any formal description could do, to let us into the real state of the lady's heart and character. CC is a fine burlesque account of the usual 0016 13 parts of an epic poem. In CCV and CCVI is the poet's creed. The line upon Campbell is peculiarly apt. He is delightful as far as he goes, but nothing could better describe a feeling, which we always have when we read him, than the expression, his “Hippocrene is somewhat drouthy.” CCXIII gives us Byron's age, 30 years. He well says, and melancholy is the truth, that he “has squandered his whole summer while 'twas May.” The first canto concludes with a most severe side blow at Southey.

* This class of women are always odious, and deserve fiagellation whenever there is a good opportunity to give it.

The second canto is, if possible, a more original mixture than the first. Extracts ?annot do justice to its versatility of thought, expression, illustration, and imagery. We shall however risk a few.

The satire of masses for the dead is thus detailed.

LV. “All the rest perish'd. Near two hundred souls Had left their bodies; and, what's worse, alas, When over Catholics the o??an rolls, They must wait several weeks before a mass Takes off one peck of purgatorial coals, Because till people know what's come to pass, They won't lay out their money on the dead.— It costs three franks for every mass that's said.”

In CXVIII statuaries are placed in their proper rank. Nature is infinitely better than art. Pieces of stone are miserable specimens of beauty, when compared with living men and living women. Nothing can be expressed with greater felicity than this in CLXXII; “—All, who joy would win, Must share it,—HAPPINESS WAS BORN A TWIN.”

Stanza CCIV is exquisite painting. “—On the lone shore were plighted Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted: Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, By their own feelings hallowed and united; Their priest was SOLITUDE, and they were wed: And they were happy, for to their young eyes Each was an angel, and earth paradise.”

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We find a striking resemblance between the descriptions of a swoon in the two late poems of Byron, Don Juan and Mazeppa. In the XIII stanza of Mazeppa it is thus: “What marvel if this worn out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk? The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round I seem'd to sink upon the ground, But err'd, for I was fastly bound. My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more. The skies spun like a mighty wheel, I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Which saw no further.”

In Don Juan, CX, it is thus: “And as he gaz'd, his dizzy brain spun fast, And down he sunk; and as he sunk, the sand Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd; He fell upon his side,—”

In Mazeppa, XIV, it is, “My thoughts came back? Where was I? Cold, And numb, and giddy, pulse by pulse Life re-assum'd its lingering hold; And throb by throb, till grown a pang Which for a moment would convulse, My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill, My car with uncouth noises rang, My heart began once more to thrill, My sight return'd, though dim, alas, And thicken'd as it were with glass.”

In Don Juan, CXI, it is, “How long in this deep trance young Juan lay He knew not, for the earth was gone for him, And time had nothing more of night or day For his congealing blood, and senses dim: And how this heavy faintness pass'd away, He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb, And tingling vein, seem'd throbbing back to life, For death, though vanquish'd, still retir'd with strife.

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CXII. His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclos'd, For all was doubt and dizziness; methought He still was in the boat, and had but doz'd, And fell again with his despair o'erwrought, And wish'd it death in which he had repos'd; And then once more his feelings back were brought. And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen A lovely female face of seventeen.”

In the same manner Mazeppa recovers from his trance, and sees a beautiful female bending over him.

The following is among the most original and happy efforts of Lord Byron's graphical pen. XCI. “Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea, Resting its bright base on the quivering blue: And all within its arch appear'd to be Clearer than that without, and its wide hue Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free, Then ??ang'd, like to a bow that's bent, and then Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.

XCII. It chang'd of course; a heavenly cameleon, The airy child of vapour and the sun, Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermillion, Baptiz'd in molten gold, and swath'd in dun, Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, And blending every colour, into one.—”

In casting lots, after the shipwreck, to know which of the survivors should be taken to furnish food for the others, Julia's letter to Don Juan is forced from him, and torn up—for this purpose. The lot fell upon Pedrillo, the tutor of Don Juan, and the surgeon took his fee in the privilege of first drinking the blood. These circumstances, when the nature of the poem is considered, are well chosen to carry out the design of the writer. Juan and Pedrillo, however, remind us of Candide and Pangloss, while the satire of Byron often reminds us of the satire of Voltaire.

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Notwithstanding the odious melange, which we find in this shipwreck, parts of it have affected us more than any other description that we have ever read. The following is an instance of genuine pathos.

LXXXVII. “There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, And with them their two sons, of whom the one Was more robust and hardy to the view: But he died early; and when he was gone, His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw One glance on him, and said, “Heaven's will be done, I can do nothing;” and he saw him thrown Into the deep without a tear or groan.

LXXXVIII. The other father had a weaklier child, Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate; But the boy bore up long, and with a mild And patient spirit held aloof his fate; Little he said, and now and then he smil'd, As if to win a part from off the weight He saw increasing on his father's heart, With the deep deadly thought that they must part.

? And o'er him bent his sire, and never rais'd His eyes from off his face, but wip'd the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gaz'd: And when the wish'd for shower at length was come, And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glaz'd, Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam, He squeez'd from out a rag some drops of rain, Into his dying child's mouth—but in vain.

XC. The boy expir'd,—the father held the clay, And look'd upon it long; and when at last Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, He watch'd it wistfully, until away 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast: Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

With this we close our review, simply observing, that much good, or much evil, may be drawn from Don Juan, and will be drawn by readers of different ages and tastes.T.

Art. 2. Mississippian Scenery, a Poem, descriptive of the interior of North American

Art. 2. Mississippian Scenery, a Poem, descriptive of the interior of North America, by Charles Mead. 12 mo, pp. 113. Philadelphia, 1819.

SINCE the days of Homer, perhaps, there has never appeared a poem of equal delicacy, beauty, and sublimity, with the present exhibition of immortal genius. Of course, the question is now fairly set at rest, with respect to the comparative existence of talent in the two hemispheres. A proud and glorious day it was for America, when the Mississippian Scenery rushed from the press, and with the splendour of lightning illuminated the unsung tracts of the lovely west. When we have looked around on the expanding glory of our country, regarded the sound virtue of its population, witnessed the brilliant success of its arms, and listened with respect and delight to the cold prudence of its statesmen, we have thought our prosperity would be inconceivably enviable, and our national destiny marked with the very sweetest smile of heaven, could our country be blessed with a strong, original, and delicate mind, in one of its children, who should shed the melting light of poetry on the columns of her massive grandeur, and add the charm of intellect to those of virtue, energy, and improvement. Such an one is the author of the poem before us,—the minstrel of our national glory, and the architect of our national reputation. We are prepared to entwine the bay and the amaranth for the head of Mr. Mead, the flowers of a brilliant and lasting fame. How enchanting to reflect, that a work has been written by a Philadelphian, which rises, by the etherial buoyancy of genius, at once above the harsh and unmeasured strains of Moore, the refined, abstract, and metaphysical stanzas of Scott, and the spiritless and sickly effusions of Byron! Mr. Mead's poem contains an assemblage of all the beauties, without any of the faults, of these schools. He has scorned to attract the admiration of his countrymen by qualities of the ephemeral nature of those, which sparkle in the poems of slaves, for he is destined, as we have already prophesied, to establish the unique glory of American literature, and to be the first successful candidate for the proud title of the American Poet.

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The American Poet shall be one, (we should say is,) who by the blessing of Heaven shall be endowed with every power and grace of intellect. With a mind matured by the study of all useful and elegant letters, and an immortal instinct which shall redeem the frailties of character and temperament, he shall devote himself with intense ardor to the service of his country. Educated for mankind, and destined for eternity, he shall look on the struggles of party and the divisions of sect, with the indifference of a superior, but merciful being; for he knows that if it be excellent to have a giant's strength, it is tyrannous to use it like a giant. He breathes the air of liberty, conscious that the organs of moral respiration, in the mental slave, cannot endure its tenuity. When he looks around on the cloudless brilliancy of a summer landscape, he reflects, how much more vivid in brightness is the atmosphere of truth—when he regards the dying clouds of the west, that the cheek of innocence is tinged with purer radiance, and were he to listen to the music of his congenial spheres, he would know that the melody of virtuous union is a thousand times sweeter. Thus divinely endowed, he shall not exhibit the mournful spectacle of heartless, soulless genius, the dreadful image of intellect without principle. He shall not waste the ethereal treasure in the purchase of vice and misery, nor suffer the pure spark to grow dim in indolence, or be extinguished by pollution. Finally, with the enthusiasm, but without the delirium of genius, he shall struggle for eternity, and reject with contempt the fleeting reputation, which blooms like the melting roses on the icy walls of the Russian princess. It will soon be seen by our readers that Mr. Mead has every endowment, which we have considered as the property of a grand and original native poet.

It is not our intention to attempt an analysis of the poem, in the pages of a short review; but we have made a collection of a few of its beauties and charms under the following heads.

1. Rhyme. Our poet has justly considered that, however exquisite may be the sentiment, and however true and vivid may be the description of a work, still if they are conveyed in feeble, disjointed, and lame verses, with the recurrence of false quantity, these moral excellencies would lose some of their effect. 0022 19 He has probably thought, that since he has imposed fetters upon himself, it is his duty, as a graceful man, to wear them gracefully,—not to drag one leg after the other, nor lift it spasmodically from the ground like a lame horse; not to hop one step, and slide the next; and above all, to be careful to amuse the spectators, as unfrequently as possible, by measuring his length upon his mother's bosom.

To show then the perfect command which Mr. Mead has of the delicate tools of his trade, we have marked the following passages: “Where wild and huge amphibious monsters prowl, And Bears and Wolves and screaming Panthers stroll.” p. 18. “Columbia's bosom drops its rude attire, And Agriculture seems to triumph there.” p. 19. “The lofty trees which lately crowned the shore, And humbler shrubs have yielded to the fire.” p. 23. “Along the margin of each lucid stream, Groves and savannahs variegate the scene.” p. 27, “Of all that move in ocean, earth, or air, That life proceeds from his creative power.” p. 59. “Columbia's genius sees the tempest lower, And calls her children to the ranks of war.” p. 112.

But there is one excellent rhyme, to which our author is justly partial, which comes over our ear a thousand times sweeter than the sweetest south wind which ever breathed on a bank of violets. “Where fresh from Nature's hand earth's verdure smiles And gives enchantment to the western wilds.” p. 13. “And chains the floods till Spring returning smiles And breathes benignly o'er the western wilds.” p. 15.

This beautiful rhyme occurs pp. 13, 15, 26, 38 twice, 39, 42, 57, 109, and how many times besides we do not know.

We had marked a dozen or two of beauties of this kind in addition to those we have presented to our readers, but, as we think that they will acknowledge that the poet who is competent to 0023 20 produce the union of sounds which we are about to quote, may be considered as having the delicacies of rhyme perfectly in subjection, we shall conclude with this— “When carnage encrimsoned the earth's fairest shores, Depriving the people of breath; And Vultures and Wolves reap the harvest of wars Think not you're alone in distress. The desolate orphans may sigh to the winds That wafted the groans of their sires, Believe that a merciful Heaven designs Some future reward to their prayers.” p. 100.

2. Sublimity. The following instances of the true sublime, the pure hupsous of Longinus himself, are enough to ennoble, by their perusal, the breast of the dullest and least exalted reader. “As o'er the land gigantic mammoths spread, The trees were crushed beneath their ponderous tre?d. Those angry monsters spread around dismay, Drank up the streams and caught the beast of prey, The shuddering tribes With screams of terror flying through the air. But from the clouds the fiery bolts were hurled, Against these tyrants of the western world. High o'er the trees, their heads were seen to rise, To mock the thunder as it shook the skies. The flaming shafts swift darting through the breeze, Glanced from their heads, and smote the rocks and trees, Till swifter bolts from magazines on high, Pierc'd through their sides to make the monsters die. The distant shores and earth's remotest zones, Were then astonished at their bellowing groans.” p. 39.

Example of pure metre, as well as of sublimity. “Upon these plains great Branderkoff appears, Lifts the hot brand and haunts the unlettered sleers. All in his reach must feel exquisite pain, And on their hides his initials retain.” p. 34.

Sublime, but mournful, paraphrase of Sterne; “Slavery, alas! disguise it as you will, Is but a nauseous draught, a bitter pill.” p. 50

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Again: “The boasting nabob here triumphant feels, With hosts of negroes trudging at his heels, But sense and virtue oft unnoticed shine, Like sparkling gems mid herds of grovelling swine.” p. 51.

On a dear friend buried by the Mississippi: “Around his grave luxuriant blossoms rise, Ne'er wet by tears, nor fann'd by generous sighs. But may his spirit mount the etherial car, And gain a place in heaven, the Lord knows where.”

Many other sublime and beautiful ideas might be extracted, as for instance, where the author talks of the British being forced to retire with wounded pride and broken bones: and where he congratulates the western world on being so free from strife, as to contain no bloody noses, &c. &c. &c.

We must however indulge our readers with one other extract, in which the metre of the verse beautifully echoes to the sense “Near where the Ohio rolls forth its fair flood, We stop at request of my mother; But merciless savages, thirsting for blood, Took, tortured, and murdered my brother.”

3. Grammar. We had prepared some beautiful instances of the control, possessed by Mr. Mead over the grammatical concords. The length of this article, however, precludes our admitting them. They consist chiefly in happy expressions, like the following: “Commerce obedient to the oar's control In ponderous loads to distant regions roll.” “Beholds his herds light bounding o'er the land And holds the Cornucopiæ in his hand.” “When ores embosom'd in the earth was brought To melting forges;” &c. “Then round the shores where spring eternal smiles And the Carribean sea incompass isles.”

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Of course we need not add that our author has at perfect command the figures of speech; as for instance, Alliteration. “Remote in a rural romantic retreat, Resolved on retirement and rest.” p. 96.

And an apostrophe to the “Queen of night, dear daughter of the day:”

A new genealogy for her pale majesty.

We must now finish our remarks upon this production of the great genius. We have only to hope, that he will not lock, from America and the world, the communication of the further ideas of beauty, sublimity, and grace, which may arise in his mind. We have fallen on evil days. We must acknowledge that a false school of poetry has arisen, and that society dwells with unjust and unmeasured delight on the contemptible sing-song of such men as Moore and Byron. There was a time when the world regarded with constant fondness the works of the Hills, the Blackmores, the Southeys, and the Wordsworths of poetry. Those days are past, and we now require something like the “Mississippian Scenery” to excite our dearest sensibilities, and awaken our fondest associations. Could we be allowed to propose any course of conduct to our author, it should be, to embody the conceptions of his genius, in a new and splendid monument of poetry; not of the nature of those fragments, tales, &c. which show the superficial and imperfect character of the author's talents, but of a regular, good old-fashioned epic, in twenty-four books. We humbly recommend to his adoption as a subject, a description of the internal world lately invented by captain Symmes, while that intrepid navigator would fill with great eclat the situation of Jason or Ulysses, as the hero. Then, and not till then, may we consider ourselves as free from the further cavils of European jealousy, when the intromundane voyager shall receive the reward of his labours, by the production of a poem from a congenial mind like our author's. Then, if insulted by foreign critics, with the demand to produce our national poet, we can point to the empyrean, where, engraved in radiant characters, shall glow eternally the name of Mister Charles Mead.F.

Art. 3. Inaugural Discourse delivered in the Chapel of the University in Cambridge, December 8, 1819

Art. 3. Inaugural Discourse delivered in the Chapel of the University in Cambridge, December 8th, 1819, by Edward, T. Channing, Boylston Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory. Cambridge, printed by Hilliard and Metcalf, at the University Press. 31 pp, 8vo.

THIS is an excellent oration, and well suited to the occasion? There are several defects in it, which will appear on a critical examination, but they are not important enough to mar the pleasure or the instruction that we have derived from it. Some might complain, that the writer does not state to us, with sufficient clearness and formality, the points which he makes, and the ends which he proposes to accomplish. We do not assent to the justness of this censure, and have not ourselves suffered from this supposed want of a proper annunciation of the method followed by the orator. We are pleased with the natural and easy course, which he has pursued, and should have been less gratified with a numerical division of the topics of his address. He makes himself understood distinctly and forcibly. His style is plain and animated. We do not like some of his colloquial phrases, but still are not offended with them. It would not suit our taste to ask,* “How is it that eloquence has gone behind-hand?” We will not however quarrel with this expression, but will allow its strength, and receive it in the spirit with which it was given. The words “Out of,” with which the discourse commences, are awkward for the want of a more natural connexion with the remainder of the sentence, and especially for the want of some word denoting selection.

* Page 14,

Remarks of this kind might be multiplied, but they are not worthy of our attention, nor that of our readers. We make them thus far because we wish to take the opportunity to say, that the style of Professor Channing, although still marked with a degree of his past mannerism, is much more free from it than we had anticipated. He has appeared to us heretofore to affect too much, in all his articles in the North American Review, a colloquial mode of expression. A degree of this taste is good, and adds vivacity to composition, but an excess of it is very fatiguing and offensive to a chaste reader.

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Professor Channing has called us to the consideration of some important differences between ancient and modern eloquence. He has, we think, rather overstated them in all respects but that, which is connected with the influence of our religion upon our oratory, and in this he has not said enough, nor has he said that little with sufficient emphasis. The pulpit is the peculiar field for modern eloquence. It is in this that we have so remarkable an advantage over the ancients, as well as over all other departments of public speaking at the present day. John Quincy Adams, in his lectures, has done more justice to this subject than Blair, or any other writer whom we have read, and yet Mr. Adams might, with great propriety and utility, have said more about it than he has. Blair has made a great mistake in supposing, that the familiarity of the subjects of pulpit eloquence is an objection to its success. This familiarity is an immense advantage to the sacred orator when he has genius, thought, liberality, and piety. The triteness of the manner, in which most preachers give their sermons, is the real objection to their success, not the triteness of the subjects which belong to the pulpit. The more universally the people are acquianted with religious truths, the greater will be their power to take a deep interest in them, and the greater will be the influence which the divine orator will have over the minds, consciences, and affections of the audience. It is not by novelties that we awaken sensibility, tenderness, and piety: it is not by novelties that we arouse conscience, and make conviction penetrate deep into the core of the heart; it is not by novelties that we urge home to the bosoms of men and women a strong and productive sense of their relations and duties, their transgressions and fears, their wants and their dependence, their sources of misery or sources of happiness. We are able to do incomparably more by eloquence in the pulpit, when we appeal to known principles and duties, known interests and affections, known relations and motives, however familiar they may be, than when we attempt to engage the public mind by doctrines or thoughts which were never suggested before. We are most affected by those recollections which carry us back to the most familiar scenes and interests of our past life. The most universal feelings and motives 0028 25 are of course those, which are most required by all persons and in all situations. The most common wants must of necessity command the most general attention and the deepest interest. That preacher must be very weak, who is not aware of his advantages in the nature and familiarity of his subjects, in the universality and individuality of the wants which he attempts to describe and to supply, in the mutual connexion and dependence of all whom he addresses, in the wonderful source of motives which is opened to him by the immortality of the soul, and in the absorbing regard which christians feel themselves compelled to cherish toward the Deity.

But this train of thought we can pursue no longer. We must return to the consideration of the discourse which is the subject of our present article.

Professor Channing denies, and, we think, with the most undoubted truth, that eloquence fell with the fall of the ancient commonwealths, or that the effects of eloquence now are less than they were formerly, when we consider its remote and permanent influence as well as its immediate impression. He allows, that the immediate impression may have been greater in Greece and Rome than it is now in Europe or America. But then, the immediate impression was all; a new occasion, or a new speech, or new circumstances, would drive entirely out of memory the influence of the old. Now it is otherwise. Our eloquence is more connected with fixed principles and general knowledge, with a radical and permanent policy, and with the habits of action for life. Its influence is more silent, but not the less certain. Its fruits are seen and felt in all the departments of civil and domestic society. The following extract contains the most interesting truths expressed, with one exception, in an admirable manner.

“The true dignity and resources of the art are not lessened; the improved state of society is not unfavourable to passion or imagination, whenever the subject and occasion deserve it and are suited to awaken it. Raise the moral character of a state as high as you please; give all classes a proper regard for the institutions, habits, and opinions that alone can establish their happiness, let the public conduct of men be invariably the 0029 26 result of settled principles, and not of vague, transient impulse, and you will find, indeed, that society is tempered and softened, but not tame and lethargic. The earthquake and whirlwind are stilled, but an active and abundant growth is going on every where. If I were told that the heart and imagination had necessarily grown torpid, while society was becoming more regular and cultivated, that our best powers were sacrificed in order to our well-being, I should ask for the evidence of this much sooner than for the reason. I would even venture to ask how the fact was with regard to eloquence itself. I would take the best and most characteristic specimens of English eloquence, from Jeremy Taylor to Burke, and learn from them if the imagination had perished under the chilling restraints of an improved society. Can you point to productions of ancient eloquence, where this power appears to have had such perfect riot and joy, and to have been so peculiarly the warming and animating principle of the speaker's thoughts? It seems as if the effect of our increased knowledge had been to make men more contemplative and live less upon the public for excitement,—feel the most deeply when alone, and let their imaginations enter into, and warm, and illuminate their most serious thoughts. It is, indeed, true, that the imagination and passions do not predominate in modern eloquence—they are not our turbulent masters. Still we think it a false philosophy which tells us that it can ever be the effect of general improvement to separate them from the judgment. We let them work with the judgment; and they work safely, forming and perfecting the character, enlivening the truth and impressing it deeply, rendering our serious labours agreeable and efficient, making us love what we approve, and act earnestly after we have chosen wisely. We believe that the more perfect we are, the more intense will be our pleasures of taste, the more thoroughly it will pervade and influence our opinions and characters.”

The exception to which we have alluded in this quotation, is the following sentence: “The earthquake and whirlwind are stilled, but an active and abundant growth is going on every where.” The words in italics are a very lame conclusion for a period commencing with the “EARTHQUAKE AND THE WHIRLWIND.” A Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory should not indulge himself in such homely expressions, especially in such a connexion, and should not thus unnecessarily balk the taste and expectation of the reader. The author is so evidently capable of writing well, in any way which he chooses, that he ought not, by any peculiarities of feeling, to spoil or mar the impression 0030 27 which his excellent sense and original illustrations can hardly fail to produce.

The close of the oration is worthy of the high tone of moral feeling, and of the elevated sentiments, by which the other productions of the author are marked, and which adorn the minds of the circle in which he moves.

“As another argument that the art has lost none of its dignity or honourable motives, and no worthy means of gaining a strong and wholesome influence over men,—I would mention the importance of character to all successful eloquence. It is his virtues, his consistency, his unquestioned sincerity that must get the orator attention and confidence now. He must not rely too much upon the zeal or even the soundness with which he treats a question under immediate discussion. His hearers must believe that his life is steadily influenced by the sentiments he is trying to impress on them—that he is willing to abide by principle at any hazard, and give his opinions and professions the full authority of his actions. There are, indeed, accidents and artifices that may secure present success to the worst men—but it is the general effect of our improved society to give an influence to purity, firmness, and stability, on which every public speaker may rely for lasting consideration and weight. It would not be going too far to say, that it is not in all the graces of address, nor sweetness and variety of tones, nor beauty of illustration, in all the outward and artificial accomplishments of the orator, to equal or even approach the power conferred by a good character. Its still eloquence is felt in the commonest transactions of life. But it is in the administration of justice, in public deliberations upon the endangered interests of our country, and in the services that are to form us for this world and for heaven—that we feel its majesty and purity in all their power, and receive strength from its presence. No festival eloquence will do then, no vain mockery of art, no treacherous allurements from a close and sober inspection of the truths upon which we are to act. We want then the orator who feels and acts with us—in whom we can confide even better than in ourselves, who is filled with our cause and looks at it with solemnity and wisdom. We want then the orator who is unmoved by the reproaches or threats that alarm us, who walks over the injurious as over the dust, unconscious even that he tramples on them, who fears nothing on earth but a bad action, and regards no considerations but those of good principle.—You need not fill your imaginations with glorious forms of ideal perfection in the art;—only ask yourselves what must be the power of an orator, who is perfectly fitted for an age like this; of one thoroughly prepared to do all that eloquence can do among the enlightened and free, with subjects 0031 28 to kindle and sustain him, and an audience who can feel his character his enthusiasm and wisdom. I would set no bounds to his power;—it is only for truth and freedom and justice to do it.”

We have said, that the difference, which is pointed out between the ancient and modern orator, is overstated. When it is affirmed of the ancient orator, that “it was not for him to read and reflect, and thus instruct himself beforehand in the questions he may be called to consider,” we cannot avoid thinking of the universal learning, the exact and wonderful discipline, and the immense preparations of Cicero.

The ancient orator (p, 8,) could “instruct” the judges. How often is this the fact now!

The account (p, 8,) of the “selfish interests, the antipathies and friendships, the honorable or unworthy feelings, of those who were sitting in judgement upon individual rights,” does not well accord with the purity of theGræcian Arcopagus, when one of the sages on the bench was expelled from his seat for strangling a bird that took refuge in his bosom.

We have indeed no exclusive “Schools of Rhetoric” at the present day, but our colleges, universities, pulpits, and the free governments of the United States, are answering the same purposes with signal success.

“The power of individuals is lessened.” (p, 17.) There is much truth in this, although the power of individuals in ancient times is too much magnified for the sake of antithesis.

“A great man is perpetually taught now that the world can do without him.” (p, 18.) This was always the fact, and it will always be a glorious truth and an effectual consolation. Society will always move on tolerably well, notwithstanding the fears and phantoms which haunt the imaginations of croakers.

The orator “can no longer be a despot, either to save freedom or to destroy it. He is not the important personage he once was. He is fortunately less able to harm, and less needed to do good.” (p, 19.) Here are both vivacity and truth, both piquancy and philosophy, and yet orators have nearly the same power in every age, and always must have it from the very nature of man.

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We are, however, not gratified with this course of criticism upon single sentences, and are perfectly aware that any writer may be picked at in this manner. We are very highly pleased with the oration as a whole, and think it honorable to the Professor, and to the University. It is a fairer account of the state of the art in that vicinity than in most other parts of our country. It is adapted to the meridian under which it appears.

MISCELLANY.

INDIAN ANTIQUITIES.

LETTER VI.

TO THE EDITOR.

Sir—Towards the close of my last letter I designated certain races of the Hindoo family which were separated into various sects, and eventually formed distinct nations. The general characteristics of their religion were similar, though, like the modern people of Christendom, they essentially disagreed in certain comparatively minute particulars. I mentioned also that our aborigines most probably separated from this common stock at a time when their religious disputes were at their height, and that they must have adopted certain tenets which belonged to each separate division, and which, though not common to the whole race, suited their own individual ideas and views.

The Gothic and Celtic nations, whose priesthood, the druids, sacrificed human victims to an equal extent with the nations of Anahuac, moved from that district of country, in which the Hindoo family were first settled before their dispersion. They travelled towards the north of Europe, by a gradual and slow progress, through the southern parts of the present Russian 0033 30 Empire, and have left numerous tumuli and other monuments, which correspond in many respects with those of America.

I have in my possession a small idol found in a tumulus near Nashville, which bears a striking resemblance to some discovered by Professor Pallas in tumuli situated between the Donetz and Dnieper rivers in southern Russia. The American idol is only two inches in length, being a naked half length figure extending to the hips. The contour of the head is not perfect, being too much flattened at the back, and projecting at the lower extremity of the face when viewed in profile: the eyes and mouth are also made by a simple longitudinal depression of the clay, which however in so small a figure is sufficiently characteristic. More attention seems to have been paid to minute particulars. The nose is large, and arched or eagle formed: the dress of the hair has been very nicely delineated, and displays, in coincidence with the general figure, a strong resemblance to the idols mentioned by Pallas The Nashville idol, like those of the Dnieper, has no arms, the clay being rounded at the shoulders. The shape of the body is natural. The head * dress or mode of forming the hair is however, as before mentioned, the point of strongest coincidence and ought to be more particularly noticed, as forming one of the characteristic marks by which they designated their various deities. The hair or wig of the American image is made perfectly smooth, and extends along the forehead and temples below the ears, which are thereby hid. In the centre of the forehead is a small square dependage. The hair extends one third of the way down the right side of the head, and is formed into a round knot, the parts adjacent being depressed so as to shew the apparent gathering up of the same. The back of the head shews this knot or tuft, and also a division of the hair from the centre of the head down to the level of the top of the ears, extending thence at right angles to the temple. The hair on the other side is in natural shape and formed beneath the division into a large cue terminating below the shoulders. Those gentlemen, who have the opportunity and will take the trouble of referring to Vignette No. 11 in the second volume of Professor Pallas's travels in the southern part of Russia, will be struck with the general 0034 31 resemblance between these Asiatic and American idols. Such coincidences may possibly be accidental, but when we consider the form of dress and manner in which all the ancient nations invariably represented their divinities, I am inclined to think the design of this American idol ought to be traced to an Asiatic origin, and must be deemed a confirmation of my belief that the original settlers of this country obtained their mythological ideas from the common parent of the Hindoo, Persian, Egyptian, and Gothic nations.

I have received accounts of various other idols, vessels, &c. from different parts of the western country, but having had no opportunity of seeing them I shall not attempt a description, as repeated experience confirms the certainty of the fact that no dependence can be placed on information obtained from persons who at the time of viewing the object had no thought of impressing it on their memories and no idea of giving a future accurate detail. In proof of this position I shall mention an eager search which I made last summer after certain shoes or moccasons, which were asserted, on what might be considered indubitable authority, to have been found in a petrified state. I at length procured one of these supposed moccasons, and found it to be a hollow clay foot of an idol which had been broken off at the ankle. It is composed of the second species of pottery described in my last letter and shews that the garment extended down to the top of the foot in conformity with many of the Mexican images. I have not been able to visit the spot where this as well as several other feet are said to have been discovered. As it is in the neighbourhood of Versailles I am in hopes to see the place next summer, and expect that much additional information may be obtained, on which account I defer further remarks.

I have a bowl which holds about a quart, neatly turned in the shape of a common iron pot without feet, it is made of the usual kind of clay mingled with carbon of lime, and has evidently been much used for culinary purposes. It has an ornamental rim without any remarkable design, and was found near a skeleton in one of the salt-petre caves of this country; the bowl was partly filled with a substance supposed to be the decomposed 0035 32 remains of some species of food. The circumstance of finding some few skeletons and mummies in our nitrous caves does not in any way lessen the affinity between the original settlers of this country and the nations of Anahuac. On the contrary like most exceptions to a general rule it more strongly proves the principle established. Many of these mummies have been found wrapped in garments made with feathers, a dress which even in the warm climate of Mexico those people were proud of wearing. Indeed it seems to have been a general custom among the inhabitants of most of the islands of the Pacific Ocean, although the warmth of the garment must have rendered it oppressive. We also find that the Mexicans sometimes buried in caves. Clavigero mentions that the sister of Montezuma, the Princess of Papantzin, was buried in a subterraneous cavern.*

There are but few of the ancient clay pipes which are at all remarkable, nor can I at present mention any thing else made of the pottery of our Aborigines, except a clay rattle formed into the shape of a parrot or cockatoo's head, hollow within, and having a few loose balls of clay which produce the sound. This rattle was found in the large cemetery at Augusta, Kentucky.

* Clavigero, vol. 1, book 5. I do not cite the above with any reference to the rest of Clavigero's Tale which is an idle monkish story

I formerly mentioned that our original inhabitants were acquainted with the working of metals. Instruments of Silver, Copper, and Iron have been found in various Tumuli in the western country. The last metal is however peculiarly liable to corrode, a small number of years being sufficient to destroy it if the soil is impregnated with any mineral acids. This may be the reason why we so generally presume that many of the ancient semi-barbarous nations were unacquainted with the use of Iron and have rated their degree of civilization in some measure by the knowledge they are supposed to have possessed of this most useful of all metals. The Spanish writers generally believed that the Mexicans were ignorant of the use of iron. It is certainly evident that they did not possess it in any abundance, but they surely could not have carved the hardest pieces of granitic and flint rocks, as also obsidium, without steel. No admixture of 0036 33 ? tin and copper would make an instrument sufficiently hard for this purpose, and we have the most positive proof that our Aborigines, the ancestors of these nations, were acquainted with iron. I am in possession of two Iron Bracelets, four of which were found on the left arm of a female skeleton in the large cemetery at Augusta. They are formed with a loop at one extremity, and extend in an oval shape to a knob at the other end, which hitched into the loop. The elongated central part of the oval is the thickest, from which it gradually tapers towards the clasp. These bracelets are much corroded, and the loops destroyed, but even their present state of preservation can only be accounted for by the fortunate circumstance that the alluvial soil of the burial ground was free from mineral acids. I was informed by Mr. Rutledge, formerly of South Carolina, as well as by the ladies of his highly respectable and literary family, that they had some very ancient ivory bracelets from Hindostan, which exactly resemble, in shape, the iron ones in my possession. It is a well known fact, that the dress and ornaments of the Asiatic nations have continued unchanged from the earliest periods of history.

The Mexicans excelled in the art of working the hardest granite and flint stones; our Aborigines have also left various relics which indicate a great proficiency in that difficult manufacture. Some of their arrow and spear heads are brought to such long and fine points, and are so perfectly regular that it is difficult to conceive the manner in which they were executed. I have heard of a fish spear with six or seven long prongs perfectly separated, barbed and carved out of a solid piece of white chalcidonic flint. Some of their axes are made from a species of green stone, which equals in hardness the granites of Egypt; they are handsomely shaped and well polished; many of their pipes also display great taste in the execution, and although not generally of the very hardest kind of stone, yet they must have found much difficulty in forming them. I obtained a beautiful pipe discovered about six feet under ground in diging a trench on the Sandusky river. It is much superior in neatness and elegance of carving to any thing of the kind which I have ever seen. The rim of the bowl is in high relief and the front 0037 34 represents a very handsome female face. The stone from which it was formed is however the most remarkable circumstance, being the real Talc Graphique and exactly resembling that from which the Chinese make their Bonze Idols. No stone of this description has yet been found in North America.* This pipe was shewn to an Indian chief, who, upon being questioned concerning it, immediately replied that the head represented a famous Queen, the first foundress of their tribe, and that their ancestors possessed the art of hardening Sturgeon's nose, out of which it was carved—As there is some resemblance in the appearance of this Talc to Sturgeon's nose, it displayed on the part of the chief an ingenious and ready invention, in which, indeed, few of our present Indians are deficient. There are numerous other utensils and ornaments formed out of stone by our Aborigines, such as implements for dressing skins, mullers to grind paint, chissels for peeling bark, war clubs, round balls for a game which may have been similar to long bullets, and also a sort of disk or small wheel, which was probably used in some species of play like nine pins. It is a flat circular stone, made thin in the central parts of the sides to an extent of two thirds of its diameter, by scooping out the stone to a certain depth in a circular form, the outer circumference of the wheel is perfectly level, and the whole well polished. It admits of being bowled on a smooth ground with great facility. But one of the most common relics is an instrument generally supposed to be intended for the purpose of grinding corn; it is a kind of conical stone, of a size to be readily grasped in the hand; the base is flat, broad, and rough. These implements could not have been used in mortars, as the margins are not rounded, nor could they have been applied to the purpose of grinding, as their flat bases are rough, and were consequently never subject to friction. From this peculiar circumstance and having heard that certain obtuse conical stones of a very hard texture were discovered with carvings upon them, I have though, without seeing any relics of the latter description, been induced to suppose that the former may have been intended 0038 35 for ancient Asiatic Linghams. They agree in shape with the oldest form used by the Hindoo votaries of that beastly worship, but as no other evidence exists of the fact, I do not feel inclined to make an absolute charge upon grounds so liable to be doubted.

* It has been said that Tale Graphique is discovered in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, but it differs from that of the pipe, and our Aborigines appear not to have had any intercourse with or knowledge of that distant section of our country.

The usual ornaments for the neck found in our Tumuli and Cemeteries, are strings of beads made from bones, generally rounded in a rough manner, and intermixed with small shells of the voluta or oliva kind. I have a few small beads obtained from the burying ground at Augusta, which appear to be formed out of cyanite they are of a light blue colour, drilled and polished. I have not analized them, and may, therefore, be mistaken with respect to the species of mineral to which they belong. They are, however, much harder than glass, and the operation of drilling the beads must have been very tedious, without the use of steel instruments.

The salt-petre caves of the Western Country, possess antiseptic qualities equal to the embalming spices and bitumens of Egypt. We find in them vegetable substances perfectly sound, which must have been preserved for ages. I have in my possession part of a skeleton of the Megatherium, a gigantic animal of the sloth kind, no longer existing, and which, in all probability, only lived at that remote era when the Mammoth and Mastedca ranged the forests of the earth. This skeleton was found in Big Bone Cave, White county, Tennessee, and still retains some small parts of the muscular flesh adhering to the bones, I mention this circumstance, in order to account for the preservation in our salt-petre caves of human mummies and their various garments, during a period of time at least equal to the oldest dates of the Mexican Chronology, which commenced prior to their emigration from the northern parts of Western America. Fragments of fishing nets with large meshes, and mocasons made from a species of rattle, have been found in those caves under immensely large rocks of many tons weight: The present arches of these caves are smooth, which indicates great antiquity. Such changes, since the period of their being inhabited, could not in all probability have taken place under a lapse of many centuries. The mummies have generally been found 0039 36 enveloped in a coarse species of linen, of about the consistency and texture of cotton baging. It has evidently been wove by the same kind of process which is ascertained to be still practiced in some of the interior parts of Africa. The warp being extended by some slight machinery, they passed the woof across the same and then twisted every two threads of the warp together before the second passage of the filling. This, I presume, was the first rude method of weaving in Asia, as well as in Africa. The Hindoos, as well as the Egyptians, must have made many improvements before those countries became celebrated for “trading in fine linen.” The second envelope of some of our mummies is a kind of net work of coarse threads, formed of very small loose meshes, in which were fixed the feathers of various birds, so as to make a completely smooth surface, lying in one direction. The art of this tedious though beautiful manufacture, seems to have been common in Mexico, and still exists on the north western coast of America, as also in most of the islands of the Pacific Ocean. It is still used as a state dress among the inhabitants of the Society, Friendly, and Sandwich Archipelagoes, as also among all the scattered tribes of the same Asiatic race, who inhabit the other distant islands of the Pacific Ocean, and evinces that, in all probability, the first invention took place in colder latitudes. The third and outer envelope of the mummies, is either the same kind of cloth as first mentioned, or the skin of deer or some other animal sewed together. The comparatively small number of human bodies buried in our salt-petre caves shews, that it was not a very general custom to inter their dead in this manner. Neither could it have been usual for our Aborigines to have inhabited these caves, though in one or more instances, such as in the Mammoth Cave on Green river, it is evident that people must have lived there. The remains of fishing nets and mocasons as before mentioned, the finding of muscle-shells, and parts of gourds, the discovery of fire hearths, and of certain chambers, rendered smooth and even by the pounding of charcoal and ashes with the earth, prove that a race of Troglodytes once existed in this country as well as in the neighbourhood of the Nile.

ON POETRY.

POETRY may properly be denominated the Ars artium omnium, or that art, of whose assistance every other art and profession have greatly availed themselves. It is an art venerable for its antiquity, delightful in itself, congenial to humanity, and calculated to adorn nature by the most agreeable representation of her beauties. The ignorant and the learned, the idle and the studious, have ever admired it; and the voice of poetry has frequently excited the latent fire of patriotism, and roused all the energies of the human heart. The Poet differs from the Philosopher only in the means by which he pursues the same end. Utility is his ultimate object, while pleasure is the means by which that end may be effectually obtained. The one conducts us to virtue and truth by the nearest and most direct course: the other ushers us into the wide and flowery field of imagination, and leads us at last, by a winding but more interesting path, to the same point. The philosopher appears in the character of a preceptor, and sustains his instructions, if he teach accurately, with subtility and perspicui?y, while the poet, disdaining the cold calculations of the moralist, engages our hearts, and even sways our judgments by the splendour, harmony, and elegance with which he clothes his thoughts. The one makes his appeal to reason, disregarding the passions; the other, while he addresses the understanding, does it in such a manner as to engage all the affections of the heart on his side. The former so describes and explains virtue and truth, that, our judgments being convinced, we must necessarily become acquainted with them: while the latter so dresses and adorns them, that they irresistibly challenge admirers and force us to love and embrace them. Plato declares that education, so far as respects the mind, consists in harmony; and Socrates, as we read in Plato, was frequently admonished in dreams to apply himself to music, of which he considered poetry as the foundation and principal department. So great was the estimation attached to the characters of the poets, that the tyrants of Athens banished them from the state lest they should excite opposition to their government. The writings 0041 38 of the poet are therefore more useful than those of the philosopher, inasmuch they are more agreeable. How readily did the learned Romans, who had embraced the doctrine of Epicurus, neglect the writings of Catius, Amafanius, and even the commentaries of Epicurus himself, when the admirable poem of Lucretius appeared! The most tasteless despised the coldness of the prosaic writers, when they had the same precepts “tinctured with the honey of the muses.” The agriculturist perceived new beauties in every flower, when described by Virgil in his inimitable Georgic, “in thoughts that breathe and words that burn,” while the learned Varro, the elder Cato, and Columbela, whose works are looked upon as specimens of the elegant in prose composition, fell into disrepute. But we sometimes attach the name, poetry, to that which is low and inelegant, and thus pervert our taste and give credit to compositions destitute of harmony, of grace, and of all that conduces to allure and delight. It is impossible to derive advantage or improvement from an author, unless he has solidity of matter, and even that is hardly sufficient, unless he also excels in the harmony of his numbers. The design of the poet is to embellish his precepts with a certain inviting sweetness, and thus to conciliate favour to his doctrines: “As the sick infant's taste disguis'd to meet Physicians tinge the vessel's brim with juices sweet. The bitter draught his willing lip receives, He drinks deceived, and so deceived he lives.”

The principal kinds of poetry are the heroic, the dramatic, the lyric, and the elegiac. We have mentioned the heroic first as the preference is generally assigned to it; although Aristotle declares the dramatic to be superior, because of its true and perfect imitation of nature. But, admitting this, we shall clearly see the superiority of poetry over philosophy on the principle of its being more agreeable. The real purpose of heroic poetry is to display as in a picture the actions, the manners, the pursuits, and the passions of men, and by the variety of imagery, the force of fancy, and the delightful sound of numbers, to captivate the affections of the reader, and lead him on imperceptibly to the pursuit of virtue. It dissembles its intention of instructing, 0042 39 exhibits only the gay outside of pleasure, and, while it gives severe rules for the practice of morality and the performance of all the offices of life, yet, having laid aside the stern aspect and the forbidding appearance of the preceptor, it adduces at once all the decorations of elegance and all the attractions of amusement. Such is the object, such is the real purpose, of heroic poetry; such is the noble effect produced by the perusal of the immortal Iliad. Who is so callous or so thoughtless as not to feel inexpressible pleasure in that most delightful employment? Who is not excited, moved, astonished, enraptured, at the surprising flights of its author's sublime genius? His heroes seem to stand before us as large as life, and no one is so inanimate as not to see, not to feel imprinted upon his heart his most excellent maxims concerning human life and manners. In poetry we behold virtue a real form; we hear her powerful and energetic voice; and she not only exhibits examples, but fixes them on the mind. She teaches with that peculiar ardour, which softens the judgment, renders it pliant, and verifies the commendation of Horace, “What's fair, and false, and right, these BARDS describe Better and plainer the tribe,” while to the mind, which has not been drilled from early life, philosophy presents a few cold precepts, and history some dull and spiritless examples, which make no impression and whose remembrance is gone as soon as the book is closed, in which they are written. When we turn from the schools of philosophy to the representations of Homer, we are freed from the dry detail of parts and definitions, and the examples presented to us are so perfectly and so accurately delineated that we feel ourselves transported from a rough and thorny way, circumscribed on every side, to large and flowery fields. The tragic muse presents the same superiority, or rather she is Philosophy herself, decorated and embellished with all the charms of genius, all the force of metaphor, yet still retaining all her natural properties, and remitting nothing of her native dignity. The foundation of the poetic art must be laid in true philosophy, and no one can arrive at the summit of poetic fame, who neglects her precepts; who, in his delineations, does not follow 0043 40 the simple rules of nature. The tragic writers of Greece have adorned every point of moral discipline, treated upon every duty of life, every principle of political economy, every motive for the government of the passions, and have given the most lovely commendation of virtue. The morals of the Grecian poets will ever be admired, and Æschylus will be read with interest and attention, when innumerable Pythagorean writers will be forgotten. The empire of philosophy has been greatly enlarged by the allurements of poetry, and Euripides, the disciple of Socrates and Anaxagoras, known among his friends by the title of the dramatic philosopher, tended, by the poetic fire in which his aphorisms were given, to gain many followers to the doctrine and discipline of his masters. The subjects of poetry are infinite and universal, and if it should be said, that since the force of imitation and of fable is so great the force of truth mnst be still greater, I affirm that this cannot be the case. The bare recital of facts is confined within too narrow limits, is subject to laws peculiar to itself, and too severe to admit of general application. History must exhibit what has happened, not what might or ought to have happened: while poetry is permitted to deviate, in quest of reasonable instruction, or plausible theory, and range uncontrolled over the wide expanse of nature. She investigates causes through the uncertain medium of conjecture, catches the casual glimpses of truth whenever they break forth to view, and forms a subject subordinate to her precepts and design. But history must demonstrate her instructions with clearness and certainty, contemplate the unclouded appearance of truth, and make her precepts subservient to her subject. For this reason Aristotle and Lord Bacon suppose poetry to be of a more serious and philosophical nature than history, “since the sensible world is in dignity inferior to the rational soul, and poetry seems to endow human nature with that which lies beyond the reach of history, and to gratify the mind with at least the shadow of things, where the substance cannot be had.” The origin of poetical language is to be traced to the vehement affections of the mind. But although its rude commencement was derived from nature, yet in time it was applied to the purpose of utility and delight arising 0044 41 6 from the passions of the human heart, and clothed in the ravishing charms of melodious sounds, on account of the exact and vivid delineations of the objects which it described, it was soon found to be better adapted to every internal emotion and to make a more powerful impression upon the mind than abstract reasoning. On this account, when tyrannny began to triumph in Greece, the Odes of Alcæus conduced to cherish and support that dignity of sentiment, that vigour of soul, that generous temper and spirit, which are both the offspring and guardian of liberty. It is this kind of poetry, though in some respects inferior to what are termed the higher species, that is calculated to rouse the feelings, impart vigour and ardour to the heart, amaze, and as it were storm the affections. Different kinds of poetry have however different modes of acting on the human feelings, and every species has one peculiar to itself. Though the epic may not be so instantaneous in its effects as the pindaric, yet it probably accomplishes its design with greater certainty, since it does it with more leisure, with more consideration and care. The epic more frequently addresses the judgment, and through this medium easily works upon the fancy and the imagination. “It presents a varied and delightful scene to the reader, now rising to a high degree of sublimity and now subsiding to its accustomed, smooth and h?rmonious strains.” The one may be compared to a flame, at first small and gentle, but which, fanned by the western breezes, gradually spreads itself on all sides and involves every surrounding object in confusion and ruin; and the other to the lightning of heaven, which “With instant ruin threats great nature's frame.”

Imagine to yourself the Scottish bard wandering among his hills “white with the hoar of age,” celebrating the praises of his ancestors, in a manner so glorious, so divine, and behold each “Highland Son,” glowing with a desire of fame, with the most fervid emulation of virtue, with a patriotism, immoderate perhaps, but honourable and useful in the highest degree. Hear a Kirkpatrick exclaim, “I will secure him,” and behold a Wallace undismayed before gigantic power, and then suppose all this to be effected by the “magic of music,” and you will have a faint idea of the amazing power of lyric poetry in directing 0045 42 the passions, in forming the manners, in maintaining civil life, and particularly in exciting and cherishing that generous elevation of sentiment, on which the very existence of public virtue seems to depend. America is said to have had among her aborigines no native bards, and, if this be true, a curious enquiry arises, what can be the cause of this seeming want of intellect. It is in the infancy of language, that the ‘furor divinus’ is most conspicuous. The native energy of the soul, and the passions unrestrained by the rules of civilized life, then burn with the greatest fervour and dictate those noble and moving expressions which constitute the chief excellence of poetry. With respect to the fact of there being no poets among the aborigines of this country, our knowledge respecting them is so circumscribed that it is impossible to arrive at any certain conclusions. The manner in which the continent was first settled and the character of its settlers, were not congenial to investigations concerning the degree of improvement existing among the inhabitants, and, to our shame be it said, the Indian character is too little understood even at the present day. A strict investigation of the language, manners, and customs of the aborigines might lead to very important discoveries on the long disputed question, “whence was America originally peopled?” But if there were ancient bards who sang in a country of all countries perhaps best calculated to “fan the fire of the muses” on account of its “cloud capt hills,” its mountains “whose venerable heads are crowned with eternal snow,” and its deep, broad, and majestic rivers “rolling in awful grandeur towards old ocean,” its present inhabitants have lost the poetic fire, and although in most other respects we occupy the loftiest niche in the temple of fame, yet the American poet has but just entered the threshold. This surely cannot be owing to want of genius. It arises from the habits and employments of the people; and until our country becomes more thickly settled, and leisure is thereby given to cultlvate the muses, we can hardly expect to find among us many successful rivals of the poets of the old world.*

* Since we have made these few observations on the poetic art, we take the liberty to request from some of the contributors to this Magazine a translation into English heroic verse of that beautiful passage of Virgil from the 173d to the 180th line of the fourth Æncid.

SEVERE ENCOUNTER WITH A WILD CAT.

IN June 1783, one morning about sunrise, Mr. John M'Kinney, then an instructor of youth, was sitting in his school house in the town of Lexington, when a wild cat of uncommon size made its appearance at the door, and, without seeming to notice him, suddenly leaped into the room, snapping its jaws and foaming at the mouth On observing it, his first thought was, what fine sport it might afford him, if he had a good dog and the door closed. But, to his great surprise, on casting its eyes round and seeing him, instead of precipitately retrea?ing as he had expected, it advanced towards him in a menacing manner. He instantly reached forward to a table near him and attempted to grasp a ruler, but, before he had obtained it, the animal was upon him and seized him by the teeth on the collar bone near his throat. With some difficulty, by striking at it upwards under his jacket, he relieved himself from this grasp, but the enraged animal instantly caught him by the right side, and, with its long crooked tusks, pierced through his clothes and penetrated between his ribs, where it held him so fast that he found it impossible to extricate himself. At the same time its sharp claws were employed with astonishing rapidity in cutting off his clothes and tearing the flesh from his side. From its situation he was unable to strike it with any considerable force, but in the effort only wounded his own hand against the table. Finding he could do nothing in that way, he seized the animal with both arms, brought its hinder part between his thighs, and pressed it with all his force against the table. It struggled violently, and, fearing it might escape from his grasp and again attack him with its claws, he now for the first time made an exclamation, in the hope that some one might come to his relief. The ladies, who were engaged near the place, milking their cows, were most of them alarmed at the cry, and ran precipitately into the fort exclaiming that something was killing Mr. M'Kinney in the school house. Three of them, however, Mrs. Masterson, Mrs Collins, and Miss Thompson, being less timid than the rest, ran towards the house, and, after some deliberation among themselves as to who should venture to look in first, 0047 44 entered the door. Mr. M'Kinney, perceiving they were females, and knowing Mrs. Masterson to be in a peculiarly delicate state of health, was fearful of alarming them, and notwithstanding his own dreadful situation assumed an air of composure, and with a smile observed—“don't be alarmed, it is only a cat I have caught, and I want some person to assist me in killing it.” He was thus careful not to inform them, as he might have done with far greater correctness, that the cat had caught him! The ladies then boldly advanced towards him, and one of them stooping down and observing the size of the animal, exclaimed, what a monster!—ran to the door and called a gentleman who happened to be passing by. He came in, and proposed cutting off the claws of the cat, but Mr. M'Kinney, perceiving it to lie perfectly still, concluded he had killed it, which, on rising, he found to be the fact. They then endeavoured to draw out the animal's teeth from Mr. M'Kinney's side, but finding them so hooked in between his ribs that they could not extricate them, the whole party left the school house, and advanced towards the fort, where, by this time, a great alarm was excited, and whence the people were rushing in crowds. After reaching the fort, new efforts were made to relieve Mr. M'Kinney from the tusks of the cat, which were at length rendered successful by placing its head in the same position as when it made the attack.

Notwithstanding his wounds, Mr. M'Kinney attended his school that morning, but at noon found himself so exhausted and his pain so extreme, that he was compelled to dismiss his scholars and resort to his bed. By proper applications however he was soon relieved; his wounds healed rapidly, and his usual health was speedily restored. He is now living in Bourbon county, and furnished us himself with the above interesting particulars.

INDIAN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

The following account of the manners and customs prevalent among the North Western Indians is taken from a manuscript of Mr. William Wells, who was himself long among them, and who obtained from personal observation a knowledge of most of the facts he communicates. Our readers will probably derive from it much entertainment and perhaps some useful information.

The Miami Nation is composed of the oldest inhabitants of this country. Whence they emigrated is not known. The Eel River tribe, the Weas, Piankishaws and Kaskaskias, are branches or tribes of the Miami nation, and all speak one language. The Delawares emigrated to this country from the east and are called by the other Indians Elinohbah, or people from the sun rise. The Shawanees came from the west or from Florida. The Wyandots, Chippewas, Ottowas, Pottowatamies, and Kickapoos emigrated from the north and north west. The Winnebagoes and Melomanees, who inhabit the west side of Lake Michigan, emigrated from the west, the Sacks, Foxes, Jawwees, Emassalees, and Nawtowessees also from the north west.

Though there is a great difference in the languages of these Indians, there is but little difference in their customs and manners. They are warm friends and determined enemies: they will go great lengths to serve their friends, and equally far to punish their enemies. The men are trained to hunting and war, whilst all the menial work is left for the women.

Each nation is divided into villages, and each village has one or more chiefs according to its size, who keep their servants in order by persuasion, as arbitrary power is never used except in cases of murder. There are but few chiefs, whose influence extends farther than among the people of their respective villages.

The bodies of the children, both male and female, are early inured to hardships by their being compelled to fast and to bathe their bodies every day in cold water. The time a child must fast is regulated by its age. Thus a child of eight years old will fast half a day and one of twelve or more will go without food and drink all day. The child, while it is fasting, has its face blacked 0049 46 and is made to wash before eating. The face of the male is blacked all over; that of the female on the cheeks only. The male quits this practice at the age of eighteen years, and the female at the age of fourteen. When the boy arrives at the age of eighteen, it is said by his parents that his education is complete and that he is old enough to be a man. His face is then blacked for the last time; he is taken a mile or two from any house, where he has a small hut built for him out of bushes or weeds. After this he is addressed by his father or guardian in the following words: “My son, it has pleased all the great spirits that dwell above the skies and those that dwell on the earth that you should live to see this day: they have all seen your conduct since I first blacked your face: they know whether you have at all times strictly adhered to the advice I have given you; and I hope they will reward you accordingly. You must remain here until myself or some other friend shall come for you.” The man then returns home, takes his gun, and goes hunting while his son is left five or six, and sometimes eight, days without any thing to eat or drink. When the father has procured meat for a feast, he invites some of his neighbours to come and partake of what he has: they accompany him to where his son has been for days: the boy is then taken home and bathed in cold water, his head shaved all over except a small part on the top. Food is then given him which had been prepared in a separate vessel for that purpose. After he has done eating, a looking glass and a bag of vermillion or paint are given him. He is then told by the company that he is a man and he is ever afterwards considered as such by the people of the village. Immediately after an Indian boy's face is blacked, which is at day break, he takes his bow and goes to the woods, and does not return until the usual time for him to wash his face and ?ot something to eat.

I have frequently accompanied Indian boys when their faces were blacked and I never knew a single instance of their eating or drinking while they were in that situation or without the knowledge of their parents. Their minds are operated on by ? they are made to believe that if they should eat or drink with their faces blacked it would be followed by immediate 0050 47 punishment from the great spirits who watch strictly over their actions.

Polygamy is permitted among the Indians. A man may have as many wives as he pleases, and young men are instructed by their parents to get as many as they can, but by no means to involve themselves or friends in any quarrels with their neighbours. The marriage ceremonies observed among the Indians are of three different sorts. 1st. When the parties can agree, no farther ceremony is necessary 2nd, when a young man is fond of a young woman, and she will not consent to have him unless he first obtains the consent of her parents, which must be attempted by a present suited to the character and condition of the girl. If the present is received the marriage is completed; if it is returned, it is understood that they will not consent to the match. But the third mode is considered the most honorable, and most binding upon the parties concerned. When an Indian has a son whom he wishes to see married to some good woman, he assembles his friends and relations and advises with them what woman his son shall marry. When a choice is made,the relations of the young man collect what presents they think sufficient for the occasion, go to the parents of the intended bride, make their wishes known, leave the articles they take with them, and return without waiting for an answer.

The relations of the girl then assemble and consult on the subject, and, if they agree to the match, they collect suitable presents, dress the girl in her best clothes, and take her to those who made application for the match, when it is considered that the marriage is completed. If on the contrary she or her friends disapprove the match, the presents from the friends of the young man are returned, which is considered as a refusal.

When an Indian wishes to go to war, he informs one or two of his most intimate friends of his intention, and asks them if they will go with him. The party is then made up by their informing as many as they wish. Their intentions are kept a secret from all others, as the man who is to command wishes to have those only who will at all times cheerfully obey his orders. The party always leaves the villages in the night secretly. When 0051 48 they encamp the captain places the oldest in front and the youngest in the rear. The former do all the hunting for the party and keep a strict watch for the enemy: the latter cook, make fires, and mend the moccasons of the party.

Every war party has a small budget called the war budget,which contains something belonging to each of the party,and representing some animal, as for example a snake's skin, a buffalo's tail, a wolf's head, a mink's skin, or the feathers of some extraordinary bird. This budget is considered sacred, and is carried by some person chosen for that purpose, who always marches in front, and leads the party to the enemy. He is never passed on the march by any of the party, while he has the budget on his back. When the party halts, the budget is laid on the ground in front of them, and no person is permitted to pass it without orders from proper authority. No one is allowed to lay his pack on a log, nor is any one suffered to talk about home or about women while the party is going towards the enemy. When a four-legged animal is killed by the party, the heart is carefully preserved by a person appointed for that purpose. When they encamp, a fire is built by the side of the war budget, and the heart of the animal slain is cut up into small pieces and burnt. The sticks intended to roast meat on are formed with a slit, in which the meat is placed: the other end being sharpened for the purpose of sticking them in the ground. No person is allowed to step across the fire: every one must go round it and always in the same direction with the sun.

When the enemy is to be attacked the war budget is opened, and each man takes out his emblem and ties it to that part of his body directed by his ancestors. An Indian when he attacks his enemy is generally nearly naked, and his body is painted with different colours, commonly red. After the action is over, each person returns his war bag to the commander of the party, who wraps them all up carefully and gives the budget to the man who has taken the first prisoner or scalp and he is entitled to the honor of leading the party home in triumph. The war budget is then hung in front of the door of the person that carried it on the march against the enemy, where it is left hanging for thirty or forty days, and some one of the party 0052 49 sings and dances near it. When the man who commanded thinks proper, he assembles the party and a feast is prepared for the people of the village, who sing and dance all night. Those of the party who injured the enemy most serve out the feast to the people. The war budget is then opened by the man that commanded, each of them takes his war bag, and the party is dissolved.

FISHES OF THE RIVER OHIO. BY C. S. RAFINESQUE,

Professor of Botany and Natural History in Transylvania University.

(Continued from Volume 1st, PAGE 377.)

10th Species. Eared Sunfish. Icthelis aurita. Icthele oreillee.

Body oval elliptic (diameter one third) olivaceous with blue and rufous dots: head small, jaws equal, opercule flexuose, appendage black, broad and truncate, some blue flexuose lines on the sides of the head: tail brownish lunulate; back brownish: anal fin ? and 9 ? not reaching the vent. Thoracic mucronate.

Length from 3 to 12 inches: common in the rivers, creeks, and ponds of Kentucky. Vulgar name Sunfish. Iris brown Dorsal fin brownish, 10 and 10, spiny rays shorter. Thoracic fins very long, spiny ray rather shorter, first soft ray mucronate. Pectorals nearly rhomboidal, with 14 rays. Tail 16 rays.

11th Species. Big-?ar Sunfish. Icthelis megalotis Icthele megalote.

Body oval rounded, (diameter two fifths,) chesnut colour with blue dots, belly red: head large, lower jaw longer, opercule with blue flexuose lines, appendage black, very large elliptic, end rounded: tail black, slightly forked: pectoral large reaching the vent: anal fin 3 and 9: th??acics long and mucronate. Black tail.

A fine species, called Red-belly, Black-ears, Black-tail Sunfish, &c. It lives in the Kentucky, Licking, and Sandy rivers, &c. Length from 4 to 8 inches. Head very sloping. Iris silvery 0053 50 brown. Belly of a bright copper red colour. All the fins black except the pectorals which are olivaceous, trapezoidal acute and large. The dorsal has 20 rays, whereof 9 short ones are spiny. Body very short, hardly as long as broad, if the head and tail are deducted. Thoracics like those of the foregoing species

V Genus. River Bass. Lepomis. Lepome.

This genus differs from Holocentrus by having the opercule scaly, from Calliurus by the opercule only being such, while the preopercule is simple and united above with a square suture over the head, besides the thoracic fins with 6 rays. Perhaps the Calliurus ought only to be a subgenus of this. From the G. Icthelis it differs by the large mouth and spines on the opercule.

The name means scaly gills. The species are numerous throughout the United States. They are permanent; but ramblers in the Ohio and tributary streams. They are fishes of prey, and easily caught with the hook. I shall divide them into two subgenera. I had wrongly blended this genus and the Icthelis under the name Lepomis 1? G. of my Prodr. N. G.

1st Subgenus Aplites.

Only one flat spine on the opercule, decurrent in a small medial opercule: first ray of the thoracic fins soft or hardly spiny. Meaning, single weapon.

12th Species. Pale River-Bass. Lepomis pallida Lepome pale.

Olivaceous above, white beneath, a brown spot at the base of he lateral line, an obtuse appendage on the opercule, spine behind it: 3 faint obliqual streaks on the gill covers; lower jaw longer: tail forked, pale yellow, ?ip brown.

Not uncommon in the Ohio, Miami, Hockhocking, &c. Vulgar name Yellow Bass, common Bass, &c. Length from 4 to 12 inches. Shape elliptic, diameter one fourth of the total length. Fins olivaceous, without streaks, dorsal depressed or interrupted in the middle, 9 spiny rays to the fore part, the medial longer, 1 spiny ray and 14 soft rays to the hind part. Anal fin rounded 1? rays, whereof 2 are spiny and short. Pectorals rounded with 14 rays. Tail with 18. Thoracics with 6. Eyes 0054 51 large, black, iris brown with a gold ring. Lateral line following the back, straight near the tail.

13th Species. Streaked-Cheeks River-Bass. Lepomis trifasciata Lepome trifasciee.

Whitish, crowded with unequal and irregular specks, of a gilt olive colour, none on the belly: gill covers with 3 large oblique streaks of the same colour: opercule without appendage spine acute, a faint brown spot below the lateral line: lower jaw longer: dorsal fin streaked behind: tail forked, yellow at the base' brown in the middle, tip pale.

Found in the Ohio and many other streams, reaches over a foot in length sometimes: vulgar names Yellow bass, Gold bass, Yellow perch, Streaked-head, &c. Fins olivaceous: dorsal hardly depressed in the middle with 24 rays, whereof 10 are spiny, hind part with 3 brownish and longitudinal streaks. Anal fin rounded with 13 rays 3 of which are spiny, 2 short and a long one. Pectoral fins nearly triangular and acute, 16 rays. Thoracics 6. Tail 2, very broad, forks divaricate nearly lunulate. Eyes small black, iris brown. Lateral line following the back. Diameter less than one fourth of the length.

14th Species. Brown River-Bass. Lepomis flexuolaris. Lepome flexueux.

Olivaceous brown above, sides with some transversal and flexuose olive lines, belly white: lateral line nearly straight flexuose: spine broad acute, behind the base of the opercule, no appendage nor spot, preopercule forked downwards: upper jaw slightly longer: tail bilobed, base olive, middle brown, tip white.

A fine species, reaching the length of two feet, and affording an excellent food. Common all over the Ohio and tributary streams. Vulgar names, Black Bass, Brown Bass, Black Pearch; &c. Fins olivaceous, dorsal with 23 rays, whereof 9 are spiny and rather shorter: anal with 12 rays, whereof 2 are spiny: pectorals trapesoidal, 16 rays. Branchial rays uncovered. Iris brown. This fish might perhaps form another subgenus, by the large mouth, head without upper sutures, spine hardly decurrent, nearly equal jaws, gill covers, lateral line, &c. Its tail and preopercule are somewhat like Calliurus. It might be called Nemocampsis, meaning flexuose line. Diameter one fourth of the length.

0055 52

2d Subgenus. Dioflites.

Opercule with two spines above. First ray of the thoracic fins spiny. Lateral line curved as the back. Meaning two weapons.

15th Species. Trout River-Bass. Lopomis Salmonea. Lepome saumone.

Olivaceous brown above, sides pale with some round yellowish spots, beneath white: preopercule simple, head without sutures, lower jaw hardly longer, spines flat, short, acute, and decurrent above and beneath, opercule acute beneath the spines: tail lunulate, tip blackish: vent posterior.

Length from 6 to 24 inches. Vulgar names White Trout, Brown Trout, Trout Pearch, Trout Bass, Brown Bass, Black Bass, Black Pearch, &c. Common in the Kentucky, Ohio, Green; and Licking rivers, &c. It offers a delicate white flesh, similar to the Perca Salmonea. It is a voracious fish, with many rows of sharp teeth on the jaws and in the throat. It bites easily at the hook, and eats suckers, minnows, and chubs. Diameter one fifth of the length. Fins olivaceous brown; dorsal with 25 rays, whereof 10 are spiny, slightly depressed between them: anal rounded small, ? and 11 rays. Pectoral acute trapesoidal 18 rays. Thoracic 1 and 5, spiny ray half the length. Tail with 24 rays. Iris silvery.

16th Species. Spotted River-Bass. Lepomis notata Lepome ?ache.

This species differs merely from the foregoing, by having a black spot on the margin of the opercule, two diagonal brown stripes on each side of the head below the eyes, and all the fins yellow, except the tail which is black at the end, with a narrow white tip. It is also smaller, from 3 to 8 inches long. It bears the same vulgar names and is found along with it, of which some fishermen deem that it is the young. But I have seen so many false assertions of the kind elsewhere, that I am inclined to doubt this fact, as it would be very strange that the gradual changes should be so great. Yet this ought to be enquired into, since many vulgar opinions are often found to be correct.

17th Species. Sunfish River-Bass. Lepomis icthe?oides. Lepome ictheloide.

0056 53

Silvery, olivaceous above, some faint blackish spots on the sides: lower jaw hardly longer, head with sutures, two flat, broad and obtuse spines above the opercule, decurrent with the sutures. Vent medial. Tail lunulate, Diameter one fourth of the length.

A very distinct species from the two foregoing. It might almost form a peculiar subgenus, by the medial vent, and obtuse spines situated above the lateral line and opercule. It might be called Ambloplites or obtuse weapons. It is found in the Kentucky and tributary streams. Vulgar names White Bass, or Sunfish Bass. Length from 4 to 8 inches. It is also a fish of prey and has many rows of sharp teeth. Its flesh is like that of the Sunfishes. Lateral line following the curve of the back Iris silvery. Body with gilt shades; dorsal with 21 rays, 11 spiny, no depression. Anal 15, whereof 5 are spiny and gradually shorter. Thoracics 1 and 5. Pectoral broad 12 rays. Tail 16. Branchial rays 5. A faint and narrow marginal black spot on the opercule beneath the spines.

VI Genus Pomoxis. Pomoxis. Pomoxe.

Body elliptic, compressed, scaly. Vent anterior. Head scaleless, jaws plaited extensible, roughened by very minute teeth. Gill cover smooth, scaleless, propercule forked beneath, opercule membranaceous and acute posteriorly. Thoracic fins without appendage, but a spiny ray. One dorsal fin opposite to the anal, both with many spiny rays.

A very remarkable genus by the anterior vent, equal anal and dorsal fin, by which it differs from the genus Sparus, besides the want of appendage, &c. The name means acute opercule.

18th species. Gold-Ring Pomoxis. Pomoxis annularis. Pomoxe annulaire.

Synonymy. Promoxis annularis. Journal of the Acad. of Nat. Science of Philadelphia, vol. 1, p. 417, tab. 17, fig. 1.

Silvery, back olivaceous, with some geminate brown transversal lines; a golden ring at the base of the tail; lateral line straight: dorsal and anal fins with six spiny rays, a marginal black spot behind both fins: tail forked: lower jaw longer.

Vulgar names Gold-ring and Silver-perch. Found in August at the falls, probably permanent. Length from three to 0057 54 six inches. Good to eat. Eyes black, iris silvery. Diameter three tenths of the length. Head gilt above. Pectoral fins reaching the [???] Scales deciduous and a little ciliated. End of the tail blackish. Spiny rays of the anal and dorsal fins gradually longer, but shorter than the soft rays, which are also gradually decreasing; the dorsal has only 14, while the anal has 16 such rays. Caudal 28. Thoracic one and five.

VII Genus. Red-Eye. Aplocentrus. Aplocentre.

Body elliptic, compressed. Head small, jaws with lips and teeth, opercule smooth and flexuose. Vent medial. One longitudinal dorsal fin with only one spine.

A singular genus, intermediate between Labrus, Cynedus, and Coryphena; but belonging to the family of Labrides. The name means single spine. I describe it from a drawing made by Mr. Audubon. It is also the 11th genus of my Prodromus.

19th Species. Ohio Red-eye. Aplocentrus calliops Aplocentre belœuil.

Pale greenish above, with some flexuose transversal black lines, yellowish beneath the lateral line, and with some small black lines, whitish and unspotted beneath: iris red: forehead flexuose convex: upper jaw hardly longer: dorsal spine longer: tail fiabelliform: lateral line straight.

A beautiful fish from eight to twelve inches long. It lives in the lower parts of the Ohio, in G??en river, &c. Vulgar names Red-eyes, Bride pearch, Batchelor's pearch, Green bass, &c. Breadth about one fourth of the length. Dorsal fin beginning behind the head with a long spiny ray and ending close to the tail, variegated with flexuose black lines: broad at the base, depressed near the tail, and suddenly broad again at the end, Anal fin small. Thoracic fin triangular. Lateral line rather broad. Iris large and red. Tail unspotted, and with rounded tip or fan-shaped.

VIII Genus Barbot. Pocostoma. Barbotte.

Body oval, compressed. Head small, jaws equal, without teeth, but with lips ?nd six barbs, two to each lip and two to the lower jaw: opercule smooth, rounded. Two distant dorsal fins.

A fine genus next to Dipterodon and Cheilodipterus; it belongs 0058 55 to the family of Labrides, and is distinguished from all the other genera by its barbs. The real name means bearded mouth. It was the 10th genus of my prod. of 70 new genera.

20th Species. White-eyes Barbot. Pogostoma leuc??s. Barbotte œuilblanc>

Brown, with five black curved streaks, two on each side and one on the back, lateral line curved joining the lower streaks: whitish beneath; a row of transversal lunulate, geminate and black lines, between the two lateral streaks, six similar ones on the gill cover: a large white and round patch surrounding the eyes: tail forked: vent posterior.

A beautiful fish: shape of sunfish: length sometimes twelve inches and weight one pound. It is found in the lower part of the Ohio and in the Mississippi; but is a rare fish. It has great many vulgar names, such as White-eyes, Spectacles-fish, Streaked Sunfish, Black Sunfish, Barbot, Bearded Sunfish, &c. and the French settlers call it Barbotte, Poisson lunette, and Œuil blanc. It does not bite the hook, and is only taken with the seine. The row of lunulated lateral lines have the convexity towards the head and extend through the tail. The two dorsal fins are short and trapezoidal, anal fins very small, Pectoral long. Thoracic under their hind part. Convexity of the three pairs of lines on the opercule, looking upwards. Eyes small and black, iris narrow and yellow, the white patch appears as a second iris. Chin and forehead between the eyes depressed, which form a kind of rounded snout, mouth small, jaws equal. I describe it from a drawing of Mr. Audubon.

IX Genus. Hogfish. Etheostoma. Etheostome.

Body nearly cylindrical and scaly. Mouth variable with small teeth. Gill cover double or triple unserrate, with a spine on the opercule and without scales: six branchial rays. Thoracic fins with six rays, one of which is spiny; no appendage. One dorsal fin more or less divided in two parts, the anterior one with entirely spiny rays. Vent medial or rather anterior.

A singular new genus, of which I have already detected five species, so different from each other that they might form as many subgenera. Yet they agree in the above characters, and differ from the genus Sciena by the shape of the body and 0059 56 mouth, and the divided dorsal fin. The name means different mouths. I divide it into two subgenera. They are all very small fishes, hardly noticed, and only employed for bait; yet they are good to eat, fried, and may often be taken with baskets at the falls and mill races. They feed on worms and spawn.

1st Subgenus. Aplesion.

Dorsal fin single, split in the middle. Meaning nearly simple

21st Species. Bass Hogfish. Entheostoma calliura. Etheostome calliure.

Body slightly fusiform and compressed, silvery, olivaceous above, some flexuose transversal brownish lines on the sides: lower jaw longer, preopercule double, opercule with an angular appendage and an obtuse spine behind it: scales smooth, lateral line flexuose: tail forked, tri-coloured, and with a brown spot at the base.

The largest species of the genus from three to nine inches long. It has some similarity with the Lepomis flexuolaris, and some other River bass, wherefore it is called Minny-bass, Little bass, Hog-bass, &c. common in the Ohio, Salt river, &c. It has sharp teeth. The head is large, rugose above: iris large gilt brown: branchial rays uncovered. Diameter one seventh of the length. Lateral line curved upwards at its base. Fins olivaceous. Dorsal with 9 and 14 rays, beginning behind the pectorals and ending far from the tail, like the anal, which has 12 rays, whereof one is spiny. Pectoral fins short trapezoidal 16 rays. Tail 24, fine, base with a yellow curved ring, followed by a forked band of a pale violaceous colour, tip hyalin. Mouth straight.

22d Species. Fantail Hogfish. Etheostoma flabellata. Etheostome eventail.

Body olivaceous brown, with transverse unequal brown streaks, a black spot at the lower base of the lateral line which is straight; scales ciliated: mouth puckered obliqual, jaws nearly equal, cheeks swelled, preopercule simple, opercule curved, spine acute: pectoral fins rounded. Tail oboval flabelliform.

A small fish only two or three inches long, common at the falls of Ohio. Vulgar names Fan-tail, Black bass, Pucker, &c. 0060 57 ? Head small, with swelled and dotted cheeks: iris brown with an internal gold ring; branchial rays concealed. Scales small roughened. Dorsal fin beginning above the pectorals and ending beyond the anal, with 8 short spiny rays and 12 soft ones, olivaceous, with a longitudinal brown stripe. Vent anterior: anal fin very far from the tail, convex pale, rays 1 and 8. Pectoral fins 15. Caudal 20, olivaceous with many small transversal and flexuose lines. Diameter less than one seventh of the length.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

MONTHLY RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS,

Made in Lexington by Professor Rafinesque.

RESULTS FOR JANUARY 1820.

Temperature. The lowest degree of cold was at 5 degrees above zero, and happened on the 1st of January. The highest degree of heat was 50, and happened on the 8th. Medium 27 ½ degrees. But the average of 11 days was from 30 to 50 degrees, medium 40, and of 15 others from 20 to 36, medium 28, therefore the general mean temperature may be reckoned at 30 degrees. The greatest diurnal changes happened on the 4th and 31st, the variation being from 18 to 34, or 16 degrees. The lowest degree of cold was always felt in the morning at sun rise and with a westerly or north-westerly wind. The highest degree of heat was felt towards noon, the winds being S W, or S, or S E.

Atmosphere. There were only 9 fair days: the 3d, 4th, 6th 12th, 13th 20th, 24th, 25th, and 31st. The remainder included 10 cloudy days, 3 hazy days, 2 foggy days, 5 rainy days, and 2 snowy days. Red clouds were seen twice in the evening, and the next days were fair.

Rain. It rained heavily on the 27th and 28th, with a S E wind, on the 8th with a fog and a S W wind, on the 10th by 0061 58 showers and squalis, wind S and S E. On the 9th it drizzled all day, and on the 17th and 18th, the wind being N, N E, fell a disagreeable sleet or frozen drizzle. The average of water fallen may have been two inches; but more than 5 including the snow.

Snow. There was a snow storm on the 26th, wind S, S E, and on the 17th, wind N, N E. Some snow fell also on the 10th and 13th.

Frost.On the 1st January the creeks, the Kentucky and the Ohio rivers were frozen. There were 15 days of frost without thaw, 10 days of frost and partial thaw, and six days of complete thaw. The ground was only frozen one foot at utmost.

Winds The prevailing winds have been West, which blew steadily for eight and partially for three days. S W three and partially four. S and S E six. The East wind blew only once on the 16th. N N E and N E three. W S W two. Squally high wind on the 10th only.

Thunder. None heard, and no lightnings seen.

Ground. Covered with snow for six days, frozen totally for nine besides: there were six complete thaws, which rendered the roads muddy, three days of slippery ground, and several days of partial thaws. It thaws a little at noon whenever the sun shines. The grass keeps green under the snow and is only partially parched by the hardest frost, some leaves even then remaining green.

Transylvania University 1st Feb. 1820.

POETRY.

The following lines, written by two distinguished gentlemen of the State of New-York, who are now dead, have never, as far as we know, been published. Peter De La Bigarre, Esqr, who resided at Red Hook, a part of Rhinebeck, upon the Hudson River, invited some ladies, with Robert R. Livingston, Esqr, to visit a beautiful island, which he owned a little below the town, and where he prepared them a fanciful entertainment. According to tradition, the island had been the resort of pirates. Gold was said to have been buried there, and the credulous had often dug for it. The names of the ladies were Forest, Brooks, and Livingston. De La Bigarre had conceived a compliment for them to be paid on their arrival. This he mentioned to Livingston, who, to increase the pleasure of the occasion, took his friend, as well as the ladies, by an agreeable surprise, and produced a reply, which happily introduced all their names.

DE LA BIGARRE.

Wretches, misled by thirst of gold, Have often vex'd this peaceful soil To seek for treasures hid of old, Of pirates stern the ra?ag'd spoil, A GREATER TREASURE now I find. And when you bless my calm retreat, I thank the Gods, that they've design'd To make this isle the Graces' Seat.

LIVINGSTON.

This isle is rich, you often say, In hoards of buried gold; Then let us share, like friends, I pray, The goods which it may hold. Whate'er beneath the earth is found, I yield at once to thee; Assign to me what's on the ground, Contented both will be. The trees at least no riches boast, No plunder'd treasures share; Take then the earth you value most, To me a Forest spare. 0063 68 Be yours the rocks with golden grains, The treasur'd vales be thine; The Brooks which glide along the plains, The Living-stones be mine.

JEALOUSY.

See yonder pale, emaciate form, With gloomy look, and varying pace, Seeking, though round him lowers the storm, The DESERT'S most untrodden place. Know you why, with vacant stare, His eyeballs wildly round him glare? Why, with hasty foot now rushing, And now, with mournful step and slow, As one whom misery's load is crushing, He seeks from mortal sight to go? It is because a FRIEND'S life-blood His murderous hand hath stain'd, The friend whose heart, in frantic mood, His JEALOUS DAGGER drain'd. A confidant's malignant art With specious tales had gain'd his ear, Till MADNESS rul'd his tortur'd heart, And FRENZY struck for vengeance dear.

The blood of ONE could not allay The fever of his burning brain, Revenge must still A DEARER slay, Or still his soul must wring with pain She, to whom, in happier hours, All his joys he fondly trac'd, Whose hands had deck'd the blissful bower, Which oft her sainted form had grac'd; She, before whose angel-smile Fled pale MELANCHOLY'S gloom, Whose voice could JEALOUSY beguile, And for the hour defer her doom; 0064 61 She, to whose unalter'd love He ow'd the joy a FATHER feels, A JEALOUS HUSBAND'S rage must prove, Whose mind o'er-wrought with madness reels. Through SPOTLESS INNOCENCE he drove The FATAL STEEL in wild despair; And now in ANGUISH let him rove, His soul let FURY PASSIONS tear.

O. L.

THE BIRD'S REPLY TO THE LINES IN OUR LAST.

Lady, when by the impending tempest driven, I sought a shelter from the ruthless storm, 'Twas then thy SYMPATHY, so promptly given, Awoke a feeling LASTING as 'twas WARM.

How could INGRATITUDE repay such care! O think not THOU, who turn'd misfortune's dart, And JOYOUS HOPE restor'd to BLEAK DESPAIR, This LONELY EXILE e'er shall wound THY HEART!

Soon shall the brilliant beam of GOLDEN MORNING Around thy casement shed its ROSY LIGHT. In grateful notes, my matin song then pouring, I'll bless THY BOUNTY ere I take my flight.

V.

LINES WRITTEN IN A BIBLE PRESENTED BY A MOTHER TO A DAUGHTER.

See, dearest girl, life's rapid moments glide, And nought but Hope and spotless Truth abide; Then let this book, by a fond mother giv'n, Direct your mind and ardent soul to Heav'n; By this alone, while sorrow's waves are rolling, Shalt thou find peace thy tortur'd soul controling, And when thy spirit quits this transient clay, A seraph's band shall bear that soul away. Oh happy doom, to wing thy glorious flight, And spring to realms of everlasting light.

V.

TO S—

Ne'er again to my bosom love's tender emotion Its soul-cheering beams for a moment shall steal: That heart, which to THEE beat with fondest devotion, By INCONSTANCY blighted, can never more feel.

In the day-spring of youth, by hope's visions surrounded, Thy form rose before me, like morning's bright star; But the gay dreams of fancy too soon were confounded, And by truth's piercing radiance were banished afar.

To thee my young heart, while, with ardour 'twas glowing, In an instant of rapture its feeling expressed; And thy LOVE-BEAMING EYE, its fond answer bestowing, Soothed the tumult THY BEAUTY had stirred in my breast.

And yet—those fond vows, which affection had plighted, Could a moment's short absence so quickly efface! But 'tis past—and the pang, which thy FALSEHOOD excited, From memory's dark tablet time ne'er can erase.

P.

ODE TO HEALTH.

Oh! ever welcome, ever new, Accept the tuneful boon I bring; Hygeia strings my lyre anew, For her I sing.

A million graces round her throng, Time's wing imbi?es the orient ray. The hours transported hail my song, And round her play.

Hail once again thou darling power! To thee I vow'd my boon to bring, Whene'er thou'dst ?eign a smiling hour, My Lyre to s??ing

Dear, welcome source of sport?? play, Of love, and joy, Thy lay Shall mine employ.

0066 63

But while with voice, thy favour gave, I strain thy peerless worth to sing, Still o'er my humble efforts wave Thy downy wing;

Till charmed the nine in triumph come, To prompt for thee my tuneful lays, While loud the Timbrel, Harp, and Drum Resound thy praise!

R. B.

JULIA.

Julia wept! her glist'ning tears Were like the silvery drops of dew, Which from the rosy clouds of evening fall. Julia sigh'd! her moan was soft, Yet sad and plaintive as a note Of feather'd minstrel bound in hopeless thrall. Julia smil'd! her smile was bright As moon-beam on the glassy lake When not a wave is o'er its surface driven Julia spoke! her voice was clear And tuneful as the seraph's tongue That tells the dying wretch, his sins are all forgiven!

R. B.

Ossian's Address to the Sun

The following version of Ossian's Address to the Sun is the production of a gentleman many years since. It is copied from the original manuscript, and as is believed has never been presented to the public eye. Should it be deemed worthy of insertion in the Western Review, it is at the disposal of the Editor.

Whence are thy beams, O Sun! effulgence bright? Whence thy pure streams of everlasting light? Forth from thy hall, in awful pomp array'd, Thou com'st; the stars before thy glory fade, Blasted by thy supreme effulgence, fly To darkest coverts of the distant sky; While the cold moon, all-trembling, hastes to lav? Her pallid form deep in the western wave 0067 64 Alone thou rov'st, resistless in thy force; No bold companion of thy glorious course!

To grandeur lost see mountain oaks decay! Mountains themselves with years dissolve away; On earth old ocean ceaseless ebbs and flows, In heaven the moon a changeful visage shows; But thou, unknown to change or dark decay, Triumphant hold'st thy bright celestial way!

When gathering tempests darken all the sky, Deep thunders burst, and red-tongued lightnings fly, Thou smil'st aloft in fair majestic form, Safe from the dangers of the hurtling storm.

But now to Ossian vain are all thy beams, Ossian receives no more thy golden streams, Whether thou dost with purple light adorn The radiant brow and shadowy clouds of morn, Or fling'st thy ray on the tall mountain's crest, Shot from the crimson chambers of the west.

But thou, perchance, like me, shalt sink in night, Thy glories faded, and forgot thy flight; Deep shalt thou slumber in thy cloudless hall, Deaf to the sound of breezy morning's call! Exult in youth, O Sun! enjoy thy prime; Dark and unlovely are the shrouds of time, Like moon-beams glimmering through a clouded sky, When gathering mists across the welkin fly, Bleak roars the northern blast along the heath, And faint the hapless traveller sinks in death.

Y

THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.MARCH 1820.Num. 2.

Art. 4. Free Remarks on the spirit of the Federal Constitution...

Art. 4. Free Remarks on the spirit of the Federal Constitution, the practice of the Federal Government, and the obligations of the Union, respecting the exclusion of Slavery from the Territories and New States. By a Philadelphian. 8vo pp. 116. Philadelphia, A. Finley, 1819.

It seems of late as if the strength of our government, and the durability of our invaluable republican institutions were destined to be most severely and awfully tried. Many were the apprehensions of the patriots and sages by whom the fabric was originally reared. Although they believed it based on the soundest wisdom, and laboured to construct it with the purest taste and in the most perfect proportion, they trembled lest it should be undermined by the constant and imperceptible influence of intrigue, or suddenly overthrown by the frequently recurring whirlwinds of popular commotion. It was considered as a sublime but hazardous experiment, and while the enemies of freedom were exultingly predicting its early and inevitable downfal, its friends regarded it with trembling anxiety as the last refuge of civil and political liberty. Hitherto it has stood, and fully equalled the expectations, if it has not accomplished all the wishes, of its most sanguine admirers. The waves of faction have beat against it; party spirit has raged with tremendous force; mutual jealousies, conflicting interests, and highly excited passions and prejudices have on every side assailed it; yet it has stood, and though it has sometimes appeared to be shaken by the storm, it has been thought to acquire additional strength from every danger happily surmounted, every unsuccessful 0069 66 attempt to destroy it. It behoves us however not to be too confident of its impregnability, nor to relax our vigi?ance and caution, because it has hitherto been fortunately preserved. In the present sunshine of peace, when the turbulence of faction appears to be hushed, and the raging of party spirit has subsided to a calm, when all is confidence and hope and mutual congratulation, we think we can discern a little cloud in the political horizon, which, though at present it may seem no larger than a man's hand,—too inconsiderable to notice,—we have reason to fear may rapidly increase and produce a tremendous hurricane that shall suddenly sweep away, in its desolating course, all our enjoyments and hopes as freemen.

Some of the greatest dangers, to which our government is exposed, result from the extent of the territory over which it bears sway. It has by many been considered impossible to form a constitution which shall combine within itself the essential characteristics of freedom and such a degree of energy as may enable it to extend its influence over so wide a tract of country. Not only is it feared, that the extremities will be beyond the reach of established laws and fixed modes of proceeding, that they will be ignorant and regardless of the edicts of government, but it is intimated that their wants will sometimes be neglected, and their reasonable requests often refused. Indeed it cannot be expected that any one legislature, except it be of a permanent and despotic character, can attend to all the petty and local concerns of every part of an immense continent. Besides, in every country thus widely extended, there must be a great variety of interests, and a considerable difference in manners and customs. Laws therefore suited to the people of one part of the country may be obnoxious, and perhaps improper in another part.

While our revolutionary sages felt and admitted the force of these truths, they considered it essential, and believed it possible, for the people of these United States, without a sacrifice of freedom, to constitute one nation. The evils, the fatal consequences, of disunion were too obvious and too alarming to be voluntarily embraced. Every part of the country felt the absolute necessityy of mtualsupport; and every part was willing 0070 67 if the means could be devised, to unite into a strong, republican nation. To obviate the difficulties just mentioned the federal system was adopted. Each state, composed of a small tract of country, retained its own peculiar government, regulated by a constitution of its own formation, and entrusted with the special management of its local affairs. To the general government was confided only the regulation of such concerns as might be connected with the general interest, and affect the people in their national character. This was certainly an admirable contrivance; and if there be any possibility of extending, permanently, the blessings of a single free government over an immense and populous territory, it must be by a perseverance in some system like this. It is obvious however that even this plan is not without its peculiar dangers and difficulties. To draw with perfect accuracy the line of demarkation between the jurisdictions of the general and of the local governments, to entrust the nation with an ample portion of power, and at the same time not encroach on the sovereignty of the states, to adhere in practice to the true spirit of the federal constitution, and avoid all collision with the co-ordinate, and yet in some respects subordinate, jurisdictions of the several states, are objects as difficult as they are important.

It would be an insult to the good sense, as well as to the patriotism, of our readers, to attempt to prove to them by argument the importance of preserving our national union. Notwithstanding our various feelings and interests, notwithstanding the immense extent of country over which we are scattered still we are essentially one people. We have endured too many common hardships, we have enjoyed too many blessings together, we are too closely connected by the ties of sympathy, consanguinity, and mutual affection, to tolerate for an instant the idea of separation. Besides, the moment of disunion would be the moment of our political destruction, and the consequences which would result are too horrible even to contemplate. Yet it is obvious that our present happy system can only be preserved by a strict adherence to the principles on which it was originally formed. If the national government, leaving its legitimate sphere of action, encroaches on the sovereignty of the 0071 68 states; or if the states cherish a spirit of jealousy of the national government, evince an habitual contempt for its authority, and indulge an occasional opposition to its measures; if, in fine the general and local powers cannot operate harmoniously, distinctly, and without collision, our federal system must fall and with it must fall too our national prosperity and glory. Nor can our union be maintained, except by an adherence to the spirit of forbearance and of mutual concession by means of which it was established. Every part of the country must be entrusted with the management of its own local affairs, but every part must readily yield to the legitimate control of its constitutional head, every part must be as willing to tolerate and to respect the prejudices and prevailing manners and customs of every other part, as it is to claim in return a similar indulgence for its own. If our happy government is destined speedily to fall, and all the hopes of the patriot to be buried in an early grave, that event will probably be brought about by a collision between the general and state governments, or an unfortunate interference of one part of the country in what may be considered the local concerns and municipal regulations of some other part.

No subject perhaps, that has occupied the public ar?ention since the formation of our federal constitution, has presented so just a cause for serious apprehension and alarm, as that which constitutes the theme of the pamphlet before us. We tremble as we approach it. We feel that so many passions and prejudices are enlisted in its discussion; we see on both sides,—united indeed with many honourable feelings and upright motives,—so much vehemence and excitement, and in some instances such an anxiety to triumph at every hazard, that we scarcely know what consequences to apprehend. The measures which have grown out of the establishment of a national bank had previously filled us with regret and dismay. We witnessed in them a direct and violent opposition between the common head and some of the component parts of the nation: but we here discern a line awfully drawn, which separates into two distinct portions the members of our confederacy, and each portion seems to be arrayed, with great and still increasing warmth, in opposition to the other. How this controversy will terminate 0072 69 we pretend not to predict, but we think we may venture the assertion, that by it, more than by any previous measure, will be jeopardized the integrity of our union, and the existence of our republic.

We engage then in the discussion of this momentous subject with solemnity as well as interest. We are not about to enter the lists as champions on either side of the question. We wish to kindle no passions, to excite no jealousies. On the contrary we would gladly exert our little influence to dispel the clouds which lower in the horizon, and to calm the tempest which threatens to overwhelm us. The subject however is of such vast importance, and engrosses so large a share of the public attention, that we have thought we might, with propriety, and without suffering our feelings to be enlisted in the controversy, present a brief view of the leading arguments on both sides of the question, and express our own wishes and sentiments in relation to it.

The work under review, which is generally, and we believe correctly, attributed to the well known pen of Mr. Walsh, is written with his usual ability, but with all the ardour and enthusiasm of an advocate enlisted on one side of the cause. The author commences by drawing in lively colours a contrast between the principles of the declaration of independence and the toleration in practice of involuntary servitude.

“Of these unfortunate appearances,” he remarks, “all our federal assemblies, from the commencement of the revolution to the formation of our present government, must have been fully aware; but they were supported against the disgrace, by the knowledge that this slavery was not introduced, and could not be at once effaced, by the new sovereignties which they represented. It was a pre-existing, unavoidable evil, imputable to the mother country; and of which the extirpation was not to be even attempted, until the federal empire, at which they aimed, should be consolidated, and the American nation not only secure in their independence but matured in strength and resources. They were conscious, that, sooner, nothing could reasonably be expected from them; except perhaps the declaration that a course of remedy would be entered upon when that state of affairs was reached, and its uncertainty at the outset of the revolution is the best excuse which can be offered why the first of them did not pledge the nation to the effort. It was perhaps due to consistency, to national honour, and to the cause of justice and morals, that 0073 70 the extirpation of slavery from the American soil, when this might be practicable, should be proclaimed a primary and settled purpose with the confederation which asserted such a character, such dispositions, and such motives of action as are detailed in the Declaration of Independence.” p. 5

He then maintains that the Congress of 1787, “alive to the obligations in this matter,” did, as early as possible, and among their very first acts, recognize the principle of universal abolition, by prohibiting slavery in the North West Territory.

“On the subject of the negro slavery,” he proceeds, “the framers of the constitution had, no doubt, the same opinions with respect to the quarter to which the guilt of it attached, and the necessity of postponing all attempts at abolition, which I have described as common to the federal assemblies. They were therefore equally consoled under the disrepute inseparable from its continuance, and cautious about tampering with its cure. But, we must confess, that an explicit avowal of the principle of abolition was still more required from the Convention, than from the Congress that put forth the declaration of independence, because abolition was more within the limits of practicability and calculation, and the debt of righteousness to Providence greatly increased by the issue of the revolutionary struggle, and the career of prosperity opened to the nation. If such an avowal was not made,—if some concurrence of national circumstances was not designated in the Constitution as the juncture when the attempt at abolition should be begun under the auspices and with the resources of the confederacy—we may presume, that the representatives of most of the states desired and urged such a course of proceeding, and only consented to waive it from the inflexibility of others of their body. There was more to hope on the subject of abolition, with than without the national system of Union which they had in view; it could be attempted more safely, and effected more easily, under such a system, although no active power, no control whatever, with regard to the internal economy of the slave holding states in this respect should be lodged in the new government. None therefore was insisted upon; and the whole subject of slavery within the limits of a number of the states was left under their exclusive cognizance and control respectively.”—p. 13.

It is obvious from these quotations that the writer conceives it to have been the duty of all the federal assemblies, but especially of the convention, which framed the constitution, to take some decisive and efficient steps in favor of universal abolition, and that the convention was prevented from doing so only by the inflexibility of certain members of that body. In other words, 0074 71 the states ought to have delegated to the general government the power of regulating, restraining, and abolishing slavery, and they would have done so, had not a part of them absolutely refused to relinquish a right which they conceived exclusively their own, and which, from its peculiar nature, they were unwilling to entrust to any but themselves. It is admitted however, that,—whatever may have been the duty of the convention,—no power was in fact delegated to the general government to interfere with the subject of slavery in the original thirteen United States: nor is it contended, we believe, that Congress is now authorized to impose any regulations on that subject upon those new states, which have been regularly admitted into the Union without restriction. But it is strenuously maintained on the one side, and as strenuously denied on the other, that Congress is empowered by the constitution to prohibit involuntary servitude in the territories of the United States and to require as a condition, of any territory desirous of admission into the Union, a perpetual exclusion of slavery from within its limits; that there is nothing peculiar in the situation of Missouri to take it out of this general rule, but that, under all the circumstances of the case, it is expedient at the present time to exercise the right, by requiring of the people of Missouri a compliance with such a condition.

We shall now proceed very briefly, but we trust impartially, to recapitulate the arguments both for and against these several propositions, and shall subjoin, in a very few remarks, our own impressions on the subject.

The constitution provides “that Congress shall have power to dispose of, and make all needful rules and regulations respecting, the territory or other property belonging to the United States.” From this it is inferred, that Congress, if it deem such a regulation needful, may, according to the words of the constitution, prohibit slavery in the territories under its jurisdiction. To strengthen this construction, reference is had to the fact, that the old congress did, by the sixth article of the ordinance of 1787, (which it declared to be unalterable except by common consent, and which has been confirmed by congress under the present constitution) expressly direct, “that there shall be neither 0075 72 slavery nor involuntary servitude” in the territory north west of the River Ohio. Thus, it is contended that both principle and precedent are in favour of restriction.

To this it is replied, that such a regulation as that just quoted cannot be, in the true sense of the word, needful; that many territories have existed and many do still exist, very prosperously, respecting which no such regulation has ever been made; and that a large proportion of the American states furnish the indubitable evidence that the prohibition of slavery is not needful. It is further said, that the precedent furnishes no argument, because it was adopted under the old confederation and was confirmed without opposition and of course without deliberate investigation, that the American people were not aware of its real nature and tendency, nor did the Congress by which it was confirmed take into consideration how far this provision was consistent with the new constitution or with the rights of the people of the Territories. In the cases to which it has been applied no anxiety was ever felt for the toleration of slavery and therefore no opposition has ever been made to the Congressional restriction. Hence it is argued, that the question ought to be met and discussed on its real intrinsic merits, without any reference to the precedent referred to.

On this point we shall merely remark, that whatever may be the decision, it cannot affect the main topic of discussion. A right to regulate a territory does not imply a right to prescribe an unalterable condition to a state. For ourselves we are not disposed to interpret words in a constitution with that degree of strictness contended for by some. We are ready to admit that Congress may very correctly deem that needful, in the regulation of its territories, which is not indispensably necessary. We cannot believe it was ever intended by the framers of the Constitution to restrain government from establishing any rules and regulations, but such as could not possibly under existing circumstances be dispensed with. Whatever in the exercise of a sound discretion may be deemed requisite for the promotion of that high degree of prosperity and national glory which Congress has a right and is in duty bound to aspire to, we consider within the fair interpretation of the word needful. It may 0076 73 10 however very justly be doubted whether the word territory in the clause quoted does not refer exclusively to the soil as the property of the United States, and whether the provision was really intended to authorize any thing more than such temporary rules and regulations as might be found needful in disposing of the public land, or at the utmost in maintaining peace and order under the territorial governments. But, as we said before, a decision on that question cannot settle the right to impose restrictions on a state. That question rests on very different grounds. Nor can the precedents referred to be considered as having any bearing upon it. Whatever may have been the intention and understanding of Congress, the people of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois did not consider themselves as absolutely required by the act authorizing their admission into the Union to prohibit slavery forever within their respective states. On the contrary great fears were entertained by some, as to the decision in the several Conventions on that point, and, not long since, when a new Convention was proposed in the State of Ohio, it was asserted by some jealous individuals both in public and private, that the real object was to introduce a clause into the Constitution of that State for the toleration of Slavery. We do not deem it necessary therefore, for the decision of the question, as it now relates to Missouri, to ascertain whether Congress may impose a restriction on a territory, previously to its admission into the union as a state. But let us proceed more directly to the point.

The first clause of the Constitution which is cited in support of the restriction contains the following negative provision—“The migration or importation of such persons, as any of the states now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the Congress prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight; but a tax or duty may be imposed on such importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each person.” Here a dispute instantly arises as to the meaning of the word migration. On the one side it is contended that it signifies “the transportation or removal of slaves from one state to another, or from a state to a territory,” while on the other side it is interpreted as referring only to the voluntary emigration of freemen. 0077 74 We shall not now stop to enquire which of these constructions is the correct one, although it is evident that upon the decision of that point must depend the applicability of the clause to the question before us. No one denies the right of Congress, since the year 1808, to prohibit the importation of slaves, but have they the right to prohibit their removed from one state to anoth?er? This clause grants no power; it only prohibits the exercise, until the year 1808,of a power already granted. The right to prohibit the importation of slaves results from the power to regulate commerce with foreign nations, and, it is contended, the right to prohibit the removal of slaves from one state to another, is incident to the power of regulating commerce between the several states. At this construction the people of the slave holding states are somewhat alarmed, because it implies a right in Congress to prohibit them from transferring their slaves from Virginia to Kentucky—from any one of the slaveholding states to another. But, however this may be decided, the question still remains unsettled as to the right of Congress to exclude slavery from a new state; because, even should it be agreed that Congress may, under this provision, prevent the transportation of slaves, as articles of merchandize, from one state to another, it would not therefore follow, nor do we know that it has ever been contended, that authority is likewise given to prohibit the removal of slaves, when untransferred, and actually going with their original owners, from one slave holding state to another. The question therefore still recurs, has Congress the power by the Constitution to prescribe, as a condition precedent, the perpetual exclusion of slavery from a new state? Such a power is inferred from the following clauses in the Constitution—“New states may be admitted by the Congress into this union;” and—“Congress shall have power to make all laws, which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers, and all other powers vested by this constitution in the government of the United States, or in any department or officer thereof.” As, by these provisions, Congress may or may not admit new states, agreeably to its pleasure, it is considered as evident that terms of admission may be prescribed, without a compliance with which Congress may 0078 75 refuse to admit. It is left indeed to the option of the people of the territory applying for admission, to accept the terms and become a state, or to decline them and continue under a territorial government. Still, as they cannot absolutely insist on admission, nor obtain the privilege without the consent of Congress, it is maintained that Congress may virtually impose upon them a restriction against their inclination. To this it is objected, that, whatever may be the power of Congress, it is not right or equitable, leaving out of view the provisions of the treaty, which we shall notice hereafter, to refuse admission to a territory possessing the requisite population and entitled by its situation and the character of its people to the same privileges with other states already admitted. It is contended likewise, that it is an inherent and unalienable right, vested in the people of every state, to make their own Constitution, and to alter, amend, and annul that Constitution agreeably to their sovereign will and pleasure; that therefore it never could have been intended by the framers of the Federal Constitution to place the people of the territories so completely at the mercy of Congress as to authorize that body to engraft for them contrary to their inclination certain fixed and unalterable provisions in their Constitutions. Congress, it is admitted, may, because it has the power, refuse admission to any territory, in which case the people must continue under the territorial government, deprived of privileges enjoyed by their fellow-citizens in other parts of the Union; but it is maintained, that Congress cannot, consistently with the principles of our federal constitution and the established rights of freemen, take advantage of this power to impose upon the people of any territory, contrary to their will, a Constitution, or parts of a Constitution, especially such as shall be declared perpetual and of course calculated to affect posterity equally with the present generation. Congress, it is true, may require, and indeed is bound to require, that the Constitution of every state shall be strictly republican, but this power and this duty result from the very same principles of freedom, which are considered as prohibiting special restrictions, and they are expressly recognized by that clause of the Constitution, which provides that “the United States shall guaranty to 0079 76 every state in this Union a republican form of government.” An inference unfavourable to the right of restriction is likewise drawn from the provision that “the citizens of each state shall be entitled to all the privileges and immunities of citizens in the several states.” As it is undeniably one of the privileges and immunities, and that not the least important, enjoyed by citizens in the old states, to alter and amend their constitutions at pleasure, it is contended that such a privilege and immunity must belong also to the citizens of all the states. It is maintained however by the advocates for restriction, that the condition required is presented to the people of the territory for their acceptance or rejection, that if adopted it is fairly a matter of contract between the United States and the proposed new state, because if the people had chosen to reject the proposition they might have continued, as before, under their territorial government, but that, having once accepted it, they are forever bound, not by the authority of Congress, but by their own voluntary act. To this it is replied, that the parties are not in a proper situation to make such a contract, that they do not in fact stand upon a level, that on the one side is all the power, and that the acceptance of the terms proposed cannot be regarded as a matter of choice on the part of the territory, or a voluntary agreement by an independent sovereignty, but rather as a surrender at discretion to the mercy of a dictator. It is admitted indeed that the people of the territory may continue as they are, but such a situation they may regard as a state of vassalage even more degrading than the acceptance of an unalterable constitution, dictated by Congress, and disagreeable to them. In the case of Missouri, however, it is perfectly evident, that the people of that territory will not assent to the terms proposed; the question therefore really is, has Congress a right perpetually to exclude them from the Union on that account? In answering this question reference is had to the treaty of cession, by which Missouri originally came under the jurisdiction of the United States, and agreeably to which, it is argued, Congress is specially bound to admit that territory into the union without the proposed restriction. Let us then examine this branch of the subject.

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The treaty of cession contains the following stipulation,—“The inhabitants of the ceded territories shall be incorporated in the union of the United States, and admitted as soon as possible, according to the principles of the Federal Constitution, to the enjoyment of all the rights, advantages, and immunities of citizens of the United States; and, in the mean time, they shall be maintained and protected in the enjoyment of their liberty, property, and the religion which they profess.” By the advocates of unconditional admission it is maintained, that this clause absolutely binds the United States, without unnecessary delay, to incorporate the inhabitants of Missouri in the union, and admit them to the enjoyment of all the privileges of citizens of the United States; among which are enumerated, those of forming, altering, and annulling their state constitution. It is contended also that by this provision Congress is restrained from prohibiting slavery within the ceded country even under the territorial governments, because by such a measure the people would be disturbed in the enjoyment of their property. On the other hand it is contended, that the term property does not in the treaty include slaves, but that

“The utmost scope which Congress could have thought themselves bound to give it,—if they allowed it to reach the case of human beings at all—was the maintenance of the existing relations between the white population and the individuals held in bondage; and the enjoyment of the services of the offspring of the latter, until they reached that age at which they could be supposed to have indemnified the master by their labour, for the expenses incurred on their account from their birth to their adult state.” p. 59.

With respect to the article just quoted from the treaty with France, Mr. Walsh likewise remarks:

“This article, though it might be understood to deprive them [the United States] of the power of refusing to receive the inhabitants of the province into the Union, upon any terms, yet consigned the mode and terms to the same discretion by which they had been determined in other cases. As to these points it clearly leaves the question on the original footing.” p. 48.

And again;

“Certainly the idea was not entertained, that the inhabitants of the States north-west of the Ohio had not been admitted into the Union “according to the principles of the constitution;” or had been denied any of 0081 78 the “rights, advantages, or immunities of citizens of the United States,” because the prohibition of slavery had been prescribed to them as a condition of their admission. It never was understood—it never had been pretended—that any principle of the constitution required the reservation of the power of maintaining slavery, to the new States; or that citizens of the United States, as such, did or could hold slaves. These were known to be legally held under the authority of the state governments. If it were the right of a citizen of the United States, as such, to hold them, then they might be legally held as well in New York or Pennsylvania, as Georgia; since a federal right could not be impaired by the laws of any member of the confederacy. The abolition acts of the eastern states would be rendered altogether nugatory.” p. 49.

Thus we have endeavoured to give a fair, although necessarily a very brief and imperfect, sketch of the leading arguments on both sides of the question, so far as the constitutionality of the proposed restriction, and its conformity with the treaty of cession have been taken into view. We now propose to consider it on the broad ground of expediency. And here the subject rises before us in all its magnitude and importance. In every aspect in which we regard it, we find it surrounded by considerations the most momentous and fraught with consequences the most alarming. Here we have presented to our view the picture of an immense country, extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, covered with a mixed population, principally of slaves. The evils of such a state of things are painted in glowing, often exaggerated, colours. The contrast is drawn between a strong, pure, and industrious community of freemen, in which every arm is nerved for the common defence, and every heart burns with ardour for the common good; and a feeble, sickly, inefficient population, in which indolence and intolerance, mingled with restless anxiety and well founded suspicion, prevail on the one hand, and misery, degradation, stupidity, and ignorance are prominent objects on the other. The fate of an immense empire for ages yet to come is represented as depending on the decision of the present question. By that decision, we are told, the population, not only of Missouri, but of an almost boundless region beyond it, is to be rendered permanently prosperous or wre?ched. The most pathetic and eloquent appeals have been made to the humanity 0082 79 and patriotism of the American people, in favour of the region west of the Mississippi, and Congress has been urged, by every principle of duty and every consideration of policy, to stop the swelling tide of human misery, and to prevent the further extension of an evil, already so destructive to human virtue and human happiness. The principal arguments in favour of the restriction, on the ground of expediency, are drawn from representations of the absolute impropriety and practical evils of slavery. To these topics we have already had occasion more than once to advert in former numbers of this work, and we have given our sentiments in relation to them with the utmost plainness and freedom. We have nothing to say in behalf of those who established the present state of things and entailed it upon us, but we beg leave to refer Mr. Waslh and all others who engage with zeal on the same side of the question, to the able section on the subject of slavery in his late valuable “Appeal from the Judgments of Great Britain.”

We have some knowledge ourselves, derived from observation and experience, of the practical effects of slavery and the actual situation of the slaves in the United States. Having acquired our earliest impressions in a part of the country where slavery is unknown, and having more recently witnessed, both in the southern and western sections of the Union, the consequences of a different state of things, we think we have sufficient data on which ?o found an opinion. We readily admit the general correctness of the sentiments urged in favour of the extirpation of this great moral and political evil. Some of the declamation used on the occasion is indeed extravagant unsupported by fact, but the conclusion is undoubtedly just that the American people owe it to their own interest as well as to a regard for principle to endeavour, as rapidly as possible, to eradicate from this land of freedom the curse, which avarice, indolence, and a love of power originally introduced. We believe that the slaves themselves are happier, at least in those places to which our observation has extended, than the poorer class of white labourers in the eastern states. They have, generally speaking, a comfortable subsistence, suited to their feelings, their habits, and their wants; they have of course none of 0083 80 those distressing anxieties and torturing cares to which the unfortunate freeman is exposed; their labour is commonly light, and their opportunities for relaxation and sources of enjoyment sufficiently numerous. Occasionally indeed they are cruelly treated, and instances sometimes occur of heart-rending scenes, in which all the sympathies of human nature are outraged, and the best affections of the heart wantonly assailed. But such cases are rare, exceedingly rare; and public opinion uniformly consigns to infamy the wretch who occasions them. So far as the negroes themselves are concerned, at least in our present state of society, we do not believe any practical good would immediately result from universal, or even from gradual and partial emancipation. But we do not urge these considerations in favour of the present state of things, or as arguments against the exercise of the utmost zeal and the most strenuous exertions for the abolition of what we have already admitted to be a moral and political curse. Could we expect our feeble voice to be heard, we would urge the people of Missouri, by every consideration of interest, as well as by every obligation of duty, to exclude from their new state this great and growing evil. But the question recurs, shall they be compelled to do this? If Congress has the power to impose a permanent restriction upon them, is it expedient to exercise that power? Let us divest our minds of feeling on the question, and examine both sides with coolness and impartiality.

It has always appeared to us as if a great deal of declamation on this subject might have been spared, and much unnecessary argument avoided, by ascertaining with precision the real matter in controversy, and confining the discussion closely thereto. It surely is not requisite to advert to the abstract right or practical tendency of creating or extending the system of slavery. We hope there are none among us who would feel a disposition, if it were not already established, to introduce it into our country. But the question is, shall the national government interfere with the arrangements of a proposed new state, where slavery has existed and still does exist, on a subject which, to say the least, a large portion of the American people consider as belonging exclusively to the jurisdiction of the states? No one, we believe, 0084 81 11 will advocate in our country the importation of a single new slave, or the imposition of slavery upon a single individual now free. No one wishes the federal government to take any step for the extension of slavery, or to recognize and tolerate, further than it has already done, and by the constitution is compelled to do, the existence of slavery among us. It is only desired, that things may be left as they are at present, that municipal regulations on the subject of slavery may be entrusted, in the new states, as they ever have been in the old, to the people of the states respectively, and that no effort may be now made by the national government to impose upon the people of a single state an unalterable feature in their constitution, which will deprive them of what they consider a privilege enjoyed by the people of other states.

We are aware that arguments on both sides of this question have been drawn from considerations of humanity. On the one side we have been reminded of our obligations, not only in reference to the present generation but to posterity, to extend the blessings of liberty and as far as possible to diminish the number of slaves. On the other hand, we have been told that the welfare of the slaves themselves will be greatly promoted by diffusing them over a wide extent of country, by rendering them more valuable and thus promoting their kind treatment, and by increasing for them the means of comfort and happiness. The obligation to diminish their numbers, except by means of emancipation, has been denied, and the duty of prolonging their lives and promoting their natural increase, even while they continue slaves, zealously contended for. Upon these points we do not consider it necessary at present to enlarge. The narrowness of our limits must preclude us from examining the subject in all its aspects and relations, and we must now turn our attention to other and more important considerations.

We should not, in our reasonings upon this subject, lose sight of the fact, that slavery now exists and uniformly has existed in the proposed state of Missouri, that, whatever may be the right of Congress under the constitution and by the treaty of cession, no measure has ever been adopted for the exclusion of slavery from that country while a territory, and no expectation 0085 82 was entertained, until very recently, that slavery ever would be excluded by the national government. On the contrary the people of Missouri have purchased slaves, and persons owning slaves have removed thither, under the impression, naturally created by the absence of all prohibitory or emancipating regulations hitherto, that no measures would ever be adopted, except by a majority of the people themselves, in relation to slavery. We should remember too, that, whatever may have been the fact, the people of Missouri and of all the slaveholding states sincerely believe, that slaves were intended to be included under the term property as used in the treaty of cession, and they would therefore have considered it a violation of that treaty, if Congress had adopted any measures, even under the territorial government, calculated to affect the tenure by which that species of property was, and still is, ho en. This is a subject, upon which unfortunately extreme jealousy exists between different parts of our common country. A large portion of the people would consider a permanent exclusion of slavery, by the national government, from any state, contrary to the wishes of the people of that state, as an unauthorized and dangerous usurpation of power. Whether therefore it would be so or not, the fact that it would be so considered by nearly one half the members of our confederacy, and that it would consequently tend greatly to weaken, if it did not instantly sever, the ties of our Union, should certainly be taken into view, when considering the subject in reference to expediency. It is proper sometimes to yield to the opinions and even to humour the prejudices of our fellow citizens, and we should always pay a due regard to the probable consequences of a measure we are disposed to adopt. This is not timidity but prudence, not a want of firmness in the performance of duty, but a readiness to abandon even a favourite project, in order to promote the general prosperity.

The expediency of imposing upon Missouri the contemplated restriction, supposing it to be authorized by the constitution and not prohibited by the treaty of cession, may therefore be considered, first, as it regards the condition of those who will remain slaves;—secondly, in reference to the prospect of an 0086 83 eventual and speedy extirpation of slavery from our country;—thirdly, as it respects the condition of the new state or states upon which the restriction may be imposed;—and fourthly, with a view to the effects it may produce upon the United States at large. A few words more upon each of these topics must conclude the present article.

And first, will the condition of the slaves be ameliorated by excluding them from Missouri and the other new states hereafter to be created? It is obvious that the distribution of slaves over a widely extended territory must increase their value in the estimation of their masters; that they will on that account be likely to be better treated; and that the means of subsistence and sources of comfort will be multiplied for them in a ratio proportioned to the quantity of soil they are enabled to cultivate and to the smallness of their number within any given space of they are widely diffused, and belong in small parties to a great number of owners, they will unquestionably be more comfortable than if they are crowded together in the hands of a few. Their removal to a new country must indeed be often attended with hardships. The division of families, the severance of friends, the abandonment of scenes rendered dear by early associations, and the numerous difficulties inevitably attendant on a first settlement in an uncultivated wilderness, must be submitted to by slaves, in common with their masters. But, on the whole, it appears evident to us, that both those who remove, and those who remain behind will be ultimately placed in a better situation by being diffused over a wide extent of country. The same motives which so often induce the enterprising freeman to abandon his friends, and to exchange the comforts of polished life for the deprivations, toils, and hardships of a remote and trackless forest, might prompt the removal of slaves from the over-stocked plantation or the too crowded city to a fertile but uncultivated and thinly settled country. This then would be one of the consequences of a prohibition of slavery in the new states about to be created in the west. The slaves would be precluded from the benefits of a more extensive range, and deprived of the opportunity, which the removal of a portion of them to a new country would afford, of improving their condition. But it is 0087 84 said, and no doubt with truth, that another consequence of the prohibition, intimately connected with, and in some degree resulting from that just mentioned, would be, to diminish the number of slaves or rather to impede the rapidity of their increase. This, we should suppose, would hardly be adduced as an argument in favour of the restriction, especially by those who profess to be governed by motives of philanthropy To enhance the number of freemen, by breaking the fetters of the slave, would be a noble attempt, but to diminish the number of slaves by loading them with oppression, destroying them in infancy, or retarding their natural increase, would be rather an extraordinary method of displaying humanity. It may however be said, that, although such a course would be cruelty to the slave, it would tend to promote that grand desideratum, the speedy eradication of slavery from our country.

We are not disposed to advocate either the humanity or the expediency of attempting to destroy slavery by the destruction of slaves: but it is important to determine whether the proposed restriction upon the new states will probably tend, in this or any other mode, to hasten the period when the American soil shall be inhabited only by freemen. We will throw out of view the unhappy consequences likely to result from the irritation such a restriction would inevitably produce, and the reaction which might therefore be expected in behalf of slavery. We will take it for granted that the number of slaves throughout the Union would probably be less a few years hence if the restriction were imposed, than if it were not. Still we do not perceive that the evil would be likely more speedily to be removed from the old slaveholding states in consequence of the restriction. On the contrary, within the limits of those states, the relative importance of the slave population would be greater, and the obstacles to a general emancipation more formidable. If the slaves now in the United States were diffused throughout the country, it would be easier and more safe to set them free, than it is at present. Even if the number were for a time considerably augmented by the diffusion, the facilities for their emancipation would be more than proportionably increased. We believe therefore that the restriction would retard rather 0088 85 than accelerate the much desired termination of slavery in our country.

If however we confine our view exclusively to the new states, in which the prohibition may prevail, and anticipate the probable effects of an exclusion of slavery from within their limits, we cannot but think it calculated to promote their permanent welfare. Could they be persuaded voluntarily to impose the restriction upon themselves, or to submit to it without a murmur, we believe they would derive from it the happiest results. Though we do not assent to all the extravagant accounts which ignorance and prejudice have given of the influence of upon the character of a people and the condition of a , we are convinced by our own observation and experience that its tendency on the whole is eminently unfavourable, and we believe that no community, well acquainted with its influence, and unaffected by motives of interest, would ever be induced to decide in its favour. Unfortunately however, such is the situation of Missouri, that we can hardly expect its citizens at present, especially while under the influence of their highly excited feelings, voluntarily to submit to the contemplated restriction, or to take any steps of their own for the ultimate extirpation of slavery. What then would be the effect upon the United States at large, under all the circumstances of the case, of a determination by Congress never to admit Missouri as a new state into the Union without an express stipulation for the perpetual exclusion of slavery from within its limits? Missouri would not submit, but would either remain, as at present, under a territorial government, or, as she has threatened, would establish for herself a state constitution, and appeal to the several states for protection and support. Jealousy would be excited in the old slave-holding states, and they would probably give to Missouri their countenance and aid. Considering the course pursued by Congress a violation of the constitution and a direct infringement of the solemn stipulations of a treaty, they would probably resort to measures of the most violent character. Irritations would increase; mutual recriminations would become daily more and more bitter, until a severance of our happy union, and perhaps a sanguinary civil war would terminate the 0089 86 controversy. Our anticipations may be too gloomy: we sincerely hope they are so. But we confess we fear the most awful results from a perseverance in the effort to impose perpetual restrictions and force unacceptable constitutions upon the new states. We mean not to justify or to excuse the violence we apprehend: but our citizens are not exempt from the common frailties of human nature, and while we should not timidly shrink from the performance of duty, we should be cautious how we rush headlong, from the impulse of feeling or for the accomplishment of any favourite object, into the vortex of ruin.

Art. 5. Sketches of Louisville and its environs...

Art. 5. Sketches of Louisville and its environs, including, among a great variety of miscellaneous matter, a Florula Louisvillensis, or a catalogue of nearly 400 Genera and 600 Species of Plants, that grow in the vicinity of the town, exhibiting their generic, specific, and vulgar English names? By II. M'Murtrie, M. D. &c. Me nec tam patiens Lacedæmon, Nec tam Larissæ percussit, campus opimæ, Quam domus Albuneæ resonantis, Et præceps Ohio ac Tiburni lucus et uda, Mollibus pomaria Rivis.—Hor. car. 7. lib. 1st.

To which is added an appendix, containing an accurate account of the earthquakes experienced here from the 16th of December 1811to the 7th of February 1812, extracted principally from the papers of the late T. Brookes, Esq. First Edition.Louisville, printed by S. Penn, Jun'r. 1819, 8vo pp. 246.

“IF the sky were paper and the sea were ink, they would be insufficient for writing down the praises of the place of our nativity or where our interests are.” We have here a book of 246 pages, containing a description of Louisville, Shippingport, Portland, New-Albany, Clarksville, and Jeffersonville, hypotheses concerning the Indians or former settlers of this country, prophecy, botany, mineralogy, ichthyology, conchology, zoology, organic remains, earthquakes, and caves, and the whole dedicated by one “unskilled in the language of flattery” to his excellency James Monroe. “Goot lack, goot lack, that is too much!”

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We are not disposed to quarrel with our author about the certainty of the future destiny of Louisville. We are well aware that from its local situation it must, at no distant period, become the mart of Kentucky, Indiana, and a part of Ohio, and a resting place for the waterman as he passes from Pennsylvania and Virginia to the Metropolis of the south: neither do we wish to interrupt the prophecy or break “the charm by contradiction,” for we should be much pleased to see, even in less than “ten years,” the spirit of commerce extending to the Pacific, and the “breezes of the western ocean kissing the star-spangled banner streaming from the mast of an Indiaman.” But we protest against fostering local jealousies even between distant parts of our Union, much less can we tolerate them between parts of the same state and places in the same neighbourhood.

After having given the latitude of Louisville, (the longitude perhaps was unknown to him) and noticed the appearance of the adjacent country, Dr. M'Murtrie proceeds to describe the Ohio with the different streams that fall into it before it reaches Louisville. As a specimen of his style we will make an extract from his description of the river Ohio,

“By far the noblest river in the Universe, no matter in what point of view it be considered. It is formed by the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela in lat. 40° 26′ 16″ north, when passing through Pennsylvania, it washes the shores and constitutes the line of division between the States of Virginia and Kentucky on the one hand, and Ohio, Indiana, and the Illinois territory on the other, receiving, in its progress through one of the most pleasant and fruitful countries on earth, a number of sister streams, all anxious to mingle in the train of their Queen and mistress, who, thundering o'er the falls, hushes her tumultuous waves, and winds her way in silent majesty to the latitude of ?7° 00′ 21″ north, where, joining the Mississippi, they together seek the Ocean.” p. 6.

We would advise the inhabitants on the banks of those “anxious streams” to remove to a respectable distance, as their desire may become so strong to pay their respects to “their Queen and Mistress” that they may take it into their wise heads to leave their “old meanderings and choose the nearest road to their place of destination.”

Our author at page 19th commences his geographical mineralogy. 0091 88 With regard to the neighbourhood of Louisville, so far as our information extends, the description is correct. He has however fallen into numerous errors in his more distant geological facts. The stone near Frankfort, which he calls “a fine grained white marble” is a light drab coloured compact argilaceous limestone with conchoidal fracture; it takes a very high polish, and is not granulated, but intermixed, with transparent chrystals of carbon of lime. Our author's knowledge of geology must be very circumscribed, as he tells us that the same strata change from hard compact marble to strata composed of Oyster shells, and in other places of petrified Buccinum, (quere Turbo.) Had he been well informed on his subject, he would have known that, in secondary countries, the organic remains are the criteria by which the geologist judges of the similarity or difference of strata. The strata of different substances, on which the soil of Kentucky rests, are all nearly horizontal. Many ??ssures are observable, yet they bear no marks of having been thrown out of their level by earthquakes, according to our author's theory. On the mountains, whence the head waters of the Kentucky and Cumberland rivers take their rise, the strata dip about 20°, forming an angle corresponding nearly with the sides of the mountains. This, however, does not prove any violent concussion and uplifting of the earth towards the centre of the hills, but rather a subsidence of the ground which now forms the vallies, from the retiring of the waters and a consequent inclination of the strata of the mountains in the direction of the hollow thus formed. Our author, in his geological description of the high country, takes no notice of the sandstone formations, which are uniformly found in the high parts of this state. The catalogue of fishes of the Ohio is very imperfect and erroneous. The following species have never been found in that river, although our author has inserted them, some as he declares from actual observation and others upon the authority of various individuals.

Clupea sapidissima,Muraena anguilla,

Cyprinus carpioPetromison marinus,

Cyprinus gobio,Perca ocellata,

Cyprinus tincaSalmo trutta.

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Many of the names communicated by Mr. Rafinesque, we understand, have since been changed by him, and as that gentleman has lately commenced, in the pages of this work, a scientific account of the fishes of the Ohio, we would refer our readers to it for an accurate and complete enumeration and history of the interesting finny tribes of the western waters. The same observation may apply to the shells of the Ohio. The extensive genus Potamilus of Rafinesque is probably identical with the genus U?io, although the animal inhabiting the shell may be somewhat different.

Ignorance and want of attention also appear in our author's attempt to give a description of the fossil and organic remains found in the vicinity of Louisville. He commences with the genus Anomia of Linnæus, although, according to the division of modern naturalists, no specimen of the acknowledged genus Anomia has been found in this country. He also manifests no small share of ignorance and credulity, when he affirms that he has beheld with his own eyes petrified frogs, turtles, &c. This belief may answer for the uninformed, but ought not to be introduced into works professing to be scientific. The new genus, which he has attempted to describe under the name of Somatrikelon megalometon, (as a physician our author should have selected a name that would not have given his readers the lock jaw, unless his benevolence is of that extensive kind that he wished to assist the profession wherever it may be practised, as we presume he supposed his book would be universally read since he has anticipated another edition,) is probably a species of Trilobite imperfectly described. Respecting the settlement of this part of America, we have heard of a colony from Wales, which, as tradition says, emigrated to some distant land, but we never imagined, until our author informed us, that the first settlers of this country were Frenchmen. But forsooth they must have been Frenchmen, for the inhabitants of Anjou were in the habit of building their houses with clay well mixed with chopped or twisted straw, and this practice subsequently extended to Picardy and several other provinces of France, and Mr. Savage discovered, near the river St. Francis, which empties into the Mississippi, the ruins of a fortified town of considerable extent, among 0093 90 which was still standing part of the walls of a citadel built of bricks cemented by mortar. If we do not misremember, some thousand years ago a people went from the land of Canaan into Egypt, and after having sojourned there for some time the king of Egypt began to oppress them, and required of them brick without giving them straw. The first settlers of the valley of the Mississippi must therefore have been the descendants of Egyptians, for the Egyptians made bricks with straw, which we think much the most probable opinion.

In the Florula Louisvillensis, or Catalogue of plants growing in the vicinity of the town of Louisville, we observe the same ignorance as in the other scientific parts of the work. We have a Catalogue containing about 600 species, alphabetically arranged with their botanical and vulgar names, which gives a pretended view of the vegetables of that section of the country, but we understand the author is indebted to Rafinesque for most of them, or at least for their proper determination and classification. The only new species of plant, which our author has attempted to describe, he calls Aster imperialis, with scarlet rays and white disk. It is highly probable that this plant is not an Aster, and perhaps nothing more than a species of Rudbeckia imperfectly described. Some of the plants he has enumera?ed are not found within thirty or even fifty miles of Louisville; and his carelessness or ignorance has led him to mention some plants twice under different names. To the botanist it would have been interesting to have distinguished those growing in Indiana and Kentucky, on the Silver hills, in the barrens, and on the flat plain surrounding the falls.

But it is more than time to bid adieu to the production before us. Our readers may be inclined to find fault with us for having taken up so much of their time and our own on a work possessing so little merit, and which has no other claims to notice except the importance of rectifying the numerous errors it contains.

MISCELLANY.

AN ORATION

Pronounced before the Union Philosophical Society of Transylvania University, February 22, 1820, in commemoration of the virtues and services of General George Washington, by Joseph Cabell Breckinridge, Esq.

GRATITUDE is the memory of the heart. To Almighty God, the fountain of all that is merciful and wise, is due its first and purest offering. To those rare and beneficent mortals, endowed with extraordinary talents, and exercising extensive usefulness, whom providence in the fulness of time rears up, to found new empires and renovate the old, to enlighten and reform the human race, is due a degree of reverence and praise—infinitely inferior—but inferior only, to that which ascends to the author of universal good. The sentiment of fond and grateful remembrance cannot be a sentiment of servility. The spirit of independence is generously just, and the nation that delights not to honour its benefactors is as incapable as it is undeserving of true glory. To heaven we pour forth our prayers and our thanks; and shall we withhold from the honoured instruments of heaven's blest designs the tribute of a lasting praise? Methinks they might be admired for their singularity merely. Look into the history of the times that are past, and say, are not the records of man's sentiments and acts the chronicles of his follies and his crimes? Cast thine eye up the dark current of ages, and say, if the desolating wave of ambition, rolling on the footsteps of civilization's proudest march, has not broadly overwhelmed the happiness of mankind, and destroyed the most exuberant of heaven's gifts? Amid this night of error, from this tempestuous ocean of the passions, the redeeming spirits of the age break forth to illuminate the world and calm its agitations. Alas! why are such examples so very rare! Thinly scattered through the broad arc of time, or seen at intervals amid the awful undulations of empire, they appear “Like specks of azure in a clouded sky; Like sunny islands in a stormy sea,”

On characters like these we love to dwell. For the honour 0095 92 of human nature we delight in their excellence, and feel a generous pride in the reflection, that those who bore them were our fellow-men. Does this pride deceive me when, turning to my native land, I view in her own Washington a Doric understanding, whose masculine grandeur towers above all the heroes of the world? What American is not proud that he is the countryman of Washington? Who of those made happy by his life, will not bend to heaven in thankfulness for his birth. He is gone! The great family of mankind mourns his loss! The age in which he lived will be distinguished in history as the age of Washington, and the hour of his nativity held sacred by his country until the republic dies!

Equal to the fortunes of the wonderful age in which he lived, and constantly rising superior to the station in which he acted, he had scarcely appeared on the theatre of his country, until the endowments of his mind and the fame of his exploits placed him on an eminence, where his virtues were conspicuous, and from which he viewed the path that leads to immortality. In his breast ambition was virtue. No mean desire of personal emolument; no vulgar admiration of clamorous applause; no guilty passion for arbitrary rule, polluted the pure fountain of his sentiments, or deformed the graceful magnanimity of his acts. Every wish of his heart was directed to the furtherance of his country's good. To establish her independence, to form her character, to preserve her liberties, and perpetuate her union,—these were the leading objects of his policy and the illustrious labours of his life. Happy man! who, to the precious consolations and ennobling consciousness of disinterested service, could add the merit of unexampled success.

It is not our province to record his deeds. ‘They live in story and are green in song.’ We stop not to trace the lineage of a man, on whom a free people have conferred the title of Father of his country.

The properties of the mind, and the qualities of the heart, are most correctly ascertained by an observance of the pursuits and objects, which occupy and attract them. The views, the feelings of the young Washington were beyond his years—solid and useful, manly and exalted. Of the branches of learning within the scope of a limited education, hegave his attentionmainly to those most practical and severe. In early life he acquired habits of systematic industry 0096 93 and rigorous self controul, eminently fitted to give success to his labours, and to impart strength to his character. Through the successive periods of his life, in the ascending stations which he occupied, he completely filled, without over-acting, the character that was suited to his age and condition. His intellect was vigorous, discriminating, and grave. Without a display of splendid versatility, or stubborn meditation; free from all those singularities, which stimulate the wonder and expectation of men; he silently strode before the generation with which he grew, which marked not his speed until he was beyond the reach of emulation and the rivalship of pride. His mind, expanding with occasion, appeared to grasp, with seeming equanimity of effort, the elements of science and the redemption of his country.

Gifted with dispositions thus masculine and aspiring, it is not surprising that he should have early evinced a decided predilection for the profession of arms. We accordingly find him, even in his boyish years, animated by an ardent zeal in the mastery of those principles which form the basis of military science. Having procured, by the intervention of his friends, a midshipman's place in the British navy, he was prevented from commencing his career of renown at the age of fifteen, only by the tender solicitude and importunate timidity of an affectionate and widowed mother. How inscrutable are the dispositions of an overruling providence! How slight are the incidents which shape the destinies of nations! Blended, as they often are, with those of an individual, we read in his history the secret causes of national revolution. A single tyrant with gigantic guilt may demolish the colossean edifice of his country's independence: and shall the virtuous efforts of the patriot be regarded as less efficient when directed to the attainment of human dignity and happiness? Washington was born to unite his countrymen; and to fate, not accident, do we attribute the disappointment of his earliest hopes. He might have borne the flag of Old England in triumph round the world—have extended the boundaries of an empire, which it was reserved for him to sever, and exalted that spirit of pride and domination, which it was his fortune so signally to humble. But who can say that these states, rich in the enjoyment of freedom and of fame, would not at this good hour, like the brave but unstable republics of the other America, have been doomed to struggle against the arts and 0097 94 the arms of a faithless and cruel despot, with the varying success that always attends divided councils and confederated feuds?

Washington was a grand original, and it was impossible that he could remain long unknown. Such was the flattering opinion entertained of his capacity, that at the age of nineteen he was appointed an adjutant general in the Virginia militia then training for actual service. But he did not long continue in this employment. The designs of France, directed to the attainment of a measure no less extensive and important than the connection, by a chain of military posts and subsequent contiguous settlements, of her vast possessions in Canada and Louisiana, began, about the year 1753, to be distinctly developed, by her formidable demonstrations and accumulating encroachments on the Ohio and its tributary streams. To ascertain the actual state of the French posts in that quarter, and to obtain some insight into those plans, which, it was believed, were meditated against the adjacent colonies, as well as to demand, in the name of the king his master, the restitution of the territory wrongfully occupied, the governor of Virginia conceived to be duties of primary obligation; and for the attainment and execution of a task so arduous and hazardous, he selected and detached the youthful Washington. The enterprise he displayed, in the prosecution and completion of this perilous undertaking; his judicious observance of the country through which he passed, with an eye to its occupancy as the theatre of future warfare; his dexterous and conciliatory course towards the Indian tribes; and his sagacious discernment of the views and policy of the French commandant; all detailed in his modest, but manly and luminous report to governor Dinwiddie, spread his reputation through his native state, and furnished just presages of his future usefulness and eminence. From this period Washington was no longer regarded as an ordinary man. The public eye was directed towards him, the public confidence reposed upon him, and henceforth we behold him, in every struggle of his country, the first in her service, her confidence, and love.

Entering her service he soon rose to the chief command of her small but gallant army, and continued with it until the close of the French war. Whether we view his chivalrous defence and honorable capitulation of Fort Necessity, or pause in admiration of the wonders he exhibited in retrieving 0098 95 the disasters of the brave but unfortunate Braddock; whether we contemplate his patient, firm, and efficient defence of the extensive and exposed frontier of Virginia, or trace him in his march, like another Scipio, into the enemy's country; we can neither restrain the acclamations of applause, nor check the anticipations of unrivalled glory. Covered with the early laurels of a fortunate hero, he retired from the army, when he could be no longer useful, and when the reputation of his services was extended over the American continent.

It is the property of a great mind to conform itself to every situation, in which duty or honour prescribes it to act. Washington was not less contented and respectable in the pursuits of agricultural industry, than he had been brilliant and imposing in military command.

During the period of his retirement he devoted himself to the general acquirement of useful knowledge; to the study of the condition, resources, and relations of his country; and to a more enlarged and scientific investigation of his favourite profession. He was, however, for many years a member of the Virginia legislature, in which body he occupied a highly respectable station, and took an early and decided part against the pretentions of supremacy asserted by the British parliament. He was chosen a member of the first Congress, which met at Philadelphia; and when the Congress perceived that a resort to arms was the only mean left the colonies, to retrieve and defend their violated rights, he was unanimously chosen to command their armies.

Behold the patriot, soldier, modestly advancing to the high station, which thirteen district and scattered sovereignties had with one consent assigned him. Deeply impressed with the magnitude of the undertaking, and the difficulty of its execution, he candidly avows, in the face of the world, a consciousness of his insufficiency, and devoutly invokes the aid of Heaven, in the cause of his country, of freedom, and humanity. With a dignity which nothing but inborn greatness could sustain, and a confidence which religion only can inspire, he enters on the duties of an office, than which a more delicate and arduous never fell to the lot of man. Destitute of men, of money, and of arms, he was compelled to rely on the untutored valour of the citizen, and the preventive foresight of his own capacious mind. But liberty impelled, union prevailed, Washington directed, and Americans fought.

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How often during the progress of this eventful war, when all seemed lost, and the fate of America forever sealed, have the single efforts of Washington prevailed, to rouse the continent, and create fresh hope! How often, with consummate prudence, has he snatched those lucky occasions, which misfortune affords the discerning and the brave to execute some brilliant and efficient design, evincive of the most active and comprehensive mind, and decisive of the issue of the most extensive and complicated plans! The fields of New-England, the plains of New-Jersey, the heights of Hudson, and the banks of Delaware, are monuments, as lasting as the land he made free, of the deeds he has done. Trenton! Princeton! proud memorials of valour's fairest prize, these were the scenes of his most brilliant exploits! Neither the feebleness of an army, bordering on a state of annihilation, nor the fears of a nation, covered with disasters and sunk in despair, could shake the fortitude of his unbending soul. The elements themselves war in vain against his plans. He appears before an enemy, superior in every thing but valour, severs his force, and takes position in his face. His adversary, confident in his remaining strength, waits only for morning to light him to victory. But before that morn can break, Washington, disappearing, strikes another blow, and the distant roar of his cannon, like the thunder of Heaven, makes the guilty quake.

But who has not hung with ardent rapture on the tale of all his valour, and of all his skill? Who has not paused in solemn reverence, to trace his patient sufferings and his pious hopes? From the field of victory we follow him to the retreats of wretchedness and want. Amid the inclement vallies of the Schuylkill, on the frozen banks of the Rariton, he shares in the sufferings he cannot avert. Cast on the ocean of uncertainty, and driven by the tempests of adversity, he lashes his fortunes to the sinking vessel of state, still clinging to the last fragment of hope. Conscious of the calamities which must attend defeat, view the serene firmness of his mind, while, pursuing a cautious and protracting policy, and preferring the final deliverance of his country to the exhibition of his military talents and the acquirement of personal fame, he retires before his adversary, uninfluenced by the open scoffs of his enemies, and the secret murmurs of his friends. Contemplate his afflicting struggles, when, after all his toils, and sacrifices, and triumphs, the treason of his generals or the panic of his troops, threaten 0100 97 13 sudden ruin and disgrace; when the dilatory and inefficient provisions, and embarrassing restraints of Congress, diffused an apathy, which paralized his most vigorous and well concerted measures; and when, in spite of all the assistance his country could render him, he was compelled to behold his brave companions in arms fleeing before a devastating foe, that tracked their bloody footseps through the regions of their native frost. Abandoned by fortune, view his awful inflexibility of purpose. Surrounded by the devoted remnant of his broken army, behold him detaining the soldiery in a desperate service, by the weight of his own personal influence. Even this might have been borne. Perseverance and courage may triumph over difficulties. But, oh! what hopeless anguish must have rent his noble soul, amid this disastrous complication of ills, to see the aged veteran, and the rustic patriot, expiring in all the wretchedness of want! Who would not pity the greatness of him, whose duty consigns him to agony like this! Who will not honour and love the being that endures it for his country's good?

But the trial of virtue is not eternal: the struggle is past. ‘On the ruins of York he laid the immortal base of the republic.’ He triumphed over all the enemies of his country, and his glory seemed complete. Common dangers and common sufferings are forgotten in the fond anticipation of the joys that are to come. The eyes of all nations are fixed upon him. The wonder of mankind, excited by his vast achievemnts, and riveted by his spotless fame, is anxiously directed to the concluding acts of this extraordinary man. The genius of Washington attends him still. New and unexampled victories await him. Other warriors have rent in twain the empires of the earth: other heroes have redeemed their country from the dominion of a tyrant, to tyrannise themselves. But he, who could tranquillize the frenzy of despair, soften the indignant rage of the veteran abandoned by his thankless country to famine and neglect, and amid the glare of power and the allurements to usurpation, trample on ambition, surely stands unrivalled and alone, ‘deriving lustre from his own singleness.’

The plains of New-Jersey and the legislative hall of Annapolis, were the scenes of the last and most interesting acts of his military life.

America had just terminated a long and arduous war, commenced in vindication of the rights of nature, and prosecuted in defence of her national existence. Exhausted 0101 98 by the contest, she sunk under her vast and protracted efforts. Empoverished by its support, she was unable to reward the military services of her sons. Discontents arose, and treason lurked in the bosom of the army. With the lively solicitude of a tender and affectionate parent deeply interested in the happiness and honour of a beloved family, the Commander in Chief counsels and entreats that army, which had always been obedient to his commands, to prefer the lasting glory of its deeds to the disgraceful profit of extorted gain, and the duration of that peace its valour had won, to the frightful tumults of civil discord. Pointing to the shores of the Delaware, where the tide of adversity was reversed, and the seat of the muses on whose consecrated plains the gallant Mercer fell; he calls up the remembrance of the glory that is past, and invokes the noble spirit of the brave, to honour the nation, and respect her law. Could the appeal of Washington be in vain? No, his countrymen reposed in the integrity of his counsels, and they were not deceived. Triumphant over their enemies, they exhibited the rare spectacle of a more glorious triumph over themselves.

Taking a last farewell of his beloved friends he hastens to the residence of that body, from which he had received his appointment; and into whose hands, after rendering a faithful account of all his public transactions, it was his sincere desire to surrender the authority by which he had so long acted. With dignified simplicity he presents himself before Congress. In the most respectful and affectionate terms he tenders his thanks to that distinguished assembly for its confidence and support, felicitates the venerable fathers of their country on the happy and glorious termination of their common and united services, with humble piety acknowledges the providence of Almighty God in the signal deliverance of his country, assumes to himself no higher praise than the bare performance of his duty, and having thus performed every office of a successful general and an obedient public servant, resumes the retirement so dear to his heart. August spectacle! worthy the admiration of all succeeding ages. Illustrious general! superior in this modest display of thy patriotism and justice, to all the Kings and Princes of the earth. ‘At the contemplation of such rare virtue, and moved by the recollection of so many interesting scenes, tears of admiration and gratitude burst from every eye. The hero, touched with the general emotion, wet his cheek with a manly tear, while he deposited 0102 99 his sword under the laws which he had covered with his shield.’

The shades of Mount Vernon once more receive him. In vain does he retire from the thanks of his country, and the applause of the world. America is free: but she has lost the services of her Washington. Deprived of his pervading and correcting policy, the articles of confederation exhibit defects before unperceived: and the national concerns are seen rapidly tending to a political chaos, which threatens to derange this fair creation of American Independence.

No citizen in these states more early perceived the imbecility of that system, under which the colonies had confederated for their defence, none more painfully experienced the pernicious effects consequent on its continuance. It was deficient in the universality of its powers, and the personality of their application: in union of purpose, and vigour of execution. The idea of a government is the idea of something entire and supreme. Without these properties it is inadequate to the attainment of any wise end, or the defence of any durable happiness. Every free state must be supreme for all the purposes of civil liberty. Every government made up of several states ought to be supreme for all the purposes of political safety. If its powers be incomplete, its operation will be oppression: because it is subject to the common necessities of nations, and is destitute of the ordinary remedies for relief. To confer too little authority is worse than to confer too much; for the latter may be abused, while the former must fail to produce the intended good. But it is futile to confer authority without conferring the means of its execution. The only mode, by which one government can coerce obedience from another, is by force; an appeal to which is a violation of the security that governments were instituted to insure. A government therefore within a government, and responsible as such for its political acts, can exhibit only the oppression of inequality, or the arrogance of domination. A league thus constituted cannot endure. The rivalships of the strong, and the slavery of the weak, must in time dissolve it; and conquest will consolidate the parts into one broad and hateful despotism. Nothing, perhaps, can arrest this natural progress of events but the formation of a federal government so far national, as to reach in its operations the persons of individuals, exclusively to controul commerce, and to regulate the great interests of peace and war. 0103 100 For the want of an umpire thus general in its regulations, and coercive in their application, every confederation of free states that ever existed has been destroyed. It is not the least conspicuous of those providential interpositions, which sanctify the union of the American states, that they averted by a wise precaution the calamities and ruin, which have overtaken their sister republics. They formed and adopted the federal constitution, an instrument the result of united wisdom and mutual concession, more eminently adapted to insure the liberty and prosperity of a brave and enterprising people, than any contrivance which human sagacity has ever devised. You know its principles, you have enjoyed its blessings. In its formation Washington exerted all his influence, and lent the aid of his great talents. It was just that he, who had made us a nation, should be invited to occupy the first place in its government. Unanimously called on to administer the government of a free people, we behold him, in the evening of his life and the maturity of his fame, abandoning a retreat which he had chosen with peculiar predilection, entering on the duties of a station before untried, and hazarding a fame which no mortal had ever surpassed. His love of country and his sense of duty predominated over every selfish and narrow consideration.

If the fame of the conqueror be magnificent and imposing, the reputation of the legislator and statesman is characterised by serener grandeur, and more solid utility. To contemplate our hero in these new characters, and review the arduous and diversified labours of his political career would open fresh sources of admiration in his continued display of wisdom, firmness, and virtue. We pause, but for a moment, to consider the difficulties of an administration, whose successful termination conferred imperishable renown on him who controuled it, and diffused an exuberance of prosperity over this extensive confederation, unparalleled in the fortunes of any nation.

It has been remarked that the best test of a good government is its aptitude to form a good administration. It may be advanced with equal truth, that the surest proof of a good administration is its tendency to develop the true principles of the government and simplify the operation of its essential parts. When president Washington entered on the duties of his office, he had to undertake the labour of a new political creation. To regulate and adjust our foreign relations; to organize and propel the complicated and ponderous 0104 101 machinery of our internal government; to retrieve public credit by a judicious and permanent system of finance; to encourage agriculture, commerce, and the arts; to give stability to the government, energy to the administration, and confidence to the great body of the people, were indispensable duties, which met him at the threshold and importunately claimed immediate attention. Foreign antipathies and partialities were to be overcome, state jealousies reconciled, and the inevitable inconveniences of a new system obviated and made pleasant. Even his own greatness cast a shade over his performance, by creating expectations unreasonable and absurd.

From the practical operation of public measures we deduce the only just estimate of their policy and wisdom. Under Washington's administration the United States, constantly threatened with an untimely visitation of those desolating wars which were devouring the infuriated nations of the old world, by a firm and impartial adherence to the principles of neutrality, were preserved from the calamities incident to war and peculiarly destructive to an infant and feeble community just rising out of the ruins its enemy had spread. Under circumstances so inauspicious peace continued and prosperity advanced: alliances of friendship and commerce were negotiated with the principal states and kingdoms of the civilized world: our savage foe was conquered, humbled, and appeased: the western posts, which fostered his enmity and supplied his wants, were wrung from the eager hug of our faithless rival, and security ensured to the long extent of our agitated borders. Agriculture and commerce flourished together: the useful arts multiplied in a ratio before unknown: and the streams of justice flowed with unimpeded current throughout the land. The government was respected, for the government was free. The Executive was honoured, for the Executive was just. If sedition for a moment reared its front, the vigilance of the president, detecting its latent causes, either removed the inconveniences that justified complaint or crushed the arrogance that would rise above the laws. If foreign nations, in the wantonness of power, sometimes infringed our acknowledged rights, they were forced to respect the dignity of freedom and dared not provoke the resentment of courage.

Who but Washington could have restrained that generous but misguided zeal, which, originating in a sense of gratitude and a love of freedom, was hurrying our country 0105 102 into the vortex of revolutionary France? He witnessed the struggles of an oppressed but gallant people: he sympathized in their sufferings, and rejoiced in their success. His love of liberty was a love of order, of security, and of equal rights. Where these did not exist he saw no elements of rational freedom, and looked forward with sad presages to the consequences of a system which had no foundation in the moral stability of truth. For America to participate in European wars of conquest or revolution, he foresaw would subvert her independence and blast her fairest prospects of happiness. Neither the arrogance of foreign nations nor the impetuosity of our own citizens, could drive him from an adherence to the principles of an impartial and stern neutrality. ‘I see him standing like a rock in the midst of the ocean, unshaken by the fury of all its waves. Faction, violence, and discord dash their angry billows against his sides, and fall in empty murmurs at his feet.’ But there is a time when even public services ought to cease. Exalted by his confiding fellow-citizens above suspicion, Washington forget not an observance of those occasions, which entail responsibility on the highest magistrate. Obedient to the calls of his beloved country, twice had he submitted to her choice. Obedient to his firm convictions of duty, mindful of the influence of his own example, and yielding to the solemn importunities of decaying nature, he voluntarily descended from the first station in the world, to mingle in the most innocent employments of life. But nothing could extinguish or abate the predominant affection of his breast. Age, which chills the fervor of unhallowed passions, purifies and strengthens the awful virtues. To the latest hour of his existence the holy flame of patriotism burned with inextinguishable lustre.

Before he retired from the government, he prepared for the people of the United States a last and solemn memento of his respect and love. In his inestimable Farewell Address he inculcates on their minds lessons of the soundest wisdom, drawn from a deep knowledge of the condition, wants, and resources of his country, and a long and minute investigation of the hidden causes of instability in human affairs. With a solicitude the most affectionate he directs them to the attainment and preservation of their national prosperity, by the diffusion of knowledge, the encouragement of industry, the love of justice, and a wise application of their national wealth: while with prophetic warnings he discloses the dangers of future alienations and distrust, 0106 103 originating from party animosities, local jealousies, and foreign intrigue. Ah! who has not already witnessed the fatal effects of a disregard for his parental admonitions!

Consistent to the last, at the awful apprehension of death, still does he minister to the happiness of his kind. With princely munificence he endows his numerous relations and friends, forgets not the cause of science and the arts, and in the hallowed spirit of exalted philanthropy breaks the fetters of the slave, who weeps over the occasion that terminates his pains. To that country, which he so tenderly loved and so nobly served, he bequeaths the inestimable inheritance of his virtues; and his soul, freed from the shackles that humanity imposed, ascends, pure as it emanated, to the bosom of his God, uncontaminated by meanness, and unpolluted with crime.

To contemplate from afar the stupendous fabric of heroic fame leaves no other impression than mere amazement or indeterminate awe. Vast achievements, dependant on the fortunes of war and the revolutions of states, are not always evidences of real greatness. Not unfrequently are they produced by crimes; too often do they lead to injustice and oppression. But the near inspection of those attractive virtues that adorn the noble structure of a good man's character, inspires a solemn reverence and kindles a generous sympathy, which impel the warm gush of admiration and love.

In reviewing the character of this wonderful man, we search in vain for the exhibition of those gaudy qualities, which fashion dignifies with the name of genius. It was not an unnatural prominence of one feature, but the symmetry of proportion and grandeur of expression, which characterised his whole mind, that gave gracefulness to his sentiments, and dignity to his acts. He practiced all the sterner virtues with a meekness and condescension, which banished every restraint of unamiable austerity. He was firm without obstinacy, severe without cruelty, a victor without arrogance, and an idol without vanity.

Temperance, fortitude, and prudence, regulated the harmonious current of his life. Industry and patience, punctuality and order, generosity, affability, sincerity, and frankness, habitually displayed their happy operation in his daily acts. Himself the model of every estimable quality, it was his peculiar felicity to possess, in an eminent degree, the talent of discerning and appreciating the merits of others. 0107 104 He was brave, magnanimous, and just. An exalted dignity and a chastening piety reigned throughout the circle of his moral sentiments; while a clear and expanded common sense, the strong foundation of substantial usefulness, facilitated and simplified the profoundest results of his intellectual meditations.

The life of this great man resembles the progressive course of some mighty river. Just issuing from the bosom of its parent fountain, we scarcely perceive the infantile current that glides along so silent and obscure. By and by in his more extended flow, we behold the father of waters appropriating the tribute of a thousand streams; imperceptibly spreading his unruffled surface; majestically bearing down every obstacle, and fertilizing all the regions around, until, lost in the immense reservoir of nature, the partial benefit becomes a general good. Such was the march of the hero we applaud. Scarcely had he passed the limits of juvenile obscurity, until we see him advancing to usefulness, to power, and to fame, with a calm and progressive equanimity, a stern and accumulating grandeur, and a sublime display of wisdom, integrity, and valor, which redeemed, ennobled, and enriched his country. Even from the grave, in which the current of human life is lost, his example arises to instruct forever. His virtues are the common property of the human race. ‘His monument is erected in the human heart.’

The opinions of such a man ought to be considered as oracular. Like the mistress of the world, America, in the hour of disaster and disgrace, should consult these Sibyline oracles of truth, to renovate her fortunes and direct her steps. The wisdom of our father might still instruct. His abiding counsels, like the pillar of fire, might illuminate the dark night of adversity, and, like a cloud by day, direct us safely over the dazzling pinnacle of prosperity.

His memory will endure forever. In after ages, when the present time shall have grown into venerable antiquity, when a crowded population shall ply its busy labours beyond the Rocky Mountains, and a thousand sails shall be unfurled on Columbia's ample bosom; when the star spangled banner shall wave on the ramparts of splendid cities erected on Pacific's shore, and our sister America shall be what we are now; still will successive generations, in the fruition of those blessings which he so largely contributed to achieve, at each recurring festival which we this day 0108 105 14 celebrate, award increasing honours to the benefactor of the new world, and the ornament of human kind.

Youth of Transylvania! To you would I exhibit this bright examplar, and urge you to noble emulation by every motive that is dear to generous and aspiring bosoms. The patriots and sages, the statesmen and orators, who were formed in the school of the revolution, and flourished in the age of Washington, in rapid succession are descending to the tomb. Alas! but few remain. In the venerable temple of our national independence the inquiring eye meets, but at melancholy intervals, a mouldering column that time in its ravages has spared. Yet a little while and all who now fill the seats of power, all who labour to enlighten and to bless, shall have passed away, and their names and their actions have been delivered over to impartial history. Yet think ye that American genius will decline and American patriotism abate? Shall the light of her philosophy cease to shine? Shall the fire of her eloquence be extinguished forever? In an age of improvement are we alone to retrograde? Can true greatness be banished from the land of liberty? No. Through the vista of futurity I see the lengthened glories of my country extending through all the ages that are to come and rising above all the nations that are past. And can those, who are to succeed to this rich inheritance, view without emotion the animating scene? Will folly and vice dare to intrude their sacrilegious footsteps on the hallowed domains of virtue and knowledge? I warn you as you prize your lasting happiness and self respect: I charge you as the future guardians of your country's rights, the defenders of her honour, and the contributors to her just renown, to form your characters on high and holy models; to discipline and expand all the faculties of your minds; to cherish and employ the best affections of your hearts. The intellectual powers, like the attractive properties of the loadstone, are strengthened by exertion; and the mind that is habitually directed to the attainment of an elevated object, will acquire dignity of purpose and erectness of mien. By that love of excellence, which is natural to the breast of uncorrupted youth; by the toils and the cares, with which genius and learning rear and enrich the shrine of your literature; by the hopes of your friends; by the fond attachment and anxious solicitude of parents, who watch over your present welfare with all the ardour of love, and look forward to your future usefulness 0109 106 with all the rapture of joy; by the deep and solemn obligations which you owe to your country; and by the awful responsibilities on which you are so soon to enter; I invoke you to employ aright this precious period of your existence, and improve the favoured opportunities by which you are so munificently surrounded. Ignorance, when it is voluntary, says the prince of moralists, is criminal; and he may properly be charged with evil, who refuses to listen how he might prevent it. Beware of indulgences which enervate, of attainments that early satisfy. The standard of letters is daily becoming higher: the competition for distinction more formidable and extended. Be yours the labour of unceasing worth, and yours the tribute of deserved applause. Let enduring patience ripen all your honours, and approving virtue sanctify your just rewards. Then may you aspire to rank among the great and good: then may you walk with unbending dignity through life, unawed by power, unsubdued by vice, diffusing the treasures of wisdom and imparting the consolations of hope: and when you shall have reached the verge of your existence, and look back as through an inverted telescope on the diminished objects of time, the voice of some future orator or poet may be heard in the halls of Transylvania to eternize your praise: some future historian, when you shall sleep in the narrow house, may inscribe your names on the same tablet that contains the name of Washington.

AMERICAN ELOQUENCE.

ELOQUENCE is indigenous to the soil of freedom. Sometimes, it is true, it is led in chains, to grace and to proclaim the triumphs of tyrants. But it is only from enlightened liberty, that it springs into full vigour and maturity. Hence republican Rome produced her Tully; and Demosthenes and Æschines flourished in the days of democratic Athens. Hence, too, eloquence declined with the decaying liberties of Rome; and the flight of freedom from the citadel of Athens was a signal for the introduction of sophistry, chicane, and corrupted elocation.

Since therefore the connection is so close between eloquence, and freedom, much eminence in oratory was to be expected from the American nation. Europe has beheld the temple of our freedom, and calls for the Toga and the 0110 107 Rostrum. They are presented, but the one shows not the copious ornaments and rich texture of the Latin robe; nor the other the simple grandeur of the Doric order; and immediately she condemns our eloquence, and would ostracise the virtuous freedom from which it should have been derived. It is obvious that the character of modern eloquence differs materially from that of ancient times. The progress of learning and scientific attainment, far advanced beyond the narrow limits of ancient discovery and research, has given to the cold speculations of reason the influence and authority which formerly belonged to feeling. Thus the enthusiasm, the warm emotion, the ardent and empassioned oratory of Greece and Rome, have given place to the more dry and argumentative pleadings and philosophic eloquence of modern times. There has been a constantly progressive change from fire and enthusiasm to coolness and precision, from passion to reason, from feeling to philosophy. The field itself of eloquence has been materially altered for the worse. The popular assemblies of ancient times, in which concerns of the greatest moment were transacted, and eloquence called out in all its fervour and force, have been converted into deliberative bodies, select and small, where sympathy is lost in the limitation of numbers, and the warm tumultuous feelings, which so often rent and agitated the assemblies of the people, are now banished and unfelt. In a word empassioned oratory has in some good degree departed with the crowd. We, in common with all modern nations, have felt the influence of so great change: and yet our oratory is taken up without the consideration of these immense diversities, and measured by the standards of Greece and Rome, from which its very kind is confessedly different. Of course neither truth nor justice can be arrived at by such a process. We will not now stop to enquire whether the preference given to ancient over modern eloquence be fairly bestowed, or whether a reverence for ancient things in general, and for ancient oratory in particular, when its rays are projected through so dark a medium, may not incline us to do injustice to the moderns. But we demand that modern Europe should contrast our eloquence with her own, and if it be fairly done we have no fear for the issue.

Should it even be admitted, that we have achieved more in some other respects than in commanding eloquence, does it therefore follow that we are inferior in oratory to the nations of Europe? Does it not rather prove, that we have transcended 0111 108 them in many other particulars; that we have not acquired less character in this, but more in other departments, than other nations? It would be easy to shew, that, for the short term of our national being and our means and opportunities of literary and scientific acquirement, we have EQUALLED in eloquence the most distinguished examples of modern Europe. It should be remembered that we are yet an infant people, just on the threshold of national existence. The germ of our character has scarcely begun to swell: how then can it be required to yield the fruits of entire maturity? The world has, we grant, been unaccustomed to behold such a character as ours. To the standard height of other countries, our stripling nation has so immaturely reached, that they cannot accredit the story of its so recent birth. When they view its elevation, they forget that this people occupy a region which was but yesterday a wilderness, and expect the voice which proclaims our early prowess to swell with the thunder of eloquence. This, though unconsciously bestowed, is distinguished praise: expecting from our infancy higher attainments than have yet been made by the more than maturity of modern Europe.

To these expositions and defences, it may be well to add the influence which the freedom of the press in our country exerts to check and weaken eloquence. A spirit of free discussion has burst through the trammels of ancient prejudice, emancipated reason, and divided with the orator the dominion of the mind. ‘The aristocracy of eloquence has yielded to the supremacy of the press, and the people, finding higher security in the latter, do not so fully repose their confidence and safety in the former.’

To our own and other nations of Christendom, the pulpit has opened a new and most interesting field for the display of sublime and touching eloquence. How grand, how stupendous are the subjects which engage the attention of the pulpit orator? When the herald of peace and mercy, clothed in the humble boldness of his divine master and great God the Saviour, stands forth amid the moral desolations of sin, to proclaim ‘the acceptable day of the Lord;’ when he points to the passion on the Cross, and the interminable joys and glories which lie beyond it, to a Hell to be shunned, a Heaven to be gained, a God to be adored, how sublime are the themes! How awful, how impressive, how grand! How fitted to call forth the highest efforts of human eloquence! Here truth must lend all her persuasion to the speaker's voice, must impart to his efforts all her powers. 0112 109 In this department our country, for the period of its national existence, has produced the most numerous and illustrious examples. Perhaps no government on earth is so well adapted as our own for the encouragement of pulpit eloquence. Here, where discussion is so free, conscience so unfettered, where every creed is tolerated, and every sect protected, it is likely to appear in its most august and engaging form.

But it is not in the pulpit alone that our country has furnished specimens of the most impressive and overwhelming eloquence. On our anniversary occasions, in our legal pleadings, in our state assemblies, and especially in our national legislature, how numerous and honourable are the examples! Perhaps the world has never witnessed such a body of great and eloquent men, as were thrown together in the constellation of those colonial and state conventions which fostered the spirit of American Independence. It were superfluous to particularize. The catalogue of their names is the record of their orators. Here eloquence flowed, bold, commanding, irresistible, from high debate, from pure and ardent patriotism, from the warm indignation of injured innocence, and the virtuous magnanimity of insulted freemen. How calculated to elicit the eloquence of the nation were the events which accompanied the American revolution! How august the spectacle of an injured people, slow to anger as the religion which they breathed, calling for redress in the calmness of fortitude, and, like the spirit of the storm, warning before they strike! Their warning is not heard: then the patriot orator, filled with indignant sorrow at the survey of his dear parent country's wrongs and desolation, erects his bosom to the storm, infuses the fire of freedom into the nation, pours down the fury of his indignant eloquence, and proclaims his great resolve, “my country shall be free;” “give us liberty, or give us death!” This was the school in which our orators caught their inspiration, whence the silver-tongued eloquence of Ames arose, and Demosthenes was revived in the form of Henry.

Such is the character of much injured but honourable American eloquence. After this view of the subject, imperfect as it is, we admit that it was but just for the states of Europe to expect from us an unrivalled superiority in oratorical attainment. Their whole continent had beheld with wonder, with awe, and with admiration, the early greatness of our infant nation. Some of them had adopted the improvements of our arts, some had felt the puissance of our 0113 110 arms, all have seen our glory wafted in the steam-boat of a Fulton, glow on the canvas of a West, and mount the Heavens with a Franklin.

And while we defend our reputation from foreign aspersion, let us labour to lift higher the standard of national eloquence. Let us train our youth to pure morals, virtuous principles, and ardent piety. Let us increase the facilities for solid literary attainment, let us advance its dignity and strengthen its inducements. The great Roman orator has told us that ‘Nemo poterit esse omni laude cumulatus orator, nisi erit omnium rerum magnarum, atque artium scientiam consecutus.’ It is most true. Nature must supply the elements. Art must mould and combine them. Demosthenes, if he did not derive, trained the sublime powers of his eloquence within the walls of the Academy; and Tully perfected his elocution in the schools of Greece.

In fine, as we have already equalled the most distinguished examples of modern eloquence, so the time, we confidently hope, is at hand, when from the union of sound letters, of virtuous freedom, and pure religion, American eloquence shall glow in the fervid fire of Demosthenes, and roll in the copious magnificence of Tully.

INDIAN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

From the manuscript of Mr. William Wells

(Continued from page 49.)

Every Indian has one or more of the skins or images, which are called in Miami Corpennah, and which they continually worship. They say that when the creator formed them he gave them those things, and told them that if they would worship them, they would live to an old age and be happy. Some member of every family therefore worships these instruments regularly every month, sometimes oftener, by preparing a kettle full of victuals and a few pipes of tobacco, and singing all night the songs he has been taught by his ancestors, which may be called religious songs. He invites his neighbours to come and eat the victuals, and when they are assembled states the cause of his calling them together, after which they proceed to eating with a great deal of ceremony. Each person throws a little of the 0114 111 victuals into the fire before he puts any in his mouth. Few Indians will give an opinion respecting a future state of existence. They say that those things are only enquired after by fools and white men. Some of them have told me that there were two other worlds to which the ghosts of this world go; one the place of residence of the great and good spirit, and the other that of the bad, that the ghosts of good men live with the good spirit and the ghosts of bad men with the bad spirit. When asked what qualities are necessary for a good man, they would reply, to be a good father, a good husband, a good warrior, and a lover of his nation. The Indians generally appear to care but little about a future state of existence and only appear to be anxious to live to old age. When an Indian dies, his relations black their faces and fast for a certain time fixed by the head of the family. The neighbours assemble and bury the dead, after which the heads of those families who are friendly towards the family of the deceased take some article of clothing and go and address the friends of the deceased in the following words: ‘Friends, we are sorry that it has pleased the great spirit to call one of your family from you, but this is not uncommon among us people of this world. Our friend is only going on his journey a few days before us. We have come therefore to invite you to mourn no longer, and to cover the body of our departed friend.’ They then return, and the articles of clothing they left are preserved for the person that is to be adopted in the place of the deceased.

When an Indian loses one of his friends by death, he believes that if the place is not supplied by adoption, more of his friends will die. Should the deceased be a male, the most intimate male friend is chosen to fill his vacancy: if a female, her most intimate female friend is chosen. If the deceased be a person of respectability it frequently happens that two persons are chosen to fill the vacancy.

When every thing is ready, the person or persons are sent for, and the ceremony begins. If the deceased were a warrior, the adoption is exhibited by the warriors of the village who assemble at the house of the deceased, dance the war dance, and sing the war song in rotation. The warrior goes through all the actions he performed when he was engaged with his enemy, after which he repeats to the assembly the number of actions he has been in and the number of scalps he has taken, occasionally giving the same yells and using the same words be uttered when he was in 0115 112 battle. During all the time there is a constant yelling of the war whoop by the assembly. When the warrior has gone through such of his war exploits as he thinks proper, he hands the war club to some other warrior, and sits down: the other rises and repeats as many of his war exploits as he thinks proper in the same way, and thus the dance is continued until each warrior of the village is called on to relate his war exploits. Some are even called on two or three times. The assembly is then dismissed by the speaker of the friends of the deceased, who declares that their hearts are glad. The person adopted, who during the dance sits among the relations of the deceased, is then moved by his new relations to a private room, where he receives every thing that belonged to the deceased, as well as the articles of clothing that had been received from the neighbours. He is then told that he is one of the family and is considered as such, and that he is entitled to the same authority in the nation as the person whose place he fills.

When a common man, woman, or child dies, the adoption is exhibited by a few people of both sexes playing some favourite game of the deceased.

When an Indian goes to the grave of his friend or relation be addresses himself to the grave as though the corpse were living, and relates every misfortune that has happened in the family since it was buried. He then leaves there a piece of tobacco, some victuals or spirituous liquors, if he have any, and departs.

INDIAN ANTIQUITIES.

LETTER VII.

TO THE EDITOR

Sir—In my earliest letters the fact was sufficiently established that the ancestors of some of the nations of Anahuac or their kindred tribes inhabited the very extensive district of country which we now denominate the valley of Mississippi. I have shown that the arts and forms of worship of these people were essentially alike, and that the tradition of our present Indians and the historical painted registers of the Mexican nations fully confirm the same. I have also proved that certain striking resemblances in religion and manners existed between our aborigines and the family or 0116 113 1? race of Hindoo. It consequently follows that the antiquities of these western states elucidate Mexican history, whilst on the other hand researches into Asiatic literature tend to develop the more remote origin of these people. It necessarily brings us to that period, when, soon after the confu?ion of tongues, mankind became scattered abroad, and under their individual leaders adopted certain religious and astronomical ideas, which, though varying with the fancies of their leaders as best suited their political and religious pre-eminence, yet bore a sufficient analogy to prove their common origin.

I well know that some of our modern literati are displeased with the many irresistible proofs which have lately been adduced from Asiatic Pagan authority in corroboration of Mosaic history. Voltaire, D'Alembert, Volney, and an host of others, following in their train, studied Hindoo and Chinese literature with the hope of disproving the authenticity of Moses as an historian. Their means of information on this subject were at that time very limited, and their own prejudices led them willingly to adopt the wildly absurd astronomical calculations of those nations, and occasioned their assent to positions which were even doubtingly urged by the superstitious votaries of Brahma. The recent knowledge acquired by Europeans in the Sanscrit and Chinese languages, and their more intimate acquaintance with the sacred books of those nations, have set the dispute forever at rest. It is proved beyond all doubt, that this immeasurable chronology owes its origin to fanciful calculations, for supposed astronomical periods, of the movements and retrogradations of the planets and stars: also that their real history, though mixed with innumerable fables, does not extend, at the utmost limits, beyond the time of Moses; that the confusion of language and the dispersion of mankind at the tower of Babel are fabulously represented by the Avater of Bali; that the creation and deluge are distinctly, though allegorically, noticed; and in short, that every new information from this pagan source tends to prove the veracity of Moses. Falsehood herself is made to bend at the shrine of inspired truth, and constrained to declare certain facts, which, though mixed with innumerable fables, thus unintentionally corroborate the plain and simple narration recorded in Genesis.

It is in this most important point of view that I wish my readers to consider the future subject of my present letter. 0117 114 Our knowledge of remote antiquity, other than that which the bible affords, is comparatively small; every additional proof in its corroboration is therefore of importance, and when brought from discordant sources ought to weigh heavy in that balance by which our unprejudiced reason judges of the great truths revealed in the annals of our religion. Moses has given us a plain narration of the creation, the fall of man, the deluge, and the confusion of tongues. The oldest lawgivers and poets of Asia, Egypt, and Greece describe the same events mingled with fables. Their records afford sublime sentences, physically, morally, and historically correct, though mixed with tales the most absurd, immoral, and irrational. The deceitful passions and artful devices of men enabled them to envelop divine truth in a thick cloud of error. The pillar of light however remains the same, and its effulgence, breaking forth at intervals through the mist, has enabled us to reflect it into the very eyes of our modern self-styled illuminati. Their knowledge has turned out to be foolishness even in the estimation of the modern world.

The Peruvians, Mexicans, and various nations of the mid continent of America, had, like the Hindoos, an imperfect knowledge of the historic truths revealed by Moses. This knowledge confirms the common origin of those people, and displays a central point of information which belonged to both branches of the original stock.*

* The Hindoo accounts of the most important events in the early history of the earth are even more fabulous than those of Mexico. This might be expected, as a populous nation remaining on its own soil is more likely to excel in the arts of fable and poetry than those wandering tribes who eventually settled in America.

The Mexicans had a female deity named Cihuacohault or the mother of the human race. She is always represented in their painted emblems as accompanied with a serpent, thus evidently alluding to the history of Eve. This is more strongly confirmed by the circumstance that other paintings represent their god Tezcathpoca, or the sun as tearing the serpent in pieces. The first great prophetic declaration made by the Almighty that the seed of man should bruise the head of the serpent has never been forgotten amidst all the idolatry of the nations of Asia. The joyful information of the future advent of the Messiah thus prefigured has been handed down more or less distinctly by the various races of the Hindoo family. Crishna of India, whose character is the same as the Greek Apollo, 0118 115 is represented in Hindostan as infolded by the serpent, and again portrayed when the heel of the deity crushes its head. Chrishna and Tezcathpoca are the same deities under different appellations. They, like Apollo, designate the sun. They were the inventors of many of the fine arts, and after combating, finally destroyed that serpent which always accompanied the figure of the mother of mankind and was supposed to be at enmity with her. The Mexican history of the deluge in like manner contains less fable than that of Hindostan. They relate that in the fourth age of the world it was destroyed by an universal deluge, mankind being transformed into fish, except a single male and female, who escaped in the trunk of a cypress tree. Some of the nations of Anahuac are still more correct in their historical narration. They represent Coxcox or the Mexican Noah with his wife as landing in their bark on the top of the mountain Colhuacan, corresponding in this respect to Ararat of Asia. In this bark animals are also painted, and a dove portrayed bringing a branch of leaves to Coxcox. The confusion of tongues is also related more correctly than among the Hindoos. Like the Asiatic, Egyptian, and Grecian nations, the Mexicans have their race of Titans or giants, who are said to have inhabited Anahuac and perished at the period of the deluge, except seven, who hid themselves in the caves of the mountain Tluloc. The Chief of these giants, Xelhua, built the pyramid of Cholula in commemoration of the event, meaning thereby to represent the mountain Tluloc, which had afforded them a place of refuge. The Gods were displeased at this edifice, whose pinnacle approached the clouds; in consequence of which they launched fire from Heaven and destroyed the workmen. Xelhua discontinued the building, and, instead of his former intention, consecrated it to Quetzalcoatl, the God of air and thunder. The pyramid of Cholula, as I shall hereafter remark, resembled the temple of Belus, Bali, Babel, or Babylon, for these are different names of the same building. The miraculous interference of the Almighty may reasonably be supposed to have been attended with other visible evidences of his power. The divine presence may have been declared as at a later time, either in the pillar of fire or the awful thunderings of Mount Sinai. This circumstance, with the natural application of remote events to their own later nation and temples, will readily account for the chief deviation from the narration of Moses.

I must, however, proceed to compare the more immediate 0119 116 and striking resemblances, which exist between the various tribes of the mid continent of America and the nations of the Hindoo family in Asia, Egypt, and Europe. Astronomy seems to have been the science first acquired by the earliest descendants of Adam, or at least it is the only science handed down to us in such an open and undisguised manner as to display the great antiquity of its origin. It was fortunately necessary to record the knowledge of astronomy in durable monuments, such as were either essential for their observations or else might serve as tables or diagrams to future ages. The pyramids of Egypt are known from history to have been intended for observatories as well as tombs and temples. It has been lately discovered that the sloping passages leading to their chambers are so constructed that the priests were enabled to make observations from those dark places on the ascension and declination of certain stars and the sun, so as to fix the precise period for some of their most solemn festivals and religious rites Astronomy was assuredly an ante-diluvian science. Its fundamental principles must have been taught by Noah to his son, and disseminated by the Hindoo and Patriarchal families, after their dispersion. In no other way can we account for the wide spreading knowledge of this difficult acquirement; a knowledge, far superior to the other rude attainments of the various semi-barbarous nations of antiquity, and not in any wise apportioned to their state of civilization. The Mexicans, for instance, were well acquainted with the cause of an eclipse of the sun, as in their hieroglyphic paintings they represent the moon as passing over its disk, and designate, by their well known symbolic characters, both these orbs of our planetary system. The Mexican year consisted of eighteen months of twenty days each, making three hundred and sixty days, to which they added five supernumerary days, being the precise mode adopted by the Egyptians as regards their epagomenas of five days. A similar superstition in like manner prevailed respecting them, as among both nations they were considered unlucky, and that children born during that period must necessarily be unfortunate.

Some of the other nations of middle America divided their years in a different manner, and consequently had various intercalary days. The Peruvians had twelve unequal months, giving a total number of three hundred and fifty four days, to which they added eleven other days for the purpose of approximately to the solstitial year. The 0120 117 various Asiatic nations also differ from each other in this respect. It does not therefore militate against my general position, when we find that the Hindoos divide their annual period of three hundred and sixty five days in a different manner from the foregoing forms. The Mexicans are, however, entitled to the praise of most accuracy, as from certain other intercalary days at the end of their cycles of fifty-two, and one hundred and four years, they were much more correct than the Spaniards, who, at their conquest of that kingdom, did not use the present new style of computation.

One of the chief differences between the Mexicans and Asiatics is, that the former had periods of thirteen, instead of seven days, though the latter computation was generally prevalent throughout most of the world. The Peruvians, however, had periods of five days, and, in this respect, agree with the Hindoos. The ancient Chinese and Japanese did not use weeks of seven days.

The Mexicans, like the ancient Persians and Hindoos, had names for each day of the month with their accompanying symbols, and the same superstitious ideas prevailed respecting them. Among the nations of Anahuac that day was considered peculiarly fortunate whose sign was the same as their year. Among the Hindoos, that day was equally lucky whose sign represented the month. It ought not to be forgotten that the ancient Hindoos, in their astronomical calculations, often termed months as years. The Mexicans computed their cycle in periods of fifty-two years; the Hindoo cycle is composed of sixty years: they however both agree in the precise day which commenced each new period, being the 22d December, or the beginning of the true solstitial year. These Mexican cycles of fifty-two years are also designated, like those of Hindostan and Egypt, by the figure of a Serpent which surrounds the astronomical table, and is represented as holding the tail in its mouth: this in fact is the very common and most ancient symbol of time and eternity.

Many of the names of the Mexican days of the month precisely agree in signification with the signs of the Zodiac used by those nations of Asia, which either belong to the Hindoo family or adopted their religion. The present mode of dividing the Zodiac into twelve parts, was not the most ancient. The oldest Asiatics used twenty-seven or twenty-eight signs, which in fact composed the first lunar Zodiac, or days of the month, transferred afterwards to the path of 0121 118 the sun. The still later alteration of the solar Zodiac into twelve signs occasioned many deviations from their original order. The Tibetians, Chinese, Tartars, and Japanese, who received their astronomy along with their religion from Buddha, have many differences in their signs from those now used in Hindostan. I shall proceed to designate such Mexican signs or lunar days, as agree with those of the Asiatic nations, premising that many of our names are also derived from the same source.

The Mexican sign Atl, water, or our Aquarius, agrees in signification with the Chinese and Tibetian Symbol Tchip or Water Rat, which animal was employed by those nations to designate water. Cipactli, in the Mexican language a marine monster, answering to our Capricornus, is the same animal which was anciently represented in Hindostan by a marine monster. For the sake of expedition, the Hindoos adopted the custom of only representing the heads of some of their Zodiacal signs; the marine monster was thus deprived of its body, and, being originally adorned as in Mexico with a horn, this original inhabitant of the ocean became gradually converted into the head of a goat.

The various signs of Ocelotl, Tiger; Tochtli, Hare; Ozomatli, Monkey; Itzcuintli, Dog; Copault, Serpent; Quauhtli, Bird; are the same as the Tibetian names for their signs of the Zodiac. The Hindoo sign Aries conforms in situation to the Mexican sign of the Dog, and the Mexicans represent it by a very shaggy dog. In further proof of the same original ideas, five of the above signs, both in Asia and America, are used for the names of certain years as well as days.

The lunar mansions of the Mexicans also agree with those of Hindostan; Calli, house; Acatl, reed or cane. This last sign was anciently represented by the Mexicans as a bandle of reeds or rushes with an ear of corn protruding from the centre of one extremity. It is also uniformly accompanied with the Mexican Goddess Cintiotl, which corresponds with the Asiatic, Egyptian, and Greek Ceres, Iris, or Astree, who are uniformly designated in the same mansion of the Zodiac by a sheaf of corn. Tecpalt, a sharp stone or knife agreeing with the Hindoo sign razor, or shaving instrument: Ollin, three impressions of a foot, meaning as among the Hindoos, three movements of the sun, and designated by the latter as three impressions of the foot of Brama. These are coincidences too striking to be deemed accidental, they never could have been occasioned 0122 119 by fortuitous circumstances, and when we consider that the Tibetians and Chinese Tartars live in a country too cold for tigers or monkies, and that the nations of Anahuac emigrated from the northern parts of America where no animals of this description exist, we must almost irresistibly acknowledge that they all obtained their astronomical ideas from the same source.

The Mexicans commenced their day at sun-rise. This is conformable to most of the Asiatic and some of the ancient European nations. They, also, like the Hindoos, divided it into eight spaces; sun-rise, noon, sun-set, and midnight, with four intervals between. This mode occasioned, especially in northern latitudes, a very unequal division of the day according to the various seasons of the year. In Mexico the greatest difference is only two hours and twenty-one minutes, but it appears from the ancient Mexican tables, that they were constructed for higher latitudes.

The nations of Anahuac had nine governors or signs of the night in their astronomical tables. These correspond to the astrological signs of the Hindoos, who joined to the seven planets two which were supposed to be invisible. These were malignant Dragons, which produced eclipses. We have already observed that the Mexicans were in this respect more wise.

The Mexican cycles of fifty-two years do not agree with any cycles of the Asiatic nations. The Chinese, Tibetians, and all the Boudhist worshipers had cycles of sixty years. This however is not an important circumstance if we consider the infinity of modes by which periods of true time may be calculated, and the probable incitement which the priests might have to lead their followers in a somewhat different path from their opposing sects in astronomical calculations, which in fact were the foundation stones of their religion. It might not answer to say that such and such a god was no god in comparison to other creatures of their fancy, but a willing ear might have been obtained to those who asserted that other families and tribes of people were ignorant and unacquainted with the true mode of decyphering the mysterious periods upon whose supposed influence the very existence of the human race depended. Like true sectarians they probably quarrelled on minor points, which became chiefly important, according to their power of attaching the sympathies of their fellow men. If the Mexicans had only calculated a period of three hundred and sixty-five days to their year without including the hours 0123 120 they would gradually have revolutionized their seasons, and occasioned the loss of a year in the period of fourteen hundred and sixty years. To remedy this defect they, like the ancient Persians, added thirteen days at the end of each cycle of fifty-two years: this period was solemnized in a manner unusual at any other of their religious ceremonies; they believed that during such interval of thirteen days, the earth had been destroyed at each of the four ages which I shall have occasion to speak of in my next letter, and that the fifth destruction would take place at the same revolutionary period. In consequence of which they destroyed a chief part of their household property, breaking their furniture, earthen vessels, and other utensils, under the pretext of their being no longer necessary. They made a procession on the last day after sunset, to a mountain in the neighbourhood of the city of Mexico, and hailed the ensuing morning's sun with the loudest plaudits of joy, taking thence new fire, which had been kindled by friction of wood, to relight their hearths, which had previously with all other fires been extinguished from their city. This singular custom is, however, not unprecedented; the Egyptian ceremonies of Isis bear a strong resemblance thereto in every respect.

A CONFLICT WITH THE INDIANS IN 1784.

IN the spring of the year 1784, three men, whose names were M'Clure, Davis, and Cafree, pursued some Indians, who had stolen horses, from Lincoln county, and were resolved, if they did not previously overtake them, to proceed as far as their towns on the Tennessee river, and make reprisals. They had reached, as they supposed, within a few miles of the Indian town called Chickamongo, when they fell in with three Indians travelling in the same direction with themselves. By signs they agreed to travel together; but they had not gone far, before each party turned aside to consult. The whites immediately determined what course to pursue. M'Clure and Davis agreed each to sheet one Indian, but Cafree declared he would take the other prisoner, as he was too handsome to be killed. He accordingly seized him, which was the signal for M'Clure and Davis to fire at the others. M'Clure killed his man, but Davis's gun missed fire and the Indian at whom he had aimed, 0124 121 16 and M'Clure took trees, whilst Cafree was on the ground endeavouring to tie the other Indian. At length the Indian, at whom Davis had shot, fired at Cafree and gave him a mortal wound, and was immediately himself shot dead by M'Clure. Cafree, growing faint, called to Davis to come to him, and at the same instant, falling from his antagonist, expired. The Indian instantly picked up Cafree's gun, and turned towards Davis, who ran off pursued by his assailant, and they were never heard of more. M'Clure being now left with the three dead men, made the concerted signal, and, not being answered, picked up Davis's gun and proceeded towards home with the hope of meeting his companion. He had not gone far before he met two Indians, a man and a stout boy. Dropping his extra gun, which would have excited suspicion, he marched boldly up to them, and after making signs indicative of a friendly disposition they all sat down on a log. In a few moments they heard the sound of a number of bells approaching, and the grown Indian gave M'Clure to understand, that, as soon as that party came up, they would get horses to ride, at the same time putting his legs under the log to shew that he would be tied under the horse's belly. M'Clure now began to dread passing the late scene of action, well knowing it would indicate to his savage companions the part he had taken in the recent conflict. When the large Indian rose and looked towards the place where the bells appeared to be, as if he felt impatient of their delay, M'Clure, improving the opportunity, instantly shot him, and the boy ran off. M'Clure ran likewise, and was pursued by a number of dogs, who frequently went between his legs and threw him down. At length he became blind, and fell down, expecting every moment to be assailed by an Indian tomahawk. In this situation he remained for some time, but his sight and strength at length returning, he ventured to rise, and to his great satisfaction neither Indian nor dog was to be seen. He then proceeded sadly and slowly towards home, where he arrived in four days. Such was the heat and fatigue he experienced that all the cuticle or scarf-skin came off. The writer of this heard Mr. M'Clure relate the anecdote a short time after it had happened; but has never seen him since; nor is he able to say whether he is still living or not.

MONTHLY RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS, Made in Lexington by Professor Rafinesque.

No. 2. RESULTS FOR FEBRUARY, 1820.

Temperature. This month has been remarkably mild and warm. There was no ice except on the mornings of the 1st, 3d, 20th, 21st, and 28th, and a remarkably white frost, similar to the autumnal ones, happened on the morning of the 29th. Lowest degree of cold on the 1st and 18th, being 18 degrees: highest degree of heat 70 degrees on the 14th. Medium 44 degrees! The greatest diurnal variation happened on the 14th, the winds being S. W. and S. from 48 to 70, or 22 degrees difference. Highest degree of heat commonly in the afternoon, the winds being southerly. On the 15th it reached 65, on the 25th 63, and on the 16th, 24th, and 27th to 60 degrees.*

* The thermometer which I employ is a metallic thermometer, made by Fred. Houriel of Paris, and kept in the shade at my window, expos?re S. W

Atmosphere. There were twelve fair days and four partly so, four cloudy days, one hazy day, the 8th, three stormy days, and four rainy days. Red clouds and a bright sunset have indicated a fair day for the morrow, a cloudy or hazy sun-set foul weather.

Rain. It rained heavily on the 2d, the wind N. W. and N. The 26th was also a rainy day, wind S. with some thunder, and on the 27th happened several showers, wind S W. The first thunder showers happened on the 6th and 8th at night, with a dreadful S. W. wind. On the 12th and 14th there were similar thunder showers, on the 16th at noon wind W., on the 28th evening a heavy one from the N. W., on the 25th in the afternoon a heavy one passed to the south. The average of water fallen may have been seven or eight inches.

Snow. There was a fall of a few inches of snow on the morning of the 3d, wind S. E.

Frost. The rivers were completely cleared of ice on the beginning of this month. The ground hardly froze in this month, when there were only five days of ice-frost and one of white frost.

Winds. The prevailing wind was S. W. which blew ten days and partially four days. The W. blew seven days 0126 123 and partially four. N. W. four days and partially two more. N. E. once and partially twice. S. E. only once. It blew in dry squalls from S. W. on the 27th. On the 7th and 9th it blew a storm from the West and S. W. without rain. On the 15th quite calm weather.

Thunders. The spring electricity has displayed itself as early as the 6th, and has been repeated seven times, (see rains) with rain and wind, in frightful thunder gusts, and mostly at night. On the evening of the 14th it was preceded by a beautiful display of electrical fireworks and sheet lightnings (without thunder) towards the north, and like the summer lightnings.

Ground. The snow was only one day on the ground; there have been five partially frozen days, and 10 muddy ones.

Vegetation. The grass begins to grow and was quite green on the 10th. On the 12th I observed the mallow, daffodils, iris, &c. growing in the gardens; on the 18th honey uckles, lilac, and gooseberries putting forth their leaves. On the 24th the buds of cherry trees and peach trees were swelling, and the catkins of lombardy poplars begin to appear. On the 26th some asparagus was grown up and eaten.

Animals. On the 9th was seen the first Phaleria or butterfly. On the 15th heard the Blue bird, or Sylvia Sialis, the ?arbinger o spring.

Transylvania University, 1st March, 1820.

POETRY.

The following is a free translation, from Madam De Stael's French, of Joan of Arc's Adieu to Vaucouleurs...

The following is a free translation, from Madam De Stael's French, of Joan of Arc's Adieu to Vaucouleurs, as it is given by Schiller in his play, Jeanne D'Arc, when she left the habitation of her father, at the age of sixteen, under the influence of what she considered as inspiration, to join the French standard at Orleans.

L'Allemagne, tom: II, p, 186.

Adieu, sweet regions,* ever green and fair! No more shall I your simple pleasures share. Ye lofty hills, ye tranquil,† faithful vales, Ye laughing‡ meads, and gently breathing gales, From all your joys I part; to all, ADIEU; 'Tis Heaven directs, the impulse I pursue

* “contrees.”

† “tranquilles et fideles vallees.

‡ “riantes prairies.”

0127 124

Ye blooming flowers, fond objects of my care, No more the labours of these hands you share; Still may new charms your opening buds disclose, And gentler LOVES upon your leaves repose, The panting ZEPHYRS richer odours bear, And happier SPIRITS breathe the balmy air.

Thou shady GROT, a cool and lov'd retreat, Whose playful stream so oft hath kiss'd my feet; And thou, SWEET ECHO, Nature's MIMIC POWER, Thou MYSTIC VOICE of Twilight's hallow'd hour; No more shall ye repeat my rustic song, And through the vale responsive notes prolong,

Asylum dear of INNOCENCE and LOVE, Where gentle hearts the purest pleasures prove, Forever must I leave your blissful seats? In FANCY only tread your green retreats? Ah, how shall I repress my bosom's swell, And sigh a long, a last, a sad FAREWELL!

Ye tender LAMBS, your plaintive bleats restrain; In pensive silence crop the lonely plain; Your SHEPHERDESS her pastoral song no more At rosy morn, or dewy eve, shall pour. By inspiration call'd, a different flock* Now summons me to join the battle's shock. The HOLY SPIRIT† fires my patriot soul; Visions of blood before my fancy roll.

* “troupeau.”

† “L'Esprit Saint.”

No earthly vain desire my bosom swells; A voice divine my secret soul impels; That VOICE, which, in the BURNING BUSH, was heard, When HOREB'S MOUNT revealed the awful word, That Moses should against the TYRANT rise, His hosts defy, and trust THE AVENGING SKIES. 'Tis HE, who always condescends to prove The SHEPHERD'S CAUSE‡ the favourite of his love; Who call'd young David from his fleecy fold, High combat with the GIANT FOE to hold.

‡ “toujours favourable aux bergers.”

To ME his sacred spirit too has said, “Arise, depart, contend, THOU CHOSEN MAID. “Thy deeds of glory, to my righteous NAME, “Shall witness bear,§ and through the earth proclaim. 0128 125 “Thy tender limbs must now rude armour feel, “Thy snowy bosom wear the encircling steel.* “Man ne'er shall wake thy martial heart to love; “No bridal chaplets for thy hair be wove; “No smiling infant on thy breast repose; “Thy DESTINY NO JOY MATERNAL knows. “Of women all, 'tis THOU ALONE shalt gain “The conqueror's laurels on the ensanguin'd plain. “When faint the brave, and France's fatal hour “Already seems to shriek o'er her departed power, “'Tis then that THOU triumphantly shalt bear “My STANDARD† high along the applauding air; “Thy country see thy deeds of matchless fame, “And France deliver'd consecrate thy name: “Salvation to her heroes shalt thou bring, “And THINE OWN HAND shall crown again THY KING.”

§ “reads temoignage a mon nom sur la terre.”

* “Le fer doit couvrir ton sein delicat.”

† “oriflamme.”

U.

A SERENADE,

Translated from Cessner.

Soft and sweet be thy slumbers, fair daughter of love, Be it thine their delightful illusions to prove; Be thy rest ever holy as morn's early dew On the lily's white bosom, to innocence true. Bright visions of happiness ever be thine, Where sympathy, hope, and enchantment combine.

All soothing and light, on the moon's fairy beams, By fancy directed, descend ye gay dreams. To the snowy-white flocks, to the fields and the flowers To gardens of pleasure, and Love's sacred bowers, In rapture conduct her; and fill the soft air With melody's notes, breathing bliss for my fair. Let Apollo's own lute through the lone valley sound. And Echo delight the sweet tones to rebound.

Let her fancy she bathes in the cool limpid wave, While the happy stream rushes her bosom to lave. Her retreat to secure, let the ivy combine With roses and myrtles their leaves to entwine, 0129 126 While no voice brings alarm, and no eye dares survey, But the chaste little songster that chirps on the spray. Let her fancy she's sporting the graces among, While showers of roses around her are flung; Let them own her a sister in beauty and love, And their garlands exchange, with their names interwove.

Let her wander mid groves of o'er-arching green trees, Where young Cupids assemble “like clusters of* bees:” Pursuing and catching, they wanton around; Now lighting, now flying, they skim o'er the ground, Bring her apples perfum'd, purple grapes from the vine, Then hover in air, and fresh chaplets entwine: New flowers they open, new odours they fling, And each fans them round with his light little wing.

* Literally from the original.

And now in a cloud of rich fragrancy veiled, Let Love Himself come, by my fair charmer hail'd: But with his let my image before her appear, While timid and blushing, I hope and I fear. My passion avow'd, let her smile thrill my heart, And her eye of consent its warm sunshine impart.

With this dream may a soft sigh her white bosom heave A blush cross her cheek, and its rose tinges leave. O would than Apollo's my song were more sweet! That in me the perfections of shepherds could meet! I then should be worthy my fair one's true love, And life a bright vision of transport would prove.

1800.U.

THE RESURRECTION.

Lo, on Calvary's awful height, Mark the angel's rapid flight, Descending from bright realms above, The realms of condescending love. Earthquakes shake the solid ground; Heaven's vast arch rings back the sound; Nature to its centre groans; The heavenly choir his message owns; 0130 127 The mighty stone he rolls away; Jewish laws will soon decay. Jesus rises from the dead: Lo, he lifts his glorious head. Soldiers, what avails your care? Jesus, your Reedeemer's there, For you he groan'd, for you he bled, For you he rises from the dead. Swift to his father's courts he flies, Faith and hope around him rise. Grace, free grace to all is giv'n, Mercy, sweetest gift of heav'n. Women devout, be not afraid, Your suffering Saviour here was laid, For you a sacrifice was made, For you the mighty ransom paid, Triumphant o'er the gloomy grave, Willing and able still to save; Death's utmost power is done away: Faith opes an everlasting day. Oh, glorious thought! Oh, happy state! Immortal angels round us wait. Our souls, redeem'd from error's night, Will shine in endless glories bright.

B.

FRAGMENTS D'UN POEME SUR LA FEMME,

(Fragments of a Poem on Woman.)

The reader must supply the accents.

Astres brillants qui parcourez l'espace, Eclipsez vous. Je vais chanter la grace Et la beaute de ce sexe enchanteur, Dont nous tenons l'amour et le bonheur: Tout, a la fois, jusqu'a notre existence. Sexe charmant, soutien de notre enfance, Objet touchant, de nos plus tendres vœux, Et dont les soins, seuls nous rendent heureux? Etre radieux, brille sur notre sphere, Resplendissant de gloire et de lumiere, Nouveau Soleil, meteore eclatant! Eclaire nous, tel qu' un flambeau ardent. * * * * * * *

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Meres d' amours et filles de l' Aurore! Inspirez moi. Oh femmes que j'adore! Ecoutez moi. Je vais orner de fleurs, Vos fronts charmants et vos seins enchanteurs. Sur vos beaux yeux,je fonde l' esperance, Qu' un doux regard sera ma recompense. * * * * * * *

Fils de Venus, prete moi ton bandeau Couvre mes yeux, avant que mon pinceau Ose esquisser de la beaute le charme Qui nous ravit, nous enchante, et nous charme: Car ebloui, par ses divins attraits Je crains d' offrir des tableaux imparfaits. * * * * * * *

Sois donc mon guide, oh toi, pudeur aimable, Douce vertu de ce sexe adorable. * * * * * * *

Anges du ciel n' en soyez point jaloux, Vous jouissez de plaisirs bien plus doux; Ainsi qu' a vous,ils nous offrent l' image Du seul bonbeur, qui soit notre partage. * * * * *

Dans mes tableaux que ne puis-je tracer, Tout ce qui plait, tout ce qui fait aimer? * * * * *

Oui de toi seul, sexe aimable et sincere, Naquit l' amour et tout ce qui doit plaire. Tel qu'une fleur image de la vie, Tu passeras; mais tu seras suivie Par d' autres fleurs aimables comme ?o? Anime nous du doux son de ta voix, Fait resonner les echos des montagnes, Pare, embellis, nos champs et nos campagnes Brille partout, sois partout le destin, Le but heureux, l' espoir du genre humain. * * * * *

C. S. R.

THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.APRIL, 1820.Num. 3.

DR. CALDWELL'S VALEDICTORY ADDRESS.

The following address was pronounced in the Chapel of Transylvania University on Saturday the fourth of March,1820, by Dr. Charles Caldwell, Professor of the Institutes of Medicine and Dean of the Faculty, before the class of Medical Students who had been attending the course of lectures in that institution during the preceding winter. Its publication was solicited by the gentlemen to whom it was particularly addressed, and it has by them been communicated for insertion in the Western Review.

Gentlemen of the Medical Class,

IN relation to their solemnity and essential connection with our reputation and welfare, official meetings in the temple of science are, in all cases, second only—and scarcely second—to similar meetings in the temple of God. In either instance the end should be the same, the illumination of the intellect, the cultivation of sound and wholesome habits, the inculcation of high and practical duties, and the melioration of the virtues of the heart.

But, in that succession of events, which marks our lives with sunshine and with shade, circumstances not unfrequently arise to render these meetings much more than ordinarily interesting and impressive. Might I be permitted to rely on the evidence furnished by my own feelings, such would I pronounce the present conjuncture—at least so far as relates to myself.

Four months have nearly passed away, since first, within 0133 130 these walls, we assemble ? for the purposes of professional improvement, you to receive, and I to endeavour to communicate instruction.

Throughout that period, uninterrupted as has been our intercourse, and numerous our interviews, never until now did I rise to address you without sensations of pleasure. But different, very different are the emotions I experience, at this moment, from the affecting recollection, that I meet you, as a body, for the last time.

In that word last, as applied to objects incorporated with the affections, there is something indescribably cheerless and chilling. The mind of sensibility shrinks from it as the knell of departed happiness, and, like the groans of the Mandragora, or the incantations of the sorcerer, its very sound, composed of breath more deadly than the Sirocco, blights and withers the blossoms of the heart.

When the voyager embarks for a foreign shore, with what a tumult of emotion is his soul overwhelmed, when, from the vessel's deck, he takes a last look of his native land, as it sinks from his view behind the tumbling billows! Who, that possesses the true sympathies of human nature, can, without awakened sensibility and sickening sadness, take a last leave of a parting friend? Or who, that is not a stranger to all the delicate charities of life, can receive, with indifference, the last adieu of a faithful domestic? Even the light-hearted stripling, in the jubilee of his soul, at the termination of his college course, and his commencing journey to his paternal mansion, often turns to gaze on the lessening academic pile, and lets fall a tear of distress, at the last glimpse of its sun-gilded spire. Stronger still—he cannot, without a tender sinking of the spirits, pay a last visit to the limpid stream that has often cooled his fevers, the glassy fountain that has quenched his thirst, the spreading tree that, through many a summer, has overshadowed him with its branches, or the moss-covered rock that has afforded him a seat. So painful and revolting are last occurences.

It is not my purpose to obtrude upon you a high wrought portraiture of the sensations I experience on this occasion. A task so unwelcome to myself, could not be otherwise than irksome to you. Permit me, however, to say, that they are such as I flatter myself are in no way inconsistent with the consideration, that I lately met you as strangers, and am now about to take leave of you as friends.

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Nor is it to you alone that I am preparing to bid a temporary adieu. I should hold myself deficient, not only in correct feeling, but in the common duties of urbanity, were I not to avail myself of the present occasion, to offer to the citizens of Lexington the sincere homage of a grateful heart, for the friendly and flattering reception, the liberal hospitality, and the thousand courtesies, with which, as a stranger, they have so abundantly honoured me. And may I ask indulgence while I add, that, let fate hereafter deal with me as it may, be my future prospects bright or gloomy, propitious or malign, the short period I have passed in this place, amid the kindnesses of an enlightened people, shall still be looked back to with emotions of delight—shall still constitute, even in the most procellous conjuncture, “one sunbright island in a stormy main, one spot of azure in a clouded sky,” and shall be cherished with fondness, among my choicest recollections, while the power of recollecting shall continue to be mine.

Having hitherto spoken to you chiefly in the capacity of an instructor,permit me now,for a few moments, to approach you in the twofold character of a counsellor and a friend.

About, as most of you are, to depart, for a time, from this place, while some of you will shortly take your station on the theatre of life, and become, as I flatter myself, distinguished and influential members of the community, two topics present themselves, on which you will allow me the privilege of addressing you,—your general duties, as candidates for the medical profession, and your special duties as pupils of Transylvania University, preparing to become practitioners of medicine in the west.

On a former occasion it became my province to prove to you, that the medical profession is among the most ancient of liberal pursuits; that it has been, at all times, esteemed in the highest degree honourable; that its objects and ends are of the utmost importance to the well being of society; and that the attainments requisite for an elevated standing in it, are extensive and diversified, elegant and profound.

If these things be true, they, of themselves, constitute on your duties a practical comment, too clear to be misunderstood, too solemn to be neglected, too imperative not to be obeyed.

Is the profession to which you aspire, ancient, dignified, and honorable? Does it rank among its votaries many of the most distinguished cultivators of science and letters, and not a few of the foremost philanthropists the world has produced? 0135 132 —men, who have been the friends and counsellors of emperors and princes, the pride of courts, the boast of their country, and the ornaments of their age? Is this, I say, true? and, with such an attractive effulgence of glory before you, will you consent to be less than worthy, dignified,and honourable members of a calling so elevated? Will you bear simply to gaze on and admire greatness at a distance, and make no one noble effort to imitate and approach it? Shall others, in your presence, breathe the pure and brightening ether of the mountain-top, and exult in the boundless landscape around them, while you remain content with the limited prospect and Bœotian atmosphere of the valley at their feet? I cannot admit a supposition so humiliating. I anticipate of you, confidently anticipate, far better and nobler things. I cannot, I will not, allow myself to believe, that I have so painfully mistaken your spirit and your character. At your time of life, with unblunted sensibilities thrilling in your nerves, and all the ardour of youthful ambition glowing in your bosoms, you cannot be prepared for an ignominious surrender of a palm so effulgent—for defeat and degradation in a contest so glorious! Yet, comparatively degraded you will be, if, without a manly struggle to prevent it, you suffer yourselves to be immeasurably distanced in the career of professional eminence.

To accommodate your general course and all your subordinate movements to the dignity of your profession, and thus to render yourselves worthy members of it, be your aim lofty, and your means of attainment open and fair, high-minded and honourable; and, in all cases, let industry, stability, and perseverance characterize your efforts. Under a deportment thus regulated, unless Heaven itself interpose a prohibition, some share of distinction, connected with solid and extensive usefulness, will inevitably be yours. You may not, indeed, attain the glory-gilded pinnacle, to which you are aspiring; but you will infallibly ascend to such an elevation, as to leave far and ingloriously beneath you, the grovelling and the indolent; those who prefer case and obscurity to labour and renown. In this our free and happy country, where no arbitrary trammels fetter the mind, and no artificial barriers are thrown across the road to eminence, I do not hesitate to assert, that Heaven itself has constituted an indissoluble connection between lofty and persevering enterprise in youth, and an honourable standing in maturer years.

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In thus urging and encouraging you to ?ess towards the goal of professional lastr?, I do not pretend that I am inviting you to the performance of a silken task; I do not tell you that the path you are to tread is straight and level, carpeted with softness, or strewed with flowers, and sweetened with fragrance. No! in many parts it is narrow, and devious, and lonely, roughened by rocks, leading over precipices, deformed by barrenness, or entangled by thorns. In the words of a favourite poet, “s?eep is the ascent, and slippery is the way” that leads to the high-pitched temple of fame. Still, be assured of this, that when ardently and devotedly embarked in the enterprise, the pain and weariness of toil will be greatly overbalanced by the joys of anticipation, and the pleasures of attainment. Who that, after a night of labour and struggling up the rocky steep, attains, at early dawn, the summit of mount Ætna, does not feel himself abundantly rewarded by a view of the radiant glories of the “God of day” majestically rising from the bosom of the deep!

A correct delineation of a well educated physician, were mine the powers of description to give it, would convince you that I do not address you in exaggerated terms. So great is the multiplicity of objects with which it is th? duty of such a character to be familiar, that his reading must be unusually varied and extensive. Added to this, the proper field of his research is limited only by the boundaries of Nature. And if he be ignorant of any one compartment of this field, he is so far defective, and unworthy of his title.

Nor is this all. The qualifications of the physician who, in the brilliancy of his career, reflects back on his profession that lustre which he derives from it, do not consist alone in intellectual attainments.

In virtue, he must be no less pre-eminent than in knowledge. He must have a heart to feel, to sympathize, and to melt,as well as an intellect to conceive and direct. His megrity must be unimpeached, and his morals as uns o??ed as the lawn of the pulpit, or the ermine of the bench. The love of truth must be his ruling passion, and a wish to do good the cynosure of his soul. He must have that purity of intention on which a cultivated conscience never frowns; and that delicacy of moral sensibility, which feels dishonour as we feel a wound. A mere want of the habit of punctuality, but a failing in others, is in him a fault.

Even the passing amenities of life, must be objects of his regard. For suavity of manners, mildness of disposition, 0137 134 dignity of deportment, and condescending attention, he should he no less signalized, than for morality and science. Nor must he be destitute of that serene patience, and tempered forbearance, necessary to meet the details, and the accuminated fretfulness, so frequently attendant on debility and disease.

The very approach of such a physician to the bed of suffering is balm to agony, and a cordial to the heart. Hope is revived by the kind expressions which distil from his lips, and confidence reposes in the fulness of his reputation, and the maturity of his skill.

Take, as your model, a physician like this, defectively as I have portrayed him; be it your unshaken determination and persevering endeavor to emulate his character, and it requires no spirit of prophecy to foretel, that your friends and your country will have abundant reason to be proud of your attainments.

A few words to you, before we part, as pupils in the medical department of the University of Transylvania.

Between the institution which imparts, and the pupil that receives instruction, there exists a relationship which no time or circumstances can extinguish. Each communicates to the other no inconsiderable portion of its own character. Is the institution signalized by high and deserved celebrity? A part of its lustre passes, by universal consent, to the credit of the alumni reared within its walls. Are the pupils remarkable for enlightened and expanded intellects, sound morals, correct deportment, and well cultivated manners? On their parent seminary they reflect back a part of their reputation, still further augmenting its splendor and renown.

Of this brief but correct picture of that sympathetic connection which necessarily subsists between pupil and institution, you can make for yourselves a profitable application.

In doing honor, by your habits, your knowledge, and the general tenor of your lives, to the infant but rising school of medicine of this University, is it in your power to promote, by the same line of conduct, your own interests? Can you, by the expression of the same sentiments, and the performance of the same actions, benefit, cotemporarily, science and yourselves? Twofold then, is your duty, and you are invited to its performance by a twofold motive.

The ablest teaching is not alone sufficient to rear and establish a professional institution. Faithful attention, on the 0138 135 part of the instructed, and a suitable improvement of that which is communicated to them, are equally important. To become itself distinguished, a school must send into the world distinguished men. And none can become such, unless by their own application and assiduity.

If, then, it be, as I feel persuaded it is, your wish and determination to benefit essentially the Medical School of the west, that it may, in its turn, confer benefits on you, manifest,I entreat you,the sincerity of your intention, and the force of your resolution, by a line of life in all respects conformable. Diligently improve, by your own reflections, that knowledge you have received from your instructors, and zealously augment it, by adding to it all you can derive from every other accessible source.

But it is not a mere principle of self-interest that impels you to aid in honoring and sustaining the young institution in which you are instructed. You are no less forcibly urged to the same duty, by the voice of pride and laudable ambition.

In some respects, the Medical School of Transylvania is destined to become a rival to those that have been long established in the Atlantic states.

For many years past, those schools have educated young men purposing to settle as practitioners of medicine on these western waters. Nor will this procedure be immediately abandoned. For some time to come the same seminaries will continue to send among you physicians, intended to become your rivals, whose object it will be, by every expedient, to supercede you in business. One device, which I doubt not they will practise, will be, to endeavor to depreciate, in public estimation, the opportunities of improvement you have enjoyed, by attacking and undervaluing the school that has educated you.

On this topic it does not, as you must be sensible, become me to dilate. Being myself a member of this school, I am forbidden to dwell on it in terms of eulogy, did it even deserve them. I will, however, say to you, because it is true, that I know as thoroughly the character of most of the eastern schools—their merits and demerits—as those gentlemen do, by whom they are administered. And I further know, that, as is the case with most other things, their reputation is magnified by distance and obscurity. Seen remotely through a mist, a man of ordinary stature towers into a giant. Approach him, your vision is cleared, the illusion vanishes, and he instantly sinks to his real level.

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Such is the case with regard to the medical seminaries of the east. Viewed at this distance, through the twilight of popular opinion, they appear to many, colossal and perfect.

Pass into their neighborhood, and listen alone to the censures, loud and deep, which there assail them, and they will strike you as signally feeble and inefficient; destitute of talents, attainments and energy. Such is the language of their enemies that surround them, and such the declarations that have reached me even here through the medium of letters.

them and examine and judge for yourselves, and you will find, as is usually the case, that truth lies mid-way between the two extremes. You will discover in them much to praise, and not a little to blame; some things that could scarcely be meliorated by change; and others that ought to be revolutionized or erased. On this topic, let me finally and firmly declare to you—and I care not how swiftly the winds of the west convey my accents to Atlantic ears—that, notwithstanding our incipient condition, and the numerous disadvantages under which we labor, we are not, in efficiency, inferior to those that boast a higher date, and more veteran teachers. I would even rejoice at a correct comparisons being made, between the amount of solid instruction, practical and scientific, communicated here, during the present session, and that which has issued, during the same period, from the chairs of any of the schools of the east. The result would neither dishonor nor injure us.

One topic more and I shall retire.

The effort in which we are mutually engaged, to establish a Medical School in this University, is not to be limited to the present time, nor to the spot on which the institution shall be erected. It is to embrace the entire region of the west, and to throw its influence into future ages.

It is to constitute, as I flatter myself,an inexhaustible fountain, from which shall issue medicinal streams, numerous as the branches of our own Mississippi, carrying health and blessings to unborn millions—giving bloom and freshness to the faded cheek, and regenerated vigor to the palsied limb—affording to corporeal suffering the cordial of relief, dispensing the balm of comfort to the agonizing heart, and restoring to soundness the shattered intellect.

Need I say more, to induce you to exert every faculty of your nature, to become supporting and honorable members of such an institution? To this effect, shall I address myself 0140 137 18 to your ambition, as high-minded sons of a Seminary, that is to become illustrious! Shall I appeal to you as Americans, burning to enhance the reputation of your country! Shall I invoke you, as philanthropists, anxious to promote the welfare of mankind! Shall I charge you on your local patriotism, as children of the west, solicitous to accelerate its greatness and its glory! Or need I confuse you by all these considerations combined, to be faithful to your own interest and honor, and to those of the school, in which you are educated!

Suffer me, to depart under a perfect conviction, that no ground exists for any of these invocations; but, that your own determinations have anticipated me in them all.

I am done—But before I take leave, permit me, in the name of the Faculty of Medicine, thus publicly to tender you their united approbation and thanks, for the steadiness of your attention, the propriety of your deportment, and the zeal you have manifested for the attainment of knowledge, during your attendance on their respective lectures; to wish you a safe and pleasant return to the bosom of your friends, and to each of you the enjoyment of health and happiness.

REMARKS

On Art. X. of No. 26, of the North American Review, being a refutation of a calumnious attack on the “Memoirs of Greene,” by the author of that work. “To make a Tartar feel, you must flay him alive.”

IN falsehood, impudence, and every other odious feature of profligacy, this article has rarely been surpassed. For its slanderous attack on an American work, it would be conspicuous in the most corrupt of the foreign Journals. It purports to be a Review of the “Memoirs of the life and campaigns of Major General Greene,” a late publication, of which I am the author.

To furnish an analysis of this foul production, and give a detailed exposition of a thing so offensive, is not my purpose. Added to an unwillingness to engross too much of the reader's time, in a matter that mainly concerns myself, I cannot mingle in the deadly pollution, nor expose myself, without a stronger cause, to the pestiferous exhalations of such an Augean stall.

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Its vapid irony, therefore, its ricketty attempts at wit, and all its jaded forms of abuse, shall be passed unnoticed. To speak of them as they deserve, would offend the chastity of the public ear. They will constitute more suitable topics of private remark to their prostitute author, should I ever meet him.

It is to the charge of plagiarism alone, that I can condescend to reply. To that, preferred in a tone audacious and unqualified, I must not submit, notwithstanding the impotency of the pen from which it issues—a pen deriving its only consideration from the Journal it disgraces. Whatever cause the corps of scholars may find to censure me as an incorrect writer, my fellow-citizens shall have none to reprobate me, as a ishonest one. A determination to this effect arises, as it should do, no less from my respect for the public than for myself.

The maxim, although somewhat trite, is not, on that account, the less monitory and useful, that the man who deals habitually in falsehood “should have a good memory.”

To the truth of this, the author of the tissue of misrepresentation I am considering, bears, in his own case, conclusive testimony. Of the numerous absurdines and grossnesses he commits, his inconsistencies and self-contradictions are not the least flagrant and loathsome.

In noticing this fact, I do not, in the slightest degree, depart from my purpose as already expressed. It will be seen presently that the step forms a necessary part of the course I must pursue, in my refutation of the charge of plagiarism.

In the number of the North American Review, already designated, page 187, appears the following passage.

“The volume (Memoirs of Greene) is in size an octavo, containing, besides the preface, and a short appendix, not far from two hundred and fifty pages. It ha? a beautiful margin, and a type so large, and the lines so far apart, that persons the most advanced in years may read it with great convenience. Of these two hundred and fifty pages, twenty are devoted to an introdudtion” &c.

If this extract possesses any meaning at all, it is, that the work to which it refers consists of about two hundred and fifty pages, exclusive of the preface and appendix, and that the mechanical part of it is so executed, as to cover much space with little matter, and constitute, therefore, a very dear book.

With this passage the reader is requested to compare the 0142 139 following one, extracted from pages 192 and 193 of the same Review.

“The portion of Dr. Caldwell's book, which relates to this period (that of general Greene's southern campaigns) consisting of three hundred and thirty odd pages out of four hundred and twenty six, is very judiciously (although we must confess rather unexpectedly to us, after what the author said in his preface of the injustice done to Greene, by al who had written on this subject heretofore) extracted from Lee's Memoirs of the Southern war. About one hundred pages are regularly quoted, and credit duly given. Of the remainder, Dr. Caldwell, having corrected many expressions and i? some instances altered the arrangement of an entire sentence, did not, we presume, think it fair to give it as Lee's, and, therefore, had said nothing about it.”

In perusing this extract, the reader perceives, that, instead of two hundred and fifty pages, the amount previously stated, the main bo?y of the Memoirs of Greene is here represented as consisting of four hundred and twenty six pages; the latter being, in fact, the correct number. The entire work contains four hundred and seventy six pages, the title, preface, table of contents, and appendix, amounting to fifty.

However gross may be the fog which this disgusting problem of contradiction and folly throws around the intellect of the writer, it makes a very lucid disclosure of his heart. When his object is to represent the Memoirs of Greene as a volume contemptible in size, and too dear to be purchased, it is compressed, by his magic, into two hundred and fifty pages: but when, in the versatility of his malice, it becomes his wish to excite a belief, that the plagiarism in it is enormous, he moves again his “wizard's wand” and the production swells to its real size.

False in everything, he exaggerates from rather less than eighty (which is the true number) to one hundred pages, the amount of matter, avowedly quoted from Lee's Memoirs of the southern war.

The reason why I extracted so largely from that interesting narrative, (for it cannot be denied, that eighty pages of quotation, in a volume of four hundred and seventy six, constitutes a large proportion) is as follows.

When engaged in writing the work, I experienced no small difficulty in giving a satisfactory description of battles, a kind of graphic composition, to which none but military men are competent. Without hesitation, therefore, I 0143 140 availed myself of the lively and picturesque descriptions, given by Lee, of the principal actions in which Greene commanded, in his southern campaigns.

In every other instance, in which I quoted from that writer, he alone had furnished me with all the information I possessed, touching the event or transaction described. This was true more especially in relation to the capture of fort Motte, and the projected enterprize against a detachment of the British on St. John's island. In these instances, therefore, I thought it more fair and honourable to give Lee's own matter in his own language, than to take and simply translate it into mine: and, however contrary may be the opinion of others, I think so still.

But the most serious charge remains to be considered.

According to the statement of the writer in the Review, upwards of two hundred and thirty pages of my Memoirs of Greene, are literally and surreptitiously extracted from Lee's Memoirs of the Southern war, except that I have “corrected many expressions,” and, “in some instances, altered the arrangement of an entire sentence.” This is a grievous and blackening accusation, and demands of me a very serious reply. It must cover with deep and enduring turpitude either my character or that of the writer who so confidently makes it. If true, I am an unprincipled plagiary; if false, he is a profligate slanderer.

If the charge be well founded, then must be style of those two hundred and thirty pages, said to be extracted, still be that of general Lee; for simply to correct expressions, and alter the arrangement of a few sentences, would not have made it mine. And if it be still mine, the entire narrative could not have been thus pilfered.

No man who understands what style is, will question the truth of this position. Style has features and a character, as prominent and peculiar, as well marked and immutable, as individuals themselves.

Would the correction of a few expressions, and the alteration of the arrangement of a few sentences, within the space of two hundred and thirty odd pages, convert the style of Homer into that of Pindar, the style of Salust into that of Cicero, the style of Shakespeare into that of Milton, the style of Johnson, into that of Addison, or the style of Byron into that of Moore? I answer no. To contend that an alteration ?o slight could produce an effect so powerful, would be evidence incontestible of ignorance or dishonesty.

It has been my fortune to write and publish not a little: 0144 141 and my style, whether it be good or bad, is well known, and easily distinguished from that of any other writer. The style of general Lee is also known.

Now let a critical examination be instituted by competent judges, of the style of Lee's Memoirs of the Southern war, and my Memoirs of Greene, and the question determined, whether there be between them the slightest similarity? On the result of such a process, fairly conducted, I stake my reputation both as a man and a writer. Similarities of thought and expression will and must be occasionally found; because Lee and myself wrote on the same subject, and narrated frequently the same train of events. But each of us made the matter of thought his own, assimilated it to the character of his intellect, and expressed it in a manner peculiar to himself. When writers act thus, no matter whether they derive their information from each other, or from a common source, they are not plagiaries: nor will any literary tribunal so denominate them.

Is Virgil a plagiary, because he made Homer, in many instances, his source and his model? is Tasso a plagiary, because he patterned his Tancred after Diomede, his Godfrey after Agamemnon, his Rinaldo after Achilles, and his Clorinda after Camilla? or are Spencer and Milton plagiaries, because they drew largely on both the substance and manner of certain poets of the Italian School? The legitimate reply to these questions is, no! and competent judges will not answer otherwise. The reason is obvious. Although several of these writers acted on matter, who might be almost said to constitute a common stock, yet each of them modelled his own proportion of it after the image of his own mind.

In relation to general Lee and myself, the same thing may be safely asserted.

That I derived much information from him, touching the military career of general Greene, first by freely and frequently conversing with him, and afterwards by carefully reading his Memoirs, is true: and that we both drew information from a common source, is also true; for having long resided in the southern states, through which he only passed in the capacity of an officer, I knew, from observation, much more of the places and the inhabitants than he did. With that tract of country, in particular, situated between the Catawba and the Dan, through which Greene conducted his celebrated retreat, and in which he afterwards fought the battle of Guilford, I was, perhaps, more familiar than I 0145 142 am, as yet, with the streets of Lexington. Add to this, that although but a child at the period of Greene's operations, I had several kinsmen, and many subsequent acquaintances, who served under him, from whom I have received, a hundred times, distinct narratives of the events of the day. Indeed for all my knowledge of the affairs of the south, both before and during the campaigns of Greene, I am much more indebted to tradition than to history. And if my Memoirs of that great commander have any merit above other productions, much of it consists in their exhibiting a more correct picture of the condition of the Carolinas, at the trying period to which they relate, than any other work that has yet appeared. In this res?ect I venture to believe they have some merit. While thus resisting the charge of plagiarism, I owe it to myself deliberately to declare, that, notwithstanding the information which, on many points, I acknowledge I derived from Lee's Memoirs, yet, had that officer never written, I could have narrated, accurately and distinctly, from traditional knowledge alone, every l?ading event of the southern war.

The reason why many expressions, and perhaps some entire sentences have been transplanted almost literally from other w?iters into my Memoirs of Greene, I perfectly well know, and will frankly communicate.

When preparing to write that work, that no important event might be omitted, and that each might be recorded in correct chronological order, I carefully ran over, as my duty demanded, with a pen in my hand, the writings of Lee, Marshall, Ramsay, Cordon and Moultrie, and one or two English publications, noting such occurrences as I thought fit to select. These notes were made, sometimes in my own language, and at other times in that of the authors consulted. In weaving them into my narrative, I did not deem it essential to change entirely, and at all times the modes of expression.

Lee's Memoirs being most to my purpose, I extracted facts most frequently from them, and, therefore caught, as it appears, occasionally, and perhaps, I might add necessarily, somewhat of their manner. It is even possible, that slight similarities to the other writers consulted, may mark some passages in my work. But I repeat, that the matter was, in every case, made my own, that the style is my own, and that, therefore, the charge of plagiarism is unfounded.

Let any two individuals undertake to give narratives, either verbally or in writing, of the same series of military 0146 143 movements. If their knowledge be equally correct and full, their stories cannot fail to resemble one another. In each, the succession of events must be the same; and these events being of a professional and definite character, the language descriptive of them, will, in many instances, be alike.

With the enlightened and ingenuous, this exposition will satisfactorily explain any resemblances that may occasionally be found between the modes of expression and the turns of thought of Lee and myself. And as to those of an opposite character, I regard, with equal indifference, their censure and their praise.

A friend in this place, who, at my request, has carefully and throughout, compared the “Memoirs of Greene” with Lee's “Memoirs of the Southern War,” authorises me to state, that the existing similarities, whether in matter or style, are neither more numerous nor more striking, than are perf?ctly explicable on the foregoing ground.

Were I inclined to screen myself under the example of others, I could easily throw around me an armour different from that I have hitherto put on.

Neither Marshall nor Ramsay is accounted a plagiary. Or if such an imputation prevail against them, I, at least, have never heard it. Yet does there exist in the writings of these two historians, when treating of the same events, a much greater number of similarities in phraseology, than can be found in the writings of Lee and myself. In his eulogy on Rush, Ramsay has copied literally many pages, without acknowledgment.

In numerous passages Rollin's ancient history is nothing but a free translation of original writers. And most accounts of the battle of Pharsalia, published by modern authors, are taken verbatim from the admirable description of it, in Cæsar's commentaries.

To close the discussion of this part of my subject, I shall finally observe, that considering the facility and certainty of detection, nothing but folly bordering on idiotism could have led me into the plagiarism with which I am charged. Nor, for similar reasons, is the folly of him who made the charge less conspicuous. The humblest degree of common sense that falls to the lot of intellectual sanity, if exercised but for a moment, would have told him, in accents not to be disregarded, that detection and shame inevitably awaited him.

Nothing specific has been yet said about the corrupt motives that have led to the slanders in the article I am considering. 0147 144 But I owe it to the public, as well as to myself, to lay open the subject in all its deformities.

Fortunately the task is not a difficult one. A brief remark or two on a few sentences in the Review, will carry me straight and unerring to my purpose.

“We had been pleasing ourselves (says the writer) for some time with the hope that it (the life of Greene) was about to be furnished by a gentleman of South Carolina, every way fitted for the undertaking.” P.183.

Again,

“On the other hand, we should feel great regret, if they (certain preceding remarks) seemed at all to be offered as discouragements to the gentleman, to whom we alluded in the beginning of this article, as intending to undertake a life of Greene.From his well known character and abilities, we should expect just such a work on this subject as is wanted, and as we should delight to see. And we sincerely hope that he will not be deterred from undertaking it, from the apprehension that the field is pre-occupied; for we take it to be the chief excellence of Dr. Caldwell's book, that it does not, in the least, preclude the necessity of another; nor will it be apt to interfere at all with its circulation.” P.203.

To save time and trouble, in interpreting them, these extracts carry along with them their own commentary. The language, plain and undisguised, which their author speaks through them, is, “I am resolved, by every device, whether virtuous or vicious, ignoble or honorable, and by every exertion of might and malice, to throw out of circulation the Life of Greene, written by a man to whom I am hostile, to make room for one, promised by a man to whom I am friendly.”

But, in truth, this writer, like most other silly and purblind enthusiasts, is frustrating his own purposes, and injuring the individual whose cause he has espoused.

The name of the gentleman, to whom he a?udes, as the writer elect o? the Life of Greene, is no secret. In mentioning it, which I do with reluctance, and shall, in every instance, do with sentiments of respect, my only object will be, to avoid at once, periphrasis and obscurity. It is, the Honorable Judge Johnson, of South Carolina.

In relation to the precise fitness of that distinguished jurist to write “just such” a life of Greene, as the world wants, and his friend in the north would “delight to see,” I have no information— except, indeed, the word of that friend, which, with me, is somewhat the reverse of authority—Pu?ica fides, and nothing more. Still, he may, by accident, be in the right; 0148 145 19 and I, for one, shall rejoice to find him so. For I sincerely assure the honorable gentleman from Charleston, that I shall be prompt to hail, with honest acclamations, a work from his pen creditable to our country, and in all respects worthy of the hero of the South.

Might I be permitted, however, I would respectfully suggest to him the sound policy of enjoining silence on his northern advocate. Commendation from such a pen will not, at present, materially avail him. His liberal and high-minded countrymen of the south, who are destined to become the chief patrons and purchasers of his book, should he write one worthy of patronage, will not be likely to cooperate very heartily with a champion so totally dissimilar to themselves.

Besides, swelling and unqualified praise, even when there appears to be ample ground for it, constitutes, at best, a dangerous precursor of a literary work. It raises anticipation to such a pitch, that nothing short of inordinate merit can meet and satisfy it.

But, to a writer, who never yet has tried his strength, in a publication of any compass, such a state of things is peculiarly perilous. The fate of Icarus should solemnly admonish him. For, whether he prematurely mounts, by his own act, into the fervid region of strong expectancy, or permits his friend to puff him there, in an air balloon, the issue must be the same. The offended sun will dissolve his wings, if they be not compactly and durably put together, or his gas-bag will burst, if it be too much inflated; in either of which disasters his fate becomes deplorable. The waters of the ocean must drown, or the mud of the earth besmear him in his fall.

But I feel that my warnings are unnecessary, and may prove, on that account, unacceptable. They are offered to a scholar and a gentleman, who, no doubt, understands much better than I do, the difference between making an eloquent speech in the forum, or delivering an able opinion from the bench, and writing a full sized octavo volume, fitted to sustain itself under the judgment of time.

My public account with the writer in the Review being now closed, the most offensive part of my task is completed. The remaining portion of it, although somewhat painful, I hasten to perform.

A report, which certainly originated in malice and falsehood, but was afterwards propagated by innocent tattle, and that accountable propensity to scandal, which so often takes 0149 146 possession of the minds of many who “mean no harm,” is now afloat, that, in writing and publishing the Life of Greene, I improperly interfered with the views of Judge Johnson, in relation to the same project.

My first reply to this calumny rests on board ground. It is, that I cannot, in favor of any man, acknowledge a pre-emption-right in Biography. The Life of Greene, like that of Washington, belongs to his country. More catholic still, it belongs to the world. Whoever, therefore, possesses the materials, with talents and industry to put them together, is authorized to write that life. If his production be unworthy of his subject, he must submit to the loss and mortification of a failure in his enterprize; and let him who may think himself improperly preceded, prepare a better one, and enjoy the glory of a twofold triumph, in reputation and in profit. This is certainly true and correct, in all cases, where no specific compact to the contrary forbids. And no one will pretend that, between the honorable gentleman of Charleston and myself, any such compact existed.

It is not understood that Marshall and Ramsay complained of one another, for having written each a life of Washington. Nor is it known that either of them sustained, on this account, a malignant attack from any friend of his rival. Had such an atrocious outrage been committed, without instruction to that effect, I think it not improbable that the officious champion would have been severely reprimanded, if not dismissed from further intercourse. Indeed those gentlemen did not even find fault with Weims, for publishing a third life of Washington, although the demand for his book, in proportion to the demand for theirs, was probably in the proportion of fifty to one.

But I am willing to retreat within narrower ground, and trust my justification to a simple narrative of the whole transaction, in relation to the honorable gentleman of South Carolina, as far as I was personally concerned in it.

Sometime, I think in the year 1817, Mr. Robert Desilver, Bookseller, of Philadelphia, purchased from a gentleman of that city, six or seven MS. volumes, consisting chiefly of the letters of General Greene. On examination, it appeared, that most of these letters were written during that dark and portentous period of the revolutionary contest, in which Greene presided in the quarter-master department, and, by his able administration of it, contributed so essentially to the preservation of his country.

In the summer of 1818, Mr. Desilver requested me to 0150 147 frame for him an advertisement, making known his intention to have the life of Greene written from the documents then in his possession, added to others which he alledged might be readily procured. The advertisement was prepared, and soon afterwards inserted in some of the public prints, and about the same time I was applied to and consented to become the biographer, and took charge of the MS. letters for that purpose. I do not know that Judge Johnson had, at that period, either publicly or privately, declared his determination to engage in the work. If such a declaration had been made by him, it had never, in any shape, been communicated to me.

Several weeks afterwards, I read, in a New England paper, a short paragraph, in the form, I think, of an editorial article, announcing the Judge's intention to write the life of Greene, and stating that he was then in Rhode Island, engaged in the collection of materials for the undertaking.

Knowing that similar annunciations had been repeatedly made, in relation to other intended biographies of Greene, and his paragraph not being official, I saw no reason to attach to it any peculiar degree of authenticity.

At all events, I understood it then, and understand it so still, to be a recognized rule of usage, if not of right, among printers and booksellers, in the Atlantic states, that he who first announces publicly his intention to print or publish a work, has conceded to him by his brethren a prior title to the undertaking. This rule I considered not altogether inapplicable to the case in question, and proceeded in the examination and arrangement of my documents.

In the autumn of the same year, perhaps in the month of October, Mr. Desilver, calling on me, informed me that Judge Johnson was in town, and had requested, I think, a sight of the letters of Greene. He intimated, at the same time, his willingness, if not his wish, to sell the manuscript to the Judge, and relinquish, on his own part, the project of publishing.

In reply to him, on this occasion, I gave him full permission, so far as I was concerned, to pursue whatever course he might deem most to his interest, distinctly stating that his engagement with me should not interfere with his negociation with Judge Johnson. I even ad???ed him to dispose of the papers to that gentleman, provided he could do it without a loss.

With the terms of the contract agitated by the parties, I have no concern. I have only to say that the negociation 0151 148 failed, and that, a few days afterwards, Mr. Desilver requested me to proceed in my arrangements for the work, which, from the day of our previous interview, had been suspended. I was told, at the time, that the offer of sale made to Judge Johnson was such, as his friends thought it advisable in him to accept. He, however, thought otherwise: and,in relation to this point,no one,assuredly,ought to call in question either his right or his competency to decide.

It was now, for the first time, that I was indistinctly apprized of what was represented as a long cherished intention in Judge Johnson, to become the Biographer of Greene. But no direct communication being made to me by that gentleman, I could recognize no obligation of either right or courtesy, to listen to the disjointed inuendoes of others. Nor did I feel myself, indeed, at liberty to abandon the undertaking, unless at the request of Mr. Desilver.

That I might not, however, be without written testimony of the fairness of my conduct (for I already heard the smothered hum of misrepresentation) I addressed a letter to Mr. Desilver, the substance of which, but not the language, I distinctly remember.

I stated to him, that although I had already been at considerable trouble in searching authorities and arranging materials, I felt no solicitude whatever to go on; that without the papers then in my possession, I did not think any one could be prepared to do justice to the character of general Greene; that in case of Judge Johnson's purchasing them, I would cheerfully place them in his hands, and resign to his management the whole project; but should he decline procuring them, rather than see the biography of Greene made up without them, I would immediately proceed and do the subject what justice I could.

Of this letter a copy was sent to Judge Johnson, through the hands of a friend; and the original is still in the possession of Mr. Desilver.

It is reported, I am told, that when I called on Christopher Greene of Rhode Island, to solicit materials for his brother's biography, he treated me with cold reserve, and refused to give me papers.

The story is unfounded. Mr. Greene received me with marked politeness, entertained me with great hospitality, and frankly communicated to me all he knew touching the topics of my particular enquiry. He refused me no papers, because I asked for none. Having, at the time, already finished my account of the public life of his brother, my only 0152 149 object in visiting that gentlemen was, to inquire after the engagements of the general, during the short interval of his residence in Rhode Island, between the period of the termination of his military command, and that of his final removal to Georgia. I repeat, that on this subject, Mr. Greene gave me all the information he possessed.

It is further reported, as I understand, that Mr. Desilver gave me fifteen hundre? dollars for writing the life of Greene, and that by this sum I suffered myself to be seducted to act unfairly towards Judge Johnson.

This story is also unfounded. Mr. Desilver never gave me one dollar for writing the life of Greene, nor the promise of it. The only compensation I received, or would have accepted, had it been offered to me, was a specified number of copies of the work. I deemed it most fair and honourable to rely, for my recompense, exclusively on the estimation which the public might affix to this production, and the circulation it might consequently attain.

To those who love truth for its own sake, and detest slander on account of its odiousness, the foregoing pages are respectfully addressed, in full confidence, that, after a deliberate and impartial examination, they will receive the decision of a sober judgement. I ask for nothing more.

REVIEW.

FANNY. New-York, C. Wiley & Co. 8vo. pp. 49.

NO description of writers furnishes more amusement than the satirist, and few perhaps are calculated to be more eminently useful. When his shafts are aimed, not against individuals, but to accomplish a reformation of taste, or the amelioration of manners, the moralist, as well as the critic, will use the utmost endeavours to assist him in his generous undertaking. But there is a vast space between the acrimony of a splenetic temper and the just zeal of an honest indignation. We do not mean to insinuate that the author of “Fanny” has been induced by unworthy motives to “put pen to paper.” On the contrary he shews a playfulness of disposition, and selects characters and manners which are no improper subjects for well meaning satire. Not that we would be understood unequivocally to accede to his opinions either of the talents or actions of those whom he has lashed. We think “something said of some 0153 150 folks” is much too rough, but the spirit is good and the execution also. Stateliness and dignity he certainly does not possess, but they, who read with eagerness and ingenuous satisfaction the salt of Peter Pindar, will find Messrs. Croaker & Co. (if they are the authors) no less pointed and witty.

Fanny's father resembles one o those renowned heroes described by Knickerbocker, each of whom, “to say the truth, is a combination of heroes;” although like them he had not “a sovereign contempt for the sovereign people,” for he flattered them like many a modern patriot for the purpose of obtaining, not their votes, but their money, for he excelled even Paulding's “cabbage head” heroes “in that most noble of sciences the art of making money.” The heroine, after a few stanzas, vanishes into air, “into thin air,” and we hear nothing more of her until the author makes his apology for neglecting his fair one, by infor?ing us that the days of chivalry are past, and that “he is a true dandy of the modern schools, who would consider it “a violation of the latest rules to treat the sex with too much courtesy.” She had neither the society of lords, ladies, nor damsels, but was well versed in the lore of modern novels, hydraulics, hydrostatics, &c.; could tell why animals expire for want of air, and “waked the very watchmen” with her finest, softest, “pigeon wings of sound.” In short Fanny appears to have been introduced more for the sake of her name than any thing else. Our author's imitation of Byron's style is admirable, and, in this respect, we think the public taste is menaced with no little danger. We must confess that we are so old fashioned as to prefer the harmony of Milton, Thompson, and Pope, to the halting, hobling lines of the Byronic School, and should advise his Lordship, and the imitators of his Lordship, to make better metre and more harmonious sounds, or else change the title of their compositions from poetry to poetic prose. No author has loftier flights of genius or has described nature with more exactness, as well in her wild and magnificent appearances as in her softer and more luxuriant scenes, than Byron, and no one gives a truer picture of the human heart, yet frequently there is an air of darkness and mystery spread over the scene which our author has fully imitated in his description of the hill of Weehawken.

XCIII.

Weehawken! In thy mountain scenery yet, All we adore of nature, in her wild And frolic hour of infancy, is met; 0154 151 And never has a summer's morning smil'd Upon a lovelier scene than the full eye Of the enthusiast revels on—when high

XCIV.

Amid thy forest solitude he climbs O'er crags, that proudly tower above the deep And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes The breathless moment—when his daring step Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear The low dash of the wave with startled ear,

XCV.

Like the death-music of his coming doom, And clings to the green turf with desperate force, As the heart clings to life; and when resume The currents in his veins their wonted course, There lingers a deep feeling—like the moan Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone.

XCVI.

In such an hour he turns, and on his view, Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him. Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue Of Summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him— The city bright below; and far away, Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay,

XCVII.

Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, And banners floating in the sunny air; And while sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there, In wild reality.”

After this description, which is amply fraught with poetic fire, our author descends to his accustomed playfulness: “‘This may be poetry for aught I know,’ Said an old worthy friend of mine, while leaning O'er my shoulder as I wrote, ‘altho’ I can't exactly comprehend its meaning.’”

And this we think about as good an answer as many of the admirers of the modern school of poetry can give for the eulogies they pass upon it. They cannot understand it. Self-love dictates the praise. It is so sublime that none 0155 152 but those who possess genius almost equal to the poet himself can relish its beauties. It has been the complaint of every age that the morals and manners of their contemporaries are much worse and more ridiculous than those of the times that preceded it. Perhaps the observation never was more true than when applied to the manners and fashions of the present day; although, as the Indian chief declared, “the men have become women” and launched out into all the extravagance of fashion which we have been accustomed to expect in the female sex. Our author gives a caricature of modern city manners, which is no less just than pointed.

“'Tis not to worship beauty, as she glows In all her diamond lustre, that the Beaux

CV.

Of these enlightened days at evening crowd, Where fashion sparkles in her rooms of light. That ‘dignified obedience; that proud Submission, which, in times of yore, the Knight Gave to his “Ladye-love,” is now a scandal, And practis'd only by your Goth or Vandal.

CVI.

To lounge in graceful attitudes—be stared Upon, the while, by every fair one's eye, And stare one's self, in turn; to be prepar'd To dart upon the trays, as swiftly by The dexterous Simon bears them, and to take One's share, at least, of coffee, cream and cake.

CVII.

Is now to be the ton. The pouting lip, And sad upbraiding eye of the poor girl, Who hardly of her tea one drop can sip, Ere in the wild confusion, and the whirl, And tumult of the hour, the good things vanish, Must now be disregarded. One must banish.

CVIII.

Those antiquated feelings, that belong To feudal manners, and a barbarous age, Time was—when woman ‘pour'd her soul in song,’ That all was hush'd around. 'Tis now the rage To deem a song, like bugle-tones in battle, A signal note, that bids each tongue's artillery rattle.”

Much of the point of the satire is lost at this distance 0156 153 20 from the scene; still, however, part of it is well adapted “to manners as they fly.” The poem is in all respects deserving of commendation, except when it descends to personalities. That kind of writing is beneath an high-minded and honourable man, and superior genius seldom condescends to such meanness. We advise the author of Fanny to employ his muse upon subjects more worthy of her and we have no doubt she will do them ample justice.

INDIAN ANTIQUITIES.

LETTER VIII. TO THE EDITOR.

Sir—In my last letter I mentioned some of the striking coincidences which exist between the nations of Anahuac and the Hindoo race as respects their astronomy. I shall now proceed to detail other points of resemblance, with regard to their traditions, their religious and civil customs, their architecture, &c. Our classical studies have made us well acquainted with the four fabulous ages of the world depicted by gold, silver, brass, and iron. The Hindoos were doubtless the inventors of this allegory, and from them the Mexicans must have received it in common with other nations. The Mexicans, however, assert that there are five ages or destructions of the world, and it is somewhat remarkable that the ancient Greek poet, Hesiod, declares the same by dividing the brazen age into two periods. The Tibetians also believe in the existence of five ages. The Mexican accounts of the destructions and renovations of the world do not materially differ from those of Hindostan and Egypt. The first Mexican age of five thousand two hundred and six years is the age of giants or Titans and coincides with the first age of giants and of justice among the Hindoos: in the second age the earth perished by fire: in the third age mankind were destroyed by tempests; and in the fourth age the universal deluge took place, in which only Coxcox and his wife were saved. We live, according to them, in the fifth age. The Hindoos make all their destructions of the world to have been occasioned by water or a general deluge. The Egyptians alternated their destructions 0157 154 by water and fire, and saved the few survivors of the human race either on tops of the highest mountains or in the lowest marshy vallies, according to the nature of the catastrophe. In this respect they do not differ from the Mexicans.

It is unfortunate that we are not better acquainted with the history of Buddha. He was undoubtedly the same personage as Wod Woden or Od?n of the Scandinavian and Gothic nations: the same whom the Chinese worship under the name of Fo. Sir William Jones supposes him to have lived about one thousand years before the birth of our Saviour. This hero or statesman, whom the Hindoos represent as being the ninth incarnation of Vishnu, is described by the Mexicans in a manner strikingly conformable to the religious histories of Hindostan. He is represented, by the various nations of the mid continent of America, in precisely the same characters which he bore in Asia and Europe, as the immediate founder, lawgiver, and teacher of the moral sciences and useful arts to each separate and distinct nation. He is the Manco Capac of the Peruvians, the Bochica of the Muysca nation, the Quetzalcopualt of Mexico,in short precisely the same person whom the various people of Anahuac and the nations of Asia represent as a white, ruddy faced, and bearded man, who came in the character of both priest and lawgiver, who formed monasteries and religious congregations, and who, among many of those nations, forbade human sacrifices, or restrained them in a considerable degree. It is difficult to trace all the inexplicable fables of ancient mythology. The prominent points only are worthy of notice, and we must make ample allowances for the commixture of the actions and deeds of various persons. Thus among the Chiapanese who were conquered by the Mexicans, Humboldt informs us that Buddha is called by his Celtic name Votan, and that they describe the events which happened to Coxcox or Noah, as also the destruction of the pyramid or tower of Babel as having occurred in his time. The absolute similarity in the names of Votan and Woden (for the W and D are continually changed into V and T by various nations) is a circumstance which ought to be recollected, more especially as the characters of those supposed deities correspond. The Chiapanese say that Votan assisted in building the tower or pyramid which was to reach the heavens, that a confusion of languages took place, each family talking differently from 0158 155 others, and that Votan was ordered by the great spirit, Teotl, to people Anahuac.

The Spaniards, in levelling the great square of the present city of Mexico in 1790, dug up an immense block of granite, on which was figured, in basso relievo, a circular astronomical table containing their ancient zodiac, with the symbols of the days of the month, their periods of time, and cycles of years. This diagram was surrounded by the figure of a serpent folded into four knots, to represent the cardinal points of the compass, the four seasons, &c. &c.; his month at one of the points holding the tail. In the centre of this astronomical table was carved the head of their God, Tonatiah, whose open mouth displays immense teeth in the act of devouring. In my last letter I mentioned the coincidence between the Hindoos, Egyptians, and Mexicans, as regarded the serpent being an emblem of time and eternity. The Mexican God, Tonatiah, also agrees in character with the Hindoo Cala, the God of time, who is represented with open mouth and formidable teeth. He is in fact the prototype of the Greek and Roman Saturn, who devours his children; and the same as Moloch of antiquity, to whom children were sacrificed. In the above mentioned large Mexican astronomical table the twenty signs of the days are circularly arranged from right to left, and the heads of the animals, significant of the signs, are placed in an opposite direction. The Egyptians used the same method in the construction of their zodaical tables. I shall not attempt a parallel with regard to the attributes and characters of the Mexican and Hindoo Gods. The undertaking would require more time and space than has been occupied by these letters.

The pyramids of Mexico vary much in their comparative height,and extent of base,as well as in the materials of which they are built. It was not until lately, when noticing this variety, I was induced to believe that some of the ancient earthen structures in this western country were intended for pyramids. The rectangular mass of earth at Marietta which has been raised about five feet from the level of the ground, slanting inwards, and to which you ascend by means of a sloping cause-way, may certainly be considered the lowest graduated layer of a pyramid. Mr. H. M. Breckinridge's description of the square mound at Cohokia shews that it must also have been intended for the same purpose as the Mexican Teocalli. The sides of our American pyramids, like those of Asia and Egypt, are in the exact direction 0159 156 of the four cardinal points of the compass. The pyramid of Chulala has five gradations or layers of earth and brick to the summit; others have from six to eight. Those which have the fewest are lowest in proportion to their extent of base, owing to the wide terraces which are formed by the upper part of each gradation. The pyramid of the city of Mexico was on the contrary built with a very extensive flat summit, and the terrace part of the gradation proportionally narrow. The Mexican pyramid of Papantla has seven stories or gradations; it is built of immense blocks of stone exactly squared, in a style equal to those of Egypt, and covered with hieroglyphic emblems, similar to the obelisks and temples of the Nile. These pyramids, like the temples and pyramids of Asia, are surrounded by extensive walls, in which were houses and gardens for the Priests, as also magazines of arms, designed for temporary defence, or to be distributed among the warriors of the nation. In this latter respect, we also observe a striking coincidence; as the ancient temple of Baal Berith was at the same time a strong fort. In fact the descriptions given by Herodotus and Diodorus Siculus of the ancient temple or pyramid of Belus or Babylon agree in all points with those of Mexico: in both instances large flights of steps conduct to the summit of their pyramidical temples, on whose flat apexes were placed one or more chapels, to contain the colossal idols of their Gods. They kept the sacred fire continually burning on the summit of their temples; and the priests of Mexico, like those of Chaldea, made observations of the stars, and proclaimed the house of the night therefrom.

The group of Mexican pyramids named Teotihuacan consists of two large ones, dedicated to the sun and moon, while four wide avenues lead to these pyramids in direction of the cardinal points, formed of hundreds of small pyramids. Around the Egyptian pyramids of Cheops and Mycerinus, there are yet to be observed the remains of eight small pyramids which formed parts of avenues placed in the same direction.

The pyramid of Xochicalco is made of hewn stone, exactly fitted together without mortar: it is covered with basso relievo sculptures, representing crocodiles, men and other devices. The human figures are sitting cross legged after the Asiatic manner. No crocodiles or alligators exist in these high mountainous regions of America: we must therefore reasonably conclude, that the superstition which caused these figures to be carved, must be derived from the 0160 157 same Hindoo and Egyptian source which occasioned many of the most ancient monuments of Asia and the Nile to be carved with similar designs. The Mexicans and Peruvians, like the ancient inhabitants of the old continents, built their pyramids of various materials. Teotihuacan is formed internally of clay and stones, faced with an amygdaloid porphyry, like one of the Egyptian pyramids of Sakharah. Chelula is composed of earth, with brick work in certain parts to support the same; whilst, as before mentioned, Xochicalco is built of stone, without cement. It appears from the carvings on this pyramid, that the Mexicans, like the Egyptians, erected the building and afterwards cut their figures on the solid surface. Some of the Peruvian buildings are cemented with bitumen, after the manner of the temple of Baal or Belus. The ornaments and arabesque designs on some of their buildings are like those of Egypt and Asia: this is particularly observable in what are called the palaces of the Incas, where the doors and windows are made after that very peculiar Egyptian mode, which slanted the upper part of the side jambs inwards, thus making the opening narrower on the top than bottom.

The immense blocks of stone, used by our southern Americans in their buildings, will also bear comparison with those which are still the wonder and astonishment of the traveller who ascends the Nile.

The civil and religious polity of the kindred nations of the Mexican race also agrees with that of Asia and Egypt. A valuable painted and hieroglyphic book sent from Mexico to the Emperor Charles V. and now designated the Recueil of Mendoza, is divided like the Hindoo Purana into three parts, which separately treat on the history, the tributes, and the customs of the Mexicans. We there find that the same exact attention was paid to every minute circumstance of life, which so peculiarly distinguished the despotic laws of Asia and the Nile. Every action of human existence is portrayed and regulated. The quantity of food, the chastisements to which both sexes were liable for faults committed from the earliest infancy to old age, are all callendered in the most minute manner. It would seem that parents had no privilege of even exercising their own judgments as regards their offspring; but were obliged to feed, clothe, and correct their children by law. The Mexicans, like the Asiatics, purified their new-born infants with water and fire: the first mentioned ceremony was performed by sprinkling that element on the breast; the second by making a movement 0161 158 as if psssing the child through a flame kindled for the occasion; and accords with the accounts which we read in th? Bible of the children of the various idolatrous na?ons, passing through fire. The individual adoration of the sun was also the same, both in Mexico and Hindostan. I? was performed by waving the hand towards that luminary, and then taking it to their lips. The manner in which they worshipped before their temples on their hands and knees, is also similar. The American Buddha is represented, like the same personage in Asia, to have been the founder of certain monasteries and religious sects which lived in congregations and imposed severe penances on themselves. We find similar customs existing in Tibet, where the priesthood are totally separated from the people. According to the Mexican paintings, Quetzalcoalt must have performed the most rigorous penances: he is represented as equalling the Faquirs of India in self-punishment. Manco Capac, who is the same perso?age among th? Peruvians, is said to have altered the religion of that nation, and to have introduced the offering of flowers, fruits, &c. at the altar of their Gods, instead of human sacrifices. They ascribe the same reform to Buddha in India, whilst the Mexicans, like certain sects of the Bramins, chose to continue worshippers of Siva, and to perform their sacrifices of blood.

Humboldt was struck with the general resemblance between the paintings of Mexico and the rolls of papyrus, which are found enveloped with the Egyptian mummies. You see the same intermixture of paintings represen?ing real persons, and the various actions of life, with explanatory hieroglyphics. The noses of the Mexican priests, as well as of their Gods, were ornamented with golden rings, formed into the shape of a serpent. The Egyptians and Hindoos had the same custom: it was the emblem among both people of Time and Eternity, but a still more striking coincidence is discovered in the masque of a Mexican priest, who is drawn as sacrificing a human victim. The masque represents an Elephant's trunk, similar to the head of Ganessa, so often portrayed in Hindostan. As no elephants exist in America, it is reasonably to conclude, that the design must have been brought from Asia. The Egyptians are not the only people who worshipped animals and buried them with divine honors: the Mexicans also participated in this degrading superstition; they erected little chapels, in which they buried the Wolf, Tiger, E?gle, and Snake or Adder.

0162 159

It is perhaps useless to enter further into all the minute particulars in which the nations of Mexico and the various families of the Hindoos agree. I cannot, however, forbear mentioning that the game of Chess was known among the South Americans. Sir Wm. Jones has indubitably proved the high antiquity and Asiatic origin of this scientific game. Molina mentions that the Araucanians and people of Chili were acquainted with Chess from time immemorial.* I will also observe, that the Peruvians whose kings boasted of their descent from the sun, in the same manner as the Hindoo monarchs, celebrated a festival like the inhabitants of Hindoostan, in honor of their progenitor, who, among the Hindoos was called Rama, and is believed to have been the seventh incarnation of the Divinity. This festival was called by the Peruvians Ramasitoa, or the feast of Rama thus corresponding both in name and original character with that Rama of Asia, who was the prototype of the Egyptian and Grecian Bacchus. It has been mentioned that the Lingham worship which formed one great division of the abominable superstitious rites of Hindostan and Egypt, is not discovered to have existed in America. Should my conjecture on this subject, as stated in my 6th letter, be deemed erroneous, I still think it in no manner invalidates the strong proofs which exist that the Mexicans and Hindoos must be descended from one common origin. On the contrary I deem it as strengthening my hypothesis. It is well known that the most ancient monuments of Egypt do not contain emblems of the Phallus worship. Those signs were introduced at a later period, perhaps at a time when certain sects of the Hindoos gave themselves up to a similar devotion. A violent enmity still exists in the peninsula of India and on the borders of the Ganges between the votaries of the ancient Venus and the followers of Vishnu. Those who still adhere to the right of self immolation, and whose predecessors formerly sacrificed human victims? scorn the Phalic rites. The worshippers of Moloch, they who revelled in human blood, could have little sympathy with the effeminate votaries of the Lingham. The Mexicans, and indeed all the nations of middle America, were at one time deeply imbrued in the blood of human sacrifices. They consequently could not belong to that opposite sect, which, at a later period, became common in Egypt, and is still numerous in India.

* Molina's Natural and Civil History of Chili; vol. 2, p. 108, American edition.

0163 160

The authorities for this as well as the last letter, have been obtained from various sources, though I am chiefly indebted to the works of Baron Humboldt. I found that notes of authority would almost equal the text i? bulk, and therefore declined the task, believing a general reference to the writings of the above mentioned distinguished philosopher, naturalist, and traveller, sufficient for my purpose. Those persons, who have read his account of the monuments of the Mexicans and Peruvians, will justify the correctness of my general statements. In my opinion they prove the common origin of the ancient American and Hindoo race to an extent, fully as complete as it is reasonable to demand, or has ever been obtained by evidence necessarily derived from periods of remote antiquity. The emigration of the nations of Anahuac from the western parts of North America has also been sufficiently proved, and every monument and relic which they have left confirms the general hypothesis. I hope these letters may lead to farther inquiries, and have no doubt that every additional fact will corroborate the truth of those leading principles, by which I have been governed in the general theory of my investigation.

The writer of the letters on Indian Antiquities may probably resume the subject if he obtains new information worthy the attention of his readers. He is conscious of many deficiencies, both as respects errors of style and of the press. Several mistakes in the le??ers department have been overlooked until too late to be rectified. The word Hindu has been uniformly spelt Hindoo, contrary to the intentions of the writer of these letters.

INDIAN MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

From the m???script of Mr. William Wells.

(Continued from page 100.)

The Indians are an indolent people, and are therefore fond of any kind of amusement that may serve to pass away time and make them merry. They have a variety of games too tedious to mention, and are remarkably honorable in paying their gambling debts. They have a variety of dances. The morning dance begins ?n the evening and continues 0164 161 until morning when the feast is served up to the company. Another dance is performed by a certain society. Each member of the society is supposed to possess secret arts by which he can destroy the life of his neighbours when he pleases, without its being known to them or any one else. Persons of both sexes are adopted into this society with a great deal of ceremony. When they dance it is common for each person to have an otter skin. The oldest members place themselves in the middle of the floor, and the dance begins by their singing the songs of the society. A circle is formed round the singers and each person commences dancing with his otter skin in his hand. After a few minutes some one of the company makes a noise like an otter, shakes his skin and walks or dances round the inside of the circle, suddenly making a motion with his skin at some one of the company, who screams out and falls as if he had been shot. In a few moments he recovers and in his turn loads his otter skin, pretending to cough up the ball he was just shot with. When it appears that the ball is in his mouth, he puts the nose of the otter skin to his mouth and his piece is loaded. He then goes round the circle as was before done, and shoots any one he pleases. In this way the dance is continued for such a length of time as the managers think proper. No person can quit the dance until it is broken up by them. The members of this society were formerly much feared by their neighbours, but are now treated with great contempt.

The begging dance is performed by young men and boys, who dress like warriors and go about through the village singing war songs and dancing. It is customary for the heads of families, at whose house they dance, to give them something. This is the dance they generally exhibit among white people. There are a number of other dances, such as the bear dance, the turkey dance, the new corn dance, the pipe dance, &c.

When business of importance comes before an Indian chief, he calls a council of the heads of each family of his village, and lays the business before them on which he means to deliberate. An orator then rises, and, after stating the importance of the business, gives his opinion to the council. Should the council concur with him, nothing more is said, but the council is adjourned by the chief. Should a difference of opinion prevail among the counsellors, the subject is debated by the different parties, after which the chief adjourns them as before. When the 0165 162 chief gives his final answer to any thing that is thought of importance, it is done in the presence of his counsellors. No business is done by him privately. No crime among the Indians is punished with death, excepting murder; in which case the chiefs and old men assemble and inquire into the nature of the act, and if, after they are informed of the particulars of the transaction, they are of opinion that the accused acted in his own defence, or that there was something that authorised him to kill the other, they make a present to the friends of the deceased, and tell them they have wiped away the blood, but that if they are the cause of spilling more blood, the vengeance of the village will fall on them. If, on the contrary, they find the person has been murdered without cause, they say nothing to his relations, but leave them to punish the murderer as they think proper, which is generally with death.

The Indians live in villages from April to November, during which time the women cultivate corn, beans, potatoes, pumpkins, and other common vegetables. The men seldom assist their women in farming. Little Turtle and a young Weas chief are the only two Indians that I know of that use the plough. The remainder of the year is spent in hunting. The Indians appear to decrease in number, particularly those who live nearest the white settlements, perhaps in consequence of the scarcity of game and their continual intoxication. The Indians divide the time as the whites do, by moons, and into four seasons, autumn, winter, spring and summer. January is called the Buck moon, February the Bear, March the Young Bear, April the Crow, May the Crane, June the Whippoorwill, July the Cornhilling moon, August the Roasting Ear, September the Hard Corn, October the Little Fire, November the Big Fire, and December the Young Buck moon.

The Indians hold property individually, but are not so fond of it as the whites are. They are much kinder to their neighbors and to strangers than the whites are.

The Indians have no laws, no coercive power, nor any kind of government. Their only contracts are their manners and customs, and that moral sense of right and wrong, which, like the sense of tasting and feeling in every man, makes a part of his nature. An offence against them is punished with contempt and exclusion from society, &c.

The Indians believe that the thunder and lightning and other disturbances of the natural world, are independent 0166 163 and distinct powers or beings, and worship them occasionally.

The Powwowers or Priests were formerly in high estimation, as it is believed that they are the agents of the different powers, or great spirits that govern the universe, and that they have power to kill or cure as they think proper. They generally act as doctors, and sometimes go through the village early in the morning preaching, and tell the people what to do during the day. They are not so much respected now as they formerly were. I have never understood that the North Western Indians buried their dead in any other way, than as at present. Some lay the dead body on the top of the ground, make a crib or pen over it, and cover it with bark. Others dig graves and lay the corpse in, and cover it first with bark and then with earth. Others still make a coffin out of strong boards, in which they put the corpse and hang it up in the top of a tree. It is customary to bury as much of the deceased's property with the body as can conveniently be put into the grave with it.

Review of Elements of Logic

A Review of “Elements of Logic; or a summary of the general principles and different modes of reasoning; by Levi Hedge, A, M, Professor of Logic, Metaphysics, and Ethics, in Harvard College. Cambridge, printed at the University Press, by Hilliard and Metcalf, 1816.” 202 pages 12 mo.

THIS is decidedly the best work upon logic, which we have seen, for the use of high schools and colleges. It is brief, methodical, clear, judicious, and sensible. It is written in a simple, perspicuous, and appropriate style. There is no affectation of technical mystery, no attempt to be wiser than plain thoughts and correct words will allow. The author appears to have studied faithfully the ablest treatises which have preceded his own, and has given satisfactory references to those from which he has derived assistance. The science, which was formerly so husky and frivolous, he has rendered rational, agreeable, and important. We recommend this work as far preferable to that of Watts or Duncan. It is so short as not to fatigue and disgust a class, and is sufficiently full for all the purposes of a text book. The most valuable part of logic is undoubtedly contained in every good treatise upon the Philosophy of the Human Mind. 0167 164 This does not however supersede the necessity of a separate work. Logic must always continue to be a distinct classical study.

The chapter on chances is clear and excellent. The observations on the evidence required to establish facts, which are out of the course of nature, are sound, and claim regard. The note upon the scholastic distinctions of syllogisms (p, 152) conveys information, with great brevity, which every student ought to possess, not only as a gratification of his curiosity, but as sometimes necessary to enable him to understand philosophical treatises upon subjects of general interest. Silly as the logic of the schools was, it is important for us to know its nature and character.

Having thus expressed our sincere approbation of Professor Hedge's book, we shall not be thought captious in calling the attention of our readers to some particulars in it which we consider as defective, but which are not of sufficient magnitude to injure its general character. Our criticism may be of some use in suggesting slight alterations for a second edition.

The following sentence (p, 13,) is not, in our opinion, strictly correct. “The purpose of logic is to direct the INTELLECTUAL POWERS in the investigation of truth, and in the communication of it to others.” We would substitute mind for intellectual powers, because some of the active powers are employed unquestionably in reasoning. The will is eminently an active power, and this is indispensable to command and direct the attention. The passions also, which are active powers, very often control the attention, and influence our arguments. In the form of affections and sympathies, they always act upon our speculations when we are examining moral subjects, or any subjects in which we are liable to take an interest. Ratiocination is never just when it sets aside the dictates of our moral nature, and treats the mind as simple intellect. Sound philosophy requires of us an examination of our whole nature, and an admission of the lawful influence of each part. Acknowledged original principles or sentiments of the mind, whether enumerated with the intellectual or the active powers, must be permitted to aid our reasoning and to affect our conclusions. The constitution of our nature cannot be subverted by any metaphysical arguments. The sentiment of personal identity, the sentiment of free agency, the sentiment of responsibility, all of which are active, and not speculative powers, must mingle with our moral investigations, and must harmonize with the results, or 0168 165 the results are false. The head and the heart are perpetually acting on each other, and it is idle to attempt to separate them. Each is imperfect alone, and both must be sound to make the complete logician, as well as the man of taste. Much of the common metaphysics is miserable trash, and has nothing to do with the proper business of thought or action.

“The art of reasoning skilfully can be acquired only by a long and careful exercise of the REASONING FACULTY on different subjects and in various ways.” (p, 14.) Reasoning is a compound process, and involves the united operations of several faculties. There is no single faculty in the human mind, which can take this name. Professor Hedge himself mentions no faculty which he calls reason. The language is well enough for popular discourse, but not for a logical work.

“The instruments of perception are the five corporeal senses, seeing, FEELING, hearing, tasting, and smelling.” (p, 16.) We make this quotation for the purpose of directing attention to the use of the word feeling. Through the whole of this section, the author has reference exclusively to “the powers and qualities of the material objects AROUND US.” We see not the least allusion, in any part of the chapter, to the sensations, which we derive from the internal operations of our physical system, from the diseased or healthy action of a muscle, a nerve, or any other part. These sensations are undoubtedly included within the scope of the term feeling, but not when that term denotes one of “the five corporeal senses,” and these senses are considered as acting only on “the material objects around us.” Stewart* defines conception to be “that power of the mind, which enables it to form a notion of an absent object of perception, OR OF A SENSATION WHICH IT HAS FORMERLY FELT.” This distinction carries our attention immediately to the double operation of feeling as a medium of the perception of “material objects around us” and as exciting sensations in the mind by causes which act internally in our physical system.

* Elements of the Phil? Hum: Mind, vol: I, chap: 3, of Conception.

“Perception is the FIRST faculty which appears in the human mind.” (p. 17.) “The CHANGE, produced in the mind by the impression of the object on the organ of sense, is denominated SENSATION.” (p, 16.) There is some discrepancy between these two sentences. Either sensation includes perception, or perception is not the first faculty which appears in the human mind. There can be no mental operation without a mental 0169 166 faculty for it. Sensation is a mental operation, and must either be identified with perception, or placed before it, and leave perception to be the second, instead of the first.

“The external object or quality perceived is denominated the object of perception, or the ARCHETYPE of the idea.” (p, 17.) The term archetype is not here applied with sufficient latitude. It ought not to be limited to external objects, nor even to material things. An internal pain is felt and remembered, and is the archetype of the idea or conception which the mind preserves. We also form conceptions of the faculties of the mind, as they are enumerated. These faculties are archetypes of such ideas.

“Consciousness or reflection is that notice which the mind takes of its own operations.” (p, 18.) These words are not synonymous. Consciousness is a single act, but reflection implies a series of acts.

“We make comparisons with the greatest ease, and frequently without being CONSCIOUS of them.” (p, 24.) We may not indeed be directly conscious of our existence, but we always are of the operations of our minds. Frequently we do not attend to our acts of consciousness long enough to fix them in the memory, but this forgetfulness is no evidence that they have not taken place. We are satisfied with Stewart's reasoning upon this point, and believe that innumerable acts of consciousness and will are performed by the mind, as in the case of the equilibrist, with such rapidity of succession that they are not remembered, and are not distinctly the objects of attention.

The remarks of Dr. Reid concerning generalization (p, 27,) we think are just, and we consider Stewart as deficient for having omitted this in his “Elements.” He makes abstraction perform more duties than belong to it.

The account of moral evidence (p, 83—91,) appears to us to be less clear and satisfactory than the author should have made it, after he had read the books mentioned at the end of the chapter. Campbell has given us a better idea of it in his Philosophy of Rhetoric, and has done it more justice in regard to its importance when compared with demonstration, as well as in regard to its susceptibility of certainty. It is often as “absurd” to resist moral evidence as it is to resist demonstrative. The term probable (p, 89,) is unhappily continued in its technical sense, and should never be used except when it signifies that which is no more than probable.

The account of syllogisms (p, 148,) allows to them more 0170 167 value than they possess. They are at best a clumsy, affected, pedantic, and wretched mode of reasoning or teaching. Campbell has exposed, as we think, with great fairness and success, their frivolity and emptiness. All syllogisms, as he observes, are founded upon what is called begging the question. Deny a dialectician's major proposition, and his syllogism is destroyed.

The “Concluding Remarks” are good, and convey useful information to those who are learners.

We close our Review with a few observations upon the subject at large.

Logic has been undervalued, because it has been confounded with the pretensions and verbiage of the syllogism. The schoolmen were so ambitious of making this pedantic and ostentatious mode of discussion include all the forms of reasoning and of good composition, that they multiplied its varieties until every sentence could be called syllogistic. The most easy and delightful periods were incumbered and tortured with the ill made corsets of the sophist, and not a single grace of nature was left to excite admiration, or to enkindle love.

When logic is understood in its proper character, and is pursued as that science, which teaches us the nature and powers of the mind, the best mode of applying them to the investigation and communication of truth, and the use of language with intelligence and accuracy in the important task of definition and reasoning, then it ceases to be merely technical and frivolous, and becomes a study of the greatest value and dignity. The controversies about the minute details of rites and ceremonies, the animosity between S H and S in shibboleth and sibboleth, the questions concerning genealogies and “old wives' fables,” the strifes of words in unintelligible and useless propositions, and the barbarous dialect of sectarian polemics, are not more unlike to the genuine and glorious truths of religion and the benevolent temper of its faithful disciples, than the tricks and disguises of the syllogism are to the natural, rational, and universal principles and processes of true logic. No discourse, no essay, no book, intended to be serious, pleases a cultivated mind and taste, if the thoughts and expressions have not the connexion and dependence which constitute the essence of this science. It is indispensable to the orator and writer, and is found even in poetry and the arts. It is one of the best forms of mental discipline, and one of the fairest trials of intellectual power and equity. This branch of 0171 168 study, in its present improved and disenthralled condition, should attract increased attention, as it must receive a more cordial regard. It ought to be taught as much to one sex as to the other, for it is, after all, the art of thinking, judging, and speaking well, and at last of acting aright and enjoying existence. The spirit of this art should enter more into our speculations upon moral and religious subjects, and check the current of errors and abuses. It is not hostile to sentiment and imagination, but shows the value and importance of both. It cuts off redundancies and extravagancies, but it leaves to nature and truth all their vigor and brilliancy, and, by clearing our eyes from mist, enables them to see more perfectly the strength, proportion, grandeur, ornaments, and hues, of this fair creation. Imagination is not diminished by the cultivation of the mind, and the elegant exercise of its powers, but taste is increased and exalted till they act in concert. The means and mode of study at the present time are vastly improved beyond any former period. We ought to be proportionally more enlightened, judicious, and happy. And such is the fact with those who faithfully apply their means, and adopt a genuine philosophy.

INSTANCE OF PENETRATION IN AN INDIAN.

THE character of General George Rogers Clarke, who has been sometimes, and not without propriety, called the Father of Kentucky, and of whom we hope to be able to furnish our readers hereafter with a further account, is well known, at least in the western country. This distinguished officer went, with two other commissioners, to hold a treaty with the northern Indians. Blue Jacket, a celebrated chief among them, was present, and on coming into the presence of the commissioners, whom he had never seen before, observed that he had heard that one of them was a conspicuous warrior, and wished to see whether he could ascertain from his appearance which he was. After surveying them all attentively for some time, he marched up to General Clarke and confidently observed “this is the man.” The anecdote displays either an uncommon penetration on the part of the Indian, or the peculiarly characteristic personal appearance of General Clarke.

FISHES OF THE RIVER OHIO. BY C. S. RAFINESQUE,

Professor of Botany and Natural History in Transylvania University.

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 57.)

23d Species. Black Hogfish. Etheostoma nigra. Etheostome noire.

Entirely black, pale beneath; scales smooth, lateral line streight, mouth rather beneath, forehead rounded, upper jaw longer; preopercule rounded, spine acute: vent rather anterior: tail entire nearly truncate

From one to two inches long. Observed in Green river. Vulgar name Black minny. Iris black, silvery, and small. Diameter one seventh of the length, without spots. Head small. Pectoral fins oboval. Tail 20. Anal fin 2 and 8. Dorsal ?0 and 12.

2d Subgenus. Diplesion.

Dorsal fin nearly double, divided into two joining parts. Meaning nearly double.

24th Species. Blunt nose Hogfish. Etheostoma Blennioides. Etheostome blennioide.

Body elongate, breadth one eighth of the length, olivaceous almost diaplanous, some brown spots on the back, and some brown geminate transversal lines across the lateral line, which is straight, but raised at the base. Head small, snout rounded, mouth small beneath, lower jaw shorter; opercule angular, spine acute; scales ciliated, pectoral fins elongate, tail also, and bilobed at the end.

A strange species, which has the appearance, head, and spots of many Blennies. Length two or three inches, and slender. Seen in the Ohio, Wabash, Muskingum, &c. Colour pale, sometimes fulvous, whitish beneath. Cheeks swelled and smooth, preopercule simple arched, opercule quite angular: iris large and blackish: scales roughened by the ciliation. Dorsal fin 13 and 13, beginning above the middle of the pectorals and ending with the anal, one faint longitudinal brown stripe on it. Tail 20 rays, with many small transversal lines. Vent medial. Anal fin 2 and 8. Pectoral fins 16, oblong acute.

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25th Species. Common Hogfish. Etheostoma caprodes. Etheostome capros.

Body quite cylindrical, whitish, with about twenty transverse bands, alternately shorter. Head elongate obtuse, upper jaw longer, rounded; opercule angular, spine acute: lateral line quite straight: diameter one eighth of the length: tail forked, olivaceous, brown at the base, and with a black dot. Vent anterior.

The most common species, found in the Ohio, Cumberland, Wabash, Tennessee, Green River, Kentucky, Licking, Miami, &c.; called almost every where Hog-fish. Length from two to six inches. Scales rough upwards, hardly ciliate. Mouth beneath, small; upper jaw protruding like a hog's snout, the nostrils being on it. Eyes above the eyes, jutting, black, iris silvery. Sides of the head silvery, above fulvous; preopercule simple arched Branchial rays half visible. Fins hva'inous: dorsal 15 and 12, ending before the anal, which is very distant from the tail, rays 2 and 10. Pectoral fins trapezoidal 16. Tail 24.

SECOND PART. ABDOMINAL FISHES.

Having complete gills, with a gill cover and a branchial membrane. Lower or ventral fins situated on the belly or abdomen, behind the pectoral or lateral fins.

X. Genus. Goldshad. Pomolobus. Pomolobe.

Body nearly cylindrical, elongate, scaly. Vent posterior. Abdomen carinated and serrated from the head to the vent; but without plaits or broad scales. Head scaleless, opercule lobed, with a rounded shield above. Jaws without teeth, upper truncate extensible, lower horizontal and fixed. Abdominal fins with nine rays and without lateral appendage: dorsal fin opposite.

Out of eight species of fishes, similar to the Herrings and Shads, which have already been observed in the Ohio; after an attentive study, I have ascertained that not a single one is a real Herring, nor belongs to the genus Clupea, and I have been compelled to form four new genera with them; which afford striking characters. The present one differs from the real genus Clupea by the lobed and shielded opercule, the curious 0174 171 mouth, the bodily shape, and the want of lateral appendage. It belongs of course, with the four following, to the family of Clupides. The name means lobed opercule.

26th Species. Ohio Goldshad. Pomolobus, chrysochloris. Pomolobe dore.

G?eenish-gold above, silvery beneath; lateral line straight? diameter two ninths of the length: dorsal and anal fin trapezoidal and with 18 rays: tail brown and forked.

A fine fish from twelve to eighteen inches long. Flesh esteemed, white and with less bones than the shad. It is taken with the seine and harpoon, as it seldom bites at the hook; it preys however on some small fishes. It seldom goes as far as Pittsburg?, and does not run up the creeks. At the falls it appears in March and April, and d?sappears in September. Its vulgar names are Ohio Shad, Gold Shad, Green Herring, &c.

It has the back convex, blue under the scales Sides, belly, and throat with purple and violet shades. Top of the head and neck clouded with brown. Several sutures on the sides of the head. Upper lip truncate, flexuose, and even retuse; the lower obtuse and brown at the end. Eyes black: iris si very and gilt. Oper?ule nearly trilobe, the upper lobe covered by a large oboval and radiated shield. Scales large deciduous, lateral line concealed by them. Dorsal fin olivaceous, in the middle of the back, first and second ray shorter and simple, the third long, the others gradually shorter. Anal fin consimilar but whitish. Pectoral and abdominal fins trapezoidal, the lowest ray simple and the longest: pectoral 15 rays. Tail equal 32 rays, brown, tip darker, equal, decurrent on each side, end of the body truncate.

XI. Genus. Gizzard. Dorosoma. Dorosome.

Body lanceolate, compressed, scaly. Vent medial. Abdomen carinated, serrated, and with broad tranversal scales, as far as the abdominal fins. Head scaleless, gill cover triple, opercule simple: mouth diagonal without teeth, lower jaw shorter. Abdominal fins with nine rays and no appendage: dorsal opposite.

It differs from Clupea and Pomolobus, by the medial vent, lanceolate body, gill covers, &c. The name means lanceolate body.

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27th Species. Spotted Gizzard. Dorosoma notata. Dorosome tachee.

Entirely silvery, a large brown and round spot above the base of the lateral line, which is straight: two oblong spots of an emerald colour above the head: dorsal fin trapezoidal with 15 rays, anal longitudinal with 40. Tail unequally forked, lower lobe longer.

A small species, seldom reaching over nine or ten inches. Diameter anteriorly one fifth of the length, tapering gradually towards the tail. I found it below the falls of the Ohio in August. It comes also in the spring and disappears in the fall. Vulgar nomes Gizzard, Hickory Shad, White Shad, &c. It does not bite at the hook. Back faintly bluish. Mouth large, upper jaw obliqual straight and longer, both fixed: tongue long and smooth. Eyes large, bluish, with a black centre: iris silvery. Scales small. Pectoral 12 rays, abdominals immediately behind them.

XII Genus. Gold Herring. Notemigonus. Notemigone.

Body fusiform, compressed, scaly. Vent posterior. Abdomen obtusely carinated, not serrate: back similar before the dorsal fin. Head scaleless, mouth small without teeth, lower jaw longer: gill cover double, opercule simple. Abdominal fins with nine rays and no lateral appendage. Dorsal fin behind them above the vent.

This genus differs from Clupea by the carinated back and belly, without serratures, and the posterior dorsal. The name means back half angular. 14th G. of my Prodr. N. G. Animals.

28th Species. Ohio Gold Herring. Notemìgonus auratus. Notemigone dore.

Back gilt olivaceous, remainder gilt silvery; fins yellow; lateral line following the curve of the belly: dorsal with 9 rays, anal with 12: tail equally forked.

Length from four to eight inches, diameter one fifth of the total length. Iris gilt. Tongue short, toothless. Scales large radiating with nerves. Head convex above and small. Dorsal fin broad trapezoidal, the first ray longer. Anal broad also, but not so much. Pectoral small with 16 rays. Tail 24. Not uncommon 0176 173 in the Ohio, Kentucky, Miami, &c. The vulgar names are Gold Herring and Yellow Herring. It appears in the fall. It does not bite at the hook. Flesh pretty good.

XIII Genus. False Herring. Hyodon. Hyodon.

Body lanceolate or oblong, compressed, scaly. Vent posterior. Abdomen slightly and obtusely carinated between the abdominal fins and the vent. Head scaleless: mouth toothed all over, strongly on the tongue, which is formed by the hyodal bone; lower jaw narrow and commonly longer. Gill cover with a preopercule. Abdominal fin with seven rays and a lateral appendage. Dorsal fin behind them above the base of the anal fin.

Hyodon. Lesueur in Journalof the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, vol. 1, page 364, Sept. 1818.

Glossodon. Rafinesque in American Monthly Mag. 1818.

Amphiodon. Rafinesque G. 15 of N. G. American Animals, in Journal of Natural History Paris 1819.

This genus has been minutely described by Mr. Lesueur; yet it is strange that he should have hardly noticed the abdominal appendages, similar to those of the genera Clupea, Salmo, Sparus, &c. which are very large, acute flat scaly adipose, and on the external and lateral side of the base of each abdominal fin. This genus differs from Clupea and the foregoing genera by its mouth and teeth, abdomen and abdominal fins; it approximates also to Erythrinus and Chirocentrus. There are alreadyfive species known, all called Herrings on the Ohio: they appear early in the spring and disappear in the fall. They live on small fishes, insects, worms, and spawn: they often bite at the hook; and are taken in great quantities with the seines. I have adopted Mr. Lesueur's name, although it is not without objection, particularly by its similarity with Diodon in sound; but having divided the genus into three subgenera, one of the names given to them might, if needful, be adopted as the proper generic name.

1st Subgenus. Amphiodon

Body lanceolate, lower jaw longer, dorsal fin beginning opposite to the base of the anal fin. The name means toothed all over.

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29th Species. Toothed False Herring. Hyodon amphiodon. Do.

Amphiodon alosoides. Raf 70 N. G. Animals. G. 15.

Diameter one fourth of total length, body silvery, back with bluish gilt shades, head gilt above: lateral line slightly curved downwards, tail acutely and equally forked, bluish brown, base reddish. Dorsal fin with 10 rays: anal fin with 34, ends acute, not falcated.

Length from 14 to 18 inches. Jaws with large conical acute teeth, similar to those of the tongue. Scales large deciduous. Eyes behind the mouth, round and black. Iris silvery gilt. Dorsal and anal fins with blue shades. It is very good to eat. I have observed it in the lower parts of the Ohio, where it is not so common as the two following species, and is of en called Shad, owing to its larger size. Pectoral fins with 16 rays, and not reaching the abdominal fins. Tail with 24 rays.

30th Species. Summer False Herring. Hyodon heterurus. Hyodon heterure.

Diameter one fifth of total length? body entirely silvery olivaceous, brown above the head: lateral line straight raised upwards at the base; tail acutely and unequally forked, the lower part longer Dorsal fin with 12 rays, the anal with 34, not falcated, both ends obtuse.

Length from narrow and compressed. Jaws with very small teeth, the lower jaw much longer. Eyes over the corners of the mouth, round and black, iris gilt. Fins slightly olivaceous, the dorsal and anal have the two first rays simple and the first very short, which produce the obtuse appearance of those fins. Caudal with 24 rays, pectoral fins with 14 rays and reaching the abdominal fins. A common species in the Ohio and tributary streams; it appears later than the following, whence it is called Summer-herring. It forms a connecting link between this and the following subgenus, having the teeth as in the following species.

2d Subgenus. Glossodon.

Body lanceolate, jaws equal with small teeth, dorsal fin opposite to the vent, nearly medial, beginning behind the abdominal fins. The name means toothed tongue.

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31st Species. Spring False Herring. Hyodon vernalis. Hyodon printanier.

Diameter one fourth of total length, body entirely silvery, back with bluish shades: lateral line straight, tail equally forked, sinus obtuse. Dorsal fin with 13 rays, the anal with 28 rays, falcated and with acute ends.

Length from ten to twelve inches; head small and narrow, nostrils very large, eyes above the corner of the mouth, black and somewhat elliptical vertically, iris round, silvery with gilt shades. Fins slightly olivaceous, the dorsal with 3 simple rays, the first very short, anal fin somewhat adispose anteriorly. Pectoral fins with 12 rays, hardly reaching the abdominal fins. Tail with 30 rays, somewhat marginated with brown. Branchial membrane with 7 rays. This fish begins to appear all over the Ohio and even at Pittsburgh in April: it is very common; but a poor food, owing to its great number of small bones. It is sometimes smoked and cured as the Atlantic Herrings; but is not quite so good.

3d Subgenus. Clodalus.

Body oblong irregular or somewhat rhomboidal. Jaws nearly equal, the lower one somewhat longer and with small teeth. Dorsal fin beginning before the base of the anal fin.

32d Species. May false Herring. Hyodon clodalus. Hyodon de May.

H. Clodalus. Lesueur Jour. Ac. N. Sc. 1. p. 377.

Diameter one fourth of total length, body silvery, back bluish, lateral line nearly straight, tail equally forked, sinus obtuse. Dorsal fin with 15 rays, the anal with 30, not falcated, ends acute.

Length eleven inches, fins yellow with metallic colours on the rays, pectoral with 13 rays not reaching the abdominal, caudal with 20 rays. It comes as far as Pittsburgh in May. Its flesh is pretty good. Eyes elliptical vertically, brown. Iris golden.

33d Species Lake False Herring. Hyodon clodalus. Hyodon lacustre.

H. tergisus. Lesueur Journ. Ac. N. Sc. 1. p. 336, tab. 14.

Diameter one fourth of total length, body silvery, back bluish, 0179 176 gill covers golden: lateral line somewhat flexuose or somewhat arched towards the back: tail equally forked, sinus obtuse. Dorsal fin with 15 rays, anal with 32, falcated, rounded anteriorly, acute behind,

This fish was observed by Mr. Lesueur in Lake Erie. Mr. Say thinks he has seen it at Pittsburgh; but I have never observed it in the Ohio, and I suspect that Mr. Say may have mistaken the Hyodon vernalis for this species: in fact all the species are blended by the fishermen and considered as alike; I therefore introduce it among the fishes of the Ohio with some doubt. It has the same eyes and colours as the foregoing. Length thirteen inches. Good food. See Mr. Lesueur's minute description.

XIV Genus. Trout. Salmo. Truite.

Body somewhat cylindrical scaly, vent posterior. Gill cover double, scaleless, more than four rays at the branchial membrane. Mouth large, jaws with strong teeth. Two dorsal fins, the first anterior or opposed to the abdominal fins which have a scaly appendage, the second adipose and opposed to the anal fin.

This Linnean genus which includes the Trouts and Salmono is confined to the head waters and brooks of the Ohio. I only know two species as yet; but there may be more in the small streams of Ohio, the Cumberland and Clinch mountains, &c. The white fish of Lake Erie, Coregonus albus of Lesueur, (or Salmo clupeformis of Dr. Mitchell.) a fish which differs from the Trouts by being toothless, and is therefore a real Coregouus, is said to be found in some streams of Indiana, at the head of the Wabash and Miami; but I have no certain proof of it. Other Trouts have been seen in the Osage river and other streams putting into the Missouri and Mississippi.

34th Species. Alleghany Trout. Salmo Alleganiensis. Truite alleganienne.

Back brownish, sides pale with crowded round fulvous spots, and some scattered scarlet dots above and beneath the lateral line, which is nearly straight: lower jaw hardly longer, tail reddish nearly lunulate, dorsal fin quadrangular with brown stripes, 0180 177 23 and ten rays: anal fin lanceolate whitish, with a longitudinal line black anteriorly and red posteriorly.

It is found in the brooks of the Alleghany mountains falling into the Alleghany and Monongahela. It has the manner of the small Brook-trouts, and is called Mountain-trout, Creek-trout, &c. It is easily caught with the hook, baited with earth-worms, and they may be en iced by rubbing the bait and hook with as afœtida like many other fishes. They afford a very good food. Length about 8 inches. Head olivaceous with violet shades. Iris brown. Dorsal fin rufous with brown lines parallel with the back. Pectoral fins oval, not reaching the base of the dorsal nor abdominal fins, redish below, whitish above, with a brown line. Abdominal fins with nine rays and similar to the pectoral fins in colour, scaly appendage very small. Tail with brown shades. Adipose fin acute. Diameter of the body one sixth of the total length. I have seen some individuals (they may be the female or a variety) who were of a paler colour, with fewer and smaller scarlet dots; they had the yellowish spots more crowded, the fins darker and the tail pale.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

ALEXANDER M'CONNELL'S ESCAPE FROM FIVE INDIANS.

EARLY one morning in the year 1781, Mr. Alexander M'Connell, who resided in the neighborhood of Lexington, wandered into the woods on foot in pursuit of game. Having succeeded in killing a deer at some distance from home, he found it necessary to return for a horse on which to carry it off. While he was gone, five Indians came to the spot where the deer lay, and, naturally concluding that some one would soon return thither for it, three of them remained to watch it, and two placed themselves in ambuscade near the path, along which they rightly supposed the huntsman would pass. As he rode, therefore, near their place of concealment, they shot at him, killed the horse under him, and consequently took him prisoner. For several days he travelled quietly with them, and, as he had a good rifle, and was an excellent marksman, they required him to shoot d??r, buffaloes, &c. for them. At night, however, they used the precaution of having him tightly bound by each arm? and the ropes attached thereto carefully passed under 0181 178 their bodies as they lay on each side of him. For some time he quietly submitted to this treatment, but at length ventured to complain that he was bound too tight, and to beg that the cords might be tied about him somewhat more loosely. The confidence of the savages increasing, and their apprehension of his escape being diminished, they yielded to his request, but still continued to bind him at night in the same manner, although not quite so closely, as at first.

One night, when the party had reached the banks of the Ohio, and when he thought it necessary, if possible, to make his escape, he observed a knife lying near his feet, as he was fixed in his position for the night. With considerable difficulty, and at the imminent hazard of awakening the savages who were snoring around him, and who were connected with the rope by which he was bound, he at length succeeded in drawing up the knife with his feet, until he could reach it with his hand, when he cut the cord which confined him, and was enabled to rise. His first thought then was to run off, leaving the Indians asleep; but on reflection he concluded that it would be in possible to escape in that way, as they would probably soon awake and rapidly pursue him. He came therefore to the heroic and almost desperate resolution to endeavor to kill the five Indians, or as many of them as he could. With the utmost coolness he proceeded to examine their guns, which he observed lying together, primed them, and put them in good order for service. He then disguised himself by putting on a coat belonging to one of the Indians, and fixing a tomahawk and scalping knife in his belt; and placed his own rifle at a little distance off, where the savages would not be likely to observe it, but where he himself could instantly find it. All these preparations were deliberately made at a moment when five savages were sleeping by him, and when the waking of either of them would have been to him instant death.

All things being ready, he proceeded to make his assault. He took two guns, one in each hand, and placing their muzzles at the breasts of the two Indians who were lying on each side of the spot where he had been, shot them both at once. The others, as he expected, being suddenly awakened by the noise, sprang up and stared in amazement. With a third gun he instantly shot at two of them who were close together, killed one, and, as he afterwards had reason to believe, mortally wounded the other. The fifth Indian, seeing his companions lying dead about him, not knowing 0182 179 where to find his arms, and probably, in the confusion of the scene, uncertain by how many he was assailed, precipitately fled. Mr. M'Connell therefore was left in quiet possession of the field. Not feeling inclined however to fight any more such battles, he took his rifle and proceeded expeditiously towards home, where, after a tedious and painful journey, he safely arrived, to the great joy of his friends, who had begun to despair of ever seeing him again.

Some little time afterwards, Mrs. Dunlap, a lady of respectability, who had been taken by the Indians, and retained a prisoner among them on Mad River, in the state of Ohio, made her escape and returned home to the neighborhood of Lexington. She stated that shortly after the time when Mr. M'Connell had made his desperate and successful assault, one Indian, out of five who had made a journey towards Lexington, returned with an account, that they had taken a white man prisoner, and had brought him as far as the Ohio River, when, in the night, while they were all asleep, they were suddenly attacked by a party of whites, who killed all his companions, and probably likewise the poor defenceless prisoner who was lying on his back tightly bound with cords.

This story we have from a respectable gentleman, now living in this neighborhood, who was an intimate friend of Mr. M'Connell, and who has repeatedly heard it related, with the utmost minuteness, by himself.

HARMER'S EXPEDITION.

In the year 1790, a negotiation was appointed to be held at Vincennes, on the Wabash, to establish a peace with the North Western savages. General St. Clair was appointed commissioner, but on experiment it was found that no satisfactory terms could be obtained from them; it was therefore determined to carry hostilities into their country, and an expedition was accordingly planned under the command of General Josiah Harmer, against the Miami village, where Fort Wayne now stands. The army was collected at Fort Washington early in October, consisting of one company of artillery, two hundred and fifty infantry regular troops, and twelve hundred militia from Kentucky, and the back part of Pennsylvania. At the same time a detachment marched from Vincennes under the command of Major Hamtramock, to make a diversion 0183 180 in Harmer's favor. When General Harmer had arrived near what is now called St. Mary's, an Indian was made prisoner, from whom some information was received, which induced the General to detach Colonel Hardin with six hundred men to the village, where he arrived next day, October 15, and found the village mostly in ashes, and abandoned, there being only two Indians seen, who were fired on and both probably wounded, as the horses on which they were mounted, came in that night with blood on the saddles.* The main body arrived on the 17th. On the 18th Colonel Trotter was detached with three hundred men in pursuit of a trail discovered the day before. He had not gone far before an Indian was observed on horseback on his right in front. He was pursued by the cavalry, overtaken and killed. Another Indian was likewise discerned, pursued by the field officers, and by them driven upon the cavalry, who also despatched him, not however before he had mortally wounded one of the party, serjeant Johnston. Colonel Trotter then proceeded on his march, but had not gone far before one of his videts informed him he had been pursued by a large body of mounted savages in his rear. The wounded man having been sent back, it was apprehended his party would be cut off. The cavalry were immediately ordered back to overtake the party with the wounded man, and halt until the main body of the detachment should come up to them. The whole then proceeded back with the wounded man so far as to insure his safety and that of the escort. The detachment again proceeded on their march, and late in the evening three cannons were heard to fire at camp, as a signal for the party to return, which was accordingly done. Next morning a detachment of about the same number was ordered out under the command of Colonel Hardin, who pursued the same route that had been taken the day before. A short distance beyond where Colonel Trotter had retrograded, an encampment was discovered, and a push was made on it by the advance, but it was found to be abandoned, except by eight or ten savages, who immediately fled, and escaped through the thick brush. Captain Faulkner, of the Pennsylvania militia, was ordered to form on the left, which he did so far as not to see the movement of the rest of the detachment, and was thus left behind. Colonel Hardin had proceeded nearly two miles before Faulkner was missed. It being near night it was concluded to move on to the first place suitable for an encampment, while Major Fontain should go in 0184 181 quest of Faulkner. In a short time a gun was heard to fire in front, and it was thence concluded that the enemy were at hand, and the detachment discovered. They moved on, however, with celerity to the attack, and in about a mile came in sight of their encampment, which was flanked by a morass on each side, having one in front also, which was immediately crossed by our detachment, consisting now of less than two hundred, who, before they could form, received a most tremendous fire from seven hundred Indians.* The detachment immediately broke, and fled; nor could all the exertions of the officers rally them: fifty-two men were killed in a few minutes. The enemy pursued until Major Fontain was met bringing up Faulkner's party, when a stand was made, and the enemy retreated. The rest of the detachment arrived safe in camp that night.

* One of them was found dead a few days after.

* As I have been told by Captain Wells who was with the Indians at the time.

The next day, the 20th, was employed in destroying the corn and other vegetables; and during the day several Indians were killed. On the 21st the army commenced its march. back, and proceeded to the Black Swamp, seven miles. That night Colonel Hardin and Major Willis were detached back with five or six hundred men to surprise the enemy, who, it was now supposed, would return to their village. The detachment did not arrive at the old village until after sun-rise, which prevented a surprise. There were a few Indians on each flank; those on the left fled instantly, and were pursued in every direction by the militia; those on the right (about forty,) endeavored to gain a cop-e of wood, which was observed by Major Fontain, who ordered Captain Armstrong with the mounted riflemen to prevent it. As soon as the duty was accomplished, Fontain ordered a charge with a company of cavalry. The Major pushed on, expecting his men were following; but alas! he went alone in the midst of forty savages: he did great execution with his sword, but fell at last covered with wounds. Lieutenant M'Coy seeing the Major's situation, pushed up from the rear of the cavalry, with four† men only to rescue him; three of whom were wounded; the fourth had his sword knocked out of his hand by a ball from the enemy. Major Willis was moving up to support Fontain, when he was attacked by a large party from down the river. The conflict was sharp, but short: Major Willis and Lieutenant Frothing here fell. Captain Ashton, with the few men he had, fell 0185 182 back on the run St. Joseph. The Captain, Ensign, and four or five men were all that escaped. Brigade Major Ormsby had collected eighty or ninety men on the river, ready to meet those who were in pursuit of Ashton. Here the contest was renewed across the river. Ormsby's party checked the enemy until Colonel Hardin brought up a reinforcement. The contest continued from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon; when, unfortunately, a party under Major James M'Millan, was mistaken for a party of the enemy: a retreat was immediately ordered, which created some confusion, thereby giving the enemy a great advantage. A general massacre of the wounded took place. When M'Millan arrived where the contest had been, he saw nothing but the dead on both sides. Colonel Hardin lost this day about one hundred and thirty-two men. Major M'Millan stated that there were a great many dead Indians in the river; so that their loss was very considerable also this day. A more convincing proof need not be assigned, than that they did not pursue or harass the army on? its return to Fort Washington; which it reached by easy marches on the 4th of November, in good order, bringing in all the artillery, ammunition, and baggage. I have thus given as brief an account of this expedition as I could, all of which is done from memory.

† John Bush, Silas Me?son, and two named Moore.

General Harmer died on the Schuylkill, near Philadelphia, a few years ago. The present discipline of our army is in a great measure owing to him; and I feel anxious to prevent that expedition being called Harmer's defeat, there being only a part of his troops engaged, as is shown above.

Extract from a Letter

The following extract from a letter, written by a lady to her brother, has so much of the characteristic sprightliness of the sex, united with allusions to a course of study so uncommon among females, that we hesitate not to give it a place in our miscellany.

“February 8, 1820.

The greatest difficulty in an undertaking is surmounted often when we have begun it, for then the desire to finish, (which Lord Kaimes, who is over-fond of multiplying original principles, makes one of our nature,) comes in to aid other reasons for doing the business. Keeping this in view, I always take care, when I fold up one letter to you, to put 0186 183 another, as the ship builders say, on the stocks. But, lest I should dose at this late hour, I bid you good night.

The 9th. I would that you were with us this evening to partake of our roast turkey and cranberry sauce, in the intervals of the bons mots, which are flying across the table from some wits of the metropolis, who happen to be at our house for a day or two. You must however sigh in vain at present for the “leeks and onions” of this land of the pilgrims, as we do for your society. I chanced on a line in Catullus to night, “Ridete quidquid est domi cachinnorum.” Which of the Lake Poets says, “Smile every dimple in the face of home?”

You recollect what we used to remark about the effect produced by hearing of an author once, and then fifty times afterward. This has been brought to my mind often and forcibly by A —, who has been ringing Rochefoucauld in my ears ever since her return from —. Yesterday I had a philippic against him from you, and to day, Stewart, in his History of the Progress of Metaphysics, gave us Voltaire's, Dr. Johnson's, Addison's, and his own opinion of the man. Voltaire said, that this small collection of maxims had done more than any thing else toward forming the taste of the nation to justness and precision of thought and expression; and that although there was little more than one idea in the book, (self love is the spring of all our actions,) yet it was presented in such a variety of lights as to be always amusing. The dogmatical doctor was accustomed to say of the duke, that his book of maxims was almost the only one written by a man of fashion, of which professed authors had reason to be jealous. The Spectator says, it was impossible for him to read a passage in Plato or Tully, or in any of a thousand other ancient moralists, without being as greater and a better man for it. On the contrary, he could never read any of the modish French authors, without being, for some time, out of humor with himself, and with every thing about him. Stewart charges Rochefoucauld and the moralists of his time with sowing the seeds of the excesses of the French Revolution by their false and degrading representations of human life and human nature. After all, 'tis odds but I shall read the book.

The 18th. We dined yesterday with Mrs. — We found the lady, (who is, you know, the centre of the female and the male literati, of a certain sort, beaux esprits,) seated at her work table, which was strowed with elegant editions of fashionable books. Among them were Carey's Dante, a 0187 184 new collection of Old English Ballads, &c. &c. &c. Ces gens la are all alike, a race of sentimentalists. I have been thinking how one might describe them. They have a kind of optics, by which they behold objects dressed in softer colours, and placed in more graceful attitudes, than those in which they ever present themselves to people of common sense with ordinary eyes. They have set up a certain standard of ideal perfection, to which their imagination raises every thing on which it may please their fancy to sentimentalize. You would suppose all their friends to be made up of pure intellect, feeling, and fancy, without a particle of the gross matter of human nature; and then they describe a thousand interesting situations which never occur in real life. Well, let others be entertained with their imaginary scenes and personages, and their thin diluted sentiments. I have no sympathy with them. I could never endure the “pshaw” of men of sound judgement and sane wits. I am called back by my taste to the ancients; and, by the way, to add something to my criticism in a former letter, Æschylus is more poetic than Sophocles, but does not understand pathology so well.

A week or two since, a Blue Stocking Club was formed, and the “Club Room,” a pamphlet with a motto from Addison on its title page, made its first appearance before the public. I am afraid that the Augustan age of American literature is yet a great way off, and that Mrs. Monroe will be able to take her tea without the “Club Room” for an accompaniment. I send you the first number with the names of the writers prefixed by Miss —'s pencil, and leave you to find out whether she has been as happy as usual in her literary discoveries.

A — is still with us, and we enjoy ourselves right well in our way. We have been going over the old ground of the ideal and common sense philosophy. We quarrel with Stewart's labored periods, and critical desultory style, and agree with the world that he is indebted to Reid for ideas not a few. I mean to make a compact with A — that she shall regularly visit us every year, and then, (such are her talents and spirit) we shall have, in theological phrase, a revival. I have spent a day with our old friend Mrs. —. She is as pretty and soft spoken as ever, and threw out some hints about the ennui of a monotonous life, which indicated a lurking desire beneath the widow's weeds for the gay world. La Rochefaucauld would smile assent”

MONTHLY RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS,

Made in Lexington by Professor Rafinesque.

No. 3. RESULTS FOR MARCH 1820.

Temperature. The lowest was 20 degrees on the 12th, the highest 70 degrees on the 24th; medium 45 degrees. The greatest variation in one day was 25 degrees, from 45 to 70. The beginning of the month was cold and stormy, the remainder pleasant but variable.

Atmosphere. There have been sixteen fair days and four partially so, seven cloudy days, two hazy days, one snowy day, and one squally day. There were no days rainy throughout.

Rain. It drizzled and rained on the evening of the 5th, wind N. W. It rained in the night of the 12th, wind S. W., in the afternoon of the 26th, wind W., and in the morning of the 29th, wind W. The average of water fallen was hardly over one inch; but including the snow over three.

Snow. There was a heavy fall of snow on the 6th, wind N. E. said to be the deepest that has fallen in this country since 1784. It was 10 inches deep on an average here; but 12 or 15 in some parts of the country.

Frost. There were only ten frosty nights, in the mornings of the 3d, 6th to 12th, 30th, and 31st. The ground was seldom frozen.

Winds. The prevailing winds were W. which blew seven days and partially two, the S. W. blew six days, and the N. W. five days. The N. E. four days, N. three, and S. three and partially two. On the 14th it blew in dry squalls from the S. W.

Thunder. None was heard this month,nor were any lightnings seen.

Ground. The snow laid six days on the ground, and afforded fine sleighing for three days, and the roads were muddy for six days afterwards. The little rains only made the roads muddy for one day. The brooks began to fall towards the end of the month.

Vegetation. 2d. Anemone thalictroides in blossom in the woods, and yellow Crocus in the gardens.

15th. Hyacinths and Lombardy poplars in blossom.

17th. All the fruit trees were budding.

0189 186

19th. In blossom, Viola odorata, V. tricolor, and Daffodils in gardens.

22d. In blossom several wild violets and willows, Thlaspi bursapastoris, Pulmonaria virginica or Kentucky Cowslip, &c.

24th. The first cherry trees in blossom.

25th. In blossom Polemonium reptans.

26th. Peach trees in blossom. The catkins of the Lombardy poplars began to fall.

27th. In blossom Claytonia virginica.

29th. In blossom Laurus benzoin and Isatis tinctoria.

Animals. Heard the Dove on the 19th. On the 25th the Black birds were already noisy.

Transylvania University, 1st April 1820.

POETRY.

THE DEDICATION OF A LADY'S ALBUM.

THE BOOK SPEAKS TO ITS FUTURE PATRONS.

When first to my fair mistress' hand I came, Inscrib'd and honour'd with Bronsonia's name, Like the sweet infant, when the sacred rite To heaven devotes it, lovely, pure, and bright, No conscious thought, nor sentiment divine, Within me glow'd, nor breath'd in living line.

Whate'er my power impressions to receive, Which culture may bestow, or genius give; Whate'er the promise of my spotless page, Where neither Reason speaks, nor Passions rage, Where every polish'd pen may find a place To sport with elegance, or teach with grace; Yet small the praise mere innocence can claim, No virtues honour, though no vices shame. My hope a nobler character would form, Where talents, taste, and feeling lend their charm, Where wit may sparkle, chasten'd humour flow, Good sense delight, and kind affections glow. Mine is the prayer from willing friends to gain The sweetest flowers that bloom on fancy's plain: 0190 187 May every page their brilliant tints illume, And every fold preserve their rich perfume. With thought, the blank of my existence fill, My slumbering leaves with new emotion thrill, The void of my unmeaning face remove, And wake the soul of sympathy and love.

Whate'er may please the judgment, mend the heart, Beguile the anxious, and a joy impart, Engage the young, or renovate the old, Arrest the gay, or check the rudely bold; Whate'er may soothe the matron's ready frown, Her brows relax, and smiles the pleasure own; Whate'er of wit in gay saloons is found, Where youth and beauty throw their charms around, Where beaux are rous'd from apathy's control, And all they have of mind lights up the soul; Whate'er of use you start for harmless mirth, To which the laughter-loving mind gives birth; However varied are the shapes and hues, That whim affects, or levity may chuse; All these I ask, and gratefully receive; Long in my tablets shall the medley live. This gay melange, this crowd of mingled sweets, Where every taste some favourite viend meets, To my protection give; be mine the care The fruits to gather, and the feast prepare. To frolic Humour, Innocence allied, O'er all, with Love and Friendship, shall preside.

Come then, ye beaux and belles, a sprightly throng, All who a moral point, or frame a song, Your genius prove by some memorial here, To virtue sacred, and to beauty dear: Your various gifts, with various merits bring, And many a mind amus'd your praise shall sing. The compliment well turn'd to please the fair, Which smiles reward, and conscious blushes share, The ingenious apologue, and ready pun, The small light shot from petty wit's pop-gun, Charades, whose mystery a point conceals, The epigram, whose point the smart reveals, The lively repartee with sudden flash To pose the forward and the vain to dash, 0191 188 Conundrums, which a thoughtful brow require, O'er dulness triumph, and conjecture tire, In short, amusement's aid in every form To kill of anxicus care, the gnawing worm, Again I ask, and pledge a record fair, That all may read, and in your talents share. No selfish end I seek, nor private joy, For social good my treasures I employ.

Then fail not, friends, in love or resolution, But promptly bring your cheerful contribution. Glean not from books, conceits disdain to borrow, Who leans on loans to day may fail to morrow. Of wealth within pursue each bright appearance, The mine explore, and dig with perseverance. Of yours, let others' wit be no prevention, On fancy draw, and boldly trust invention. No glory crowns a book of mere selection, My pride is AN ORIGINAL COLLECTION. I love the offspring of your own creation, And name your eldest born a DEDICATION.

U.

CHAUMIERE DES PRAIRIES.

Adieu, thou calm and blest retreat, Where mild affections ever reign, Where all the rural pleasures meet In fair Hygeia's rosy train.

Long may'st thou bloom in vernal pride, Where fields and flowers delight the eye, Where all the social joys abide, And halcyon days forever fly.

Long o'er this scene of taste and love May you, my honor'd friends, preside, Your evening hours no sorrow prove, As onward still they gently glide.

And now with gratitude profound, I leave a home to feeling dear, Where every object, scatter'd round, Beguiles me of a parting tear.

0192 189

Should clouds of care and grief arise, And Hope withdraw her cheering ray, Still memory holds this precious prize, Which fate can never tear away.

Ye tried and cherish'd friends, adieu, No longer must I linger here; What though I meet with souls as true, Still none my heart will think so dear.

March, 1820.V.

INSENSIBILITY.—TO JULIA.

Ah! cold is the ice-drop that clings to the willow, When winter has sprinkled his hoar locks with snow: And chill is the sigh of the dark ocean's billow, That bursts from the wave-beaten cavern below! But colder th? eye, where no kindness sits beaming, To him who unvalued and friendless remains; And the heart-frozen sigh, where no warm wish is teeming, More chill than the lake tempest breathes o'er the plains!

U. & Y.

TO A WINTER ROSE BUD.

Sweet, drooping, ice-incrusted flowret, Wi' rainbow tinct, an' lea's o' vel'et! Thy blushing form, i' modest worth Unknown had glinted smiling forth, An' bloomed, an' slypet. But scarce ye'd oped your little hald To take ae peep at this chill warld, When soon, fu' soon ye felt its cauld, An' sunk a' blastit!

'Tis thus the youth wi' heart elate, An' panting soul for virtuous deeds, Impetuous seeks the rugged steep't, Where virtue paints, and genius speeds The heaven-lit path! Alake! he wends na far alang Ere he too feels the bitter pang! An' withers like the glaiket thrang O' this cauld earth.

U. & Y.

0193 190

An Extract from a College Exercise, written in 1802.

“When revolution its career began, And France commenc'd the cry for “Rights of Man,” With sounds so sweet and promises so fair, That she the toils of all the world would share, And lead mankind to liberty and joy, And Reason's weapons would alone employ, We soon discover'd, in this fair disguise, Fraud, rapine, lust, and violence and lies; Names were perverted, language was abus'd, Old truths attack'd, and ignorance amus'd; Vices to virtues rose by magic art, Virtues to vices sunk in every heart; Order and law were fetters on the mind, Oppression's breath was smelt in every wind, Parental wisdom chain'd the free born soul, And schools but kept us from Perfection's goal.

It is indeed of Nature the decree, That all are equal, and that all are free, But equal, not in gifts, nor power, nor wealth, Nor size, nor strength, nor beauty, nor in health. No rights to office and command we show, But such as others lawfully bestow. What folly to assert our means the same For learning, science, eloquence, or fame!

The right to use our talents and our skill To gain the good and wisely shun the ill, To raise the soul by knowledge and by truth, With just and generous thoughts to guide our youth, Of men of worth the confidence to seek, To think with freedom, and with freedom speak, By lawful measures, and for lawful ends, The interests of ourselves and of our friends To urge with zeal, as duty may require, As choice may prompt, or sympathy inspire, To rise by liberal toil from life's low vale, And fame's proud heights with daring genius scale; In short to have our minds and bodies free To act as Truth and Virtue shall decree, And, while no crime has forfeited our claim, To enjoy our liberty and our good name, Without reproach from men, or kings, or laws, (Guards as they should be of fair Freedom's cause,) 0194 191 Such rights and SUCH equality to all, By Nature, Providence, and Justice fall.

But other fancied rights, with evil fraught, These anti-social maniacs have taught, That none shall rule, and none the laws obey, For all are kings but those who hold the sway. To punish crimes invades their “Rights of Man,” All government defeats great Nature's plan, The law of property's a fraud and curse, Domestic rights a tyranny still worse, Society a usurpation proves, And marriage flies before their natural loves.”

P. P.

OBITUARY.

DIED, in Lexington, on the night of the twenty-ninth of March, 1820, the Rev. BENJAMIN BIRGE, of the Episcopal Church, in the twenty-third year of his age.

The early and unexpected decease of this amiable, intelligent, and exemplary youngman, has cast a gloom over an extensive circle of affectionate friends, has deprived literature and science of an ardent admirer and zealous devotee, and has left a melancholy void in the Church to which he belonged, and in which, from his learning, talents, and industry, he bid fair to become a conspicuous luminary.

Mr. Birge was a native of Connecticut, where he received the rudiments of his education under a venerable clergyman, and whence he removed to this place about three years since. After completing his professional studies with his relative and friend, the Rev. Mr. Ward, he was, in June last, regularly ordained and admitted to the holy order of Deacon by the Rev. Bishop Chase of Ohio. Since that time he has been very much devoted to the duties of his profession, and has for many months past, constantly filled the pulpit of the Episcopal Church in this town.

Possessing an active and inquiring mind, and having formed a habit of patient and persevering industry, he had amassed a considerable fund of learning, to which he was constantly making important and valuable additions. Of literary and scientific, as well as religious pursuits, he was peculiarly fond, and they constituted indeed at once his business 0195 192 and his amusement. The range of his studies was extensive, his knowledge of books considerable: as a classical scholar he was especially distinguished, and he wrote with great facility and upon a great variety of topics. Of the literary circle in this place he constituted a valuable part, and was among the most zealous friends, and most liberal contributors to the Western Review.

To the cause of Christ and to the interests of the Episcopal Church he was ardently devoted. His ministerial labors were marked with zeal, tempered with discretion. From his infancy he had been taught the value, and felt the power of religion. His life was uniformly pure and exemplary; and he engaged in the profession of his choice with an ardor proportioned to its vast importance, and a deep conviction of its solemn responsibility.

In the private circle he was an estimable companion, fond of the society of his friends and of the unreserved interchange of thoughts and opinions. Few young men have been more universally respected, or more extensively beloved. He was serious and yet remarkably cheerful, dignified without being distant, pious without being austere, and studious without being a recluse.

It may be a gratification to his distant friends to learn, that every possible attention was paid him in his last, fatal sickness. Every effort that medical skill, and the most patient and affectionate nursing could make, to restore him to health or to smooth his progress to the grave, was most faithfully and perseveringly rendered. It is peculiarly gratifying also to know, that before the violence of his disorder had affected his mind, and obscured his reason, he expressed his conviction of the danger which awaited him, and assured his friends of his perfect resignation to the will of his Heavenly Father, and his confident hope of a blessed immortality.

ERRATUM.

In the 7th line of the 137th page, for confuse read conjure.

THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.MAY, 1820.Num. 4.

A FORENSIC ADDRESS,

At an evening meeting of a society of Young Men, on the question, “Do the pursuits of ambition contribute more to happiness than those of domestic life?”

WHAT is happiness? Where can it be found? These are questions, which have been asked ever since our first parents plucked, “in evil hour,” the forbidden fruit, and the gates of Eden were forever closed against them. To find an answer has been the earnest care of every individual among their descendants, from the cradle to the grave.

We, in our turn, come this evening to ask the same questions. Let us endeavour to find, if not a full and satisfactory answer, at least one, that shall aid us in our search; one, that shall enable us to obtain some glimpses of the right path; one, that, by encouraging hope, shall animate us in the pursuit.

Happiness is something positive. It does not consist in the mere negation of suffering. If it did stocks and stones are to be envied, and mute matter would be the favourite work of the Creator. Nor is simple content happiness; for a man, in no very desirable situation, may, from mere apathy, be contented. Nor do repose and indolence constitute happiness. To say that a being, endowed with mind and heart, with reason and passions, with desires and will, who is to be governed by motives, and in whose nature are sown the seeds of a progressive improvement which is endless, could find happiness in either of these conditions, would be, not only a dangerous principle, if it could be established, but a solecism in the terms in which the ideas must be conveyed. Happiness must be sought, not in the slumber, but in the exercise of our faculties, in the activity 0197 194 of our nature, in the development and advancement of our powers. In order to obtain most happiness, this activity must be universal, this development must be constant. It should be our endeavour to preserve the equipoise of our faculties, not cultivating one at the expense of another, but maintaining the original relative condition in which we received them from the hand of the Almighty. Since he, who made us, must be wise and benevolent, and must wish us to be happy, he can never have given us a single faculty, which is incapable, when properly regulated, of ministering to our good. In the Deity himself, all the attributes of mind exist in perfection, and with everlasting harmony. On this point it is, that even his happiness depends. Because these attributes in him are immutable, and his moral symmetry perfect, his happiness is unassailable and eternal.

These principles are true, I apprehend, when man is regarded as an individual, and when no reference is made to his social character; when the faculties of the mind are solely considered as mutually affected by their own connexions and operations, without a further use outwardly in consequence of the various relations which we sustain toward each other. My meaning in this respect may admit of more illustration without fatigue. If there were but one human being in existence, with no possible relation but that in which he stands to his God, the principles, now asserted, are such as would guide him to happiness. His soul, thus cultivated, would resemble an instrument of music, with the number of its strings complete, and all in unison. How divinely would the notes vary and swell, as new ideas and emotions from the contemplation of the splendours of the universe and its great author, swept across the panting chords! This is the genuine harp of Apollo, so famous in ancient fable, to whose harmony, “The Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing.” This is the true Orphean lyre, whose magic tones suspended, for a time, the torments of hell, and half regained the lost Eurydice.

Happiness is found less in possession than in pursuit. With the huntsman we must join the chace, if we would partake the pleasure. Although it be necessary that the game be started, yet the enjoyment is found to be chiefly in the pursuit. From the moment when the quarry is taken, the pleasure begins to fade, and it would utterly depart, if the 0198 195 horn should not again sound, and the huntsman again take the field. Where is the happiness of sitting torpidly at home, and having the game brought and thrown at our feet? Happiness is an acquisition, not a gift. On this auspicious principle of our nature depends our improvement. Knowing this, we shake off our lethargy, we explore our strength, we enter into action, we warm as we move. Not satisfied with any given degree of elevation or advancement, we renew our exertions, and “UPWARD AND ONWARD” is the maxim of happiness.

From the mixed character of man however, from the union of the soul with the body, many obstacles are thrown in the way of this cultivation and advancement of the mind. The energies of the soul are encumbered by the infirmity of the body; indolence paralyses mental exertion; powerful excitements are required to engage men to act, to make them persevere, to prevent torpor, to sustain effort, and to preserve the full exercise and fine play of their faculties. We must then follow our nature into its social character, for it is in the relations of society that we find the most effectual stimulants to action. When we take into view the various relations of life, and consider the deep felt satisfaction, the poignant relish of existence, the divine ardours of the soul consequent upon the faithful and able discharge of our duties, then, and then only, we perceive, that no high degree of happiness can be found in seclusion and repose. But all these consequences of the discharge of duty must obviously be multiplied and heightened by the comprehensiveness of our relations and the importance of our duties. We ask then, are the relations of domestic life as comprehensive, and the duties as important, as those which attend the pursuits of ambition? They are indeed necessary and important; and that much happiness may flow from them is not denied. The affirmative of our question demands of me no concealment, nor misrepresentation. But can the relations and duties of domestic life, either in comprehensiveness or importance, compare with those vast objects, to which the eye of ambition is lifted, and to the attainment of which its efforts are directed? The dignity of a rational being is measured by the number and importance of his duties. But duties increase in number and importance with increasing elevation in rank and power, and thus high station and extended authority must multiply the means of happiness. If the means are not properly used, the fault 0199 196 is not in them, but in the weakness of him, who knows not how to seize his advantages and apply them to their object. Who can believe that the dignity of a rational being is incompatible with his happiness? Is it urged, that the arduous nature of the duties attendant on high station will, by the anxiety which they must produce, generally more than counterbalance any enjoyment to be derived from them? Be it so. I do not contend that every man should aspire. But this makes nothing against the fitness of ambitious pursuits to confer happiness on those, who are born to breathe their element, and take delight in their danger. Such men there are, men of gigantic minds, whose strong-limbed intellects and heroic hearts love to grapple with difficulties, and who are stimulated by opposition, and fired by peril. Shall such men be told to seek happiness in what would be to them the dull monotonous scenes of domestic life? No. It would be preposterous. They must engage in far different pursuits; they must have objects adequate to their strength, and vast as their desires. Winged for an eagle's flight, they cannot be satisfied with hopping from spray to spray among the shrubbery of a family retreat, however beautiful may be its verdure, and fragrant the gales that sigh among the flowers. They must soar high and far; they must build their eyry in the cliff, gaze on the splendours of the sun, or try their pinion with the raging storm.

Men of such high gifts and noble resolves were those, who, forty years ago, asserted the just rights, and achieved the independence of our own country. Though they saw the land unfurnished with defence; though there were scarcely any materials but strong minds and stout hearts, out of which to prepare for hostility; though the cloud of war rolled on, gloomy and dreadful, and the thunders of kingly wrath pealed over their heads, they shrunk not back; they felt the righteousness of their cause, and the grandeur of their destiny. Seizing the standard of liberty, they bore it aloft in triumph in despite of the tempest that raved around them; and, (blessed be the hands that did it, and blessed be the Power that strengthened them,) they finally planted it on the citadel of American Freedom.

Nor was this all. When the storm of war was gone over, when the sword was sheathed, and their banners in the mild season of peace drooped along their staves, they found equally important objects to call them to exertion. A government was to be established, by which the freedom they 0200 197 had so nobly won, might be preserved. To do this, many jarring interests were to be reconciled, many prejudices were to be soothed, and abstract principles were to be digested into system and applied to practice. Notwithstanding all these obstacles, their minds expanding as difficulty grew, they finally accomplished even these great designs. Industry, drawn from the plough by war to the field of battle, returned to her various occupations, and the land again rejoiced. Law protected the rights of the citizen; and, when the nation once more lifted her head, her face shone with health, and vigour was in her step.

These are some of the pursuits of ambition, a just and honorable ambition. Did not the godlike men, thus engaged, find happiness? Though sometimes indeed, while proceeding in their high career, circumstances were dark and appalling, and to the vulgar eye their situation was far from appearing enviable, yet their own great minds remained unshaken and unobscured, and like the sun in the firmament, above and beyond the intervening clouds, they moved in majesty, and descended refulgent in glory.

But it is said, and insisted upon, as if it were invariably true, that ambitious men are actuated wholly by selfish and criminal motives, that the means they employ are violence and fraud, that their course is marked with blood, and that the end of their efforts is the corruption of virtue, the subversion of religion, the ruin of liberty; and then it is triumphantly asked, can ambitious men be happy? True, there have appeared those, whose unhallowed ambition has set at naught right and law, who have with crushing feet trampled upon private liberty and public freedom, who have scoffed at humanity, beat down the altars of God, and “shut the gates of mercy on mankind.” It is allowed, that although conscience, during the terrible delirium of their career, may have been drugged into deep sleep, yet, when the paroxysm had passed, she has awoke and returned to the fulfilment of her charge with awful retribution. But these are exceptions, from which no argument can legitimately be drawn, affecting the merits of the general question. I might ask on the other hand, have there not been men in domestic life, who have forgotten or disregarded their duties, and ignominously shrunk from their stations; who have, with mean malignity, triumphed in the destruction of fireside enjoyments, or wasted their lives in ignoble sloth, compelled to witness, with a mortification at times unutterable, 0201 198 the decay of their faculties and the insignificance of their existence?—Yes. Long and loathsome is the catalogue of those, who have miserably buried their talent in the earth, or perverted it to the vilest uses. I am persuaded, that upon impartial examination, we shall find as much honesty of motive, as much righteousness of means, as much pure morality and undefiled religion, with those who fill the highest stations in society and play the most conspicuous parts in the great drama of life, as with those who pass their days in retirement and obscurity. Indeed I think that dereliction of duty, and consequently abated enjoyment, will be found to be more frequent in domestic than in public life. The reason why, upon a superficial view, it appears to be otherwise, is, that men in public life are eminently conspicuous, their conduct is narrowly watched, the eyes of the world are upon them, whatever they do, or whatever happens to them, is at once noised abroad, and makes a deep impression upon the minds of the community, who leave to them no chance to escape in the crowd. This is more especially the case with those who betray their trusts, than with those who are faithful to them. Well may we expect to find as much virtue, and if virtue have any thing to do with happiness, as much happiness, in high station as in low, for most men are satisfied with delegated authority. Their ambition does not prompt them to usurpation. When lawfully possessed of power, they have so much reputation at stake, that strong indeed must be the temptation which can induce them to sacrifice it. The love of fame, however much it may have been calumniated, and however ready we may be to allow that it has sometimes been found in company with bad passions, does always of itself prompt to upright conduct and generous deeds. No man wishes to be spoken of, or remembered, with contempt or execration.

Let us not then hear so much declamation about the unquiet consciences of aspiring men; how their crowns are crowns of thorns; how the sword, that they have borne against their own and their country's e??mies, and with which they have carved a passage to glory, has proved in the end less keen-edged than their remerse; as if it were impossible to be a great and a good man, as it in the most retired walks, the most indolent sphere, the most secret nook of life, conscience never had cause to upbraid, and no dissatisfied feelings were there, no self reproach. Were this the 0202 199 fact, were these the necessary results of the two courses of life before us, unfortunate indeed would be the human race; much lower would be our estimate of the wisdom and goodness which superintended the creation of man, the disposition of his faculties, and the preparation of his theatre of action. I ask, what is the theatre, in which we are called to act?—Society, regulated, civil Society. But society necessarily gives rise to many public stations, from which flow many duties beyond the limited circle of domestic life, arduous duties too, the object of which, or the consequence of their discharge, is the procurement and conservation of the general good. Is it the decree of the Almighty that the able and faithful discharge of these duties shall go unrewarded? Are those magnanimous men, who, feeling within themselves powers equal to the task, and borne onward by the energy of their souls, in times of disaster and peril, rise up to counsel and shield their countrymen, inevitably condemned to wretchedness? Are their objects so unhallowed that with the attainment of them, they must bid adieu to peace of mind?—No—this is not, cannot be the hard fate of the guides and guardians of society. They have indeed solemn and arduous duties to perform; many difficulties he in the way of their high calling; but greatly are they recompensed; bright is the prize that awaits them. They may run their course with joy, and their hearts shall glow and swell within them as they behold the prosperity of their country secured by their wisdom and their toils. The leaves of the oak and the laurel, fanned by the breath of praise, shall rustle on their brows; they shall have earned renown, and their names shall be sweet in the mouths of men through all succeeding generations.

ANCIENT MODE OF BURIAL AMONG THE INDIANS.

TO THE EDITOR.

SIR—The Author of the Letters on Indian Antiquities, published in the Western Review, speaks of various modes of burial anciently used by the aborigines of this country but omits to mention the following, traces of which were discovered by the early settlers of Kentucky, but were wantonly destroyed, perhaps before the arrival of this writer in the western country.

0203 200

The mode was this. Large flat stones were laid horizontally on the surface of the earth; and on them were placed dead bodies, sometimes twenty in a row, separated from each other by similar stones set up edgewise. These were covered by other horizontal stones, on which were other bodies similarly placed, but rather fewer in number, so as to occupy a smaller space than those below. There was then a third stratung, and a fourth, and often mere, each narrower than the preceding, so as to form a kind of pyramid, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet high. These tombs were always in the neighbonrhood of streams, about which might be found a sufficient quantity of loose rock.

The curiosity of our first settlers induced them to destroy, in order to examine them, and the stones having been generally converted into lime, scarce a vestige of them now remains. There were a vast number of them of various sizes, on a branch of Hickman's Creek, formerly called Grace Run, near the place now known by the name of Frog Town, four miles from Lexington. They contained skeletons of various dimensions, some of them apparently of gigantic stature. The bodies were uniformly laid east and west, the feet towards the east.

The existence of two distinct modes of burial is conclusive proof that there were too powerful nations contending for the country, and is to my mind satisfactory evidence that the circumvallations were places of defenee and not designed for religious purposes; that the mounds or pyramids of earth were thrown up as monuments of victory, and that the bodies found in them were those of persons killed in action or who had died by casualty or disease, that being found the most convenient way of interment. As to these circumvallations being often near ground which commanded them, it is only proof of the unskillfulness of their engineers, or that they had no cannon to contend with. Even in modern times, we find forts built near ground which commands them. I will instance Forts Wayne and Defiance, built by general Wayne in the year 1794; both of which were commanded by ground at less than half cannon shot; and Boonsborough, the first settlement in Kentucky, was commanded by several hills at long rifle shot. After nine days siege by the Indians one hundred and fifty pounds of lead were picked up within the fort, which had been thrown from the adjacent hills by the enemy. How or whence these people came, must forever remain secret: but to suppose they came from Asia 0204 201 25 by the way of the Straits appears to me absurd; for, at the time this continent must have been peopled, the spherical form of the earth was not known, and they would have thought they were going to a country still colder than Siberia itself, and consequently could have no inducement to migrate. It is certainly more rational to suppose the first settlers came by accident, than by way of Kamtschatka. To prove the possibility it is only necessary to refer to captain Cook's second voyage. When on his passage from New Zealand to Otaheite, he found three of the Otaheiteans on an island four hundred leagues from home, who had made the passage in an open canoe of no great burthen. Now if a frail vessel of this description could carry its passengers four hundred leagues, how much easier would it be for ships to go twenty times the distance. I think we may account for the different casts or tribes, by supposing some to arrive from one, and some from another of the old continents, each party for a time supposing themselves the only inhabitants of the new world. That the islands were peopled in this way there can be no doubt, and why not the continent?

INDIAN HISTORY.

From the Manuscript of Mr. William Wells.

The French was the first nation of white people that ever was known among the north western Indians. When the British and French commenced a war against each other in North America, the north western Indians joined the French, and several of the six nations joined the British. My knowledge of the actions that were fought between them is derived from the old Indians whom I have conversed with on that subject, and is perhaps not to be depended on.

After the British got possession of this country from the French, a Tawway chief, by the name of Pantaock, renewed the war against them, and took in one day all the posts that were occupied by them on the Lakes and their waters, Detroit excepted, by stratagem. After this, in 1774, the war broke out between the north western Indians and the Whites. The principal action that was fought between the parties was at the mouth of the great Kanhaway. There 0205 202 were three hundred Shawanees and Delawares, and a few Miamies, Wyandots, and Mingoes, commanded by the celebrated Shawanee chief, called Comstock. This was the war which ended at the treaty of Greenville. Although, at different times, individual nations of Indians would treat, or pretend to do so, with the Americans, it was only a temporary thing, for it frequently happened, while a party of Indians was treating with the whites, that some of their own people would be killing those with whom their chiefs were treating.

The Indians, who opposed general Sullivan, were the combined forces of the Six Nations. Their numbers, and by whom they were commanded, I do not know. The Indians that defeated general Crawford at Sandusky were the Wyandots, Delawares, and Shawanees, and a few of the Six Nations or Senccas, Potawatamies, and Ottoways, said to be eight hundred in number. I never heard who commanded them. As the Indians always keep the number of their killed and wounded as much secret as possible I shall not undertake to say what number fell in either of the actions above mentioned.

Bowman's campaign was against the Shawanees on the Little Miami river. I am not acquainted with any of the particulars of the action that took place between him and the Indians. My knowledge also of the different campaigns carried on against the Shawanees on Mad River and Big Miami by general Clark is not to be depended on.

When general Ha?mer arrived at the Miami town he sent Colonel Hardin in search of the Indians with a body of men. When he met three hundred Miamies on the head of Eel River, commanded by the celebrated Miami Chief, Little Turtle, an action took place, the whites were defeated, and the Indians had one man killed and two wounded. The Indians that fought the troops under the command of colonel Hardin, in the Miami town, were the three hundred above mentioned, commanded by the same chief, also a body of five hundred Indians, composed of Shawanees, Delawares, Chippeways, Potawatamies, and Ottoways. The Shawanees were commanded by their own chief, Blue Jacket, the Delawares by Buckingeheles, the Ottoways and Chippeways by Agashewah, an Ottoway chief. The Indians say they had fifteen killed and twenty five wounded. General Scott's Campaign was against the Weas Town on the Wabash, where he met with little or no opposition, as the 0206 203 warriors of the Weas expected that he was going against the Miami Town, and had all left their own village to meet him at that place. Eight men and two women were killed by the troops under general Scott. The number of women and children, taken prisoner by him at the Weas, I do not remember.

General Wilkinson's campaign was against the Eel River town, where there were but a few women and children, ten old men, and three young ones who made no defence; four men and one woman were killed, the number of women and children taken not recollected. In the autumn of 1790, an army of Indians, composed of Miamies, Delawares, Shawanees, and a few Potawatamies, three hundred in number, commanded by Little Turtle, attacked Dunlap's Station, on the Big Miami River. This post was commanded by lieutenant Kingsbury. The Indians had ten killed and the same number wounded.

There were eleven hundred and thirty three Indians in the army which defeated general St. Clair in 1791. The number of different tribes is not recollected. Among them were Miamies, Potawatamies, Ottoways, Chippeways, Wyandots, Delawares, Shawanees, and a few Mingoes and Cherokees. Each nation was commanded by its own Chief, and the Chiefs appeared to be all governed by Little Turtle, who made the arrangements for the action, and commenced the attack with the Miamies under his immediate command. They had thirty killed, and, it is believed, fifty wounded.

In the autumn of 1792, an army of three hundred Indians, under the command of Little Turtle, composed of Miamies, Delawares, Shawanees, and a few Potawatamies, attacked colonel John Adair under the walls of fort St. Clair, where they had two men killed.

On the 30th of June 1794, an army of Indians, composed of Ottoways, Chippeways, Miamies, Wyandots, Pottowatamies, Shawanees, and Delawares, with a number of French and other white men in the British interest, attacked Fort Recovery. The Indians were commanded by the Bear Chief, an Ottoway. The white men attached to the Indian army, it is said, were commanded by Elliott and M'Kee, both British officers the garrison was commanded by captain Gibson of the fourth sublegion. The Indians have told me repeatedly that they had between forty and fifty killed, and upwards of one hundred wounded, a number of whom 0207 204 died. This was the severest blow I ever knew the Indians to receive from the whites. The Indians that fought general Wayne on the 20th of August were an army of eight hundred, made up of Wyandots, Chippeways, Ottoways, Delawares, Shawanees, Miamies, and Potawatamies, with a number of white traders from Detroit. The Indians were governed by British influence, and had no commander of their own; consequently they made but little resistance. It is said they had twenty killed and fifteen wounded. This battle was what may be called the finishing blow, as no action of consequence has taken place between the whites and Indians since that time. There was not always a separate cause for each campaign of the Indians against the whites. The war, which began in 1774, caused by the ill treatment the Indians received from the whites on the frontiers of the white settlements, was continued by the Indians owing to the great influence the British had among them. This influence was kept up by the large supplies of arms and ammunition the Indians received from the British government every year. From this it is evident that if the United States had got possession of the posts on the Lakes, which the British government agreed to deliver up to them in 1783, there would have been no Indian war after that time.

REVIEW.

Ivanhoe, a Romance, by the author of “Wacerley,” &c. In two volumes 12 mo. Philadelphia, M. Carey and Son, 1820.

The popular author, whose name, notwithstanding the celebrity of his writings, has been hitherto concealed from the public, has again appeared in the production before us. Any remarks from us as to his character would be superfluous, as it is known to almost every class of readers; and the avidity with which his works are sought for and perused immediately on their publication, is a sufficient proof of the estimation in which they are held by the world at large. Having, as is the case with most men who write and send forth their works in rapid succession, sunk, in one or two of his late productions, somewhat below the standard of excellence which his earlier ones had established in the public mind; our author appears determined to atone for 0208 205 his failure, and to put forth all the powers of his mind in Ivanhoe. His previous novels show that his fort lies in the accurate, strong, and consistent delineation of character. But it is certainly not exactly the character of the present age, which he chiefly delights to draw; and we cannot therefore judge of it by our own experience and observation, or by a comparison with prevailing customs and manners; but we have history for a guide, and when, in examining a work of fiction, said to be modelled upon the habits and genius of any country at a particular period, we find the incidents detailed to be conformable to those ideas, which we have formed from the accounts given in the most authentic histories after accurate examination and mature reflection, we are fully justified in pronouncing the portrait correct.

Having, in most of his former productions, laid the action in the remote and romantic parts of Scotland, a circumstance which has produced in them a sameness that would have at last become rather fatiguing; our author has in Ivanhoe entirely shifted the scene. Leaving the Saxon and Gael, the distresses of the covenanters, and the adventures of the chevalier, he has introduced us to the manners and customs of England when the spirit of chivalry was at its height. The date of this story is, therefore, much earlier than that of any of his preceding ones. The events narrated are supposed to have occurred during the reign of Richard 1st, surnamed Cœur de Lion. Some time had elapsed after the invasion of the Normans under William; and the tyrannical policy pursued by them towards the Saxons, though it had subdued the strength of the latter, had not broken their spirit. They still, on account of their injuries, retained a deep and settled hatred against their conquerors. This of course produced distrust on the part of the Normans; and the mutual dislike of the two nations, who were as yet far from being amalgamated, not unfrequently exhibited itself in deadly quarrels.

About this period the enthusiasm of chivalry was at its zenith. The second crusade was set on foot, and the gallant Richard, one of the most accomplished knights of the age, had embarked in the enterprise with the utmost zeal. He set out for Palestine, accompanied by a large body of Knights and all those turbulent spirits who kept their country in a state of turmoil and confusion. The misfortunes of Richard are well known to every one versed in English 0209 206 history. After acquiring the highest renown by his feats of arms against the Saracens, and by this means exciting the jealousy of Philip of France, who was his ally, he found himself obliged to return home without accomplishing the object of the crusade. Being shipwrecked, he determined to pursue his journey alone and in disguise. He was however discovered and imprisoned by Leopold of Austria, and long detained in captivity at the instigation of Philip, and of his own brother John, who had treacherously attempted to usurp the throne of England during his absence.

The restoration of Richard to his dominions is the chief circumstance on which the novel Ivanhoe turns. Almost all the characters who are introduced are in some way or other rendered subservient to this object. Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, who gives title to the work, is the son of a noble Saxon named Cedric, who is represented as in no way remarkable, except for strong prejudices in favor of his oppressed countrymen and a settled aversion to every thing connected with the Normans. Wilfred had offended his father by inclining to the Norman customs, and still more by aspiring to the hand of his ward Rowena, a very distant relation of Cedric, of the royal Saxon line. He had therefore left his father's house and embarked with King Richard for Palestine, where he had been amongst the most distinguished of the English Knights. The story commences with his return to his father's domain in the disguise of a Palmer. Here he passes the night unknown,in company with several guests, amongst others Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, one of the highest of the Knights Templars, conspicuous alike for his skill and bravery in combat, and the most abandoned profligacy. Wilfred had himself encountered and unhorsed this Knight in a tournament held by the crusaders. Without discovering himself he merely checks the boastings of De Bois-Guilbert, and pledges himself for the acceptance of a challenge from the latter to Ivanhoe, whenever he should return to England.

Amongst those, whom Wilfred found that evening at his father's house, was a Jew named Isaac, of York, who afterwards makes some fig??? in the story. Of the humiliating treatment which this race met with in that age, a striking picture is ?iven in his reception at Cedric's house. The following is a short extract.

“Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his master, ‘It is a Jew who calls himself Isaac of York; is it fit I should marshal him into the hall!’

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‘Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,’ said Wamba with his usual effrontery; ‘the swine herd will be a fit usher to the Jew.’

‘St. Mary,’ said the Abbot, crossing himself, ‘an unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence!’

‘A dog Jew,’ echoed the Templar, ‘to approach a defender of the Holy Sepulchre!’

‘By my faith,’ said Wamba, ‘it would seem the Templars love the Jews' inheritance better than they do their company.’

‘Peace, my worthy guests,’ said Cedric; ‘my hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for more years than a layman can number, we may endure the presence of one Jew for a few hours. But I constrain no man to converse or feed with him. Let him have a board and morsel apart,—unless,’ he said smiling, ‘these turbaned strangers will admit his society.’

‘Sir Franklin,’ answered the Templar, ‘my Saracen slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew.’

‘Now, in faith,’ said Wamba,’ I cannot see that the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt have so greatly the advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven.’

‘He shall sit with thee Wamba,’ said Cedric; ‘the fool and the knave will be well met.’

‘The fool,’ answered Wamba, raising the relics of a gammon of bacon, ‘will take care to erect a bulwark against the knave.’

‘Hush,’ said Cedric, ‘for here he comes.’

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a tall thin old man, who, however, had lost, by the habit of stooping, much of his actual height, approached the lower end of the board. His features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled forehead, and long grey hair and beard, would have been considered as handsome, had they not been the marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race, which, during these dark ages, was alike detested by the credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps, owing to that very hatred and persecution, had adopted a national character, in which there was much, to say the least, mean and unamiable.

The Jew's dress, which appeared to have suffered considerably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boo?s lined with fur, and a belt around his waist, which sustained a small knife, together with a case for writing materials, but no weapon. He wore a high square ye?low cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned to his nation, to distinguish them from Christians, and which he dotted with great humility at the door of the hall.

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The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the Saxon was such as might have satisfied the most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew's repeated salutations, and signed to him to take place at the lower end of the table, where, however, no one offered to make room for him. On the contrary, as he passed along the file, casting a timid supplicating glance, and turned towards each of those who occupied the lower end of the board, the Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and continued to devour their supper with great perseverance, paying not the least attention to the wants of the new guest. The attendants of the Abbot crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, and the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them, curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid themselves by the most desperate means from the apprehended contamination of his nearer approach.

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to open his hall to this son of a rejected people, would have made him insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with more courtesy. But the Abbot had, at this moment, engaged him in a most interesting discussion on the breed and character of his favourite hounds, which he would not have interrupted for matters of much greater importance than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present society, like his people among the nations, looking in vain for welcome or resting place, the Pilgrim who sat by the chimney took compassion upon him, and resigned his seat, saying briefly, “Old man, my garments are dried, my hunger is appeased, thou art both wet and fasting.” So saying, he gathered together, and brought to a flame, the decaying brands which lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it upon the small table at which he had himself supped, and, without waiting the Jew's thanks, went to the other side of the hall;—whether from unwillingness to hold more close communication with the object of his benevolence or from a wish to draw near to the upper end of the table, seemed uncertain.

Had there been painters in those days capable to execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered form, and expanded his chilled and trembling hands over the fire, would have formed no bad emblematical personification of the winter season. Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly to the smoking mess which was placed before him, and eat with a haste and an apparent relish, that seemed to betoken long abstinence from food.”

Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert with his party are at this time 0212 209 27 on their way to a tournament at Ashby de la Zouche, held by prince John the brother of Richard. Wilfrid, by the assistance of the Jew Isaac, whom he had befriended, procures a suit of armour and a horse, and makes his appearance disguised, in order to encounter Sir Brian, who is one of the five challengers, and was about to be declared victor of the day. The whole description of the tournament is given with a most masterly hand; and we doubt whether any one can read it without having his feelings powerfully awakened for the issue of the contest. To give an extract would only be to injure it, we shall not therefore make the attempt. In this part of the work is introduced a character, which afterwards becomes very prominent, and may in fact be considered the most striking in the whole work. This is Rebecca, the daughter of Isaac. Of her personal appearance on this occasion the following description is given:

“The figure of Rebecca might indeed have compared with the proudest beauties of England, even though it had been judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince John. Her form was exquisitely symmetrical, and was shewn to advantage by a sort of Eastern dress, which she wore according to the fashion of the females of her nation. Her turban of yellow silk suited with the darkness of her complexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, the superb arch of her eyebrows, her well formed aquiline nose, her teeth as white as pearl and the profusion of her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its own little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a snow-white neck and bosom as a simarre of the richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural colours embossed upon a purple ground, permitted to be visible—all these constituted a combination of loveliness, which yielded not to the loveliest of the maidens who surrounded her. It is true, that of the golden and pearl-studded clasps, which closed her vest from the throat to the waist, the three uppermost were left unfastened on account of the heat, which something enlarged the prospect to which we allude. A diamond necklace, with pendents of inestimable value, were by this means also made more conspicuous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffe set with brilliants, was another distinction of the beautiful Jewess, scoffed and sn??red at by the proud dames who sat above her, but secretly envied by those who affected to deride them.”

The tournament lasted two days, and Wilfrid of Ivanhoe bore of the palm of victory, to the displeasure of Prince John and the total discomfiture and mortification of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert. When about to receive the crown from 0213 210 Rowena, who was present, and whom he had chosen as the Queen of Beauty and of Love, he is obliged to throw off his helmet and discover himself, and is at the same time found to be severely wounded. He is privately borne off senseless from the scene, and taken care of by Rebecca and her father.

In the encounter of the second day a Knight makes his appearance, of great strength and valor, and gives succor to Ivanhoe, when likely to be overwhelmed by numbers. He then disappears and cannot be discovered when anxiously sought for. This Knight afterwards proves to be King Richard, who had attended the tournament in disguise. The effects of a guilty conscience are very well shown in the conduct of Prince John during the exhibition, in his hatred of every thing connected with his injured brother, and his consternation when a thought flashed upon his mind that Ivanhoe might possibly be the king. There is not in the character of this prince a single redeeming trait. He is represented as haughty, ambitious, deceitful and tyrannical; capable of undertaking the most infamous schemes in order to accomplish his purposes.

After the combats of the Knights are at an end on the second day, an exhibition of archery is brought forward and the prize born off by a yeoman, who had the day before excited the displeasure of Prince John, and had been forced by him to appear in the trial of the bow. The name assumed by him is Locksley, but he subsequently appears to be the celebrated Robin Hood of Sherwood forest. He afterwards makes a considerable figure at the head of the foresters.

At the conclusion of the tournament, Cedric, having had his feelings and national pride insulted at an entertainment given by the Prince, sets out for home with Rowena and Athelstane. Of this last we have not yet spoken. He is represented as a descendant of the Great Alfred, and from this circumstance was much looked up to by the Saxons. His lineage however is almost his only recommendation. Naturally slow and undecided in his character, he is wholly devoted to the gratifications of his palate. This trait he exhibits even in the most critical situations. It was the darling wish of Cedric to see this man united in marriage to his ward Rowena, and seated on the throne of his Saxon ancestors. Athelstane himself is almost totally devoid of ambition, and Rowena seems to entertain the strongest aversion to him, and to foster an equally strong 0214 211 attachment to Wilfrid. On their way home Cedric and his party overtake the Jew Isaac and his daughter Rebecca, whom their attendants, frightened at the report of a band of outlaws in the neighborhood, had deserted in the forest. They had with them a sick man carried on a litter. This man was no other than Ivanhoe. They were with some reluctance permitted to travel in the rear of Cedric's train. On coming to a thick part of the forest, the party is suddenly attacked, by a band of outlaws as they suppose, but in reality by some Knights, their attendants, and others hired for the purpose, the whole being disguised. After a short and uneffectual resistance, Cedric and his men, overpowered by numbers, are taken prisoners, with the exception of his jester Wamba, who, having for some time fought valiantly, made his escape.

The band, which made the attack on Cedric's party, was instigated and headed by De Bracy, a Knight, the leader of a troop of mercenaries in the service of Prince John. He was enamored of Rowena and laid this plot to bring her into his power and compel her to marry him. He was assisted chiefly by Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The prisoners were conducted to the castle of Front-de-Bœuf, at no great distance, the owner of which was a man uniting to great personal bravery the most savage and brutal ferocity.

Here the story becomes a little more complicated. Three different plots are carried on at the same time. Cedric and Athelstane are separated from Rowena and confined in a different part of the castle. The Jew Isaac is also kept apart from his daughter Rebecca, against whose honor Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert entertains the most infamous designs.

Front-de-Bœuf visits the dungeon of Isaac in order to extort a considerable sum of money, and has with him two Saracens, attendants of de Bois-Guilbert, to apply the most cruel tortures, if they should be necessary to effect this purpose.

De Bracy visits Rowena, and unfolds the reason of her captivity and that of her companions, and declares his passion to her; threatening her with the death of Ivanhoe, whom he informs her is lying wounded in the castle, if she refuses to accept his hand. His advances however are repulsed by her with the utmost scorn.

Meanwhile Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert has visited the apartment of Rebecca, and unveiled to her his infamous intentions. Finding himself treated with contempt and indignation, 0215 212 he becomes exasperated, and threatens her with immediate violence. The scene which ensues is finely drawn. The character of Rebecca appears here in all its splendor. Her magnanimous and daring conduct in preferring the sacrifice of life to dishonor, averts the purpose, even of the fierce Templar. His character also is forcibly displayed in this scene. Struck with admiration of Rebecca's conduct, he unfolds to her his own vast and ambitious designs, and invites her to become the partner of his glory. During this time Cedric and Athelstane are confined in the same apartment, ignorant of the cause of their captivity, or the intentions of the captors with regard to them.

The different parties in the castle are suddenly startled by the blast of a horn at the gates. On inquiry it is found that a large band of the foresters, under the direction of Locksley, (Robin Hood) the Black Knight, (King Richard) Wamba the jester, and Gurth, an adherent of Cedric, and collected by means of the two latter, who had accidentally met with Robin Hood and given him information of their master's captivity, had surrounded the castle. A summons is sent in, demanding the liberation of Cedric's party. This is treated with scorn by the occupants of the castle; and, confiding in the strength of his battlements, Front-de-Bœuf resolves to put Cedric and Athelstane to death. Wamba, the jester, saves his master by introducing himself in the disguise of a priest, and compelling Cedric to assume it himself, and make his escape. We are here introduced to a dreadful character, Ulrica, the daughter of Torquilstone, the former owner of the castle, who had been murdered by Front de-Bœuf. She had lived in the castle as the mistress of the father and then of the son. In her is admirably depicted the remorse consequent upon a long series of hardened iniquity. Bent on avenging her wrongs and on gratifying her revenge, she determines to fire the castle during the assault, and thus distract the attention of the defenders, and to perish in the flames, carrying with her, if possible, her oppressors. The besiegers at length make a terrible assault. The description of it, full of spirit, is given by Rebecca, who views it at the request of Ivanhoe from the window of the room where he was lying wounded and attended by her. In the first onset, after a severe conflict, the assailants gain a f???in? in the exterior defences of the castle; and Front-de-Bœuf is struck down, desperately wounded, by the Black Knight. During the second onset, 0216 213 still more severe than the first, the interior of the castle is fired by Ulrica. The interview with the dying Front-de-Bœuf is horrible.

“‘Lives Reginald Front-de Bœuf,’ said a broken and shrill voice close by his bedside, ‘to say there is that which he dares not!’

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Bœuf heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, the voice of one of those demons, who, as the superstition of the times believed, beset the beds of dying men, to distract their thoughts, and turn them from the meditations which concerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered and drew himself together; but, instantly summoning up his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, ‘Who is there?—what art thou, that darest to echo my words in a tone like that of the night-raven?—Come before my couch that I may see thee.’

‘I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Bœuf,’ replied the voice.

‘Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou beest indeed a fiend,’ replied the dying knight; ‘think not that I will blench from thee!—By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with these horrors that hover round me as I have done with mortal dangers, heaven nor hell should say that I shrunk from the conflict!’

‘Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Bœuf—on rebellion, on rapine, on murder!—Who stirred up the licentious John to war against his grey-headed father his generous brother?

‘Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,’ replied Front-de-Bœuf, ‘thou liest in thy throat!—Not I stirred John to rebellion—not I alone—there were fifty knights and barons, the flower of the midland counties—better men never laid lance in rest. And must I answer for the fault done by fif? Fal?? bend, I defy thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no more—let me die in peace if thou be mortal—if thou be a demon, thy time is not yet come.’

‘In peace thou shalt not die,’ repeated the voice; ‘even in death shalt thou think on thy murders—on the groans which this castle has echoed—on the blood that is ingrained in its floors!’

‘Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,’ answered Front-de-Bœuf with a ghastly and constrained laugh. ‘The infidel Jew—it was merit with heaven to deal with him as I did, else wherefore are men canonized who dip their hands in the blood of Saracens?—The Saxon porkers, whom I have slain, they were the foes of my country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord. Ho! ho! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of place—Art thou fled?—art thou silenced?’

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‘No, foul parricide!’ replied the voice; ‘think of thy father!—think of his death!—think of his banquet-room, flooded with his gore, and by the hand of a son!’

‘Ha!’ answered the baron, after a long pause, ‘and thou knowest that; thou art indeed the author of evil, and as omniscient as the monks call thee!—That secret I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that of one beside—the temptress, the partaker of my guilt.—Go, leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed—Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straighted the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show of one parted in time and in the course of nature—Go to her—she was my temptress, the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder of the deed—let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate hell!’

‘She already tastes them,’ said Ulrica, stepping before the couch of Front-de-Bœuf; ‘she hath long drunken of this cup, and its bitterness is sweetened to see that thou dost partake it. —Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Bœuf—roll not thine eyes— clench not thy hand, nor shake it at me with that gesture of menace!—The hand which, like that of thy renowned ancestor who gained thy name, could have broken with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as mine own!’

‘Vile murderous hag!’ replied Front-de-Bœuf, ‘detestable screech-owl! is it then thou who art come to exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low?’

‘Ay, Reginald Front-de-Bœuf,’ answered she, ‘it is Ulrica! —it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger!—it is the sister of his slaughtered sons!—it is she who demands of thee, and of thy father's house, father and kindred, name and fame—all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Bœuf!— Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Bœuf, and answer me if I speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be thine— I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution.’

‘Detestable fury!’ answered Front-de-Bœuf, ‘that moment shalt thou never witness—Ho! Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur and Stephen! seize this damned witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong—she has betrayed us to the Saxon.—Ho! Saint Maur! Clement! false-hearted knaves,where tarry ye?

‘Call on them again, valiant Baron,’ said the hag with a smile of grisly mockery; ‘summon thy vassals around thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon—But know, mighty chief,’ she continued, suddenly changing her tone, ‘thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands. Listen to these horrid sounds,’ for the din of the recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from 0218 215 the battlements of the castle; ‘in that war-cry is the downfall of thy house—The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-Bœuf's power totters to the foundation, and before the foes he most despised!—The Saxon, Reginald!—the scorned Saxon assails thy walls—Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy place of strength?’

‘Gods and fiends!’ exclaimed the wounded knight: ‘O for one moment's strength, to drag myself to the mellay, and perish as becomes my name!’

‘Think not of it, valiant warrior!’ replied she; ‘thou shalt die no soldier's death, but perish like the fox in his den, when the peasants have set fire to the cover around it.’

‘Hateful hag! thou liest,’ exclaimed Front-de-B‘uf; ‘my followers bear them bravely, —my walls are strong and high—my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Saxons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa!—The war-cry of the Templar and of the Free Companions rises high over the conflict! And by mine honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon, for joy of our defence, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and I shall live to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to those of that hell, which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly diabolical!’

‘Hold thy belief,’ replied Ulrica, ‘till the proof reach thee— But no!’ she said, interrupting herself, ‘thou shalt know, even now, the doom, which all thy power, strength, and courage is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this feeble hand.—Markest thou the smouldering and suffocating vapour which already eddies in sable folds through the chamber? Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy bursting eyes—the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing?—No! Front-de-Bœuf, there is another cause—Rememberest thou the magazine of fuel that is stored beneath these apartments?’

‘Woman!’ he exclaimed with fury, ‘thou hast not set fire to it?—By heaven thou hast, and the castle is in flames!’

‘They are fast rising at least,’ said Ulrica, with frightful composure; ‘and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to press hard upon those who would extinguish them.—Farewell, Front-de-Bœuf.—May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons—fiends, as the priests now call them—supply the place of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica now relinquishes!—But know, if it will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the companion of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt.—And now, parricide, farewell for ever!—May each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!’

So saying, she left the apartment, and Front-de-Bœuf could hear the crash of the ponderous key as she locked and double-locked 0219 216 the door behind her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of escape. In the extremity of agony he shouted upon his servants and allies—‘Stephen and Saint Maur! Clement and Giles!—I burn here unaided!—To the rescue—to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy—it is Front-deBœuf who calls!—It is your master, ye traitor squires!—Your ally—your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights!—all the curses due to traitors upon your re?reant heads, do you abandon me to perish thus miserably!—They hear me not —they cannot hear me—my voice is lost in the din of battle.— The smoke rolls thicker and thicker—the fire has caught upon the floor below—O for one draught of the air of heaven, were it to be purchased by instant annihilation!’ And in the mad phrenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven itself.—‘The red fire flashes through the thick smoke!’ he exclaimed; ‘The demon marches against me under the banner of his own element—Foul spirit, avoid!—I go not with thee without my comrades—all, all are thine, that garrison these walls—Thinkest thou, Front-de-Bœuf will be singled out to go alone?—No—the infidel Templar—the licentious De Bracy—Ulrica, the foul murdering strumpet—the men who aided my enterprises—the dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who are my prisoners—all, all shall attend me—a goodly fellowship as ever took the downward road—Ha, ha, ha,!’ and he laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rung again. ‘Who laughed there!” exclaimed Front-de-Bœuf, in altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his own frenzied laughter from returning upon his ear—‘Who laughed there?—Ulrica, was it thou?—Speak, witch, and I forgive thee —for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself could have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt—avaunt!’

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of the blasphemer and parricide's death-bed.”

When the castle is fired by Rebecca during the second attack, the gates are thrown open by order of Bois-Guilbert, that the defenders may sally out and cut their way through the besiegers. Cedric and the Black Knight force a passage inward in spite of all opposition. Meanwhile Bois-Guilbert flies to the apartment where Rebecca has been attending Ivanhoe, in order to save her and forces her off notwithstanding her resistance. Placing her on a horse before one of his adendums he cuts his way through his numerous enemies, and strikes down Athelstane, who, believing her to be the lady Rowena, had flown to her rescue. He finally succeeds in extracting himself with his fair 0220 217 28 charge and bears her off. Rowena is saved by Cedric and Ivanhoe by the Black Knight. The castle at last sinks in ruins, overwhelming its owner Front-de-Bœuf and the wretched Ulrica.

After this scene of destruction, Robert Hood, still concealed under the title of Locksley, assembles his band at the Trysting tree. He is accompanied by the Black Knight, and Cedric and his party, who had been prisoners. We are here presented with a picture of the manners of the outlaws. The entire subjection which they are under to their leader is well depicted. When they have all assembled, the Jew Isaac is brought up as a prisoner by one of the chief of the band. This is Friar Tuck who makes a considerable figure in some preceding scenes under the name of the Clerk of Copmanhurst. His character is a strange compound of pretended sanctity connected with a considerable degree of licentiousness, and at the same time displaying a daring spirit. Another prisoner is also brought forward. This is Father Aymer prior of a rich convent—a man much more devoted to the gratification of his appetites and passions than to the service of the Deity. He also has been frequently introduced in the course of the story before.

Cedric, with Rowena and his train, has set out to celebrate the obsequies of Athelstane at his former residence, the castle of Conningsburgh. Wilfrid of Ivanhoe has been carried, after the destruction of Torquilstone, to a neighboring priory to have his wounds attended to. Thither the Black Knight, after taking a warm and friendly leave of Locksley and his band, directs his course.

When Bois-Guilbert had borne off Rebecca from the conflict at Torquilstone he conveyed her to the preceptory of Templestowe which was at some distance, whither also came, unexpectedly to him, the Grand Master of the order of Knights Templars. Isaac, being released by the outlaws, and learning from them the place of his daughter's confinement hastened to redeem her from Bois-Guilbert. Rebecca had hitherto been carefully concealed from the Grand Master. Isaac is admitted to his presence and acquaints him with the object of his visit, delivering him a letter, written by Prior Aymer to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which the outlaws had compelled the Prior to give him. The Grand Master is represented as possessing some lofty qualities, but in the highest degree bigotted, and jealous of the honor of his order. Shocked at such infamous conduct in a Templar, he summons Bois-Guilbert before him. Rebecca 0221 218 is accused of using sorcery, and of having in this way occasioned the Knight's violent attachment to her. She is accordingly tried, and, at the instigation of Bois-Guilbert, demands leave to prove her innocence by the issue of a single combat. This is granted her. Meanwhile Bois-Guilbert endeavors to induce her to fly with him. He offers to sacrifice fame, honor, his standing as a Templar, every thing in short, to her. Nothing however is able to bend her high resolution. Finding her inflexible, the Knight, who has been prevailed by his order to sustain the accusation against her, determines to encounter whatever champion should be so adventurous as to appear in her behalf.

The black Knight, after visiting Ivanhoe, and taking an affectionate leave of him, departs through the forest for Coningsburgh Castle, to be present at the celebration of Athelstane's funeral. His only attendant is Wamba, the jester of Cedric. Prince John, having, through De Bracy's means, learned who he was, sends a party of villains, headed by one of his retinue, Waldemar Fitzurse, to assassinate him on his journey. He is attacked desperately by them, and, though gallantly assisted by Wamba, is likely to be overpowered, when, by the timely arrival of Locksley and his band, he is relieved. Fitzurse is taken prisoner, and confesses that Prince John was the instigator of his atrocious attempt. In this scene the black Knight declares himself to be Richard of England. Locksley also unveils himself and is found to be the celebrated Robin Hood. Just after the termination of the conflict, Wilfrid of Ivanhoe with his attendant, Gurth, came up. His wounds were now almost entirely healed, and feeling some apprehension for Richard's safety he had followed close on his footsteps to assist him in case of danger. Once more bidding farewell to Robin Hood, Richard, with Ivanhoe and his two attendants, continued his course to Conningsburgh. On his arrival there he makes himself known to Cedric, and effects a reconciliation between him and his son. Whilst they are engaged in the funeral ceremony, to their great consternation, Athelstane suddenly appears before them in his sepulchral dress. The mystery is soon explained. He had not, as was supposed, been killed by Bois-Guilbert, but was only stunned by the blow he received. The Monks, to whom the charge of his body was entrusted, had, on his recovery, given him a hearty draught of wine containing some powerful soporific, which threw him into a most profound sleep, giving him still the appearance of death. He recounts to 0222 219 those present the adventures he had gone throngh, and tenders his allegiance to Richard. He also resigns his pretensions to Rowena in favour of Wilfrid. Turning to Richard, he likewise is discovered to have taken his departure. To Rowena then he attempts to address himself, but she too has left the apartment. Embarrassed by Athelstane, she had taken advantage of a favourable opportunity to escape to her chamber. The surprise, occasioned by the absence, so sudden and unexpected, of all three, renders the scene not a little amusing. On inquiry being made for Ivanhoe and Richard, it is learned that the former had been sent for to receive a message from a Jew, that he had called for his horse and armour and instantly departed. Richard, who had followed him out, sending for the same Jew, after a moment's conversation with him, had pursued Ivanhoe at full speed.

Rebecca, after it had been determined to decide her innocence or guilt by single combat, had conveyed to Ivanhoe, through the medium of her father, information of her danger. It was this that had occasioned Wilfrid's abrupt departure from Conningsburgh. The day had arrived for the decision of her fate. Should her champion prove unfortunate she was to suffer death at the stake. Every thing was ready, the lists were prepared, the warden was brought to them with the instruments of destruction before her, and Sir Brian de Bois Guilbert, cased in armour, was present to support the accusation against her. When the allotted time had almost expired, Ivanhoe suddenly makes his appearance, himself and horse nearly worn down by fatigue. Bois-Guilbert refused at first to fight him on such unequal terms, but being defied to the contest by him, they engage. Ivanhoe, as was expected, is overthrown by the Templar, who is also unhorsed, and discovered to have sunk under the violent agitation. At the moment that the combat is terminated, and Rebecca declared innocent, Richard, followed by a numerous band of men at arms, rushes into the lists. He reproaches Ivanhoe for hazarding his safety in such an encounter, as he had intended to take it upon himself. He now openly declares himself, arrests one or two of those who had been his brother's most active partizans, and once more assumes the sceptre. The gallant Wilfrid becomes one of his chief favourites and is with his father's consent united in marriage to Rowena.

After the termination of the combat between Ivanhoe and Bois-Guilbert, Rebecca, deeply attached to the former, 0223 220 leaves the lists at Templestowe with her father, prevented by the delicacy of her feelings from thanking her deliverer in person. After his marriage with Rowena, however, she visits the latter, and in the warmest terms expresses her gratitude for the obligations which she was under to him. We beg leave to give an extract, depicting the scene which passed between these two high-minded females.

“It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by her hand-maid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and solicited that their parley might be without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to withdraw.

She entered—a noble and commanding figure, the long white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect unmingled by the least shade either of fear or of a wish to propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. She arose, and would have conducted the lovely stranger to a seat; but she looked at Elgitha, and again intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps, than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in spite of Rowena's resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic.

‘What means this?’ said the surprised bride; ‘or why do you offer to me a deference so unusual?’

‘Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,’ said Rebecca, rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, ‘I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfrid of Ivanhoe. I am—forgive the boldness which has offered to you the homage of my country—I am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his life against such fearful o?ds in the tilt-yard of Templestowe.’

‘Damsel,’ said Rowena, ‘Wilfrid of Ivanhoe on that day rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing charity towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. Speak;—is there aught remains in which he and I can serve thee?’

‘Nothing,’ said Rebecca, calmly, ‘unless you will transmit to him my grateful farewell.’

‘You leave England, then,’ said Rowena, scarce recovering the surprise of this extraordinary visit.

‘I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father has a brother high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada—thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for the 0224 221 payment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our people’

‘And are you not then as well protected in England?’ said Rowena. ‘My husband has favour with the King—the King himself is just and generous.’

‘Lady,’ said Rebecca, I doubt it not—but the people of England are a fierce race, quarreling ever with their neighbours or among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove—Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which stoops between two burthens. Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her wanderings’

‘But you,’ said Rowena, ‘you surely can have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick bed of Ivanhoe,’ she continued rising with enthusiasms—‘she can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and Norman will contend who shall do her most honour.’

‘Thy speech is fair, lady,’ said Rebecca,’ and thy purpose fairer; but it may not be—there is a gulf betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. Farewell— yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The bridal-veil hangs over thy face;—raise it, and let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.’

‘They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said Rowena; ‘but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil.’

She took it off accordingly, and, partly from the consciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely, that her cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also; but it was a momentary feeling, and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from her features, like the crimson cloud, which changes colour when the san sinks beneath the horizon.

‘Lady,’ she said, the countenance you have deigned to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in ?gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world's pride or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how may we chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour of its original? Long, long will I remember your features, and bless G? that I leave my noble delivere? united with’—

She stopped short—her eyes filled with tears. She hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries of Rowena—‘I am well, lady—well. But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe.—Farewell. One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. Accept this casket—startle not at its contents.’

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived 0225 222 a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, or diamonds, which were visibly of immense value.

‘It is impossible,’ she said, tendering back the casket. ‘I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.’

‘Yet keep it, lady,’ returned Rebecca.—‘You have power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the source both of our strength and weakness; the value of these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value—and to me, what I part with is of much less. Let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my liberty? or that my father values them in comparison to the honour of his only child? Accept them, lady—to me they are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.’

‘You are then unhappy,’ said Rowena, struck with the manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. ‘O remain with us—the counsel of holy men will wean you from your unhappy law, and I will be a sister to you.’

‘No lady,’ answered Rebecca, the same melancholy reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features—‘that may not be. I may not change the faith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in which I seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He to whom I dedicate my future life, will be my comforter, if I do His will.’

‘Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to retire?’ asked Rowena.

‘No, lady,’ said the Jewess, ‘but among our people, since the time of Abraham downward, have been women who have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their actions to works of kindness to men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among these will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to thy lord, should be inquire after her whose life he saved.’

There was an involuntary tremor in Rebecca's voice, and a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she would have willingly expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.

‘Farewell,’ she said. ‘May He, who made both Jew and Christian, shower down on you his choicest blessings! The bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach the port.’

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long and happily with Rowena, for they were attached to each other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the more, from the recollection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it would 0226 223 be inquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recollection of Rebecca's beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have approved.

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. He might have risen still higher, but for the premature death of the heroic Cœur de Lion, before the castle of Cbaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a generous, but rash and romantic monarch, perished all the projects which his ambition and his generosity had formed; and to him may be applied, with a slight alteration, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden— His fate was destined to a foreign strand, A petty fortress and a ‘humbled’ hand; He left the name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a TALE.”

There are inferior characters besides those we have mentioned, whom our limits would not allow us to introduce, but who are nevertheless well worthy of notice.

The accurate and consistent delineation of character to be met with in Ivanhoe, cannot fail to delight the reader. The variety also is very great. The personages introduced we may reduce to three distinct classes; first, the genuine English or Saxon, of whom Cedric is the best specimen. To this class also belong Athelstane, Rowena, Ulrica, Cedric's domestics, and Robin Hood with his band. The second class is the Norman, of whom are Prince John with his retinue, Bois-Guilbert, De Bracy, Front-de-Bœuf, Waldemar, Fitzurse, Richard. Both of these classes have their peculiar traits in a great degree opposed to each other. The Saxon is open and brave, though somewhat rough and uncultivated. The Norman too is brave, with high ideas of chivalrous honour, but these good qualities are connected with a degree of profligacy that cannot be viewed without disgust. We see also something of the same volatility which is supposed even to the present day to be a distinguishing feature in the French character. Of the third class perhaps the only examples given are the Jew, Isaac, and his daughter Rebecca. They must certainly be considered as two of the most finished portraits in the work. Notwithstanding Isaac's love of money, which appears generally to predominate in his mind over every other idea, we occasionally see the finer feelings of the man breaking forth, and appearing still brighter, from a contrast with the dark shades by which they are surrounded. For some of his faults 0227 224 an excuse may be found in the unhappy situation of the Jews at that period. Hunted down and persecuted as they were, their only means of power or of influence resulting from the abundance of their wealth, it is not to be wondered at, if they sometimes sought for shelter and protection under the veil of deception and falsehood. If there be a blemish, which we could point out in the novel, it would be in the character of Rebecca. She is, perhaps, too near perfection. In an age when men were so illiterate that scarcely any one could be found able to write his name, it could hardly be expected that we should meet with a female, in so humble a station as this Jewess, possessed of such extensive information and so well cultivated.

In this novel, as in some of the modern poems, we find the person whom we suppose to be the hero, and who gives title to the work, less conspicuous than some of those who appear to be subordinate. Ivanhoe serves scarcely any other purpose than to introduce Bois-Guilbert and Rebecca to the view of the reader. His own character is that of the Saxon polished by an extensive intercourse with the world. There is however nothing in it particularly caculated to arrest our attention. He is represented as a brave and generous Knight, but considerably, though not to the same degree with the other members of his family, tinctured with the prejudices of the age. King Richard himself is of the same description.

On a comparison of this novel with those previously written by the same person, we are inclined to give it a decided preference over them all. The style may not perhaps be so polished as that of some of his former publications, but the degree of talent which he has evinced in the variety, strength, and accuracy of his portraits, will amply compensate for this deficiency, if any such really exist. Ivanhoe is, we think, well calculated to sustain and even to increase the high reputation which its author had before so justly obtained.

MIND.

THE mind is not divided into parts, but is a single and indivisible substance. When we speak of its faculties, we must not consider them as distinct agents, but as powers or possessions of the same agent. There are no internal senses, if by this phrase be meant senses within the mind 0228 225 29 and distinct from the body. When we say that the understanding can reason, that the affections can feel, that the conscience can judge, and that the will can put forth volitions, this is the language of personification, correct enough for common purposes, and true until it leads us to conceive of the mind as divided into parts or distinct agents. But it is the same spiritual thing, which reasons, feels, judges, and puts forth volitions. The brain, the nerves, and the five senses belong to a single, indivisible, mental existence. Between the five senses there is a distinction. Each has a power, which is peculiar to itself, and which is incommunicable. The eye alone can see, the ear alone can hear, and the nose alone can smell. The eye cannot perform the offices of the ear, nor can the ear perform the offices of the eye. Their respective powers are not interchangeable. That, however, which connects them, is the mind. Without the mind, the eye could not see nor the ear hear. The sense is not the sensation. Sensation is an action of the mind. The occasion of it is some action of a sense.

One proof of the unity, or numerical identity, of the mind is the unity of consciousness. Every mental operation is the subject of notice by this faculty. Consciousness is the first witness to furnish us with knowledge of what is going on within us. Reflection is a continuation of acts of consciousness, and involves also association, comparison, and judgement. Although consciousness informs us of an endless variety of mental operations, it never hints at any division of our spiritual being, or at separate and distinct agencies carried on by separate and distinct actors. Consciousness would as soon be thought to teach an individual that he has two minds as that he has one mind divided into parts, or that his faculties, called as they are by different names, are any thing more than the various powers of a single identical spirit. Our propensities or desires may urge us in opposite directions, but consciousness tells us that it is the same indivisible mind which feels the clashing motives, and at last decides for itself as for one, and for no more.

It is difficult to conceive, if the mind be compounded of faculties which are separate agents, how they act upon each other, or how consciousness can be common to them all. But if the mind be uncompounded, if it be simple and indivisible, we have no difficulty in forming a conception of its present unity of consciousness, or of the connexion of our various mental operations.

0229 226

It is a consideration in favour of the unity of the mind, that the improvement of taste, conscience, or memory, requires the aid of many faculties. If the taste of an individual be bad, his understanding must be enlightened, his observation must be extended, his examination of subjects must be more various and thorough, his feelings must be improved, his associations and prejudices must be changed, and in short his mind must be instructed and enlarged.

The same course is to be taken for the improvement of conscience. It is vain to address this as a separate faculty, without addressing other faculties, and expect to produce an amelioration of it. Change the views, which the mind has of a subject, and the conscience, so far as moral considerations are connected with the question, is proportionally changed.

When memory is to be improved, attention is to be rendered more accurate and close, and to be more frequently repeated, as well as more patiently continued. Our perceptions must be made more clear and distinct, the subject must be understood at the time, a degree of generalization is extremely useful, and our knowledge must be occasionally refreshed.

We never apply remedies to a bad taste, conscience, and memory, as separate faculties, and in their separate condition, but to the mind as a whole, and as one. We improve those operations, upon which taste, conscience, and memory depend.

The loose manner, in which too many speak of internal senses, and of a division of the faculties of the mind, is injurious to our philosophy upon this subject. Popular language often leads us to suppose, that the mind has a division which is analogous to the five senses, and that one faculty of the soul may be destroyed, without injuring other faculties, as one sense may be destroyed, without injuring the other senses. This mistake is often followed by an error, which affects theological metaphysics. Certain modern theories contain the idea, that the part of the mind, called the heart, may become depraved, while the other part of the mind, called the head, retains its full vigor and excellence. Intellectual operations are kept entirely distinct from those which are moral, as if there were no reciprocal influence between them, and no communication. But every man's own history will furnish him with a refutation of this idea, and with abundant proof of the intimate connexion 0230 227 between the operations of the head and the heart. Our passions and interests are perpetually swaying our judgements, and sometimes blind the understanding so as to make us rush heedlessly into danger and distress. Our systems of dialectics can never be perfect while we thus separate the head and the heart. It is the business of the mind to examine itself as a whole, and as an indivisible thing. Whether its ideas are founded upon perceptions by means of the senses, or upon its own internal powers and operations; whether materials for thought and volition are furnished by the speculative or the sentimental faculties of the soul, by the understanding or by the affections; a sound philosophical logic will regard and use them all as equally belonging to our spiritual nature, and as having equal claims to a share in forming the faith and directing the practice of a wise man. Our discursive talents have no right to silence or despise our moral feelings and our natural affections. Whatever is irreconcileable with the moral constitution of man can never be true in a system of genuine metaphysics. Processes of abstraction and generalization may err, but consciousness cannot deceive; our affections remain when our speculations are exhausted; and we are governed by motives and interests, like plain men, even after we have lost ourselves in the sublimest mazes of scholastic pneumatology.

ANECDOTE.

Some few years ago the inhabitants of New Castle, in the state of Delaware, and its vicinity, had their feelings excited by the mutual murder of two negroes. This tragical occurrence took place on a farm, during the time of hay harvest, when their master had perhaps dealt out their customary allowance of rum in too liberal a manner. These two men were mowing in adjoining rows, and the one necessarily took his station so much behind the other as would prevent the sweep of his scythe endangering his leader. From some unknown motive the hindmost slave advanced forward in such a manner as nearly to strike his companion's legs. A slight complaint was made of the intended injury, when, the other using threatening language, they simultaneously raised their scythes, and with furious features struck their fatal 0231 228 blows at the same instant. The scythes entered their ribs and nearly severed their bodies. Their hot blood had scarcely time to mingle, ere their vindictive eyes fixedly glared on each other in the last agony of death. A coroner's inquest was immediately called, and, after pronouncing their verdict, the bodies of the two murderers were given to some students of medicine, who resided in a neighbouring village. These disciples of Esculapius took the bodies to a large deserted mansion in the neighbourhood, and, after some slight operations, determined to boil off the flesh for the purpose of preserving the skeletons. An immense iron pot, such as had been often used for similar purposes, was accordingly brought and hung over a blazing fi?e in the large old fashioned chimney of the house. Neither fatigue, nor the nature of their employment, had destroyed the appetites of our young anatomists. It was night, and they resolved to return home for the purpose of eating supper, not doubting but that the fire would perform its operation of boiling the contents of the caldron perfectly well during their absence.

Soon after their departure a worthy emigrant from Scotland, who had long resided in the district, and who filled the honorable stations of elder in the presbyterian Church and magistrate for the county, happened to pass along the road on his return home. Although not gifted with second sight, he nevertheless possessed a due proportion of his countrymen's former credulity. Our American climate had not eradicated the recollection of those ghosts and witches, so gravely described by the older historians of Scotland, and so interestingly introduced into some of the ballads of Burns. It happened that the mind of our worthy magistrate was absorbed in reflecting on a set of profligate young men, who made the village, through which he had just passed, their head quarters. It had also been represented to him that the above described ancient mansion was sometimes a scene of their gambling and drunkenness. Looking towards the building, he perceived the windows brightly illuminated; but not observing “Coffins stand round like open presses, That shew'd the dead in their last dresses, And, by some devilish Cantress slight, Each in his cold hand held a light,”

The naturally concluded that the young reprobates had assembled together, and, as a magistrate, determined to take notice of this contravention of the laws of the state. After 0232 229 fastening his horse he proceeded with cautious steps to the entrance of the house. The door was shut, but a slight application of his foot burst its fastenings, and at once ushered him into a large room, where, although his eyes became dazzled with the light, no human being was visible. He paused with disappointment and distrust, silence reigned around, marks of blood were distinctly visible on the floor, whilst the huge caldron particularly attracted his attention. After some pause curiosity overcame his fears, and he walked towards the chimney for the purpose of making a closer inspection. His eyes were directed to the boiling liquid, when, at that moment, one of the heads of the negroes was gradually turned round by the motion of the water. He beheld a black demoniacal face with staring eyes and lips widely shriveled from their jaws. Our hero was transfixed in agony to the spot,when another ebullition seemed to protrude the head towards him. He sprang for the door as if all the demons of Pandemonium were at his heels. By a kind of instinct he reached his horse, but in endeavouring to mount leaped over the animal and fell prostrate on the other side. It is said that despair sometimes produces courage. Our magistrate made a second effort and succeeded in unhitching his horse, when, by the continued application of whip and spur, he rode off in a most rapid gallop. I am not able to say whether it was the knowledge of his having crossed a stream of water, or the continuance of his violent exercise, that at length gradually brought him to his senses. He arrived at home pale and trembling, but, disliking to confess the cause, complained of indisposition, and immediately retired to bed. He continued the next day in an agonized state of mind, and the consequences might have been fatal if some of the neighbours had not fortunately related the first mentioned part of this story.

WAYNE'S CAMPAIGN.

On the 25th of July, 1794, general Scott, with a part of the Kentucky volunteers, united at Greenville with sixteen hundred regular troops, under the command of general Wayne, and the combined force marched against the Indians on the morning of the 28th, leaving general Barbee in the rear with another brigade in charge of some heavy cannon. 0233 230 On the 1st day of August a man named Newman, of the Quarter-Master's Department, deserted and went to the Indians. Next day the troops arrived at the river St. Mary's, and built two small block houses to cover the crossing; on the 8th they reached the Indian villages at the mouth of the river Auglaze, which were abandoned, and remained there six days building a small fort, in which a major's command was left. Meanwhile captain William Wells went to the foot of the Rapids and brought off two prisoners, a man and a woman, and in returning he and Mr. M'Clannahan were wounded in a contest with a party of Indians. The General sent Mr. Miller and the Indian man with a letter to the enemy offering them terms of peace; more however to ascertain their strength and real condition, than with any expectation of an adjustment. In the letter he mentioned that if Mr. Miller were not suffered to return immediately he would put to death every prisoner he had. On the second day's march from the Auglaze, the army met Miller, who had been escorted by some Indians until they came within hearing, when they retired. The troops arrived at Rouch de Boat on the 18th, and, having spent the 19th in building a strong work to cover their baggage and sick, moved on the morning of the 20th, excepting about four hundred men who remained in the camp. Major Price of the Kentucky volunteers had moved about four miles with the advance, consisting of two companies of mounted riflemen, when they were suddenly fired upon by a large party of the enemy and put to flight. They fell back upon the main body of regulars, followed by the savages. The troops were ready, formed in two lines, to receive them. The right wing under general Wilkinson charged instantly, followed by the left of the infantry and drove the Indians in great confusion. They made a stand a few minutes where they had riflemen and volunteers to contend with, but soon fled in all quarters. The weather being extremely hot and the woods very thick, the general ordered the pursuit to cease. Our loss was one captain, one lieutenant, and twenty one men killed, and seventy five or eighty wounded: that of the enemy was never certainly ascertained. After the treaty of 1795 they acknowledged a loss of forty five killed and upwards of one hundred wounded.

After the action the general moved down to the foot of the ra?ids, of Miami, about three quarters of a mile from, and in full view of the British fort Miami. The next day the British 0234 231 commander sent a flag to general Wayne, inquiring what he was doing so near one of His Britannic Majesty's posts. In reply, the General observed: “Were you entitled to an answer, a full and satisfactory one was announced to you yesterday morning, from the muzzles of my small arms, in the action against the horde of Indians who inhabit the vicinity of your post.” The second day their post was reconnoitered in every quarter. The General and suite, with his guards, were close to the ditch, and several companies were within musket shot. They behaved very politely, more so than could have been expected; as, notwithstanding the insult offered their flag, not a shot escaped from them. On the return of the party, our troops were followed by a flag, bearing a threat, that if we insulted them again they would be revenged upon us. No notice was taken of this, except burning every house and hut in the vicinity, and a large quantity of hay on an island. On the third day a funeral dirge was played and three vollies fired at the enemy from thirty six pieces of small ordnance loaded with shells, returned to camp Deposite.

A company of young men, (principally English and Scotch) from Detroit, joined the Indians on that day. They, having fallen in with the riflemen of the legion and some of the Kentucky volunteers, left upwards of twenty on the ground, including their commander.

The army returned by easy marches to fort Defiance, where it remained some time, making use of the corn, &c. left by the Indians, at the same time strengthening the fort. Nothing of note transpired further, except moving up to the old Miami village and building fort Wayne, after which the General returned to Greenville with the main body, having left colonel Hamtramock with five companies to garrison fort Wayne.

On arriving at Greenville, a deputation from Sandusky was found waiting with solicitations for peace. The General returned a favourable answer, and, that winter, preliminary articles were fixed upon, which were finally settled at the Greenville treaty in 1795. The peace, which followed, lasted until it was interrupted by the Prophet and his party in 1811, and in 1812 a general war took place, in consequence of Hull's surrender, and the British command of the Lakes.

ORIENTAL IDYLS.

It is supposed that the English language is not susceptible of poetical prose or unmeasured poetry; but it is at least adapted to imitations of this beautiful kind of style, which was the PRIMITIVE POETRY of mankind, of the Hebrews, Arabs, Persians, Chaldeans, Armenians, Hndoos, Chinese, &c. Successful imitations of this poetry are to be met with in the Bible, in Ossian, in the Koran, &c.

I mean to offer a series of small oriental idyllic poems, imitated from this primitive style. I shall not say they are translations from an old eastern language, because I should not be believed; let them be considered as mere imitations and judged as such. In order to understand and relish this plain poetical style, we must carry ourselves in imagination towards the happy primitive times of patriarchal simplicity and manners; as we must fancy ourselves in Arcadia, when we read the idyls of Gessner.

It will be perceived that each of these idyls is a small poem by itself, evincing the primitive and essential rules of poetry. Each has an exordium, narrative, and conclusion; the rules of unity are commonly preserved; the morality is always striking and evident; the images and epithets, the language and sentiments, are truly poetical. The division in long, unmeasured, and unequal verses is peculiar to oriental poetry, and is to be found in all the sacred poetical books of the Hebrews, Arabs, Hindoos, &c. The style, diction, and images are natural, pure, simple, and smooth, like the objects which are delineated, yet often highly figurative and even hyperbolic, according to the genius of oriental languages. All the personal names have a meaning, which is attempted to be explained.

FIRST IDYL.

THE SON OF THE HILL AND THE MAID OF THE VALLEY,

Sodin,Garden of Wisdom.

Molom,Man of the grove.

Ada,First gift.

Dera,First day.

The Sun was bright, the air was calm, on a morning of spring.

The fields, the meadows, and the trees were covered with blossoms, and the sweet warbling of the birds was heard among the leaves.

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When Sodin, the good son of the late worthy Molom, left his dwelling on the hill, and came to the fountain of the rock in the valley.

There he found the lovely Ada, the daughter of Dera, who as as fair as the snow, as mild as the lamb, as swift as the hind.

Her lips and cheeks were like the blushing roses, her eyes like blazing stars, her shape like the gentle antelope.

She was leaning on the rock, and filling a bason of water, when she was surprised by the son of the hill.

She rose and she blushed; her blush was like the purple hue of the sweetest musk rose.

Sodin knew and loved the maid, yet he had never spoken to her; but now he ventured to say,

Be not frightened, sweet maid ofthe fountain; I am thirsty, and wish a few drops of clear water.

She smiled, and her smile was like the fragrance of the jessamine; she spoke, and her voice was like the song of the nightingale.

Stranger, she said, thou art welcome to the pure water of my fountain: drink and tell me who art thou.

I am Sodin, the son of the dead, my father is gone to the land of the sun; and I belong to the tribe of the hill.

I saw thee before, lovely daughter of the valley, when I was on my hill and thou wast crossing the brook.

Thy sight is happiness, thy smiles are heavenly, and an angel thou art on the land of the earth.

Ada blushed again, yet she smiled again. Praise is soft music to the daughters of beauty.

But she spoke not, and Sodin spoke again:

Maid of the valley, thou hast not seen my hill, where lilies and pinks are my weeds, where apples and pears grow on my briars.

But I am alone and sad, I sigh and complain, and I meet no one that can soothe my pains.

My love is for thee, fair daughters of Dera, how happy we should be on the hill both together.

Wilt thou bless my hill with the steps of thy feet, wilt thou delight my lonely cottage with thy starry eyes?

The fair blushing Ada at last replied: Son of the hill, I know not what is love; nor do I care to know:

My mother has often said that it fills the heart with thorns and sorrow, it stings as the rose briar when its blossoms are plucked.

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Sodin. True, prudent daughter of Dera, and it has put a thorn into my heart, which thou alone canst take away.

Ada. I know not how, else I would pluck the thorn and heal the wound.

Sodin. Be mine, dear maid, and my wound will be healed.

Ada. I must ask my mother if thou speakest the truth: yonder she is, I'll hasten to. her and ask.

She went, and she told to her good mother Dera, the love and wound of the son of the hill.

Dera. My daughter will be thine, Son of Molom, if thou shalt answer truly to a query of mine.

Sodin. Mother of Ada, I am ready to answer thy query, and my love shall prompt me the truth.

Dera. What do women and men love best, and what do they hate most?

Sodin. The good woman loves best the child of her bosom, and she hates most to be compelled to hate:

But the bad woman loves best the deception of love, and she hates most the truth of the heart.

The good man loves best the wife of his choice, and he hates most the path of the wicked:

While the wicked man loves best the sway of his passions, and he hates most those who stand in their way.

Dera. Son of the hill, thou hast really spoken as a garden of wisdom, and my daughter is thine.

She hates no one, yet she does not love any one: but she shall love thee, because thou art the son of wisdom and truth, because she is the child of goodness and love.

And when she shall feel the motherly joy, which is the blessing of the loving wife, she shall also feel the best love of the good woman.

Then Dera blessed the son of the hill and the maid of the valley, and she made them husband and wife.

They went to dwell on the cottage of the hill, but often visited the fountain of the rock in the valley.

CONSTANTINE.

FISHES OF THE RIVER OHIO.

BY C. S. RAFINESQUE,

Professor of Botany and Natural History in Transylvania University.

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 177.)

35th Species. Black Trout. Salmo nigrescens. Truite noiratre.

Body blackish brown, with some small spots, head black; lateral line straight: lower jaw hardly longer; fins and tail black, tail slightly forked. Dorsal fin with 10 rays, anal fin with 15 rays.

A very rare species, seen only once, near the Laurel hills; it is said to be found also in the Yohogheny, a branch of the Monongeh?la Length six inches, diameter one fifth of total length. Iris black and gilt. Slightly pale under the body.

XV Genus Minny. Minnilus. Minny.

Body elongated, somewhat compressed, covered with small scales. Vent medial. Head flat above, and somewhat shielded. Gill cover double, scaleless, three branchial rays. Mouth diagonal, small, toothless and beardless, without lips, lower jaw shorter and narrower. A small trapezoidal dorsal fin, nearer to the head than to the tail, opposite to the abdominal fins, and without spines. Abdominal fins with eight rays and without appendages. (Tail forked in all the Ohio species.)

There are in the United States more than fifty species of small fresh water fishes, (and in the Ohio waters more than sixteen species) commonly called Minnies, Minnews, Bait-fish, Chubs, and Shiners, which should belong to the genus Cyprinus of Linneus, or rather to the part of it which has been called Leuciscus by Klein and Cuvier; which subgenus (or genus) is distinguished by a small dorsal fin, no spines nor beards; but as the genus Cyprinus forms now a large family, and that even the genus Leuciscus must be divided, since it contains more than one hundred anomalous species, differing in the position of the dorsal fin and the vent, the number of rays to the abdominal fins, &c., I venture to propose this and the three following genera. Three other different genera might be established 0239 236 upon the European species, distinguished as follow:

Dobula. Dorsal fin nearer to the tail, abdominal fins with nine rays and a? appendage: upper jaw longer.

Phoxinu?. Differs by ten abdominal rays and no appendage.

Alburnus. Differs from Dobula by no appendage and the lower jaw longer.

Besides my genus Hemiplus, (Annals of nature,) which has the vent posterior, the lower jaw longer, only five rays and an appendage to the abdominal fins.

All these small fish are permanent; they feed on worms, insects, univalve shells, and spawn; they bite at a small hook, baited with worms or flies, and they form an excellent bait for all the larger fish which feed upon them. They are good to eat when fried.

36th Species. Slender Minny. Minulus dinemus. Minny emeraude.

Diameter one eighth of total length, silvery, back olivaceous with a brown longitudinal stripe in the middle: two lateral lines, one straight, the lower curved downwards and shorter: head gilt and green above. Dorsal fin 9 rays. Anal fin 12 rays.

A small and slender species, common in the Ohio, &c. and going in flocks; length two or three inches. Its head is beautiful when alive: it is above of a fine gold colour with green shades, becoming of an emerald green above the eyes. Iris silvery: sides opaque, upper lateral line gold-green. Nostrils large. Pectoral fins with 12 rays, not reaching the abdominal. All the fins silvery. Tail with 24 rays. Scales very small.

37th Species. Spotted Minny. Minnilus notatus. Minny tache.

Diameter one seventh of total length, silvery, back olivaceous with a large brown stripe in the middle; head brown above, lateral line straight, a black spot at the base of the tail. Dorsal with 8, and anal with 9 rays.

Same size with the preceding, but not so slender and less common. Iris golden, nostrils very large, mouth small, lateral line shining blue on the opaque sides. Pectoral fins with 12 rays and not reaching the abdomen. Tail with 14 rays. It is often called Minny-chub.

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38th Species. Littlemouthed Minny. Minnilus microstomus. Minny microstome.

Diameter one seventh of total length, silvery, olivaceous on the back and head, sides with a few black dots: lateral line straight, pectoral fins reaching the abdominal fins. Dorsal and anal fins with eight rays.

A small species found in the Kentucky river. Mouth very small, nostrils large, iris silvery, fins fulvous, the pectoral with 12, and the caudal with 24 rays. Head elongated.

XVI Genus. Shiner. Luxilus. Luxile.

Difference from Minnulus. Vent posterior or nearer to the tail. Mouth rather large, commonly with lips and equal jaws. Scales rather large. Preopercule with an angular suture.

1st Subgenus. Chrosomus.

Mouth large. without lips, lower jaw much shorter. Scales rough. Opercule flexuose.

39th Species. Redbelly Shiner. Luxilus erythrogaster. Luxile erythrogastre.

Diameter one sixth of total length: back olivaceous brown, sides pale with two brown stripes, the upper reaching from the gills to the tail, and the lower from the nose to the anal fin; belly white with longitudinal red stripes from the pectoral fin to the tail: lateral line curved downwards and only anterior. Dorsal and anal fins elongated. Dorsal 8, and anal 7 rays.

A very distinct and insulated species, intermediate between this and the foregoing genus. It might probably form a peculiar genus and be called Chrosomus erythrogaster or Kentucky Red belly. I saw it in the Kentucky river. Length from four to six inches. Tail forked as in all this family, and yellow as well as the dorsal fin, and with twenty rays. All the other fins are whitish. Head yellow above, silvery beneath, iris golden, the brown stripe goes across the eyes. Pectoral fins trapezoidal, with 12 rays, not reaching the abdominal fins. Lateral line reaching no further than the dorsal fin. Anal fin narrow. It is called Red belly Chub.

2d Subgenus. Luxilus.

Mouth rather large, with small flat lips, jaws equal, scales large.

0241 238

40th Species. Goldhead Shiner. Luxilus chrysocephalus? Luxile chrysocephale.

Diameter one fifth of total length, silvery with golden shades on the sides, head gilt, back and nape dark olivaceous; lateral line curved downwards, pectoral fins reaching the abdominal Dorsal and anal fins with nine rays.

Vulgar names, Gold Chub, Shiner, Goldhead, &c. Length six inches. It is found in the Kentucky, Ohio, Cumberland, Green river, &c. Iris golden. Fins fulvous, the pectoral golden large with 14 rays: tail with 24. It resembles the common Shiner or Butterfish of Pennsylvania, Cyprinus chrysoleucos Mitchell; but that fish is a Rutilus, having nine abdominal rays, its body is besides shorter and the anal fin is falcated with 15 rays.

41st Species. Kentuckian Shiner. Luxilus Kentuckiensis. Luxile du Kentuky.

Diameter one seventh of total length, silvery, back olivaceous, lateral line curved downwards, dorsal and caudal fins red, the pectoral yellow, not reaching the abdomen. Dorsal 8, and anal 7 rays.

Vulgar names, Indian Chub, Red tail, Shiner, &c. Length about four inches. It is reckoned an excellent bait for anglers, because it will swim a long while with the hook in its body. Eyes small, iris brown with a gold ring. Yellowish brown above the head. Abdominal and anal fins white. Pectoral and abdominal fins oboval, with 12 rays. Tail with 24 rays.

42d Species. Yellow Shiner. Luxilus interruptus. Luxile jaunatre.

Diameter one sixth of total length: yellowish olivaceous above, silvery beneath, rufous brown above the head, a rufous line from the dorsal to the tail, two straight and separated half lateral lines, the anterior one above the posterior: pectoral fins reaching the abdominal. Dorsal with 10 and anal with 9 rays.

A small species, only three inches long, called Yellow Chub or Shiner. Seen in the Ohio. Sides opaque, with violet shades, Iris silvery, mouth large, lips very apparent. Fins yellowish, pectorals with 16 rays, caudals with 24.

0242 239

XVII Genus. Chubby. Semotilus. Semotile.

Difference from Minnilus. Vent posterior or nearer to the tail. Dorsal fin posterior, opposite to the vent and behind the abdominal fins. Mouth large and with lips. Scales rather large. Preopercule angular.

43d Species. Bigback Chubby. Semotilus dorsalis. Semotile dorsal.

Diameter one fifth of total length: silvery, back olivaceous with some black dots, and raised; head brown above, a crenulated keel above each eye: lateral line upwards at the base: tail brown, with a black spot at the base and another before it. Dorsal fin with 8 rays and a large brown spot at the anterior base. Anal fin with 9 rays.

It is found in the Kentucky, and several other rivers. Vulgar names, Big-back Minny or Chub, Skimback, &c. Length from three to six inches. Iris gilt brown. Fins olivaceous, pectoral fins with 12 rays, trapezoidal not reaching the abdominal. Tail with 24 rays, end pale, base with a round black dot, and a smaller one before it on the body, when the lateral line terminates. Head separated from the back by a suture connected with the opercule, back large convex higher.

44th Species. Bighead Chubby Senotilus cephalus. Senotile cephale.

Diameter one fifth of the total length: silvery, back brownish, lateral line raised upwards at the base; fins fulvous, the pectoral reddish, the caudal pale at the end and unspotted, the dorsal with nine rays and a large black spot at the anterior base, anal with nine rays.

Length from six to eight inches, not uncommon in the creeks of Kentucky, &c. Vulgar names Chub, Big-mouth, and Bighead. It has really the largest head and mouth of this tribe. Iris redish iridescent. Pectoral fins with 15 rays trapezoidal and short, abdominal fins rounded, dorsal fin beginning over them, spot round. Tail with 20 rays.

45th Species. Warty Chubby. Semotilus diplemia. Semotile verruqueux.

Diameter one sixth of total length: olivaceous brown with gold shades above, silvery beneath: lateral line double, the anterior 0243 240 and lower curved upwards at the base, reaching to the abdominal fins, the posterior and upper straight from the pectoral fins to the tail: fins red, a spot at the base of the dorsal and caudal, and many dots over them. Dorsal with nine rays; the anal with eight.

Length from three to four inches, often called Minny or Redfin. Observed in the Kentucky river near Estill. The male fish has a larger mouth than the female and some black warts on the head. Fulvous brown on the head. Iris large, golden, and white. Some black dots on the dorsal and caudal fins: the caudal spot is on the tail, and the dorsal at the anterior base; they are small and round. The pectoral fins do not reach the abdominal fins; they have 18 rays: the tail has 24.

XVIII Genus. Fallfish. Rutilus. Rutile.

Difference from Minnilus. Vent posterior nearer to the tail. Abdominal fins with nine rays. Mouth large and with lips. Scales large.

I call this genus Rutilus, in the supposition that the Cyprinus rutilus may be the type of it; if it should be otherwise, it may be called Plargyrus.

46th Species. Silverside Fallfish. Rutilus plargyrus. Rutile plargyre.

Diameter one fifth of total length: silvery, back with the dorsal, pectoral, and caudal fins olivaceous: lateral line curved downwards: snout truncate, mouth almost vertical. Dorsal and anal fins with nine rays.

Length from four to six inches: vulgar names, Silverside, Shiner, White Chub, &c. Common in the streams of Kentucky. Mouth large, upper jaw almost vertical, yet longer than the lower. Iris white. Pectoral fins with 14 rays, reaching almost the abdominals, which are oboval and white. Tail forked as usual with 24 rays. Scales large.

47th Species. Baiting Fallfish. Rutilus compressus. Rutile appat.

Diameter one seventh of total length: silvery, back fulvous, sides compressed, lateral line straight, raised upwards at the base, snout rounded, mouth hardly diagonal, nearly horizontal. Dorsal and anal fins with nine rays.

0244 241 31

A small fish from two to four inches long, called Fall-fish Bait-fish, Minny, &c. It is found in the Alleghany Mountains in the waters of the Monongahela, Kenhaway, and even in the Potomac. The name of Fall-fish arises from its being often found near falls and ripples. Body more compressed than in the other species, as much so as in the genus Minnilus. Scales large, lips a little fleshy. Iris silvery gilt. Fins transparent, the pectoral with 14 rays and not reaching the abdominal, tail with 32 rays.

48th Species. Roundnose Fallfish. Rutilus Amblops.Rutile amblopse.

Diameter one sixth of total length: silvery, head fulvous above, snout round: sides with an opaque band, lateral line straight: pectoral fins with 12 rays and reaching the abdominal fins. Dorsal and anal fins with 10 rays.

Length one or two inches. Vulgar name White Chub or Fall-fish. It is found at the falls of the Ohio. Back slightly fulvescent, snout large and rounded, mouth hardly diagonal, eyes large, iris silvery, and scales large. Tail with 30 rays.

49th Species. Blacktail Fallfish. Rutilus melanurus. Rutile melanure.

Diameter one sixth of total length: silvery, back brownish: snout rounded, lateral line straight, tail blackish. Dorsal fin with 15 rays, anal with 12.

Length from four to six inches. Vulgar name Blacktail Chub. In the Ohio and Muskingum, &c. Head dark brown above, Mouth diagonal, iris silvery. Scales pretty large. Fins brownish, the lower ones pale, the pectoral short with 12 rays. Tail with 20 rays.

50th Species. Anomal Fallfish. Rutilus anomalous Rutile anomal.

Diameter one fifth of total length, fulvous above, sides dusky, white beneath: snout rounded, a vertical brown line behind the gills; lateral line straight raised upwa??s at the base: pectoral fins yellow ?b??al short with 15 rays: tail unequally bilobed, the upper lobe larger. Dorsal and anal fins red, dorsal 8 and anal 7 rays.

An a?amalous fish, differing from all those of the Cyprinian 0245 242 tribe in the Ohio, by its unequal bilobed tail, which is brownish and has 22 rays. Mouth diagonal. Eyes small, iris olivaceous gilt. Nape of the neck red, scales rather small. Length three inches. Found in Licking river &c. Vulgar names Chub, Redfish, Fallfish, &c.

51st Species. Red Minny. Rutilus ruber. Rutile rouge.

Entirely red, tail forked.

I add here a fine small fish, which I have never seen as yet, but is said to live in the small streams which fall into the Elkhorn and Kentucky. It is a slender fish, only two inches long, compressed and of a fine purple red. It may belong to this genus, or to any other of this tribe. It is commonly called Red-minny.

XIX Genus. Flat-head. Pimephales. Pimephale.

Body oblong, thick, and scaly. Vent posterior nearer to the tail. Head scaleless, fleshy all over, even over the gill covers, rounded, convex above and short. Mouth terminal small, toothless, with hard cartilagineous lips. Opercule double, three branchial rays. Nostrils simple. Dorsal fin opposite the abdominals, with the first ray simple and cartilaginous. Abdominal fins with eight rays.

A singular new genus, which differs from Catastomus by the terminal mouth, hard lips, soft head, simple dorsal ray, &c. The name is abbreviated from Pimelecephales which means Flat-head.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

DESCRIPTION OF THE ANCIENT TOWN NEAR LEXINGTON,

By C. S. RAFINESQUE, Prof. of Bot. and Nat. History,

In a letter to Caleb Atwater, of Circleville, Ohio.

Dear Sir,

When I noticed the ancient monument in our neighbourhood, in the Western Review, Vol. 1, page 313, I had merely visited a part of it, and it was from the report of a man living close by that I stated its circumference at two miles. Having again visited the spot, and taken the plan of the 0246 243 whole, walked round it and crossed it in several directions, I am enabled to correct some of my statements, and to give you an accurate description of it.

I send you, at the same time, a copy of the plan and survey of that place and its neighbourhood, which will elucidate my description.

The shape of this monument is an irregular polygon of seven unequal sides. The whole circumference measures about sixteen hundred of my steps, which I calculate at nearly a yard or three feet each, or altogether four thousand eight hundred feet, less than a mile. The different sides measure as follows.

West side steps 120 feet 360 S. W. side 250 750 South side 250 750 E. S. E. side 220 660 E. N. E. side 360 1080 N. E. side 200 600 N. W. side 200 600 1600 steps. 4800 feet

The angles are rather blunt. Two of the angles have deep ravines, one lies at the angle between the West and the S. W. side, and the other between the E. S. E. and the E. N. E. sides. This last is the largest and deepest; it reaches to the limestone, and had water in it. It forms a brook running easterly, and is formed by two rills meeting near the angle and nearly surrounding the central. Another ravine comes out near the north corner. All these originate within the circumvallation, which encloses one of the highest grounds near Lexington, and particularly a large level hill which is higher than any in the immediate neighbourhood, and stretches in part towards the North West.

The sides are straight. The earthen walls are raised upon a level or raised ground, and are no where lower than the outside ground, except for a few rods towards the N. E. side. The situation is therefore very well calculated for defence, and it is very probable that there were formerly springs within the walls.

The whole surface is covered with trees of a large growth, growing even on the walls and in the ditch; excepting, however, a small corner towards the N. W. which is now a corn field. It may include from five to six hundred acres. There 0247 244 is not the least appearance any where, inside nor outside, of mounds, wells, fire-places, nor any other usual appendages to ancient Alleghawian monuments.

At present the height and breadth of the wall and ditch are variable, from eight to sixteen feet in breadth, and from two to four feet in depth, the average being twelve feet in breadth and three in depth; but these dimensions must have been greater formerly. The wall was probably sixteen feet broad throughout and four feet high, while the ditch was rather narrower, but deeper. The walls are made of the loose earth, taken from the ditch. There is only one large distinct gateway on the N. E. side, where there is no ditch and hardly any wall.

There are two farms close by on the western side. One belongs to Mr. Russell, and lies south of the other, which belongs to Mr. Hewson. West of those farms the ground is full of sinks, some of which are of strange or oblong shapes, and beyond them is a small forked valley, in which runs a sinking brook: direction nearly North and South. The valley closes towards the S. E. and the stream disappears in a muddy ground. But it serves perhaps partly to feed a large pond not far off, from which Hickman's creek takes its rise.

I am, respectfully, your friend and well-wisher,

C. S. RAFINESQUE.

Lexington, 25th April, 1820.

REVIEW.

The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. Five first numbers. 8vo. pp. 443. New-York, printed by C. S. Van Winkle.

This work is not so well known in the western country, as, from its literary merit and interesting character, it deserves to be. It ought not perhaps to be ranked in the highest order of compositions, but it is certainly good of its kind. The subjects we think are not uniformly well chosen, but they are managed with skill, and cannot therefore fail to interest the reader. Those who have read the preceding works of the same writer, those who have been delighted with the polished style, the attic humour, and keen 0248 245 satire of Diedrich Knickerbocker, and Sir Launcelot Langstaff, may, perhaps, come to the perusal of the Sketch Book with expectations too highly raised, and may therefore in many instances find those expectations disappointed. Still it is a work to which Americans may confidently and safely refer in vindication of the literary character of their country; a work, which, if it do not increase, is by no means calculated to diminish, the reputation of its author.

The same faults and defects, which have been frequently pointed out in the former works of Mr. Irving, are occasionally to be found in the Sketch Book. An affected quaintness of style, the use of certain obsolete words and ill-assorted phrases, and sometimes a descent from his ordinary dignity to an unpleasant degree of coarseness and vulgarity, constitute his principal failings. The Sketch Book, however, appears to us less marked by defects, as it is also less distinguished by prominent traits of genius, than the other works to which we have alluded. Experience probably taught the author to avoid the former, and the nature of the present composition, as well as the peculiar circumstances under which it is written, may account for the comparative scarcity of the latter. But those of our readers who have not seen the numbers before us, would probably be better pleased with an outline of their contents than with any dry criticism upon them.

The work commences with “the author's account of himself,” from which it appears that he has always possessed a roving disposition, and has enjoyed many opportunities for its gratification. Then follows “The Voyage,” comprising a narrative of occurrences in crossing the Atlantic, and appropriate reflections thereon. The sight of a wreck is mentioned as interesting in itself and as having drawn from the seamen many gloomy anecdotes, one of which is pathetically related by our author. At length “the thrilling cry of land! is given from the mast head” and the ship soon alter enters the harbour of Liverpool.

We have next an account of the Athenæum of that place, and an introduction to Mr. Roscoe, the celebrated “historian of the Medici,” who is here presented to us, not only as the elegant scholar, the polished writer, the man of genius, taste, and learning, but as the public spirited benefactor and active embellisher, while he is himself the ornament, of his native city.

The next article furnishes an admirable picture of the 0249 246 strength of female fortitude, and the value of conjugal affection. The sentiment is expressed and enforced, that the marriage state is peculiarly favourable not only to the enjoyment of prosperity, but to the patient endurance of adversity, and even to a speedy recovery from misfortune. Married men, it is justly said, are “stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon them for subsistence;”—“their spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments”—“whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.”

The story of Leslie is finely told. This young man, possessing an ample fortune, and commencing life under circumstances the most auspicious, married a lovely and accomplished girl. Misfortunes however soon overtook him: his property was suddenly swept away, “and he found himself reduced almost to penury.” For a while he confined his sorrows to his own breast, and shuddered at the idea of revealing them to his wife. At length, however, they could be no longer concealed, and the awful disclosure is made. The result is far different from his expectations. The fortitude, with which she listened to the tale, and the serenity, with which she submitted to the change, astonished and delighted him. Instead of repining at her misfortunes, she instantly accommodated herself to her altered situation, and directed all her exertions to soothing the melancholy and cheering the spirits of her almost desponding husband.

“Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom; he folded his arms around her; he kissed her again and again; he could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes. And he has often assured me, that though the world has since gone prosperously with him and his life has been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of such unutterable felicity .”

The tale of Rip Van Winkle is represented as “a posthumous writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker.” The scene lies on and near the Kaatskill mountains in the state of New York. The character of Rip is admirably drawn, and is so natural that almost every reader can point to some original for whom it might, with propriety, have been intended. Good natured, careless, busy about trifles, obliging to others, and negligent of his own affairs, he is the delight of children whom he assists in their sports and amuses by his 0250 247 idle tales, the principal hand at all country frolics, and the common messenger, to run errands and do little jobs for all his neighbours. In the mean while every thing goes wrong at home. His fences fall to pieces, his fields are overrun with weeds, and his little estate rapidly dwindles. His children, as well as himself, are consequently ragged—

“His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off galigaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather.”

But, notwithstanding all these things, Rip would have spent a contented, easy sort of li?e, had he not been troubled with that worst of plagues, a scolding wife. This rendered his home a scene of wretchedness instead of an agreeable retreat, and he was compelled in self defence to betake himself to the woods with his favourite dog, who, like himself, was grievously persecuted by Dame Van Winkle's tongue, or to join the club of “sages, philosophers, and other idle personages,” which met before the door of a neighbouring inn. One evening he wandered to a considerable distance from home, and was overtaken by night in the still solitude of the mountain. On his way homewards he was accosted by an old man with a keg of liquor, who conducted him, through ravines and over rocks and precipices, to a spacious amphitheatre, where he found “a company of odd-looking personages playing at nine pins” in solemn and mysterious silence. His guide made signs to him to pour out the liquor and distribute it to the company. He did so, and ventured by steai?? to partake of it liberally himself. He thus became intoxicated and soon fell asleep. On awaking, as he supposed the following morning, he saw no vestiges of the odd scene he had so recently witnessed. His dog was gone, and his fine fowling piece was converted into an old rusty, worm-eaten firelock. He bent his course homewards, but the path too was altered, so that he could scarcely find his way. He approached the village, and saw multitudes of people, but none whom he recognized. He entered the town, but every thing looked strange, the houses were wonderfully metamorphosed, and every body stared at him as intensely as he did at them. He went to his own house, but it was empty, and almost in ruins. He looked or the inn, but it was gone, and his favourite club of philosophers 0251 248 was succeeded by a party of unknown, noisy politicians, who called him tory and threatened him with rough treatment. On inquiry he learned that he had been asleep—not, as he had supposed, a single night,—but twenty years, during which time the American Revolution had taken place and the aspect of affairs become materially changed. His wife too had died in consequence of having broken a blood vessel in a fit of passion at a New England pedlar. He took up his abode therefore with his daughter, who had married a farmer, “whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back.”

There is an extravagance in the latter part of this story, which very much diminishes the pleasure it would otherwise afford. We have no explanation, although we naturally look for it, of the mystery of a man's sleeping, without interruption, for the twenty years. We are only assured that “it is an absolute fact,” and are of course unable to conjecture how the story can be reconciled with reason or common sense. If, as we presume, it were intended as a satire upon the cred?lity and superstition of the ancient Dutch inhabitants of New-York, we ought surely to have been furnished with some solution of the mystery. Except in this particular, the tale is admirable.

The second number commences with an essay entitled “English writers on America,” which abounds in just sentiments and liberal feelings. The author points out the sources, whence are principally derived the slanders upon our country by British travellers and periodical writers; represents these slanders as of little consequence, as calculated to do more injury to England than to us; urges the importance of magnanimity and candour on our part; and reprehends the indulgence by us in recrimination.

The following extract contains sentiments, which, if they do not accord with the ideas and feelings of all our readers, display at lea?t a generous and warm hearted liberality.

“But above all, let us not be influenced by any angry feelings, so far as to shut our eyes to the perception of what is really excellent and amiable in the English character. We are a young people, and an imitative one, and will form ourselves upon the older nations of Europe. There is no country so worthy of our study as England. The spirit of her constitution is most analagous to ours The manners of her people—their intellectual activity—their freedom of opinion—their habits of thinking on all subjects that concern the dearest interests and most sacred charities of private life, are all most congenial to the American 0252 249 32 character; and, in fact, are most worthy in themselves: for it is in the moral feeling of the people that the deep foundations of British prosperity are laid; and however the superstructure may be time-worn, or overrun by abuses, there must be something solid in its basis, and admirable in its materials, to uphold it so long unshaken by the tempests of the world.

“It should be the endeavour of our writers, therefore discarding all feelings of irritation, and dis??ining to be affected by the illiberality of British authors, to speak of the nation dispassionately, and with determined candour. While they rebuke the indiscriminating bigotry with which some of their countrymen admire and imitate every thing English, merely because it is English, they should point out what is really worthy of approbation. We may thus place England before us as a perpetual volume of reference, wherein the sound deductions of ages of experience are recorded; and while we avoid the errors and absur?ities which may have crept into the page, we may draw from thence golden maxims of practical wisdom, wherewith to strengthen and embellish our national character.” p. 118.

The description of “Rural Life in England” is a fine specimen of the graphic powers of Geoffrey Crayon. The reader beholds as it were the neat and comfortable residence of the English farmer.

“The trim hedge, the grass plot before the door, the little flower bed bordered with s?ug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall, and hanging its blossoms about the lattice; the pot of flowers in the windows; the holly providentially planted about the house, to cheat winter of its dreariness, and throw in a gleam of green summer to cheer the fireside:—all these bespeak the influence of taste, flowing down from high sources and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever love, as the poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English peasant.” p. 129.

The seats of the nobility, as well as the dwellings of the commonalty, are likewise brought before our view. The extensive landscape is presented to us; we see, as it were, the rural village, its venerable and venerated church, the parsonage, the churchyard decorated with monuments of the dead, the public green, sheltered by trees, surrounded by ancient cottages, and overlooked by the antique family mansion of the magistrate or father of the village. All these are described with singular fidelity and minuteness, and the whole picture is indeed sketched with the hand of a master.

We have next the pathetic story of “The Broken Heart,” 0253 250 founded on an interesting fact in Irish history. Young E—, who was executed for high treason, was beloved by the beautiful daughter of a distinguished barrister. His death, under circumstances so peculiarly distressing, broke her tender and too susceptible heart. Still however she was lovely and interesting, and completely won the affections of a brave and accomplished officer. For a while she declined his attentions, but by perseverance “he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.” No exertions were spared to restore her health and revive her spirits, but all were ineffectual. “She wasted away in a slow, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.”

This number concludes with an essay on the “Art of Book making.” The author represents himself as introduced to the library of the British Museum, where he finds a number of authors, (so called,) pilfering from rare volumes and mouldy manuscripts. Here he falls asleep, and, as might be expected in such a place, dreams a most wonderful dream. The authors he had witnessed while awake, are transformed into a “ragged, thread-bare throng,” and the books, as soon as seized upon by them, are suddenly converted into old fashioned garments. Each man proceeds to clothe himself, not with any one entire suit, but with disjointed parts, taken from different ones, “a sleeve from one, a cape from another, a skirt from a third, thus decking himself out piece-meal, while some of his original rags would peep out from among his borrowed f?nery.” At length the pictures of the old authors, which surround the walls, become animated, descend from their stations, and attack the pilferers who are running away with their venerable but mutilated garments. The contests which ensue between the rightful owners and the possessors of the rifled property are described with great humour and spirit. The old authors ultimately succeed in stripping the thieves, and driving them out in their original rags.

The third number begins with a notice of James the First of Scotland, and introduces him to us in the character of a “Royal Poet.” A visit to the old tower at Windsor, and the perusal of some love poems ascribed to that monarch, inspire our author with enthusiasm, and prompt him to give us a portion of his majesty's domestic history.

Then follows a sketch of “The Country Church”—with 0254 251 its venerable walls, its stained windows, “its cold and silent aisles,” its well lined pews for the gentry and its little gallery for the peasantry,—filled with persons of every character, as well as of every rank. The foreground of the picture is occupied by two strongly contrasted groupes; the unassuming family of a nobleman, and the bustling household of a purse-proud citizen. The individuals of the former are plain in their manners, dignified indeed, but affable, unreserved, and agreeable. The latter are haughty, insolent, affected, and disgusting. The characters, as usual, are true to nature, finely drawn and maintained throughout with perfect consistency. The contrast is strikingly presented between real dignity, and insolent affectation.

The next article is the story of the “Widow and her son,” a pathetic tale most feelingly told. A poor, decrepid old woman is seen following in agony to the grave the remains of her only son. He, who had been the hope of her declining years, her only prop amidst the sorrows that surrounded and almost overwhelmed her, had been tempted by the hope of gain to leave her humble mansion, and had been seized by a press-gang and carried to sea. “The widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, could no longer support herself, and came upon the parish.” Her son at length returned, but alas, he was emaciated by disease and shattered by wounds. “He stretched himself on the pallet where his widowed mother had passed many a sleepless night, and he never rose from it again.”

The last piece in this number is entitled “The Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap, a Shakspearian Research,” and is an amusing description of an attempt to find the remains of the inn, which has been rendered so famous by the adventures of Sir John Falstaff, as described in the play of Henry the Fourth.

In the essay on “the mutability of literature,” with which the fourth number commences, the author gives us a waking dream. He represents himself as introduced into the library of Westminster Abbey. He takes down a venerable, dusty quarto, opens the clasps, and is about to examine the contents, when the book, to his utter astonishment, begins to talk! It utters great complaints about the neglect of the world, bewails that it is left to moulder unread, speaks of the superiority of ancient learning over the frippery of modern times, and enquires after the fate of Shakspeare, a vagabond sheep stealer, a man without learning, 0255 252 whose reputation had been considered quite temporary, and who, it was presumed, “soon s?nk into obscurity.” The dialogue between this talking volume and our author is carried on for some time with great spirit and interest, until, at length, the librarian enters, the book closes, and perseveres in maintaining the most profound silence.

We have then a striking and lively sketch of the English “Rural Funerals.” The practice, still observed by the British peasantry, of strewing and planting flowers over the graves of departed friends is noticed and dwelt upon with approbation.

We are next introduced by Mr. Cray?n into the kitchen of the principal inn of a small Flemish village, where, seated at a good fire, on a cool autumnal evening, we find a merry party, smoking their pipes and telling tales. Among them is a corpul?nt old Swiss, who relates the tragi-comic story of the “Spectre Bridegroom.”

The accomplished daughter of the great German Baron Von Landshort, of the illustrious family of Katzenelle???uge?, was betrothed to the young Count Von Altenburg, whom she had never seen, but who was at length recalled from the army, and set out on his way to her father's to receive her hand. Notice is duly given of his intended visit, and all the requisite preparations are made. The hour fixed for his arrival passes by, the sumptuous entertainment is ready, and the heart of his lovely bride palpitates with anxiety, but still the Count comes not. On his journey over the mountains of the Odenwald, as he was jogging tranquilly along in company with his friend Herman Von Starkenfaust, he was attacked by robbers and mortally wounded. With his dying breath he requested his friend to go instantly to the castle of Land?hort and make known his melancholy fate. Starkenfaust, in compliance with this request, arrived at the castle gate, just as the impatient Baron and his anxious family, no longer able to restrain their appetites, were about to partake of the nuptial feast without the long expected bridegroom. The Baron, mistaking him for the murdered Count, received him with congratulations and greetings, and poured upon him such a torrent of words, as left him no opportunity for explanation. Having in vain attempted to speak? he ?red himself at length to be conducted in ?ce to the banqueting hall and there introduced as C???t Von A???nburg to the blushing heiress and the assembl?? guests. Supper at length was over: many 0256 253 good stories were told, and some of an awful and dismal character. At the close of one of the most terrific, Starkenfaust rose with great solemnity from his seat, and, with a hollow voice and mysterious air, bade the company farewell. Every one was astonished. The Baron urged his guest to stay and followed him with intreaties to the castle gate. He insisted however that he could not remain a moment longer. He had, he said, an indispensable engagement, being a dead man, having been slain by robbers, and being under the dire necessity of yielding to the inexorable demands of the grave.

Next day authentic intelligence was brought of the young Count's murder and burial in Wurtzburg Cathedral. A few nights after, the widowed bride and her maiden aunt, who occupied a remote chamber in the castle, were awakened by music in the garden, and, by the light of the moon, discovered under their window the spectre bridegroom. The aunt fainted and resolved never more to sleep in that room. The young lady therefore occupied it alone, and in about a week suddenly disappeared. She soon however returned, accompanied by Sir Herman Von Starkenfaust. The mystery was explained, the deception pardoned, and matters were all happily a??anged.

The ??fth number i? devoted entirely to Christmas, a season, in England, of universal festivity, when family parties never fail to assemble in the old ??cestral ????ion, to partake of good cheer, and observe the venerable customs of olden times. We have a description of a ride in the stage coach, in company with s?me ?appy schoolboys returning home to spend their ????days, and an accurate picture of the coachman, with his broad brimmed hat, his jockey boots, his bright coloured waistcoat, his rolling gait and important air. We are then introduced to the hospitable board of Squire Brac?bridge, a venerable English farmer, excessively attached to the customs of antiquity, and scrupulously observant of them in all their details, especially at this festive season. The family party consisted of the Squire; his three sons, viz, Frank, the friend and fellow traveller of our author, a young officer of the army, and an Oxonian just from the University; “the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, half fledged striplings, and bright eyed boarding school hoydens.” But one of the principal figures in the portrait was the brother of the 0257 254 squire, known by the familiar appellation of Master Simon, who is the family wit, the life of the company, the idol of the children, and the favourite of the old folks.

We have minute details of the celebration of Christmas eve, of the feasts in the hall and the sports in the kitchen, the Yule clog, or large log burnt with mystic ceremony, the Christmas ca?dle, and the hanging misletoe. The supper and the dance, the song and the serenade are brought so directly before the reader that he almost imagines he partakes of the festivity. On Christmas day, the country church is open, the parson—who “was a little, meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear, so that his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried filbert in its shell”—gives a learned sermon; and master Simon figures away in the Orchestra as principal among a choir of singers, who are most ludicrously described as observing neither time nor harmony, but each one shifting for himself, and getting to the end as soon as he can. The awkward efforts of the old squire to imitate the customs of his ancestors at this festive season are most strikingly portrayed, and, had we room, we would amuse our readers by copious extracts from this part of the work.

But we have already occupied more space with this article than we had intended. We will only say, in conclusion, that the author has very properly called his work a Sketch Book. Every thing is painted to the life: the scenes are all presented, as it were, immediately before our view: the prominent objects in the landscape are all accurately drawn, and even those in the back ground are distinctly to be seen.

POETRY.

DECATUR'S DEATH.

DECATUR'S DEATH.

Low lies the victor! O'er the bounding wave No more he rides the leader of the brave. The winds no more shall kiss his fleecy sail: No more his broad-flag streams upon the gale. His foes no more shall feel his mighty arm,— Proud child of glory! playmate of the storm!

0258 255

Oh, had he died, as all the brave should die, His country's champion; with the thrilling cry Of triumph shouted in his palsying ear; Tho' every eye had poured the selfish tear, The tinge of rapture still had sparkled near: Tho' patriot hearts had heaved the sorrowing sigh, 'Twere but to waft the hero to the sky!

Weep, weep Columbia, o'er thy fallen Son! Scarse is the wreath, which Erie's victor won, Reft from his brow, and withering round his urn; When, from the frontlet of thy star wrought crown, The brightest gem that blazed effulgent there, Is torn to deck grim murder's iron car.

U. & Y.

“TIS FALSE, FALSE ALL”

Oh, away with the world! for 'tis false as the sprite, Which fancy creates, when the angel of night, Advancing in shades, chases off the last ray Of the sunbeam, which glitters in evening's soft spray.

Away with its pleasures! they're false, false all As the mirage whose green wavy circlets recall To our minds the blue sea on the flower-painted lawn, Disporting so coyly:—approach it, 'tis gone.

Oh, the scene was enchanting, celestial, when first The soft mist which enveloped my youth was dispersed, Rolling off in rich clouds, that veiled sunbeams so bright, And disclosing Elysium on earth to my sight.

How glorious the prospect! how glowing the hue Of those phantoms of hope which were full in my view, When the dew-drops of childhood reflected each beam Of fancy's bright orb, on futurity's stream.

Oh, methought that, amidst fairy scenes such as this, Even angels might envy the rapturous bliss, Which fond lovers enjoy, when, with hearts ever true, Ever warm, ever pure as the lifeblood which drew

The sad tear from the pitying Peri, they rove Through the glittering vista enamelled by love 0259 256 With hues more delightful, more variant, than art Can invent, for they spring from the joys of the heart.

Blest visions of youth! airy forms which are bred In the sunbeams of fancy! ye trembling have fled From the rude gaze of manhood, and with you have flown The bright shadow of joys fondly hailed as my own.

L. A.

PORTRAIT OF MORNA.

Chi vuol veder l' Imagin c' ho nel core Qui miri: i' son Poeta e Dipintore.

La dolce mia nemica e' pallidetta, Salvo la rosa del bel labbro eletta. Fior Ella nacque in la stagion di Flora, Ne 'l ventesimo Sol baciolla ancora. Modesta i modi; pudibonda il viso; La guancia armata di gentil sorriso; Nobile 'l portamento; il guardar santo; Sin l' aura ? '?torno a Lei dolcezza e 'ncanto. Amor Le gioca or su la rosea bo?ca, Or su 'l langaido ciglio, e dardi scocca: El' armonia di suo corporeo velo Fa fede come l' Alma nacque in Cielo... E la ti credi se la man di nevo Interroga I' avorio e Piu se i suom ariefa?a Ella mariti Co' dolei accenti del bel labbro usciti.

Tal e Colei che mia flerezza ha doma, Morna, la Vergin da la bionda chioma.

DANIEL.

ERRATUM.

In line 55th, page 216, for Rebecca read Ulrica,

THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.JUNE, 1820.Num. 5.

REMARKS

ON THE GEOLOGY OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. NO. I.

An accurate geological investigation of an extent of country, so vast as the valley of the Mississippi, would require the united labours of our present geologists for the residue of their lives; nor would the concentration of knowledge thus obtained be sufficient for the object desired. They could only inform us respecting the surface of this extensive district, and various strata, as they appear on our mountains and in our vallies. They cannot, at the present time, extend their researches to the depth below, and we must wait until numerous deep excavations are made to obtain the mineral treasures of the earth, before we can definitively pronounce on the geology of our country. This event can only take place at a future period, when an over abundant population compels the inhabitants to seek their subsistence in the labyrinths of our future mines and amidst the deep excavations which will be made to procure salt, and for other purposes. Such labours, when accurately investigated, will afford innumerable additional facts relating to the science of Geology, and be the only means by which the masters of that profession can definitely pronounce on the structure of this great valley.

It would, nevertheless, be an injury to the progress of science if we should refuse to communicate any information we at present possess. A single fact, noted with accuracy, is always worthy of record. It is at least a stone hewn for the temple of science, which, when fitted into its place by competent architects, may help to rear that stupendous 0261 258 fabric, which we hope and believe will, at some future time, be displayed to the eyes of our posterity. They may see the majestic edifice completely built; their wondering eyes will, in that case, behold the wisdom, by which our great Creator has fabricated our globe. This must prove the utmost height of human perfection in natural history, and, when joined to an equally progressive improvement in moral and religious knowledge,will form the achme of sublunary perfection.

It is with a view of stating certain facts, that I have undertaken the following cursory remarks on the Geology of our western country, which, in order that I may be more fully understood, must be prefaced with some short observations on the mountain limits by which this immense valley is circumscribed on the east and west.

The valley of the Mississippi extends from the Allegany to the Rocky Mountains, and from our great Northern Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. The southern part of this immense territory is lessened in breadth by those mountains, whose numerous streams form the head waters of the Rio del Norte, Arkansas, Red River, &c. &c. I have little geological information with respect to this extensive range of mountains, but from report believe them to be in some parts of volcanic, and in other places of primitive formation, with depositions in the vallies and certain hills of the secondary classes. My travels in this immense valley are circumscribed, and I must consequently limit my observations to those parts which I have visited. My journies were not often made with views to geological information, but, when passing along the road, my attention has generally been drawn to this subject. Though I possessed little opportunity of minute investigation, this confession will not, I hope, lessen confidence in those facts which I relate. What I state is from actual observation, minuted down at the time.

The Allegany Mountains may be said to extend from New Hampshire to Florida, though the really contiguous chain only reaches from the state of New-York to Georgia. In New-England these mountains are of primitive formation, but in the state of New-York the Katskill Mountains are in their outer parts secondary, whilst the inner nucleus exhibits every proof of primitive origin.

We cannot trace this range, in a distinct manner, until it approaches the state of Pennsylvania, where, in one connected ridge, it forms, under the name of the Allegany 0262 259 Mountains, that great division which separates the waters of the Atlantic rivers from those which flow, by means of the Mississippi and other streams, into the Gulf of Mexico. The various subdivisions and spurs of this chain, when separated in the north and eastern parts, uniformly display primitive formation. It extends southward as far as Easton in Pennsylvania, and from thence becomes gradually lost in the transition and secondary formations of the continuous ridge of the Blue Mountains in that state. This range again assumes its primitive formation in the northern parts of Virginia, and the same observation will apply to the grand dividing ridge of the Allegany mountains.* In Pennsylvania that great range is, to outward appearance, perfectly secondary, being of flœtz or horizontal formation, and composed of schist, limestone, sand stone, and rounded quartz pebbles, agglutinated together, the whole strata of which contain more or less numerous organic remains. This chain of mountains decreases in height as it enters Virginia, and towards the town of Montgomery or Christian Court House, which is the lowest part of the whole range, it becomes completely primitive.

* It is with regret that I am obliged to differ from Mr. M'Clure, whose Geology of the United States contains many important facts, and a vast deal of new information. This gentleman did not travel through the whole district of country which he described, and consequently depended, in many cases, on the information of others. It is owing to this circumstance that his map will not be found to agree, in many respects, with my observations.

From these observations I am induced to believe that the central base of the entire range of the Allegany mountains is of primitive formation, and that the Atlantic Ocean deposited, in this extensive barrier, those secondary formations and numerous oceanic relics, which now form its present secondary exterior surface.

I am obliged to disapprove in part of the new nomenclature adopted by our modern geologists. Their information and scientific abilities are undoubtedly far superior to the little knowledge which I may possess on these subjects: but my personal observations continually contradict the theory which they have formed from observations made in certain districts of Europe. I am also obliged, with still more deference, to apply the same observations to Mr. W. M'Clure and other geologists of our own country. I cannot conceive that the general appearance of strata is sufficient to designate a formation; that the characteristics of veined 0263 260 or granulated limestone in contradistinction from those which are more homogeneous; that schist, which contains minute microscopic particles, in opposition to that which is considered perfectly uniform in texture, are distinguishing proofs of one formation in preference to another. I have been led even to doubt whether the horizontal or dipping positions of the strata are any proof of a real difference between the secondary and transition formations. It is an assured fact that among certain of our horizontal limestone and slate strata no organic remains whatever are discoverable, though in situations both above and below, petrifactions may abound. The observations hereafter made will also prove that the strong strata of a perfectly secondary country do in many instances dip at a very considerable angle. I should therefore, if possible, wish to discard the transition and old red sandstone formation out of the geologist's vocabulary, though,for the sake of being understood, I shall be obliged to use the same expressions myself. I have shewn specimens of limestone to our most experienced mineralogists, which they were obliged, by every rule, to pronounce primitive, though procured from perfectly secondary formations. I have seen limestone in horizontal strata intermixed with white opaque veins of chrystalized carbon of lime, although the Wernerian school consider this a proof of transition limestone. I have seen slate in every formation partaking of characters which are presumed to belong exclusively to one class, and I have also seen districts of country containing numerous organic remains, whose strata dipped in the manner usually ascribed to the transition formations. This circumstance is the more remarkable as I have every reason to believe these dipping sandstone formations lie on a bed of horizontal limestone.

The Allegany mountains in Pennsylvania are to the extent of our present researches and observations perfectly secondary, but, as I have before remarked, they decrease in height upon entering the state of Virginia, and gradually become primitive as they approach the town of Montgomery. At this place there seems to have been a break or destruction of the whole upper surface of the mountain. The mass which once composed its long extended summit has been washed away, and its debris carried down in two several directions to an immense distance.

The Banks of New River contain numerous fragments of rounded sandstone, which must have been washed from the 0264 261 Allegany mountains. This debris is, however, more particularly remarkable in a rectangular western course from that range: The head springs of the Holstein jet from the western banks of the New River, a low range of hills forming the only immediate division.

The above described debris from the Allegany seems to have swept over the small vale in which the New River at present runs, and rolled its old red sand stone rocks in a western direction until they broke into innumerable pieces, and, rounding by attrition, formed hills of boulder stone on each side of the valley in which the Holstein River now flows. These hills of boulder stone are in many places high, and consist of rounded fragments, from the size of gravel to dimensions of many feet, according to local circumstances. They are observable on the banks of New river and extend in the direction of the Holstein, according to my own observation, as far as the boat ford, a distance of one hundred and forty miles, although I have every reason to believe that the same deposition may be found much lower down, and indeed even to its mouth, which, with the Clinch river, forms the Tennessee. I have not visited that spot since I began to pay any attention to Geology, but recollect that the soil was poor and chiefly composed of fine gravel.

I must not omit to mention that the above described hills of boulder stone, on the readers of the Holstein river, rest on a bed of flœtz limestone abounding with organic remains.

The above remarks may prove an important addition to Mr. Jefferson's observations on the great Shenando valley described by him as bounded by the Allegany and Blue Mountains. Mr. Jefferson presumes that, at some remote era, it was a great fresh water lake, similar to those now existing to the north, and that, bursting its barrier through the Blue Mountains at Harper's ferry, it emplied itself into the Ocean. Our late highly respectable and literary president did not probably take into view the trifling superior height of this valley as it extends to the south. The Shenando runs on the western side of the Blue Mountains and is immediately contiguous thereto: its waters are, in fact, almost exclusively from the western springs of the Blue ridge. The great streams, such as James River, descend immediately from the Allegany to the Atlantic. With such a large outlet to the south it is scarcely supposable that any lakes 0265 262 could have been extensive. But we have a still more efficient proof. If such an immense water lake had existed we should discover numerous conservata or petrifactions of fresh water shells and other similar organic remains. This however is not the fact, and I have only to say that all the petrifactions which I have seen from that district of country, as well as all other information, indubitably prove that they are of marine origin.

I wish that some of our modern geologists would allow a little more power to Noah's deluge. I cannot argue with atheists. The minds of such beings are sunk into an abyss of darkness which no faculty of mind belonging to human nature is able to meet on approximating grounds. Let them die with the beasts and tigers of the forest, their avowed brothers in origin and final extinction. I can, nevertheless, argue with those, whose unfortunate prejudices have led them to doubt of the truth of Mosaic history, but who, notwithstanding, admit that which all nature proclaims, the being and providence of a God. Upon such principles, the Creator of our globe must have founded it on certain physical laws, which, for the time then existing, he, in his infinite wisdom, thought most fit for the purposes designed; having, at the same moment, reference to such future changes as his prescience foresaw would be necessary for the ultimate object of his beneficent creation. In this point of view I cannot conceive but that the Creator could, at his wise pleasure, produce a total alteration in what we now term chemical affinities and physical effects. No modern geologist pretends to deny the evident relics of an universal deluge. The histories of all nations, as well as the facts daily brought to observation, corroborate this truth beyond the power of rational controversy. If such an incident took place it must have been by the miraculous power of the Almighty, for we well know that, according to present physical arrangements, no such circumstance can happen. It is impossible, in the natural course of things, for the vapours of the atmosphere to inundate the earth, and we must therefore presume that a great chemical change took place, such as dissolved certain solid substances,andoccasionedtheiroxygen and hydrogen gasses to form the waters of the flood. If such changes took place it is easily conceivable that the most solid rocks may have become comparatively soft, and that others were in a state of fluidity. Under circumstances such as these a much greater 0266 263 change may have taken place during the time of the deluge than our modern geologists are disposed to admit. My argument may be thought visionary, yet the fact of a general deluge, and the great chemical changes consequently necessary in our globe, must be considered as indubitably proved, even by those skeptical geologists, who admit the faculties of their own senses, when they acknowledge that our highest mountains afford marine organic remains.

Hutton's theory is, to a certain extent, supported by modern volcanists, but his ideas, as respects the gradual decomposition and regeneration of our globe, are given up on all hands as unfounded. Stubborn facts disprove this part of his theory in every respect, and all modern writers have again recourse to one or more general floods. By such the principle of a probable great chemical change in the then state of our globe must be acknowledged.

I have undesignedly, and perhaps improperly, wandered from my immediate subject; but, amidst the thousand and one tales of world-making, so eloquently and romantically described by our modern geologists, I hope the simple hint, that a general deluge may have produced more important chemical effects than is generally presumed, will not be thought wholly unworthy of a philosopher's notice. The supposition, that a vast number of centuries is necessary to form gravel, is, at all events, unfounded; for, even admitting that the original materials were as hard as they appear at present, we well know that rapid attrition will round the firmest substances in a short space of time. The waters of the deluge, from the single circumstance of overspreading the earth, must have abounded with currents, whose swift violence is to us unknown, and perhaps scarely concervable. Such currents, and their attendant vertices, would grind the most solid stones against each other, and perhaps in a few weeks give them their present rounded appearance. An operation of this kind, by means of a mill, takes place in the manufacturing of our common stone marbles used by school boys. Nature also carries on the same operation wherever rapid currents are met with. The cataracts and slighterwater falls of our rivers furnish sufficient proof of my position. In those places the visitant will often observe numerous deep holes formed in the solid rock, like the hollow part of a mortar; each of these contains a few rounded pebbles, which have produced the excavations, and at the same time worn themselves into their present smooth and 0267 264 rounded state. Some accidental inequality of the rocky stratum had occasioned the deposition of casual stones in that place; a rapid overflow of the current produced a vortex which, in a short time, wore the stones and the solid rock into their present form. Numerous appearances of this kind are found at the falls of Schuylkill, near Philadelphia, where the stratum of gneiss is, in many places, excavated in the manner mentioned.

I must, however, return to the eastern borders of the valley of the Mississippi. Some of the chains of mountains on the western side of the Allegany are equal, if not superior, in height to the parent or great dividing ridge. The Cumberland and Iron mountains extend from Virginia to the south, and their northern branches and spurs form an almost impenetrable barrier between that state and the cultivated parts of Kentucky. Our most daring huntsmen can scarcely penetrate to the head waters of the Kentucky and Cumberland rivers in any direct course, although some of the vallies have of late years been partially settled by our woodsmen, who, winding along the water courses, have found an abundant pasture for their cattle and been induced, from the profitable increase of numerous herds, to make this wilderness their solitary and scattered residence. I have occasionally visited some of the outer ranges of these almost impenetrable mountains. The magnificent and picturesque scenery which they display is beyond my powers of description. Winding along the narrow and deep vallies, your masses of rock, which, having themselves from the hills, are sunk into the alluvia? soil, and present the appearance of large barns, hay ricks, and every fantastic form which fancy, at a distant view, can imagine. The hill sides of these vallies are not less interesting; they, at intervals, present a perpendicular, walled, and often projecting front, which seems to impede further progress; they again recede in amphitheatrical form, and their towering summits become relieved by a bright shade of light, which, through a gradual slope, descends to the valley. In other parts different appearances take place. You see deep cavernous in the rock, which retrocede one above another, affording flat ledges and loose soil, where the hemlock foliates and casts its dark shadow on the parts. The summits of these hills are in open day and often present to the distant view appearances of ancient castles and fortresses. You 0268 265 34 in one part see a continued wall as if protecting an ancient city, behind which isolated rocks form its apparent domes and towers: again you behold castle-like fabrics impending on the brink of an abyss, and can fancy that their ruthless warder inhabitants may impede your journey by unjust imprisonment and demand of you ransom for liberty, as in ancient times. Many of these scenes are superior to the Alps or Appennines in wild and picturesque beauty. I have only, as a geologist, to add that these various forms and fantastic shapes are discovered in hills of secondary formation. The outer boundaries of these extended ranges of mountains present a still more interesting object to the geologist. He is surprised with the sight of perfectly conical hills in a secondary country, and, without actual observation, would at once pronounce them, from their regular shape, of volcanic origin. These hills or mountains are generally isolated, though, in some instances, they indistinctly join the other ranges. They are perfectly conical, and composed of horizontal strata of sand stone, containing numerous organic remains, with casual beds of flint and chalcedonic fragments, also abounding with petrifactions.

The lower part of these hills is without any appearance of debris, their telus or slope not being formed of fragments washed from the superior height. On the contrary the lower strata are uniformly horizontal, being composed of ftœtz beds of as regular Neptunian origin as any other part of the country.

I must leave to those of my brother geologists, who are fond of theorising, the explanation of this curious phenomenon, and humbly confess my inability to elucidate a subject which does not seem to accord with any system from the days of Burnet to the present time.

[Since the commencement of this interesting essay has been in type, an event, awful and unexpected, has deprived us of the farther labours of our valued and much lamented correspondent. In the midst of his usefulness his career is ended, and he has suddenly been transferred from the contracted field of investigation on earth, to nobler and more expanded scenes of speculation and of knowledge. In a subsequent part of the present number we shall notice more particularly the character of our departed friend, to whose valuable communications the readers of the Review have been hitherto so highly indebted.]

REVIEW.

A Notice of the following work, with extracts from it: “A New General Atlas, consisting of a series of geographical designs, on various projections, exhibiting the form and component parts of the globe; and a collection of maps and charts delineating the natural and political divisions of the empires, kingdoms, and states of the world, constructed from the best systematic works, and the most auth?ntic voyages and travels, with a memoir of the progress of geography, a summary of physical geography, and a consulting index to facilitate the finding out of places. Edinburgh, printed by George Ramsay and company, for John Thompson and Company, Edinburgh; Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, London; 1817.”

This title, full, specific, and promising as it is, leads not the reader to expect more than he finds in the work. It is the best general atlas that we have seen. It is well planned, and is executed with great elegance. The size is the largest folio, and the volume contains seventy four projections, maps, and charts. A sheet faces the title page, giving a very interesting delineation of all the considerable mountains of the world, with a variety of valuable information upon each margin. Of this delineation we shall say more before we close our review. The table of contents includes 1, a memoir of the progress of geography; 2, a summary of physical geography; 3, the arrangement of maps according to the consulting index; 4, the consulting index for finding out places: and 5, the maps from one to seventy four.

A memoir of the progress of geography.

We have been much gratified with the perusal of this part of the work. It is compiled with intelligence and candor, and furnishes a good outline of the history of this science. A few valuable reflections of a philosophical and moral nature are interwoven with its details. Examples of this kind are the following.

“A superstitious notion, masked under the garb of piety, but without the pretensions or semblance of reason, excited a regard to the heavenly bodies. Its industry was rewarded by successive discoveries of their arrangement, their periods, and their relations, which entitle human genius and sagacity to the highest eulogium. Common necessities on the other hand, ambition and the love of change, have established an intercourse between the remotest members of our species, 0270 267 which has already materially modified their general condition, and which, by gradually enlarging the sphere of our knowledge and operations, holds out the promise of still greater benefits. In the origin therefore, as well as in the progress of astronomy and geography, two remarkable peculiarities of our nature appear to be recognized, the conviction of our dependence on some power greater than our own, and a feeling or sentiment of relationship to those intelligent beings, with which the earth is peopled.”

“The Sacred Scriptures point out an eastern country as the primitive habitation of man. Its situation is somewhat minutely described in the second chapter of Genesis. His continuance in its happiness was of short duration. One consequence of moral delinquency was the necessity of cultivating a less propitious soil: but this labor, which was entailed on his posterity, eventually proved a source of knowledge and power. So true it is, that man is indebted to his physical wants for some of his chief advantages, and that in the very degradation, to which he was thus exclusively subjected, his Maker appointed the means by which he should become the master of the world.”

Some of the most striking features of this memoir, we will now suggest in a very brief abstract.

The dispersion, which followed the building of the tower of Babel, was favorable to the advancement of geographical knowledge. It is “highly probable, if not certain, that the posterity of , the eldest of Noah's sons, peopled Europe and that part of Asia which lies north of Taurus; that the descendants of Ham may be traced among the Egyptians, the original inhabitants of Palestine, the Ethiopians, and Arabians; and that the children of Shem occupied some of the fertile regions of the east.” Precedency in the arts and sciences is granted in general to Egypt, although some of the Eastern nations are allowed to contend for equal antiquity, and for priority in a few departments of invention and improvement. Till astronomy was considerably advanced, geography must have been limited to “a few empirical remarks,” and a few rude delineations for the assistance of adventurers. So many drawings in a crude state have been found in savage nations by the first discoverers, and the propensity to this mode of communicating our conceptions is so natural to man, that it is absurd to attribute the invention of maps exclusively to any individual, or to any country. The Phenicians were a commercial nation in the days of Abraham. By their navigation important additions were made to the knowledge of geography. 0271 268 It is unquestionable that they most of the sea-ports in the Mediterranean; that they established harbors in the Red Sea, which had probably been abandoned by the Egyptians; and that they were in the habit of passing the strait which divides Africa from Europe, and of frequenting several places in both countries. The Phenicians are even supposed to have discovered the British Isles, when they were in pursuit of ?in, and the name Britain is considered as of Phenician origin, signifying the land of tin. Obscurity prevents us from believing or rejecting fully the accounts concerning the expedition fitted out by Himilco, or “the circumnavigation of the continent of Africa by a Phenician fleet fitted out by Necho, king of Egypt, the Pharaoh Necho of the Scripture, and the monarch who is reported to have consumed 120,000 men in an attempt to unite the Nile with the Red Sea.” The Hebrews contributed little to the extension of the science of geography. The Chaldeans, in the latter period of their history, did something for this science, but much more for astronomy. The Arabians and Chinese deserve more credit. The latter particularly had the use of a kind of mariner's compass, and must have been employed a good deal in navigation. In this, and in geography, the Greeks, however much we may admire the productions of their literary genius, have a claim to little praise. In their early history they were pirates, and thought more of plunder than of extending the bounds of useful knowledge. The Argonautic expedition, although it showed the utility of united strength and council, was of no great direct advantage. More good was done by the romantic visit which Theseus made to Crete. Commerce was not attempted in earnest till after the Trojan war. Homer's knowledge of geography was probably obtained from Phenician traders, who frequented the Greek islands. The attainments of Thales in geometry and astronomy deserve high encomium, but neither he, nor his disciple Anaximander, can claim the honor of inventing maps, except in common with a multitude of others. “Anaximenes, Anaxogoras, Archelaus, and Parmenides, cultivated the physical sciences, and long maintained the reputation of the Ionian School, but not without the opposition of many of their contemporaries, who regarded their labors as subversive of the religion of their country. A similar prejudice, which has been common enough in every age, forced Pythagoras to abandon Samos. He sought an asylum in Italy, where he established 0272 269 a school, that long adorned the ancient world. The fate of Anaxagoras, who was persecuted for his opinions, probably cautioned this illustrious man against publicly declaring his philosophy, and induced him to practise a mysterious reserve, even among his disciples.” He gave many correct notions concerning the planetary system, and did considerable for geography. The conquests of Alexander however did far more. The city, which he established with his own name at the mouth of the Nile, was of great service in this respect. “According to Pliny, surveys of Alexander's marches were taken by B??ton and Diognetus, and a copy of them given by his treasurer to Patroclus the geographer, by whom Eratosthenes was furnished with the chief materials employed in his map of the eastern world.” Rome did little at first for this science, but her conquests, and the facilities for general intercourse among nations which were attendant upon the universality of her power, extended this knowledge far. “According to Strabo, the trade to the Malabar coast, which was the most important ever carried on by the Romans, occupied one hundred and twenty vessels annually.

The discoveries of the ancients were made by land chiefly, and must of course have been limited. Geography could not be carried to perfection without the mariner's compass. Although this was known to the Chinese, in some form, yet it was different from the European, and seems never to have been employed by them as it has been in modern times. The acquaintance with the globe among the ancients, “in the time of Ptolemy, did not amount to a third part of what is possessed by the moderns. Besides being entirely ignorant of the size and form of the large open oceans, of the arctic and antarctic regions, of the Australian isles and seas, and of the whole continent of America, we may confidently affirm that they had but very imperfect conceptions, if any, of a large portion of Europe, as Scandinavia, Russia, Prussia, and Poland; that their acquaintance with Asia did not extend to the vast regions beyond the Ganges, or comprehend much of what is called Great Tartary; and that though they had penetrated somewhat into Africa, they were nevertheless extremely uninformed as to?the sea-coasts and dimensions of that continent.” The learning of Constantinople embraced geography. Charlemagne promised more than was performed, in this respect, during his reign. The dark ages followed him. The crusades were advantageous to commerce, and of course to geography.

0273 270

Some of the fantastic notions about the world ought to be mentioned. An early Arabic delineation gives it the form of a heart. A map of the eighth century makes it an o?al hemisphere, surrounded by the sea. One map puts Jerusalem in the centre of the world, and represents Scotland as an island.

The Portuguese are first among the moderns for a liberal and extensive use of the magnetic needle at sea. They discovered the island of Madeira in 1420, and the Cape Verd isles in 1446. Vasco de Gama reached the Cape of Good Hope in 1497, and went as far east as the Malabar coast. The close of this century gave us THE NEW WORLD, and made COLUMBUS the PRINCE OF DISCOVERERS.

Between 1600 and 1700, the Dutch, the English, and the French made many discoveries. Hudson, Behring, Dampier, Anson, Cook, Vancouver, La Perouse, D'Entrecosteaux, Bougainville, and many others will be always remembered for their services to geography.

Among the modern travellers, who have extended our knowledge of this science may be mentioned “Niebuhr, Pallas, and Clarke, connected with contributions to Asiatic geography; Bruce, Park, and Salt, as explorers of some of the African regions; and Hearne, Mackenzie, Lewis, Clarke, and Humboldt, to whom we are indebted for much information respecting the vast countries of North and South America.”

Some of the most distinguished modern writers on geography are Ortelius, and of the sixteenth century; Ferrari, Cl?vier, Bochard, Cellarius, and Varenius, of the seventeenth; De Lisle, Condamine, Maupertius, Clairault, D' Anville, Busching, Ebeling, Maite-Brun, Pinkerton, and Playfair, of the eighteenth. “In the maps and charts of Arrowsmith, certainly the greatest repository of the actual geography of his time, we have the product of as much good sense and diligent inquiry, as were ever employed in the cultivation of a practical science.”

A Summary of Physical Geography.

A Summary of Physical Geography.

This part of the work is introduced in the following manner.

“The science of geography is divisible into various branches. Its most general, and perhaps most appropriate distribution, is into mathematical, physical, and political. The first of these treats of the astronomical relations of the earth considered as a 0274 271 planetary body, specifies the means of ascertaining the latitudes and longitudes of places, and describes the modes of constructing maps, globes, and other instruments used in the practical parts of the science. To the second belongs the investigation of the constitution, dimensions, figures, positions, distributions, and productions of the component parts of the earth considered as an object of natural history. And the last, which comprehends historical geography, relates to the boundaries, divisions, population, institutions, establishments, revenues, and resources of the different states and empires throughout the world, and of course, in some degree, details their origin, progress, revolutions, decline, and fall.”

“Physical geography necessarily embraces the elementary principles, at least, of several of the arts and sciences, as agriculture, botany, chemistry, geology, medicine, zoology, and is consequently of vast extent and importance. All that is here intended is a series or enumeration of the results of experiment and observation, serving as a sort of outline to the more remarkable appearances and phenomena of the planet we inhabit, and calculated, not to satisfy, but to excite curiosity on the subject.”

The figure of our atmosphere is believed to be, like that of the earth, an oblate spheroid. Were it of the same density throughout, and had it no elasticity, its height would be, as ascertained by the barometer, five miles and a quarter. But it is an elastic substance and varies indefinitely in its density. At the height of twenty eight miles it is two hundred and fifty six times as rare as at the surface of the earth. “At the height of five hundred miles, a single cubic inch of such air as we breathe, would fill a sphere equal in diameter to the orbit of Saturn.”

The weight of the atmosphere is thought to be 14 or 15 pounds on every square inch of the surface of the globe. The whole weight is believed to be equal to that of a globe of lead 60 miles in diameter. At the height of two miles, clouds are scarcely supported. At the height of 50 miles little or no effect is produced on the rays of light, whose motion is 200,000 miles a second. The mean temperature of the atmosphere is 48° of Fahrenheit. The medium quantity of water in it is about one seventieth part. Sound goes about 13 miles in a minute. A wind hardly perceptible moves about one mile in an hour, while a hurricane, that tears up trees, and carries buildings before it, moves 100 miles an hour. “The remarkable effects of some particular winds are, in a great degree, to be attributed to the nature 0275 272 of the gas with which they are unusually loaded. Thus the Samoum or Samiel of Arabia is said to carry much nitrous gas, the Harmaltan of Guinea much oxygen, and the Chamsin of Egypt much azote.” Hurricanes have probably an electric origin. Clouds are not often suspended more than a mile above the surface of the earth. Their most common color is brown, red, yellow, grey, or white, of all shades. “A green cloud is a highly beautiful, but very rare occurrence. The blue color of the sky is to be imputed to the vapours invisibly mixed with air, having the property of reflecting the blue ray of light more copiously than any other.” Dew both ascends and descends. The mean annual quantity of rain for Great Britain has been estimated at 32 1?2 inches in depth. That, which falls upon the whole globe, is 34. “The Mirage, or Fata Morgana, is a peculiar optical illusion, by which objects are presented in places where they do not really exist. Thus the coast of Calais has been seen as if actually approaching the opposite shore of England. Vessels have appeared in the clouds, and the images of palaces and other buildings have been represented confusedly huddled together on the surface of the sea. The French Academicians, on their visit to South America, witnessed a remarkable phenomenon from an elevated mountain in Quito. This was their own figures reflected in a very fine mist, and surrounded with many concentric circles, exhibiting the colors of the rainbow. To this appearance the name of the apotheosis of travellers has been given. What has been called the Spec?ro of Brocken is a similar occurrence.”

The ocean occupies two thirds of the whole globe. The mean depth has been computed at only one fourth of a mile, but the data are insufficient. The water of high latitudes is heavier than that of lower, because it is colder. The surface of the sea is generally less salt than the bottom. The color is the product of animal and vegetable substances which float on the surface of the water. “To the same causes, more especially to the phosphorescent quality possessed by the former, and also owing to its being a good conductor of electricity, may be ascribed several kinds of luminous appearance which have been noticed in different countries, and have often exercised the ingenuity of the observers.”

In regard to waves, “it rarely happens that the wind penetrates further than six feet below the surface of the water.” 0276 273 35 Wave is added to wave to make those which are mountain-high. The Malstraem or Maelstroom, on the coast of Norway, is produced by cross currents.

These are some of the most remarkable features of the Summary. Valuable observations are made in it upon geology, which is hardly yet a science; upon the vegetables and animals of our globe; and upon the varieties of Man. “The numbers of mankind have been variously rated. The result of as much accurate inquiry as the subject admits, determines the full amount at about 700 millions. Of this Asia, including the eastern and South Sea isles, may contain 400 millions, Europe 180, Africa 80, and America 40.”

A table of the lengths of the principal rivers throughout the world follows the Summary of Physical Geography. The following estimates are from this table.

miles.

Amazon, (Worcester has it 3,500,)3,100

Volga,?,600

Ob, or Obi, in Russia, (Worc: 1,900,)2,300

Mississippi, (Worc: 3,000, or Missouri 4,491)2,000

Nile,2,000

Hoang-ho, Yellow River, in China,2,?00

Rio de la Plata,1,900

Ganges, (Worcester, 1,500,)1,?00

Danube, (Worcester 1,620)1,300

Orinoco, (Worcester 1,500)1,?80

Euphrates, (Worcester 1,500)1,200

According to the Atlas, the Amazon is the largest river in the world, but according to the Gazetteer of J, E, Worcester, (which is an excellent work,) the Missouri is, by far, the largest.

Proportional lengths of rivers according to Major Ren??ll.

European Rivers.

Thames,1.

Rhine,5 1–4.

Danube,7.

Volga,9 1–2.

Asiatic Rivers.

Indus,6 1–2.

Euphrates,8 1–2.

Ganges,9 1–2.

Burrampooter,9 1–2.

Ava River,9 1–2.

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Jenice?,10.

Obi,10 1–2.

Amour,11.

Lena,11 1–2.

Hoang-ho,13 1–2.

Kian Ku,15 1–2.

African River.

Nile,12 1–2.

American Rivers.

Mississippi,8.

Amazons,15 3–4.

According to Worcester, the Missouri, allowing Thames to be unit, should be more than 20.

We have next in the Atlas a table of the snow line, or lower limit of perpetual congelation, at different latitudes from Humboldt. At the equator, on Chimborazo, this line is at the height of 2,450 toises, or 15,730 feet. In north latitude 20°, in South America, this line is at the height of 2,350 toises, or about 15,035 feet. It is 1400 toises, or 8958 feet, on Mount Blanc, in north latitue 46°. Perpetual snow in Sweden is found, in latitude 62°, at 800 toises, or 5118 feet, and in Norway, in latitude 65°, at 700 toises, or 4476 feet. In this table of the snow line, it is stated, that the French toise is to the English fathom as 1,065777 to 1, or as 1065 to 1000, that is as 213 to 200, or 16 to 15 nearly.

The Consulting Index in this Atlas is an excellent part of the work, and is of the greatest convenience and use to the possessor.

We shall now lay before our readers the information concerning the principal mountains of the world, contained in the margin of the map, on which they are delineated, and of which we have already made mention. We have been accustomed to think that South America has the highest land in the world, and are not a little surprised to find that the loftiest mountain in the United States may be placed upon the top of Chimborazo, and yet the altitude of both not be equal to that of the Dhawalacer? in Asia. Chimborazo, according to Worcester's Gazetteer, is 20,892 feet high. The same work says that the altitude of Mount Washington in New-Hampshire, the highest point in the United States, is 6,634 feet. The sum of these two is 27,526. The height of the Dlawalegeri is 27,677 feet, leaving a deficiency of 151 feet in the joint altitude of Mount Washington and Chimborazo. Mount Washington has been recently measured 0278 275 by a company of scientific gentleman, and is found not to be as high as Worcester's statement. Chimbrazo however is estimated upon the map of our atlas at 21,470 feet, considerably above the height given by Worcester, though not enough to make, with 6,200, the sum of 27,677.

The estimates of the Atlas.

feet.

Dhawalageri in the Napaul,27,677

Himalaya, or Himmaleh, Mountains between Hindostan and Thibet, supposed to be the Emodus, Imaus, or Himaus, of the ancients,25,500 to 22,478

Chimborazo, highest of the Andes,21,470

Highest flight of the Condor,21,000

Cajambe, or Cayambe, Quito Andes,19,480

Humboldt and Bonpland, June 23d 1802, ascended as high as19,400

Antisana, volcano, Andes,19,150

Volcano of Cotopaxi, Andes,18,875

Highest limit of li?chen plants,18,225

Mount St. Elie,18,090

Volcano of Popocatapetl, or great Volcano of Puebla, Mexico,17,720

Cotocatche Mountain, Andes,16,450

Tonguragua Volcano, Quito,16,270

Lower limit of perpetual snow on the equator, South America,15,780

Mont Blanc, Alps, highest in Europe,15,665

Heights of Assuay, the ancient Peruvian road,15,540

Ortler Spiltze, Tyrol,15,430

Mount Cervin, Switzerland,14,780

Mount Pelvoux, Head of Gironde B, France,14,215

Mount Ophir, Sumatra,13,842

Peak of Jungfrau, Switzerland,13,735

Pambamarca, Andes,13,500

Mount Oxon, Alps,13,465

A farm house of Antisana, a hamlet, the highest inhabited spot on the globe,13,435

Brœthorn, Switzerland,12,815

Superior limit of pines in the torrid zone, S, A,12,800

So?honda Mountains, China,12,800

Finisteraarhorn, Alps,12,210

Lake of Toluca, Mexico,12,195

Peak of Teneriffe, mean of the best observations, (Worcester gives 15,397 feet.)12,176

Town of Micupampa, Peru,11,670

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Mulaha??n Mountain, Spain,11,670

Peak of ??nlatta, Spain,11,3?0

Mount ?erdu, ?yrenees,11,265

Highest limit of in South America,11,125

L? Viguem?l, Pyrenees,11,010

?alitzkoi Mountains, Altaic Chain, Asia,10,7?5

Superior Limit of ?aks in the torrid zone, S, A,10,500

Pio Blanc, Pyrenees,10,205

Quito, South America,9,630

Awa?sha, or Awa?s?a, or A??tcha, a volcano in Kamtchatka,9,600

Mount Libanus, Turkey,9,535

Real del Monte , New Spain,?,125

Volcano of Imbaburu, which frequently ejects fish, Quito,8,960

Mount St. G??hard, Alps,8,9?0

Peak of Lomn??z, Carpathian Mountains,8,640

Mount Valina, highest of the Apennines,8,?00

Sneebutten, Norway, a mountain,8,295

Blue Mountains, North Peak, Jamaica,8,180

Convent on Mount St Bernard, Switzerland,8,040

Perpetual snow in Switzerland above the altitude of8,000

Volcano in the Isle of Bourbon,7,680

Town of Mexico,7,525

Peak of Montaig?, Pyrenees,7,310

Convent of St Gothard, Alps,6,810

Mount Cenis, Alps,6,780

Mount Olympus, Turkey,6,500

Stoney Mountains, North America,6,250

Mount d'Or, France,6,190

Rœttruck, Sweden,6,000

Inferior limit of pines in the torrid zone, S, A,5,685

Mount Reculet, Switzerland,5,590

Puy de Dome, France,5,225

La Souffriere, volcano of Guadaloupe,5,110

Heckla, Iceland,5,010

Mount Ida, Turkey,4,960

Snoe Fiall, or Snoe??el, Iceland,4,560

Ben Nevis, Scotland, highest in Great Britain,4,370

Town of Briancon, France,4,270

Ben Lawers, Scotland,4,015

Mount Ves??ius, Italy, (Ætna, 10,963, Worcester,)3,935

Palace of St Ildefonso, Spain,3,790

Ben Wyvis, Scotland,3,720

Snowdon, highest mountain in Wales,3,517

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Town of Caraccas,3,4?0

Great?st altitude, in which Palms and Bananas grow, western hemisphere,3,280

Ben Lomond, Scotland,3,250

Sea Fell, Cumberland, highest mountain in England,3,166

S?iddaw, Cumberland,3,022

Cader Idris, Wales,2,914

Margert?n, Ireland,2,700

Ch?v?ot Hills, Northumberland,2,658

?inlimmon, Wales,2,168

Whernside Yorkshire2,?84

Town of Madrid, Spain,2,27?

Saca Fell, 2,004

Black Comb, Cumberland,1,919

Cawsand beacon, Devonshire,1,792

Gibrahar, Spain,1,440

Ailsa Craig, Scotland,1,200

Lake of Constance, Switzerland,1,162

Arthur's Seat, Scotland,800

Holy Head Mountain, 709

Pyramids in Egypt,500

Greenwich Observatory,214

Paris, France,115

London, at St. Paul's,??

The chief difference from these estimates in Worcester's Gazetteer of 1817, are the

Himmal?h Mountains from 25,669 to1?,7??

Chimborazo, already mentioned,

Peak of Teneriffe, already mentioned,15,??7

Finisteraarhorn,14,116

Mount St Bernard, highest summit,11,011

Mount Cenis,9,9?8

Mount St Gothard,9,075

Mount d'Or,6,707

In addition to this account, Worcester gives the following heights of other mountains.

Mount St Elias, western part of North America. 12,672 Fair Weather Mountain, 8,970

The mountains of the United States are low.Mount

Washington, the highest, has been already stated at6,6?4

Moosehill, in New Hampshire, is4,50?

Round Top in New York,3,30?

Highest of the Allegany south of New York about?,000

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The highest mountain in France, Loncira, is14,451

The highest in Spain, Sierra Nevada,12,762

Highest summit of Sierra de Estrella, Portugal between5,000 & 6,000

Mountains of Geesh estimated at15,000

Compass Mountain at the Cape of Good Hope,10,000

Geography is a very interesting study, and we regret the want of good maps in the United States for the more advantageous pursuit of this kind of knowledge. We have good maps of many of the states separately, but no good atlas of the whole, and none at so moderate a price as to bring it within the reach of the poor student. This evil ought to be remedied by our booksellers.

We have not attempted to make a formal review of the Atlas, which is the subject of this article. Our object has been merely to notice it, and to call the subject to the attention of our readers, in the first place, and in the second, to extract from it some of its most interesting statements and estimates. These are much more valuable than our own remarks would be. We wish that our fellow citizens, and especially our professional men and students, would furnish themselves much more extensively with good maps than they generally possess at present.

SECOND ORIENTAL IDYL

The Two Shepherds

NAMES.

Sotam,Wise friend.

Erlim,Measure of love.

Dobed,Good Shepherd.

Erda,Gift of love.

Ilpha,Fine eyes.

The bright father of light was setting, after a sultry summer day, behind the hill of the grove,

While Erlim and Dobed, the two happy shepherds of the shady vale, came towards the hill of the grove.

They had been contending all the day, who had the best wife, near the hill of the grove,

And at last had agreed to leave the decision to Sotam, the old man on the hill of the grove;

0282 279

Whom they found sitting under a lofty oak, before his fine cottage at the hill of the grove.

Erlim. Peace and happiness unto thy snowy head, worthy and wise old man:

May many healthy years smile on thee, and thy venerable old age.

We ask thy blessing, father of the hill. Wilt thou hear our strife and decide who is in the right?

Sotam. The blessing of the old man be with you. Speak unto him, he will listen to you.

If the wisdom of old age can decide between you, it shall not fail to send you away in peace.

Erlim. I have been loved by the best of women: I have been blest by the best of wives:

Yet Dobed will contend that his own is better than mine, and I am provoked because he will not acknowledge the truth.

My wife is Ilpha, who is as fair as the white lily and as straight as the reed:

Who has the brightest black eyes, shining like those of the antelope.

Her flowing hair is black, and similar to the silky fleece of the black mountain goat.

Her rosy lips are ever smiling, and she bears on her face the dimples of love.

Dobed. Open thy ears, Sotam, and listen to me a while. Thou shalt not mind Ilpha, when thou shalt know my Erda;

Who is the true gift of love, stately like an oak and straight like a palm.

Her eyes are blue like the skies, her hair is similar to pure gold.

Her cheeks are white as the milk, on which a rose has been dropt.

She has no dimples, nor need have any; her skin is as smooth as the velvet.

Erlim. My lovely Ilpha loves me as her soul; she has been mine three years, and is still as fond as the dove.

She is as mild as the lamb: when I speak she listens and obeys, without ever objecting.

Her voice is sweet as the sound of the flute, and her words are always the best that are spoken.

When she stands she is as graceful as the white dove, and her steps are like those of the camel.

0283 280

Dobed. But my dear Erda is the wife of my soul, her heart is quite mine, and mine is quite hers, forever.

She became mine four years ago, and we have not quarrelled even once.

Her voice is like the song of the Thrush, her words and behaviour are like those of a loving and dutiful wife.

She stands like a graceful pillar, and when she runs she is as swift as a mare.

Erlim. When I go in the morn to tend my flocks, my wife never fails to fill my basket.

And when I return, she hastens to give me the kiss of love, and I always find the evening meal on the table.

Dobed. But my Erda smiles as soon as she can perceive me, and runs to meet me on the lawn.

Every morn and eve she spreads the table for me, with milk and curds, with cakes and nuts.

Erlim. Ilpha has already brought forth her fruit, and has given me a stout and healthy boy.

Dobed. But Erda has done more, and given me, besides my boy, a little girl as lovely as herself.

Sotam. Hold, good shepherds of the vale, do not contend any longer.

You are both truly blessed, and it would be hard to tell who has the best of wives.

Both are good, both are handsome, or at least you think so: and this proves that they are loving and beloved.

Open your hearts, shepherds, and believe the words of the old man, who dwells on the hill of the grove.

Each of you has the best for himself. Go to them and be happy.CONSTANTINE.

COMMERCE AND MANUFACTURES.

In the early settlement of Kentucky the inhabitants were chiefly employed in defending themselves against the Indians, and in clearing the land, building dwellings, and making other preparations for the occupancy of the country. They were not possessed of the requisite implements, nor had they the time to use them in the manufacture of such articles as were necessary for clothing and furniture, except in a very rough manner. Some brought supplies of money with them on their removal from the older states, which 0284 281 36 served as a resource in providing those things to which they had previously been accustomed, whilst others less opulent were constrained to submit to privations, and many respectable individuals furnished themselves with food and clothing from the flesh and skins of the buffaloe and deer with which the forests abounded. Within a few years, however, so soon as the fertile soil of the country was put into a state of cultivation, provisions became abundant, and the casualty of war produced a demand for the surplus beyond the consumption of the inhabitants. The necessary disbursements of the United States' government in purchasing supplies for the north western armies, operating against the savages on our frontier from 1790 until 1791, furnished a market for the produce of the country, and afforded the agriculturists the means of supplying themselves with foreign commodities. The occurrence, too, about the same period, of the French revolution, which ultimately involved all Europe in hostilities, withdrew the weight of male population from the pursuits of husbandry, and occasioned an increased demand for the provisions of America. The western country, having been theretofore recently indulged in an outlet by the opening of the navigation of the Mississippi, participated in this national prosperity. From these commercial advantages, united with a luxuriant soil, population and wealth flowed into the western country in an unexampled manner. Innumerable farms were opened, splendid towns were erected, and the people were enabled to draw from other countries whatever ministered to appetite or vanity. This was the condition of the west at the commencement of the late war between the United States and Great Britain, which was so distressing to the cities on the sea board depending on foreign trade, but which proved beneficial, in a pecuniary point of view, to this portion of the union. Large supplies for our northern armies were purchased west of the mountains, and multitudes of persons were employed in military service and liberally paid by the public. The immense sums of money, diffused by these means, gave an artificial value to property, which will long be sorely felt, and encouraged the formation of habits of expense and profusion which it will be difficult to correct.

The war with England had produced a temporary cessation of foreign trade. At its close the opinion prevailed that commerce would revive with augmented activity and splendour. No one perhaps was aware of the ?risis or anticipated 0285 282 the consequences of the pacification of Europe, which have taken place; in fact for a short time we appeared to be realizing our golden dreams. Our commodities sold higher than at any former period. There were actually paid for tobacco in Virginia thirty dollars a hundred. But, so soon as the belligerent countries had recovered from the prostration consequent on the convulsive conflicts, which terminated with the sanguinary scenes of Waterloo, and had ceased to be overrun by wasting armies, society was tranq??lized into the ordinary pursuits of civil life, agriculture received its due proportion of attention, lands were put into a proper state of cultivation, and, in a short time, their products were wafted across the Atlantic, so that we were actually undersold in our own markets. Since this time our merchants have been unable to make sale of those articles which once supported our commerce, and no reciprocity of trade can now exist between the new and the old world. The present generation however having grown up under the auspices of a prosperous commerce, and in the use of foreign luxuri?s, we still continued our purchases and have made payment in the metallic medium of the country. An unhappy expedient too, fallen upon about the close of the war, prevented the pernicious consequences of this unequal trade from being felt. The convenience of banking houses in the large cities in facilitating the operations of commerce, induced an exaggerated estimate of the advantages of such institutions. By an almost contemporaneous operation, therefore, throughout the union, innumerable banks were brought into existence, and the good faith, solvency, and correct dealing of the few previously incorporated, inspired general confidence in those newly formed, so that their paper was substituted for, and accepted as specie and by throwing a larger amount of it into circulation than they held of specie in their vaults, an ar- artificial abundance of money was produced. During this time the precious metals were rapidly, though imperceptibly, passing out of the country. The paper substitute prevented the people from feeling the scarcity of real money until the notes of the banks were brought in by the dealers in foreign goods, and cash was demanded for them. This occasioned a curtailment of discounts, individual pressure, and ultimate failure of both private persons and banking corporations.

Under the united operations of these various causes, viz; 0286 283 the discontinuance of foreign commerce, the calls of the banks, the withdrawal from circulation of the paper of such of them as were solvent, the losses by the holders of the notes of those which had become insolvent, the habits of extravagance which the people had formed an would not willingly restrain, and the consequent deportation of specie, Kentucky, in 1819, was left almost without a circulating medium; and perhaps the expedient, resorted to at an early day, of making property* a vehicle of internal commerce, would have been revived, had not the legislature adopted such measures last winter as enabled the Bank of Kentucky to increase its issues of notes, and made it the interest of creditors to receive them, thus producing a currency, that serves internal purposes, but is of little use in foreign commerce.

* From 1783 till 1788 in Kentucky cows and calves of different rates were a sort of money; for instance a first rate cow and calf were estima?ed at ten dollars, a second rate at seven dollars, and perhaps they answered as well as Lycurgus's iron money, at least they were as easily moved about.

From this brief detail of facts, it seems that a succession of accidental circumstances have heretofore given commerce and wealth to the western country, which causes have now ceased to operate, and that others have combined to precipitate the people into a condition more disastrous than any in which a simple privation of trade would have left them, if no change in the circulating medium had ever occurred. Now, in order to form some idea of the course of future events, the condition of commerce prior to the French revolution should be recurred to. The quantity of the precious metals in circulation not having been increased in any considerable degree in the western portion of the world since that period,† we may justly infer that the price of labour and of articles of trade will again be nearly what they were at that time. The aged will be able to recollect the prices of flour, tobacco, and other important productions of the country, on which reliance is placed for the purchase of foreign supplies. The prices then were something like what they are quoted at in the prices current published in our maritime cities at this time. Those who do not duly consider the cause of the present depression of the markets, flatter themselves that it is a temporary evil; but, when they have reflected further, they will be induced to conclude that there will be but little advancement in prices until 0287 284 famine or war shall enlarge the wants of the old world. As however a reliance on the occurrence of misfortunes to our transatlantic brethren is neither a philanthropic nor a politic dependence for a return of a beneficial foreign commerce, perhaps it would be as wise a course to endeavour to accommodate ourselves to the present state of things by the adoption of such measures as may enable the machine of society to move on without the happening of such an event. To this end I would suggest that the future expenditure of the state must be proportioned to the amount of its exports. In this particular nations resemble individuals. One, who would avoid embarrassment in his private concerns, must disburse less than he makes. This rule, if adhered to, will perhaps relieve against future difficulty but will not discharge previously existing debts. For the ways and means of paying these we will refer to the would-be-members of the legislature, and pass on to a further consideration of commerce.

† The product of the mines of Peru and Mexico have chiefly gone to the East Indies.

The exports of the United States will not now average more than thirty three per cent of what they have done heretofore. It therefore follows that the importations should diminish in the same ratio; and the reduction in the use of such articles as are brought from foreign countries must be in like proportion, unless we can contrive to provide ourselves with them in our own country. Home supplies may be paid for in our paper medium, or obtained in barter for other commodities, and will not be limited in the consumption by a depression of outward trade. It becomes important therefore to enquire what goods can be fabricated at home so as to prove profitable to the manufacturer and beneficial to the community.

The chief articles heretofore imported are cloths made of wool, cotton goods of various kinds, linens, silks, cutlery, and other implements made of iron and steel, and porcelain and other ornamental earthen ware. But at the same time a portion of all these, except silks and fine pottery, is manufactured in the United States and some of them were made in this commonwealth. The cotton manufactories of the New-England States seem to succeed very well, and their goods have, in a great measure, superceded the coarser cottons which formerly came from Great Britain and the East Indies, and flattering hopes are entertained that it will not be long before they will be enabled to vie with British manufacturers in muslins and calicoes.

0288 285

Throughout the whole interior of America the coarser woollen cloths, linens, and heavy iron utensils are made for common use. But few successful attempts, if any, have been made in manufacturing silk goods or ornamental pottery. On the other hand, some other articles of great and constant use are almost exclusively supplied by our own mechanics. Our hats, shoes, and saddles, are perhaps all made in the United States; and of late manufactories of glass in all its varieties, from the ornamental table furniture to window lights, have been established at Pittsburgh, which have not only superceded the use of foreign glass, but have furnished it of a quality not inferior in beauty, richness, and excellence of workmanship. Besides these, innumerable other articles are made on this side of the Atlantic. Among them is the whole apparatus of war, powder and arms; and of these our countrymen excel, not only in the use, but in the fabrication. The American rifles are admitted to be superior to the guns of Europe. Our artizans furnish, also, a large proportion of the gold, silver, and plated ware, consumed in the country, and nearly all the leather and paper for every purpose whatever.

From this enumeration it would seem that little remains to be brought from abroad, yet when the custom house books are examined it will be found that a prodigious amount of foreign goads annually come in. Immediately after the close of the late war, the amount was so great that the duty to the government alone exceeded thirty millions in one year, and the amount of annual importations has exceeded one hundred millions.

Of the amount so imported the articles consist chiefly of woollen cloths, cotton goods, linens, silks, hardware, and pottery. Of these, some are articles of indispensable necessity, but the use of some of the others may in a great measure be laid aside. There are no substitutes for cutlery or woollen goods, but the silks and fine muslins can give place to American cottons. In relation to those for which we have a substitute, we have to teach ourselves to submit to the change; and as to those which cannot be dispensed with, if we are unable to purchase them, it becomes a highly important duty to try whether we cannot make them for ourselves. In doing so we are released from the embarrassing difficulty of a medium of payment. Commerce is the exchange of labour; heretofore the citizens of the United 0289 286 States bartered their labour, in the shape of flour, beef, pork, and tobacco, with the Europeans for theirs, in the form of manufactured goods. They no longer desire to keep up this exchange, as they do not want the provisions of America. We must endeavour therefore to find others that are willing to barter in this way. If we can prevail on our own citizens to lay out their labour in the same mode and exchange it for provisions, it may even answer a better purpose than continuing the old barter with Europe, because the expense of transporting the commodities will be saved. Thus it becomes an object of national, as well as of individual policy, to invite and encourage attempts at the fabrication of those articles, which are considered of the first necessity, but the use of which must now be limited, unless they can be made in our country.

First then, the prices in this country of fine pottery, commonly called queensware, china, &c. are three fold greater than the original cost at the potteries in Europe and China. This arises from the freight, risk in transportation, duties, and profit reserved by the several dealers through whose hands the goods pass, for we know that labour is not in that proportion dearer here than in Europe. Why may not these things be manufactured here? Why at least has not the effort been made? It is not for lack of ingenuity, as we see that, in the kindred article of glass, our American workmen have already rivalled the foreign artificers. Nor can it be believed that it is for want of proper earth; this article is found of the kind adapted to the purpose in most of the states of the old world, whence it is fairly inferable, that, if diligent search were made, it would also be found here. Geologists and chemists are multiplying, and doubtless it will occur to them that, by trying the various earths which may come under their observation, and pointing out those adapted to pottery, they will render an essential service to their country, and thereby furnish additional evidence of the practical usefulness of their scientific labours. It is perhaps accidental that there are no manufacturers of ornamental earthenware in America. The small amount consumed in proportion to other goods, the vicinity of the settled part of our country to the sea board until within the last thirty or forty years and the consequent cheapness of freight, and the moderate duty in years past, may all have had their influence in deterring individual attempts. But in all these particulars the state of things is materially changed. The 0290 287 consumption is extended; a large portion of our country is far distant from the ocean; the risk and expense of transportation are increased; the imports are augmented, and a depreciated medium offers an ample bounty for the encouragement of efforts at the manufacture of this article. But would it not be politic for the legislatures of the several states, and for the general government, to offer premiums for the discovery of suitable clay and the best specimens of pottery? The crowned heads of Europe afford examples of this kind of encouragement worthy of imitation, Even the warrior, Frederic of Prussia, was not so entirely engrossed by his schemes of conquest as to prevent his finding leisure to consider the importance of this species of manufacturing and actually sparing from his darling pursuit considerable sums for the establishment of factories of porcelain.

If an estimate were made of the amount of specie which annually goes to purchase earthen ware, it would present a serious inducement to act on the subject. I will make a loose conjecture. Suppose each retail merchant vends 300 dollars worth per annum, and that there are one thousand retailers in the western country: it follows then that 300000 dollars yearly are expended for this purpose alone; of which no more than one third is the original price of the commodity? the residue pays for the transportation.

Another class of articles, which must be had, are such as are chiefly produced from iron and steel, embracing all sorts of edged tools for mechanics and for domestic purposes, locks, hinges, &c. Many articles in this line are already made in America. But still a large number are imported. Cannot all be advantageously manufactured at places enjoying the advantages of iron ore and coal, such as Pittsburgh; more particularly at the present time when the increased duties and the want of a metallic medium enable the artist to be so well paid for his labour? This species of manufacture is not similarly situated with pottery. The materials are known and abundant, workmen are not scarce, the business has commenced, and those engaged in it have only to persevere. Possibly government might devise some beneficial stimulants, such as allowing bounties on the best specimens or greatest quantities of particular classes of articles.

A third manufacture, of very extensive consumption in the United States, is woollen cloth, for which there is no substitute that will be acceptable to the people; nor can 0291 288 they altogether dispense with the old fashioned practice of wearing coats. If what I have endeavoured to prove be admitted, viz: that our exports will not at this time purchase more than one third of our usual supplies of foreign manufactures, it seems to follow that we should, by a fair ratio, only purchase one third of our usual number of coats; but as this may be a little inconvenient, perhaps it would be as well to devise some means by which we can diminish the amount of imports and still be clad as heretofore. In order to do this we shall be compelled to restrain ourselves in some other less necessary indulgence, and to make up the deficit of clothing by employing our own countrymen to supply us, who can take in exchange those provisions which the foreign manufacturers will not accept. Could we do this and thus stop the importation of woollen goods altogether, there would be saved to the nation a greater sum per annum than perhaps the whole revenue of the general government. This will become obvious to those who reflect that each male individual pays annually double as much for woollen clothing as he pays in taxes to government. And the merchant will readily admit the truth of the assertion when he casts up his invoices and perceives that his purchases of cloths, blankets, &c. exceed the proportion of seventeen and one half per cent. (the average of the former tariff established by law) of the amount of all his foreign goods. If such be the fact, it becomes an object of national concern to enquire how far it may be practicable to accomplish the object. This course of reflection has induced me to make some inquiries on the subject, in relation to the expense and other matters connected with the manufacturing. I learn that the average price for the last half century of fine Spanish wool, of which superfine cloths are made in England, has been, with little variation, seven shillings and three pence sterling per pound—equal to one dollar and sixty two cents—that something less than two pounds of this wool makes a yard of superfine broad cloth—and that these cloths sell in England from twenty to thirty shillings sterling per yard, varying according to the colour and finishing, the blues being from twenty five to thirty shillings, and others from twenty to twenty-five shillings per yard. But a second quality of cloths, nearly equal to the best yet made in the United States, sells from eighteen to twenty shillings. To exhibit then the cost of manufacturing 0292 289 37 a yard of cloth, and the price of the wool separately, the account will stand thus:

Two pounds of wool at 7s 3d 14 6.

Manufacturing best superfine blue,15 6.

£ 1 10 0.

Equal to six dollars and two thirds for the first quality of superfine blue.

The calculation of a yard of second cloth worth 18s will stand thus:—

Two pounds of wool not of the best quality, estimated at 6s sterling per lb.12

Manufacturing6

s 18—$4

Taking four dollars as the average cost of such cloths as the best we are in the habit of making in this country, and adding thereto the necessary charges until it reaches the consumer on this side of the mountains, the estimate will stand thus:—

Original price,$ 4 00

Four per cent. English duty,16

Storage, package, drayage, porterage,10

Freight and insurance,16

American duty,1 00

Profit of wholesale merchant at Philadelphia,50

Carriage to Kentucky,16

Retailer's profit in Kentucky, at 25 per cent.1 50

12 per cent. for difference of exchange,62

$ 8 20.

Then the price which the merchant here must charge the wearer for the yard of cloth is about eight dollars, and the prices charged in fact are from eight to ten dollars for second cloths, whilst thirteen dollars per yard are demanded for superfine cloths.

Now let us see what cloth of the second quality can be made for here. From two manufacturers, actually engaged in the business at this time, I obtain the following as their charges. The one of them receives wool, assorts, spins, and weaves it, &c. and delivers the cloth from the loom. The other receives the cloth in that condition, and dies, falls, and finishes it.

Two pounds of merino wool can now be had for less

0293 290 than 75 cents per pound, $ 1 56 Picking, assorting, and scouring 2lb wool, 16 Oil 6 Carding two pounds of wool, 10 20 Sclubbing two do 5 10 Spinning two do 25 50 Weaving two do 40 80 Sizing, quilling, &c. 16 1 98 Fulling, dying, and spinning, from 80 to 100 cts. 1 00 $4 48

Thus we see that the very best quality of cloth, which our manufacturers are capable of making, can be sold here for less than five dollars per yard. What motive have we, then, to persist in the purchase of foreign broad cloth? It is said that domestic cloth is inferior in colouring and finishing. Admit this to be true, that our diers are not yet equally skilled with those across the Atlantic: can they not learn? Other arts have been speedily acquired by our citizens, and, in many instances, they have excelled their European teachers: in constructing ships, steam engines, mills, and many other less important kinds of machinery and arts. Why then should we despair in this instance? But the truth is, some of the clothiers of the United States do colour and finish in a very handsome manner. The writer of this article has seen some beautiful pieces from the factory of the late colonel Humphreys and S. Daws, in Rhode Island, and from a factory at Steabenville, particularly one piece of black from Daws's, not surpassed by any superfine cloth from Europe.

To account for the languishing state of our cloth factories requires a recurrence to a few facts, which will be within the recollection of most persons. During the late war, the occlusion of our ports caused premature attempts at manufacturing. The consequence of this was, the price of merino sheep, wool, and labour became high, and the great demand for cloth brought it to market in rather an imperfect state, and at extravagantly high prices. At the close of the war the British cloths, superior in beauty and finishing, were immediately thrown into the American market, so as to produce a glut and consequently forced sales at reduced prices, which necessarily prevented sales by the American manufacturers, by which means many of there 0294 291 failed. Since that time circumstances have changed. The markets are no longer overloaded, the duties are increased, and o?h?r contingencies render it indispensably necessary that foreign goo?? should be sold higher now than heretofore. The price of wool too has fallen in this country, and it may be assumed as a tenable position, that wool will continue lower here t?an in England, simply because the rent of land is lower here than there. Indeed the fee simple of sheep-grazing land here is, and will continue to be for years lower than the annual rent paid there.

Under these impressions it appears obvious that cloth manufacturing must be a beneficial investment of money. If fine broad cloths can be made and offered at five dollars per yard they cannot fail to be sold; and we have ascertained that they can be made and sold for that price and yield a profit. It is possible indeed to fail of success, as has happened heretofore, by a prodigal waste of money in buildings and extravagant wages to workmen, and neglect of business. But if the ordinary industry and economy, exercised by mechanics in the management of their business, be practised by those who embark in this business, they must succeed.

I would enquire of persons who have surplus capital, what they can do with it? Is it prudent to vest it in what is commonly termed merc?andize, in the purchase and sale of foreign goods? That business is on the decline, and must continue so. The habits of the people may induce them to purchase European finery so long as a dollar can be raised to pay for it; but ultimately that trade must settle down to a condition, commensurate with the exports of the country; and a period of decreasing circulating medium is unfavourable to the retailer, as he must necessarily have his capital distributed in many hands, and be unable to draw it back readily, from the inability of his customers to make payment.

The prospects from agriculture are not much more flattering, there being no probability of a demand for produce. Nor is it a time to lend money on interest, because borrowers have few m?ans of using it beneficially, and therefore may not be able to ?e?ay it. There remains then no way to employ money tha? promises equal profit with manufacturing, particularly cloths; because, under no circumstances that are likely to occur, can the competition of the European factories be injurious. The low price of merin? 0295 292 wool will give to the manufacturer here such a decided advantage, that he can no? only engross the sales of the United States, but participate in the foreign markets.

I will conclude this article by subjoining that, supposing there is no immediate prospect of improvement in the prices of the productions of the country, it will be necessary not only for the government to afford encouragement to enterprising efforts for the establishment and perfection of manufactories and the promotion of internal commerce, but, as there is a diminution of about one half of the whole rent roll of all the lands of America, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that each house keeper must reduce his expenses in the same proportion, if his income in any way depends on the issues of the soil: and, to bring about this retrenchment, the beginning should be, where commencement is made in pulling down a house, at the top. The ornamental articles should be laid aside, and w? should then come down in regular gradation until none other than essentials remain, and, in obtaining them, entire dependence should not be placed on public factories: each family should manufacture for itself as far as practicable. But, as many cannot do this to any considerable extent, nor can the better quality of goods be produced in this way by reason of want of skill and proper machinery, the innumerable vacant houses in our towns must be filled by mechanics and manufacturers, who can devote their attention exclusively to these objects. When this shall happen the country will become more really independent than at present, and the hard times, which we now deplore, will prove a blessing.

Since the preceding article was handed to the editor and put in type, the writer examined some broad cloths offered for sale by Mr. Hugh Foster, merchant tailor in Lexington, manufactured by the Harmony Society in the state of Indiana. These cloths well deserve the name of superfine. They are beautifully coloured blues and blacks, and finished in a manner not inferior to the foreign cloths. The manufacturers deliver them in Lexington at six dollars and fifty cents per yard.

Since delivering the manuscript for publication the writer has also been furnished with the following estimates on the manufacturing and importing of cloths, and on the charges attending the setting of the business of manufacturing 0296 293 in operation, which were made by a gentleman, formerly engaged in one of the Atlantic cities in importing British goods, and latterly in rearing merino sheep and manufacturing woollens in the neighbourhood of Lexington, Kentucky. Considering these calculations valuable, they are given to the public. The reader will perceive, on examination, that the difference in cost of the yard of cloth when it reaches the wearer in Kentucky, as shewn by the preceding and subsequent calculations, arises from the difference in the original costs, one being fine and the other superfine.

An account of charges attending the manufacturer, in England, and importation to Kentucky, of one yard of English superfine bro?d cloth; shewing, though imperfectly, the manner in which the items, constituting its whole value, are eventually distributed.

A superfine English broad cloth, such as is sold in Kentucky for about twelve dollars a yard, costs, at the manufactories in England, about 28s sterling; which sum of course pays for the raw materials, as well as for the labour of the different artificers employed upon it; and also reimburses them (in the proportion which one yard of cloth bears to their whole business) for the great variety of taxes to which they are subjected.

A celebrated manufacturer in the west of England offered in 1816 to manufacture American wool into cloths at 7s 6d sterling for black and 10 sterling for blue. Hence it is concluded that the manfacturer pays, directly or indirectly, to the grower of the wool used for one yard of cloth worth 28s sterling, about 16s sterling.

The farmer, who receives this 16s, though he pays no excise upon his wool, (in England,) yet, by taxes upon his estate and effects, tithes, poor rates, &c. is obliged to surrender at least half the amount of his sales, or 8s out of the 16s; that is, if the wool be English; if it be Spanish, the tax of that government is direct and still heavier.

The manufacturer and his workmen are also compelled to contribute to the support of the state, the church, and the poor, to an amount probably of not less than ten per cent, on the sales, or 2s 9 ½d on 28s.

From these premises we may infer that

The wool grower gets clear for the wool, (2lbs,)$ 1 78

And to pay his taxes,1 78

3 56

0297 294

Brought over,$ 3 56

The manufacturer gets for his nett profit and for his hands,2 05

For his and their taxes,62

$ 6 23

The next items in course are charges for tillets, rugs, ropes, bales, packing, and carriage to the port of shipment, altogether about 5 pr. ct.31

British woollens pay an export duty of 4 per ct.25

The freight, and charges for shipping and landing, may be estimated at 2 per cent.12

The insurance at 3 per cent.19

The duty charged by the United States, 20 per ct. ad valorem, or 27 ½ on the cost, and with the custom house fees about 28 per cent.1 74

Actual cost at the American sea port,$ 8 84

The importing merchant's profit, in addition to the 5 per cent allowed by the manufacturer, for measure on broad cloths, 10 per cent.88

Advance charged by the western retailing merchant for carriage, loss in exchange, and profit at less than the difference of exchange, or 25 per cent advance,2 28

$ 12 00*

* The exchange on Philadelphia is now 15 per cent. higher than when the estimate was made out, so that the same cloth must now be sold at US dollars 80 cents or 40 dollars in Kentucky notes.

From the foregoing estimate it appears that

The real cost of the yard of cloth is$ 3 83

The taxes, eventually paid by the consumer to the British government, amount to2 65

The duties, eventually paid by the consumer to the United States, amount to1 74

The expenses of transportation, adding the probable amount of carriage from Philadelphia to the items noted above,1 00

The profits of different merchants &c.2 78

$ 12 00

British taxes$2 65

American1 74

Both$ 4 39

0298 295

An account of an experiment in the manufacture of a piece of superfine cloth.

The wool was raised by the proprietor, and its value then and now quite uncertain.

Paid for sorting and selecting about 40 lbs wool, 4 ½ $ 1 80 for scouring and picking the same, reduced by washing to 26lbs, 8 2 08 for carding 24 12–16, 15 3 71 for slubing and spinning 42 2–12, 15 6 30 for Oil 3lbs, 10 30 for weaving 43 ½ yds. 33 14 35 for burling 43 ½ yds. 3 1 31 for colouring black and dressing 35 yds. 50 17 50 $ 47 35

Twenty six pounds of clean wool made 43 ½ yards of cloth from the loom, which shrunk by dressing to 35 yards; which cost $47 35cts for the piece, or $1 35 10–35cts a yard exclusive of the wool, the cloth being 5–4 wide in loom and 3–4 wide finished.* Several of the charges for manufacturing this cloth were extravagant; at fair rates they would have amounted to about 100 cents a yard.

* The cloth is a handsome superline black, a sample of which is with the editor.

An experiment in coarse wool made into Sattinets.

Washing and picking 240 ¼ lbs. (clean) 8 cts. 19 22 Colouring black 37 12 ½ 4 62 ½ Colouring blue 27 6–16 15 4 10 ¾ Carding and spinning 78 77 ½ yarn 20 ½ 15 88 ¾ 84 18 15 12 54 ¼ 55 1–8 20 ½ 11 07 24 ½ 23 18 4 14 74 17 100 dozen 800 cotton warp 36 ½ cts 36 50 133 ½ dozen 900 cotton warp 36 ½ cts 48 72 85 22 $ 159 39 Fulling, dressing, and colouring part, 264 yd. 20c 50 85 47 20c 12 68 Weaving 418 21 87 78 $ 310 70 0299 296

Sold 40 ¼ yds. from the loom undressed, 6s40 25

5? ½ from the loom undressed, 6s53 25

25 from the undressed, 6s25

122 ¾ from the dressed, 9s183 56

62 ¾ from the dressed 9s94 12

18 from the dressed 12s36

96 ¾ on hand or sold 9s145 12

$ 577 30

310 70

Realized for 240 ¼ lbs. of coarse wool,$266 60

An estimate of the cost of the machinery for a manufactory of woollens, upon a scale as small as can be, and work to the best advantage.

1. One Carding Engine, 500 2. One Jack Billy of sixty spindles, 150 3. Two Jenneys, sixty spindles each at $150 300 4. Six narrow Looms, with geers, &c. complete,35 210 4. Two broad do with geers, complete, 50 100 5. One Warping Mill, 20 6. Four Quill wheels, 2 50 10 7. Bags, Baskets, Tubs, &c, 20 8. One Fulling Mill, 75 9. Two clothiers' presses complete, 175 10. Shearing Machines and Shears, 200 11. Kettles, Vats, and sundry small tools for clothier, 150 12. Drying Frames and Scaffolds, 50 13. Head-wheel, Cog-wheel, and Wallowers, 200 14. Four blind Horses, $10 40 Contingencies, perhaps, 100 $2300

Buildings.—The Carding Engine and Billies (1 and 2) must be in the same room, and will require one story of a building about 25 by 30.

The Jenneys (3) may be put in the second story of the same building.

The Looms, &c. (4, 5, and 6,) will require one large room, or one story building about 20 by 40, or any house room equivalent, to be built or rented, as it is not needful that they should be in contact with the other machinery. One building of two low stories, about 25 by 40 or 50, would hold the ?arding and spinning apparatus and the looms.

0300 297 ??

The fulling, dying, and drying, (8, 9, 10, 11,) will require two rooms about 20 feet square, and the fulling mill must be in contact with the tread-wheel &c. and cons??uently near the first mentioned building.

There must be a shed over the tread-wheel, &c. (13.)

A small store and counting room will, also, be necessary.

The cost of these buildings will depend on the place where, and the materials of which, they are built.

Hands necessary to keep the foregoing machinery in full operation and an estimate of their wages per week.

One carder and spinner on a billy or sluber, $6 6 Two spinners on Jenneys, &c. 6 12 Seven weavers, men and women, average 6 42 One dier and clothier, 10 Two boys to assist the corder and dier, &c. 2 4 Two women to scour and pick wool, &c. 2 ½ 5 Eight children to pick wool, wind quills, &c. 1 8 The keeping of four horses, 1 4 Contingencies, as wood, &c. 10 $ 101

A great saving of wages may be effected in time by instructing and employing blacks to spin and weave.

Materials, and estimate of their cost per week.

Wool 180lb clean, equal to 300th in fleece, 60c 180 Oil, 2 50 Dye stuffs, very uncertain, say 15 Fuller's articles, as soap, &c. 5 Cotton warp for sattinetts, 50 dozen, 30c 15 $ 217 50

Wages per week, as above,101

Materials,217 50

Expenses per week,$ 318 50, and per year $ 16,562.

Capital necessary to carry on the business with facility, supposing a portion of the materials to be obtained in barter for goods and on credit.

Buildings should not exceed$ 1000

Machinery, per estimate2800

Materials and wages for four months,5520

$ 8?20

0301 298

Estimate of the goods, which might be made at the factory before described, supposing the best wool that can be obtained were used exclusively, and as good cloths were made as the materials and skill of the hands will admit.

The wool must be stapled or sorted into different quantities, and will, with the same labour, produce cloths of different degrees of fineness, about as follows; varying, however, the kinds of goods, as the fashions may charge and the demand require.

20lbs would make 35 yds sat. worth 1 25, 43 75 cost'g 64c(a) 20 make 35 do 1 50, 52 50 70 ½ 20 make 35 do 1 75, 61 25 93 40 make 50 kerseymere, 2 50, 125 1 32 ½ 40 make 50 do 3, 150 1 54 20 make 10 broad cloth, 7, 70 3 71 20 make 10 do 10, 100 5 30 180 225 yds (b) $ 602 50 But the above prices may be reduced by discounts, commissions, and bad debts, perhaps 20 per cent. 120 50 Nett value of goods made per week, $ 482 00 (c)

Or $25,064 a year At an expense of 16,562 as before, Leaving $ 8,502 for profit.

(a) At these prices the goods amount to $318 62 1–2 cts, or a weeks expenses.

(b) 225 yards equal to 250 single width.

(b) Wages for a week's work $101 on 250 yds. is 40 2–5 cts per yard.

Dying and fulling materials for do is 15 cts per yard. 55 2–5 Wool 1 1–5 lbs. in fleeces, 60 cts, 72 137 2–5 Wear and tear of machinery, &c. $2300 a year, at 1–2 percent a week, 4 3–5 $1 32 4–5

(c) 250 yards for $482, is about $1 9?cts per yard, which is, therefore the average cost of single width goods.

FISHES OF THE RIVER OHIO. BY C. S. RAFINESQUE,

Professor of Botany and Natural History in Transylvania University.

(continued from page 243.)

52d Species. Blackheaded Fat-head. Pimephales promelas. Pimephale tete-noire.

Diameter one fourth of the length, body olivaceous silvery, head blackish, snout truncated, and with soft warts: fins whitish, dorsal with a large irregular black spot at the anterior base, with eight forked rays, and one simple shorter obtuse hard: anal with eight rays; lateral line flexuose and raised at the base, tail lunulate.

A small fish three inches long. It is rare and hardly known by the anglers. I describe it from a specimen taken with a hook baited with earth-worm, by Mr. William M. Clifford, in a pond near Lexington, in the month of April 1820, and now preserved in the Museum in Lexington. Its head is very remarkable, soft and fat all over, the snout sloping, broad, truncate with soft warts in front, mouth at its inferior extremity very small, elliptical transversal, with equal circular hard lips. The whole head and even the eyes are of dusky and bluish black colour. Pectoral fins trapezoidal with 15 rays, the upper rays of the colour of the head. Tail olivaceous lunulated, with 20 forked rays and 5 short simple rays on each side of the base. Abdominal fins quadrangular. The first ray of the dorsal is singular, thick, short, hard, and yet blunt, almost cartilaginous, or not properly spinous, and not at all serrate as in the Carps. Scales pretty large.

XX Genus. Sucker Catostomus. Catostome.

Body oblong cylindrical scaly. Vent posterior or nearer to the tail. Head and opercules scaleless and smooth. Mouth beneath the snout, with freshy, thick, or lobed sucking lips, Jaws toothless and retractible. Throat with pectinated teeth, Nostrils double. Gill cover double or triple. Three branchial rays to the gill membrane. A single dorsal fin commonly opposite to the abdominal fins, which have from eight to ten rays.

0303 300

Lesueur has established this genus, in the first volume of the Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, with all the American species of the genus Cyprinus which have the above characters, and he has described eighteen species belonging to it. I have discovered twelve additional new species in the waters of the Ohio, where about sixteen new species have already been detected. This genus having become so extensive at an early period, and many other species existing probably in North America and Siberia, I have therefore divided it into five subgenera, employing principally the number of abdominal rays. All these fishes are permanent in the Ohio its branches and the ponds. Some however disappear in winter,retreating into deep water or into the mud. Many bite at the hook. They feed on univalve shells, small fishes and spawn. They offer a tolerable food.

1st. Subgenus. Moxostoma.

Body oblong, compressed; head compressed, eight abdominal rays, dorsal fin commonly longitudinal, tail commonly unequally forked.

53d Species. Ohio Carp Sucker. Catostomus anisurus. Catostome anisure.

Diameter one fifth of the length: silvery, slightly fulvescent above, fins red, the dorsal falcated with 17 rays, nearer to the head and rea?hing the vent: lateral line curved upwards and flexuose at the b?se: snout gibbose: tail forked, upper part longer. Anal fi? f?lcate with eight rays.

A large species common all over the Ohio and the large streams, as far as Pittsburgh. Permanent and sometimes taken in winter. It is called Carp every where. Length from one to three feet. It is taken with the hook, seine, and dart. Its is pretty good, but soft. The male fish has a red tail; while it is olivaceous in the female. Snout divided from the head by a transverse hollow which makes it gibbose. Eyes black, iris silvery and golden above. Sides often with copper shades. Scales large with concentric st??a. Pectoral fins large oval acute with 15 rays and reaching the abdominal fins. Cauda? with 24 rays.

0304 299

54th Species Buffalo Carp Sucker. Cotostomus anisopturus. Catostome anisopture.

Diameter one fourth of the total length: silvery: head sloping, lateral line curved as the back: tail unequally bifid, upper part much longer: dorsal fin longitudinal, beginning above the pectorals and reaching the end of the anal, sinuated by a double falcation, first ray very long.

A singular species which I have never seen. I describe it from a drawing of Mr. Audubon. It is found in the lower part of the Ohio, and is called Buffalo Carp, Buffalo perch, Buffalo Sucker, White Buffalo-fish, &c. Length about one foot. Very good to eat. Taken with the seine in the spring only. Body broad, dorsal fin broad and large, remarkable by its shape like a double sickle, and first ray which reaches the tail. Anal fin small and falcate. Pectoral fins reaching the abdominal fins. The number of abdominal rays was not observed, if it should have nine it would be nearer to C. Velifer and C. setosus, or it may form a peculiar subgenus.

The C. tuberculutus of Lesueur belongs also to this subgenus, having eight abdominal rays; but its tail is regularly bifid.

2d Subgenus. Ictiorus.

Body nearly cylindrical. Dorsal fin elongated, abdominal fins with nine rays, tail bilobed commonly equal.

The C. gibbosus and C. Comm?nis, of Lesueur, appear to be intermediate between this subgenus and the foregoing, having nine abdominal rays, but an unequal ?ilobed tail.

55th Species. Brown Buffalo-fish Catostomus bubalus, Catostome bubale.

Diameter one fifth of the total length; olivaceous brown, pale beneath, fins blackish, pectoral fins brown and short: head sloping, snout rounded, cheeks whitish: lateral line straight, dorsal fin narrow with 28 equal rays, anal trapezoidal with 12 rays.

One of the finest fishes of the Ohio, common also in the Mississippi, Missouri, and their tributary streams. It is called every where Buffalo-fish, and Piconeau, by the French settlers of Louisiana. I had called it Amblodon bubalus in my 70 N. G. of American Animals, having been misled by the common mistake which ascribed to it the teeth of the Amblodon grunn?en? 0305 400 but it is a real Catostomus, without any such teeth. Length from two to three feet; some have been taken weighing thirty pounds and upwards. It is commonly taken with the dart at night when asleep, or in the seine; it does not readily bite at the hook. It feeds on smaller fishes and shel?s, and often goes in shoals. It retires into deep water in the winter, yet is sometimes taken even then. It comes as far as Pittsburgh. Its flesh is pretty good but soft. Scales rather large. Tail with 24 rays and two equal rounded lobes. Iris gilt brown, eyes small. Pectoral fins with 16 rays. Dorsal fins shallow and even beginning just before the abdominal fins, and ending at the base of the Anal fin.

56th Species. Black Buffalo-fish. Catostomus niger. Catostome ?oir.

Entirely b?ack, lateral line straight.

I have not seen this fish. Mr. Audubon describes it as a peculiar species, found in the Mississippi and the lower part of the Ohio, being entirely similar to the common Buffalo-fish, but large? weighing sometimes upwards of fifty pounds, and living in separate shoals.

3d Subgenus. Carpiodes.

Body oblong, somewhat compressed; head compressed, nine abdominal rays, dorsal fin commonly elongate,tail equally forked.

The C. cyprinus and C. setosus, of Lesueur, belong to this Subgenus.

57th Species. Olive Carp Sucker Catostomus carpio. Catostome carpe.

Diameter one fourth of the length: olivaceous above, pale beneath, chin white, abdomen bluish: lateral line straight dorsal fin somewhat falcated with 36 rays, anal trapezoidal with 10 rays; head sloping, snout rounded.

Seen at the falls of the Ohio, commonly called Carp. Length from one to two feet. Eyes very small and black fins olivaceous brown, the pectorals olivaceous, trapezoidal short and with 16 rays. Tail with 24. Dorsal fin beginning before the abdominal and reaching the end of the anal fin. Not so good to eat as the Buffalo-fish.

0306 301

58th Species. Sailing Sucker. Catostomus velifer. Catostome volant.

Diameter less than one fourth of the length: body elliptical, silvery with sha?es, lateral line flexuose, dorsal fin very broad falcated with 25 rays, the first ones very long, anal fin trapezoidal lunulate with 10 rays: head sloping, snout rounded.

Catostomous anonymous Lesueur in Journ. Ac. Nat Sc. of Philadelphia, Vol. 1, page 110.

A singular fish, not very common, yet found as far as Pittsburgh. It has received the vulgar names of Sador fish, fish, and Skimback, because, when it swims, its dorsal fin appears like a sail, and it often jumps or flies over the water for a short distance. Length commonly from twelve to sixteen inches of which the tail, which is very large, includes fourth, and has 24 rays. Back slightly o????ceous, scales very large. Fins olivaceous brown except the abdominal and pectoral, which are white. The dorsal beginning before the abdominal and reaching the end of the anal, the second and third rays are one third of the whole body, the first is s?ort and cleaving to the second; mouth small quite terminal at the lower end of the rounded snout; head small, conve? above. Pectoral fins with 16 rays. Not very good to eat. Such only in summer.

59 Species. Mud Sucker. Catostomus xanthopue. Catostome xanthope.

Diameter one fourth of the length: lateral line straight: silvery, back olivaceous, head brown above, snout gibbose rounded: dorsal fin hardly falcate with 14 rays, anal lanceolate with 8 rays: lower fins yellowish.

Found below the falls. Length from six to ten inches. It lives in muddy banks, and conceals itself in the mud. Flesh very soft. Head large, flattened above, mouth large, eyes large. Iris silvery. Lateral line hardly raised at the base. Dorsal fin above the abdominal, fins olivaceous as well as the tail, which has 20 rays. Pectorals with 18 rays. Scales large.

4th Subgenus. Teretulus.

Body elongate cylindrical or somewhat quadrangular, nine abdominal rays, dorsal fins commonly small tail equally forked.

An extensive Subgenus to which belong all the following 0307 302 species of Lesueur: C. aureolus, C. macrolepidotus, C. longirostrum, C. nigricans, C. vil?atus, C. maculosus, C. Sucetta, besides the C. teres and C. oblongus of Mitchell.

60th Species. Black-face Sucker. Cotostomus melano; Catostome melanopse.

Diameter one seventh of the length: head squared, blackish above, snout convex obtuse; back olivaceous, sides whitish with scattered black dots, a black spot on the gill cover, and a large one between the dorsal and caudal fins: lateral line straight, dorsal fin with 14 rays, anal with 9 rays.

A singular species seen at the falls. It is rare and called Spotted Sucker or Black Sucker. Length from four to six inches; body cylindrical, flattened beneath as far as the vent. Head flat above, blackish there and in the fore part. Mouth almost terminal with thick whitish lips, the lower one shorter and thicker, a few small black spots on the sides of the head and a large one on the preopercule. Gill cover silvery. Eyes black, iris brown with a gold ring. Back of a refescent colour with gold shades. A very large black patch above the anal fin before the tail. Sides pale with small unequal black dots, belly whitish: Fins coppery, the pectoral elliptical elongated with 18 rays, the anal elongated reaching the tail? the dorsal broad and opposed to the abdominal. Tail with . Scales rather large nervose .

61st Species. Black-back Sucker. Catostomus melanot?s. Catostome melanote.

Diameter one sixth of the length: bluish black above, whitish beneath; head convex, snout obtuse: lateral line straight: dorsal and anal fins with nine rays.

Seen only once at the falls. Length six inches, body nearly cylindrical. Mouth rather inferior, lips thick and somewhat gristly. Iris silvery. Scales pretty large. Fins whitish, the dorsal and caudal a little redish. Pectoral fins elliptical with 16 rays. Tail 20. Dorsal fin trapezoidal, opposed to the abdominal, the first ray shorter. Anal elliptical obtuse. Vulgar names Black Sucker and Blue Sucker.

62d Species. Rough-head Sucker. Catostomus fasciolaris. Catostomus fascie.

Diameter one sixth of the length: brown above, white beneath, 0308 305 39 sides with small transversal black lines: head s?oping, tuberculated above, snout obtuse: dorsal fin longitudinal reaching the end of the anal fin, lateral line straight.

I have not seen this species, but describe it from a drawing of Mr Audubon. It is found in the lower part of the Ohio. Vulgar names Rough-head Sucker, Pike Sucker, Striped Sucker. Length about eight inches, body cylindrical tapering behind.

Eyes, small, mouth beneath. Lower fins trapezoidal, about twenty transversal lines. A doubtful species, perhaps an Hydrargyrus, but the mouth is like that of the Sucker.

63d Species, Red-tail Sucker. Catostomus erythrurus. Catostome rougequeue.

Diameter one fifth of the length: rufous brown above, white beneath; tail olivaceous: head convex, snout rounded: lateral line straight: dorsal fin trapezoidal redish with 12 rays. anal fin elongated yellow, anal falcated, with 7 rays.

A fine species, not uncommon in the Ohio, Kentucky, Cumberland, Tennessee, &c. Vulgar names Red-horse, Red-tail, Horse-fish, Horse Sucker, &c. Length about one foot. Scales very large. Mouth beneath. Iris whitish, eyes black. Pectora fins yellow elliptical reaching the abdominals and with 16 rays. Tail large with 20 rays. Its flesh is dry and not very good to eat.

64th Species. Kentucky Sucker. Catostomus flexuosus. Catostome flexueux.

Diameter one fifth of the length: silvery, back brownish, scales rather rough, opercule flexuose: head squared, snout gibbose truncate; lips very thick, the inferior bilobed: lateral line flexuose: tail brown: dorsal fin blackish with 12 rays, anal fin whitish with 7 rays and reaching the tail.

The most common species in Kentucky, in all the streams and ponds, called merely Sucker. Very good to eat. It conceals itself in the mud in winter. It bites at the hook, living on minnies and little lobsters. Body thick cylindrical. From ten to twelve inches long. Head large, a deep depresion between the snout and the head, mouth large with fleshy lips. Eyes large black, iris yellow. Opercule hard bony. Lower fins whitish, pectorals elongated elliptical with ?0 rays. Tail ?0 0309 306 rays. Dorsal trapezoidal sloping behind. This fish is the most useful to keep in ponds.

65th Species. Big-mouth Sucker. Catostomus? megastomus. Catostome megastome.

Diameter one fifth of the length: blackish above, yellowish beneath, very broad: a spine at the base of the pectoral fins: lateral line straight.

A very doubtful species seen by Mr. Audubon. It comes sometimes in shoals in Mar?h, and soon disappears. Only taken with the s?ine, not biting at the hook; vulgar name Brown Sucker. The mouth is very remarkable, being broader than the head, somewhat projecting on the sides. Length one foot. The head resembles that of Cat-fish, but has no barbs. Is it a peculiar genus owing to the mouth and pectoral spine? It might be called Eurystomus. The yellow colour covers the forehead and reaches to the anal fin. Dorsal opposed to the abdominal and trapezoidal, pectorals elliptical yellow.

5th Subgenus. Decactylus.

Body nearly cylindrical, abdominal fins with 10 rays: tail equally forked.

Besides the two following species, the C. bostoniensis and C. hudsonius, must be enumerated here.

66th. Species. Pittsbrugh Sucker. Catostomus duquesni, Catostome duquesne

Diameter one fifth of the length, whitish; lateral line curved towards the back: anal fin with nine rays extending to the tail: dorsal with 14 rays and trapezoidal.

C. duquesni Lesueur J. Ac. Nat. Sc. v. 1, p. 10?.

This species has been pretty well described by Lesueur: see his description. Length from 15 to 20 inches: good to eat, found in the Ohio as far as Pittsburgh: vulgar name White Sucker.

67th Species. Long Sucker. Catostomus elongatas. Catostomus allonge.

Diameter one seventh of the length; brownish; lateral line nearly straight, snout and opercules tuberculated: dorsal fin with 32 rays, long, falciform and raised anteriorly. Ana? fin small with 8 rays.

0310 307

C. elongatus Lesueur J. Ac. Nat. Sc. v. 1, page 103.

It is found in the Ohio as far as Pittsburgh, and called Brown Sucker, length from 20 to 25 inches. Head small cuneiform above: Scales large. Good to eat. See Mr. Lesueur's description.

(to be continued.)

BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS.

Mr. HUNT,

I happened not long since to fall in company with Mr. David Cook of Lincoln country, a of respectability and unimpeached vera???y, than whom perhaps we cannot boast of a more active, intrepid, or successful warrior, among the early defenders of our soil. Feeling a disposition to promote as far as I am able your design of perpetuating those incide??s in our history which are threatened with oblivion, I have procured the following narrative. Although, comparatively speaking, this rencounter can excite but little interest in those, who have been dazzled by the pomp and pageantry of royal conflicts, yet to the philosphic mind, that is accustomed to view things in their final results, it cannot to be in the highest degree agreeable, to contemplate country, which, in the language of Livy, “ab exiguis profecto initiis, eo creverit, ut jam magnitudine laborat sua.”

In March 1782 fifteen men were ordered by colonel Logan to march from Lincoln county to join captain James Estill, at Estill's station, near the present site of Richmond, Kentucky, and thence to march, under his command, as a kind of reconnoitering party to different parts of that section of the country, at the discretion of the captain. They accordingly marched, in company with as many as could be spared from the station, amounting altogether to the number of forty, to the Kentucky river a few miles below the mouth of Station Camp Creek. Here they commenced digging a canal for the purpose of enabling the company to pass and repass the river with facility and even expedition, should any exigency require it. A day or two after they had left the station, a body of Indians arrived there, killed a daughter of captain ??nes in sight of the fortification, and committed some other depredations. As soon as this news 0311 308 reached company five of those who had families within the fort, being unwilling to trust them to the care of the few who remained, returned themselves to the fort. The company next morning crossed the river and look the direction in which they expected the Indians had retreated. After having gone about ten or twelve miles they fell into the track, or, as they termed it, the of the Indians, pursued them as expeditiously as possible the remainder of the day, and encamped the right near the Little Mountain, the present site of Mount Sterling. Early next morning they again took up the line of march, leaving behind ten of their men, whose horses were so fatigued that they were unable to proceed. The company, now reduced to the number of twenty-five, had not gone far before they discovered, by the appearance of the track of the Indians, that they were not very distant. They then marched in four lines until about an hour before sunset, when they discovered six of the enemy helping themselves to rations from the body of a buffalo. The company were immediately ordered to dismount. Captain Estill fired his piece with effect, and the Indians ?. Mr. Cook, our narrator,naturally ardent and exceedingly active, had proceeded some distance before the company, and, seeing an Indian halt, raised his gun and fired; at the same moment a second Indian passed on the opposite side and he levelled them both at one shot. This fact is well attested, and, being in view of nearly the whole company, inspired them with a high degree of ardour and confidence. the main body of the enemy had heard the returned, and a general engagement commenced at this moment. Lieutenant William Miller, who commanded the left line, took a panic and precipitately from the ?, and his division, consisting of six men, although followed him without firing a gun. This became unprotected, and the enemy made an to gain their rear. As soon as captain Estill discovered this he ordered Cook, who was an ensign, with three other men to occupy Miller's ground and repel the enemy in that quarter. He accordingly took the lead and the others followed, one of whom discovered an Indian and shot him, when the three retreated to a little eminence whence they thought they could do greater execution with less danger, but the only upon one object, continued to advance, not discovering the absence of his comrades, until he had discharged his gun 0312 309 with effect, when he immediately retreated, but after having run some distance towards a large tree, near which he intended to shelter himself, he got entangled in the tops of some fallen trees, which circumstance occasioned him to halt for a moment, and a ball him just below his shoulder blade and came out near his collar bone. In the mean time the captain and the rest of the company kept up a tremendous . The gallant captain Estill expired with his fourth wound. Second lieutenant Samuel South experienced the perhaps one of the most sanguinary and bloody conflicts ever fought in Kentucky for the number of for the space of one hour and three quarters. then seemed disposed to withdraw and the by mutual consent. Of company there were eight killed and three wounded, and Mrs. Gatliffe, a woman who was then a prisoner with the Indians, and also a negro who was that day recaptured by the whites, stated that the Indians were twenty-five in number, seventeen of whom were and two wounded. This was fought on the same day with the defeat at the Blue Licks.

OBITUARY.

In our number for April, it was our office to record the loss we had sustained in the death of one of our valued co-adjutors: we are now again called to perform a similar duty. On the eighth day of May 1820 departed this life, Mr.John D. Clifford, in the 12th year of his age. This enterprising, intelligent, and to our town and one of its most . He was at once a man of business a student, a citizen of the world and a christian. Having been to a extent successful in his the friend and the patron of the industrious young man, the public spirited promoter of every useful enterprise, the liberal contributor to every . His mind too was stored with valuable learning. Natural science was his favourite pursuit, and he was ardently devoted to the investigation of the curiosities which abound in our country. To his pen are our readers indebted for the interesting articles on Indian Antiquities, which have from time to time 0313 310 appeared in our pages, and by him was commenced a series of essays, the first of which is contained in this number, on the Geology of the Western Country. His career has been suddenly stopped; in the midst of his usefulness he has been cut off; and we are left to lament his loss. He was an ardent friend, an estimable companion, an affectionate relative, an industrious merchant, a public spirited citizen, an instructive writer, and a sincere christian. The death of such a man is no trilling calamity: it is a loss to our whole community; it leaves a melancholy blank in our literary circle; and seriously affects the interests of the church. One after another in rapid succession, our fellow labourers in the extensive field of literature and science are thus taken away, but we trust those of us who remain will be to greater exertion, and as our responsibilities are increased, our vigilance and zeal will be proportionably .

MONTHLY OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS

Made in Lexington by Professor Rafinesque.

No. 4 RESULTS FOR

0314 311

Frost. There were four frosty nights, the 1st, 2d, 3d, and 4th. On the third there was no thaw in the shade during the whole day. White frosts happened on the 5th, 8th, 9th, and 10th. Vegetation was retarded and injured by the heavy frost of the 3d, and the blossoms of the Cherry trees, Peach trees, and Pear trees, which had put forth, were mostly killed.

Winds. Prevailing wind S. W., which blew twelve days. West seven days, N. W. four days, South four days, North and N. E. each one day and partially another. There was a high S. W. wind on the 11th.

Thunder was heard on the 11th, and lightnings were seen on the evening of the 14th. On the 25th a thunder gust happened from the S. W.

Ground. The snow melted on the third day after its fall. The roads were muddy for two or three days after, and also after the rains of the 16th and 17th; but they soon dried, and were generally good during the remainder.

Vegetation. 1st. Acer and Acer negundo in blossom.

5th. In blossom Sanguinaria canadensis, Jeffersonia binata, Erythronium albidum, Alsine media, Viola cucullata, Viola debilis, Trillium sessile, &c.

10th. The Lombardy poplars in leaves. In blossom Phlox divaricata, Pavis pallida, (Buck-eye,) mutabilis, (N. Sp.) R. abortivus, R. , &c.

12th. In blossom, Enemion biternatum, (New Genus,) Hepatica parviflora, Viola pubescens, Podophyllum, pellatum, &c.

18th. In blossom, Stylypus geoides, (New Genus,) Stellaria pubera, Veronica Dodecatheon album, (N. Sp.) Prunus , (N. Sp.) &c.

20th. Peas, Currants, Gooseberries, and Strawberries in full blossom.

Transylvania University, 1st May 1??0

0315 312

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

A work has been recently published in England and republished in the United States purporting to be the Historical Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, written by himself, “containing an authentic history of the events which occurred in France from the period of the emperor's return in 1815 until the battle of Waterloo, including a variety of observations on the conduct of the generals opposed to him on that memorable occasion.” Sir Richard Phillips, the editor of the Monthly Magazine, speaking of this work, says—“The announcement of this unquestionable production of Napoleon as the second manuscript from St. Helena proves that he recognises the first as his; and, indeed, we have the authority of Dr. O'Meara for stating that the first manuscript from St. Helena, as well as that from Elba, were undoubted productions of Napoleon. Hitherto public opinion has been divided on the subject; and the works, in consequence, have lost much of that importance to which they were entitled.” Marshal Grouchy, on the contrary, pronounces the work last published totally destitute of authenticity, as it relates to those parts in which he is concerned. We believe also, that the English Reviewers generally regard it us spurious. The first manuscript from St Helena and that from Elba have long since been considered as forgeries both in England and in this country.

Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek, a work somewhat after the manner of Anarcharsis, has been recently published. It has by some been attributed to the pen of Lord Byron, by others to that of Mr. Hope, an artist in London. It professes to be a delineation of the state of manners in modern Greece. We shall probably notice it more particularly hereafter.

0317 314

The poetical works of Judge Trumbull are about to be published for the benefit of the author. They deserve the patronage of the American public.

The Sketch Book of Mr. Washington Irving, the first five numbers of which we noticed in our last, is spoken of by some of the British Reviewers in the warmest terms of praise. Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine mentions Mr. Irving as a man of a “happy and genial order of mind,” and then remarks—“He is the sole author of the Sketch Book, a periodical work now in the course of publication at New-York, from which numerous extracts have appeared in the Literary Gazette and in many of the Magazines; none of which, however, seem to have known from whose genius they were borrowing so largely. We are greatly at a loss to comprehend for what reason Mr. Irving has judged fit to publish his Sketch Book in America earlier than in Britain; but at all events he is doing himself great injustice by not having an edition printed here of every number, after it has appeared in New York. Nothing has been written for a long time, for which it would be more safe to promise great and eager acceptance.” The editors then notice particular parts of the work, and make copi?us extracts, particularly from the article entitled the Royal Poet, and then proceed thus—“The style in which this is written may be taken as a fair specimen of Mr. Irving's more serious manner. It is, we think, very graceful, infinitely more so than any piece of American writing that ever came from any other hand, and well entitled to be classed with the best English writers of our day.” This, considering the source from which it comes, must certainly be regarded as very high praise? it is placing the author of the Sketch Book in the foremost rank. We are glad the merits of an American writer can sometimes be discerned—or rather sometimes be acknowledged—by British critics.

The Port Fo?io, one of the oldest and most justly celebrated literary publications in our country, has recently assumed the form of a quarterly work.

The North American Review, published in Boston, has fallen into able hands. Its two last numbers, issued under the superintendence of its new editor, the Rev. Edward Everett, Professor of Greek Literature in Harvard University, are calculated to reflect no small credit upon our country. The work, if continued in the same style, will inevitably assume a rank, not at all behind the most 0318 315 conspicuous publications in Europe. The talents it displays, the rich fund of learning it contains, will place it ab??? the sneers of the literary dictators of Great Britain. We wish it all the success to which it is so eminently entitled. We do not intend, however, to be considered as sanctioning all its opinions or as approving the spirit of all its articles.

A poet, it seems, has recently arisen in the west, who has ventured to publish, in Cincinnati, a work consisting of 52 octavo pages, entitled “American Barbs, a modern poem, in three parts.” As no copy has, to our knowledge, yet arrived in Lexington, we are not able to pass our judgment upon it. It is, we understand, as its title imports, intended as a satire upon the American writers, who have attempted to attain the elevated rank of poets. Whether the author has included himself among the number we are not informed. The work is anonymous, but its writer is said to be well known in Cincinnati.

An interesting work, entitled theClu? Room, has recently made its appearance in Boston. Some of the earliest numbers we have seen. It does not make very high pretensions; but it contains some humor, and is well calculated to occupy agreeably a leisure hour. In the first the editors observe—“We can anticipate just who will be our subscribers. We shall have all the learned and enlightened world; they from the treasures of knowledge that we shall open, and to drink deep of the cup of wisdom we shall fill for them. We shall have the whole political world; for we intend to write on both sides of all political questions. We shall have all the fashionable world; for we shall make it our object to contribute to their enjoyment by affording a constant supply of subjects for conversation. Gentlemen, who have no wits of their own, will be furnished with a substitute, that will answer all their purposes, without requiring any labour on their part. We shall also throw in gratis some of our cast-off jokes, that will do very well to retail in the intervals of a cotillon, or to fill up a pause at a dinner party.” Again—“We will assure our readers, that if they do not find something here to please them, it will be their own fault, for we shall have variety enough for any sensible man in the world.” So much for the promises of the Editors, as it respects their own productions. It seems however, from the following, that we are not to expect much excellence in the 0319 316 communications they will publish. “We have,” they observe,” a little box at our publisher's bookstore, where we shall be ready to receive communications from every body. We shall occasionally select the best and keep them, to light our cigars with; for, (as the secretary observes) we can write better. The worst we shall publish; for we do not think any of us will be able to write as bad.”

Lord Byron has finished two more Cantos of Don Juan, the publication of which may shortly be expected.

Mr. Philip of Liverpool is about to publish a new life of Whitefield.

Mrs. Opie has published a new work in three volumes entitled Tales of the Heart.

The following new works have also been recently issued from the English Press; viz.

The Fudge Family in Italy; by the Author of the Fudge Family in Paris.

The River Duddon, a series of Sonetts, and Vandracour and Julia, with other poems, by W. Wordsworth.

The Radical Triumvirate; or Tom Paine, Lord Byron, and Surgeon Lawrence, colleaguing to exp?l religion from the earth, and emancipate mankind from all laws, human and divine; by an Oxonian.

The mystery; or, Forty Years ago; a Novel, in three volumes.

Italian Mysteries, or more Secrets than One; by Francis Lathom.

Geraldine; or Modes of Faith and Practice, a tale, by a lady, in three volumes.

The Mock moralist, a Novel, by Mr. William Gardiner.

POETRY

AD H..... M.....*

* See the verses to a Bird by H. M. in the 6th Number of the 1st Volume of the Western Review.

Ad te scis tremulas, quaæ vertit, vespere, penn?? Noctem hiememque timens Ales, et interitus per se servata periclo, Quaæ fuit illa ne scis? 0320 317 Anne tibi visa est volueris formidine nimbi Poscere tecta viros? Quæque, volens, hominum fidei se eredere notæ, Compedibusque pedes? Credas: illa fuit mendax Cithereia Proles, Tu sibi visa Parens, Nec mirum: Charites tecum celebrare choreas Noverat ad numeros; Forsitan et dulces arguto e gutture voces Fundere te audierat; Tractus et illecebris petiit tua limina noctu, Mane novo fugiens; Et tibi notus Amor miseræ nune ille fuisset, Et fluerent lacrymae, Sed vidit gratæ indicium de pectore flammæ, Novit et illud opus, Et fugit: Mariam, te terque, quaterque beatam Cui fuit æquus Amor, Cui tenero Di riserunt, et ridit ab ungue Semper amica Venus! Et mihi visus Amor supplex, mentitus et ora Et faciem pueri. Nox erat illunis: fundebat Jupiter imbres Æthere præcipites. Robur et æs triplex mea non præcordia cingit, Nee fuit Hæma parens, Sic mea oberranti reserata est janua flavo, Quod sero nunc doleo: Arcum intuitus tim?i, gravidamque pharetram, Aligerosque humeros; Attamen ad fl?mmam puerum admovi, gelidasque Stringo manus manibus; Leniter alarum madidas et comprimo pennas Auricomumque caput Cum tepefactus, ait: probandus nunc mihi ner?? Læsus an imbre fuit. Protenus hunc fatus tendit, pectusque sagitta Sauciat ille gravi. Et ridens volitat: lateri noctuque, dieque Hæret arundo meo. Ardeo, quæ forma est pulcherrima et ore, puellam, Virginibus me decus. Nam, veluti flores olet inter condita, pallens Vere novo viola, 0321 318 Alba sicut specie Latonia nymphas, . Atque Beatrieis, Nomina Amor docuit. Nec vulnus dolco, almæ si, me vate, Pucliæ Sæcula vincat bonos. Et vincet. Mariæ hæc vivent sub nominis umbra, Carmina perpetuum. Levingtonii.

TO A BEAUTIFUL AND INTELLIGENT GIRL ON HER BIRTH DAY.

If Princes, rob'd with sovereign power, And Kings of wide extended sway, Make poets string a high toned lyre, To celebrate their day.

Surely a kind and fervent friend May claim it as his pleasing duty To pour forth blessings on the day, That brought to life an artless Beauty.

For Kings' and Princes' sway I ween,Is fraught with tyranny at best; While Beauty, clothed in nature's , Controls the empire of the breast.

Then deign, fair maid, a listening ear, To friendship's kind and pure devotion; O'er winter's waste an early flower, Thou ros't to kindle warm emotion.

Like Lapland's rose, that sweetly blows, Under a cold and cheerless sky; 0322 319 So hast thou smiled o'er winter's wild, The light and charm of every eye.

Bright is the beam of early morn, And soft is Zephyr's balmy sigh; More bright the smile that decks thy face, And softer is thine azure eye:

And softer still is thy pure breast, Where Envy will not dare to come, Where modest Worth enshrines itself, And Love and Pity find a home.

Thou little Sylph, with soul serene, To thee the magic pow'r is giv'n; To wake in hearts elysian dreams, And lead the captive soul to heaven.

May each returning year, dear girl, Bring hope, and joy, and bliss; And, from some dear enamour'd friend, A warm and soul-dissolving kiss.

From the German of Kleist

DITHYRAMBUS.

(Freund! versaime nicht zu lehen:)

Haste! the joys of life to taste; Improve the moments as they fly;— The magic scenes will soon be past, And we ourselves, alas! must die. Waternever reached the heart, Physic's ten times worse than this! 'Tis Wine can soothe the body's pains, 'Tis wine can bathe the soul in bliss! Wine, sparkling wine, is nature's balm; Say, what imparts the roseate die? Then crown the bowl with finest flowers; Drink—joy and glee at bottom lie! Let Bacchus' flagrant altars blaze, Semele's son his tribute claims! But Love the alternate triumph shares, Now Love the swelling heart inflames!

U & Y.

ENIGMAS.

The following Enigmas originally appeared in Latin in the Journal of Belles Lettres published in Lexington on the day of February 1820. The translations are now for the first laid before the public.

FIRST ENIGMA.

“Est Graium nomen: Charites risere, Venusque, Nascentique, scio, fidit Amor phare??m. Anni ter seni jam: excultum mentis acumen; Dulcia verba melos: conspice—nosce—cave.”

TRANSLATION.

Grecian the name she bears: the Graces smil'd, And sea-born Venus, on their favorite child. To her, the god of love his quiver lends; To thrice six years her blooming age extends. The taste and judgment of a cultur'd mind With feeling, wit, and fancy are combin'd. In measures sweet she pours her mellow song. While echoing chords the enchanting tones prolong. Let him, who knows and sees the maiden fair, Guard well his heart, the traitor-god beware.

SECOND ENIGMA.

“ Dulce-loquens et dulce-canit, licet Anglica verba. Os, faciesque vocant oscula....sed vetitum.”

TRANSLATION.

The Virgin's name, and virtues too, though wed, The accomplished subject of my ver?? ador?; On her, their richest gifts the ; A ?ind is hers, of Heaven's own radiance horn. Though English words in her mild accents flow, The of melody and love is there; Her cheek and lip with angel sweetness glow, And tempt to joys that One alone .

THE WESTERN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS MAGAZINE.

Vol. II.JULY, 1820.Num. 6.

REMARKS

ON THE GEOLOGY OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

NO. II.

THE first number of these remarks had hardly been in type, when the worthy author, Mr. John D. Cliford, was suddenly lost to his friends and to science. It was his intention to have published a series of ocular observations on the geology of the western states, in which he would have stated many new facts, and evolved the ideas which he had begun to unfold on the secondary formations of this large tract of country. We have to regret that his labours have been so suddenly concluded before he had written his series of essays. Considering that any relics of an accurate and ocular observer are highly valuable, we have been induced to collect all he had written on the subject; and we now offer it in the state in which it was found: consisting of a fragment of the second number, and an interesting geological journal.

The numberless proofs which he had collected, of a comparative period of softness in our actual stony strata, are partly lost; but his theory, which must be obvious to every reflecting observer of our secondary formations, cliffs, and valleys, will not be forgotten. I shall endeavour to demonstrate and illustrate it elsewhere, while I shall be happy to trace the idea to the discriminating mind of my worthy and lamented friend.

We had undertaken to study in common the infinite variety of new and interesting fossil remains, which abound in the western states, and many of which were collected in his museum. We intended to undertake many excursions in all the western states, in order to increase our knowledge 0325 322 of these medals of nature. Although interrupted at such an early period, we had already prepared the descriptions of about one hundred species of Fossil Shells and Polyps, and the figures of about two hundred species had been beaufully painted for the work we had in contemplation. The natural history of the genera Gonotrema, Turbinolia, Favosites, Catenularia, &c. was almost completed. I hope to be enabled to present to the public, at some future period, the results of our common labours, and to proceed in the investigation of those animal relics.

Mr. John D. Clifford was a member of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, and of the Antiquarian Society of Massachusetts. He had lately begun an extensive correspondence and interchange of sentiments and specimens with many of the first naturalists of Europe.

I reserve a further account of his discoveries, attainments, and labours for another time and place.

C. S. RAFINESQUE.

FRAGMENT OF No. 2.

The writer of these remarks has crossed the Cumberland Mountains in three different directions: first, on what is called the old wilderness road leading from Stanford in Kentucky to Bean's station in the Holstein settlement of Tennessee; secondly, from Wayne county to Knoxville; and lastly, on the main road from the said town of Knoxville to Nashville. He has also visited the northern parts of the state of Alabama. I observed the western sides of the Cumberland range of Mountains in that country. The old wilderness road may be said, in a great degree, to bound the southern limits of those innumerable spurs and ridges of the Cumberland and Allegany Mountains, which intersect the states of Virginia and Kentucky, and which, as I have before represented, are almost impassable in any direct course. These impediments in some measure again appear on the route from Wayne county towards Knoxville. They are limited to a few ridges between Knoxville and Nashville, and almost disappear on extending to Alabama. It is this section of country which I must geologically describe: taking, in the first place, the main road from Stanford to Bean's station as a middle criterion of observation. The Clinch Mountains first present themselves in eminence to the west. They are in this direction of sandstone formation, 0326 23? and in certain parts, from absence of organic remains, may be considered as belonging in some measure to the old red sandstone formation. I speak in this manner as a mineralogist, and beg not to be understood as injuring the superior claims which modern geologists have lately arrogated to themselves. * * * * * * * * * * * *

GEOLOGICAL AND MINERALOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

Made during a journey from Lexington, Kentucky, to the City of Washington, via Tennessee and Virginia, in 1818—By J. D. Clifford.

From Lexington to the Kentucky River,20

Danville,13

Stanford,11

44 miles

Soil rich, vegetable loam two to six feet deep, substratum clay three to eight feet deep. The lowest part of this Argil very tenacious, containing, in some places, ferruginous gravel. Substratum limestone rock in horizontal strata twenty to 100 feet deep; beneath which is uniformly found an indurated Schistus. Water is obtained upon reaching the slate. The upper stratum of limestone contains marine petrifactions, viz: great varieties of Madreporites, also Alcyonites, Coralites, Belemnites, Encrinites, Baculites, &c. Of shells I have found varieties of Terebratulites, Patelites, Ostrites, Chamites, Turbites, &c. In other districts the limestone contains veins of Carbonate of Barytes, Sulphate of lead, Blende, and common and double refracting Calcarous Spar. The lower stratum of limestone abounds with Nodule of opaque flint. The rock skirting the water courses is often a very compact marble with conchoidal fracture, which takes a polish equal to Egyptian marble, and is generally of a light drab colour, veined with slight shades of blue or yellow, and sometimes spotted with transparent calcarous spar.

General Observations.

The rich lands of Kentucky are bounded on the east by the hills of Montgomery, Clark, and Madison counties. In the northern part of the state they are intersected by a range of hills following the course of the Licking river. To the south and west some distance from the Kentucky river the 0327 324 land rises in height and forms a district of country called the barrens. This is also limestone, in some places of a soft nature and abounding with shells, in other places, especially on the hills, the petrifactions are silicious. The higher hills contain quartz and quartzose flint, agate, and chalcecedony, also masses of silicious cellular stone containing encrinites. The larger water courses of the fertile district flow in deep ravines, skirted on each side with marble and limestone precipices from two to four hundred feet high. The state of Kentucky abounds with caves. They contain, in the hilly districts, nitrates of lime and potash, sulphate of soda, magnesia, allum, and lime.

Miles44

Mount Vernon,22

66

From Stanford the road becomes hilly. The beds of the streams contain rounded concretions of ferruginous quartz, which are sometimes hollow and lined with hyalin quartz. The hills are composed of sand stone, chloritic and aluminous schistus. I observed good writing slate near the Crab Orchard.

Miles, 66 Rock Castle River, 9 Laurel Creek, 22 31 97

Country mountainous, soil poor. Strata uniformly horizontal, as fellows: The upper part of the hills sandstone and coal, below schistus and sandstone, in the lowest vallies limestone. Near Laurel Hill I found a quartzose petrifaction, which is either a zoophite or marine vegetable remain. It is figured in Parkinson's Organic Remains, Vol. 3.

Miles 97 Barboursville, 18 Renfro's Tavern, Cumberland River, 17 35 132

High mountains, soil bad. Strata horizontal ferruginous sandstone. Sandstone and schistus, coal and iron ore abundant throughout the district. From a description of the mineral I am induced to believe a mine of manganese exists about twelve miles from Renfro's. The caves of these mountains contain Epsom , nitre, and allum.

0328 325

Miles,132

Mr. Henry's, cast of the Cumberland Mountains,16

148

The road from Renfro's leads over the Cumberland Mountains and its western spurs. We experienced a snow storm, which precluded mineralogical observations. On the top of the Cumberland I saw fragments of coarse limestone, intermixed with silex.

Miles,148

Bean's Station,27

175

The valley at M'Henry's is composed of limestone and conchoidal marble, similar to the Kentucky marble; from thence to the Clinch mountains we travelled over a hilly district, chiefly limestone, whose dip is to the south east from twenty to twenty five degrees. Clinch Mountain is composed of sand stone, dipping in the same manner. Mr. M'Henry informed us that a person from New-York was working a quarry of burr stone about twelve miles off the road, and that the mill stones had been pronounced as good as any procured in our Atlantic cities.

General Observations.

From Mount Vernon to the Cumberland Mountains the strata are uniformly horizontal; from thence to Bean's station the strata run in the same direction as the Cumberland and Clinch Mountains, and dip parallel with the usual declivity of those mountains. On descending the Clinch Mountain we entered the Holstein Valley, which is bounded to the south east by the Iron Mountains of North Carolina.

Miles, 175 Nock's Tavern, 12 Rogersville, 12 Armstrong's Tavern, 13 37 212

The road leads up the Holstein river receding in places towards the Clinch mountains.

Stratum of limestone dipping as before mentioned. The limestone is interspersed with large white veins. I observed marble of various hues; one specimen was granular and of a light red colour. The valley contains, in places, schistus, 0329 326 clay, slate, and sand stone, also collections of large silicious pebbles, in other parts, immediately over the limestone, quartzose flint, and chalcedony.

Miles, 212 Boat Ford, Holstein River, 14 Mrs. Blackmore's, 15 30 242

The country, as before, chiefly limestone. Schistus on the hills, chirt and chalcedonic flint in places. The hills, near the Holstein, are composed of large pebbles. At the Boat Ford we found numerous petrifactions, similar to the Trochus perspectivus.* Some of them were a foot in diameter, and, when imbedded in the limestone rock, had the appearance of Ammonites. I also found a conical Orthocerite. The strata of limestone and schistus dip to the south east from ten to forty degrees. In one district I observed them to be nearly vertical.

*

Miles, 242 Mrs. Fullerton's, 10 Abingdon, 14 24 266

Stratum limestone, chiefly of a dark colour, and dipping very irregularly. Fragments of quartzose flint partly split in various directions. The soil much intermingled in various places with small pieces of this species of quartz.

Miles, 266 Carpenter's 8 Holstein River, 14 Adkin's 12 34 300

The limestone strata dip very irregularly, being, in some places, not more than ten degrees, and in other situations nearly vertical; quartzose flint, as before observed. About sixteen miles from the road is a quarry of excellent gypsum. It is in use as manure, and numerous mills have been erected for grinding it. The large rolled silicious pebbles 0330 327 are always found on approaching the hills of the Holstein River. The strata are of a dark blue colour.

Miles, 300 Mount Airy, 9 ½ Wythe Court House, 13 ½ Fort Chessel 9 32 332

Limestone and blue quartz in large and small fragments. The strata confused, dipping various degrees and in various directions. Bodies of sandstone existing in many places. After passing Wythe Court House the hills are generally composed of aluminous and chloritic schistus, indurated clay stones, and masses of rolled sand stone. The strata of schistus very confused. About seven miles south of fort Chissel are the Chissel Lead Mines, which we had not time to visit.

Miles 332 Graham's, 8 New River, 18 Montgomery Court House, 12 38 370

Near Graham's are numerous quartz chrystals with facets at both ends. The general face of the country is limestone and schistus. Towards New River I observed an indurated red clay, often in a state of decomposition by the atmosphere. The hills in the vicinity of New River are composed of large rolled pebbles, as before described.

Miles, 370 Salem, 26 Dillard's, 10 36 406

Limestone and schistus on the top of the Allegany Mountains, loose masses of sandstone, quartz, and quartzose flint. Upon approaching the Roanoke the hills contain the same rolled pebbles.

General Observations.

From Bean's Station limestone is the lowest observable stratum. Montgomery Court House is on the summit of the Allegany Mountain, which, in this place, is nearly as low as the circumjacent country. From the eastern sides the head waters of the Roanoke flow. The head waters of the Kenhaway River, or, as it is here called, the New River, 0331 328 rapidly descend along the western foot of the Mountain. The upper rivulets of the Holstein River flow from the district forming the west banks of the New River. The circumjacent hills and banks of all these water courses are composed of rolled pebbles, evincing the action of some immense water course diverging in various ways. The facts here mentioned may elucidate Mr. Jefferson's hypothesis of the valley between the Allegany and Blue Mountains having at one period formed an immense lake.

Miles, 406 Amsterdam, 6 Pattonsburgh, James River, 16 Natural Bridge Tavern, 12 34 440

On leaving the Roanoke we also left the large rolled pebbles of its bordering hills. Limestone and schistus throughout the days ride. At Pattonsburgh the banks of James River are composed of a rich yellow ochre clay, and its bed contain numerous rolled pebbles of trap, the fracture and other appearances indicating amorphous basalt. We visited the natural bridge which has been sufficiently described; I shall therefore only mention that a Patent Shot Manufactory with a hose tube, erected during the late war, has injured its romantic appearance. One of Mr. Jefferson's slaves, a mulatto man, who had made himself acquainted with the questions usually proposed by travellers, informed us that the depth of the tube from the top of the bridge was 208 feet, width of the bridge 40 feet, and space of the arch about 45 feet; the thickness of the arch 36 feet. The ridge is composed of a limestone rock, the natural piers or precipices being convex on one side and partially concave on the other.

Miles, 440 Lexington, 13 Greenville, 23 36 476

This day's route afforded nothing but limestone with quartz on certain hills. The strata of limestone dip about 40 degrees and the layers were oftentimes so thin as to occasion it to be taken at a short distance for slate. The neighbourhood of Greenville abounds with quartzose flint. I was informed that fine quartz chrystals are met with.

0332 329 42 Miles 476 Staunton, 12 Harrisonburgh, 25 New Market, 20 57 533 Winchester 50 583

The whole district of country from Staunton is uniformly limestone with quartz stone on the surface in places. At Staunton I procured specimens of carbonate of lime from Wire's Cave, one of which I consider very uncommon, being in hexagonal coniform prisms, with another base beginning from the apex of the first and extending in the same manner. Having taken the stage for the purpose of proceeding to Washington City, ninety miles from Winchester, my observations were few. In crossing the Blue Mountain, the summit and eastern side were chiefly composed of massive epidote, affording radiated chrystals of the same.

THIRD ORIENTAL IDYL.

The Brides of the Hill.

Samel,Mild Sun,

Erpen,Ever loving.

Esta,Lasting friend.

Zada,Gift of the Earth.

Handa,Gift of the hand.

Hear the language of love, beautiful maid of the hill. Hear the sigh of the heart, lovely maid of the hill. Feel the power of love, beautiful maid of the hill. Feel the pulse of the heart, lovely maid of the hill. But hear it only from me and feel it only for me. Such was the song of Samel, on the hill of the Elms; Where dwelt the youthful Esta, the maid of his choice; While she sat on the turf, which grew round the trees. Their dark shade was cool, as the breeze of the north; The sky was fair and clear, as the sunshine of May, And the warblings of birds were the flutes of his lay. Esta heard, Esta felt, and her heart began to flutter: 0333 330 The sweet shiver of love crept through her whole frame, And with a purling voice, as clear as the rocky stream, She answered the welcome song of her trusty lover. I have heard the voice of truth, I have felt the flash of love: I have heard, I have felt, what I wish to be true. Samel. Let me sing the happy hour, when my Esta heard my lay. I am the son of truth, and never spoke to deceive. Believe me then, sweet maid of the hill, and grant me thy love. Esta. When the belief is dear, it is hard to disbelieve: When the speaker is welcome, ?i words will reach the heart. Samel. Thine shall be gathered in my faithful bosom, To delight and to crown my best loving wishes. Erpen. Happy! thrice happy couple of fondness and sincerity! Heaven has blest your wishes, and united your hearts. But mine is rent by sorrow, and the gloom of despair. I mourn and I weep, day and night, night and day. Samel. Tell us, good shepherd of the hill, why do thy tears flow? Esta. Do tell us, and we shall try to relieve thy sorrow. Erpen. Listen to my dismal tale, happy children of love! I lately was the happiest man on the hill: I loved the fair Zada, and I was beloved by her. The blessings of love dwelt with us as they now do with u. But I was too fond of enjoying their earliest dawn, And I delayed the bliss, which the wedding imparts. Ere Zada was my bride, Zada became a corpse. She pined and she fell, as the Palm struck by the storm. Cruel death laid her cold, in the grave of her mother, And I was left on earth, to mourn my sorrowful loss. Beware, happy lovers, of the waste of time: Learn from the unhappy Erpen, the danger of delay. Zada, dear Zada, why did I not wed thee at once? Why did I lose so many years of the purest felicity? For the fleeting raptures of love, and the pleasures of hope. Tamel. Esta, dear Esta, hear the sorrow of the heart: Be my bride even now, ere our bliss may be blasted. Esta. Samel, dear Samel, let thy wish be my wish. 0334 331 Erpen. Blessed be the sweet bride of the hill of the Elms: Enjoy your bliss together, and leave my tears to flow. Esta. No, not forever at least, good shepherd of the hill. Thou hast made me a bride, ere I hoped to be such, And I will find thee another, quite equal to Zada. Dost thou know the young Hamda, who is mild and is fair? Take her to thy bosom, and she shall dry thy tears. Erpen. The advice of the bride is the balm of my sorrow; And if the fair Handa does not disdain my second thoughts; If she will pity as thee, the lonely lover of Zada; Let my hand be her own and her heart be my own. Let the same day make you both blooming brides: While Samel and I, shall receive and shall give, the pledge of blissful faith. Esta. Handa, hear the voice of the bride of the hill. Come hence; wilt thou not become such likewise? Erpen is the man, who claims the gift of thy heart. Handa. My heart is free, as the swift fallow-deer: But I surrender it to my friend the bride of the hill, And to whom she shall choose for my lawful mate. Esta. I accept and comply, Erpen receive her hand. Erpen. Blessed be the soft hand, which I press to my lips. Samel. Let us sing our bliss and the brides of the hill.*

* This Idyl is of a very short metre throughout, in the original oriental language, from which it is imitated; each verse being of six feet only If any one shall feel a curiosity to ascertain that language, they may endeavour to do it from the five first verses, which are here given in the original. Ist er-go el gro-zin ?st bir-psin er gro-zin. Fen path-er gro-zin. Fen bir-ib er gro-zin. ?st es-em fen es-em, &c.

CONSTANTINE.

ON THE POLYGRIPHS,

Peculiar kinds of Enigmas or Riddles.

To delight the fair will be my constant aim.

Enigmas, which, in plain English, we call riddles, are well known to be peculiar words, which must be guessed 0335 332 by explaining their disguised meaning. They have at all times, and even in the remotest antiquity, exercised the ingenuity of the witty and learned folks of Asia, (where they were born,) Africa, and Europe: they have even delighted the wise and grave philosophers of Egypt and Greece, afforded amusement to all the idle men, women, and children, and are not yet out of fashion among our polite circles and parties.

Under the modifications of Charades, Rebuses, Logogriphs, Conundrums, Puns, Anagrams, &c. lately born in France England, &c. they are to this day the sport and delight of our humourous wits, sprightly beaux, and lively belles, who have not failed to import them into this western continent. But as yet no new kind of riddles have been born in this region, except political, economical, religious, and learned riddles, with which we have no business, since they do not belong to the order of ancient and classical enigmas.

To prevent this doleful case from lasting any longer, I have endeavoured to induce Kentucky to bring forth some new or peculiar child of fancy, which might belong, by natural or adoptive right, to the ancient and noble family of Enigmas. This western child was hardly born, when it began to breed like the Polyps, by spontaneous division, and became the father of a large family, in imitation probably of ourselves; since every thing in our western states appears of course to increase and multiply manifold in its very childhood. Witness our population, institutions, wealth, and learning.

This hopeful child being born in Lexington, and in the neighbourhood of our learned school, I could not do less than give it a classical Grecian name, and I have called it accordingly Polygriph, which implies its prolific propensity, and manifold properties. It may be considered as a brother of the Logogriph; but this last has its body composed of feet only, which may be compounded in other words and in any shape; while the Polygriph has several words with a heart, a head, &c. which may be cut off or changed without danger; but cannot be removed to form any other body by a new combination.

Leaving for a while the metaphor, let me explain to the fair , who may peruse these lines, my plain meaning, and let us analyze my child's body.

The main or principal word, which forms the Polygriph, 0336 333 must be called the subject, and all the other words, which are derived from it, are objects. If all the words be similar in the number of limbs or letters, there is no main or simple subject, but all the objects or words form a compound subject.

For instance, let Marrow be the subject or principal word, Narrow, Morrow, and Arrow may be the objects or derived words. But the words Book, Hook, Cook, Rook, and Look, are all objects of a compound subject. They are commonly to be numbered in alphabetical order.

The letters of the words must be called limbs; a word of three letters has only three limbs, the first of which is the head, the second the heart, and the last the foot. Thus in Cap, C is the head, a is the heart, and p the foot or end.

A word of two, four, six, eight &c. letters or limbs can have no heart, this limb being always the central letter of a word, having an odd number of letters. But the first letter of every word is its head, and the last its foot: in words of two letters only there is of course no other limb but these two.

In words of four letters or limbs, the second must be called the hand, and the third the ankle. Thus in Rose, o is the hand and s the ankle. In words of five letters, it is the fourth letter which becomes the ankle: thus in Night, h is the ankle, g being the heart.

When they have six letters the third becomes the arm and the fourth the side: thus in Bright, i is the arm, and g the side, the other limbs being named as above. But if it has seven the fourth or central one becoming the heart, it is then the next or fifth which forms the side: thus, in Whisker, s becomes the heart and k the side.

Following this principle, in words of eight limbs, which have no heart, the fourth must be called the soul and the fifth the mind; while in Constancy, which has nine letters and of course a heart, which is t, the next letter, a, becomes the mind.

This analysis and explanation need not be pursued any further, as very few, if any, words of more than nine letters may be employed; but to impress on the memory of my fair readers the names of my child's limbs, I shall give a tabular view of them in a word of nine limbs.

0337 334

Example. Wonderful.

Wis the head or first limb

Othe hand or second limb

Nthe arm or third limb

Dthe soul or fourth limb

Ethe heart or fifth limb

Rthe mind or sixth limb

Fthe side or seventh limb

Uthe ankle or eight limb

Lthe foot or end, or 9th or last limb.

I must now notice the offspring of the Polygriph, to whom I have also been induced to give classical names: in order that they may inspire respect, notwithstanding their youth. They are six in number already.

1. The Cephalogriph, or rhyming riddle, is a fellow that can change his head at pleasure, lose it altogether, or kindly lend it. But he cannot play the same trick with his heart, should he happen to have any, nor with any of his other limbs. For instance Fowl, Bowl, Cowl, and Owl; Blight, Slight, Plight, Knight, Light, Tight, Fight, Sight, Night, Right, &c. These objects afford of course excellent rhymes not merely of sound, but of well spelt real rhymes; such as our modern poets often scratch their heads to find out, and therefore I trust they will not disdain a kind lift of memory through the means of this fellow of ours, to whom I advise and invite them to pay some notice occasionally.

2. The Cardiogriph, or heart riddle, must always have a heart in the first instance; but he may change it or lose it altogether in the process of his labour, while his other limbs are so stiff that they cannot be removed. For instance, Rod and Red, Horse and House, Share and Shore, &c. This fellow will not be altogether useless if he can teach our beaux and belles to change their hearts without breaking them, or to lose them without falling love sick.

3. The Podogriph, or lame riddle, may change or drop his foot or last limb, but cannot meddle with any other of his limbs, not even his head, much less his heart, should he have any, which is by no means needful. For instance, S??g, S?ar, and Stab; Soul, Soup, and Sour; or Lame and Lamb, or Lorer and Love, &c.

4. The Merogriph, or capital riddle, may lose or change any of his limbs, but cannot part with his head and foot, nor his heart when he has one. This fellow has some sense and cannot part with needful limbs.

0338 335

The Callogriph, or fine riddle, must have a head and heart, which he cannot afford to lose, nor likes to exchange, but he does not mind any other limb. For instance Whisker and Whiskey, Spade, Skate, and Slate. Let us imitate this worthy fellow, and never lose our heads nor our hearts, if we can help it; unless it be merely for a while, when we happen to fall in love.

6. The Heterogriph, or perfect riddle, is a silly fellwo, who often loses or changes several of his limbs, nay even his head and heart. For instance Soul and Sole, Clean, Lean, Dean, and Bean. Let us beware of this practice, fools alone usually behave so.

Many other brothers to these children of the Polygriph are perhaps yet to be born; but I deem the family already large enough, considering the short existence of this western child of fancy.

I shall now give to my lively readers some prosaical or poetical specimens of these new enigmas, call them as you please. It must be remembered that the objects are always two or more, and the writer is at liberty to play with his reader and himself. By guessing one of them you may soon be able to find the others. I shall not furnish very elaborate or elegant examples, nor shall I take the trouble to put them in good or bad rhymes. I leave this task to our rhyming poets. New born infants cannot be perfect, nor need they be; but they will probably improve by age, particularly if they are nursed by the fair ladies, to whom they are dedicated, under anagrammic letters or words. The words of the objects will be given in the next number; but I hope that the sagacity of the readers, especially of some ladies who shall be nameless, will anticipate the formal explanation, and I wish them that pleasure.

No. 1. A Cephalogriph—To Miss A. S.

I have a heart, and it was yours. I am fragrant and well flavored; But not so much as your sweet self. When without head I am a child. My name is what I felt for you, And wish you might have felt for me.

No. 2. A Merogriph.—To Miss A. T.

You are quite like my subject, Although it has no heart and you have one, 0339 336 Which I would claim if I could hope to win it. But change your hand, and my object becomes Still more like you. Since you are such Reward the love which you so well inspire.

No. 3. A Cephalogriph.—To Miss Jery.

I have six heads, and no more than four limbs: With my first head I poison every thing; With my second I am a kind of reed. My third is a native of the Baltic sea. My fourth is your own sweet name. My fifth is found in every city. And with my last, the horse and lion are clothed.

No. 4. A Heterogriph.—To Miss A. Y.

I am a flower, which you emulate in sweetness. Without a heart I live; but when I lose my head I become like your fine curly ringlets; And should I lose my foot I will be like a rose; Not by its scent, but by its thorns alone.

No. 5. A Heterogriph.—To Miss Y. D.

Happy the man who may share it with you. Cut off his head, and change his real hand, And the name will be seen which you must lose. Change next this borrowed hand, and then, Happy the man whom you'll allow to take it, But happier still if with a blush you give it.

No.6. A Cephalogriph.—To Miss S. M.

I have two heads which I cannot well spare: With one of them I am in bloom like you, And dwell on your lovely face. Give me another and you'll still find me there.

No. 7. A Po?ogriph.—To Mrs. Y. Y.

I have only one heart and I have lost it. Do tell me where be gone? Sure you can tell, as you are my subject, Yet can command over the whole world. Throw my last limb away and you will see Your own sweet picture, and that of her Who is likely to keep my heart concealed, Pray who is she, since it cannot be you?

0340 337 42

No. 8. A Cardiogriph.—To Miss Celd.

I have two hearts and I give you their choice. With one I am the lonely place Where lovers like to ramble alone: And with the next I hope you'll spare A part for me in your own heart.

No. 9. A Cardiogriph.—To Miss M. B. I have three hearts, but they are all engaged. If I had more, one would be yours of course. With my first I fan your pretty face. With my next I become a featherless wing; And with my last I try to give you sport.

No. 10. A Cardiogriph.—To Miss A. T.

I have four hearts, but none is worth your own, Which, by the bye, is said to be engaged With my first heart I warm, and even fry, While with my next I'll write you these lines. But with the third do not inflict a wound; Nor with my last while we listen to it.

No. 11. A Calliogriph—To Miss H. D.

I fly like birds, and when I die I weep. Change my two last limbs, and I smell like a pink. Change all my limbs, except my head and heart, And you will find, besides a happy sign, The emblem of kingly and noble power, What we trust in, and yet what we despise.

No. 12. A Calliogriph.—To the lady of my Thoughts.

By love inspired, I dream of love and you Each night and day: waiting the happy hour, When your dear self may my subject become. Change all my limbs, but keep my head and heart; This last is yours you know, no longer mine: Then let me prove, what I hope to receive From your beloved self. If your heart shall guess my meaning, My wish shall be your wish, And we shall hasten the time Of your change and my own, Of my joys by your own.

CONSTANTINE.

THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.

In the 65th number of this celebrated publicat???? there is an article devoted to Seybert's Statistical . The concluding remarks are as illiberal, unjust, and to the spirit that dictated them, as they can be. The general character of the article, however, is complimentary to our political wisdom, and to the efficacy of our institutions. Some of its observations are worthy of our attention, and ought not to be set aside because they are associated with others of a disgraceful nature. It is remarkable that a writer, with the results before him which his analysis of Seybert contains, should have indulged in so angry a conclusion from so equitable and impartial an investigation. Our notice was attracted by the following statement of facts.

Population.—“From 1801 to 1811, the inhabitants of Great Britain acquired an augmentation of 14 per cent; the Americans, within the same period, were augmented 36 per cent.”—“The free population doubles itself in the United States in a very little more than 22 years. The slave population, according to its rate of proceeding in the same time, would be doubled in about 26 years.” (p, 70.)

Post Office.—“In 1789, the number of post offices in the United States was 75; the amount of postage 38,000 dollars; the miles of post road 1800. In 1817, the number of post offices was 3459; the amount of postage 961,000 dollars; and the extent of post roads 51,600 miles.” (p, 73.)

Revenue.—“From 1789 to 1814, the custom have constituted 65 per cent. of the American revenues; loans 26 per cent; and all other branches from 8 to 9 per cent. They collect their customs at about 4 per cent. The English expense of collection is 6l: 2s: 6d per cent.” (p, 73).

Navy.—On the 8th of June 1785, the Americans had only one vessel of war, the Alliance, and as that was thought to be too expensive, it was sold. The attacks of the Barbary Powers first roused them to form a navy, which, in 1797, amounted to 3 frigates. In 1814, besides a great, increase of frigate, 4 seventy-fours were ordered to be built. In 1816, in consequence of some brilliant actions of ???gates, the naval service had become very popular the United States. One million of dollars were appropriated annually, for eight years, to the gradual increase of the navy; 9 seventy-fours and 12 forty-four gun ships were ordered to be built. Vacant and unappropriated belonging 0342 339 to the United States, fit to produce oak and cedar, were to be selected for the use of the navy. The establishment of the marine corps was increased, and six navy yards were established.” (pp, 74, 75.)

Expenditure.—“The President of the United States receives about 6000l a year; the Vice President about 600l; the deputies to Congress have 8 dollars for every 20 miles of journey. The First Clerk of the House of Representatives receives about 750l per annum; the Secretary of State 1200l; the Postmaster General 750l; the Chief Justice of the United States 1000l; a Minister Plenipotentiary 2200l per annum. There are doubtless reasons why there should be two noblemen appointed in this country as Postmasters General, with enormous salaries, neither of whom know (knows) a two-penny letter from a general one, and where further retrenchments are stated to be impossible. This is clearly a case to which that impossibility extends. But these are matters where a prostration of understanding is called for; and good subjects are not to reason, but to pay. If, however, we were ever to indulge in the Saxon practice of looking into our own affairs, some important documents might be derived from these American salaries. Jonathan, for instance, sees no reason why the First Clerk of his House of Commons should derive emoluments from his situation to the amount of 60001 or 70001 per annum; but Jonathan is vulgar and arithmetical.” (p. 76.)

After having gone over the important subjects of population, trade and commerce, exports, imports, tonnage and navigation, lands, post office, revenue, army, navy, expenditure and debt, the reviewer says,— “Such is the land of Jonathan, and thus has it been governed. In his honest endeavours to better his situation, and in his manly purpose of resisting injury and insult, we most cordially sympathize. We hope he will always continue to watch and suspect his government as he now does, remembering that it is the of those, entrusted with power, to conceive it by their own merits, and for their own use, and not by delegation, and for the benefit of others. Thus far we are the friends and admirers of Jonathan.”—(p.78.)

With these views in his mind, and such results from his pen, we are not a little tempted to wonder how the reviewer made himself up to the assertion that the Americans 0343 340 “have hitherto given no indications of genius, and made no approaches to the heroic, either in their morality or character.”—We are, however, “a brave, industrious and acute people;” and all this is said in the very same sentence! (p, 79) What is the mighty difference between bravery and heroism, that a nation, confessedly eminent for one, is not allowed to have made any “approaches” to the other? How can “some brilliant actions of our frigates” have made our navy popular, and produced such effects as the reviewer acknowledges, without heroism in our sailors and their commanders?—“David Porter and Stephen Decatur are VERY BRAVE MEN,” but they have made “no approaches to heroism!”—To be brave; to be very brave; to have achieved brilliant naval actions, and these too over Englishmen and Scotchmen, in their own British Oak, and commanding their own British Thunders; constitute no approach to heroism!” With all the “acuteness,” which the Reviewer ascribes to “Jonathan,” we are not able to discern the consistency of this extraordinary tirade against our national character. The state of Great Britain is such, that to be endured demands “a prostration of the understanding,” when it is compared with the condition of the United States, as it is made out by the critic; and yet we “have done absolutely nothing for the statesman like studies of Politics or Political economy!” We are called upon for our “Burke,” and we name Hamilton; for our “Sheridan,” and we name Pinckney; for our “Wilkie,” and we name Allston; for our “Lawrence” and we name a greater, who is Stewart. We would not exchange Dexter for “Fox,” Clay for “Windham,” nor King for “Wilberforce.” If they choose to speak of oratory, we point to Henry and Ames; of law, we refer to Parsons, Ellsworth, and Marshall; of the pulpit, we remember Buckminster and Kollock, and are willing to place Mason against Chalmers, Stuart against Wardlaw, and Kirkland against Paley. As it regards literature, we are not ashamed to put even by the side of the Edinburgh Review the North American, and to allow Oxford to be the Judge.

Before these comments are closed, our attention ought to be directed toward one feature in the review of Seybert, which may be of use to us in putting down our own geographical distinctions and local jealousies. The Edinburgh Reviewer calls our whole country “Jonathan.” We are not displeased to observe this. The usual appendage, “brother,” is omitted, and the appellation is much improved by the omission. A term, which was once limited to a small portion 0344 341 of our country, is thus made national, and takes its place of honor by the side of “Yankee,” which, not only in our patriotic air, “Yankee-doodle” but in many of our most popular songs, has become associated with the triumphs of our army and navy, and with the American's heart. As we call the people of England John Bull, and are chiefly descended from them, it is appropriate to have a name that may show our relationship, and at the same time mark the distinction. We have no objection that “Jonathan” should be assigned to us, even by foreign critics. We are pleased to find that “Ohio” already floats in the eastern Atlantic, and gives the honor of its name to a national ship from New York. The launch will not be less proud which shall bear the name of “Kentucky” rising above the huzzas from the quarter deck that shall be swept by the American flag. We are willing thus to repay our eastern brethren, for the names which they have furnished for the designation of our country, and which foreigners spontaneously adopt to characterise our population. Every interchange of names, as well as of interests, should be welcomed by the lovers of our Union, as a newbond for its preservation.

REVIEW.

The Monastery, a Romance, by the author of Waverley, &c. 2 Volumes, 12mo. Philadelphia, Matthew Carey.

When Heliodorus wrote his Chariclea he little thought that he was laying the foundation of so goodly an edifice as has since been erected; a splendid hotel, in which all nations have met and been pleased; suites of apartments with all that is costly and elegant in dress; you may pass on, and be amidst balls, and revelries, and masquerades; visit the gaming tables, and quaff the wine, and be excited by the rude wassail, each as his taste may prompt; and all this amidst the most gentle company; kings and queens and lords and heroes are your inmates; and you are at liberty to haunt the plebeian cellar or ascend to the fairy attic of this enchanted palace. Certainly, in the good work, Boccaccio has done much, and the Spaniard has done more; Crebillon and Marivaux, in our own language Fielding and Smollet, have done much, and Germany has had her tens of thousands of 0345 342

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0347 344 often been entertained at the farm house of Lockside, and on that account scrupulously abstained from committing depredations on the farmer's property. Her sons, however, were not blessed with the same delicacy, and on that account Jean absented herself, through shame, for many years from Lockside. One night as the good man of the farm was travelling through the mountains of Cheviot he was benighted and lost his way. The glimmering of a light guided him to a farm. He knocked and the door was opened by Jean Gordon. The remarkable height, and no less remarkable figure and dress of the woman, rendered the meeting not the most delightful, neither did the appearance of a table, furnished out for a large company, add much to his appetite, after being compelled by the eagerness of his hostess to alight. He supped, however, and when he had been deprived by Jean of his money, lay down upon the straw and slept not. About midnight the gang came in. It was not long ere they discovered their guest. Jean said that “he was e'en the winsome Gudeman of Lockside, poor body, he's been at Newcastle for siller to pay his rent honest man, but the De'il be lieked he's been able to get in, and so he's gaun e'en home with a toom purse and a sair heart.” But, notwithstanding this representation and all her efforts to prevent them, the banditti proceeded to rummage his pockets, where, finding nothing, they were at last persuaded to leave him unmolested. Soon as day broke Jean brought her protegee his horse, and restored his property, neither could she be prevailed upon to accept a single guinea. Her sons were all hanged, and poor Jean was ducked to death in the Eden for her politics. The stern cruelty and wrong headed bigotry of the covenanters is well represented in John Balfour, but Burley was by no means such an all important actor in those scenes of blood. Hackstoun of Rathillet, who is just named, was much more conspicuous. The original of Kettledrummle was a noted preacher called King, who is said to have been possessed of such power of lungs and length of wind that even fame seems unwilling to credit her own report of him. But the original Kettledrummle was a man of great bravery. An anecdote is recorded of his presence of mind, when he was hunted by the royalists, that even Charles is said to have envied. In the life guards there was a common soldier, descended from the Stuarts, yet he was not much noted; in fact Captain Creigaton was the man, who so distinguished himself 0348 345 44 in those troublous times, and whose feats are accredited to the account of Bothwell. The blood thirstiness of Dalzell and the brutality of Lauderdale are exhibited in their true light, but John Graham was not so uniformly ruthless as he has been represented. He did sometimes intercede for the life of those, whom he had been ordered to put to death; and yet there is enough on record to stigmatise Claverhouse as a cruel and sanguinary soldier, who was most pleased to execute the worst commands of the worst masters. The various and splendid efforts of James Graham are got up with a singular disregard to historical truth. In the same tale too, so far was Dugald of the mist's clan from being destroyed for the murder of Drummondernoch that Alister Mac Gregor, after that, almost extirpated the name of Colquhoun, and, although the clan was outlawed, and their chief hung when Argyle had promised him safety, the Mac Gregors continued to exist as a clan until their name has been restored to them in our times. The account of Annot Lyle likewise is entirely fabulous. The offspring of the lady of Advoirlich was a son; a man of great strength and violent passions, who through life appeared affected by the consequences of her extreme terror.

But is time to proceed to the romance before us. It is prefaced by a letter from a captain Clutterbuck to the author of Waverley in somewhat of the style of our old friend Jedediah Cleishbotham, (whose death we hear with unfeigned grief,) a style which has been said to be “such imitation as the author could obtain of obsolete language, and by consequence one that was never written nor spoken in any age or place.” There has been, very foolishly, as we think, a repeated disavowal of any connection between the Tales of my Landlord and the novels of the author of Waverley. Nobody, in his senses, could doubt that they were all by the same hand, and we can see no possible reason for the distinction. Yet so it is; and the author of Waverley now survives his deceased brother. Accompanying the epistle of the captain are certain legends of an old monastery, situated near to the Tweed, of which the present tale is composed.

In the reign of Elizabeth, the practice of the border foray was still kept up, and this predatory war was embittered by religious dissensions. England had left the Church of Rome, and was zealous to draw with her the neighbouring Scots, some of whom yet rallied round their former faith 0349 346 notwithstanding the workings of Knox. On the one side was displayed all the bigotry and fierceness of new proselytes, furiously eager to throw down the dogmas of the Church and introduce their own in stead; on the other was felt that sharp and serpent pang of ingratitude increased by a sense of weakness. Rome looked upon the reformers as parricides. They were her own children, who had conspired to destroy her. It was a contention between zeal and prejudice, in which, as is always the case, the former was victorious. In this bitter war of relationship many of the borderers were intent only on the plunder of their neighbours, careless, if there was pretence, what it might be. In these incursions Scotland was usually the sufferer because she was the weaker. Soon after the battle of Pinkie, in which the father of Halbert and Edward Glendinning was killed, a detachment of English soldiers, under Stawarth Bolton, was ordered on the service of distressing the country of those chiefs, who still resisted, by military exaction. The widow of Glendinning saw that resistance was vain, when, in her small fortress,

“She descried a dozen of horsemen threading their way up the glen, with a man at their head, whose scarlet cloak, bright armour, and dancing plume, proclaimed him a leader, and saw no better protection for herself than to issue from the iron grate, covered with a long mourning veil, and holding one of her two sons in each hand, to meet the Englishman—state her deserted condition—place the little tower at his command—and beg for his mercy. She stated, in a few brief words, her intention, and added, “I submit, because I have nae means of resistance.”

“And I do not ask your submission, mistress, from the same reason,” replied the Englishman. “To be satisfied of your peaceful intentions is all I ask; and, from what you tell me, there is no reason to doubt them.”

“At least, sir,” said Elspeth Brydone, “take share of what our spense and our garners afford. Your horses are tired— your folk want refreshment.”

“Not a whit—not a whit,” answered the honest Englishman; “it shall never be said we disturbed by carousal the widow of a brave soldier, while she was mourning for her husband.—Comrades, face about.—Yet stay,” he added, checking his war horse, “my parties are out in every direction; they must have some token that your family are under my assurance of safety.— Here, my little fellow,” said he, speaking to the eldest boy, who might be about nine or ten years old, “lend me thy bonnet.”

The child reddened, looked sulky, and hesitated, while the 0350 347 mother, with many a fye and nay pshaw, and such sarsanet chidings as tender mothers give to spoiled children, at length succeeded in snatching the bonnet from him, and handing it to the English leader.

Stawarth Bolton took his embroidered red cross from his barret cap, and putting it into the loop of the boy's bonnet, said to the mistress, (for the title of lady was not given to dames of her degree,) “By this token, which all my people will respect, you will be freed from any importunity on the part of our forayers.” He placed it on the boy's head, but it was no sooner there, than the little fellow, his veins swelling, and his eyes shooting fire through tears, snatched the bonnet from his head, and, ere his mother could interfere, skimmed it into the brook. The other boy ran instantly to fish it out again, threw his brother's bonnet back to him, first taking out the cross, which, with great veneration, he kissed, and put into his bosom. The Englishman was half diverted, half surprised, with the scene.

“What mean ye by throwing away Saint George's red cross?” said he to the elder boy, in a tone betwixt jest and earnest.

“Because Saint George is a southern saint, said the child sulkily.

“Good— said Stawarth Bolton. “And what did you mean by taking it out of the brook again, my little fellow?” he demanded of the younger.

“Because the priest says it is the common sign of salvation to all good Christians.”

“Why, good again!” said the honest soldier. “I protest unto you, mistress, I envy you these boys. Are they both yours?”

Stawarth Bolton had reason to put the question, for Halbert Glendinning, the elder of the boys had hair as dark as the raven's plumage, black eyes, large, bold, and sparkling, that glittered under eye brows of the same complexion; a skin deep embrowned, though it could not be termed swarthy, and an air of activity, frankness, and determination far beyond his age. On the other hand, Edward, the younger brother, was light-haired, blue eyed, and of fairer complexion, in countenance rather pale, and not exhibiting that rosy hue which colours the sanguine cheek of robust health. Yet the boy had nothing sickly or ill conditioned in his look, but was, on the contrary, a fair and handsome child, with a smiling face, and mild, yet cheerful eye.

The mother glanced a proud motherly glance, first at the one, and then at the other, ere she answered the Englishman, “Surely sir, they are both my children.”

“And by the same father, mistress?” said Stawarth; but seeing a blush of displeasure arise on her brow, he instantly added, “Nay, I mean no offence: I would have asked the same question at any of my gossips in Merry Lincoln.—Well, dame, you 0351 348 have two fair boys; I would I could borrow one, for Dame Bolton and I live childless in our old hall.—Come, little fellows, which of you will go with me?”

The trembling mother, half fearing as he spoke, drew the children towards her, one with either hand, while they both answered the stranger. “I will not go with you,” said Halbert boldly, “for you are a false-hearted southern; and the southerns killed my father; and I will war on you to the death, when I can draw my father's sword.”

“God-a-mercy, my little levin-bolt,” said Stawarth, “the goodly custom of deadly feud will never go down in thy day, I presume.—And you, my fine white head, will you not go with me, to ride a cock-horse?

“No,” said Edward, demurely, “for you are a heretic.”

“Why, God-a-mercy still,” said Stawarth Bolton. “Well dame, I see I shall find no recruits for my troop from you; and yet I do envy you these two little chubby knaves.” He sighed a moment, as was visible, in spite of gorget and corslet, and then added, “And yet, my dame and I would but quarrel which of the knaves we should like best, for I should wish for the back-eyed rogue—and she, I warrant me, for that blue-eyed, fair-haired darling. Natheless we must brook our solitary wedlock, and wish joy to those that are more fortunate.—Sergeant Brittson, do thou remain here till recalled—protect this family, as under assurance—do them no wrong and suffer no wrong to be done to them, as thou wilt answer it.—Dame, Brittson is a married man, old and steady; feed him on what you will, but give him not over-much liquor.”

Dame Glendinning again offered refreshments, but with a faultering voice, and an obvious desire her invitation should not be accepted. The fact was, that, supposing her boys as precious in the eyes of the Englishman as her own, (the most ordinary of parental errors,) she was half afraid, that the admiration he expressed of them in his blunt manner might end in his actually carrying off one or other of the little darlings which he appeared to covet, so much. She kept hold of their hands, therefore, as if her feeble hands could have been of service, had any violence been intended, and saw, with joy she could not disguise, the little party of horse countermarch, in order to descend the glen. Her feelings did not escape Stawarth Bolton. “I forgive you, dame,” he said, “for being suspicious that an English falcon was hovering over your Scottish moor brood. But fear not—those who have fewest children have fewest cares; nor does a wise man covet those of another household. Adieu, dame; when the black-eyed rogue is able to drive a foray from England, teach him to spare women and children, for the sake of Stawarth Bolton.

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“God be with you, gallant southern,” said Elspeth Glendinning, but not till he was out of hearing, spurring on his good horse to regain the head of his party, whose plumage and armour were now glancing and gradually disappearing in the distance, as they winded down the glen.

“Mother, said the elder boy, “I will not say amen to a prayer for a southern.”

“Mother,” said the younger, more reverentially, “is it right to pray for a heretic?”

“The God to whom I pray only knows,” answered poor Elspeth; “but these two words, southern and heretic, have already cost Scotland ten thousand of her best and bravest, and me a husband, and you a father; and, whether blessing or banning, I never wish to hear them more.—Follow me to the Place, sir,” she said to Brittson, “and such as we have to offer you shall be at your disposal.” p. 66—70.

No small interest of the story rests upon the gradual development of the opposite characters of the two boys. Alike in youth and manhood, there is the same fiery spirit of Halbert, the same mildness of Edward. After the death of Walter Avenel, his widow was compelled to seek refuge in the habitation of the mother of these boys, bringing with her an infant daughter, the heiress to the possessions of her husband. In the mean time her brother-in-law, Julian Avlael, a fierce ruffian seizes upon her property, and the lady is forced to submit to unlawful power. The Sacristan of the Monastery of St. Mary, when returning from a visit to this lady in her last sickness, encounters, on the banks of the river which he was obliged, by the churlishness of the warden of the bridge, to ford, a weeping damsel, in white, and gallantly offers her a seat behind him, on his horse. This lady is no less than a fay, “a tricksy spirit,” not a counterfeit, as is usual, unspirited at the conclusion, but a bona fide inhabitant of air.

“It was a fine moonlight night, as we have already said, when Father Philip approached this passage, the singular construction of which gives a curious idea of the insecurity of the times. The river was not in flood, but it was above its ordinary level—a heavy water, as it is called in that country, through which the Monk had no particular inclination to ride, if he could manage the matter better.

“Peter, my good friend,” cried the Sacristan, raising his voice; “my very excellent friend, Peter, be so kind as to lower the draw-bridge. Peter, I say, dost thou not hear? it is thy gossip, Father Philip, who calls thee.”

0353 350

Peter heard him perfectly well, and saw him into the bargain; but as he had considered the Sacristan as peculiarly his enemy in his dispute with the convent, he went quietly to bed, after reconnoitering the Monk through his loop-hole, observing to his wife, that “a riding the water in a moonlight night would do the Sacristan no harm, and would teach him the value of a brigg the neist time, on whilk a man might pass high and dry, winter and summer, flood and ebb.”

After exhausting his voice in entreaties and threats, which were equally unattended to by Peter of the Brigg, as he was called, Father Philip at length moved down the river to take the ordinary ford at the head of the next stream. Cursing the rustic obstinacy of Peter, he began, nevertheless, to persuade himself that the passage of the river by the ford was not only safe but pleasant. The banks and scattered trees were so beautifully reflected from the bosom of the dark stream, the whole cool and delicious picture formed so pleasing a contrast to his late agitation, to the warmth occasioned by his vain endeavours to move the relentless porter of the bridge, that the result was rather agreeable than otherwise.

As Father Philip came close to the water's edge, at the spot where he was to enter it, there sat a female under a large broken scathed oak tree, or rather under the remains of such a tree, weeping, wringing her hands, and looking earnestly on the current of the river. The Monk was struck with astonishment to see a female there at that time of night. But he was, in all honest service,—and if a step farther, I put it upon his own conscience,—a devoted squire of dames. After observing the maiden for a moment, although she seemed to take no notice of his presence, he was moved by her distress and willing to offer his assistance. “Damsel,” said he, “thou seemest in no ordinary distress; peradventure, like myself, thou hast been refused passage at the bridge by the churlish keeper, and thy crossing may concern thee either for performance of a vow, or some other weighty charge.”

The maiden uttered some inarticulate sounds, looked at the river and then in the face of the Sacristan! It struck Father Philip at that instant, that a Highland Chief of distinction had been for some time expected to pay his vows at the shrine of St. Mary's; and that possibly this fair maiden might be one of his family, travelling alone for the accomplishment of a vow, or left behind by some accident, to whom, therefore, it would be but right and cautious to use every civility in his power, especially as she seemed unacquainted with the Lowland tongue. Such at least was the only motive the Sacristan was ever known to assign for his courtesy; if there was any other, I once more refer it to his own conscience.

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To express himself by signs, the common language of all nations, the cautious Sacristan first pointed to the river, then to his mule's crupper, and then made, as gracefully as he could, a sign to induce the fair solitary to mount behind him. She seemed to understand his meaning, for she rose up as to accept his offer, and while the good Monk, who, as we have hinted, was no great cavalier, laboured, with the pressure of the right leg and the use of the left rein, to place the mule with her side to the bank in such a position that the lady might mount with ease, she rose from the ground with rather portentous activity, and at one bound sate behind the monk upon the animal, much the firmer rider of the two. The mule by no means seemed to approve of this double burthen; she bounded, bolted, and would soon have thrown Father Philip over her head, had not the maiden with a firm hand detained him in the saddle.

At length the restive brute changed her humour; and, from refusing to budge off the spot, suddenly stretched her nose homeward, and dashed into the ford as fast as she could scamper. A new terror now invaded the Monk's mind—the ford seemed unusually deep, the water eddied off in strong ripple from the counter of the mule, and began to rise upon her side. Philip lost his presence of mind, which was at no time his most ready attribute, the mule yielded to the weight of the current, and as the rider was not attentive to keep her head turned up the river, she drifted downward, lost the ford and her footing at once, and began to swim with her head down the stream. And what was sufficiently strange, at the same moment, notwithstanding the extreme peril, the damsel began to sing, thereby increasing, if any thing could increase, the bodily fear of the worthy Sacristan.

I. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Both current and ripple are dancing in light, We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, As we plashed along beneath the oak That flings its broad branches so far and so wide, Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. “Who wakens my nestlings,” the raven he said, “My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red, For a blue swolen corpse is a dainty meal, And I'll have my share with the pike and the eel.”

II. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, There's a golden gleam on the distant height; There's a silver shower on the alders dank, And the drooping willows that wave on the bank, I see the Abbey, both turret and tower, It is all astir for the vesper hour; The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, But where's Father Philip, should toll the bell?

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III. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light. Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep. The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, He has lighted his candle of death and of dool: Look; Father, look, and you'll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee!

IV. Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to night? A man of mean or a man of might? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, Or lover who crosses to visit his love? Hark! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we passed,— “God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the bridge fast! All that come to my cove are sunk, Priest or laymen, lover or monk.”

How long the damsel might have continued to sing, or where the terrified Monk's journey might have ended, is uncertain. As she sung the last stanza, they arrived at, or rather in, a broad tranquil sheet of water, caused by a strong wier or dam-head, running across the river, which dashed in a broad cataract over the river. The mule, whether from choice, or influenced by the suction of the current, made towards the cut intended to supply the convent mills, and entered it half swimming, half wading, and pitched the unlucky Monk to and fro in the saddle at a fearful rate.

As his person flew hither and thither, his garment became loose, and in an effort to retain it, his hand lighted on the volume of the Lady of Avenel which was in his bosom. No sooner had he grasped it, than his companion pitched him out of the saddle into the stream, where, still keeping her hand on his collar, she gave him two or three good souses in the watery fluid, so as to ensure that every part of him had its share of wetting, and then quitted her hold when he was so near the side that by a slight effort (of a great one he was incapable,) he might scramble on shore. This accordingly he accomplished, and turning his eyes to see what had become of his extraordinary companion, she was no where to be seen, but still he heard as if from the surface of the river, and mixing with the noise of the water breaking over the dam-head, a fragment of her wild song, which seemed to run thus: Landed—landed! the black book hath won, F?sc had you seen Berwick with morning sun! Sain ye, and save ye, and bly he met ye be, For seldom they land that go swimming with me.

The ecstacy of the Monk's terror could be endured no longer; 0356 353 45 his head grew dizzy, and, after staggering a few steps onward and running himself against a wall, he sunk down in a state of insensibility.”

The bible is restored to the owner. Father Eustace, the Sub-Prior of the Monastery, undergoes a similar hardship, being propelled from his horse by this masculine Sylph, who seems to have inherited the lance of Bradamante; and all to obtain a book. Lady Avenel dies, her daughter Mary, Halbert and Edward Glendinning grow up together. About this time, Sir Piercy Shafton, a catholic nobleman, flying from the persecution of Elizabeth, arrives at their dwelling, and soon after quarrels with Halbert. When they reach the spot, where they are to fight, they find a grave, newly dug, ready to receive the vanquished. The Knight is run through the body. Halbert rushes out for assistance, and when he returns the grave is closed, and the body buried, as he supposes. He flies and joins Moray, who was advancing with a troop of cavalry. Sir Piercy, after Halbert's departure, something, we confess, like a worthy of Shakspeare, rises, and coolly walks off, with his wound healed. When he returns, he is accused of murdering Halbert. Messengers are sent to examine the grave and no grave is found. For all these spells we are indebted to the fairy. In a word, Halbert is married to Mary, the Knight to a miller's daughter, who had done him some good offices, while poor Edward, (and we enter our protest against such treatment,) becomes a monk in despair from the loss of Mary. Such is a rude statement of the story. Halbert and Edward's characters have been discussed. Eustace and Warden are men of equally strong minds, and strong affections, and good principles, acting under the influence of opposite prejudices. Of the womankind, Mysie has feeling, and Mary nothing, to recommend her. In Christie of the Clinthill (a person, whose character has been shadowed afar off in Wesburn flat and the outlines of which are now filled up) we see a b?l?, ruthless and marauding mostrooper of the border, whose steady purpose is to oppress whatever is weaker than himself; a hardened ruffian, consistent in his carelessness of his own, or another's danger. Such men abounded in those days, and were hung at Carlisle or Edinburgh, just as the die of chance might determine. But there is one thing which we think will be displeasing to the public; we mean the gratuitous introduction of supernatural agency. Such machinery has often 0357 354 been used in poetry, while but one instance occurs to us of its use in prose, and yet there is no reason why it should be confined to metrical composition, why works of imagination should not be allowed it in whatever shape they may appear. Whenever magic has been introduced, it has generally been concerned about fairy land and the dark ages, where the mixture of superstition, ignorance, and darkness forms associations favourable to elves and fays and goblins. Though the mighty magician seems aware of this, and has therefore placed his agents in mists which falsify our view, another poet has made his sylphs and sprites playing in the hair or sparkling in the eyes of belles hardly yet antiquated, and the world has applauded, instead of condemning, him. Symptoms of this disease have been before marked in this author. The white lady of Avenal is but a Meg Merrilies with enlarged powers, and if Walter Scott be the writer, it is not the first time he has dealt with spirits. After all we are not so much disposed to quarrel with the introduction of sprites as their unnecessary introduction. In the present romance every thing might have gone on, just as well, without their aid or comfort. It is entirely ridiculous to bring in a fairy to bring back a bible, or present a bodkin, and yet Sir Huon borrows their assistance merely for the beard and teeth of the Sultan. Some apology, however, may be offered, since the traditions and manners of Scotland are so mixed up with superstition that the national stamp would be lost, or defaced, without it. It is but too probable, that in a land, where revenge was inculcated as a principle of justice, where feuds were considered honorable, that supernatural agency was often resorted to, to account for the sudden disappearance of individuals and the various accidents attendant on such a state of society. The most learned Scots of that age have not been proof against this belief. It is curious to observe how every trifle was laid to the charge of those unseen servants; the restiveness of a horse, or the loss of a book. But we have far exceeded our proposed limits, and we part from our author with the hope that this magic will be his last, or that his future Ariels may haunt the maidens of some island of Prospero.

FISHES OF THE RIVER OHIO. BY C. S. RAFINESQUE, Professor of Botany and Natural History in Transylvania University.

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 307.)

XXI Genus. Suckrel. Cycleptus. Cyclepte. Difference from the foregoing genus—Two dorsal fins, mouth round and terminal: The name means small round mouth.

6?th Species. Black Suckrel. Cycleptus nigrescens. Cyclepte noiratre.

Blackish, belly whitish, mouth recurved, tail forked.

Cycleptus. 17th G. of Prod. 70 N. G. American Animals.

A singular and rare fish, which I have never seen, but mention upon the authority of Mr. Bollman of Pittsburgh; where it sometimes appears in the spring; but it is a rare fish, whose flesh is very much esteemed. It is also found in the Missouri, whence it is sometimes called the Missouri Sucker. Length two feet.

XXII Genus. Catfish. Pimelodus. Pimelode. Body scaleless, elongated. Head large with barbs? Two dorsal fins, the second adipose and separated from the tail, the first short and commonly armed. Pectoral fins commonly armed. Teeth like a f??e. Vent commonly posterior.

The extensive genus Si?urus of Linneus, which is scattered throughout the rivers of both continents, has not yet been completely illustrated, notwithstanding the labours of the modern ichthyologists. I have found in the Ohio about twelve species belonging to it: most of which offer consimilar characters and appear to belong to the genus Pimelodus of Lacepede and Cuvier: which have left the name of Silurus to the species having one dorsal fin. I have already published a monography of them in the Journal of the Royal Institution of London, under the generic name of Silurus. I now propose to form with them a peculiar subgenus, divided in many sections, and different from the subgenera Bagrus, Synodontus, Silusox, &c.

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Subgen?s. Ictalurus. Head depressed with eight barbs, one at each corner of the mouth, longer than the others, four under the chin, and two on the snout behind the nostrils. Teeth in two patches, acute and file-shaped. Pectoral fins and first dorsal fin armed with an anterior spine. First dorsal trapezoidal and before the abdominals, second opposite the anal. Body compressed behind, vent pos erior or sub medial. Operculum simple.

The fishes belonging to this group are common throughout the United States, the Silurus calus of Linneus, which is not found in the Ohio, belongs also to it. They are sedentary in the Ohio and branches, and very voracious, feeding on all smaller fishes? they are easily taken with the hook; their flesh is esteemed, and, although it is somewhat tough in the largest species, it makes notwithstanding excellent soup. These fishes often come to a great size and live to a great age. The name of Ictalurus, means Cat-fish in Greek.

1st Section. Elliops. Tail forked. Eyes elliptical. Abdominal fins with less than nine rays.

69th Species. Spotted Catfish. Pimelodus maculatus, Pimelode tachete.

Upper jaw longer, lateral barbs black, reaching the dorsa? fin. Eyes elliptical. Body whitish with small unequal brown spots on the sides; vent submedial: tail unequally forked, upper lobe longer. Pectoral fins ??nestrated. Anal fin longitudinal with 27 rays. Lateral line straight.

Silurus maculatus. Monogr. sp. 1.

One of the small species, commonly about one foot long and slender, never reaching a large size. Vulgar names Spotted, White, and Channel Catfish. It is found as far as Pittsburgh, but is not very common. Flesh very good. Head long and flat, olivaceous rufous above, jaws rounded, lips thick. Upper barbs the shortest and white; the exterior inferior ones long and black at the end. Iris e?liptical white. Body somewhat attenuated behind, entirely silvery white. Belly white, flattened, without spots or shades. Sides with gilt and blue shades, besides the brown spots. Back unspotted, pale, rufescent. Lateral line not reaching the g??ls and slightly raised upwards 0360 357 at the base. First dorsal fin with six soft rays. Pectoral fins with five, spiny ray longer, very thick, and united to the fin by a fenestrate web on the inner serrate side. Abdominal oboval and with 8 rays. Caudal with 20. Lobes acute. All the fins redish, marginated, or tipped with brown. Tail marginated. Adipose fins brown.

70th Species. Blue Catfish. Pivelodus cerulescens. Pimelode bleuatre.

Upper jaw longer, lateral barbs black, shorter than the gills. Eyes elliptical. Operculum and lateral line flexuose. Body of a bluish lead colour, whitish beneath, unspotted. Tail equally forked, base redish. Anal fin arched with 25 rays.

Sil?rus cerulescens. Monogr. sp. 3.

A fine species, reaching sometimes to a very large size, I have been told that one was taken weighing 185 pounds and another 250 pounds. Vulgar names Blue Cat and Brown Cat, or Catfish. It is not uncommon in the lowest parts of the river. Whole shape somewhat fusiform as in all the species with a forked tail, yet depressed forwards and compressed behind. Of an uniform lead colour, nearly blue in the young individuals and nearly brown in the old ones. Barbs rather short and white, the upper ones very short and brown. Iris elongate and whitish. Fins bluish; but the pectoral and abdominal whitish. Spine of the pectoral fins equal in length, not fenestrate, and hardly serrate inside. Number of rays, dorsal 1 and 6, pectoral 1 and 7, abdominal 6, caudal 22. A variety has a blackish tail. Vent posterior.

71st Species. White Catfish. Pimelodus pallidus. Pimelode pale.

Upper jaw longer, lateral barbs reaching the pectoral fins. Eyes elliptical. Lateral line straight. Body whitish, back slightly olivaceous. Tail nearly equally forked. Anal fin elongate with 25 rays.

Silurus pallidus. Monogr. sp. 2.

Vulgar names white and channel Catfish: this last name is given to it because it dwells principally in the channels or deeper parts of the river. Length from one two to feet. Shape as in the foregoing. Head smaller, olivaceous above. Barbs 0361 358 white. Iris white. First dorsal fin nearer to the abdominal fins, yellowish, rays 1 and 6. Pectorals yellowish, rays 1 and 7. Abdominals white with six rays. Adipose fin olive with a brown tip. Anal and caudal pale brown, 24 rays in the tail, which has the upper acute lobe slightly longer. It offers some varieties. 1st. Marginata. Tail fulvous, marginated with black 2d. Lateralis. With three black spots on each side. 3d. L?u?????ra. All the fins pale and whitish.

72d Species. Silvery Catfish. Pimelodus argyrus. Pimelode argyre.

Jaws nearly equal, lateral barbs brown and reaching the pectoral fins. Eyes elliptical. Body silvery, lateral line straight. Fins brownish, anal with 25 rays. Tail equally forked.

Silurus argenteus. Monography, sp. 4. There is another species of that name already.

A small and rare species, very similar to the foregoing, of which it is perhaps a variety. Number of rays similar.

2d Section. Leptops. Tail bilobed. Eyes round and very small. Nine abdominal rays. Vent posterior. Adipose fins large.

73d Species. Clammy Catfish. Pimelodus viscosus. Pimelode visqueux.

Jaws nearly equal, barbs very sh???, eyes round over the head. Body entirely brown, l?teral line raised upwards before. Pectoral fins with 1 and 7 rays, anal fin ???nded with 15 rays. Tail unequally bilobed and black, upper lobe smaller and white.

Silurus viscosus. Monogr. sp. 6

A very singular and rare species, found at the falls. Length only 4 inches? brown with bluish and greyish shades, covered with a clammy viscosity; throat whitish. Head very flat, with a longitudinal furrow above, elongated; upper jaw hardly longer. Eyes over the head very small and bluish. Spines of the anterior fins short, thick, and simple. Dorsal with 1 and 7 rays. Abdominal small with . Anal blackish.

75th Species. Clouded Catfish. Pimelodus nebulosus. Pimelode nebuleux.

Jaws equal, barbs shorter than the head. Eyes round, exceedingly small. Body olivaceous, clouded with pale brown, 0362 359 white beneath, latera line nearly straight. Pectoral fins with 1 and 9 rays, anal fin rounded with 12 rays. Tail merely notched, hardly but equally bilobed.

Silurus nebulosus. Monogr. sp. 5.

This species is totally different from the foregoing, and might perhaps form a peculiar section or even subgenus, (Opladelus,) by the conical head, membranaceous operculum; but particularly because the first ray of all the fins, except the caudal and adipose, is a kind of soft obtuse spine concealed under the fleshy cover of the fins. It is a large fish, from two to four feet long, and commonly called Yellow Cat, Mud Cat, and Brown Cat; but these names are common to other species. It is very good to eat, either boiled or fried. Head conical depressed, iris redish brown, eyes black, lateral barbs white, the lateral ones brownish. Operculum with a large membranaceous appendage or flap. Body conical tapering behind. Dorsal fins with 1 and 6 rays. All the fins very fat, thick, and somewhat redish, abdominal fins brownish. Tail with 20 rays.

2d Section. Ameiurus. Tail entire. Eyes round. Eight abdominal rays. Vent posterior. Dorsal fin anterior with a spine. Lower jaw not longer. Pectoral fins, with one simple spine and seven rays.

75th Species. Yellow Catfish. Pimelodus cupreus. Pimelode cuivre.

Upper jaw longer, barbs half the length of the head. Eyes round? Body entirely of a coppery yellow colour. Lateral line straight. Tail truncate entire. Anal with 15 rays.

Silurus cupreus. Monogr. sp. 9.

Vulgar name, Yellow Catfish. Very different from the foregoing. Similar however in size and form. Colour uniform, extending on the head and fins. Spines short. It is found as far as Pittsburgh. Very good to eat. Some have been taken weighing over 200 pounds. Dorsal fin with 1 and 7 rays.

76th Species. Brown Catfish. Pimelodus lividus. Pimelode livide.

Jaws equal, barbs nearly equal together and as long as the head. Eyes round. Body entirely of a livid brown colour. 0363 360 Tail rounded entire. Lateral line raised upwards at thebase. Anal fin elongate with 25 rays.

Silurus lividus. Monogr. sp. 7.

A small species, entirely of a leadea brown. Head short, slightly olivaceous, throat pale. Barbs equal, the upper ones livid, the lower ones rufous. A furrow on the head which is convex above. Operculum flexuose. Tail with 24 rays. Dorsal with one and 7. Spines short.

77th Species. Black Catfish. Pimelodus melas. Pime?ode noir.

Jaws nearly equal. Eyes round. Barbs unequal, shorter than the head. Body entirely black, lateral line straight. Anal fin with 20 rays. Tail nearly truncate, entire.

Silurus melas. Monogr. sp. 8.

A rare species less than a foot long. Hardly pale beneath. Dorsal fin 1 and 7. Found below the falls.

78th Species. Yellow Head Catfish. Pimelodus xanthocephalus. Pimelode xanthocephale.

Upper jaw longer. Barbs unequal shorter than the head. Eyes round. Body iron grey, with the whole or part of the head yellow. Belly white. Lateral line straight. Anal fin with 22 rays. Tail entirely truncate.

Silurus xanthrocephalus. Monogr. sp. 10.

About a foot long. In the Ohio, Kentucky, &c. Head very large, often entirely yellow, or only forward, or covered with yellow patches. Iris white. fleshy redish. The dorsal with 1 and 6 rays, caudal 24. Good food.

4th Section. Ili?tis. Tail entire, eyes elliptical. Nine abdominal rays. Dorsal fins submedial. Pectoral fins with one flat spine serrated outwards, and nine rays. Lower jaw longer.

79th Species. M?d Catfish. Pimelodus ?imosus. Pimelode bourbeux.

Lower jaw longer. Barbs black, the lateral ones reaching the pectoral fins. Body fulv??s, variega?ed or clouded with black, belly grey. No lateral line. Anal fin with 15 rays. Tail entire oval obtuse.

Silurus ?imosus. Monog. sp. 11.

0364 361 46

A very singular species, differing from all others by the long lower jaw, &c: Length about one foot. It has a slender body of a rufous brown mixed with black. It is found in the muddy streams, and near the muddy banks of large rivers. Dorsal fin opposite the abdominal, with one spine concealed under the skin and six rays. Branchial membrane apparent outside. Pectoral fins with 10 rays, the first whereof is a long and broad flat spine, barbed outwards. Tail with 20 rays. This fish can live very long out of water, and is sometimes alive 24 hours after having been taken.

XXIII Genus. Mudcat. Pilodictis. Pylodicte. Body scaleless conical flattened forwards and compressed behind. Head very broad and flat, with barbs, eyes above the head. Two dorsal fins, both with soft rays. Vent posterior.

This genus was the 10th of my Prod. of 70 N. G. of Animals. The name means Mudfish. It differs principally from the foregoing by the second dorsal having rays.

80th Species. Toad Mudcat. Pylodictis limosus. Pylodicte bourbeux.

Lower jaw longer, eyes round, eight barbs, four above and four below. Head verrucose above. Body brown, clouded and dotted with yellowish, redish, and bluish, one row of transversal black lines on each side of the back. No lateral line. Tail entire and truncate.

I have not seen this fish, but describe it from a drawing of Mr. Audubon. It is found in the lower parts of the Ohio and in the Mississippi, where it lives on muddy bottoms, and buries itself in the mud in the winter. It reaches sometimes the weight of 20 pounds. It bears the name of Mudcat, Mudfish, Mudsucker, and Toadfish. It is good to eat and bites at the hook. The head is broader than the body and with a very large mouth; the barbs appear to lay in four pairs, two above, longer and near the nostrils, and two smaller under the lower jaw. The first dorsal fins triangular and above the abdominals, which are nearer to the pectorals than to the anal. Second elongate with many rays. Number of rays unnoticed.

XXIV Genus. Backtail. Noturus Noture. Difference from G. Pimelodus, S. G. Ictalurus, and Secv.

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Ameiurus: Adipose dorsal fin very long, decurrent and united with the tail, which is decurrent on each side, but unconnected with the anal fin.

Genus 18th of the Prodr. N. G. It differs from the genus Plotosus of Lacepede by having the anal fin free, and from Pimelodus by the connection of the tail with the second dorsal fin. The name means Tail over the back. The Silurus gyrinus of Mitchell must belong to this genus.

81st Species. Yellow Backtail. Noturus flavus. Noture jaune.

Entirely yellowish. Upper jaw longer, barbs half the length of the head. Eyes round. Lateral line nearly straight. Anal fin with 14 rays. Tail entire truncate.

A small species very common near the falls. Length 4 to 12 inches. It agrees in almost every thing with the Section Ameiurus among the Catfishes. Vulgar name Yellow Catfish, like the Pimelodus cupreus. Dorsal fin with 1 and 7 rays, rounded spine very short and obtuse. Second dorsal beginning before the anal and extending to the tail in a curve. All the lower fins rounded. Pectorals with 1 and 7 rays, spine equal and acute. Abdominal fins with 8 rays. All the fins fleshy and fat. Head flat above, barbs unequal. Belly convex. Hind part of the body compressed.

XXV Genus. Toter. Hypentelium. Hypentele. Body pyramidal slightly compressed, with very minute scales? Vent posterior. Head scaleless nearly square, mouth terminal protruded beneath, toothless, lower jaw shorter with five lobes, the middle one larger, lips very small. Abdominal fins anterior, removed from the vent, with nine rays, dorsal fin anterior opposed to them.

This genus belongs to the family of Cyprinidia, and is next to my genus Exoglossum, with which I had united it; but this last differs from it by an oblong body, flat head, lower lip trilobe not protruded, abdominal fins and dorsal fin medial, &c. The name expresses the character of the lower lip.

82d Species. Ohio Toter. Hypentelium macropterum. Hypentele macroptere.

Forehead sloping truncate tuberculated. Body silvered, yariegated, 0366 363 and reticulated with blackish, lateral line straight and faint. All the lower fins elongated, the pectorals reaching the abdominals, the anal with 10 rays and reaching the tail, dorsal fin with 12 rays, tail forked.

Exoglossum macropterum. Raf. in Journal Acad. Nat. Sc. of Philad. Vol. 1, page 320. tab. 17 fig. 4.

It is found near the falls and is only a small fish 2 or 3 inches long. Its vulgar name is Toter or Stone-toter. (Toter is a Virginia name for carrier.) There is a kind of Chub in Virginia which bears the same name and has the habit of pushing pebbles with its head in order to form an inclosure where the female lays its eggs; the name of Toter was given to the Ohio fish owing to the same peculiarity. It is a rare fish and used as bait. The mouth projects in a short and obtuse snout. Iris large and gilt. Opercule simple. Pectoral fins lanceolate acute, as long as the head and with 12 rays. Abdominal fins lanceolate acute, situated nearly half way between the head and the vent, but not reaching it. Dorsal fin trapezoidal. Anal fin elongate: Caudal fin with 20 rays.

REVIEW.

An Anniversary Discourse, on the state and prospects of the Western Museum Society; delivered by appointment, in the Chapel of the Cincinnati College, June 10 1820, on the opening of the Museum; by Daniel Drake, M. D. Secretary of the Society, member of the American Philosophical and Geological Societies; Counsellor of the American Antiquarian Society, and member of the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences. Cincinnati, Looker, Palmer, and Reynolds, 12 mo, pp. 34.

We hail with pleasure every well meant effort to promote the cultivation of science in the west. The strongest motives are presented us, and the most extensive and delightful field is opened before us, for the investigation of the wonders of nature. We are highly gratified therefore to find, that even in the present state of our society, a taste for this species of learning is increasing among us, and that the 0367 364 fruits of the zeal and talent devoted to it are already beginning to be visible. The Zoology, Mineralogy, and Antiquities of our own country engage the attention of some of our fellow-citizens and constantly present to them new and valuable treasures of knowledge. The society, before whom this anniversary discourse was pronounced, has existed in Cincinnati for two years. Its object is to form a collection of rare and valuable specimens in these several departments of natural science. It has at length so far succeeded as to be able to open its museum, which will no doubt constitute the germ of an important public institution. It is time that something of a similar nature was commenced in Lexington. The enterprize and zeal of a lamented individual, aided by the generous contributions of others, have formed a collection of curiosities, now deposited in one of the rooms of the Lexington Athenæum, already interesting and various, and capable of affording a rich treat to the student of nature. This, however, being private property, is liable to being removed, or at least withdrawn from public view. Something similar, upon an extensive scale and connected with some important public institution, should be instantly commenced, and every effort should be made, by the friends of learning, to promote its rapidly increasing prosperity. No injury would result to the establishment, which we are happy to observe has been formed at Cincinnati, from an honorable competition. Exchanges of duplicate specimens might be agreed on, and many valuable acquisitions would probably be made by the existence of two places of deposite, which, with one only, would be lost.

If the trustees and officers of our University would take the necessary steps for the establishment of a cabinet of minerals and natural curiosities in that growing institution, and would draw public attention to the subject, little doubt can be entertained that success would attend their efforts, and that, in a few years, a highly valuable and constantly increasing collection would be made. Such an establishment is necessary indeed to facilitate the course of academical studies, and to aid the researches of the professors as well of their pupils. Upon this topic however we forbear to enlarge: we have perhaps already said too much, as we have every reason to believe the subject will receive, from the proper source, prompt and merited attention.

We turn then more particularly to the Discourse which 0368 365 constitutes the occasion of our present remarks. It begins by assigning the reasons in favour of commemorating the establishment of the Society, before which it was pronounced, develops the plan and objects of the institution, apologizes for their extent, and then proceeds to an enumeration and cursory view of the several interesting departments of science it is intended to cultivate. On the subject of Zoology the author remarks:

“The Quadrupeds of the United States have not yet been fully described, and it is even uncertain whether they have been all enumerated. What proportion of them are indigenous to the Ohio countries remains to be ascertained. The number which has been assigned to these regions by the zoologists will, in all probability, hereafter be augmented. The determination of the species of our foxes, wild cats, wolves, squirrels, otters, and deer, will probably show, that many, which are now regarded as mere varieties, are, in reality, distinct species. To these points the attention of our Society is already directed; and I cannot but hope, that they and the other desiderata connected with this branch of our zoology will, ere long, be supplied.” p. 8.

After a few remarks on our Ornithology and a well merited compliment to the indefatigable Wilson, he makes some interesting observations on our Fossil Zoology or the remains of those animals, whose species are now extinct, and whose fossil bones, only, testify what they once were. He passes then to the subjects of Mineralogy and Geology, on which he expatiates at considerable length, notices the interesting curiosities of our native Indian tribes, and, to show their importance to the historian and the antiquary, states the following facts.

“There are on the shelves appropriated to our Indian implements and ancient remains, several fragments of earthen ware. The greater number of these were found in Kentucky and Ohio about the deserted encampments of the present tribes: one piece was dug out from the centre of the large mound, which imparts so much interest to the scenery of the western suburb of our city, and another, manufactured under the view of the the person who presented it, was brought, a few years since, from the hordes which inhabit the banks of Red River, in Louisiana. These different specimens have one remarkable character in common. A part of their composition is pounded river shells, an ingredient, which, not being like clay indispensable, seems strongly to imply a common origin of the art among the 0369 366 former and the latter inhabitants of this region; or a transmission of it from one to the other, and consequently a derivation of the existing tribes from the people whose monuments overspread our country. The other fact serves, perhaps, to illustrate some of the migrations, if not the origin, of the same people.

In the Museum there are three large marine shells, which were taken from an elliptical mound near the centre of the city. They had been deposited with many other utensils and trinkets around the bodies that were buried in that tumulus. The lip and internal parts of these shells had been removed, so as to convert them into vessels. The most interesting question which could be proposed concerning them,—from whence were they brought? we are already able, in part, to answer. The two larger are of the same species, and belong to a genus denominated Buccinum, by the naturalists. Among the shells hitherto obtained by us from the Atlantic states, there is not one of the same species with these; but the desideratum has been supplied by a gentleman from the West Indies, who has deposited in the museum a shell, which is manifestly of the same kind. We are therefore at liberty to suppose, that those in question were brought from the Florida coast, or perhaps from the shores of Cuba.

The other shell found here, belongs to the genus Murex. It is strongly characterized by having its spire reversed, or turned from right to left, a conformation which belongs to no other in our collection. In the opinion of a late ingenious writer, it is the same kind of shell, that is employed by the Hindus in certain religious rites; and from this and other facts, he has inferred, that the former inhabitants of this country were of Hindu origin. There is a reversed murex, however, in the northern European seas; and until it is ascertained that they, or some of our own waters have not supplied this, as well as the buccina which were found with it, such a bold speculation will not be received without hesitation.” p. 21.

In regard to the last remark we shall only at present observe, that the speculation alluded to, bold as it may be thought, is supported by other evidence than the discovery of the shell above mentioned, and while we agree with Dr. Drake that this, like every other theory of the kind, should be adopted with great caution, and never received, without full examination, we presume he will agree with us in admitting that the supposition of our late v?lued friend has been maintained with plausibility, to say the least, and is entitled to much respect and consideration.

Among other objects of the society is the promotion of the fine and useful arts, by the collection of models and specimens, 0370 367 in sculpture, painting, drawing, and new inventions. It is intended also to illustrate by philosophical instruments the “principles of magnetism, electricity, galvanism, mechanics, hydrostatics, optics, and the mechanism of the solar system.” Connected with the museum it is proposed likewise to establish a library, devoted especially to the interesting branches of learning, already enumerated.

Such is an outline of the institution, whose anniversary this address was intended to commemorate, so far as its situation and objects are developed in the pamphlet before us. We have been thus minute in our notice of it, not only from a desire to extend the knowledge of its existence, and to award our tribute of praise to the enterprise which has reared it, but to excite in other friends of science throughout the western country, and particularly in the citizens of Lexington, a spirit of generous and highminded emulation, a zeal not be outdone in a good thing, and a resolution to promote, at least to an equal extent, the same valuable objects. We confess however our information respecting it is limited to that derived from this single source, and some allowance ought probably to be made for the partiality of a warm and zealous friend. Whether it is affected, in any degree, by the personal disputes, which have, for some time past, agitated the professional and literary circles of Cincinnati, and whether the gentleman, who appears to be its principal superintendant and most zealous advocate, has infused into it any personal feeling, we are utterly unable to say. Of this however we feel confident, that if it is intended to be a mere party institution, or to subserve the interests of any individual or clan, it cannot, it ought not to flourish. If, on the contrary, as we hope is the fact, its objects really are, as they profess to be, the promotion of the great cause of science, and the development of the interesting antiquities of the west, if it is conducted upon a liberal and magnanimous scale, and unconnected with any personal views or feelings, we cordially wish it the success it deserves.

Before we close this article, we cannot forbear noticing a remark casually introduced in the address under review, unfavourable to the cultivation of classical learning. The “study of Greek and Roman literature” is spoken of as —what “cannot be condemned,” indeed—though scarcely worthy to be approved. We are surprised at the suggestion by Dr. Drake of such an opinion. Our own language, 0371 368 we admit, ought not to be neglected, but who does not know, that the best, if not the only, mode of acquiring a familiarity with the rules of English grammar and a genuine tact in the use of English words, is to study first the ancient languages; to trace back as it were the stream to its fountain? A contempt for classical learning appears to be becoming lamentably common in our country, and is even extending itself of late among our scholars and men of science. The experience however of ages speaks decisively upon this subject, and we are not yet inclined to despair of the continued elevation and final triumph of Greek and Roman literature, notwithstanding all the efforts that may be made, even by its own foster children, to undervalue and to degrade it. We shall not at present enlarge on this subject. Our own conviction however decidedly is, that American scholars have not generally done justice to the real value and importance of classical learning, and that every sneer at so material a branch of education, every attempt to discourage its cultivation, should be met with a frown by all those who sincerely desire the improvement of our systems of instruction and the increase of genuine learning among us.

The address before us contains some correct and judicious remarks on the importance of maintaining our national independence in regard to literature, science, commerce, and the arts, as well as in reference to our political relations. With the following quotation on that interesting subject we shall close the present article.

“I do not mean to say, that we should have no foreign dependencies; but we certainly should have none that are not compensated by equivalent dependencies upon us. Such an equality with other nations, would be at once the sign and source of our permanent prosperity; and until that enviable condition is established, in vain will our political systems stand forth a proud monument of the wisdom of their authors; or our teeming earth send up its herbs, and fruits, and flowers, and our green fields display their richness and beauty—we shall neither be ennobled by the one, nor rendered comfortable and happy by the other. In the midst of Nature's choicest bounties, in the ful?ness of religious and political freedom, we shall remain the unhappy and ignoble dependents of the old world. To us, especially, who inhabit an interior region, having our dwelling places among the sources of a mighty river; who cannot hold intercourse with foreign countries without an inland voyage of more than a thousand miles, or a difficult overland journey across 0372 369 47 rugged and lofty mountains, a dependence on Europe is equally disastrous and degrading. I trust that these opinions will, ere long, spread more widely through society, and inspire us to new and nobler efforts in the sacred cause of national independence. I will indulge the hope, that we shall, at no distant time, more fully perceive and acknowledge the momentous truths, that in a nation organized like ours, private and public prosperity are inseparable: that knowledge is the basis of both: that efforts to promote it can neither exhaust nor impoverish: that expenditures for its cultivation, would not dry up our recourses; but, like the exhalations which the earth sends forth, to fall, after a time, in fertilizing showers, would return upon us a rich and replenishing harvest: that periods of general and pecuniary embarrassment should not be suffered to diminish these appropriations, as that would inevitably augment the evil: that the greater number of disasters, both public and private, originate in ignorance, and should not be allowed to perpetuate themselves by fortifying its empire: that under all the vicissitudes and trials of life, after a sincere invocation to Divine Providence, the safest reliance is on the dictates of learning and science; and that in the midst of the widest desolation, our exertions for their benefit should never relax.”

NARROW ESCAPES FROM DESTRUCTION BY THE INDIANS.

The following narratives ha?, both furnished as? directly, by Mr. Francis Downing a gentleman of this town, of occurrences in which he himself was personally concerned.

In the year 1785 or 1786, Mr. Downing then a lad, resided in a fort, where were soon afterwards erected the Iron Works of Mr. Jacob Myers, now belonging to Colonel Thomas Deye Owings. One morning a young man by the name of Yates and Mr. Downing went out together in search of a horse that had strayed away from the fort. After going six or eight miles, the latter began to be alarmed at the idea of danger from the Indians, and observed to Yates, to whom, being much older than himself, he looked up for counsel and protection, that he thought he heard a noise like sticks breaking behind him. Yates laughed at him and told him not to be a coward, that it was all his imagination, 0373 370 and that there was no danger whatever. Downing however was not convinced, b?t embraced the first favourable opportunity afforded him for concealment, to stop in a thick cluster of whortleberry bushes, while Yates went on. In a few minutes an Indian was seen by Downing running towards him till he was within about a hundred yards, when he suddenly stopped. Downing, to use his own expression, was, as it were, thunder-struck. He resolved however, as he had a gun with a double trigger, to fire and then run, but unfortunately before he had raised the gun to his face, it went off, and, as he remarks, he instantly went off too. After running some distance, he met Yates, who having heard the report of the gun, had turned to ascertain what was the matter, and, learning that they were closely pursued, they both ran together. At length they reached a declivity, and were compelled, in following the path, to descend into a valley surrounded by hills. Here they soon saw two Indians, who had taken a shorter course, and were running by another route towards the bottom of the valley. There was no alternative: it was absolutely necessary to keep the path, and to run with the utmost possible rapidity, although from the superior knowledge possessed by the Indians of the different roads, they had gained considerably on the pursued, and seemed likely soon to overtake them. Both parties ran on, till they reached, in the bottom of the valley, a dry gutter about six feet deep, and of considerable width. The Indians by this time had approached very near, and attempted to leap across the gutter at about the same time with the whites. All got across safely, except Mr. Downing, who just reached the edge of the ditch, against which, striking his toe, he fell upon his breast, rebounded, and was thrown backward into the ditch. The violence of the fall almost deprived him of breath for a time, but fortunately the Indians were too intent upon the chase to observe his remaining behind, and both happening to direct their attention solely to Mr. Yates, continued to pursue him. Mr. Downing at length, recovering from the shock, walked along the ditch, which grew shallower as he advanced and soon ceased to serve the purpose of concealing him from observation. At length he saw one of the Indians returning to look for him. He instantly dropped his gun, left the gutter, and ran back the same way he had come. The injury he had received from his fall affected his speed, and the Indian rapidly gained upon him. After running a considerable 0374 371 distance, when he began to consider his case a desperate one, and his being overtaken inevitable, he came to a large poplar tree, which had been prostrated by the wind. It so happened that he ran along one side of this tree, and the Indian pursued him on the other. At this critical moment he felt himself caught by the leg, and was compelled to make a momentary pause, when he perceived that he had been stopped by a small dog, which instantly ran away from him. This pause gave the Indian a considerable advantage, and he perceived himself in the imminent danger of being caught at the root of the tree. Most fortunately however, just at that spot, a large she bear had taken up her abode and was rearing several cubs. Not being pleased at the violence with which the Indian approached her young, she instantly attacked him, whereupon Mr. Downing, taking advantage of the interference of this unexpected co-adjutor, suddenly wheeled round, and left the savage engaged in a most violent struggle with his new adversary. What was the result of the encounter we are not informed. It had however the happy effect of preserving Mr. Downing from almost inevitable destruction, and as no remains of the Indian were ever afterwards found at or near the place, it is probable he escaped alive, if not without material injury.

Yates likewise succeeded in getting off unhurt. After running several miles, he concealed himself amidst trees or in a cane brake, and thus eluded the vigilance of his pursuers, and returned home without injury.

It was a custom with Mr. Downing, in the summer, about the time referred to in the preceding narrative, to go every afternoon out of the fort, to a cluster of hickory trees several hundred yards distant, for the purpose of shooting squirrels, which at that place were very numerous. Near his path, as he afterwards discovered, fifteen Indians lay concealed for three days, behind a large log, around which they had placed a number of bushes to serve as a blind, there waiting for a favourable opportunity to kill some one or more of the men, and obtain plunder. The two first days he passed as usual to the hickory grove and back without molestation, the Indians probably being aware that little, if any thing, could be obtained from him, and fearing that an attack upon him would lead to immediate detection and pursuit. On the third day, he observed that the bushes around 0375 372 the ambuscade were apparently dying, and being unable to conjecture the cause, was attracted by curiosity towards the spot, and had advanced within about ten feet, for the purpose of ascertaining what was the matter, when his attention was caught by the fluttering of a beautiful bird, entangled in the burrs just by him. He instantly turned, caught the bird, and forgetting his curiosity about the dying bushes returned to the fort, and spent the remainder of the day in attempting to make a cage for his bird. Had he not been interrupted, he would inevitably have been taken by the Indians without the firing of a gun. So completely were his thoughts engrossed by his new occupation, that he neglected to mention the circumstance of the dying bushes, and, the next morning, a man from the fort, who was a driver of pack horses, went out early with his son to see after his horses, when the concealed Indians shot them both, scalped, and stripped them, before they could be attacked by the people from the fort; and, having previously stolen a number of horses, made their escape.

One Sunday morning three men, two of whom were named Wade and Poor, (the name of the third not recollected,) who had been in the habit of reconnoitring and acting as spies among the Indians, proposed to Mr. Downing to go with them to the Mud Lick, now the Olympian Springs, seven miles distant from the fort. They accordingly set out together on foot, and travelled undisturbed till they came within sight of the Lick. As they descended a hill, they espied several buffaloes which they were anxious to shoot, and were advancing towards them, intent on the object, when Poor and Wade, who were some distance before Downing and his companion, suddenly turned round and gave notice that they must flee for their lives as there were ten or fifteen Indians sitting and attempting to conceal themselves in the stream that proceeded from the Lick. They ran with all possible speed but soon heard the Indians behind them. They took one path, and the Indians another, and after running some little distance the paths met. The whites however reached the point of juncture before their pur?uers, though the latter appeared to have gained by the choice of roads. Young Downing, being small, and not, like his companions, accustomed to running, was unable to keep up with them, and was advised, as the only chance of 0376 373 escape, to embrace the first opportunity, when the situation of the road should throw them out of the sight of the Indians, to step behind a log and lay concealed, while the rest of the party ran on. Reluctant as he felt to be left in the woods surrounded by savages, he considered it the only alternative, and followed the advice. Accordingly, the first opportunity, he jumped aside from the path and lay close behind a log. The Indians soon came along, and, eager to overtake those whom they still saw before them, ran by Downing, who lay trembling by the way side. About ten minutes after they passed, he ventured to rise and leave his place of concealment. For some time however he was utterly at a loss what course to pursue. To go back towards the L?ck was the first thought, but it was abandoned almost as soon as conceived. In this state of uncertainty he slowly walked along the path in the direction the Indians had taken. A little reflection however convinced him of the danger of this course, as it was extremely probable they would soon turn, and come back in the same direction. He therefore left the path, and, after wandering through the woods, reached the fort in safety, several hours after his companions, who had outrun their pursuers and returned likewise unhurt.

On another occasion Mr. Downing happened to fall in company with Wade and Poor at Stroud's Station, and set out with them to return to the fort. On their way it was proposed and agreed to turn aside and go about three miles from the road to a place called Cassidy's Station, where a settlement had been made but abandoned on account of its exposure to the Indians, in order to get water mellons, which abounded there. When they came near the enclosure, Wade and Poor told Downing to sit on his horse and hold theirs, while they went to reconnoitre and ascertain whether they could with safety enter the water mellon patch, charging him on no account to leave his horse or to move from the spot until they returned, unless the Indians should appear, or he should hear a signal agreed on by a sound made with corn blades, in which last case he should repair immediately to a corner of the fence, and there wait for them. They accordingly went, leaving him alone, and having been absent a considerable length of time, he began to grow uneasy, and, reg?rdless of the positive directions he had re?eived, determined to go and see what was the matter. With 0377 374 this view he dismounted, tied his horses to the poles, which formed the fence of the enclosure, jumped over and began to make his way through the high broom corn, which concealed the houses from view. When he had almost reached the extremity of the corn field, he caught a glimpse of the cottages, saw a man, whom he took for an Indian, run from one to another, and at the same instant heard the signal agreed on given by his companions. He was now aware of the imprudence he had been guilty of, and ran with all possible speed towards the fence. Unfortunately however the violence with which he jumped over it, alarmed the horses, and they ran off each with a pole hanging to his bridle. Wade and Poor came to the corner of the fence according to agreement, but, not finding Downing or the horses, were excessively alarmed, and ran to ascertain the cause. With the utmost expedition they caught the horses, cut away the poles, sprang on and rode several miles full speed without uttering a word. At length, having recovered their self possession, they perceived they were not pursued, and proceeded more deliberately home.

MONTHLY RESULTS OF METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

Made in Lexington by Profes??? .

No. 6. RESULTS FOR JUNE, 1820.

Temperature. The weather was variable, mild, warm, and stormy. Lowest temperature 40 degrees on the 1st and 24, highest 87 degrees on the 21st; often between 80 and 85. Medium about 65 degrees. Greatest daily variation 22 degrees, from 60 to 82 on the 9th.

Atmosphere. There were seventeen fair days, nine cloudy ones, one hazy day, the 3d, and three rainy days, the 1st, 2d, and 12th, besides many partially showery.

Rain. It rained almost all the day on the three rainy days above mentioned, and with a N. E. wind. The streams were raised by it and by several of the heavy showers which happened—on the 9th, wind N.; on the 13th, 14th, and 16th afternoons and evenings, wind W.; on the 17th 0378 375 evening very heavy wind N. W.; on the 20th evening, wind N. besides slight showers on the 22d wind W, and 30th wind N, when the gusts and showers went by at a small distance. Total average of rain fallen about four inches.

Snow. Frost. Winds.None this month.

Winds. The prevailing winds have been N. for eight days, W. for four, N. E. for four, S. E. and S. W. each three days, and East two days. On the 22d it blew like a hurricane for a quarter of an hour near noon, while a gust was passing to the South, filling the air with clouds of dust, and tearing the limbs and leaves of trees. Many locust trees and fruit trees were broken during this hurricane, the wind blowing from the East, while before and after it was nearly west.

Electricity. There was a great display of it in this month. Thunder gusts happened six times, on the 13th, 14th, 16th, 17th, 20th, and 23d. They passed at a small distance on the 22d and 30th. Lightnings were seen seven times, in the evenings of the 9th, 10th, 11th, 15th, 24th, 25th, 26th, &c. They were mostly sheet lightnings, but sometimes zigzag lightnings, darting from cloud to cloud without thunder, and appeared principally near the horizon, towards the West and South.

Ground. Generally dry: muddy for a day or two after the heavy rains.

Vegetation. On the 1st, Currants began to be ripe.

3d.Datura Stramonium began to blossom.

4th.Athemis cotula in blossom.

6th.Green beans in market.

10th.Gooseberries ripe.

15th.Bidens frondosa in blossom.

20th.Cucabalus steilatus in blossom.

25th.Indian corn in blossom and already ten feet high in some spots.

30th. Rye ripe and fit to harvest.

Animals. On the 1st the fire flies (Lampyris) began to appear.

Transylvania University, 1st July, 1820.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

A work is about to be published in England containing an account of Timbuctoo and Housa, territories in the interior of Africa, by El Hage Abd Salam Shabeenie, a native of Morocco, who visited those countries, and resided in them.

Leight Hunt, the author of Rimini and other works, is about to publish a translation, from the Italian, of Tasso's Amyntas.

Thomas Moore, the poet, is writing a life of the late R. B. Sheridan. Such a work, from such a pen, will, no doubt, be highly interesting to the literary and political world.

Another romance by Miss Anna Maria Porter, entitled the Village of Mariendorft, is announced in London.

Nathan Drake, the author of a well known work, entitled “Literary Hours,” has recently published another volume called “Winter Nights.” It has not yet appeared in this country.

It is stated in the English papers that the author of the Monastery has written another novel entitled The Abbott. This writer, whose excellence has been the theme of so many eulogies, appears to be unequalled likewise in rapidity of composition. We fear however that he will not add to his fame, so much as to his purse, by the number and rapid succession of his works.

A work has recently been published at Cincinnati entitled “Geographical Sketches on the western country, designed for emigrants and settlers, being the result of extensive researches and remarks, to which is added a summary of all the most interesting matters on the subject, including a particular description of the unsold public lands, collected from a variety of authentic sources; also a list of the principal roads; by E. Dana.” Such a work, if well executed, must be an important acquisition to the emigrant to the western states, and deserve the patronage of the public. We have had but little opportunity to examine it. It is a duodecimo volume of 312 pages: of course its details cannot be very ample, nor its information very specific or precise. About 60 pages are devoted to preliminary remarks, on the natural resources, boundaries, antiquities, natural curiosities, first settlement, and future prospects of the western country. It then contains a brief geographical description 0380 377 48 of Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, the Floridas, Louisiana, Texas, Michigan, North Western Territory, Arkansaw, Missouri, and the country watered by the Columbia River. We make a short extract from the description of Texas.

“The soil of Texas is generally, in fertility, much inferior to that which is spread over the region watered by the streams of the Mississippi and Red river. A large portion of the former consists of open plains devoid of woods; opening a passage for the winds from the north; whereby the same parallels of latitude are rendered cooler than further to the east. The climate is, however, generally temperate, and favourable to the health of the human constitution.

“Considered in the whole, as one region, it cannot properly be said of, Texas, that the soil is fertile. It contains, notwithstanding, many extensive tracts of excellent land.

“The borders of Red river, and the margins of several other considerable streams, will admit of good settlements through the whole extent of their respective courses. Much of the interior, though denuded of wood, far from market, will furnish valuable ranges for the rearing of cattle.

“Between Red river and the Rio Grand del Norte, including those rivers, there is a remarkable uniformity in the course of the streams: their direction towards the ocean is southeast. After this manner flows the Nuec?s, Guadaloupe, Colorado, Brassos a Dios, Sabine and Calcasiu. Some of the best harbors in the Gulf of Mexico lie between the Sabine and the Rio Grand del Norte.

“If, by the laws of nations, as applicable to national rights acquired by discovery or preoccupancy, the limits of the country called Louisiana, under all circumstances, ought to be so extended as to embrace the province of Texas, at the time of its cession by the French to the Spaniards, in the treaty of 1762; it clearly follows, that the United States are now entitled to that province by the treaty of 1803. But, even admitting the claim of the United States to that country could not be urged, on the principles of national law, the dictates of sound policy would direct Spain to consent to the establishment of the Rio Grand del Norte, for a permanent boundary between the territories of the two governments. This river is but of small national importance. It is a long stream, with but few tributaries, sparingly supplied with water for its length, and bordered, most 0381 378 of its course, by lands naturally barren—presenting a continuous dreary, wide chasm, on either side, which affords no inducements to occupancy or cultivation. Its banks, therefore, if at all inhabited, must be occupied by a very thin population. Thus here has nature seemed to have prescribed. a space, almost as distinguishable for a national boundary, as an extended range of impassable mountains, or a broad expanse of fathomless waters. Yet such has been the moderation and pacific policy of the American republic, that in their late project for a treaty with Spain, they waived their claim to Texas: but the treaty not being ratified on the part of Spain, the discussion is still open, and the waiver may be considered as resumed.”

In the course of the work the following notice is taken of our University.

“Among the Literary Institutions of this state, the principal is the Transylvania University, at Lexington, which was incorporated several years ago, and which has lately been reorganised and placed on a respectable foundation. There are two college edifices, of brick—one erected some time since; the other an elegant edifice, built in 1818, upon so extended a scale as to accommodate one hundred students. The former library contained nearly 2000 volumes, to which of late has been made a large addition. Here is also a complete philosophical apparatus. The extent of the funds with which this institution is endo?ed, we have not been able to it is however understood that they are , consisting of bank stock and real estate. There are thirteen trustees, all elected triennially by the legislature. The executive government is vested in a president, a professor of languages, one of mathematics and natural philosophy, one of chemistry and mineralogy, two tutors, a professor of law, and four professors in the medical department. The requisitions for admission and the course of study are to be the same as at the University at Cambridge, Mass. and it is intended to make the standard of education as high as in any of the Atlantic colleges.”

An interesting work, entitled Letters on the Eastern State, has lately been issued from the press in New York. It is said to have been written by a gentleman of some literary celebrity in Boston. We have not yet had an opportunity of perusing it, but it is represented as containing much sound sense, amusing anecdote, and valuable information.

POETRY.

JULIA.

Life, Julia, 's like the slender track Of passing steps on Stygian shore, Which the next wave that rushes back Will gently smooth the sandsparks o'er: But still that sparkling, stygian wave, Shall pour its murmur round their grave, Life, Julia, 's like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray: Its hold is frail, its date is brief, Restless, and soon to pass away: But ere that leaf shall fall and fade The parent tree shall mourn its shade. Life, Julia, 's like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky; But ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground to die: But on that Rose's humble bed, The sweetest dews of night are shed, As if she wept such waste to see. But none will shed a tear for me!

A la Memoria Onorata Di Gio D. Clifford. ODA.

Del sacro bronzo il rotto suono, o Morte, Dice di tua vittoria, E il ner vessillo a le affollate porte Predica nuova gloria, E il nulla de le cose di quaggiu S' entri: eceo il vinto: ei giace innanzi sera, E a mezze sua giornata; Fredda le gote tu gl' imbianchi austera E parli a chi lo guata, E co' la ferrea mano il premi tu.

0383 380

Ma l' alma pura di bell' opre carca Velge a la patria sede, Ed oltre il sol rapidamente varca Verso 'l Dio di sue fede, E Il mira a sua virtute guiderdon. Inno d'amor, di fe, di grazie intuona, Ela santa armonia, Che ratta per le vie del Ciel risuona, Par ripercossa sia Da l' altre sfere in lor celeste tuon.

Ed a colei gia sua compagna in vita, Speme poi morta, ei vola Come colomba dal disio rapita: Lor manca la parola: C' alme non me' s' intentdon che in tacer. Poi da comun voler tratte, l' amica Madre, le triste suore, E il doppio frutto de la fiamma antica Mirano, e arian dolore, Se duolo avesse colassu poter.

Guata la santa coppia, e grato ha il pianto De l' amicizia, e dolce Ha 'l sospir de la Vergine, che a canto Sta de li afflitti, e molce Lor giusto affanno col soave dir. Poi volgendosi al Dio, ?' ambo' nnamora Pregan pace abbia 'l duolo, E quando suonera lor ultim' ora Possan quell' alme a volo Ratte 'n lor bianca stola al Ciel sali?.

Ma lente muove il feral carro e porta La lagrimata spoglia; Siegue la turba numerosa, assorta In non men?ita doglia, E 'l bronzo alterna in suono di dolor L' estremo a Dio: a' ogni speranza: neide Colei che ragione Oggi fra gia 'l doppio cardin stride Di l' avara magione, E la zolla in cader rimbomba al cor. 0384 381 Un di avverra che il veglio che non sosta, Su 'l duolo avra vittoria, E nel profondo cor sara nascosta Ogni trista memoria, Qual di turbine fero che passo; Ma eterno i petti suoneran suo vanto, Sua virtute d' essempio Sara a' nepoti tardi, e, l'oprar santol Di rimprovero a l' empio - - - Che 'l ver non compro vate oggi canto.

Dargo.

Eruditissimo et Disertissimo...

Eruditissimo et Disertissimo HORATIO HOLLEIO, Academiæ Transilvaniensis Præsidi, Studiorum Liberalium Amantissimo, Hane cantiunculam Americanæ Libertatis diem natalem collaudantem, D. D. D.

S. WILSON.

Ex Coll. Silvest. Idibus. Jun.

Diva Libertas, Heliconis alti,* Dic modos dulces animum moventes; Julias Nonas celebrare Quartum† Carmine vellem.

* Mount Helicon was consecrated, not only to Apollo and the Muses; but also to Bacchus, Hymen, Venus, Cupid, the Graces, the Nymphs of the mountains, Groves, &c. Milton, in his L'Allegro, after invocating the Goddess Euphrosyne, one of the Graces, daughter of Bacchus and Venus, adds, “And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain Nymph, Sweet Liberty.” If any man, however, deem Liberty unworthy a rank among the fancy-formed Goddesses of Helicon, auriculas asini habeat.

† Julias Nonas, &c. To the reader, who is acquainted with the ancient Roman Calendar, no remark is necessary.—Those, who are not, may read Julii mensis celebrare quartum.

Alme Sol, curru referas nitente Semper et ludos hilares et horas: Concinant cives memorem diemque Voce canora.

0385 382

Hi? dies festus, redeunte anno, Eximet nobis animi dolores; Namque Libertas precibus benignam Præbuit aurem.

Surge lux laudanda et honore digna, Quo die patres juga disciderunt; Quo die dextra eripuere forti Sceptra tyrannis.

Britonum rex nam dominatione Ferrea, vincla imposuit colonis: Jura sed cives bene vindicarunt Belligerantes.

Signa tune tollens radiata stellis, Gloriam æternam America es?adepta, Hostium turmas superavit omnes Numine ducta.

Liberum jus nunc manibus tenemus; Vivimus tuti et nemorum sub Affluit Tellus Cerere, atque abundat Lacteque melle.

En! superbis regibus et fugata Cara Libertas, oriente ab ora Advenit exul, Palladis art?s.

Sacra nun? Phœbo melicisque Musis Templa fundantur: nucibus relictis, Imbibunt haustus dociles alumni ex Fonte perenni.

Floreas longum, America O beata; Libera et felix vigeas in ævum; Filii juncti et maneant Columbi Unanimesque.

0386 383 LE TROUBADOUR.

1. Pret a toucher une rive etrangere Le Troubadour cheminait lentement; Larme d'amour etait sur sa paupiere; Et ses regards se tournaient au couchant. Las il s'ass?t au bord d'une fontaine, Et de sa lyre eveillant la douceur Fit repeter aux echos de la plaine Ces chants plaintifs et d'amour et d'honneur.

2. Vous dis adieu, ma seconde Patrie, Vous que embellit la dame de mon cœur: Vous dis adieu: mon etoile ennemie M'a reserve cet exces de douleur. Un seul penser soutient mon existence, Celui, qui peint le bonheur du retour: Tant qu' un rayon me luira d'esperance Mon cœur battra pour l'honneur et l'amour.

3. Des que quittai les lieux qui l'ont vu naitre Pour m'approcher des portes d'Orient, Moins ai plaisir de voir Phœbus paraitre, Que quand il va vers la mer descendant. Car lors me dis: pour etre plus pres d'Elle Chaque matin il deserte sa cour; Mais en sa course il n'est pas plus fidele, Que ne le suis a l'honneur, a l'amour.

4. Jeunes oiseaux, qui charmez ce bocage Bientot fuirez le sou??e d'agguilon; Volez vers elle, et dans votre ramage Redites lui ma plaintive chanson. Et toi Zephyr; que Flore sien appelle, Va messager du pauvre troubabour, Et quand charme tu voltiges pres d'Elle, Dis lui, que vis pour l'honneur et l'amour.

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Lorsque Phœbe de son char de lumiere Jete sur nous un regard amoureux, Du fond du cœur lui fais cette priere, Et sens couler des larmes de mes yeux: Phœbe par ton objet d'amour, lo?squ' Elle Leve vers toi ses yeux, pleins de langueur, Reponds lui que Dargo mourra fidele A ses serments, a l'amour, a l'honneur.

6. Que si le sort epuisant sa colere Ne me consent de jamais la revoir, Et me frappant sur la terre etrangere Il finit ma journee avant le soir, Mon esprit attire, par l'ancien charme Viendra revoir de ses yeux la douceur;— Ah! puisse-t il y surprendre une larme; Car c'est le prix de l'amour, de l'honneur.

DARGO.

On Laurel Hill, May 27.