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NORTH AMERICAN //ZItL/ I hi -~-~ ~.4 I CN REVIEW ANI) MISCELLANEOUS JOURNAL. VOLUME FIFTH. BOSTON, PUBLISHED BY CUMMINGS AND IIILLIARD, NO. 1, CORNIIILL. University Press....Hilliard ~ .2~fetea{f. I 81.7. I CONTENTS OF ThE FIFH VOLUME. MISCELLANY. Pag. Africa, Interiour of 11 America, books relating to 1,175 Day of Algiers, preamble to a letter from the 187 Elizabeth Islands,visit tothe 315 tlavre de Grace, confiag~a.. tion of 157 Italian Drama I 82 3esuits 26, 309 1ag. Mahometan Law, singul~i article of 29 Old times 4 Postures, Essay on 164 Royal Society 31 Sane, Retreat for the 324 Spanish character, trait of 39 Spenser, Faery Queen of 360 POETRY. Boileau, 4th Satire Transla tion of 188 6th Satire 34 9th Satire 139 Cyprian Queen 46 Elm and the Vine 47 Fragment 340 Horace, Ode 2, B. 1. Trans~ tion of 334 Ode9,B. 1. Imita tionof 386 Hope and Memory 43 Jairus Daughter,on the rais- ing of 201. Latin Ode 202 Moore, Sir John, burial of $42 Pliny, a remark of, versified ~3~T Raphael, on seeing a head of, elegantly copied by a young lady 200 Thanatopsis 338 Time and Pleasure 341 Trumbull, on a painting of 42 REVIEWS. Adams, Robert, Narrative of 204 Aikins Manual of Mine ralogy 74 Byrons Poems 98 Cleavelands Mineralogy 409 Cowpers Memoir of his early life Delanos Voyages and Trav els 244 Justinianis account of an ancient Cemetery in Na ples. 119 Machiavelli, oppere di Nic- col6 564 48 Murrays Life of himself 55 iv Revolution in Pernambuco 226 Rileys Narrative 389 Sancho, the Proverbialist 289 Sylphsof the Seasons 865 Tales of my Landlord 257 African Expeditions 142 AlL Bey 287 American Academy 296 Arabick Manuscripts 288 Bowdoin Prize Disserta. tions 433 Bower of Spring 437 Chalmers on the Christian Revelation 293 Curious Manuscripts 144 Deaf and Dumb 435 Dexter Lectures 140 Edinburgh Monthly Maga zine 278 Flora Novanglica 434 Foschi Abbes Letter, translation of 133 Harvard University, Libra ry of 149 Reading room of 432 Kiaproth, the German CONTENTS. Village, a Poem Websters Letter Wheatons Reports Willards, Professor, He- brew Grammar INTELLIGENCE AND R~MARKS. Chemist Law School in Harvard University Letter from the Mediter- ranean Libraries Lunaticks Magellanick Premium Medical Botany Melincourt Patents granted by Con- ~ress Philosophical Societies,For- eign, proceedings of Reports Signals at sea Storrs Essays Tookes Pantheon University of Naples of Poland, New Wanostrochts Grammar Worcesters Gazetteer 224 82 110 63 239 ib. 128 430 437 432 434 437 295 ~97 436 297 296 4~6 131 143 292 4s~ METEOROLOGY. At Cambridge) by Professor Farrar 149, 299, 439 At Brunswick, by Profes- sor Cleaveland, 150,299, 440 At Williamstown, by Pro- fessor Dewey To Correspondents I 5~ 136, 300

Books relating to America 1-4

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW AIID MISCELLANEOUS JOURNAL. No. XIII. MAY, 1817. & bo& t, ~/~cL~r The Administration of the Colonies; (the fourth edition) where- in their rights and constitutions are discussed and stated. By Thomas Pownall, tate Ga~vernour and Commander in Chief of his .4lajestys Provinces, .~Wassachusetts Bay and South Caroli- vza, and Lieutenant Gavernour of .TVew Jersey. Putchrum ~st benefacere lleqnLblic(E, etiam benedicere haud absurdum est. London, J. Walter, 1768. ~ 420. THIS work of Governour Pownall was one of the most able that appeared on the subject of the disputes, which ter- minated in the Independence of the United States. His views were capacious and honest. He considered the inhab- itants of the Colonies entitled to all the iights of the inhabi- tants of England. His object was to procure the acknowl- edgment of these, and a fair parliamentary representation of them. He considered the situation of the Colonies to be like that of the Counties PaJatine in England in regard to the right of representation in Parliament. His arguments in favour of the policy of thus admitting the Colonies to send members to Parliament, are founded not only on the justice and equity of the measure, and the satisfaction it would give in the Colonies, but on the calculation of the prospective importance of commerce, in the balance of na- tional power, and the vast accession of wealth, that would Vol. V. No~ 1. 1 ~- C, Books relating to America. [May, be derived from developing and securing to Great Britain the trade of these extensive and growing colonies. His plan was too liberal and noble for the statesmen of that day, who intended to obtain the same results, through oppression and arbitrary power. The consequences of their folly and arro- gance were soon made manifest; they, however, only precip- itated an event, which the force of circumstances rendered inevitable. The wiser policy of Governour Pownall might A~ave delayed it, and perhaps produced some modification whenever it should have been brought about; but on look- ing round us now, it is easy to see that the burthen of Eng- lish monopoly would have daily become more onerous, and have caused an early separation. The style of this work is harsh and inelegant; the fol- lowing extract however is an exception; we select it from imear the commencement of his work, to give some idea of his manner of thinking. In the first uncultured ages of Europe. when men sought nothing but to possess, and to secure possession, the power of the sword was the predominant spirit of the world; it was that which formed the Roman empire; and it was the same, which in the declension of that empire, divided again the nations into the sev- eral governments, formed upon the ruins of it. When men afterward, from leisure, began to exercise the powers of their minds in (what is called) learning; religion, the only learning of that time, led them to a concern or their spirit- ual interests, and consequently led them under their spiritual guides. The power of religion would hence as naturally pre- dominate and rule, and did actually become the ruling spirit of the policy of Europe. It was this spirit, which for many ages formed, and gave away kingdoms; this, which created the anoint- ed lords over them, or again excommunicated und execrated these s~verei gns; this that united and allied the various nations, or plunged tI~em into war and bloodshed; this that formed the bal- ance ~f the power of the whole, and actuated the second grand scene of Europes history.~ But since the people of Europe have formed their communica- tion with the commerce of Asia; have been for some ages past, settling on all sidcs of the Atlantic Ocean, and in America, have been possessing every seat and channel of commerce, and have planted and raised that to am. interest which has taken root ;~ since they now feel the powers which derive from this, and are extendinoit to, and combining it with others; the spirit of corn~ werce ~vi1l become that predominant power. which will form the 1817.] Books relatitg to Jhnerica. general policy, and rule the powers of Europe: and hence a ga~and commercial interest, the basis of a great commercial doinin- ion, under the present scite and circumstances of the world, will be formed and arise. Tne rise and forming of this commercial interest is what precisely constitutes the present crisis. Governour Pownall was the author of some other works ;~ a memorial to the sovereigns of Europe, another to his owii sovereign, and a third to the sovereigns of the United States of America, and a small tract concerning the Gulf Stream. He had a taste for science, and was a member of the Royal Society. In politicks he was a whig, flourished with Pitt, and sunk under Bute and toryism. He was the most constitutional and national governour, that ever pre- sided over Massachusetts in its colonial state; he never practised any intrigue against the liberties of the people tin- der his charge, whom he considered entitled to all the rights of the people of the mother country. One of the immediate causes of the fall of his administration was a magnanimous vote of the legislature of Massachusetts, to erect a statue to Lord Howe. This was to cost five hundred pounds! Hutch- inson, who was endeavouring to prostrate the liberties of his country, to serve his own ambition, made use of this vote, and some of the ablest and most honest men in the legisla- ture, and the administration of Pownall, ~vere the victims of it. There is one feature at least, which seems immutable in our country. A hard earned reward to patriotick merit, or a liberal allowance to talent in official stations, will place it in the power of the dullest demagogues to turn the wisest and most virtuous men, who may have voted them, out of their places; but the same sagacious citizens, who thus ex- ercise their discretion, will quietly be cheated out of mil- lions, by paper money, banks, or pretended~economy. Gov- ernour Pownall, though a disappointed, was not a soured man; after the death of his wife, he resigned his seat in Par- liament, and died, we believe, about the year 1790. 4 old Times. [May,. FOR TUE NORTH AMERICAN 3OURNAL. Old Times. The world is empty, the heart is dead surely! In this world, plainly, all seemeth amiss. IT went to my heart, when they cleared the old parlour of the venerable family furniture, and stripped the oak pannels of the prints of the months; July with her large fan and full ruffles at the elbows, and January in her muff and tippet. They would have pulled down the pannels, too, to make the room as smart and bright as paper could make it; but placing my back againsttbem, I swore by the spirit of my grandfather; that not a joint in the old work should be started, while I could stand to defend it. And I have my revenge, ~vhen I see how pert, insignificant, and raw every thing looks, surround-. ed by the high and dark walls of the apartment. But the old furniture was all huddled together topsyturvy in the garret.. The round oak table, which had many a time smoked with the substantial dinners of former days, lost one of its leaves by too rough handling; but an old oak desk, at which my grandfather in his days of courtship was wont to pen epis- tles and sonnets to my grandmother, escaped the violence of the revolution with only a few scratches. I have had the dust wiped off its black polish, brought it down by my study fire, and placed before it the 01(1 gentlemans armchair, which I found standing calm and stately upon its four legs, amidst the disordered rubbish of the garret. The mice have made a hole in the smooth leather bottom; which, however, I have never mended, as I keep it to remind me of the neg- lect and ingratitude of the world. It does not make you hate the world. No man could sit in my grandfathers chair and hate his fellow beings. I am seated in it this moment; and with my pen fresh dipped in his leaden inkstand, shall scribble on, till my mind and heart are eased. To this corner I retire, at the shutting in of day, for self- examination and amendment. It is here that I sit, in the shadow of a melancholy mind, and see pass before me, in sol- emn order, my follies and my crimes, and follow them with trembling into the portentous uncertainty of the future. It is here that I learnt that we must not lean on the ~vorld for comfort. It is lier~ that I give myself up to the visions of

Old Times 4-11

4 old Times. [May,. FOR TUE NORTH AMERICAN 3OURNAL. Old Times. The world is empty, the heart is dead surely! In this world, plainly, all seemeth amiss. IT went to my heart, when they cleared the old parlour of the venerable family furniture, and stripped the oak pannels of the prints of the months; July with her large fan and full ruffles at the elbows, and January in her muff and tippet. They would have pulled down the pannels, too, to make the room as smart and bright as paper could make it; but placing my back againsttbem, I swore by the spirit of my grandfather; that not a joint in the old work should be started, while I could stand to defend it. And I have my revenge, ~vhen I see how pert, insignificant, and raw every thing looks, surround-. ed by the high and dark walls of the apartment. But the old furniture was all huddled together topsyturvy in the garret.. The round oak table, which had many a time smoked with the substantial dinners of former days, lost one of its leaves by too rough handling; but an old oak desk, at which my grandfather in his days of courtship was wont to pen epis- tles and sonnets to my grandmother, escaped the violence of the revolution with only a few scratches. I have had the dust wiped off its black polish, brought it down by my study fire, and placed before it the 01(1 gentlemans armchair, which I found standing calm and stately upon its four legs, amidst the disordered rubbish of the garret. The mice have made a hole in the smooth leather bottom; which, however, I have never mended, as I keep it to remind me of the neg- lect and ingratitude of the world. It does not make you hate the world. No man could sit in my grandfathers chair and hate his fellow beings. I am seated in it this moment; and with my pen fresh dipped in his leaden inkstand, shall scribble on, till my mind and heart are eased. To this corner I retire, at the shutting in of day, for self- examination and amendment. It is here that I sit, in the shadow of a melancholy mind, and see pass before me, in sol- emn order, my follies and my crimes, and follow them with trembling into the portentous uncertainty of the future. It is here that I learnt that we must not lean on the ~vorld for comfort. It is lier~ that I give myself up to the visions of 1817.] O~d Times. 5 the mind, and fill the space about me with millions of beings from distant regions and 6f other times. Here, too, have I looked, with a dream-like contemplation, upon the shadows sliding over the wall, silent as sun-light, till they seemed to me as monitors from the land of the dead, who had come in kindness to tell me of the vanity of present things, and of the hastening on of another and an enduring world. It is natural in these lonely musings, to brood over the heartlessness and noisy joys of the world. There is at bot- tom a feeling of self-complacency in it. Our calmed reason sets us above the beings about us, while we forget how many, at that very moment, are as sober and rational as ourselves; and how few there are, amidst the multitude that cover the earth, that have not their hours of solitary contemplation too. It was in this cast of thought, in which the heart is made sad for want of communion ~with some living thing; when the tasteless character of all which surrounds us, hurries the mind forward to the excitement of hope, or carries it back to dwell for a time amidst the softened, but deep feelings of the past; that the fresh and thoughtless joys, and the pure and warm affections of my boyhood caine over me like a dream; and the cares of years, and the solemn and darkening scene about me, gave way, and I stood in the midst of the green and sunshine of a child. I felt again the ~vrinkled cheek, over which my baby hand had a thousand times past in fondness. entered into all the plays of children, and then re*~mber- ed the quaint customs, the individualities of the age of strong character and warm feeling, which marked the times of oui~ fathers; when the old sometimes mingled with the young. and the young bowed in reverence to the old. That was the age of feeling. Would that this over xvise age had some- thing of its childlike simplicity; something of its rough and honest manliness, which dared at times to be a boy. But the age has changed; and those amusements in which we were all children together, and which made the heart better without weakening the understanding, are at an end. There are no April fools day tricks in this period of deco- rum; no merry Christmas ; no happy New Year. I feel the blood move quick again, at the recollection of the glad faces I once used to see, when every body was running to wish you happy New Year. I can rsmnember when hur- rying from my chamber. with my fin gers ton stift~ afl(l cold 6 Old Times. [May, to button my little jacket, I burst open the parlour door, that I might be the first to wish. Though, on this morn- ing, I was sure to he lip an- hour earlier than usual, yet I al- ways found the family standing round the new-made, crack~ ling fire, ready to break out upon me in full voices with the old greeting. There was something restoring in it, which made me feel as if we had all awoke in a new world, and to another existence; and a vague, but grateful sensation, that new and peculiar joys were in store for us, went warm and vivifying to the heart. I was filled With kindness; and ea- ger as I had been but a moment before, to surprise every one in the house, the laugh of good natured triumph at my defeat, made it dearer to me than a victory. But old things are passed away; all things are beconie new. Not only those customs, which now and then met us in our dull travel over the road of life, are gone; even the seasons seem changing. We no longer gather flowers in May; and our very last new years morning, instead of ris- ing upon the crusted snow, and fields glittering with ice, spread itself with a sleepy dankness over the naked earth. I awoke with an ill foreboding languor upon me, and with a weighed down heart, sauntered into the silent parlour. The brands had fallen over the hearth, and by their half ex- tinguished heat, seemed to (loubt their welcome. I knew not where to sit or stand; the fireside looked cheerless, and there was an~incomfortable, ill-natured chill at the window. The vapour was passing off from the withered grass; the fresh- ness of every thing about me appeared deadened, and the beauty of nature faded. In the midst of this dull decay and solitude, a sense of desertion overshadowed me. The worlds inhabitants were as strangers, and even the objects of nature, with which I was wont to hold discourse, seemed to shut me out from communion with them. The family at last came in one after another. I was about wishing them the new years l)lCSSing; but the memory of the heartfelt sprightliness of old times caine across my mind, and brought along with it those that were at rest in the grave. I gave a loud hem ! (for my throat was full) and bade a cold good morning. I would not have uttered the old wish, if I could have done it. There was a feeling of protid resent- ruent at the neglect of ancient customs, which forbade it. I did not care to wipe off the dust, which is fast and silently gathering over the sacred customs of past times, to bring 1817.) Old Times, 7 them forward to the ridicule of the affected refinement, and cold rationality of this enlightened age. They would as ill sort with our modern laboured polish of manners, as our grandmothers comfortable arm-chair and worked cushion, in a fashionable drawingroom, with distressingly slender fancy chairs, and settees, on which ladies are now seated to~ gether, to crowd and elbow one another. No; these good- natured, and homely observances, are past away, and I have a sacred attachment for their memory, which, like that for a departed friend, forbids mention of them to strangers. Amidst this neglect and decay of old customs and charac- ters, when every thing is brought to a wearisome level, when all is varnish and polish, so that even the roughness upon the plum, (to use the modern cant,) is vulgar and dis- gusting, when the utterance of strong feeling is ill breeding, and dissimulation, wisdom; it is well for the world that there are beings not mindless of the past; who live with ages long gone by, and look upon the characters of the pres- ent time as trifling and artificial; who bring back, and keep alive amongst us, something of the wild and unpruned beau- ties of the earth, the ardent and spontaneous movements of man; so that the forest and rock, the grass-plot, and field-flower, are yet about us; and some few walking in the midst, who are mighty and awing, kind and like a child. in that period of the world, when the ignorance, which had settled down upon the mind of man, was passing off, and his understanding and heart were turned up and laid open to the day, there was a morning, earthy freshness in all he saw and felt. The dust and hot air of noon had not dun- med the colours, or killed the wholesomeness of all about him. The relentless curiosity of modern times, had not broken in pieces the precious stone, om. soiled and torn asun- der the flower. Man was the worshipper of the works of God in their simple beauty and grandeur; not the vain in- quisitor, eager to learn their structure, that he might prate of what he knew. All was rustick and unforced; a gene- rotis nature was suffered to take her own way to perfection. The cottage seemed a shelter for earths children, from which they might look out upon, and learn, and love her beauties. They dwelt in the religious twilight of her woods, and mused by her water falls, on the passage of years. The universal puttings forth of spring quickened the pure spir- its of the young; and the yellow leaf was the moral comnpan Old Times. [May, ion of the old. All, indeed, was nature without doors and with- in. Man walked abroad upon the green sod, and sat him down upon rushes by his fireside. The mind was as full of motion, various and creative, as the earth about it; and like hers, its productions were the mere relievings of its fulness, effort- less, but plentiful. Its images were not formed in an ex- actly finished mould, or laboriously chiselled out; but like fairy frostwork, or the wavy sweep of a snow-drift, though ever beautiful, yet always seeming accidental. It was, in- deed, the poetick age. Growing up in the absence of a false elegance, and not educated to the cautious politeness which crowded society has forced upon us, men were left to an independent individuality of character and conduct. With- out the excitements of the pleasures and distinctions of the city, the mind spread itself out over the beauties about it; felt and nursed their truth; perceived a fitness and kindly relation in all things; not only gazed upon the lofty works of God, and walked by his still waters in the valley; but looked untired upon the fiat sand waste, or the long stretch of a rough heath. The taste was not pampered and vitiated by ill assorted prettinesses, turning the unnumbered beau- ties, the simplicity, and outspread grandeur of this gigantick earth, into the huddled and offensively c& ntrasted crowd of a garden; but the rock, fringed and scattered over with its green and silvery moss, was looked upon, though not seated in a bed of roses, violets and pinks ; the wholesome per- fume of the pine ~vas grateful, and the crisp tread over its fallen and matted leaves, pleasant to the foot. In this age of improvements, when multiplied inventions have rendered useless many acts to which iiidividuals were oiice called in the common concerns of life; when one trav- erses a kingdom, without the touch of its breezes upon his cheek ; and no~v and then takes a hasty peep through his carriage window, at the scenery about him, as if he were a stranger to it, and would not be unmannerly; we may boast of the facilities and harmless luxuries of the world we live in. But though it gives us facilities, it works into the char- acter a sameness, and an indifference to particulars. The object we sought, is turned out finished to our hands, with- out our labour or observation; it is attained without effort, and possessed ~vitlmout delight. This mechanical moving on of things may aid the politi- cian. but ~vili not benefit the man. To the mathematician, 1817.1 Old Times. 9 who holds the daily cares, and heart-helping relations of life as so many interruptions to the solution of his problem, it may be pleasant visioning, to suppose himself moved about, without the aid of his troublesome, but faithful beast; and his within-door concerns carried on by well ordered ma- chinery, and not self-willed servants; to think that his only perplexities in his domestick establishment, would be the grating of a wheel or breaking of a cord. Not rusty, like my fathers hinge, but well oiled, how smoothly all would go on! But to the man of heart and poetry, this would be like the house of the dead, where the cold and stiffened bo- dies of the departed were raised up and charmed into care- ful and silent motion, acting unknowing, and obeying with- out sense. In old times it was not so. Artificial aids were few and uncouth. Worked out in the rough and cumbrous, and re- quiring strength in the handling, they drew the attention; and lasting long, they became a part of the family, and held their place in the still and kindly-working associations of our homes. The old arm-chair, in the very character of the age, looking so companionable and easy, yet with its com- fortable arms protecting its good natured occupier from the too near and familiar approach of his neighbour, stood in the snug corner of the ample fire-place, as by prescriptive right. It was no new-fangled thing, bought yes erday be- cause in fashion, and set up for the gibes of the smart auc- tioneer to day, because out. It had bcen adorned by the patient industry and quaint fancy of our mothers, and had the honour of having sustained the weight of our ancestors for a century and more. Putting it away would have been neglecting our fathers, and the unkindly cutting off of re- membrances, that had taken root and grown up in the heart. Every piece of furniture had its story to tell, and every room in the antique mansion made the mind serious and busy with the past, and threw a sentiment and feeling, softening but cheerful, over present times. This converse with the inanimate kept the heart warm, and the imagination quick; their inly-workings, various and constant, found much to study every where, and something to love in all things. The better feelings were kept in motion by the old rela- tions of master and servant; the servant watchful of the masters wishes, humble in demeanour, yet proud in his fi- delity; the master trustful in the others faith, and careful ~T0J V. No. 1. Old Times. [May, 10 of his comforts in the reposing time of age. This long tried service brought about a mixt but delightful sensation, when he who had tended us in our playing days, had gone down into the still vale of years, while we stood on the open hill.. top, in our vigour and prime. It was a kind of filial rever~ ence, touched by the sense of the humble and dependent state of him, whom we protected, and upon whom we looked down. ..J3ut we have bid farewell To all the virtues of those better days, And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once Knew their own masters, and laborious hinds, Who had survived the father, served the son. Along with such softening influences, there was much of the wild and adventurous starting up in the midst of the common objects of life; at one time throwing over them mysterious shadows, and casting ~ into strange and aw- ful forms; at another, pouring upon them a dazzling light, in which they flitted gay and fantastick. Surrounded by ideal shapes and untamed nature, the imagination was con- stantly widening and ever creative. Men could not leave their homes, the proper dwellings of the heart, without trav- elling into the region of the fancy. Moving on alone through silent and unpeopled paths, winding round dusky rocks, and through tangling brush-wood, and overhung by gloomy woods, the traveller held converse with some spirit of the air, or in the superstitious workings of his mind, saw some being of evil, darker than the night that had gathered round him. Journeying far on foot, the custom of the times, fording rapid streams, toiling over rugged mountains and through. wet low-lands, begat perseverance, healthful spirits, ready, cheerful and self-trusting minds, acquainted with difficulties and used to subduing them. Their diversions, too, partook of the violent and daring; so that with all, there was a com- bination of the natural and tender, the imaginative and the manly, in the characters of former days, which calls tip with- in us an iiitense an(l restless desire to know them entirely, to live back amongst them, to warm us in their cheerful sun- shine, to sit by their lire-side, listen to their stories, min- gle in their domestick games and learim of their stern sense. This is an exhaustless theme; but I have talked long enough, perhaps toQ long; for to inammy it may all seem Interiour of .& frica. 1817.] childish conceit, or the strange imaginings of a tired spirit, impatient of reality. But he, of wide and deep thought, will not so look upon it, nor hold this view of things false be.. cause it is sad. Now that every thing rude and irregular is cut down, and all that remains is trimmed up and made to look set and orderly, he will not forget how much there was of exquisite beauty, of loftiness and strength in the one; how tan~e and unsatisfying is the other. Though there was a deep and subduing tenderness, an ardour and sway of pas- sion in the men of former days, sometimes uncontrollel and not always aimed aright; yet he will see, that with little of softness, man is still weak, and without the extrava~ance of feeling, still erring. The absence of passion is not always reason, nor coldnes~, judgment. ~ Interiour of .Bfrica. CMLTCH interest has been lately excited in England by the nar- rative of an American sailor, who goes by the name of Robert Adams. He was accidentally found strolling in the streets of London in a state of wretchedness and want, a little more than a year and a half ago; and the singularity of his appearance, togeth- er with the account he gave of his travels and sufferings, excited the curiosity of several gentlemen of eminence. As he could nei. ther read nor write, he was examined by a gentleman belonging to the African Trading Company, and his narrative was writ- ten according to his relation. It was read before Lord Bathurst, Sir Joseph Banks, and several other gentlemen, approved by them, and printed in a splendid quarto form. Our readers will doubt.. less recollect the notice taken of it in a late number of the Edin- burgh, and of the Quarterly Review, and also in several other Eng- lish publications. The following narrative is the substance of what was collected from Adams on the subject, while he was in Cadiz, more than a year before he went to London, by a gentleman of Boston, and has never before been published. It was withheld from the publick, because the writer upon further inquiry, found reasons for sus- pecting the veracity of Adams, particularly in regard to what he says ol Tombuctoo, and of his travels among the negroes. The subject is important in itself, and has become more especially so from the general excitement it has produced, on th~ other side of the Atlantick. We propose hereafter to inquire what degree of credit is to be attached to Adams story, particularly to that part 11

Interiour of Africa 11-26

Interiour of .& frica. 1817.] childish conceit, or the strange imaginings of a tired spirit, impatient of reality. But he, of wide and deep thought, will not so look upon it, nor hold this view of things false be.. cause it is sad. Now that every thing rude and irregular is cut down, and all that remains is trimmed up and made to look set and orderly, he will not forget how much there was of exquisite beauty, of loftiness and strength in the one; how tan~e and unsatisfying is the other. Though there was a deep and subduing tenderness, an ardour and sway of pas- sion in the men of former days, sometimes uncontrollel and not always aimed aright; yet he will see, that with little of softness, man is still weak, and without the extrava~ance of feeling, still erring. The absence of passion is not always reason, nor coldnes~, judgment. ~ Interiour of .Bfrica. CMLTCH interest has been lately excited in England by the nar- rative of an American sailor, who goes by the name of Robert Adams. He was accidentally found strolling in the streets of London in a state of wretchedness and want, a little more than a year and a half ago; and the singularity of his appearance, togeth- er with the account he gave of his travels and sufferings, excited the curiosity of several gentlemen of eminence. As he could nei. ther read nor write, he was examined by a gentleman belonging to the African Trading Company, and his narrative was writ- ten according to his relation. It was read before Lord Bathurst, Sir Joseph Banks, and several other gentlemen, approved by them, and printed in a splendid quarto form. Our readers will doubt.. less recollect the notice taken of it in a late number of the Edin- burgh, and of the Quarterly Review, and also in several other Eng- lish publications. The following narrative is the substance of what was collected from Adams on the subject, while he was in Cadiz, more than a year before he went to London, by a gentleman of Boston, and has never before been published. It was withheld from the publick, because the writer upon further inquiry, found reasons for sus- pecting the veracity of Adams, particularly in regard to what he says ol Tombuctoo, and of his travels among the negroes. The subject is important in itself, and has become more especially so from the general excitement it has produced, on th~ other side of the Atlantick. We propose hereafter to inquire what degree of credit is to be attached to Adams story, particularly to that part 11 Interiour of Africa. [lVky, relating to the city of Tombucton, about which so much has bee~1 said and conjectured, and so little is known1 We are glad to learn, that the London narrative will soon be republished in thu country.] ON the seventh day of May, in the year 1810, I sailed fro~i New York for Gibraltar as a common sailor, on board the ship Charles, John Norton, master. Our complement of men, includingthe captain, mate, and supercargo, was eleven. We arrived at Gibraltar on the twelfth day of June, and re- mained there till the middle of September, when we sailed for the Cape de Verd islands, with the same men on board, ex- cept the supercar.go. Our voyage was sufficiently favoura- Me till the eleventh of October, when, being on the coast of Africa, as I think, near Cape Noon, in latitude about twenty eight, the vessel stranded on a reef of rocks, projecting out from the continent. This disaster happened at about six oclock in the morning, but the darkness of the previous, night, and the haziness of the weather at that time, prevented us from knowing our nearness to the shore. The boats were immediately hoisted out, but wer~ dashed in pieces by the vi- olence of the waves. Being apprehensive that the ship her- self might share the same fate, we threw ourselves into the water in order to swim to the land. We had no sooner reached the shore, than we were seized and made prisoners by a party of wandering Arabs, who had discovered us at a distance, and waited our approach. They rushed upon us, while we were yet in the water, and each one claimed as his own property the person, whom he had taken. We made some struggle, but without avail. On the succeeding day, the wind and sea abated, so that the vessel was left dry on the rocks. The Arabs went on board, plundered her of every thing worth taking away, and afterwards set her on fire. Having done this, they made a distribution of us by lots. Dalby, the mate, and myself, fell to the share of the same person. They had previously strip- ped us of our clothes, and we were compelled to follow them, wandering from place to place, entirely naked. They be- longed to a wandering tribe in the interiour, and had now come to the seacoast in number thirty or forty for the pur- pose of procuring fish. They seemed to be miserably ~4Tetch- ed, and to have no other object than that of mere existence. We continued this kind of life for the term of a month, suf 1817.] InterioKr qf./Ifrica. is fering excessively from hunger and exhaustion, from the heat of the day and dews of the night. The captain, unable to endure these sufferings, soon died. This event took place while we were in our accustomed motion, and gave the Arabs not the least trouble or uneasiness. They threw the body aside, and there would have left it, had we not begged per- mission to bury it in the sand. After a month had elapsed, the party separated in order to return to their several places of rendezvous in the interiour, taking with them their slaves. Dalby and myself followed our master to a place in the district of Woled Doleim, where was the encampment of the rest of the tribe. After travel- ling about eighty miles over a sandy country in a southeast, easterly direction, we arrived at our place of destination. ~It consisted of a small cluster of tents, and was inhabited by about two hundred people, and was chosen as a place of en- campment by reason of its affording a little shrubbery and one or two wells of brackish water. Every thing wore the aspect of poverty, filth, and wretchedness. They had a few camels and asses, which it was my duty to attend. Our food consisted of a scanty allowance of barley flour and water; theirs was the same, with the occasional addition of camels~ milk. We remained in this place about two months, when a par- ty was formed to go to a place called Soudeny, for the pur- pose of stealing negroes. This partyconsisted of about thir- ty, myself included. We were mounted on camels, armed with short daggers, and supplied with barley flour and wa- ter, as our only food. From Woled Doleiin we proceeded in a southeast, southerly direction over a barren sandy coun- try, which afforded Water but in a single instance, where there was a cluster of rocks; and this water was bitter and slimy. After having travelled eighteen days at an average rate of about fifteeti miles a day, we arrived at the mountains in the vicinity of Sondeny. These mountains are of rock and sand, and among them we hid ourselves until an oppor- tunity should offer of seizing such negroes as might pass that way. We remained in this concealment thirteen days; but, on the fourteenth, the people in the neighbourhood, having dis.~ covered our hiding places, came out in a body, attacked us, and made prisoners of the whole party. The natives beat and abused the Arabs, whom they had taken, but they treat- 14 Interiour of .f~frica. (May, ed me with less rudeness. During the first night we were all put into the same prison; but in the morning I alone was released, and the rest remained in strict confinement during our short continuance in the place. The soil of the country around Soudeny was very much better than of that we had passed over in our journey from Woled Doleim. Tue town itself appeared to consist of thir- ty or forty mud houses, or rather huts, containing perhaps, four or five hundred inhabitants, who hold themselves sub- ject to the king or Wooloo of Tombuctoo. They had several springs of good water; their land was a little cultivated and produced some vegetafion. I observed date trees, and a tree bearing a large fruit, the name of which I did not learn; likewise Guinea corn, beans, barley, a species of artichoke and a small, black grain, called in their language mautre. The place and its inhabitants were dirty and miserable, but not so much so as the Arabs. The children were commonly naked. People of full age had a sort of clothing in the form of a shirt, made of wool and goats hair, dyed blue. Their weapons of warfare were bows and arrows. I observed that every person was marked with three scores on each cheek. They had horses, cows, goats, sheep, dogs, dromedaries, and camels, all of which, excepting the two last, were weak and miserable. We remaine(l here but a single day, at the end of which our whole party was ordered to Tombuctoo, under a guard of forty negroes, armed with bows and arrows. We pursu- ed a southeast direction, which we continued for ten days at the rate of about twenty miles a day. We rested only a short time during the day, and at night for sleep. Our food con- sisted of moutre, formed into a kind of pudding, and occa- sionally a few ostrichs eggs. We sometimes saw this bird during our march. We l)assed over an uneven country, va- rying in the quality of its soil; sometimes affording shrub- bery, and sometimes nothing but sand. We saw no water, or marks of cultivation, or even of human existence. Dur- ing the whole of this journey, my former masters were pin- ioned and closely guarded. I was left at liberty and walked with the negroes, or occasionally rested myself by riding on the camels. At the end of the tenth (lay, we arrived at a miserable vil- lage of about fifteen mud huts, as many tents, and perhaps two or three hundred inhabitants, who were the first human be- 1817. Interkntr of 4frica. 15 ings we bad seen since leaving Soudeny. They were naked, and of a much more wretched appearancethan the people4 of Soudeny. They were distinguished by the loss of the carti- lage of the nose. They were not, as the Arabs told me, sub- ject to the Wooloo of Tombuctoo. We tarried in this place but one day, after which we con- tinued our march in the same direction as before, and in two days came into a much better couiitry titan any we had yet passed. We began to see villages and evidences of cultiva- tion, and found frequent springs of good water. After the fourth day, time change became still more perceptible. We passed several villages, the inhabitants of which seemed to enjoy many of the comforts of life, and appeared in every re- spect in a much better condition than any I had before seen in Africa. At the end of the sixth day, we arrived at our point of destination, the city of Tombuctoo. My compan- ions and myself were immediately thrown into prison. I was released, however, after one night, although the others were confined till they left the city. Tombuctoo is built at the distance of about two hundred yards from a river, which the natives call La Parsire, and consists probably of not less than twelve thousand inhabi- tants. The houses are scattered irregularly over a large space of ground, and not badly built. They are from thirty to seventy feet square, single storied, and flat roofed. The sides are composed of mud and straw cemented together, and raised and stipported without wood. The partitions within are of the sante mnaterials. The rafters supporting the roof, which is of the same composition as the walls, are made of the date tree. In the whole fabrick no use is mnade of iron. Each house has its apertures, serving for windows, without shutters, There is nothing in the external appearance of these houses, which would indicate a difference of rank in their inhabitants, except that of the Wooloo, which is dis- tinguished from the others by its size only. The inhabitants in shape and general appearance are very much iike the Africans commonly seen in Europe and Amer.. ica. The peculiar features of the face, and shape of the legs, are the same. They are generally inclined to corpuiency, especially ti1e females. Their dress is the same among all ranks, with this slight difference, that the shirt, the only gar~nent worn, is among the poorer class blue; among the higher, white. This article is somnetimes manufactured among 16 Interiour of Jifrica. (May, themselves of wool and goats hair, and sometimes bought of traders visiting the city from distant parts. A few of th~ inhabitants wear a sort of Slil)per made of goats skin, and the skins of other animals. The dress of the women con. sists of a garment called a hayk, being a long piece of cloth, not attached to the body, but worn loosely about it like a cloak. In addition to this a small turban, or bandage, bound round the head, forms the whole of their dress. They nev- er labour in the fields, but are employed in cooking, attend.. ing their children, weaving the cloth above mentioned, or other domestick concerns. The women appear to be under no undue restriction from the men, nor are two or more of them ever obliged to bind themselves in marriage to the same person. They are con- sidered marriageable at the age of twelve or thirteen. When a marriage is to take place, an agreement is previous. ly made between the parents of the parties, who give their mutual consent. After this, the bridegroom leads the bride before the Wooloo, and there publickly promises fidelity and protection; they then proceed to the house of the bridegroom, and celebrate the marriage by three days of dancing and fes- tivity. The women are generally prolifick and frequently bear twins, in which case, fo~ some motives of superstition, one of them is suffered to die. The men are addicted to jealousy, and in the indulgence of this passion, they are of- ten led to extreme cruelty in beating and maltreating theiV wives. Instances have occurred in which the husband in a fit of jealousy has poisoned his wife, and the whole of her offspring, and escaped to avoid punishment. Divorces may be obtained by the consent of the Wooloo, and in the follow- ing manner. The husband, if he be the complainant, ap- pears at the door of the Wooloo, with a present, such as a goat, calf, or sheep, which, after he has killed it, is received by a servant of the Wooloo, who makes known his wish to gain admittance. When this is done, he states his accusation, and the wife is called, and witnesses are produced on both sides. The Wooloo decides as he thinks proper, and should the wife be adjudged criminal, she returns to her fathers house with her children, the burthen of whose support is af- terwards to rest on her. Should she be pronounced inno- cent, her husband is obliged to receive her again, and pro- tect her according to the original contract. Indolence prevails to an excess. A large portion of their 1817.] Interiour of Africa. 17 time is taken up in sleep and drowsiness. They eat three times a day, but sparingly. Their food consists of fish and flesh boiled, roasjed or baked; corn and moutre boiled; and bread made of pounded Indian corn, and baked in the ash- es. They use salt and red pepper to season their foods This is prepared in a large, rough shapen, wooden dish, around which the master of a family and his children sit, serving themselves with their fingers. The women gener- ally eat by themselves afterwards. The wants of these people are very limited, and their em- ployments are light, though various. Some are engaged in their rude manufactures, some in fishing, others in cultivat- ing the fields and gardens; but in no case does any one ap- pear to devote himself exclus ively to any particular object, or to follow any pursuit as a trade; and, in fact, were they ever so enterprizing, they could do little tinder their present form of government. They are in the most abject slavery to the Wooloo, and the greater portion of those, who fish, do so by his order; and for a certain compensation they de- liver the proceeds of their labour to him. The fields adja- cent to the town are entirely under the direction of the Woo- loo, who divides them into parcels, and allots certain por- tions to individuals. The whole amount of the produce goes into his store houses, and all, which the labourers receive, is barely sufficient for a temporary subsistence. The mode of living, and every external appearance of wealth, are the same in all classes, yet there is an evident distinction of rank, of respectability of standing, and exemption from labour. The absolute authority of the Wooloo extends to the trade, as well as to every other concern of the people, whom he governs. In him is vested the sole privilege of selling, pur- chasing or holding any commodity whatever. His whole trade is with the Caravans, which arrive from Woled Abus- bak, and various other Moorish settlements. They bring with them the articles of their own growth and ma~ufacture, as well as of the manufacture of Europe, and receive in re~ turn the raw materials of the country, and slaves. On en- tering Tombnctoo these itinerant merchants are received by the Wooloo, and lodged by him at their own expense in a kind of caravansarv. All negotiations pass between him and them, and as lie has no such thing as money or any thing like coimi in his dominions, articles of oiie commodity are exchanged for those of another. The articles brought Vol. V. No. 1. is Inieriour of .~Ifrica.. [May, to Tombuctoo are cotton cloth, fire arms, gun powder, lead~ en balls, weapons of every sort, tobacco and dates; for which are given in return ivory, gums, gold dust, ostrich feathers and slaves. A pound of gold dust has often been given for a ~juantity of gun powder of equal weight. The commodi- ties thus received are deposited in the store houses of the Wooloo, and such as he does not otherwise dispose of are distributed, as his own pleasure or policy may dictate, among his subjects. Although they have no coin, yet they use small shells as a circulating medium, to which they have at- tached a certain value; and this is the only currency with which they are acquainted. They seem ignorant of the true value of gold, and use it only in manufacturing a few rude ornaments. I have been often asked why Christians sought gold so eagerly, and to what use they applied it. The Wboloo is absolute. All law and government centre in him. He is the sole dispenser of justice. He alone frames and executes the laws. I could never ascertain whether this rank and its privileges were elective or here- ditary, though I was led, to believe the former. He has vower over the liberties and lives of his subjects, and directs their occupations as he pleases. The people seem formed, in fact, but for his purposes; to amuse, benefit, and aggrandize him. The greater part of his subjects are in his immediate service; some as soldiers of his army, some are engaged in fishing, some in agriculture, some in tending his herds. some in procuring gold dust. They are sometimes rewarded ac- cording to a previous stipulation, but more commonly ac- cording to his own pleasure and caprice. Being sole mer- chant, as well as sole governour, lie receives all the commo- dities which are in any way procured by his vessels, and de- posits them in his store houses. These lie considers his own, and uses them as he thinks proper, either for his own jnirposes, or as articles of exchange with foreign merchants. The person, also, of every individual in his dominions is at his disposal, whenever he chooses to deprive any one of lib- erty. In return for this surrender of every privilege, the people look to him for relief, support, and protection. As he pos- sesses all the conveniences and most of the necessaries of life, they look to him for relief from their wants. As lie is the supreme judge, they apply to him to settle their differen- ces and redress their wrongs; and as he has the whole con- 1817.] Interi our of 4frica. 19 trol of their occupation, they expect ~lace and support from him when they are no longer able to~ labour. In discharge of these several duties lie dispenses employment, adjusts disputes, and supports the aged and decrepid. This last of- lice is supposed to devolve on children, when they have abil- ity to bear the burthen; and when they have not, the Woo- loo takes the charge on himself. A large house is set apart for this purpose, which 1 observed was always full. The revenue of the Wooloo arises not merely from the exclusive privilege of trade, but from an excessive tribute exacted from his subjects, over and above the labour just mentioned. With funds thus acquired, lie supports an army of five or six hundred men under continual exercise, armed with muskets and swords, ahd not entirely without skill in the use of them. These troops occasionally attend him in his walks, at which time the people bow to him, and kiss his hands. Beyond this little show of exteriour distinction, his life, manners, and habits are the same with those of his peo- ple. There appear to be a few in the community, tQ whom the Wooloo delegates more power than to others, and who, as a kind of inferiour officers, take cognizance of certain petty transactions. These officers, however, appear to be wholly employed in relieving the chief of a portion of his burden, by attending to some minor concerns, and not in giving him their advice and counsel. The Wooloos punishments rarely go beyond the chastise- ment of those, who have failed in their duty aiid personal res- pect to him. Theft is common, and if the thief be taken in the act,the punishment is in the hands of the party aggriev- ed. Lying is incessant, and passes unnoticed and apparent- ly without disgrace. Murders occur occasionally, and are always punished by the Wooloo, who inflicts death in return, generally by decapitation. Imprisonment, privation, and hard labour are used as punishments for minor offences. I never discovered any thing among these people, that in- dicated the least notion of any kind of religion, or of a di- vine agency. No houses, no particular rank of people, no allotment of time, nor any particular portion of ground, were set apart for any devotional exercises or superstitious rites. They seem to have no idea of any existing relation between man and his Creator. They perform some cere- monies, which seem originally to have had some reference to a sort of religious belief; bitt no ideas of this kind are 20 Interiour of 4frica. [~1ay, now attached to them. Circumcision is universal, and per.. formed between the a3~ of one and two years. The ceremo- ny is attended with era le pomp, and as the operator is one, who in other cases acts as a surgeon, the notion seems to prevail, that it is rather a surgical operation, than a re~ ligious rite. Just before death, and afterwards, I have seen some unintelligible gesticulations and actions of those stand.. ing round the body of the sick or deceased person. I ha4 no particular evidence, that they were the result of any re- ligious impressions. I had no reason for supposing, that they regulated their conduct by any moral or religious pre- cepts. The soil around Tombuctoo, though sandy, is generally good. A sufficient proof of this is, its producing any thing .vith the very little labour, which the natives bestow upon it. They cultivate Guinea corn, moutre, barley, a kind of black grain, the name of which I have forgotten, turnips, carrots, watermelons, and some other vegetable productions known in Europe and America. The climate is unvarying, and the heat uniformly extreme. It is rarely cloudy, and never rains, except during the rainy season, which continues for a single month only of the winter. Noris the ground at all refreshed by the nightly dews; so that during a large por- tion of the year, the suffering from drought is excessive. The proximity to the river alone affords the inhabitants and their cattle the means of continuing life. The winds are light and scarcely apparent, but variable. The most trou- blesome wind, which I experienced, and that fortunately but seldom, was from the south. It was so hot and oppressive, that my life seemed almost to sink under it. The brute creation were much more sensibly affected by it, than the human, and during its continuance, although it was gener- ally short, they wotild be seen panting and languishing, ap- parently in great agony, and to seek a temporary relief, would often plunge into the river. Among the animals, which I saw, were dogs, cats, horses, asses, cows, goats, sheep, dromedaries, camels; the most of them, except the two last, of an inferiour race and charac- ter. The cats and dogs were exceedingly miserable; the horses poor, small, and weak. They were accoutred for riding, with a rude sort of pack saddle, and a bridle made of grass rope. The cows were large and tolerably good. The goats and sheep were small and lean, The sheep are 18174 Interiour of Africa. 21 hairy, and are sheared once a year, or rather shaved, as the operation is done with a knife. The grazing animals are driven to the fields adjacent to the city, where they remain during the day, attended by herdsmen to protect them from wild beasts. At night they are driven again into the city. On my way to Tombuctoo, and in its vicinity, I saw wolves, foxes, rabbits, - antelopes, wild hogs, porcupines and ele- phants. In the river are muskrats, and in the vicinity are many serpents, some of which are venomous. Lizards are found, and likewise smaller vermin of various kinds. Among the birds are the cuckoo, crow, sparrow hawk, kingfisher, a species of black robin, many river birds, peacocks, and Guinea hens. The two last are domesticated. The river, which runs in front of the town, is called by the natives La Parsire, and its direction is from east to west. Before the town it is about three quarters of a mile wide. But here the water is shallow, and the channel is narrower both above and below. . At a short distance below, it is very much compressed, by passing between two mountains. At a day~s journey above the town, to the eastward, it is diminished to a furlong in width, not by reason of passing through any de- file, as below, but from the diminution of water. Its ap~ pearance before the town is rather that of a lake than a riv- er, and has very little current; below, it flows more rapidly, and at a days journey toward the east it moves at the rate of a mile and a half an hour. This river affords clear wa- ter of a good taste, and furnishes the natives with a large portion of their food in such kinds of fish as are generally found in fresh water streams. Perch, mullet, suckers, and several other kinds are found in great abundance. They are caught in a small net of grass cords, made and used in the manner of a seine. The natives use, for the navigation of this river, a small canoe of a rude shape and inept con- struction. It is made of two pieces of the date tree, each hollowed and joined together with pegs. The seams are partially filled with grass and mud, but so imperfectly, that it is always necessary for those who manage them, to be con- stantly bailing. These canoes are used merely for crossing the river, or occasionally for fishing. During my residence at Tombuctoo, and subsequent march to the east~vard, I never saw any of them ascending or descending the riv- er, or used in any way for the conveyance Qf baggage or merchandize. The quantity of water in this stream appear- (May, ed always the same. I was in the city nine months, and neither during the rainy season nor the excessive drought was the river sensibly increased or diminished. The nativeu seemed to have no kiiowledge of this river, except that it passed the city in a direction from east to west. I could learn nothing from them respecting its source or termina- tion, or any tribes of inhabitants living on its banks. After I had acquired some knowledge of their lai~uag~~, I made them acquainted with my misfortunes, my shipwreck, and the manner in which I had been made a slave. They ex- pressed some degree of commiseration, but manifested no desire of knowing any thing further of me or my country, than what I voluntarily told them; yet I could not under- stand that there was any tradition or remembrance that a white man had ever been seen among them before. Dur- ing my residence among them I was lodged in the house of a person connected with the Wooloo, and at his expense. fhmey told me that they knew there was a difference bet~veen me and the Moors, and that the abhorrence in which they held them afforded no reason why they should treat me with severity. At the end of nine months, a party of Moorish traders purchased of the Wooloo the whole party, which had been taken prisoner~ at Soudeny. They paid sixteen pounds of tobacco for ~achm mart. The Moors, their countrymen, were bought to be restored to liherty, and I to my former condition as a siave. In the early part of the month of December, 1811, our caravan left Tombuctoo, consisting in all of about fifteeim camels and fifty persons, including the merchants, those who had been purchased, myself, and a few negro slaves. Our destination was Taudeny. For the first eight days we followed the course of the river, which was due east, lead- ing us over a country partially cultivated and interspersed with occasional settlements. We had travelled at the rate of about sixteen miles a day, and had ascended the river to the extent of one hundred and thirty miles. The width and depth of the river was such as to induce a belief, that we had not advanced more than one fourth part of the way to its source. We halted at a small viltage of huts about two miles distant from the river, Mrhere we remained four days to refresh our camels by grazing and to prepare for cross- ing the great desert. 1817.) Interiour of~frict. Our next direction was north, northwest, i~aving the river directly behind us. We had no sooner quitted the borders of the river, than every trace of vegetable life disappeared. We immediately entered on an immense waste of sand. We met with a little burnt shrubbery, on which the camels some- times browsed, but saw no water from the river to Taudeny. I subsisted entirely on a scanty portion of barley and water taken once a day, and the rest of the party fared little bet- ter. The excessive heat of the sun and sand, and exhaus- tion for want of food, soon rendered me unable to walk; and occasionally, when I became absolutely unable to move, I was suffered to relieve myself for a short time by riding on one of the camels. At the end of the fourth day a negro child died of hunger, thirst, and fatigue, and the body was thrown carelessly upon the sand. Two days afterwards the mother of the. child died, being overcome with fatigue and grief for the loss of her child. Her body was left in the same manner as that of the child, exposed on th~ sand. In the course of the journey one of the camels died, and his flesh served us for food. We arrived at Taudeny in ten days, having travelled about fourteen miles a day. Taudeny has a miserable appearance, contains fifty or sixty huts, and apparently about six hundred inhabitants; including strangers, of whom many resort thither in car- avans for purposes of trade. It is governed, as I under- stood, by a Shiek, who is appointed by the Wooloo of Tom- buctoo, to whom the place is tributary. It contains one or two springs of good water, and likewise salt mines. In eve.. ry respect, except the difference of size, Taudeny is like Tombuctoo. The Moors remained here four days, engag- ed in traffick, during which time I was employed in tending the camels. At the beginning of the fifth day we resumed our march with a destination for Heligobla. Our direction was northwest, and we soon entered a plain of burning sand, still more horrible than that we had passed. The al- lotted time for our journey was twelve days, and we had supplied ourselves with twelve goat skins of water, one for each day. On the second day two of them burst and left us an allowance scarcely sufficient for subsistence. Our suffer- jugs were indescribable, from heat, thirst, hunger, and ex- haustion. We daily began our march at the dawn, after the Moors had finished their morning devotions, and continued 24 Interiour of Africa. [May, till sunset, when we received our scanty allowance of food. We stretched ourselves on the sand to sleep in the night, af- ter having removed the upper surface, the heat of which was so great, that we could not endure it. In this dreary waste the Moors directed their course by the sun. During this journey two negro boys died of fatigue, and also a camel, whose flesh served us for food. On the tenth day we came to a small elevation of soil, where was a good spring of wa- ter and a little verdure; and on the twelfth we had the joy- ful sight of Heligobla. We were now in the country of the wandering and savage Moors. We had left the territory of the negroes on quitting Taudeny. Heligobla is not a place of fixed residence; but merely a well of water surrounded by a little herbage, where tents are pitched during a certain season of the year. When the herbage is exhausted by the grazing animals, the fribe migrates to another place. The tribe consisted of about two hundred persons, men, women, and children, in- habiting thirty or forty tents. They are Mahometans, and as strict in their religious duties as at Tangier and else- where. Their faces are nearly black, their hair long and of the same colour, their persons squalid and dirty, and in their manners and customs they are brutal and cruel. They db not cultivate the ground, but live entirely on dates and the milk, and occasionally the flesh of camels and goats. They have many of the latter animals, and sometimes sell them to the passing caravans. They speak the Arabick lan- guage, and are governed by a Shiek from their own num- bers. They are much more wretched and uncivilized than the negroes. After we had been fourteen days in this dismal place, I found that my master had sold me to the Shiek for two cam- els and tw~ bags of dates. The caravan left me, and I im- mediately commenced my labours under my new master, which consisted in attending the camels and goats. I con- tinu~d in this employment six months, during which time my only food was goats milk and water, given me twice a day in a scanty allowance. My labours were unremitted, and I was treated with great severity and often cruelty. To slaves of every description they are morose and severe, but Christians in particular are objects of inveterate hatred. After having remained in this wretched condition for six months, I was at length sold by the Shiek to a Woled Abus 1817.] Jnterioir of 4frica. bali trader passing in a caravan through Heligobla, to La. gassa, or fleligassa. After leaving Heligobla we pursued a norti~west, westerly, direction, which we continued for fit- teen days at the rate of about ten miles a day, passing over a country much better than the sandy desert between Tau-. deny hnd Heligobia. The ground was uneven, affording a little shrubbery, and water in one or two places. We met With two or three Moorish encampments, and arrived at La- gassa at the end of the fifteenth day. This place in every respect resembles ileligobla. The inhabitants are a few shades ligiiter in their complexion, and they differ front those of Heligobla by being an abandoned set of thieves and robbers. Their whole employment consists in plundering tiavellers and strangers of the adjacent tribes. This was the first place in which I found gold and silver known as a circulating mi~dium. XV e remained here two days, after which I was sold to a Shiek of Wadnoon- for sixty dollars, and he returned with tue soon to the district to which he belonged. Our course was northeast, northerly, which we continued fifteen days, stopping occasionally for the purposes of trade. The whole distance from Lagassa to Wadnoon is not more than. eight full days march. The country, xvhichi we passed over, was better than that between Heligobla and Lagassa~ It v. as sometimes mountainous, of a good soil, was not bad~ ly watered, and in some places it was covered with shrub- bery. We passed many encampments, and met many trav- ellers. I likewise observed several herds of deer and ante- lopes. On the fifteenth day we arrived at Wadno~n. Nothing could exceed my surprise, when, on entering this place, I found foum of the crew of the Charles prisoners like myself. The reason of our all having been brought to this place, was the importance and wealth of the city of Wadnoon, which made it a great market for slaves. Wadnoon is the name of an extensive district; the capi- tal of which bears the same name, and consists of forty or fifty houses and gardens, built and arranged in the Moorish style, and differing in no respect, excepting size, from Tan- gier and similar cities. It is independent of the emperour of Morocco, and governed by a Shiek from among themselves. The people are not so savage as those of Heligobla and La- gassa, but more so than those nearer the seacost. I con- tinued in this place with my fellow slaves for twelve months, Vol. V No. 1. 4 26 The Jesuits. [May, subject throughout to the same master. My employment was to labour in the fields and gardens, and my food was barley, water, and dates, once, and sometimes twice a day; hu~ these were given me so sparingly, that to support life I was obliged to steal every thing like food, which I could fiuid. Four months after my arrival, Dalby, the former mate of the Charles, finding himself exhausted by labour and priva- tion, declared himself unable to perform some duty which was assigned him, at which his master was so enraged that he stabbed him with a dagger, and killed him on the spot. To protect his remains from time dogs, I and my fellow slaves obtained permission to bury him. A few months af- ter my three surviving fellow prisoners, suffering incessant- ly from beating, privation, and insults, declared their inten- tioi~ of escaping these calamities by turning Mahometans. This determination they put into effect, and were consequent- ly circumcised and allowed all the privileges ofthe people of the country. After this my life became doubly wretched. My master wished me to follow the example of the others and change my religion, and endeavoured to prevail on me to do so, by alternate persuasion ard the most abusive treat- ment. But I was soon relieved from my sufferings and from slavery, for within a month or two afterwards a person came to Wadnoon, empowered by the consuls of the United States and of Great Britain at Mogadore, to purchase such Christian slaves as might be found in this district. To my unspeakable joy I found myself ransomed for one hundred and live dollars, with liberty to go ~vith my purchaser to Mogadore. The sad resolution of my fellow prisoners pre- vented them from sharing with me this happiness. In five days after leaving Wadnoon, having travelled in a west, northwest d~rection, about one hundred and fifty miles, we reached Santa Cruz. From thence I walked on the sea- shore three days, at the end of which, in the latter part of August 1812, I arrived at Mogadore. The Jesuits. IGNATILTS of Loyola, Patriarch and Founder of the society of the Jesuits, was bormi in Spain. He followed at first the

Jesuits 26-29

26 The Jesuits. [May, subject throughout to the same master. My employment was to labour in the fields and gardens, and my food was barley, water, and dates, once, and sometimes twice a day; hu~ these were given me so sparingly, that to support life I was obliged to steal every thing like food, which I could fiuid. Four months after my arrival, Dalby, the former mate of the Charles, finding himself exhausted by labour and priva- tion, declared himself unable to perform some duty which was assigned him, at which his master was so enraged that he stabbed him with a dagger, and killed him on the spot. To protect his remains from time dogs, I and my fellow slaves obtained permission to bury him. A few months af- ter my three surviving fellow prisoners, suffering incessant- ly from beating, privation, and insults, declared their inten- tioi~ of escaping these calamities by turning Mahometans. This determination they put into effect, and were consequent- ly circumcised and allowed all the privileges ofthe people of the country. After this my life became doubly wretched. My master wished me to follow the example of the others and change my religion, and endeavoured to prevail on me to do so, by alternate persuasion ard the most abusive treat- ment. But I was soon relieved from my sufferings and from slavery, for within a month or two afterwards a person came to Wadnoon, empowered by the consuls of the United States and of Great Britain at Mogadore, to purchase such Christian slaves as might be found in this district. To my unspeakable joy I found myself ransomed for one hundred and live dollars, with liberty to go ~vith my purchaser to Mogadore. The sad resolution of my fellow prisoners pre- vented them from sharing with me this happiness. In five days after leaving Wadnoon, having travelled in a west, northwest d~rection, about one hundred and fifty miles, we reached Santa Cruz. From thence I walked on the sea- shore three days, at the end of which, in the latter part of August 1812, I arrived at Mogadore. The Jesuits. IGNATILTS of Loyola, Patriarch and Founder of the society of the Jesuits, was bormi in Spain. He followed at first the 1817.] The Jesuits. 27 profession of arms, and mixing with the world, he gave a loose to his passions, and according to the Jesuits themselves who have written his life, vanity and ambition were predoin- inant in him. At the age of thirty years, in 1521, at Fampeluna, when the French besieged that fortress, he had his right leg broken. Having been ill dressed, he broke it again, but after this sec- ond operation, there remained a bone which projected too far and prevented him from wearing a handsome stocking. His desire to appear with a graceful figure prompted him to have this bone cut off, and he suffered the torment of having this limb violently drawn out by a machine of iron for sever- al days, that he might not appear to be lame. In this situation, having asked for romances to amuse him, and not finding any, he accidentally fell upon a life of Saints, written in a romantick style. He read it and felt himself touched. He threw himself into contemplation. Although the earliest times of his conversion ~vere times of trial the most terrible; of desires to devote himself to God, and of passions which agitated him; of interiour coin- bats in his soul between consolations the most sweet, and hu- miliations that sunk to despair; yet, if we may believe the Jesuits, within the first year of his conversion, he received from heaven abundant favours in visions, ravishments, exta~ cies, in which he received new lights. He had moreover another vision much more interesting to the Jesuits. During a species of extatick ravishment or trance, which lasted eight days, God reveale(l to him the plan, and the astonishing progress of the society, which he was one day to establish. It is not a single individual Jesuit only, who advances this fact; but the directory, which is the work of the whole society, asserts, that ~Tod communicated to Ignatius, as to the Head and Founder, the entire idea of the society, both of the exteriour government of it, and the in- teriour form of their virtues. That I may not he suspect- ed to have made an unfair, or an incorrect translation, I take the original words of the Direetoriurn in exercitia SpiritIL- idia, Sancti Pat ris .iVostri ignatii Prowm. 3. Quemadmo- dum igitur Dominus Deiis Ideam totam societatis nostr~, turn exterioremn tum etiamn qu~e ad interioremn virtutum formam pertineret, et tanquam capiti et fundatori communicavit. If it could be credited that Ignatius, in the first year, form~ ed the plan of his society, it must be acknowledged that Pas 28 The Jesuits. quier, who saw the birth of the Jesuits, was not mistaken when he said, that Ignatius was on~ of the most acute and sagacious woridlings of his age ; and this will not be doubted when we shall have given an analysis of the government, the statutes and the privileges of the society. However this may be, it was in his first solitude, and dur- ing his extacies, that he composed his book of Spiritual Ex- ercises, which brought out afterwards against him many con~ tradictions. As his imagination was still full of military ex- ercises, he constructed that work upon a plan of his warlike ideas. He there represents Jesus Christ in the figure of a warlike monarch, who invites his subjects to follow him, in an expedition which he is about to undertake against the dev- ii, his enemy. He paints these two enemies as two great monarchs, who declare war against each other, recruiting troops, displaying their standards, taking the field and ex- horting their people to follow them, and to fight valiantly in hope of the rewards which each of them promises to his disci- ples. His soul was so warlike, that alter his conversion, having in his travels a dispute with a Moor, who ass.~rted that Mary had ceased to be a virgin when she became a mother; he re- gretted that he had suffered the blasphemer to escape alive, and he hastened after him to kill him. IBut fortunately the mule oii which lie was mounted took a different rout from the Moor, and hindered him from executing the pious assassina- tion, that his blind, fanatick zeal had dictated to him. The first years of his conversion were passed in frequent pilgrimages to Jerusalem and other places, in affected mor- tifications, which often exposed him to ridicule, and proved him to be a man of little information. How indeed could he have information? The ambition he felt for making disciples stimulated him to commence the study of Latin, at the age of thirty three years, but even then he made little proficiency, having no taste for it, and delight- ing more in leading a wandering life. Nevertheless he went in 1 526 to Alcala to study philosophy. Although he submit- ted to the torture to advance in this science, his mind found itself in confusion, and all his labour ended in knowing noth- ing. He had however made some disciples; and he undertook to teach, to give i structions, and to direct consciences. This enterprise excitd complaints from many persons who mur 1817.] ~fahometan Laiv. 29 inured that Ignatius, being without science and without char.. acter, presumed to dire2t consciences. He was committed to prison, but afterwards enlarged; but by a publick sentence rendered the 1st of June 1527, be was forbidden, because he was not a theologian, to explain to the people the mysteries of religion, until he had studied four years in theology. Dissatisfied with this judgment rendered by the Grand Vicar of Alcala, he retired with his disciples to Salamanca. They there conducted in such a manner that they were sent to prison, because laymen without studies, and without de.. grees, oughtnot to undertake to preach. Fatigued ~vith all these contradictions, Ignatius took the resolution to go to Paris and recommence his studies. This great city was, properly speaking, the cradle of the society. After having there experienced many oppositions, which would have discouraged any other man, he applied himseltto engage and form new disciples, those whom he had in Spain having abandoned him. INQ~IJIsIToR. Singular article of the J~fahornetan Law. A REMARKABLE cause, says Dr. Clarke, was tried while we were in Cos; and a statement of the circumstan- ces, on which it is founded, will serve to exhibit a very sin~. gular part of the Mahometan law; namely, that which re- lates to Homicide by implication. An instance of a similar nature was before noticed, when it was related that the Capu- dan Pasha reasoned with the people of Samos upon the pro- priety of their paying for a Turkish frigate, which was wreck- ed upon their territory; because the accident would not have happened if their island had not been in the way. This was mentioned as a characteristick feature of Turkish justice, and so it really was: that is to say, it was a sophis- tical application of a princi1ile rigidly founded upon the fifth species of homicide, according to the Mahometan law; or homicide by an intermediate cause, which is strictly the name it bears. The case which occurred at Cos fell more imme- diately under the cognizance of this law. It was m~s follows. A young man, desperately in love with a girl of St~chio, ea- gerly sought to marry her; but his proposals ~ver~ r~jected. Ln consequence of his disappointment, he bought some pol

Singular article of Mahometan Law 29-31

1817.] ~fahometan Laiv. 29 inured that Ignatius, being without science and without char.. acter, presumed to dire2t consciences. He was committed to prison, but afterwards enlarged; but by a publick sentence rendered the 1st of June 1527, be was forbidden, because he was not a theologian, to explain to the people the mysteries of religion, until he had studied four years in theology. Dissatisfied with this judgment rendered by the Grand Vicar of Alcala, he retired with his disciples to Salamanca. They there conducted in such a manner that they were sent to prison, because laymen without studies, and without de.. grees, oughtnot to undertake to preach. Fatigued ~vith all these contradictions, Ignatius took the resolution to go to Paris and recommence his studies. This great city was, properly speaking, the cradle of the society. After having there experienced many oppositions, which would have discouraged any other man, he applied himseltto engage and form new disciples, those whom he had in Spain having abandoned him. INQ~IJIsIToR. Singular article of the J~fahornetan Law. A REMARKABLE cause, says Dr. Clarke, was tried while we were in Cos; and a statement of the circumstan- ces, on which it is founded, will serve to exhibit a very sin~. gular part of the Mahometan law; namely, that which re- lates to Homicide by implication. An instance of a similar nature was before noticed, when it was related that the Capu- dan Pasha reasoned with the people of Samos upon the pro- priety of their paying for a Turkish frigate, which was wreck- ed upon their territory; because the accident would not have happened if their island had not been in the way. This was mentioned as a characteristick feature of Turkish justice, and so it really was: that is to say, it was a sophis- tical application of a princi1ile rigidly founded upon the fifth species of homicide, according to the Mahometan law; or homicide by an intermediate cause, which is strictly the name it bears. The case which occurred at Cos fell more imme- diately under the cognizance of this law. It was m~s follows. A young man, desperately in love with a girl of St~chio, ea- gerly sought to marry her; but his proposals ~ver~ r~jected. Ln consequence of his disappointment, he bought some pol Trait of Spanish Character. [May, son and destroyed himself. The Turkish police instantly ar- rested the father of the young ~voman, as the cause, by iinpli.. cation, of the mans death; under thefifth species of homicide, he became therefore amenable for this act of suicide. When the cause came before the magistrate, it was urged literally by the accusers, that If he, the accused, had not had a daughter, the deceased would not havefallen in tare; conseqnently he would tiot have been disappointed; consequently he would not have P swallowed poison; consequently he would not have died: but he, the accused, had a daughter; and the deceased hadfallen in love; and had been disappointed; and had swallowed poison, and had died. Upon all these counts, he was called upon to pay the price of the young mans life; and this, being fixed at the sum of eighty piastres, was accordingly exacted. Trait of Spanish character. IN no civilized country of equal advantages and equal an- tiquity, have the interests of learning been so feebly support- ed as in Spain. The Moors of this country in the tenth cen- tury were learned for that period, but, as a nation, the Span- iards are at present a full century behind every other tiation of Europe in the arts of life, the reflneiueiits of society, and enlightened views of civil polity; and almost a millennium, in the modes of education, and intellectual culture. It may be questioned whether they have taken a step in the right road of learning since the (lays of the Cid. Two or three meteors have gleamed in their literary hemisphere, but these have on- ly served to give a more dismal aspect to the surrounding gloom. Yet they do not pass themselves by in silence. They speak pompously of their dramatists, who have pro- duced their thousand plays; of their romance writers, who immortalized the age of chivalry with a volume for each re- nowned knight; and of their legend makers, who suffered no good saint to leave the world, without commemorating the prodigies he performed, in tomes of sacred story. Mena, they say, combined the excellencies of Dante and Petrarch: and Raymond L~ully, they tell us, wrote three hundred and nineteen books on inetaphysicks. In the sciences, if we except Alphonso the xvise, they have clone absolutely nothing; they have not even profited by the 1817.] l7ze Royal Society. 31 discoveries and improvements of others. Yet so lofty are the notions, which they entertain of their own superiority in this respect, that it was long a prevalent opinion among the Spaniards, that God conversed with Moses on Mount Sinai in the Spanish language, and revealed to them long ago all the many secrets and hidden mysteries of nature, which are yet the objects of the diligent researches and in- quiries of the most learned philosophers of the world. Torrubia published his Natural History of Spain in 1754. This was accompanied with an introduction, composed of a great number of encomiums on the mighty powers of the au- thor, and the happy lot of Spain. These were written by some of the most learned men of the country, and are high- ly characteristick of the national character of the Spaniards. The foilo~ving is an extract from the encomium of father Hieronimus of Salamanca, and may serve as an example of the whole. Even if I had an hundred tongues, and if each of them, nay, if every individual part of my body, every joint, every vein, was endowed with the faculty of the most eloquent language, yet how very unfit, how totally unable should I be, to express the delight, which the perusal of this natural history afforded me. In confidence that all Eu- rope pays the most profound attention to him, the reverend father goes on; Behold Torrubia, the crowned lion of Spain, the modern Geryon, a philosopher who has surprised nature in the fact, a wonder of literature, to whom nothing rises superiour, save his own immortal natural history. He is tue favoured child of Providence, who bestowed every ad- vantage on him, addin~ as an enchantment to them all, the inestimable blessing of being born in Spain. Happy favour- ed Spain ! Thou faithful genius of our nation, thou art ev- er constant, ever enlightened, ever invincible, ever trium~ phant over ignorance and errour The Royal Society. WHEN we look over some of the earlier transactions of the Royal Society, we are equally astonished at the wretch- ed state of science, and the extreme ignorance and credulity of some of the greatest men of that period. It is no longer a mystery, that those sage and laborious advocates for philo~

Royal Society 31-34

1817.] l7ze Royal Society. 31 discoveries and improvements of others. Yet so lofty are the notions, which they entertain of their own superiority in this respect, that it was long a prevalent opinion among the Spaniards, that God conversed with Moses on Mount Sinai in the Spanish language, and revealed to them long ago all the many secrets and hidden mysteries of nature, which are yet the objects of the diligent researches and in- quiries of the most learned philosophers of the world. Torrubia published his Natural History of Spain in 1754. This was accompanied with an introduction, composed of a great number of encomiums on the mighty powers of the au- thor, and the happy lot of Spain. These were written by some of the most learned men of the country, and are high- ly characteristick of the national character of the Spaniards. The foilo~ving is an extract from the encomium of father Hieronimus of Salamanca, and may serve as an example of the whole. Even if I had an hundred tongues, and if each of them, nay, if every individual part of my body, every joint, every vein, was endowed with the faculty of the most eloquent language, yet how very unfit, how totally unable should I be, to express the delight, which the perusal of this natural history afforded me. In confidence that all Eu- rope pays the most profound attention to him, the reverend father goes on; Behold Torrubia, the crowned lion of Spain, the modern Geryon, a philosopher who has surprised nature in the fact, a wonder of literature, to whom nothing rises superiour, save his own immortal natural history. He is tue favoured child of Providence, who bestowed every ad- vantage on him, addin~ as an enchantment to them all, the inestimable blessing of being born in Spain. Happy favour- ed Spain ! Thou faithful genius of our nation, thou art ev- er constant, ever enlightened, ever invincible, ever trium~ phant over ignorance and errour The Royal Society. WHEN we look over some of the earlier transactions of the Royal Society, we are equally astonished at the wretch- ed state of science, and the extreme ignorance and credulity of some of the greatest men of that period. It is no longer a mystery, that those sage and laborious advocates for philo~ 32 The Royal Society. ~May, sophical improvement should bring down upon themselves the ridicule and raillery of the wits of the age, as well as the direful hatred of that sturdy race of philosophers, who be- lieved that the ten categories carried the human mind to the utmost stretch of its powers. The wits could not remain grave, when they saw men with long beards and profo& nid looks sporting wish the baubles and indulging in the fanta- sies of infancy; and no good Aristote~1ian could possibly sit with composure and see innovation stare him in the face, and sacrilegious attempts boldly making to undermine the mighty fabrick, which he regarded with awful reverence, and which had stood unmoved from the days of its architect, the Stagyrite. He clothed himself in his panoply of syllogisms, thrust out the horns of his dilemmas, and took his stand tin- der the banner of his master, but in vain. The experimen- talist persevered, in defiance of the wits and the schoolinen, and although he was often ridicubus, and sometimes absurd, yet the mists of errour and ignorance moved slowly away, brighter prospects opened gradually before him, and ena- bled him to pursue his course with more certainty and suc- cess. We can hardly realize at this time, that no more than one hundred and fifty years ago men of learning a~d emi- nence seriously anticipated the time, when journeys would be made to the moon with as much ease as a voyage across the Atlantick; when it would be as common a thing to buy a pair of wings to fly into a remote country, as to buy a pair of boots to g6 a long journey; when sympathetick con- veyances would be carried on at the distance of the Indies with as much certainty, as by a literary correspondence; and when the grey hairs and exhausted strength of ago would be restored to the beauty and vigour of youth by a sirn ple medical process. Yet these speculations were actually advanced, with a great deal of gravity and confidence, by Glanville, one of the staunchest advocates for the society, and its ablest defender against the wit awl virulence of Stubbe, and the angry stormings of the irritable peripatetick of Chew. The following are some of the curious queries, which the society sent to Sir Philliberts Vernatti, who resided in Bata- via, requesting him to answer them according to the best in- formation he could obtain. 1817.] The Royal Society. 88 Whether diamonds and other precious stones grow again, af- ter three or four years, in the same place where they have been digged out? Whether there be a bill in Sumatra, which burneth continual- ly, and a fountain which runneth pure balsam? Whether in the island of Sambrero there be found a vegeta- ble, which grows up to a tree, shrinks down, when one offers to pluck it up, iiito the ground, and would quite shrink, unless held very hard? And whether the same, being forcibly plucked up, bath a worm for its root, diminishing more and more, according as the tree groweth in greatness; and as soon as the worm is wholly turned into the tree, rooting in the ground, and so grow- ing great? And whether the same plucked up young, turns, by that time it is dry, into a hard stone, much like to coral? What groun~1 there is for that relation, concerning horns tak- ing root and growing about Goa? Whether the Indians can so prepare that stupifying herb, Datura. that they make it lie several days, months, years, accord- ing as they will have it, in a mans body, without doing him any hurt, and at the end kill him, without missing half an hours time? Whether those that be stupifled by the herh, Datura, are re- covered by moistening the soles of their feet in fair water? Whether the Arbor Triste sheds its flowers at the rising of the sun, and shoots them again at the setting of the sun; and whether at the rising of the sun the leaves drop off as well as the flowers? Whether the animal, called Abados, bath teeth, claws, flesh, blood, and skin, as well as his horns, antidotal; and whether the horns of those beasts are better or ~vorse, according to the food they live upon? Whether the falsifying of China musk is not rather done by mixing oxen and cows livers, dried and pulverized, with some of the concrete flesh and blood of the China mnuskcat, than by beat- ing to~etl~er the bare flesh and blood of this animal? ~~hether itbe winter on the east side of the mountain Gates, which cometh from the north to Cape Coinorin, whilst it is sum- iner on the ~vest side? Whether there be a tree in Mexico, that yields water, wine, vinegar, oil, milk, honey, ~vax, thread, and needles ? Vol.Y. No.1. 5 34 Original Poetry. [May, ORIGINAL POETRY. Translation of the faztrth Satire of Brilean. Addressed to the Abbe Le Vayer. THE idea of this Satire was conceived in a conversation, which the author had held with the Abbe Le Vayer and Mo- liere, in which it was proved, by different examples, that alL men are fools9 and that every one, nevertheless, thinks himself the only wise man in the world. This proposition is the sub. ject of the following Satire. How comes it, dear Vayer,* that the dolt the least knowing Assumes to himself all the wisdom thats going? How is it, that search the whole universe round, Not a rnilk~vater, simpering fool can b~ fiund, Who for very good reasons that he can let fall, Will not lodge all his neighbours at Lunatick Hall? The pedant, with knowledge encumberd and weak, All bursting with pride, and all bristled with Greek, Whose brains with a thousand old authours are stord, Which his tongue can exactly retail word for word, For whom the term dunce is the best appellation, Believes that a book is the end of creation; And without the great Stagrite for guide and for rule, That reason is blind, and good sense is a fool. The reverse of this picture. Behold the gallant, Whose trade all the day is to prance au(l to pant From parlour to parlour with infinite pains, While his flaxen wig shelters what he ha~ of brains. Our fancy he chills, and our patience he wears, And cloys the whole world with his sweet pretty airs; To science denies ciery species of merit, And his ignorance deems both the test of true spirit And dearest prerogative cherished at court, While at books and at authonis he coolly makes sport, Consigning close students and lovers of knowledge To pine out their days in the damps ofa college. We have generally .dn~1ici8ed the pronunciation of proper names.

Sixth Satire Translation of Boileau 34-39

34 Original Poetry. [May, ORIGINAL POETRY. Translation of the faztrth Satire of Brilean. Addressed to the Abbe Le Vayer. THE idea of this Satire was conceived in a conversation, which the author had held with the Abbe Le Vayer and Mo- liere, in which it was proved, by different examples, that alL men are fools9 and that every one, nevertheless, thinks himself the only wise man in the world. This proposition is the sub. ject of the following Satire. How comes it, dear Vayer,* that the dolt the least knowing Assumes to himself all the wisdom thats going? How is it, that search the whole universe round, Not a rnilk~vater, simpering fool can b~ fiund, Who for very good reasons that he can let fall, Will not lodge all his neighbours at Lunatick Hall? The pedant, with knowledge encumberd and weak, All bursting with pride, and all bristled with Greek, Whose brains with a thousand old authours are stord, Which his tongue can exactly retail word for word, For whom the term dunce is the best appellation, Believes that a book is the end of creation; And without the great Stagrite for guide and for rule, That reason is blind, and good sense is a fool. The reverse of this picture. Behold the gallant, Whose trade all the day is to prance au(l to pant From parlour to parlour with infinite pains, While his flaxen wig shelters what he ha~ of brains. Our fancy he chills, and our patience he wears, And cloys the whole world with his sweet pretty airs; To science denies ciery species of merit, And his ignorance deems both the test of true spirit And dearest prerogative cherished at court, While at books and at authonis he coolly makes sport, Consigning close students and lovers of knowledge To pine out their days in the damps ofa college. We have generally .dn~1ici8ed the pronunciation of proper names. 1817~.] Original Poetry. The bigot, oerflowing with pride and with grace, Thinks to dupe een his Maker with zeal and grimace, Cloaks his sins with a countenance saintly and sour, And damns all mankinu to the best of his power. Next, faithless, and heartless, and selfish, the rake, Delights every law, but his pleasure, to break; Conceives the dread truth of a judgment to come, And suh worn out notions a bugbear and hum, Invented by priests, and exposd to the light, 01(1 women and childrer1 to gull and aifright; Resolves to dismiss these superfluous cares, And looks on the pious as weak sifly bares. But why do I press in this endless pursuit? Or why do I try to ~~escribe every brute, Who drivels, and struts, and in folly persists ? Id as soon undertake to recount the sick lists That Genaud and his mercry each summer undo, Or tell how many times the licentious Neveu,~ Bafore she assudmd the demure marriage-gown, Reluctantly yielded herself to the town. But not in partic~lars to lavish more time, I will give you my notions in one single rhyme, Begging pardon, however, at first, of those fools Calld the sages of Greece, and the boast of the schools, I will venture to say, that iii ad this wide earth, Not a spark of pure, genuine wisdom has birth; Yes. all men are fools, and the truth to confess, They differ in nothing but bigger or less. As travellers, lost in a thick tangled brake, Perplexd and at fault, their directions mistake, Some trying the right, and some choosing the left, But still at each step, of assurance bereft, And yet, hurry on, and yet bustle and stir, And err from one cause, yet all diversely err, Just so in the world too, we wander about, And every one chooses his separate rout, Now prompted by whim, and now guided by chance, By our errours se(lucd and led on through the dance. Now and then we see one, who by gravitys rules, Can manage to treat all the others as fools; A woman of notorious profligacy. Original Poetry. Him we reverently smirk tohim wisest we call, While in truth hes the foolishest fool of us all. But in spite of keen satire, each eagerly tries To build on his folly the title of wise; And while suffering his fancy to lead him a waltz, Would transform into virtues the worst of his faults. Hence, (hear it, ye few, who yourselves wish to know,) I The wisest is he, who least thinks himself so; Who always for others to mercy inclind, Is still to fiimseif most severely unkind, IA ho, from paltry conceit and self flattery far, Unrelentingly brings his own faults to trw bar. And would that each sinner thus treated himself, Far from it, I warrant you~many an elf! That miser, the dupe of his idolizd gold, In the lap of abundance can nothing behold But the phantom of want, yet the fool will een swear That hes prompted by prudence, of currency rare. His glory, his heaven, his sovereign good, Is to heap up a treasure, and oer it to brood, A treasure at best which can neer be employd, And the larger it grows, can the less be enjoyd. Yes, yes,, very true, I protest and maintain That avarice surely is crackd in the biairi, Says another poor~fool, of like mental ill health, Who flings to all comers his overgrown wealth, Whose dissatisfied soul, with itself neer at rest, In the midst of good fortune is rashly unblest. Now which of these two as the blindest would strike? By my soul, they are both fit for Bedlam alike ! Exclaims yonder Marquis so prudent and sage, Just ready in dice at Fredoc~s* to e%age; Who eternally moves in a whirlpool of play, His husness all night, and his study all day; Whose doom underneath a quatorzet is still kept, And whose happiness waits on the turn of a sept !f Who sees, while in agony holding his hreatli, In the shake of a dice box his life or his death. Him, should fate on a sudden in malice turn foe, Disturbing his shuffle, or fbiling his throw, A gambling house. Terms in the game of faro. 36 [May, 1817.1 Original Poetry. 87 You might see, to a spasm of blasphemy drivn, With his hair bristling up, and eyes darting to heavn, And looking like one with a demon possest, Which an exorcist priest can alone lay to rest; For some novel profaneness essaying to search, He invokes in his oaths all the saints of the church. Pray chain him, he storms in such terrible wise, I fear this new Titan will soon scale the skies. Rather leave him alone to his folly a prey, Due penalties then he will speedily pay. And now let us make a right timely transition, To some other quarter of lunatic vision, To errours, whose poison delights as it harms, And fuddles the soul with more maddening charms. Where the mind, as the vessel of nectar it plies, Sips on, and in sweet self forgetfulness lies. lATl~at is Chapelaine~s* disorder? to dabble in verse! And though nothing for roughness could ever be worse, Though with epithets crowded as thick as a mist, And by school boys in petticoats hooted and hissd, Though een worthy the sneers of those shallow braind sages, Who meet every week to debate at Menages,t Yet to him it is charming.and spite of all laws, It comes up to his taste, and extorts his applause! See, see, with what calm and self satisfied grace, Above Virgil, he takes on Parnassus his place. Gracious heaven, oh what would the driveller do, Should some cruel good Christian illumine his vie~v, And show him his pitiful verses at length In their true naked plight, without beauty or strength. His couptpts surmounted on two wretched rhymes, Upon which, as on stilts, he most clumsily climbs; His words, which he strangely delights to transpose. And his stiff; frigid ornaments planted in rows? Yes, how sadly and sorely would he rue the day, When Delusion should fly from his vision away! A fanatick I knew, who in other respects, Was sensible, sober, and free from defects; This author, before his Pucelle was printed, passed for the first poet of his age. The publication spoiled every thing. See Southeys acimira- ble analysis of this poem, in the preface to the second edition of his Joan of Arc. It has beauties, which however are overwhelmed with absurdities. ~ In this couplet is given the substance of a note, appended to the original. Original Poetry. [May, But attacked by a malady wondrously strange His brain was a little accustomd to range, Though the manner was pleasant enough.-~It was this; He imagind be heard from the regions of bliss, Such a concert all day, as an adder might love, Which was sung by heatified spirits above. Well, what must be done, but a noted physician Arrives and examines his puzzling condition, And brings him to reason by (lint of his skill, Or chance, you may call it, or just what you will. The next movement of course was to come for his fee~ me ? cried the patient, you ask that of me? And pray, tell me, Sir, if it isnt enough, That by means of your practice, your physick and stuff, You have all the dull pains of reality givn, And deafend my ears, to the musick of heaven ? I approve of his anger-~for now, to be serious, Our reasons the worst of all evils that weary us. Tis she that intrudes in the midst of our joys, And Remorse, that importunate bridle employs; And while sternly at evry resort she appears, Like a pedant, unceasingly drums on our eats, With her constant reproofs to our hearts she neer reaches, But like Joly,* she loses her time as she preaches. In vain would some dreamers attempt to array her As the sovereign of sense, and as such to display her, In vain would they make her a Goddess on earth, And pretend that all happiness thence has its birth; Tis she only, they cry, that can teach us to live! To such pretty abstractions may praise I must give, I will grant triat those flourishing sentiments look If you pleasevery wellvery line in a book! Equal nature, however, gives often, Ifind, The most desperate fool, the most satisfied mind. A preacher of much celebrity. The sarcasm here is levdled at the times. The indirect~comparison of Mons. Joly with Reason, is a compli. ment as powerful as is delicate. I 1817.] Original Poetr~,. 39 Satire Sixth. This satire contains a description of the Miseries of a Pa- ris life, and is imitated from the third of .Iuvenal. WHAT noisesWhat noises! for blessedness sake, Does lodging, at Paris, mean keeping awake? What mischievous demon that prowls the night long, Has unkennelld the cats from the drains in a throng? Scarce (ilifated wight!) have I sunk into bed, With hypo, and trouble, and terrour half dead, When it seems that the very Tartarean shades Had come to salute me with shrill serenades. Some are growling and snarling like tigersand worse; Some are whining and mewing, like infants at nurse. And to trouble my rest, een the mice and the rats Have a good understanding, I know, with the cats. A far greater bore in the dark to endure Than was ever by daylightthe Abb6 de Pure.* The whole world has conspird to disturb my repose, And the horrours just drawn are the least of my woes. For scarce have the cocks, with their agonizd screams~ Dispersd into air the whole neighbourhoods dreams, When a merciless fellow, of Vulcans grim train, Awakd before dawn by the curst love of gain, Torments with his hammer the loud ringing steel, And invades my poor head with a din that I feel. Already the trucks oer the pavements are bounding, The shops are all opning, the masons are pounding, While from evry far quarter the clocks an(I time bells Assailing the clouds with funereal knells~ With the winds and the bail a full concert are giving, And to honour the dead, mean to martyr the living. Nor yet would I censure the fates as unkind, If my whole tribulation to this were confind. But alone in my bed if Ive reason to curse, When I venture abroad,it is twenty tunes worse; Wheresoever I go, I must worry along, And elbow an endless and troublesome throng. This poor Abbd, it seems, besides the disparaging character given of him in the fourth Satire (see last No. North American Review) was more- over the most tedious of wits.

Trait of Spanish Character 39-42

1817.] Original Poetr~,. 39 Satire Sixth. This satire contains a description of the Miseries of a Pa- ris life, and is imitated from the third of .Iuvenal. WHAT noisesWhat noises! for blessedness sake, Does lodging, at Paris, mean keeping awake? What mischievous demon that prowls the night long, Has unkennelld the cats from the drains in a throng? Scarce (ilifated wight!) have I sunk into bed, With hypo, and trouble, and terrour half dead, When it seems that the very Tartarean shades Had come to salute me with shrill serenades. Some are growling and snarling like tigersand worse; Some are whining and mewing, like infants at nurse. And to trouble my rest, een the mice and the rats Have a good understanding, I know, with the cats. A far greater bore in the dark to endure Than was ever by daylightthe Abb6 de Pure.* The whole world has conspird to disturb my repose, And the horrours just drawn are the least of my woes. For scarce have the cocks, with their agonizd screams~ Dispersd into air the whole neighbourhoods dreams, When a merciless fellow, of Vulcans grim train, Awakd before dawn by the curst love of gain, Torments with his hammer the loud ringing steel, And invades my poor head with a din that I feel. Already the trucks oer the pavements are bounding, The shops are all opning, the masons are pounding, While from evry far quarter the clocks an(I time bells Assailing the clouds with funereal knells~ With the winds and the bail a full concert are giving, And to honour the dead, mean to martyr the living. Nor yet would I censure the fates as unkind, If my whole tribulation to this were confind. But alone in my bed if Ive reason to curse, When I venture abroad,it is twenty tunes worse; Wheresoever I go, I must worry along, And elbow an endless and troublesome throng. This poor Abbd, it seems, besides the disparaging character given of him in the fourth Satire (see last No. North American Review) was more- over the most tedious of wits. 40 Original Poetry. EMay, With a board which he carries, one hits me a blow, Another (the wretch) turns aside my chapeau. In a moment a funral procession I meet, With slow, solemn paces usurping the street; There, some quarrelsome lacquies, in rage pulling hair, Make the very dogs bark, and the passengers swear. Here, a cluster of paviers my wanderino There, a cross* is hung out, horrid close, presage of woes, While the workmen rain down on unfortunate pates From the housetop whole showers of tiles and of slates. Here, slipping and tugging along the pavd road, Six horses drag slowly their cumbersome load, While poisd upon trucks a huge beam nods and shakes, And threatens with ruin the crowd that it makes. A corner this measureless team soon approach, And turning, encounter the wheels of a coach, Which oerthrown by the shock on a large heap of clay, Is both helpless itself, and encumbers the way. That instant, another essaying. to pass, Confounding con fusion, enlarges the mass. Ere long twenty coaches a rear guard shall bring, And more than a thousand soon add to the string; And to crown the disaster, some mischievous lot Brings a great drove of oxen direct to the spot. All endeavour to pass; some groan and some swear, While the bray of the mules rends asunder the air. Soon the horse guards are calld, and a hundred rush in, Doing nothing at all but increasing the din; Or remaining fast fixt by the crowds that increase, Just think.barricades in the middle of peace! Now nothing is heard but a hubbub of cries, Which might drown een the thunder that bursts from the skies. Whilst I, with a dozen appointments to meet, As the day fast declines, am detaind in the street, And exhausted, scarce know to which saint to appeal. At the hazard of breaking uiyself on a wheel, I leap twenty guiters~I dodgeand I scud~ Genaud4 riding by, soils me over with mud; And unfit in this plight to be lookd at by man, At random directions, I scape as 1 can. ~ It was the custom at that time for the masons to hang out a cross of laths from the roofs of the houses, which they ~vere covering, to warn pas- sengers to keep at a distance. At present they display a single lath. ~ This was the most celebrated physician in Paris. He always rode on horseback. 1817.] Original Poetry. 41 In some corner at length as I wipe off the stains, In the midst of my grumbling, it suddenly rains. You would say that the heavens, dissolving in waters, Had sent a new flood to inundate these quarters. A sorry contrivance just gives you the power To cross oer the street in the midst of the shower. A board is laid resting, or tottering on stones, XVhere the hardiest lacquey might fear for his bones. While the numerous torrents, that burst from the spouts, Swell up into rivers, pursuing their routes. Yet in spite of much stumbling, I hurry my flight, Well knowing the horrours of Paris at night. For no sooner has day in the calm shade reposd, When by firm double padlocks the shops are all closd, When the peaceable merchant retires from his store, lbs chages and profits at home to look oer, When all at New Market is tranquil and calm, That instant the thieves set the town in alarm. Then the murkiest woods, and the haunts most obscure, Compard with this city, are blest and secure. Woe then to the man ~hoin some sudden aflair Compels to a bye path or lane to repair; Four bandits will rush and surround him .. . your purse ! He must fain give it up, or endure something worse, And expect that his death will adorn the grim leaves Of that tragick production, The Histr~j of Thieves. As for me, with lockd door, and with efforts to sleep, The same hours with the sun I most carefully keep. But scarce in my room have I put out the light, When rest is forbidden my organs of sight. Some impudent, robbers, who prowl round the spot, Let drive through my shutters a huge pistol shot. Or the loud cry of Murder! they every where raise, Or some neighbouring mansion is wrapt in a blaze. Here I rise in good earnest, half dead with aifright, Aiid without any doublet, rush outward in flight. For the flames, with a fury no art can destroy, Rage around the whole place, as they once did at Troy, Where many an Argive, and half famishd Greek, Trode on through the burning, his l)lunder to seek. At length by the firehooks the ruin is broke, And the house tumbling down emits volumes of smoke. Now home I return, but with tremour and gloom, And the day has appear~d when I enter my room. Vol. V. No. 1. 6 42 Original Poetry. [May, In vain for repose do I sadly lie down, Wealth only can sleep in this horrible town, And that in some fence-guarded, elegant seat, In a quiet apartment, remote from the street. The rich man at Paris in freedom can live, Since wealth all the joys of the country can give. Tis his, iii the depth of midwinter to bring To his garden the green trees and fresh plants of spring, knd while treading about on his beds of sweet flowers, Their perfumes to breathe in his soft leisure hours. But the poetheigh howithout fireside or room, Must lodge where he can, and as fortune shall dooni. On (L painting of Got. John Trumbull, representing a scene fram Scotts Lady of the Lake. AMID the brilliant group, which libral taste Selects to gild its mansion, and to charm The virtuosos eye, the landscape fair, The form pourtrayd that from the canvass starts, With breathing lip and feature, one there is That mingles all this magick. On its front The bold descendant of that ancient line, Which Scotland in her better days reverd, Stands first. His lofty form, thouoh markd by time, Seems like the forest king, that holds in age Preeminence, and bows, but not decays. Born for authority, upon his brow He bears its semblance; silently we gaze And breathe the name of Douglass; while the glance Piercing, yet pensive of that noble eye, Still speaks of wrongs endurd, yet unrevengd, And wakes that sympathy which generous souls Will feel for suftring virtue. By his side Is seen a youth of native majesty, rhe fearless Malcolm, beautilul and brave. He, having nothing basely to conceal, Dreads nothing, and his cloudless eye looks up in the pure dignity of innocence, Evn as the guardian eve of angels might Look down on him. And next, a fairer form,

On a painting of Trumbull 42-43

42 Original Poetry. [May, In vain for repose do I sadly lie down, Wealth only can sleep in this horrible town, And that in some fence-guarded, elegant seat, In a quiet apartment, remote from the street. The rich man at Paris in freedom can live, Since wealth all the joys of the country can give. Tis his, iii the depth of midwinter to bring To his garden the green trees and fresh plants of spring, knd while treading about on his beds of sweet flowers, Their perfumes to breathe in his soft leisure hours. But the poetheigh howithout fireside or room, Must lodge where he can, and as fortune shall dooni. On (L painting of Got. John Trumbull, representing a scene fram Scotts Lady of the Lake. AMID the brilliant group, which libral taste Selects to gild its mansion, and to charm The virtuosos eye, the landscape fair, The form pourtrayd that from the canvass starts, With breathing lip and feature, one there is That mingles all this magick. On its front The bold descendant of that ancient line, Which Scotland in her better days reverd, Stands first. His lofty form, thouoh markd by time, Seems like the forest king, that holds in age Preeminence, and bows, but not decays. Born for authority, upon his brow He bears its semblance; silently we gaze And breathe the name of Douglass; while the glance Piercing, yet pensive of that noble eye, Still speaks of wrongs endurd, yet unrevengd, And wakes that sympathy which generous souls Will feel for suftring virtue. By his side Is seen a youth of native majesty, rhe fearless Malcolm, beautilul and brave. He, having nothing basely to conceal, Dreads nothing, and his cloudless eye looks up in the pure dignity of innocence, Evn as the guardian eve of angels might Look down on him. And next, a fairer form, 1817.] Original Poetry. 4.~3 Half bending, half concealed in youthful charm, Whose listning eye with conscious glance reveals That not the favourd Lufra, or the bounds, Whose eager haste solicits her caress, Nor yet the falcon, perching on her hand, Could win her souls attention from the voice, That speaks of Ellen with a fathers love, Or lure it from the form of him who hears With undefind sensation. Allan, too! Thou poor old Harper, sorrow worn and sad, Lost in the scenes of other days, whose shades Are mournful to thee, has that cherishd harp, On which thy arm reclines, no lingering tone To cheer thy witherd heart, and sooth thy Lord In his lone exile? Hark! with shouting sounds Of revelry and pride, the stately barge Of Roderick cuts the wave. The rapid strokes From Highland oars come measurd to the song Row, Vassals, Row ! while the inspiring praise Of the grim warriour echoes from each glen Of the wild trosach, and in softer tones Swells oer Loch Katrines mirror, cold and pure. On the smooth verdure, the dirninishd groups Await th arrival; mists in volumes rolld Spread oei the mountains, while tl~ aspiring trees Blend with the clouds. Oh, thou, whose art can%lend A charm to nature, and a robe to thought, Who thus couldst pour the soul of Scottish song Oer the dead canvass, lightly may the hand Of time rest on thee, while thy art shall lure Him of his wand to give a longer date To the bright scenes thy countrys annals yield, And twine a wreath unfading for her brow. 1-I. Hope and Memory. Occasioned by the sentiment, that Hope perishes with the present brief existence, but that Memory is immortal. 1 SWEET friend of Man! whose airy form With eye of azure ray, Is seen through every gathering storm, Compi~nion of his way.

Hope and Memory 43-46

1817.] Original Poetry. 4.~3 Half bending, half concealed in youthful charm, Whose listning eye with conscious glance reveals That not the favourd Lufra, or the bounds, Whose eager haste solicits her caress, Nor yet the falcon, perching on her hand, Could win her souls attention from the voice, That speaks of Ellen with a fathers love, Or lure it from the form of him who hears With undefind sensation. Allan, too! Thou poor old Harper, sorrow worn and sad, Lost in the scenes of other days, whose shades Are mournful to thee, has that cherishd harp, On which thy arm reclines, no lingering tone To cheer thy witherd heart, and sooth thy Lord In his lone exile? Hark! with shouting sounds Of revelry and pride, the stately barge Of Roderick cuts the wave. The rapid strokes From Highland oars come measurd to the song Row, Vassals, Row ! while the inspiring praise Of the grim warriour echoes from each glen Of the wild trosach, and in softer tones Swells oer Loch Katrines mirror, cold and pure. On the smooth verdure, the dirninishd groups Await th arrival; mists in volumes rolld Spread oei the mountains, while tl~ aspiring trees Blend with the clouds. Oh, thou, whose art can%lend A charm to nature, and a robe to thought, Who thus couldst pour the soul of Scottish song Oer the dead canvass, lightly may the hand Of time rest on thee, while thy art shall lure Him of his wand to give a longer date To the bright scenes thy countrys annals yield, And twine a wreath unfading for her brow. 1-I. Hope and Memory. Occasioned by the sentiment, that Hope perishes with the present brief existence, but that Memory is immortal. 1 SWEET friend of Man! whose airy form With eye of azure ray, Is seen through every gathering storm, Compi~nion of his way. 44 Original Poetr~j. ~May, 2 Thou on his childish lip dost press Thy signet with a smile, And on through Natures weariness His pilgrimage beguile. When (lisappoititments wake regret, Or dangers threaten loud, He scarce can shrink ere thou dost set Thy rainbow on the cloud. 4 He scarce can weep, ere thou art nigh To gild the falling tear, To snatch the half unutterd sigh, And paint thy visions clear. 5 But chiefl, when the dying saint On his last couch reclines, When lights of earth are dim and faint, Thy brightest lustre shines. 6 Thy smile is glorious to his eye, Thy brow like seraph fair Thou pointst his journey to the sky, But mayst not follow there. 7 Thy friendship softend mortal ill, Thy worth was (Irawn from woe; And thou wert nourishd by a nil, Which there can never flow. 8 Well pleasd wert thou to cheer the Beguile the short pursuit, And paint the future rich with bloom, Till man might reap the fruit. 9 But when his beating pulse declines Thy own is chill and dead, And when the real morning shines Thy taper~s ray has fled. 10 Yet one there is, who braves the blast, When hope oblivious sleeps; 1817.] Original Poefr~. 45 Tier glance averted, seeks the past. Her page its record keeps. 11 She gilds no fairy scenes for youth, No flight with fancy takes But iii the holy cell of truth Her silent temple makes. 12 She guards the key, with wary eye, Where knowledge hides her store; To conscience gives th unfading die, That glows when time is oer. 13 The wise, the virtuous love to wait Within her sacred bowr; The thoughtless shim, the fickle hate, The guilty dread her powr. 14 When deaths dark curtain veils the eyes, Resplendent glows her ray; And when the unrobd spirit flies She shares its unknown way. 15 Through the drear valley, hung with gloom, She bears her finishd scroll And spreads it at the bar of doom, Where justice weighs the soul. 16 She dauntless treads the troubled sphere Of darkness and despair, And those who staind her record her8 Must feel her vengeance there. 17 If Mercy to a glorious land The accepted soul invite, She hovers round the perfect band, Who dwell in cloudless light. 18 And oft her tablets varied trace Of mortal care and pain, From rapturd angel harps shall raise The loudest. sweetest strain. TI. 46 Original Poetr!,. IMay, TO THE EDITOR OF THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. Sir, If the following trifles should he thought tolerable enough to appear in your Journal, their insertion would gratify tho author. WHEN once the Rhodian artist strove To paint the smiliwr Queen of Love, From every diffren~ clime he drew Its fairest form, its brightest hue; And rifled all the charms of earth, To deck his fair of heavenly birth. He found the form majestick, grand, That awe inspid and spoke command, Where Romes proud towrs their shadows throw On Tibers dusky wave below. And next from Persias highbred dame, That figures airy lightness came, Which seemed above the earth to sweep, As swallows skim along the deep. From Europe came that dazzling skin, So spotless white, so pure, so thin, That every vein was seen to flow, Like streams of blue, through fields of snow. Her features bloom Circassia lent, So soft a tint, so nicely blent, It almost seemed the tender die Across her cheek would come and fly, As in the hour of placid rest The breezes play on oceans breast. her lips of rosy hue were drawn From Indias daughters of the dawn. Love, Love oer all her features stole, And Athens gave her eye a soul; But never yet from earthly fair Th expression came that hoverd there. The signs of feeling round were thrown, That never mortal breast could own. It se- med the light of heavenly flame, Divine it was, from heaven it came; The task complete, the picture done, The admirer saw combind in one, And shown in brighter colours there, The beauties of a thousand fair.

Cyprian Queen 46-47

46 Original Poetr!,. IMay, TO THE EDITOR OF THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. Sir, If the following trifles should he thought tolerable enough to appear in your Journal, their insertion would gratify tho author. WHEN once the Rhodian artist strove To paint the smiliwr Queen of Love, From every diffren~ clime he drew Its fairest form, its brightest hue; And rifled all the charms of earth, To deck his fair of heavenly birth. He found the form majestick, grand, That awe inspid and spoke command, Where Romes proud towrs their shadows throw On Tibers dusky wave below. And next from Persias highbred dame, That figures airy lightness came, Which seemed above the earth to sweep, As swallows skim along the deep. From Europe came that dazzling skin, So spotless white, so pure, so thin, That every vein was seen to flow, Like streams of blue, through fields of snow. Her features bloom Circassia lent, So soft a tint, so nicely blent, It almost seemed the tender die Across her cheek would come and fly, As in the hour of placid rest The breezes play on oceans breast. her lips of rosy hue were drawn From Indias daughters of the dawn. Love, Love oer all her features stole, And Athens gave her eye a soul; But never yet from earthly fair Th expression came that hoverd there. The signs of feeling round were thrown, That never mortal breast could own. It se- med the light of heavenly flame, Divine it was, from heaven it came; The task complete, the picture done, The admirer saw combind in one, And shown in brighter colours there, The beauties of a thousand fair. 1817.] Original Poetry. 47 So perfect then the work appears, To ask a life of labourd years; But had he sought in days of ours To gather beautys fairest flowers, Not HOW he had been forcd to stray, rhioug~ distant climes a devious way, In thee ~ ** might he find Each charm of form and soul cornbind, In union soft by natures band V~ hich he had sought in every land. And perfect had before him s~een The image of tue Cyprian queen. C. G.M. The Elm and the Vine. As the elm and the grapevine together are bound, And iii union their bianches eiitwine; The vine in the elm a supporter has found And the elm is adornd by the vine. So should Pleasure and Virtue together unite, Through the scenes of this wild world to roam; Each finds in the other a source of delight, And together how blessed a home. If the vine unprotected be suflered to spread, And at random its branches to shape; Its blossoms are nippd by the shade of its bed, And worthless andsour is the grape. And pleasure, if sent out to wander alone, Wherever wild fancy may suit; Its loveliness all in a moment is gone, And bitter, oh bitter the fruit. The elm how ungracious and rough does it seem. When single it stands on the ph in; And virtue but little inviting we deem, If pleasure be not in her train. But when pleasure and virtue together cornbine, In union unbroken to meet; Like the rich luscious grape of the elm and the vine~ The fruit is deliciously sweet. C, Q. M.

Elm and the Vine 47-48

1817.] Original Poetry. 47 So perfect then the work appears, To ask a life of labourd years; But had he sought in days of ours To gather beautys fairest flowers, Not HOW he had been forcd to stray, rhioug~ distant climes a devious way, In thee ~ ** might he find Each charm of form and soul cornbind, In union soft by natures band V~ hich he had sought in every land. And perfect had before him s~een The image of tue Cyprian queen. C. G.M. The Elm and the Vine. As the elm and the grapevine together are bound, And iii union their bianches eiitwine; The vine in the elm a supporter has found And the elm is adornd by the vine. So should Pleasure and Virtue together unite, Through the scenes of this wild world to roam; Each finds in the other a source of delight, And together how blessed a home. If the vine unprotected be suflered to spread, And at random its branches to shape; Its blossoms are nippd by the shade of its bed, And worthless andsour is the grape. And pleasure, if sent out to wander alone, Wherever wild fancy may suit; Its loveliness all in a moment is gone, And bitter, oh bitter the fruit. The elm how ungracious and rough does it seem. When single it stands on the ph in; And virtue but little inviting we deem, If pleasure be not in her train. But when pleasure and virtue together cornbine, In union unbroken to meet; Like the rich luscious grape of the elm and the vine~ The fruit is deliciously sweet. C, Q. M. NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. C of .T CLA~AA4AAt~y ART. I. Memoir the eai~t~ft~fe of WilhiPm Cow per, Esq. written by himself, (tnd never before publtshed. Filth an ap- pendix, containing some of Co wpers religious letters, ~c. l2mo. pp. 173. Philadelphia, 1816. 17 HE English must have novelties; and religious novel- ties, or news from the grave xviii serve, xx hen nothing else is to be found. You may see them in the churchyard noxv, at the tomb of a Christian bard, writing under the epitaph, which a friend had given him, the sins of his youth and the agonies of his delirium. They tell us, it is for the honour of Chris tianitv that they publish the secrets of his calamity; and we heard, a little while ago, that they bought his poetry, for the theology it contained. We kno~v that religion has some- times been made a broad cover, for the singularities and even the corruptions of menbut xve never looked to see the day, ~xvhen it should bliiid men to exalted poetry, or tempt them to deal lightly with the memory of the just. It may he a spirit of zeal, that brought this memoir before the publick; but it is zeal, we fear, that lacks tenderness for the dead, and prudence toxvards the living. And xve trust, that we shall not be alone, in justifying and honouring the Christian deli- cacy and forbearance of Haley and Johnson, who had done all that friends could do, for the name and usefulness of Cow- per, and concealed only xvhat, if published, might possibly lessen his influence, or afflict those who loved him. The reader must not look into this narrative for the friend, whom he has hitherto knoxvn only in retirement; nor for the xvalks, that gladdened him all the year, and opened to his tender heart and contriving fancy the society of solitude. Von must not expect the quiet grief, xvhich invited affection, and turned silently to heaven; nor the dejected sufferer, whose spirit xvas soothed by the sound of the hreakei~s; who dreaded the loneliness of the Sabbath, and listened at even- ing to the village dogs, that announced the return of his friend..-.-..Cowper is now in London, amongst the profligate;

Cowper's Memoir of his early life 48-55

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. C of .T CLA~AA4AAt~y ART. I. Memoir the eai~t~ft~fe of WilhiPm Cow per, Esq. written by himself, (tnd never before publtshed. Filth an ap- pendix, containing some of Co wpers religious letters, ~c. l2mo. pp. 173. Philadelphia, 1816. 17 HE English must have novelties; and religious novel- ties, or news from the grave xviii serve, xx hen nothing else is to be found. You may see them in the churchyard noxv, at the tomb of a Christian bard, writing under the epitaph, which a friend had given him, the sins of his youth and the agonies of his delirium. They tell us, it is for the honour of Chris tianitv that they publish the secrets of his calamity; and we heard, a little while ago, that they bought his poetry, for the theology it contained. We kno~v that religion has some- times been made a broad cover, for the singularities and even the corruptions of menbut xve never looked to see the day, ~xvhen it should bliiid men to exalted poetry, or tempt them to deal lightly with the memory of the just. It may he a spirit of zeal, that brought this memoir before the publick; but it is zeal, we fear, that lacks tenderness for the dead, and prudence toxvards the living. And xve trust, that we shall not be alone, in justifying and honouring the Christian deli- cacy and forbearance of Haley and Johnson, who had done all that friends could do, for the name and usefulness of Cow- per, and concealed only xvhat, if published, might possibly lessen his influence, or afflict those who loved him. The reader must not look into this narrative for the friend, whom he has hitherto knoxvn only in retirement; nor for the xvalks, that gladdened him all the year, and opened to his tender heart and contriving fancy the society of solitude. Von must not expect the quiet grief, xvhich invited affection, and turned silently to heaven; nor the dejected sufferer, whose spirit xvas soothed by the sound of the hreakei~s; who dreaded the loneliness of the Sabbath, and listened at even- ing to the village dogs, that announced the return of his friend..-.-..Cowper is now in London, amongst the profligate; 1817.] Gowpers .Vfemair o~ his early life. 49 a good sort of man in the eyes of the world; in his own, a CIlil(l of hell; and in oars, very little short of a maniac for most of the time, and altogether one for the rest. It was very natural, that in his later years, he should turn to the city, as to the sink of abomination and woe. It had been the prison house o~ his mi folded. n4, and ~the secrets are here Un- The memoir (which was plainly intended for his friends only) is a history of his heart, so far as religion had been its object. He begins with the mournful depravity of his childhood; his neglect of secret prayem, his habit of lying, his assurance that he should never die. His case might seem very bad, if we did not remember that -he was bitt a child, at a publick school, in high health, and as ignorant in all points of religion, as the satchel at his back. More than this, he has thrown into the sketch, two or three inci- dents, and simple notices of his heart, that remind us of the lovelier qescription of his childhood, in his Monody. We caim see even here, the beginnings of thoughtfulness, purity, tenderness and religious feeling. It was his misfortune, and he felt it to his last hour, to lose almost in infancy a kind. mother; and his soft, subdued spirit found no one like her, to guide, uphold and cherish him, when he needed such a friend the most. We admit every mans right to question Cowpers judg- ment, especially in his bitter self-conde~nnatiou, and in his minute explanations of the purposes and operations of God. But we mmmst take his narrative without reserve, when he tells us muerely what lie felt and endured. It may indeed seemn strange, that a man should look so narrowly and clear- ly at what passed within himself, during the turmoil and darkness of delirium. Yet Cowper was equal to it, and hi~ description makes the most powerful part of the narrative. The story is told with a force and directness, ~vhmich none but the sufferer himself cotmld be master of. lie does not touch tenderly upon his mnahady, but goes at once into its depths, and tells us every thing..its approach, its shocks and pressure, its flames and horrible darkness, and all that he purposed and (lid. He seems to have thrown himself amidst his sufferings, with the courage of a man, who has passe(I through the worst of life, and is not to be appalled by merely retracing it. A. man, who could bring himself to such a narrative as this, could not play with language. The plain Vol. V No. 1. 31) ~owpers .AIeinair of his eart~ ljfe. (May, reality is enough for him and the reader. He is raised too high to be politick. He is telling fearful truths, which the world would not know but for him; and when he has once given himself to the work, he will have no lime to think of style, or to cast about for the effect he is to produce. We must all remember very well the important period of Cowpers life, when he was appointed to the clerkship of the journals of the House of Lords, and the derangement produc- ed by his dread of an examination before the House, touch- ing his sufficiency for the place. A great part of the narra- tive is given to this period. We cannot insert the whole story, and should be ashamed to break or abridge it. Dur- ing the twelve years lie spent in the temple, he appears to have lived upon the world and literature. He was in the society of wits and infidels, and sought in sinful indulgence, security from a relapse into the heavy dejection, (it was lit- tle less than insanity,) which visited him even in childhood. His estate was sinkingvery fast; and not only were his hopes of settling in married life cut off, but he was even in danger of personal want. It was now that he looked about for an office, and with horrible covetings. He obtained at last, from his kinsman, an appointment to which he thought himself equal; but the circumstances of the gift were such as to expose his patron to suspicion; besides this, his right of nomination was strongly resisted in the House of Lords; the place could only be secured by a struggle, and, what was mortal poison to the shy and trembling spirit of Cowper, lie was required to submit to an examination at the bar of the Rouse, as to his qualifications for the office. And now camn~ the tempest. Honour, duty and interest pressed him to persevere; but his peace was gone, and along with it his frail strength; a finger raised against him was more than he could stand against. Nothing was left for him, but tor- turing perplexity, severe self judgment, desperation, and re- proach against God. He looked to madness for shelter, and it did not fail him. We can imagine the fearful eagerness, with which the reader will hurry through the simple sketch of his sufferings and attempts at suicide. Self murders are old and common. Some are too vulgar to be remembered, whilst others are re- lieved by heroism and grandeur, and kept by us to prove the greatness of human nature. But we believe, that this wretch- ed sufferer, in his lonely, dim-lighted chamber, desperate hi 1817.] Cowpers .41ernoir of his early l~fr. 51 his anguish and in its relief, too weak to endure life or de- stroy it, at length succeeding so far as to pass the bitterness of death, and then awaking as if in hell, has given the reader a story of unmixed horrour, that will stay longer with him than all the self murders on record. Cowper is not content with telling his attempts and their failure in general descrip- tion.he lets us into every thing. Incidents and objects the most familiar, are raised, and become even poetical, from their connexion with his purposes and efforts. When lie had once admitted the thought of self destruction, lie could not go into the streets, without meeting with something to tempt or drive him to the last act. It seemed to him, as if all the world had conspired to make death by his OWII hand inevit- able. When he ventured into the streets, after the failure of all his efforts, a ghastly shame and alarmed suspicion were his torments, and perhaps nothing in the book goes deeper into the heart than this. I never went into the street, but I thought the people stood and laughed at me, and held me in contempt; and could hardly persuade myself, but that the voice of my conscience was loud enough for every one to hear it. They who knew me, seemed to avoid me; and if they spoke to me, seemed to do it in scorn. I bought a ballad of one who was singing it in the street, because I thought it was written on me. I dined alone, either at the tavern, where I went in the dark, or at the chop house, where I always took care to hide myself in the darkest corner of the room. I slept generally an hour in the evening; bnt it was only to be ter- rified in dreams; and when I awoke, it was some time before I could walk steadily through the passage into the dining room. I reeled and staggered like a drunken man. The eyes of man I could not bear; but when I thought that the eyes of God were up. on me, (wlAch I felt assured of,) it gave me the most intolerable anguish. If, for a moment, a look, or a companion stole away my attention from myself, a flash from hell seemed to be thrown into my mind immediately; and I said within myself, what are these things to me, who am damned? p. 77. A long delirium settled upon him soon after. A strange but horrible darkness fell upon him, in which every thing was lost, but a sense of sin and expectation of punishment. The rest of the memoir is taken up with his residence at St. Albans, his religious experiences, and his settlement at Huntingdon. And it was refreshing to come again into the clear sky and pure air. The book gives us one joy at least, 5~2 Goiwpers Memoir of his early ltfe. [May, for we feel at the close, that his wild despair and raptures have alike settled down into Christian hope and serenity. We feel ourselves once more, by the side of that pure being, whom we had known oniy in his letters and poetry. The facts, that are now brought to light, will go more roughly over the heart, than the saddest details we have yet read in his biography. Why then were they published? ~e sh~tild not inquire, if we could imagine that a sin- gle heart would be made better by the narrative. Our be- lief is, that it will only serve to divert and harden the profligate, to wound the affectionate, give subjects of phi- losophical scrutiny to the curious and unfeeling, throw still heavier clouds upon the dejected, and encourage, in the weak, a belief that the l)H1P05C5 an(l operations of God are submitted to the minute interpretation of man. We are told, (tIough the matter seemed at rest,) that our religion is charged with having made Coxvper a maniac, and that the memoir is published to refute the cahurnuy. The reproach always appeared to us very (11111 and nuphilosophic al, coining probably from men as ignorant of Cowper and of the New Testament, as that it is the way with mel arichioly to make its food of every thing, amid that men may suffer more from mistaking the uses of good, than from the hardest con- flicts with known evil. We apprehend, moreover, that, if an infidel had before learned to shun and abhor religion, from its suppose(l iniluence on Cowpers sensil)iiity, he will be drawn no nearer the faith by the disclosures in this narra- tive, nor feel that a single weapon against Christianity has fallen from his hands. If we are told, that the memoir was puhl;shed to ~varn men against suicide, ~ve have our fears, that if any man, in an hour of desperation, were to take up the hook for healing influences, he ~vould only feel the knife goimig deeper and deeper to his heart. Did the publisher wish to show time power of religiomi in changing the heart, aiI(l was the age so barren of repentance, and living piety, that he must needs go to the dead for testimony? No doubt, he intended the honour of religion ; but is there any honour able view of religion, of our nature or our hopes given here, which had not been already more worthily given, in ihe otim er works of Cowner? 1mm them, we believe that all Chris- tians may find nourishment for piety. There may be mis- taken views of (30(1 and his government; false notions of the world and of hunian nature. Put these all asideand there 1817.] fiotupers .Mernoir of his early hje. is enough left to console and elevate; enough to satisfy us, that CoxTer knew the purest influences of the gospel, and enjoyed the happiest communion with heaven. We cannot admit the justice of his self condemnation, or persLlade ourselves, that the excesses he laments are rather proofs of depravity, than of his unhealthy sensibility and proneness to dejection, unchecked as they were by a religious education, and severely acted upon by his uncongenial pur- suits and situation. However this may be, and taking his word for it, that he was once a profligate wretchwe are still met with the difficulty of laying down any rule, by which to judge of the propriety of publishing after his death, the early sins and errours of a good man, even if the record were his o~vn. If Cowper had been an old inquiring sin- ncr, coldly shutting out the light of revelation through pride of l)iIilOsOphy, but at last obliged to yiel(I to its power, his confessions would be amongst the triumphs of Chris- tianity, and might well be placed in every ones hands. If his biographers, instead of keeping back some painful incidents of his life, had given us a false or imperfect view of his character, it would be no more than homiest to disclose the truth, at any hazard. If Cowper had been a successful advocate of false principles, and his works had owed their influence, in any degree, to his undeserved reputation for purity of life, a disclosure of the truth would be due to socie- ty, and the sooner it were made, the better. We believe that none of these things can be reasonably urged, In favour of pu1)hisliin~ the narrative. If the value of what lie had left b4ind, had been wholly nnconnected with his character and peculiar feelings, it would be nothing worse than cruelty to his memory, or his friends, (and this certainly is bad enough,) to set his errours in order before the publick, after his departure. But, in this respect, perhaps there never was a case, where a man deserved bet- ter, to enjoy forever his singular fortune, of having his in- lirmities buried with him, while his virtues were left alive. We believe, that the wide moral influence of his poetry is m~early connected with the delightful and almost living inti- macy, which grows up between him and his reader. lou may lind him every where doing good; gaining the earliest place in the affectiomVs, and never losing it; bringing the humblest reader to visit nature with his heart, as well as in- dustry, and the man of taste to mingle holy feeling with po 54 (Jxwpers .Menwir of his early kfe. [May, etical delight. He forms us to pure and simple enjoyment. Whether his theme be exalted or lowly, there is throughout the same manly relish of truth, and disdain of helping nature by unreal glitter, or vague and general description. He is always telling us something, which every man may prove, by opening his eyes, or questioning his heart. Sometimes austere and overcasl, a~ he looks out upon the remote world, but oftener delighting us with moral tenderness, healing rail- lery, and companionable sympathy. He is ever present in his works, lending them the attraction of his character, pur- suits and pleasures; relieving and animating the graver parts, by throwing into them something social or personal; and securing our confidence, by the easy untolding of as fair a heart, as we should look for on earth. So that he ahiays has something for the good of every man; and has made him- self the most popular of poets, without spa~4ng a single fault, or humouririg any one in the least departure from a pure na- tive taste. We would not have our remembrance of such a man dis- turbed. The world, too, has an interest in his influence and good name, and publick feeling must he somewhat depraved, before it can be entertained at the risk of his reputation. Feeling none of the curiosity, which rejoices in looking up the old cast-off sins of a repentant and departed soul, we are unwilling to hear, even from himself, that he was once a prof- ligate, and all but a self murderer. Unable to separate his supposed g4lt from mere derangement, and persuaded that, even when he wrote the memoir, lie was utterly incompetent to a fair judgment of his early life, we regret the appearance of a book, which may unjustly weaken his influence, or cloud the remembrance of him, by inducing or strengthening the suspicion, that his mind and sensibility were always diseas- ed. Nor can we agree with the publisher, that the lapse of years may give a better right to (listurb the grave; for it seems to us, that time only makes it more sacred, as well as the thought of those who sleep there. It is for publick opinion, to discountenance the bad exam- ple that has now been set. For there are such things as cu- riositv and malevolence in the heart; and thkese are espe- cially regaled ~itli the darker side of our nature, and with clearing away the dust from sins or infirmities, that have long been buried and forgotten. Just in proportion to a mans after greatness or worth, will be the longing to find out and 18174 .Mitrra!is lffe of himself. enlarge his early weakness or errours. With the growth of such a taste, ~re shall see the decline of self respect, rudeness towards the dead, contempt of truth, and insensibility to the value of character. We may prepare ourselyes then, for de- plorable legends of all the good men that ever died. ART. IL. Records of the if fe of the 11ev. Jo/rn .Murray, late min- ister of the Reconediation, and Seniour Pastor of the Uni- ~versa1ists congregated in Boston, written by himse~f. Bos- ton, Munroe & Francis. THIS book was noticed in the last Number, and we pro- pose to make our readers better acquainted with it in the present, because it contains many entertaining anecdotes and introduces the reader into scenes, which are accessible only by means of memoirs of this description. Our purpose is to give a brief sketch of the story, without many reflections or much disquisition. The subject of these memoirs was a descendant of the Scotch Murrays, though he was born in England, A. D. 1741, in Hampshire at Alton, which is situated on the Wey, and boasts of a church, a Presbyterian and a Quaker meetiughouse, and is environed by a plantation of hops. His parents were both religious, and though members of dif~ ferent sects, the father being of the established church, and the mother a Presbyterian, yet religion never disturbed the harmony of the family. His paternal grandmother was a French woman, of the name of Barroux, one of the noblesse, who, having lost her mother early, came over to England to be educated. She became a Protestant, at which her father was so much en- raged, that he discarded her, and to punish her the more se- verely, he swore he wofdd marry, for a second wife, the first woman be should meet, provided he could obtain her con- sent, and she were not absolutely disgusting. This woman happened to be his chambermaid, whom, not finding her aI)solutely disgusting, and being able to obtain her con- sent, he forthwith married. After his death, which soon followed, his estate, of about five hundred pounds a year, would have descended to his Protestant daughter, provided she had qualified herself to be his heir. by renouncing hey

Murrays's Life of himself 55-63

18174 .Mitrra!is lffe of himself. enlarge his early weakness or errours. With the growth of such a taste, ~re shall see the decline of self respect, rudeness towards the dead, contempt of truth, and insensibility to the value of character. We may prepare ourselyes then, for de- plorable legends of all the good men that ever died. ART. IL. Records of the if fe of the 11ev. Jo/rn .Murray, late min- ister of the Reconediation, and Seniour Pastor of the Uni- ~versa1ists congregated in Boston, written by himse~f. Bos- ton, Munroe & Francis. THIS book was noticed in the last Number, and we pro- pose to make our readers better acquainted with it in the present, because it contains many entertaining anecdotes and introduces the reader into scenes, which are accessible only by means of memoirs of this description. Our purpose is to give a brief sketch of the story, without many reflections or much disquisition. The subject of these memoirs was a descendant of the Scotch Murrays, though he was born in England, A. D. 1741, in Hampshire at Alton, which is situated on the Wey, and boasts of a church, a Presbyterian and a Quaker meetiughouse, and is environed by a plantation of hops. His parents were both religious, and though members of dif~ ferent sects, the father being of the established church, and the mother a Presbyterian, yet religion never disturbed the harmony of the family. His paternal grandmother was a French woman, of the name of Barroux, one of the noblesse, who, having lost her mother early, came over to England to be educated. She became a Protestant, at which her father was so much en- raged, that he discarded her, and to punish her the more se- verely, he swore he wofdd marry, for a second wife, the first woman be should meet, provided he could obtain her con- sent, and she were not absolutely disgusting. This woman happened to be his chambermaid, whom, not finding her aI)solutely disgusting, and being able to obtain her con- sent, he forthwith married. After his death, which soon followed, his estate, of about five hundred pounds a year, would have descended to his Protestant daughter, provided she had qualified herself to be his heir. by renouncing hey 56 ~7ifurrays lfr of himself. [i~Iay, heresy; but she declared that she would not do this for tht whole kingdom of France. During Mr. Murrays youth, the hoary sage called Discipline, still reigned with undiminished prerogatives, and Murrays father was one of his most loyal subjects. My father, says he, rarely passed by an offence, without marking it by such punishment as his sense of duty awarded; and when my tearful mother interceded for me, he would respond to her entreaties in the language of Solomon, if thou beat him with a rod, he shall not die. Pious supplications were the accompani- ments of the chastisements which were inflicted, so that I often passed from the terrour of the rod, to the terrifying apprehensions of a future and never ending misery. Upon these terrifick oc- casions, the most solemn resolutions were formed, and my vows wei e marked by floods of tears. He relates one instance in which his father remitted some- thing of his conscientious severity. When he was eleven years old, the family removed to Ireland, and when they were at Bristol on the way, lie says; I stepped into a boat on the slip, and letting it loose, the force of the current almost instantly carried it off into the channel, and had it been ebb instead of flood tide, I must inevitably have been carried out to sea, and most probably should never have been heard of more; but the flood tide carried me rapidly up the rmvt~r. In the midst of the ri~er I found a large flat bottomed boat at anchor, to which I made fast the boat I was in. At midnight, I beard voices on the side of the river, when, earnestly imploring their aid, and offering a liberal reward, they came in their boat, and conveying me on shore, conducted me to my lodgings. But no language can describe my dismay, when I drew miear my fa- ther, who was immediately preparing to administer the deserved chastisement, when the benevolent hostess interposed, and in pity- ing accents exclaimed, for Gods sake let the poor Blood alone; I warrant he has suffered enough already. My father was softened. They settled in the neighbourhood of Cork, and the whole family became followers of Wesley. Young Murray was made leader of a class, and distinguished himself by singing hymns and by other devotional exercises. Youth always has its friendships and its loves, and its dis- appointments in both. An intimate friendship took place 1817] Murrays If fe of himself. 57 between Murray and a~young man by the name of Little, who belonged to a respectable family of Methodists. While this intimacy existed, and Murray was admitted into this family, much on the footing of a child, the following inci- dent occurred. A young lady, a distant relation of Mrs. Little, was introduc- ed as a visitor. My friend and myself were in the parlour when she was introduced, and we both agreed she was the most ordina- ry young woman we had ever beheld. She was, I presume, more than twenty five years of age, under the common stature, of a very sallow com pkxion, large features, and a very disagreeable cast in her eye. Yet this same your~g lady had not been more than three weeks under the same roof with us, before we both became violent. ly in love with her. They accordingly became silent and reserved; an expla- nation followed; each insisted oz~ renouncing his pretensions in favour of the other; till finally they agreed to submit to the decision of Miss Dupee, (this w: s the young ladys name,) never doubting that one or tIme othc~ must be the favoured mortal. She possessed a most cwihanting voice, a most fascinating manner, admirably calcmiiai~ed to gain hearts, es- pecially young hearts, simple and so2tened by religion. Murray lost his sleep, and his appetite, began to tag rhymes, and would sit for hours together on an eminence, which commanded a view of her habitation, uttering poetry and sighs. After a long struggle between his hopes and fears, lie resolved to come to an explanation, and having written a tter, in which he conjured her at least, to grant him leave to hope, he put it into her hand, one night, as they were returning from meeting. She pressed his hand as she received it; he was almost suffocated with transport. Instead of granting him leave to hope, however, she gave the letter to his father. The next morning the family was assembled, and the boy was summoned to appear. Come hither, sir, said my father. I approached. lie began very deliberately to search his pockets, and after a pause, which seemed almost interminable, out came a letter. I trembled and he- canie so faint, that I was obliged to catch at a chair for supDort. My father continued slowly opening the killing letter. an(l look- ing alternately at it and fts author, and so, you poor, foolish child, you write love-letters, do von? You want a wife, do von VolY No.1. 8 58 .Ahtrrays lfr of himself. (May, I burst into tears, but I confess they were tears of indignation; at that moment I detested the lady, my father, and myself. His young friend Little was soon after carried off by a fe- ver. He ~vas himself attacked by the same disease, and be- caine delirious. He states that he can recollect what passed in his mind during the delirium, as well as any events of his life. Murrays father being dead, and tIme Littles having lost their two sons, they offered to adopt him into their family. ril~is proposal was accepted, and now he has an opportunity to cultivate his miiid, the prospect of an ample inheritance, is an object of slander to all his new aunts and cousins, and of envy to the whole neighbourhood. But this does not sat- isfy him, he feels a strong impulse to do something out of the ordinary way; he must go to London. His pockets are filled with gold, and he leaves his natural and adoptive friends in tears, and sets out upon his adven- ture at the age of nineteen. On the road from Bristol to Bath, he meets with two haymakers returning from their work. I fancy, said one of them, you are a methodist. He replied that he was. Then my Bess will be glad to see thee, Ill warrant me; wool thee come along with me? Thee may go farther and fare worse, I can tell thee that. Ay, ay, said the other, thee had best go with my neigh- bour; Ill warrant thee good cheer. He accordingly ac- cepted the invitation, and found Bess, his hostess, to be an intelligent woman, with a well cultivated mind. They fell into conversation, and were so much entertained with each other, that Bess would hiav~ forgotten supper, had she not been reminded of it by her good man. Murray had preached in Ireland; he preached again in Bath, and was greatly admired. On arriving in London, he took the first lodgings that came in his way, and having no plan of conduct, and no friends, lie was ready to follow as fortune might lead. The Metho- dists of London were afraid of him, having heard that he was a Calvinist, and he who had before been a leader of a class, and a preacher, now becomes a gay fellow. He is delighted with musick and dancing, frequents the theatres and pimblick gardens, and convivial clubs. He was pres- ent when John Wilkes was initiated into some one of these last. About a year is spent in tlmomightless gaiety, till his 1817.] .Mhrrays life of himself. 59 money is exhausted, and his tailors bill, & c. bring him to reflection. Then come remorse, repentance, and rehrma- tion. He goes to work to gain subsistence, frequents the tabernacle day and night, and soon distingtiishes himself by his piety and his powers of conversation., He resided and was happy for a time in the house of a thrifty trader, who thought more of the world than of reli- gion. His host once took occasion to say to him, You, my friend, are accustomed to perform the honours of my table. If you prolong your grace at breakfast, it will an- swer for morning prayer. He was greatly shocked and disgusted at this, and soon after left the house. He found a friend in a young man of the name of Neale. This friend bad a sister to whom he had spoken concerning Murray, in such terms as to excite in her a desire to be ac- quainted with him. An arrangement was accordingly made for that purpose, and they appointed to meet, with a num- ber of their friends, on Sunday evening. ~ Sunday night came. I was expected, and the great room was filled, previous t~ my arrival. I entered, every one rose at my entrance, and 1 felt dignifiedly pious, seriously happy. My young friend approached, and told me in a whisper, his sister would have been greatly disappointed, had any thing detained me that evening. On my entrance I had glanced at a young lady, ex- tremely beautiful, who appeared to be attired by the hand of ele- gance. It was with difficulty I could take my eyes from her. I was confounded, I changed my seat that I might not behold her, and when addressed by Mr. Neale, I replied by asking where his sister was seated, when he pointed to lhe fascinating figure, that had attracted my attention. That young lady, Sir, is Miss Neale, my sister; she has long wished for an opportunity of seeing you; lam happy that she is now gratified. An intro- duction was in course; [ had much to say through the evening, and mv friend declared I had never spoken better. I addressed the throne of grace; my own heart was softened, and the hearts of my audience were softened also. I returned home, hut the image of the beautiful sister ot my friend accompanied me. In short he became desperately in love, and thought his happiness was fled forever. He soon ventured to pro- pose himself as a candidate for her favour. Alas, sir, she replied, you have formed too high aim opinion of my character; I trust you will find a pemson much more deserv- ing of you than I can pretend to be. This was not repud~ J~Iurrays l~f~ of himself. [May, sive, he accordingly urged his suit, solicited, became impas.. sioned and importunate. You and I, Sir, she replied, profess to believe in an over-ruling Providence; we have both access to the throne of our Heavenly Father. Let us, Sir, unbosom ourselves to our God; I shall, I assure you; so, I am persuaded, will you; and if after we have thus done, we obtain the sanction of the Most high, I trust I shall be resigned. But, alas, never did the course of true love smoothly run. The grandfather ot Eliza, with whom she lived, and on whom she depended, held Methodists in great abhorrence. This gave her an opportunity to make sacri- fices for her lover. She left her grandfathers house, and he made a new will. In due time she and her lover were unit- ed, and the period of their union constitutes quite an inter- esting part of the book. The interest of this period will be a little diminished to some readers and increased to others, by the circumstance of their common conversion to Univer- salism by the preaching of Relly, and their consequent ex- communication from the tabernacle. They had passed about two years together in all the ex- tacies of religious enthusiasm and the endearments of affec~ tion, when this amiable woman became sick, and was grad- ually wasted away to dissolution. He gives the following account of her Lst moments. Mv s her, utfering friend, taking my hand, and drawing me near to whispered a wish that we might be alone. The women in at~ tendance withdrew. I kneeled by her bed-side; she drew me closer to her, and throwing her fe~hle, emaciated arms about my neck, she gave me an ardent embrace. I was unutterably affect- ed. Be composed, my dear, said she, and let these precious mo- ments he as calm as possible; we may not be allowed another op- portunitv. Dear faithful friend in lire, in death dearer than my own soul. God reward you for all the kind care you have taken of me. 0! may my heavenly Father provide some one to suppW my place, who may reciprocate the kindness you have shewn me. Pray be c otuposed ; remember we are not at home ; that we shall shortly meet in our Fathers housebere she paused and again resuming Our partinz~ when compared with eternity, will be but for a moment. What though we have not continued together as long as ~ve expected, yet, my love, we have had an a~e or hap- piness. God, all gracious, console and support you. Be of good cheer, my love, we shall meet in the kingdom of the Redeemer. Again she threw her dying arms around me; her soul seemed to be struggling with the magnitude of her emotions. Again she seem- lair.] .klurrays 1~fe of himself. t$I ed to revive. Again, with uncommon energy, she pronounced up~ on her almost phrenzied huLU~I~d, the most solemn benediction. This brought on a cough. She pointed to a phial on her dressing table. I gave her a few drops She was relieved for a moment, but soon her cough came on with additional violence. The phial was offered her, she motioned it away. It is too late; she would have added, but utterance failed her, and without a struggle she breathed her last, still holding my hand fast in hers. I saw she was breathless, but she still held my hand. Ten thousand worlds would 1 have given, to have accompanied her beatified spirit. She left her husband to grief and misfortunes. Sickness had brought on expenses. He xvas hunted down by bailiffs and lodged in the sponging house. The intenseness of his sufferings had rendered him insensible and reckless. But his wifes brother payed off his debts and put him again into employment. After two attempts and failures in business, he undertook something, he will not say what, by means of which he retrieved his circumstances, discharged his pectin- iary obligations, and found himself quite well in the world, living with his moth: r and his brothers and sisters, in a pleas- ant situation near London. But he was wretched; grief hung upon his spirits; the human countenance gave him no pleasure, and he wished to leave the solitude of men for that of the wilderness. He takes passage for America, a~ul by a succession of very remarkable incidents, becomes a pre~vher of what he calls the glad tidings and the truth as it is in Jesus, meaning the opinions of the Universalists. A very interesting account is given of his labours in the~ principal cities of the United States, the oppositions and en- mities, friendships and successes, that befel him. He contin- ned to be a publick preacher from 1771, ~vhen he arrived in this country, till 1809, when he was entirely deprived of the use of his limbs by paralysis; be however lived six veai~s after this event, though totally helpless. The extracts we have made afford a sufficient specimen of the style in which this book is written, and we leave our readers to make their own remarks upon it, if they deem it sufficiently important. There is probably a little colouring of the facts, some things are no doubt omitted, some palliated and others exaggerated. It is common and pei~liaps excits- able, that the fancy of the writer accompanies his memory, scattering a few flowers, and directing the attention to agree- able objects, and diverting it from what is painful. Wei~e ii 62 .Murrays Ifr of himself [May, otherwise, biography would be a branch of reading much less entertaining than it now is. It is almost unnecessary to add, that the reader is not to be imposed upon by all this; for though the imagination may be busy in setting off the truth, still the truth is not to be so painted and decked, a~ not to be recognised, though the artificial figure might be the more pleasing of the two. We have, however, no doubt that the facts stated in Mr. Murrays book are substantially true, since a greater part of them took place in the presence of witnesses, who could easily coi~rect any misrepresentation. The most remarkable thing in this book is the writers en- thusia~,mn and consciousness of divine direction and support. lie brought much of this character with him from England, but it was greatly confirmed on his arrival in this country. Perhaps it will not be tediousto observe the operation of this principle, and to revert to the occasion of i lishment in his mind. ts complete estab On a passage from Philadelphia to New York, their ves- sel was driven out of its course, into Cranberry Inlet, where they went on shore in quest of provisions. Murray, having parted from his companions, after proceeding some distance, came to a house where he found a large quantity of fish. Pray, Sir, will you sell mc some of your fish, says he to the proprietor. No, Sir. That is strange when you have so many, to refuse me a single fish. I did not refuse you a fish, Sir; you are welcome to as many as you please, but I do not sell them, Sir, I have them for taking up, and you may obtain them iii the same way. Potter (this is the name ol our new acquaintance) invited Murray to go in, which he did, and found himself in a comfortable room by a cheerful fire. Conic, my friend, said Potter, I am glad you have returmi ed; I have been expecting you a long time. Murray ex- pressed his astonislunent, and began to question his host. I must go on in my own way, was his reply. I was born in these woods, and my fhtber did not think proper to teach me my letters. I worked on these grounds until I became a man, when I went coasting voyages from hence to New York. I was desi- rous of becoming a husband, but in going to New York I was pres- sed on board a man of war, and I was taken in admiral Warren s ship to Cape Breton. I never drank any rum, so they saved my allowance; but I would not bear an aifromit, so if any one of the officers struck me, I struck him again, but the admiral took my part and called me his new-light man. Wimen we reached Louis~ tiBi 7.~ Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. 63 burg, I ran away, and travelled barefoot and almost naked, through the country to New York, where I was known and supplied with clothes and money, and soon returned to this place, when I found my girl married. This rendered me very unhappy, but I recover- ed my tranquillity, and married her sister. I sat down to work, got forward very fast; constructed a sawmill, possessed myself of tl~is farm and five hundred acres of adjoining land. I entered into navigation, b ~came the owner of a ship, and have got together a large estate. He then relates that he built a meetingliouse and had been waiting for, and expecting, a preacher to his mind. And when Murray caine up and asked him for fish, a voice wl~is- pered him, Potter, this is the man, this is the person wlioni I hare sent to preach in your house. Murray could not, however, be pei~suaded to preach. But after being detained some time by unfavourable winds, he resolved that if the wind did not change before the next Sunday, lie would consider it a sign that he should comply with Pofters request. T lie wind continued to blow in the same direction, and lie accord- ingly appeared in the pulpifon Sunday, and acquitte(l himself to the great admiration of his auditors. From this time he considered himself to be (l~vinely commissioned to publish his doctrines, and proceeded with confidence and enthusiani to bear testimony in various parts of the United States, from Baltimore to Portsmouth, never taking any thought for the morrow, but trusting wholly to heaven and the generosity ~f his friends for support. Whatever one may think of his opinions or the signs upon which he placed so much reli- ance, there was something singularly romantick and adveji- turous in this enterprise. ART. Ill. a Hebrew Grammar, compiled from some of the best authorities, by Sidney Willard. .~I. M. hancock Proftssor ~j Hebrew and other Oriental Languages in Harvard College. Cambridge, printed at the University Press, by Hilhiard and Metcalf. pp. 104. we believe, is the second grammar of hebrew with the points, ever printed in this country. Time first was al- most a literal transcript from those of Lyons and Grey. The e(hition was sniierintended by ,Jndmdm Monis. Hebvev

Professor Willard's Hebrew Grammar 63-74

tiBi 7.~ Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. 63 burg, I ran away, and travelled barefoot and almost naked, through the country to New York, where I was known and supplied with clothes and money, and soon returned to this place, when I found my girl married. This rendered me very unhappy, but I recover- ed my tranquillity, and married her sister. I sat down to work, got forward very fast; constructed a sawmill, possessed myself of tl~is farm and five hundred acres of adjoining land. I entered into navigation, b ~came the owner of a ship, and have got together a large estate. He then relates that he built a meetingliouse and had been waiting for, and expecting, a preacher to his mind. And when Murray caine up and asked him for fish, a voice wl~is- pered him, Potter, this is the man, this is the person wlioni I hare sent to preach in your house. Murray could not, however, be pei~suaded to preach. But after being detained some time by unfavourable winds, he resolved that if the wind did not change before the next Sunday, lie would consider it a sign that he should comply with Pofters request. T lie wind continued to blow in the same direction, and lie accord- ingly appeared in the pulpifon Sunday, and acquitte(l himself to the great admiration of his auditors. From this time he considered himself to be (l~vinely commissioned to publish his doctrines, and proceeded with confidence and enthusiani to bear testimony in various parts of the United States, from Baltimore to Portsmouth, never taking any thought for the morrow, but trusting wholly to heaven and the generosity ~f his friends for support. Whatever one may think of his opinions or the signs upon which he placed so much reli- ance, there was something singularly romantick and adveji- turous in this enterprise. ART. Ill. a Hebrew Grammar, compiled from some of the best authorities, by Sidney Willard. .~I. M. hancock Proftssor ~j Hebrew and other Oriental Languages in Harvard College. Cambridge, printed at the University Press, by Hilhiard and Metcalf. pp. 104. we believe, is the second grammar of hebrew with the points, ever printed in this country. Time first was al- most a literal transcript from those of Lyons and Grey. The e(hition was sniierintended by ,Jndmdm Monis. Hebvev 64 Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. [May, teacher in the university, and published under its patronage in 1763. Since that time biblical students have not generally given so much of their attention as formerly to the original language of the Old Testament; and the few who have made it a serious study, have for the most part adopted the opinion, in which they have been countenanced by some European criticks of note, that it may be acquired with equal facility and thoroughness without the ap- paratus of the Masorites. The truth of this opinion we shall presently have occasion to consider. The authenticity of the vowel points, as forming original- ly part of the Hebrew alphabet, was for a long time unsus- pected; and the only question was, whether they had al- ways been annexed to the sacre(l text, or were affixed to it by Ezra, and the mcii of the great synagogue. It came first to be disputed in the fifteenth century, ~vhen many of the errours of higher pretension, which generation after gen- eration had been studiously rearing, were brought at last to their trial. It is a somewhat remarkable fact, that the charge was originally brought forward by a Jew, and re- pelled by a Protestant. Elias Levita, a German Rabbi, was their first assailant. His ground was, that, though constitut- ing, as truly as the consonants, part of the spoken language, they were not written by the Jewish authors; and that the sounds expresse.d by them were preserved by tradition only, until after the completion of the Talmud, (about the five hundredth year of our ~era,) and then for the first time com- mitted to writing. His system therefore did not affect their authority as interpreters, though it derived it through the medium of oral tradition. He was ans~vered with great acuteness and erudition by Louis Cappel of the Protestant college at Saumur. All the proofs of the greatest authority which have since been urged by the antipunctiiists were col- lected by this indefatigable philologist; the modern origin of the Masoretick instrument appeared to lie i ucontroverti- bly established; and the learned world generally inclined to his side. But Buxtorf was too good a Rabbin to be silenced because he was confuted. Withi infinite research he mar- shalled another body of arguments, and the grounds of the skeptical theory again seemed doubtful. C apelhis rejoined, Buxtorf the younger sprung like oiie of Homers heroes into *he field, clad in paternal armour, 1817.] Prof. Willards hebrew Grammar. ~* * * * * * * ~ J ~orc~ reu~e (hFE * * * * * * * ~ flct2p~ ~Aw /~.ropev o apc~ ~ ~ tcGOO6 F,pc4 * * * * * * *,, and controversy poured in reams from the literary mints of Basil and Saumur. Victory once more seemed to hover in suspense, between the rival hosts, but at length and after a stoutly contested struggle appeared to declare herself on the side of truth. A few sturdy champions (as usual) held out manfully in the strong bold of authority against the forces of evidence during that age, and the succeeding; from ~i hich time till Schtdtens proposed his hypothesis (to be no- ticed by and by,) the unanimous voice of the learned has pro- nounced the system of punctuation a modern invention. It may perhaps not be wholly unpardonable to give a brief sketch of the most prominent arguments on the opposite sides of this question, which, barren as we are afraid it will ap- pear, was once able to array all the learning of Europe. It is urged against the antiquity of the vowel marks, that they are never found in the Samaritan Pentateuch, nor in the manuscripts used by the Jews in their synagogues;, that it appears from the versions of the seventy, of Aquila, Sym- machus, Theodotion, and Jerome, that tbey could not have used a pointed text; that the Cabbalists, industrious search- ers for mystery as they ~vere, never drew it except from the letters; that various readings concerned only the conso- nants, though the vowels, had they been in use, would have furnished a far more copious source of them; and finally that no writer, Jewish or Christian, till some hundred years after Christ, has any allusion to them. On the other side, it is argued, that after the Hebrew ceased to be the vernacu lar language of the Jews at the return from the captivity, it is scarcely possible that it should have been taught without some aid, such as that of the vowel punctuation; that it is expressly and frequently commented upon in the Cabbalis tical books Bahir and Zohar, written both about the time of our Saviour; and that by a r~jection of it, the meaning of the sacred writings is made doubtful, and the foundation of faith torn away. Th~ spot fixed on as the scene of the invention, by those ~wbo believe it to be modern, is Tiberias on the sea of Gal- Vol. V. No. 1. Profi Willnrds Hebrew Grammar. [May, Wee, where a school of celehrity certainly flourished in the time of St. Jerome. From the high probability that they had not come into use, when the Talmud was compiled, and the frequent appeals to them in a dispute between two Jewish doctors, Ben Asher, and Ben Naphtali, about A. D. 1000, it is infefred that the period of the invention is to be fixed some time between the fifth and tenth centuries. It is re~ plied by their partizans, that we have no historical evidence to be relied on, that there existed in Judea at that time, a set of men capable of so ingenious a contrivancle; thaiz an invention so important, whenever it was published, would have been matter of universal nutoriety; and that to the Ma- sorites, properly so called, it can scarcely he ascribed, as this would be to suppose them commenting on their own ~vork, when they tell us in their glosses how such and such a sentence was interpreted. The construction of so com- plicated a machine, it is answered, was probably the work of time. As its publicity was therefore progressive, it ex- cited less general interest, and the Masoretick strictures al- luded P5, are to be considered as the observations of the la- ter criticks, on the remarks of their predecessors. It will be seen, from our very imperfect sketh, that but for the ancient books appealed to by the Buxtorfs, their an- tagonists had an evident advantage in the contest, but that their authority, if established, would turn the scale. To them, therefore, the combatants turned; their antiquity was questioned; internal marks were sought out sufficient to prove them the forgeries of a late age; they were shown never to have been quoted by the Rabbins within a thousand years after the assumed date of their composition, and the theory of the antipunctuists, seemed so far triumphantly es- tablished. Having thus proved, as it appeared, that the Hebrew vow- els were not originally expressed by the M asoretick signs, the advocates of the new system went farther, and attempted to find them among the letters of the alphabet. The quies- cent letters, so called, were first pressed into the service, and afterwards others, which have evidently every quality of consonants. Capellus, Houbigant, Masclef, and a host of adherents have wasted incredible labour in this attempt; for we must be permitted to think they have completely failed. Their arguments rest on the assumed necessity of vowels to a written alphabet, a fact we shall have~ occasion to contro 1817.] Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. 67 vert; on the misconstruction of an equivocal passage in Je- rome, which different authors have rendered as suited their different views; and on an inadmissible application of some fragments of Origen. So thorny a subject is this hedge of the law, (as the Rab- bins term it,) tiiat we may be allowed to dissent from the sys- tem adopted oy Mr. Willard. He declares himself in his pre- face, (p. 7.) to incline to the theory which stipposes the points, as they now stand, to be of modern origin, but to have tak- en, when adopted, the place of others, (probably only three in number,) which had been known to the Jews from the ear- liest times, and occasionally affixed to their writings for the explanation of doubtful words. This hypothesis was start- ed originally by Schultens, and subsequently advocated by Michaelis and Eichhorn. These to be sure are high author- ities. We always see infinite reason iii researches of this kind, to be grateful to the German scholars for the facts which their indefatigable inquiries have brought to light. But wherever their results contradict those commonly re- ceived, we shall be on the safe side, if for a while we suf- fer ourselves to suspect that they have been adopted because they would give their ingenuity a hard task, and of conse- quence a wide reputation. The tract of Eichhorn on this subject, which may be supposed to contain the substance of all that can be said on it, we have examined with very coin- nvrndable patience, and are strongly of opinion not only that it does not make out what it professes to, but furnishes itself the materials by which it may be refuted.* If as notwith- standing his arguments to the contrary is all but deinonstra- ble, the Samaritan or original Hebrew, was the mostancient alphabet, nothing can be concluded concerning it from the analogy of other languages of less antiquity. In deciding on its peculiarities the structure of the Arabick, the Syr- jack, or even the Egypto-Phenician is quite irrelevant. We are moreover unable to perceive that the arguments of this great orientalist against the probability of a complete punctuation, do not operate with equal force against a par- * The disputes between the Talmudists, for example, and the remarks of Jerome as to the pronunciation of particular words, which he consid- ers evidence that there was some umpire in the dispute besides tradition, appear to us decisive ~f the contriry If any points had been known, or of acknowledged authority, ~ve think they could not have failed to be ap- pealed to. 68 Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. [May, tial one. We venture even to say with greater; since those very passages ~xhich, because they are equivocal, we might fairly expect to see furnished (if any were) with an explanatory punctuation, are the passages which because in the disputes formerly agitated about them no allusion was made to such an instrument, we are now enabled to bring forward as testimonies against it. Upon the whole it seems to us reasonable to look for the date of this invention to the time when it first became neces- sary; and this we do not think it was, as long as the Hebrew was a vernacular tongue. Not that we suppose its alphabet contained any vowels, or matres lectiomis, as they have been styled for the sake of a convenient ambiguity. Scholars who have tasked themselves to find them have differed as to their number, and still more in their selection. Some which have been pitched upon have evidently every qualification to take the rank of consonants; others have no farther the pow- ~r of vocal letters than as they may assist like our w and y in the formation of diphthongs; and what remain are truly quiescent characters, whose humble office is to fill the place where a vowel sound is to be inserted; otherwise it could not be that they should admit (as they do) of a punctuation denoting each of the five principal varieties of sound. Let it be remembered that the Hebrew language is simplicity it- self. It is iiot to be supposed that at the period of its first writers any very exact analysis had been made of the pow- ers of speech. It was amply sufficient that enough should be committed to ~vriting to direct the reader in the principal sounds; his knowledge of the structure, and familiarity with the use of his native dialect would supl)ly the rest. We should not at this day, far more irregular as is the occur- rence of the ditferei~t sorts of letters in our language, find any insurmountable difficulty in arriving at the sense of a hook in which the vowels were omitted. This Eichhorn ac- knowledges; and adds, that the modern Persians read with ease their books without vowel points, and that the Arabi- ans, till some centuries after their prophet, wrote their Ko- ran without vowels, but read it equally well. After the return from the seventy years captivity, the Hebrew was no longer a living language, and it is to a peri- od not long subsequent to this event that we would assign the origin of the Masoretick invention. The learned of the na- tion must doubtless have thought it an important object t~ 1817.] Prof Willards Hebrew Grammar, fix as might be the true explanation and pronunciation of the venerable tongue which survived no longer except in their sacred records. The danger of entrusting them to their pupils in what must have seemed a state liable to designed and unintentional perversion could not have escaped them. It seems scarcely possible that a language shotmid be thor- oughly taught, part of the sounds of which were not designat- ed in the writing; and, if possible, the extreme difficulty of furnishing the memory with so heavy and unarranged a load must have suggested the high expediency of accommodating it with some artificial aid. A contrivance fitted to facilitate their labour became therefore highly desirable for the earli- est teachers of their national idiom after the reestablishment of the Jewish sovereignty; and it is then that w~ suppose it began to be elaborated. The labours of succeeding criticks it is probable gradually improved upon it, and it may have been some centuries before it reached its l)VeSCHt perfect state. iBut used as it habitually was in the schools of the teachers of the language, it may yet have gained 110 authori- ty with the Jewish doctors. Each of these orders, we kno~v, was limited distinctly to its prox ince. The former taught merely the grammatical construction of the language; the latter explained the remains of their prophets, and unravel- ed with curious research the mysteries of their law. Thei e offices being thus completely independent, the vowel points were kept in some degree otit of sight, and their authority never caine to be explicitly confirmed or disavowed by the Rabbins. For it was not for the self involute gravity of a Jewish doctor, when a novice professing to have been ini- tiated in the vocabulary of his fathers, proposed himself to be farther instructed in their faith, to question him as to the or- thodox angle of a kibbulz, or dilate on the architectural regu- larity of a segol. At last, however, as the remnant of tile cho- sen race were dispersed wider and wider from the sceime ef their withered glory, it became an object of yet deep- er anxiety to rivet to the closest the only bond which now remained to the scattered family of Israel. The tra- ditions of the elders were gathered into time inclosure of tile Talmud, and probably not long after the apparatus of the Masorites worked its way into more general notice. In the eleventh century Ben AshIer and Ben Naphtali, the last of this celebrated succession of criticks, gave it its fimial examin- ation, and published about the same time their separate re- censions of the Hebrew scriptures. Prof. Willards Hebrew Grammar. [May, This is the theory of Dean Prideaux. It strikes us, we confess, as less liable to ubjection than any other, and more consistent with facts. In a subject where space less ampk was left for conjecture, we should feel yet greater reluctance in dissenting from the high authority of Mr. Willard. We have taxed our readers indulgence so long in per- suading them of the qualified authenticity of the vowel marks, that we shall have to limit our observations on their useful. ness. This is a question of more importance and of easier solution. It is not necessarily involved in what we may de- termine respecting their origin. If indeed we should see cause to conclude that from the earliest period they formed an essential part of the written language, no pretence would be left for neglecting them. But if on the other hand it ap- pears to us that they were an instrument contrived for the purpose of facilitating the acquisition of their national tongue, when no longer spoken, by men who may be supposed to have been thoroughly skilled in it, we may still be allowed to question, if we please, whether it was executed with abil- ity and honesty. The test of the merit of an invention is the good purposes it may appear to answer. We believe that the use of the Masoretick punctuation facilitates very considerably the ac- quisition of any (legree of intimacy with the language of the Old Testament; and we doubt if without it, it is possible to acquire a critical acquaintance with that language. The difliculty of mastering a dead or fore*n speech, con- sists in the ambiguity of words and of methods of construc-~ tion. In the simplicity of the Hebrew, one does not find much place, but the other is plentifully increased, and both, especially the former, are removed for the most part by the addition of the vowels. It is true, such ambiguities occur in all languages, and they form no difficulty to an adept. He is able to collect the doubtful sense from some peculiarity in the idiom, the scope of the proposition, the limitations fur- nished by neighbouring words, and many other sources to to which a novice has no access. The one in short may in- terpret the word by the sentence, the other must reach the sentence through the word. This embarrassment, great in all languages, is peculiarly so in that of which we speak. Formed in the veriest infancy of society, it was limited at first to a few simple terms; and when the partial progress of arts, science, letters, and social improvements called for a more 1817.] Prof. Willards 7lebrew grammar. comprehensive vocabulary, it was made copious only by being made equivocal. As we have said, this circumstance gives no embarrassment to a pipflcient, but multiplies appallingly the labours of a learner. The Masoretick apparatus is in- geniously fitted to remove it. How for example, without such an aid, can the recent explorer of a lexicon be assisted b~y it to select among the eighteen several significations of the single combination of consonants i~i. Worse than all; in the conjugations of his verb, the very key to the door of knowledge of a foreign language, he will find besides a sim- ilarity in various other parts, that in one whole tense, in the most perfect form of them, there is nothing, by which he may distinguish between three out of the seven conjugations. All this considered, we hesitate not to say, that had no version of the scriptures ever been made we do not believe, with the assistance only of an unpointed text, grammars and lexi~ cons, bow correct and full soever, it could at this day be ef- fected. This, if true, will show of what consequence the punctuation is to a learner. We hasten from this subject, on which we would willingly say more, to touch for a moment on that of the pronuncia- tion. Others may consider this a timing of trifling conse- quence. We do not so regard it. There is great satisfaction, if nothing more, in being able to give to a foreign language sounds nearly approaching to those given it where it is ver- nacular. That such is the case with those which we assign to time Hebrew points is not, from the nature of the case, ca- pable of proof. But the pronunciation we have is that which has been transmitted, with scrupulous care, by the most su- perstitiously careful people on record.* And a high proba- bility that it is authentick arises from the fact, that widely dispersed as the Jews have been for ages, the chief variety in their manner of speaking consists in giving a greater or less degree of breadth to the sound of one of their vowels. The common method of reading by the insertion of 6 between the consonants is insufferably monotonous and tame. The plan proposed by Masclef of enunciating each by the vow- el which succeeds it in the alphabet, has something of varie- ty9 but is altogether arbitrary and fanciful. And one who should not choose to give any more attention to the system Even Geddes acknowledges, they show us how the Hebrew was prm~- noun~e4 at the time of their invention. Prospectix~, p. 64. 72 Prof. Willards hebrew Grammar. [May, of punctuation than what would teach hhn the powers of the vowels, we do not think would have lost his labotir. The value of the Masoretick interpretation forms still another question. This will be (lecided by the opinion that may be formed of their learning, and their honesty. We see no reason to doubt either, and much to admit both. It de- serves besides to be considered that with the worst intentions it must have been a very hopeless task to attempt to make writings speak a different lauguage* by a substitution of vowels if the literal text was untouched. Yet in a matter of such high concern as the interpretation of the records of our faith we shall be saf~, if we allow no needless advantage to our adversaries. The authom~ity of this commentary (as it may be considered) is admitted to rest only on the reputa- tion and supposed resources of its authors, and may be out- weighed by particular evidence in any given case. But it does not appear that it should be slighted because it is falli- ble. When other sources of criticism leave a passage doubt- fiji, it may often suggest a happy sense, which further inqui- ry may confirm. it is to be resorted to with caution, yet~ a cautious inquirer will not Pel justified in rejecting it altogeth ei. But this use of it is not what we principally insist on. Let the language first be thoroughly learned, which we think can not be done without it, and then if thought dange- roims, let time punctuation be utterly discarded. Without a very intimate acquaintance with the Hebrew, it may be read with the proper enunciation of the vowels from an unpoint- ed text; amid whenever a doubt occurs, let evidence decide it. So a scholar in most cases can read without (lifficulty a Latimi inscription, where only a few of the initial letters are expressed; but Hercules would never have acquitted him- self with so much credit, if one of his tasks Imad been to teach a tyro Latin from inscriptions. Much has been written against time pretended antiquity of the points, but we have seen very little against their utility.~ So Walton; aliud enim non fecerunt Masoreth~ quam vocaics punctis exprimere secunds~im veram lectionem, quam h majoribus per traditionem acceperunt. Introd. Pr~fat. p. 14. ~ Tt wouhi be amusing, if it were not grievous to see with what charac teristick summariness Wakefield has disposed of this question. Fal- hng, says he, upon Lyons Hebrew Grammar, I set myself with diligence to the acquisition of the 1-lebrew language For four or five days did I- puzzle myself with that intolerable book, not aware of the abominable stO. 1817.] Prof. rPillards Hebww Grammar. 73 Bishop Lowth has sometimes spoken of them with disrespect, but only in their capacity of infallible interpreters, and it does not appear that he thought them unimportant to a learn- er. Dr. Geddes, in the overflowing of his zeal for the Sep- tuagint version, thought it became him to break a lance with the champions of the Masoretick hierarchy. iBut if lie were a critick of less celebrity, ~x e should say he has mistaken his ground. He assumes, that with the introduction of the vow- els, the quiescent letters were discarded from the text; an assumption not merely gratuitous, but opposed to evidence. The Samaritan Pentateuch, written while the Hebrew was a hiring language, and all the laborious collations of Kenni- cott and De Rossi have recovered but an inconsiderable number. Some gainsayers have contented themselves with pointing out, and that with encouraging success, the uncouthness of the names which the Masorites had given to their army of puppets, and enticed over into their ranks the whole mob of pauses and accents, kings, ministers, and servants. The kings name was reputed of old a towrr of strength. In this war however he sides with the enemy; and when other resources are gone, a foiled disputant may work a very salutary change in the opinions of most to whom he will ad- dress himself, by pronouncing the portentous names of Sil- look, Shalsl~eleth, Yereh ben Yomo, and others of their kin, whose titles were selected doubtless with less regard to eu- phony than meaning. Holding the opinion, which we do, on the subject of the Hebrew points, ~ve congratulate all who are desirous of be- coming proficients in this most venerable language on the accession made to their means by the work of Mr. Willard. Such a work was much wanted, and we are happy that it has fallen into such able hands. It has evidently been com- piled and edited with great care. It is more comprehensive than that of Yates, and is not swelled with the Rabbinical parade of Frey. It has hit, we think, the happy medium which makes it useful for a proficient, and not too cumbrous for a learner. The leading principles of the language are piditya stupidity which no words can sufficiently stigmatize! of learn- ing that language with tf~e points. Most fortunately for me, & c. Memoirs, Chap. v. Our readers will perhaps think with us, that he could not at least charge his Hebrew studies with defrauding him of an undue portion of hi~ time. VoLY. No.1. 10 74 sflikins .Manual of Mineralogy. [May, stated simply, distinctly, and in proper succession; and a considerable mass of useful information, not however ot such immediate necessity, is thrown into a copious appendix. We are particularly pleased with the key of vowel sounds, (p .3.) and think it decidedly the best we have seen for plainness and accuracy; though we feel, some disposition to dispute the sound given in it to the point Pathah. In the verbs we are glad to see the old term conjugation, which has so long been the crux Judaica to all such as had been accus- tomed to attach a different sense to it in the Greek and Lat- in, discarded, and the more proper one of form substituted af ter the German grammarian Vater. The paradigms of verbs are far more correct than in any other grammar we have seen. We have found several errours corrected in them from one of the best editions of Yates, with which we corn.. pared them. This will appear a ch~cumstance of no small consequence to any who have known, as we have, the misery of using a careless edition. The syntax is very full on all the peculiarities of Hebrew construction. The typographical execution of the work is highly hon. ourable. If publick patronage should ever justify the tin- dertaking, we should be very glad to see the first American edition of the Hebrew scriptures from the same press. ART. IV. ~q Manual of Mineralogy, by .& thur .~9ikin, Secretary. to the Geological Society; first .ilmerican from the second London edition. pp. 275, l2mo. Philadelphia, 1815. SYsTE~as of mineralogy originated in the necessity for .some kind of arrangement for stones. The first ~vas proba- bly an arbitrary classification, for chemistry had not then determined the composition of many minerals. Stones were divided and arranged according to a few of their external marks. Perhaps only their colour and hardness were notic- ed, all the hard and red stones forming one class, all the soft and red another, and so on.* As scientifick knowledge was Theophrastus, in his book JFIEPI T!2N AI~2N, mentions as their characters, the qualities, smoothness, density, brightness, and transparen- cy with the different effects of tire on minerals; but he has given no sys- ~~ernatick arrangement.

Aikin's Manual of Mineralogy 74-82

74 sflikins .Manual of Mineralogy. [May, stated simply, distinctly, and in proper succession; and a considerable mass of useful information, not however ot such immediate necessity, is thrown into a copious appendix. We are particularly pleased with the key of vowel sounds, (p .3.) and think it decidedly the best we have seen for plainness and accuracy; though we feel, some disposition to dispute the sound given in it to the point Pathah. In the verbs we are glad to see the old term conjugation, which has so long been the crux Judaica to all such as had been accus- tomed to attach a different sense to it in the Greek and Lat- in, discarded, and the more proper one of form substituted af ter the German grammarian Vater. The paradigms of verbs are far more correct than in any other grammar we have seen. We have found several errours corrected in them from one of the best editions of Yates, with which we corn.. pared them. This will appear a ch~cumstance of no small consequence to any who have known, as we have, the misery of using a careless edition. The syntax is very full on all the peculiarities of Hebrew construction. The typographical execution of the work is highly hon. ourable. If publick patronage should ever justify the tin- dertaking, we should be very glad to see the first American edition of the Hebrew scriptures from the same press. ART. IV. ~q Manual of Mineralogy, by .& thur .~9ikin, Secretary. to the Geological Society; first .ilmerican from the second London edition. pp. 275, l2mo. Philadelphia, 1815. SYsTE~as of mineralogy originated in the necessity for .some kind of arrangement for stones. The first ~vas proba- bly an arbitrary classification, for chemistry had not then determined the composition of many minerals. Stones were divided and arranged according to a few of their external marks. Perhaps only their colour and hardness were notic- ed, all the hard and red stones forming one class, all the soft and red another, and so on.* As scientifick knowledge was Theophrastus, in his book JFIEPI T!2N AI~2N, mentions as their characters, the qualities, smoothness, density, brightness, and transparen- cy with the different effects of tire on minerals; but he has given no sys- ~~ernatick arrangement. 1817.] bq~kiflS Manual of Mrneralog~. 75 diffused wider, endeavours were made to advance mineralogy to an equal standing with the other branches of Natural His- tory. Linnaeus attempted to arrange minerals by a classifi- cation analogous to that which he h~id so successfully ap- plied to zoology, botany, & c. and made a regular division of the mineral kingdom into earths, salts, infiammables, metal- lick ores and organick remains, but did not give any precise characters, by which to distinguish these classes. The sa- pidity and solubility of salts, and the combustibility of in- flammables may distinguish these two classes; but the re- maining three have no characteristick marks. Others have divided minerals into earths, stones, salts, infiammables, and metallick substances,* and taking superficial marks for their guide, have classed those substances together, which are most dissimilar, and separated those most nearly allied in their composition. The obstacle to the formation of any scientifick arrange- ment of minerals, is the difficulty of determining what con- stitutes a mineral species, the want of a fixed and invariable point from which to begin. In organized nature the spe- cies are determined by invariable characters, transmitted from one individual to another; and it is in like manner an invariable character, to ~vhich we must look as the founda- tion of a mineralogical arrangement. What then consti- totes this character? Colour does not; nor form, hardness, transparency, or any other external mark. These are all variable, and nothing in minerals is determinate but their chemical composition. All, which possess the same compo- sition, belong to the same species; and it is a know- ledge of this only, which can lead to proper specifick distinc- tions. Cronstedt first began to perceive the influence, which chemistry ought to have in mineralogy. He first made the division of minerals into earths, metals, salts, and inflam- mnables, and derived his orders and genera from the chem- ical constitution of stones; and his arrangement is to this day the basis of mineralogical classification. Mineralogy must go step for step with chemistry. Improvements in the latter will introduce alterations and new arrangements into the former. Cronstedts book was chiefly intended as a bar and opposition to those who imagine it to be an easy Forsters Introduction to Mineralogy, London, 1768, Ovo. 76 ~ikins 4J~Ianuai of .7~tineralog~j. [May, thing to invent a method in this science, and who, entirely taken up with the face of things, think the mineral kingdom may be divided into classes, orders, and genera with the same facility, as animals and vegetables ; he hopes to ob.. tam some protectors against those who are possessed with the ,figurcrmania, and who are shocked at the boldness of calling a marble a limestone, and the placing of porphyry amongst the saxa. iBut, it may be asked, must the mineral- ogist always call in the aid of the chemist, before he can ex- amine a mineral. This question, says Barzelius, distin- guis~s the mere collector of stones from the true mineralo- gist; the former seeks a name for his specimen, the latter wishes to know its nature. One indeed, guided wholly by external characters, in determining the nature of a mineral, will be much deceived, if he looks for a silex, and blunders by chance on the thirteenth species of Jamesons flint genus; or for an argillaceous substance, and takes the third sub- species of the second species of the clay genus. We do not deny the great utility of external characters. They must be employed to identify the species, when the chemist has determined what it is; each individual mineral cannot be analysed, nor perhaps, if it were practicable, would it be use- ful; but ~ hen the analysis has once been made, a similarity of composition will be found in other specimens, which close- ly agree with it in all its external characters. The two great masters of mineralogy of the present day, both admit chemistry to a participation in the foundation of their systems; and agree that a species consists of the same substances, united in the same proportion. Yet Werner, in the details of his system, depending on external characters, separates species, which have no difference of composition, and places others in the same group, which differ altogeth- er in their nature. Apatite, and asparagrass stone, consti- tute two species according to Werner; yet they both consist of lime and phosphorick acid, and differ very little in their external marks. Here is a distinction without difference. The same mineralogist places the sapphire among the ffint stones, although it contains 98.5 per cent. of alumine. I-lauy also often deviates from this principle, and makes it subservient to another, viz, the form of the integrant par- ticle; and when the two come in competition, preference is given to the latter. The science has been much enriched by the researches of 1817.] aikins Jianual of~nera1ogy. 77 these illustrious men; and their systems, although artificial, are of very great value to those who have the advantage of practical instructions and extensive cabinets; but they are by no means fitted for those who enjoy neither of these priir- ileges. Within the present century, the science of chemistry has made rapid advances. The powerful agency of the voltaick battery, and the practical application of the mathematical analysis, have produced wonders in chemical philosophy Within the last eighteen years. The electro-chemical theo- ry has taught us to look for substances of different electric- al energies in every compound; the one acting as an acid, the other as a base. The theoryof definite proportions en- ables us to distinguish a compound from a mixture. Through the medium of these a new accession of light has been de- rived to mineralogy, and by their aid minerals will shortly be classed with the same ease, and on the same principles, as we now arrange salts. The classification in the work before us does not exactly coincide with our notions of mineralogical arrangement; but still, we think the hook answers well the purpose for which it was intended, namely, to facilitate the studies of those who have not the advantage of an instructer, and in this light, we consider it a valuable acquisition to the sci- ence. The author, long known as a highly respectable chemist and mineralogist, has here given such practical di- rections, as are most important to the beginner. rrhey are delivered in a plain, easy, and familiar style, and divested of the technical and barbarous phraseology, which too often abounds in works, which are intended to be even of the more popular kind. This work includes the substance of a course of lectures, which the author delivered before the Geologi- cal Society in London. It is divided into two parts, besides the introduction, which contains directions for ascertaining the characters of minerals. The first object of the mineralogical student, says Mr. Aikin, is, or ought to be, the acqusition of a facility of identifying every mineral substance, that presents itself to his notice. This constitutes the grammar of mineralogy, which has its philosophy, as well as the grammar of lan- giiage. The author describes, in a clear and lucid manner, those properties which constitute the peculiar characters of minerals, and by which the different specimens are to be dis 78 r.~ZjkjflS .Atanual of.Ttiineralogy~ (May, tinguished. These he notices under seventeen different heads, beginning with those which are immediately obvi- ous to the senses, and proceeding to those which require for their manifestation some apparatus or reagents which are ea~ sy of application. He first speaks of solidity and hardness, two characters which regard the degree in which the integrant molecules of bodies cohere. In common language hardness and refrac- toriness are confounded; a stone which endures many heavy blows before it gives way is considered harder than another which requires fewer blows for its fracture. The best mode of ascertaining the hardness of a mineral, is by the greater or less ease with which it yields to the point or edge of a knife of hardened steel. The comparative ease and vivacity with which a mineral gives sparks ~vitli steel is not consid- ered as a good indication of its hardness. In order to pro- duce a spark, a thin minute piece of steel must be shivered from the mass, and at the same time inflamed by the vio- lence of the concussion; hence it is obvious that among min- erals of the same degree of hardness, that will afford the largest and most brilliant sparks, which breaks most easily, so as to present a number of fresh sharp edges at every blow. After a few but important practical precautions on the use of the knife, he proceeds to consider the frangibility of bodies. This is the quality which disposes minerals to se- parate into fragments or pieces on the application of a blow. The phenomena presented by all those minerals which yield to the knife, are sufficient to determine the various degrees of frangibility, from absolute brittleness to malleability. The characters of frangibility and hardness, as exhibited by many minerals, are much affected by their (Iryness and moisture; almost every mineral in its native bed is imbued with more or less moisture. This moisture is often actually visible in the form of a fine dew on the recently fractured surface of a mineial, fresh from the quarry, an(l which is entirely exhaled in a few days; the space it occupied is filled with air, and thus a highly compressible sub. stance is substituted for one almost incompressible; the energy of the blow is of course greatly deadened, the frangibility of the min- eral is diminished, and its hardness increased. Hence the reason why stones are used as fresh as possible in many of the arts; hence also the common observation I hat stones are hardened by heat, or tIme air. 1817.] ./likins ~Ianisai of.l~fineralogy. 79 Of structure, or the order in which the molecu1e~ of a mineral are arranged so as to form masses, the author makes three grand divisions, namely, crystalline, imperfectly crys- talline, and promiscuous; and these are also subdivided. The difference between structure and fracture, characters which have been confounded by the Wernerian schools, is also pointed out with distinctness and precision. Structure is that division of the whole into smaller aggregates, which has been made by nature, according to general laws; fracture is the casual division of the whole into fragments. This distinction is evident. If we take, for example, a hexago- nal crystal of carbonate of lime, we shall find that from three of the terminal edges of the prism, parts may be de- tached with ease by the aid of a cutting instrument, and that there is evidently at those places natural joints, through one of which the instrument has passed; but at the three other alternating edges, we find that such a section cannot be ef- fected; that it requires some considerable force to detach any portion; that the newly exposed surface is not smooth and shining like the others, that, in short, the mineral has been forcibly broken, instead of undergoing a natural division. The first operation has reference to the structure, the se- cond to the fracture. With regard to their form, minerals are either crystalline, definite, or indefinite. Under the first head, a concise but clear account is given of the nature and properties of crys- tals. Definite forms receive particular names from their resemblance to certain bodies; thus, a mineral is said to be filiform, or capillary from its resemblance to a thread or a hair; arborescent, like a spray. All minerals, whose forms are neither crystalline nor definite, are said to be indefinite or amorphous. The characteristick features, next considered, are those which depend on the action of light, such as transparency, lustre, and colour. The comparative value of characters in natural history is founded entirely on their precision, and therefore on the br& ity, with which they may be expressed; but when we are told that the colours of a particular mineral are white, blue, red, green, yellow, that of the white such and such varieties occur, suc an such of blue, of red, of green, and of yellow, what can candour it. self infer, but that all this is egregious ttiflin~? ~~here nature has shown herself so capricious with regard to one character. 80 .Bikins .M~znual of.Afineralogy. [May, she has compensated the vagueness of that, by the precision of some other. The consideration of colour in classifying minerals, is of some importance, and it ~vould be of still more, if an ap~ propriate nomenclature were adapted to the several varieties of colour, which occur in minerals. But this can probably never be effected, as all persons do not see colours alike. To the properties already mentioned are added specifick gravity, feel, odour and taste, magnetism, electricity, phos- phorescence, double refraction, action of water, action of aci(ls, and lastly, the characters exhibited on the application of the blowpipe. Respecting the form of this little rever- buatory furnace, and the mode of using it, Mr. Aikin gives much highly useful practical information. We have thus taken a gen~ral view of the subjects treated by the author, and the moae in which he has considered them. We think it an objection to his observations on the properties of minerals, that lie ha~ illustrated his description of characters by eiamples of those substances, of the nature of which time student must be supposed to be ignorant, and with which he is to become acquainted only by a knowledge of those characters; thus he gives common hornblende, apa- tite and fluorspar as examples of minerals moderately hard. Heavy spar and witherite, of soft; toughness is well marked in trap, and the varieties of tremolite afford admirable examples of the bladed and fibrous structure ; the student knows hese substances only by name; but it is true enough this objection could not easily be obviated. After some general remarks on the methods of Werner and Haiiy, Mr. Aikin concludes that with all their excel- lencies, they are by no means calculated for the use of a learner S9 situated as to be obliged to depend on books and on his o~n industry, with such specimens as he can obtain from rocks in his own vicinity. The student in mineralo- gy has not as yet, like the inquirers in other parts of natur- al history. been furnished with the means, by which he can proceed from characters the most general, to those which are specifick and l)articmmlar; but this barrier to the study does not arise from the nature itself ot the subject, but from inci- dental causes. Time manual hefore mis, is an attempt to sUpply this deficiency, and we think it well calculated for the purpose. It derives much of its excellence from the synop. 1817] Aikiizs ~tai~ud of JJineralogy. 81 tical tables with which it is supplied. The first is a Gen.. eral Synopsis of minerals, by which after the manner of Cronstedt they are divided into four classes; non-metallick combustibles, of which there are two kinds, those combusti- ble with flame, and those combustible without flame; na- tive metals and metalliferous minerals, of which there are three orders; earthy minerals, of which there are also three orders; and saline minerals, of which there are two orders. These classes and their subdivisions are founded on the chemical properties of minerals. In addition to this general synopsis, there is also a synoptical table for each class, in which every specimen of that class is mentioned with its distinctive and diagnostick characters, with a refer- ence to its place in the general arrangement. With the as- sistance of these, the student, who has learnt the characters of minerals, can easily refer his specimen to its proper place. If, for example, he has found a mineral of considerable spe- cifick gravity, and, on subjecting it to the action of the blow- pipe, finds it volatilized into vapour, which condenses on a piece of charcoal held over it, he refers it at once to the first order of the second class. But as there are many minerals belonging to this order, he looks still further, and finds this must be among those, which are totally volatilized and which leave not a metallick lustre, and he ascertains that there are seven minerals only which possess these characters. Two of the seven when heated give the odour of burning sulphur, and he discovers that the specimen under examination is one of them. Of these, the one gives a brownish red streak, the other a florid red; this latter character. is possessed by his specimen, and determines it to be Cinnabar. The figure a- gainst the name refers him to its place in the general des- criptive arrangement, where he finds the mineral fully des~ cribed. Such tables as these are exceedingly useful, and whatever be the arrangement of minerals, which an author chooses to adopt, they will be found of inestimable value to thestudent. Mr. Aikins classification is, we think, a very good one, and in a great degree natural, and ~vith the aid of the electro-chemical theory, and definite proportions, we be~. lieve a pure scientifick system might be formed after his am- rangement, or one very similar in its outlines. Vol. V. No. 1. 11 Atr. Websters Letter. [May ART. V. a letter to the Hononrabte John Pickering, on the subject of his Vocabzdar~j; or collection of ~words and phrases, sup- posed to be peculiar to the United States of .america. B~j .)Voah Webster. Boston, published by West & Richard- son, pp. 40. WREN Mr. Pickerings Vocabulary was published, we recommended it with great cheerfulness, believing that its design was good, and that its execution, both for extent of research, and for the modesty of its decisions, was deserv- ing of high commenda~tion. Though we endeavoured to ex- i)ound the great objects of the work, so that they might not be misunderstood, and to correct certain misapprehensions concerning them, which we thought were unfounded, we did not think it necessary to give a minute and elaborate exam- ination of the vocabulary; because it seemed to us that the plan must approve itself to all who wish to maintain the purity of the English language, and that few if any words are dis- countenanced, that are worthy to be adopted. Mr. Webster, however, in reading the vocabulary, found qiany things which he thought worthy of animadversion, and, as lie apprehended, some erroneous opinions, which h~ought to correct. But he is extremely abhorrent from contro- versy, and indeed abjures it altogether; though, if we un- derstand the meaning of the word, he has consented this once to be engaged in controverting certain opinions. There is another ground too on which he wavered, previously to his final resolution to publish his remarks upon the vocabu- lary; concerning which we give his own words. The unfriendly dispositions manifested towar4s me by men of high standing in the republic of letters, and particularly in this Commonwealth, and the virulence with which every effort to de- tect errors in long received opinions has hitherto been assailed; a virulence by no means compatible with a candid desire of im- provement, and probably not warranted by the low estimate which even my opposers have formed of my talents, labors and public services; these dispositions, affording little ground to expect that any remarks of mine would have a salutary inflence upon public opinion, have, at times, disposed me to withhold all scrictures up- on philological subjects, till 1 can prepare a more critical and ex- tended treatise, than has yet been exhibited to the public. Virulence is too harsh a term for Mr. W. to apply to his

Webster's Letter 82-98

Atr. Websters Letter. [May ART. V. a letter to the Hononrabte John Pickering, on the subject of his Vocabzdar~j; or collection of ~words and phrases, sup- posed to be peculiar to the United States of .america. B~j .)Voah Webster. Boston, published by West & Richard- son, pp. 40. WREN Mr. Pickerings Vocabulary was published, we recommended it with great cheerfulness, believing that its design was good, and that its execution, both for extent of research, and for the modesty of its decisions, was deserv- ing of high commenda~tion. Though we endeavoured to ex- i)ound the great objects of the work, so that they might not be misunderstood, and to correct certain misapprehensions concerning them, which we thought were unfounded, we did not think it necessary to give a minute and elaborate exam- ination of the vocabulary; because it seemed to us that the plan must approve itself to all who wish to maintain the purity of the English language, and that few if any words are dis- countenanced, that are worthy to be adopted. Mr. Webster, however, in reading the vocabulary, found qiany things which he thought worthy of animadversion, and, as lie apprehended, some erroneous opinions, which h~ought to correct. But he is extremely abhorrent from contro- versy, and indeed abjures it altogether; though, if we un- derstand the meaning of the word, he has consented this once to be engaged in controverting certain opinions. There is another ground too on which he wavered, previously to his final resolution to publish his remarks upon the vocabu- lary; concerning which we give his own words. The unfriendly dispositions manifested towar4s me by men of high standing in the republic of letters, and particularly in this Commonwealth, and the virulence with which every effort to de- tect errors in long received opinions has hitherto been assailed; a virulence by no means compatible with a candid desire of im- provement, and probably not warranted by the low estimate which even my opposers have formed of my talents, labors and public services; these dispositions, affording little ground to expect that any remarks of mine would have a salutary inflence upon public opinion, have, at times, disposed me to withhold all scrictures up- on philological subjects, till 1 can prepare a more critical and ex- tended treatise, than has yet been exhibited to the public. Virulence is too harsh a term for Mr. W. to apply to his 1817~] .~Ir. We1~ste9s Letter. 83 opposers; for if they have sometimes been too uncourteous and severe in their strictures, their hostility was directed against his supposed errours; and the dangerous tendency of his philological speculations. Unless we believe not only, as he asserts, that he has pushed his inquiries in philolo- gy probably much farther than any other man, but also, as lie seems to imply, that no one else has acquired knowledge enough, or become possessed of means sufficient, to author- ize him to be a judge in the case, we cannot conceive that Mr. Websters decisions are in every instance so sacred, as not to be questioned by less hallowed lips. He ~has al~vays been learning, and he is, unquestionably, (we speak with re- spect,) very learned. But the history of his own literary la- bours, and the experience of those revolutions in certain opin- ions which he has had the candour publickly to confess, we should think must have taught him the fallibility of his decis- ions, and the possibility of his falling into new mistakes, which further researches will enable him to correct. In regard to the mass of readers, there is something very imposing in high pretensions to excellence; but there is also a class, that will not allow an author to mark for himself the degree to which he rises in the scale of merit; and perhaps it is wis- er, in general, to suffer those who are capable of judging im- partially, (and it is to be supposed that there are such in every department of learning,) to become the arbiters, and thus to save the confident from the trouble of vaunting their own claims to superiority, and to give modest merit its due reward. Besides the remarks on Mr. Pickerings Vocabulary con- tained in Mr. Websters letter, it comprises much extraneous matter, with which the author of the Vocabulary has no con- cern. We shall first notice those parts of the letter, which regard the plan and the merits of the Vocabulary. The words in your collection, says Mr. W. and others of doubtful authority, may be comprised under the following heads. 1. New words. 2. Words acknowledged to be legitimate; to which new sig- nifications are annexed. s. Words of local use, under which may be arranged obsolete words, or rather obsolescent words; for, if words be entirely ob- solete, they no longer belong to a living language. Under the first head, in answer to Mr. Pickerings asser 84 Mr. Websters Letter. [May, tion, that we [Americans] have formed some new words, Mr. W. says, You cannot, by this expression, mean words radically new, or from new roots: for this, I am confident, is not true. And let me remark, Sir, that in this sense, probably, no new words have been introduced, either into the English or into any other language, since the dispersion of men. 1 have examined nearly twenty lan- guages, or rather dialects, (for all languages are dialects of one primitive lar:guage,) from the beginning of the alphabet to the end, and some of them many times, and I have not found reason to be- lieve that any new roots, or new families of words, have been in- troduced since the dispersionor a period immediately succeed- ing that event. And this observation may serve to show the in- accumacy of your phraseology, when you speak of a radical change of language, (pages 10 and ~O.) No radical change of any lan- guage~has ever taken place. Mr. Webster, while on the one hand he has seized upon a term which was not intended to be used in a strictly techni- cal sense, has, on the other, taken occasion to hazard a bold assertion, by which he seems in some respects to exceed what we had thought was the hyperbolical description of po- etical fancy; Those learnd philologists, who chace A panting syllable through time and space, Start it at home, and huumt it in the dark To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noahs ark. He passes with extreme facility from negation to affirma- tion; from telling us, that he has found no reason, after the examination of nearly tw nty languages, or dialects, to be- lieve that any new roots, or new families of words have been introduced since the dispersion ;to the unqualified asser- tion, that no radical change of any language has ever taken place. The ignorant are sai(l to be very credulous; and therefore we suppose Mr. W. will think that we know only just enough to be presumptuous, when we require proofs of th e lineal descent of the various families of words now in existence. A few examples of hereditary succession, how.. ever satisfactory they might be, would not, in our estimna- tion, be conclusive in favour of such a comprehensive asser- tion, as that which we have quoted; but, as it would he so endless a task to pass throii~h all the gradatioIls, in tracing a great portion of words from the primitive language down 1817.] .Afr. Websters Letter. 85 to our times, we would propose the Greek for example, and request Mr. W. to give us the genealogical descent of the various families in its vocabulary, from the original lan- guage. It would not perhaps be liberal to quote Mr. W. against himself upon this subject; for though he once thought that the etymology of most words is wholly lost, yet if he has since discovered instances enough to convince him that the contrary is true, and that the etymology of most words has been or can be found, his change of opinion does him no discredit; though we may be allowed at present to believe, that his fancy, and his conjectures, and his torture of the consonants, and his violence to the organs of speech, may have done much to bring him to this astonishing re~ ~ult. We can see no propriety in departing from the common ineam- ing of the terms language and dialect, when used in contra- distinction from each other. No one calls English, French, and German, the same language; and for a very good rea- son, as we think; namely, because a person, to whom only one of them is vernacular, cannot speak or write any thing to a person in similar circumstances in regard to either of the two others, which shall be at all intelligible; and hence, with strict propriety, they are different languages or tongues. And to call the English, for instance, a dialect, of the He- brew or Samaritan, or of whatever Mr. W. may discover to he the primitive tongue, would be a most extraordinary de- parture from the use of the word. Equally absurd would it be to call it a dialect either of the Saxon or of the French, merely because we are obliged to resort to one of them for the etymology of so many of our words. With this view of the case, to whatever objection the term radical change may be liable, we cannot, like Mr. Webs~er, consider the instance mentioned by Mr. Pickering, of the Spanish and Portuguese, an unfortunate one. On the con.~ trary, it appears to us an instance, perfectly well chosen, and suited to illustrate his reasoning; namely, that if the people of Spain and Portugal, notwithstanding their vicin.. ity and frequent intercourse, have at length formed distinct languages; it is extremely probable, that the people of the United States and of England, countries so remote from each other, will also experience the same thing, unless great pains should be taken to guard against it. That the Spanish and Portuguese are distinct languages, no one will deny, who 86~ Au. Websters Letter. [May, admits what we have already said on this subject; and as far as we wish to preserve the English language in its purity, so far such an example of diversity, in what was once the same, is a useful warning. Respecting Mr. Websters remarks upon the modes of forming derivatives from a radix, or parent word, ~re do not disagree with him; and as there is here no contest between him and other philologists and lexicographers, it is unneces- sary to spend time upon the subject, any farther than to guard against a needless multiplication of words, formed up- on the analogical principles laid down. In this connexion, Mr. Webster speaks of the word lengthy; which, he says, is regularly formed from length, with a genuine affix, as wealthy, healthy, pithy, holy, are from their primitives. It is, therefore, a legitimate word. It is not exactly synonymous with long, as it expresses a moder- ate degree of length, and is more limited in its application. For these reasons it will, probably, maintain its ground. Such is the singular pertinacity of those, who claim to en- rich our language by words of local origin. Long is the ad- jective that corresponds with length, in the same manner as strong with strength. Breadth, height and depth have their adjectives, broad, high, deep. Now, unless the distinction Mr. W. makes between lengthy and tong be well founded, we can see no reason for adopting what many consider a vulgar word; and, if it be well founded, we may perhaps soon have strength~p breadthy, 4eighty, and depthy. But we are entirely unable to perceive the accuracy of the subtile refinement on this word. If it be regularly formed like wealthy, healthy, & c. why does not the analogy exist through- out? Why is it not used in a positive or absolute state, in- stead of being a diminutive, or of forming an intermediate degree of comparison? We are here reminded of one of Mr. Websters improvements in his Philosophical and Prac- heal Grammar; in cpioting ~vhich ~ e shall not incur his dis- l)leasure, since he has so often referred to his grammar in his letter. In his grammar, he says, there are four degrees of comparison. The first denotes a slight degree of the quality, and is expressed by the termination ish, as reddish, & c. Few words at present have this termination, express- ing a slight degree, and lengthy is the only word cited, which, by its termination, expresses a moderate degree; so that it is either sni generis, or it belongs to the first degree of corn- 181 74 .Mr. Websters Letter. 87 parison. There is not in the nature of the case any definite limitation in regard to the number of the degrees of compar. ison; but as there are two only besides the positive state, which are necessary, and which are distinctly marked, it seems better to leave our gs and our ishes out of the case, and not open the way for the multiplication of a class of words. which would not add much to accuracy of speech, but would greatly impair its beauty. The second head, in Mr. Websters division, regards new applications of legitimate words. Under this head, he says, the inhabitants of this country will necessarily take some license. Nor will new applications of terms be confined to Americans: Englishmen will, occasionally, indulge the use of them. But Americans are under the neces- sity of using a greater latitude, in this respect, than Englishmen. In this country new objects, new ideas, and associations of ideas, compel us, either to invent new terms, or to use English words in a new sense. The latter mode is preferable, and has generally been adopted. The truth and justice of the remark we readily admit, though we differ from the author in particular instances. The word locate, which he cites, we ohs irved, in our re- view of the Vocabulary, may be useful, to denote the survey- ing and fixing of the boundaries of unsettled lands, as Mr. Web- ster defines it; but no sooner had it acquired this kind of technical use, than almost every thing was located. But in regard to presidential, congressional and associational, we must say, that we have never had occasion to use them, and that they have no charms of sound for our ears. Nor can we perceive any ground of preference for the terms congressional or associational acts or proceedings, to the terms acts or pro. ceedings of Congress or of an association. Under this head, says Mr. W. may be classed the conversion of nouns into verbs, a subject concerning which he seems to be very splenetick, and is quite sarcastick upon what he calls the nibbling gentry. He does not, we presume, mean to say that every noun may be used as a verb, at eve- ry ~vriters pleasure. Whether test will maintain its ground, and acquire general favour, or the contrary, is a matter of little importance; but the latitude which Mr. W. gives to all sorts of pretenders in literature, upon this subject, is de- serving of notice. This mode of forming verbs [from 88 .kfr~ Websters Letter. [May1 nouns] is one of the most useful inventions in language; andy in every living language, the process may be, and actually is, carried on indefinitely, not only without injury, but with immense advantage. To arrest the progress of it would be a real evil. A far greater evil we apprehend would be in- curred by this indefinite license, than can result from the at~. tempt to check the progress of this method of forming verbs; and we are convinced that any one, who will try the experi~ ment upon a number of nouns, that are not already used as verbs, ~vill be satisfied that, in most cases, whatever might be gained in brevity, much would be lost as well in respect to perspicuity, as in variety and agreeableness of diction. Here let us pause for one moment, and listen to our infalli- He guide in philology. There is, says he, no part of this subject, on which cviticism has betrayed such profound igno- rance of the principles on which language is formed, as on this of the conversion of nouns into verbs. Mr. W. rarely makes any exceptions in charges of this kind; but, if this Were a solitary example, we should probably pass it by with a smile. He seems every where to consider himself the great schoolmaster in his art, under whom there are no de- serving pupils; and he goes about the forms feruling and filliping the dunces, and calling blockhead, as familiarly as Bu~s by. Now he puts Johnson in the corner, and anon Har- ris receives a box in the ear, and Home Took is most un- gratefully kicked out of doors. But what mighty occasion is there for discipline upon this subject of converting nouns into verbs? It is not a right derived from discovery; for we presume no critick in language is ignorant, that most verbs, when stripped of all artificial changes and appenda- ges, are the same as nouns; and Shakspeare, though no professed grammarian, was perfectly familiar with the art of converting nouns into verbs. His own letter only Must fetch in whom he papers. That is, whom he notes on paper. And again, I do estate unto ~ The ~ood mind of Camillo tardied My swift command. If thou thouest him some thrice, it shall not be amiss~ 1817.1 J~fr. IYebsters Letter. 89 Whenever any verbs are introduced, which have not been sanctioned by use, they are fair subjects of criticism, and ev- ery one is at liberty to favour or discountenance them. If Mr. Webster directs his labourers to yard his cattle, spade his garden, or bridge his brooks, he is at liberty to do it, though we think it better spoken, than Written. In regard to local, and obsolete or obsolescent words, Mr. Websters remarks, with a few qualifications, may be read.. ily approved. Peculiarities in the condition and circuinstan- ces of a country, separated from the parent stock, differing in its government and customs, and having its own inven- tions and improvements, in things contributing to conven- ience, and to the advancement of society, in whatever is use- ful, will sometimes give occasion for new terms; but let ne.. cessity, or some obvious advantage, be the criterion by which they are tried. It is desirable for both countries to have the same names for the same things; and where there is diver- sity, let the term he as descriptive as possible. We do not perceive that, under this head, in which he includes obsoles- cent words, Mr. W. intends any reflection on the Vocabula- ry, unless he considers it useless. For ourselves we repeat, that the laborious and successful endeavours of Ms. Pickering to collect these words, and trace them to their origin, are hi~hly gratifying to our curiosity ~ for we found, to a much greater extent, than we had before conceived, that they were brought hither by oiw fathers. It is not always easy to de- termine what is useful; but if this part of the Vocabulary be pronounced useless, we may, at least with equal justice, de- ny the utility of Mr. Websters boasted etymological discov- eries. After his preliminary observations, Mr. W. subjoins his remarks on some particular words in the Vocabulary. We cannot follow him through the whole catalogue, and shall therefore seled only such as may seem to us to afford occa- sion for the most useful remarks. .Accountablcness and accountability, says Mr. W. are equally well formed and legitimate words. The same remark is made upon profanity and profaneness; and the remark in each case is just; but it shows at the same time, that one of the forms is unnecessary, because, between the two, there is no difference of signification. It is better in such instances to adhere to the form in common use, and then we shall be sure not to give offence. Vol.V. No.1. 90 Mr. Websters Letter. [May, Bestowinent we do not think far preferable to besto~wal; and the latter is as well formed; like avowal, disposal. Calculate, Mr. W. acknowledges, is often misapplied in vulgar practice. We think, however, that his explanation of its meaning in the phrase, 1 calculate to do such a thing,~~ tends rather to encourage the vulgar practice; for it is not probable that those who use it in such a phrase, go through the same logical analysis; namely, I am disposing my af- fairs, or making dispositions or arrangements in my mind, always implying an estimate of facts and circumstances, that precede. Whenever we have heard it used in the manner here quoted, it has been used for expect or intend. Clever, says Mr. W. is used by the English in its true sense; but the transition from the qualities of the body to those of the mind, is very easy, natural, and common. The fault however among our countrymen is, that, when they apply it to man, the true meaning of the word is disregarded, and tIme one newly acquired usurps its place. Conduct. This verb is often found among us without the veciprocal pronoun, in such a phrase, as, he conducts well. This is a violation of established custom. Behave and act, cited by Mr. Webster, are not analogous. Keep, says Mr. W., for stay, abide, remain, is perfectly etymological; but the etymology is not the subject of inqui- ry. The proper question to be settled between the authur of the Vocabulary, and the author of the Letter is, whether we have not departed from the English use of the word. Loan, as a verb, is etymologically the true word. Lend is the corruption. The noun was first formed from an ori- ental root. Saxon, laen; German, lehen; Dutch, teen; Swe- dish, lacn; Danish laanand from time noun in all these languages, is formed the verb, to loan. So little do the Eng- lish understand their native language, that they suppose our use of the word as a verb to be a corruption. Can a man of Mr. Websters understanding take pleasure in such a quixotick sort of triumph? As we did not expect to meet him on etymological ground, we are not armed with all the lexicons which, on his jjinart, he has brought with him into the encounter. Our German dictionary however tells us, that lehen or iehn signifies afte orfcodal tenure; also an in- ~cestiture, & c. ~Lehnen, as a verb, is used like the English lend; and, as a noun, for the lending of a thing. Our Swed- ish lexicon has no such word as laen. But granting the ety i1817.] .,Ifr. Websters Letter. 91 mology to be correct, still Mr. W. appears to be out of breath to little purpose. The English have the noun loan, and the verb tend; the verb having in this case varied, as it often does, from the noun. Custom has established this va- riety; and consequently loan, as a verb, is a corruption. Now let us ask The friends of good English, which is the greater offence, to corrupt the Saxon, German, Dutch, Swe- dish, and Danish, or to corrupt their own language? We feel some pride in a language that we claim as our own, and have no disposition to restore it any nearer to the Saxon, or any other language, than it is now. We make these re- marks once for all, as we cannot spend time to examine all the words of late introduction, which in their orthography, or in their sense, Mr. Webster pronounces to be etymologic- ally correct. .TVot~fy. Mr. Webster acknowledges that this word has deviated from the English sense; and vindicates the Amer- ican use of it only by saying, that the deviation is not great- er than in many other cases, which are well authorized. Progress, as a verb, Mr. Webster has the magnanimity to pronounce unnecessary; and fellowship, as a verb, he treats with deserved dislike. Spell. Mr. Webster says that the primary sense of this word is a turn. Hence the phrase to spell one, to take his turn. We have had a long turn of bad weather, or a spell of bad weather. Whether this be the primary sense or not, it is now vulgar, and even Bailey quotes only sailors for this use of the word. However, our philologist proceeds to dogmatize: The criticisms on this word, and most oth- ers called vulgar, evince the profound ignorance of the ablest scholars, in regard to the real origin of words. They have never penetrated below the surface of this subject. Systemize. Here, says Mr. W. with no great courte- ousness, your English friend misleads you. Sqstemize is not a corruption of systematizethe latter is the corruption. ~Ve shall not repeat what we have already said upon the dif- ference between Mr. Websters notions of corruption and ours, under the word loan. Whatever perverseness lie may ascribe to us, it is still our belief, that his favourite pursuits have been the means of warping his judgment, upon this subject. We recollect to h$~je seen or heard systemize upon some occasion; so we hav~ heard hisself, and theirsehes, and this mean; but we all to affectation and pe& . Jfr. Websters .Letter~ antry. Systematize is the form which custom has establish~ ed. The substantive, indeed, system, (ce) happened to be translated; but the verb was formed upon the original ; so also the adjective, systematical, and the adverb systematically~ If the verb had been formed from the English noun, it would have been very well, and systemize would have been a good word; but as it has happened otherwise, it. falls into the same class as dogmatize and stigmatize, whose nouns could not be so well translated into an English form. The words here selected from Mr. Webster, with his re- marks, are sufficient to shew some of the essential differences of opinion between him and ourselves. The mysteries of etymology have little concern with them, and any one, whG is tolerably conversant with philological inquiries, is capable of judging between us. But Mr. Webster, after his review. of the Vocabulary, questions the necessity or use ofsuch a collection of words and remarks, in any other respect, than as a matter of curiosity. We subjoin an abridged account of his reasons. First. The man who undertakes to censure others-for the use of words, and to decide what is or is not correct in language, seems to arrogate to himself a dictatorial authority, the legitima- cy of which will always he denied. Secondly. Very few men are competent to decide upon what is national practice; and still fewer, upon what is radically cor- rect in language. Even men of the most erudition are rarely qualifi~ ed for these purposes. I know by great extent of research, that the most learned men in the British nation have very narrow views of , this subject. Young men, who have just 1e4 college, are the most prompt and confident in their decisions, on these subjects, as I know by experience, as well as by observation. As they ad- vance in life, they gradually detect their own mistakes, and abate in their dogmatism. Thirdly. But the most weighty objection against any at- tempts to fix a limit to the use of words and phrases, is its utter impracticability. Analogy, custom, and habit form a better ride to guide men in the use of words, than any tribunal of men. The force of analogy and custom every man must know and feel-.-.. but my investigations have unfolded to me views of this subject~ new and astonishing. .4 Such, in part, is the process y which Mr. W. attempts te prove, that Mr. Pickering l~s been employed merely in amusing himself and the publick: and even to the amuse- ment, he will hardly allow the praise of being innocent. Bvery one has a right to the choice of his pursuit, and if it he harmless, and especially in any degree useful, he deserves no reproach for the selection, or for a certain degree of par tiality to the object of his choice. Mr. Websters favourite pursuit is etymology; and he seemsto be jealous of the slight- st interference, and to view the approach of every one as a- frespass upon the ground he has preoccupied. Has the au- thor of the Vocabulary arrogated to himself a dictatorial authority ? No production within our knowledge is less. deserving of such a charge. It is not dogmatical; it is free from egotism. The sole attempt is to ascertain what words our countrymen use, and in what significations, that are not authorized by custom and good authority, in the land of our fbthers: and we are exculpated by it from many false char- ges, which were grounded in ill nature or misapprehension. But very few men are competent to decide upon what is national practice; and still fewer upon what is radically correct in language. This remark is limited still farther. to the most learned. The most learned men, however, must in all their written productions decide these points for them- selves. Their gratitude, indeed, is due to Mr. Webster, whenever, by his learned labours and deep researches, he enables them to detect a mistake, or avoid an errour. We are by no means disposed to deny him the praise of learn- ing; and, to a certain degree, of useful learning; but we cannot allow that he has a lawful claim to be considered as the sole dictator in the use of speech. Does he claim any thing less? and does he not claim this without reserve? He seems never even to suspect that he has any coin- petitor in ilis province; it is he alone of the most learned, if we interpret his language rightly, (and we should like to make it mean less, if possible,) who has escaped from the thraldom of narrow prejudices; who knows, from his ex- tensi-ve researches, the errours of the most learned, and who discovers every thing that is discovered on this subject~ which is new and astonishing. For custom, analogy and habit, however, he expresses his respect. Here we coin- cide; and here we think him not altogether consistent with himself, when, by the application of etymological rules, lie would supplant some of the best established words in the language, in favour of those, which are comparatively straw) gers. 94 .Mr. rvebsters Letter. ~May, We have already observed, that Mr. Webster has intro. duced much extraneous matter into his letter to Mr. Picker- ing; but whatever of this kind has not yet drawn from us any remarks, we must treat in a very brief and cursory man- ner. The objections made to comptroller and island, as barba- rous words, because they have not the true English orthog~. raphy, are just, though the first we should hardly think a subject worthy of legislation. Nor do we object to the dis- appearance of k at the end of such words as public and music. But, in general, as it regards orthography, the following re- marks of Johnson always appeared to us to he both wise and unostentatious. I have attempted, he says, few alter- ations, and, among those few, perhaps the greater part is from the modern to the ancient practice; and I hope I may be allowed to recommend to those, whose thoughts have been perhaps employed too anxiously on verbal singularities, not to disturb upon narrow views, or for minute propriety, the orthography of their fathers. It has been asserted, that for the law to be known, is of more importance than to be right. Change, says Hooker, is not made without inconvenience, even from worse to better. From similar views, upon this subject, we are not disposed to hold out the smallest lure to those prurient reformers, who, for trivial conformities to et- ymological derivation, would unsettle the orthography of our language. What should we gain by spellingake, doctrin, imagin, insted, fether, tether, wether, fashon, haincrns, & c. 2 How far etymolgical whimsies might proceed in such a work of reform, it is impossible to predict, and we have no curios- ity to see the experiment tried. After some effort on this subject, Mr. Webster seems disposed to give up in despair; and what makes him despond, contributes, at the same time, to remove our apprehensions. A considerable portion of the last half of Mr. Websters letter is employed in grammatical speculations, the result of ~vhich is, that the errors, inaccuracies, amid defects of the books on philology, which are received as authorities, are so numerous, that, if our students could be entirely freed from their influence, and their minds left perfectly nubias- sed, it would be a benefit to philological learning, if all their ~vritings on this subject could become extinct, and men were obliged to begin the subject de novo. No doubt Mr. Web- ster wrote this passage with the utmost gravity, and the k 18171 Mi~. Websters Letter. 95 most sincere convictions of its truth; but our prejudices on this subject are so strong, that we can regard these remarks only as the fruits of etymological fanaticism, and cannot re- ply in the same spirit of solemnity by which they appear to have been dictated. We cannot follow Mr. W. through the whole range of his grammatical wanderings; we will, however, meet him at his starting-place. He thus addresses Mr. Pickering. You and I, Sir, when in college, studied L6wths Grammar, (flow copied substantially into Murrays.) / We there learnt, for example, that, in English, there are but two articles, a and the; a becomes an before a vowel. I have since learnt that this is not true; that there is no such word in English as a, except as an ab- breviationand that instead of becoming an before a vowel, the directly contrary is the fact; that an is the origiii~il word, and that this, by abbreviation, has become a before a consonant. I have taken the liberty to correct the common error, and state what I know cannot be controverted. Is this presumption? Again..we learnt in Lowth, that a is used in a vague sense, to point out one single thing of the kind, in other respects inde- terminate. .d determines it to be one single thing of the kind, leaving it still uncertain which. Many years elapsed before I discovered this same an, or a, to be the orthography of one in our mother tongue. .dn, or one must be used to denote a single thing this is its meaning. So two, three, four, express certain num- bers, and indefinitely, just as one does. Go to the basket and bring me an appleany apple, that is one, no matter which. Go to the basket and bring me two apples.any two, no matter which. Go to the basket and bring me five applesany five, no matter which, and so of every a~ective expressing number, in the lan- guage. Every word expressing number is as much entitled to a separate consideration, and to be classed with the articles, as an or one. But the rule is general, that an is indefinite. rlihis is not true. 4n is as correctly placed before definite nouns, as before the indeterminate. London is a great city.Philadelphia is a regular city. What is city here, but a determinate city--made definite by the name? If it should be said that its use is gener- ally to express indeterminate nouns, I answer, this and every word of number is indefinite, till made definite by the noun it qualifies. Here it is to be observed, in the first place, that Mr. Web- ster, according to his usual practice, when he differs from the received grammarians, leaves the in3pression~ that he lia~ 96 .~lfr. Websters Letter. tMay, discovered what was tefore unknown. This is deserving of peculiar attention, because it is not a solitary instance, in whi,cli he passes off certain old etymological wares for his own, which, in one who has discovered many things new and as- wnjshing, we deem to be very unwise. When he trium- phantly proclaims Lowths account of the article to be false, and makes a solemn appeal to the publick to decide whether it is presumption in him to correct the common err~ur, as if it were now for the first time detected, we think it due to the ~uhlick, that the account given of this little member of dis~ course, by certain preceding grammarians, should be briefly stated.Johnson, as ignorant as he is described to have been of the northern languages, says, in the grammar prefixed to hi~ dictionary. I have made an the original article, because it is only the Saxon an, or am, one, applied to a new use, as the German em, and the French nn; the n being cut off be- fore a consonant, in the speed of utterance...In Lyes Saxon Dictionary, (a work with which Mr. Webster is well ac(Luainted,) the following account is given of this word ~1n. Articulus indefinitus singularis numeri, ohm usitatus ante voces substantivas, cujus loco inolevit a; e. g. an man. Homo, a man ;an treop. Arbor, a tree ;~an feapa. Pau- ci, a few.Jmmediately after this, follows an account, sim- ilar to that given by Mr. Webster, of the resemblance be- tween an and the Latin units. Lu. Unus; gr. iElfr. 14. Mat. tO, ~29. Solus; 19, 17, an ~fter anum. Unus post unum, alitis post alium; Joh. 8, 9, & c. What, let us ask, has Mr. Webster discovered upon this subject? What has lie found out that was not known be- fore? The philologist is deserving of praise, who revives any useful truths, that have been neglected; bitt let him be satisfied, in such cases, with proposing things known, as things that are forgot. He is in danger of losing the credit to which he would otherwise be entitled, by claiming all knowledge as his own. Whether Lowth attended to the derivation of the article an or a, we have no means of de. terniining. He found both forms naturalized in our lan- guage; and a being the prevailing form, because so much the greater proportion of nouns begin with a consonant, it was not an unpardonable crime to say, that a becomes an before a vowel. Though we have dwelt so long upon this word, we can- yiot leave it without subjoining a few remarks upon it~ 181?.] A& . ~Febsters Letter. 97. meaning. In this respect, Johnson, with an acuteness which he usually displayed, when he investigated a subject with care, satisfactorily explained the ~vord. It is the Saxon an or am, applied to a new use, as the German em, & c. It means one, with reference to more. If an has not been applied to a new use, and is nothing more or less than the numeral one, they may at all times be exchanged for each other. Observe what kind of English this will make; with one indignation, arising from one passion, I then first discov- ered, & c...He likes to indulge one laugh. On the other hand an cannot be used as a numeral, or be separated from the noun. Of two propositions an is false, and an is true. When Johnson says it means one with reference to more, plausible objections may be raised; but we believe it comes as near a description of its meaning as we can well express it, and when the noun, before which an is placed, is disencum.. bered of its adjuncts, and a proposition consists only of its necessary logical parts, this description of the meaning of an will be found sufficiently exact. We have been thus minute upon one point, because we have not room to follow Mr. Webster through the course of his grammatical speculations ;..most of them have none of the charms of novelty, and some of them tetid to corrupt what is now good English, by the introduction of Saxon and Gothick usage. The pamphlet, which has drawn from us these remarks, is well written; and, by a person accustomed to philological pursuits, and capable of forming opinions upon the subjects discussed, it may be read with advantage. It is crowded with too great a variety of matter, much of which is irrele- vant to the main design, and which appears to have beeii here introduced, merely from the convenience of the occa- sion. Certain passages, especially towards the close, might be cited as eloquent appeals to the publick, extorted by Mr. Websters conviction of unkindness, experienced from men of letters, among his own countrymen. It is only by allow- ing his strong conviction of this kind, that any apology can be made for the liberal praise he bestows upon himself, and for time large demands he makes upon publick gratitude. This apology ~ve would readily make for him, however wide- ly we (lifer from him in regard to the tendency and value of his philological speculations, if it had not been his usual Vol. V. No. 1. 13 98 Byrons Poems. [May, practice, to bestow these praises, and make these demands, through the whole course of his literary career. Still he deserves the respect of the learned; and whatever false no- tions he has, in our opinion, acquired, from directing his pursuits so intensely to etymological studies, we cannot with- hold from him our tribute of regard, for his unwearied la- bours in tracing the history of language. It has hitherto been an unthankful task; what it may be in future, we will not predict. Our views upon the subject, so far as it con- cerns our own language, are contained iii this article, and in the review of Mr. Pickerings Vocabulary. We wish to prejudge nothing; and we think Mr. Webster might have pursued his main inquiries, and arrived at the great results which he promises himself, without being diverted from his course by the publication of Mr. Pickering, whose design was limited so much to a single object, and interfered so lit- tie with the walk of the rational etymologist. ART. V. ~hiIde Harold, ca~~2 ~3~crhePris6ners of Chillon, Dark.. ness, c~c. Poems by Lord Byron. New York, T. & W. Mercein, i81~. LORD BYRONS works have been so much read, and quot- ed, and criticised, that we have great hesitation in offering any remarks upon them, lest our friends should take it in ill part, and think themselves invited to stale fare. We should not indeed venture to make this experiment upon the pubhick curiosity, did we not 5U1)P050 that the proper and es- sential interest of the subject has been increased and kept up, I)y the variety of opinions aud parties, to which the con- duct, adventures, and writings of Lord Byron have given rise. Lord Byron makes every thimig contributive to his art; his dornestick inquietudes, his journeyings, his 1~elings and fanehs, all go forthwith into verse. His poetry is a sort of irregular journal of his changes of place and changes of mood, yet it never sinks into a record or halts towards a matter of fact character, l)ut every where has time spirit and freshness ~t invemmti~n. He strikingly exemplifies what is said to he the characteristick ofmodern as distinguished from thft earlier poetry; for the objects he presents are not merely so

Byron's Poems 98-110

98 Byrons Poems. [May, practice, to bestow these praises, and make these demands, through the whole course of his literary career. Still he deserves the respect of the learned; and whatever false no- tions he has, in our opinion, acquired, from directing his pursuits so intensely to etymological studies, we cannot with- hold from him our tribute of regard, for his unwearied la- bours in tracing the history of language. It has hitherto been an unthankful task; what it may be in future, we will not predict. Our views upon the subject, so far as it con- cerns our own language, are contained iii this article, and in the review of Mr. Pickerings Vocabulary. We wish to prejudge nothing; and we think Mr. Webster might have pursued his main inquiries, and arrived at the great results which he promises himself, without being diverted from his course by the publication of Mr. Pickering, whose design was limited so much to a single object, and interfered so lit- tie with the walk of the rational etymologist. ART. V. ~hiIde Harold, ca~~2 ~3~crhePris6ners of Chillon, Dark.. ness, c~c. Poems by Lord Byron. New York, T. & W. Mercein, i81~. LORD BYRONS works have been so much read, and quot- ed, and criticised, that we have great hesitation in offering any remarks upon them, lest our friends should take it in ill part, and think themselves invited to stale fare. We should not indeed venture to make this experiment upon the pubhick curiosity, did we not 5U1)P050 that the proper and es- sential interest of the subject has been increased and kept up, I)y the variety of opinions aud parties, to which the con- duct, adventures, and writings of Lord Byron have given rise. Lord Byron makes every thimig contributive to his art; his dornestick inquietudes, his journeyings, his 1~elings and fanehs, all go forthwith into verse. His poetry is a sort of irregular journal of his changes of place and changes of mood, yet it never sinks into a record or halts towards a matter of fact character, l)ut every where has time spirit and freshness ~t invemmti~n. He strikingly exemplifies what is said to he the characteristick ofmodern as distinguished from thft earlier poetry; for the objects he presents are not merely so 1817.] Byrons Poems. 99 much colour, form, and dimension, visible things appear only as the vehicles of passion and sentiment. Whatever is his subject, you see more of the writer than of his theme, and what he says of himself is true, with respect to his readers; he becomes a part of that around him; he mingles with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain of ocean, and the stars, and the strong workings of his soul lend animation and in- terest to his descriptions. He conducts us to bright skies and agreeable lanscapes, and when he has made us feel the sub- lime serenity ofthe heavens, and the gladsomeness of the scene, he introduces the gloomy, hut poetical reflection, that they chiefly delight him, because they contain nothing of man. Though the reader may not have sufficiently suffered from the world or offended it, to accord with him in this strain of thinking, still he cannot be insensible to its power. If he brings us among his kind, it is not to be pleased with the hum of men, but to deplore over the peopled desert, and sternly mock at the penned herd. He speaks in a tone too deep, and accents too strong for fiction; and we are the more affected by his representations of life, because lie does not leave us to doubt that they are drawn from ex- perience. This air of reality forces us, with an irresistible impulse, from the work to the author, and, whether we ap. prove or censure, we cannot but be borne away by concern for a man, who considers himself as set aloof from his spe- cies by the unconquerable propensities of his nature. We shall be told that no man has unconquerable propensities, and it is a radical fault in him to think he has such, and we will grant that it is so, if you please; still those who are urged by strong native impulses, and a wild energy of soul, and who remember how hard they have struggled with what to them seemed oppre~sion, and with what reluctance and difficulty they have submitted to the chains of society, must feel a lively sym- pathy with Byron in many passages of his poetry. We have reference to arbitrary forms and rules of decorum, as well as the restraints of the appetite and passions, for they are all equally necessary, and society exacts an observance of ~dl with an equal and just rigour. This Childe Harold could not endure. elOO Byrons Poems. EMay, Still round him clang invisibly a chain, Which galld forever, fettering though unseen, And heavy though it clankd not. This is always true of one who mixes with men secure in guarded coldness, and sheathes, (or tries to sheathe,) his spir- it in an impenetrable mind. And he seems to be con.. scious of this, and therefore, as he is unfit to herd with men, he is willing to part fair foes, without inquiring whose is the fault. To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind; All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil In the hot throng, where we become the spoil Of our infection, tiJl too late and long We may deplore and struggle with the coil, in wretched interchange of wrong for wrong Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong. v. 69. lint he does not commonly, when he meets the world in his poetical rambles, l)art with it on so favourable terms; and his misanthropy, though it is no characteristick of a philosopher or a man of a well ordered mind, often gives his verse a sullen, despondent, and depressing tone, and spreads out a blighted prospect of life, on which the imagina.. tion should not dwell, but under the guidance of the under.. standing. Byron does not, like many of the great poets, sorrow for the sufferings of man, and repine at human fate. He astonishes us by his greatness, and dazzles by his splen.. dour, hut he rarely touches with pity, or melts with pathos. It is not that he turns from the dark side of human destiny, but he cultivates in himself, and generally gives his charac- ters a stern endurance of suffering, and a defiance of man and of fortune. Man in portions can foresee His own funereal destiny; His wretchedness and his resistance; And his sad unallied existence; Io which his spirit may oppose It~elf~.an equal to all woes, 1817.] Byrons Poems. 101 And a firm will and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concenterd recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making death a victory. Prometheus, p. 54. He however gives us some passages in a more mild arid. tender strain, but we do not think these his master strokes. He faded and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tenderkind, And grievd for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek, whose bloon~ Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away, As a departing rainbows ray An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmurnot A groan oer his untimely lot. And then the sighs he would suppress Of fainting natures feebleness, More slowly drawn, grew less and less, & c. The Prisoners of Chillon, p. 14. But he is more happy in wielding the fiercer passions, and he delights to pourtray whatever is terrible and ferocious. He descends into the regions of relentless despair with a bold and firm step, and images the racks and tortures of the mind, with a fearful fidelity. We make the following extract from the Corsair, where Conrad is imprisoned alone, in chains, and expecting his fate. Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew It even were doubtful if their victim knew. I7here is a. war, a chaos, of the mind, When all its elements convulsd.combind- Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, And gnashing with impenitent remorse; That juggling fiendwho never spoke before. But cries I warnd thee! when the deed is oe, Vain voice! the spirit burning, but unbent, May writherebel.the weak alone repent! io~a Byrrns Poems. [May, Even in that lonely hour when most it feels, - And to itself alI.all that self reveals, No single passion, and no ruling thought That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought, But the wild prospect when the soul reviews. All rushing through their thousand avenues Ambitions dreams, expiring loves regret, Endangerd glory, life itself beset; The joy untasted, the contempt or hate Gaitist those who fain would triumph in our fate; The hopeless pastthe hasting future driven Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven; Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps rememberd nof So keenly till that hour, but neer forgot; Things light or lovely in their acted time, But now to stern reflection each a crime; The withering sense of evil unreveald Not cankerino less because the more conceald. Allin a wordfrom which all eyes must start, That opnin~ sepulchrethe naked heart, Ra es with its buried woes, till pride awake, To snatch the mirror from the soul.and break. Corsair, Can. 2, v. 10. He describes with no less success and with a sort of kin- dred feeling, the convulsions of nature and the conflictings of the elements, and drives with alacrity through the tem- pestuous scene. 93 And this is in the night~most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phosphorick sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! And now again tis black~and now the glee Of the loud hill shakes with its mountain mirth, As if they did rejoice oer a young earthquakes birth, 95 Now where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms hath taen his stand: For here not one, but many make thcir play, And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, Flashin~ and cast around; ot all the band, The bri~htest throu~h those parted hills hath forkd 1817.1 B!/rons Poems. 1~13 His lightningsas if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation workd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurkd. 96 Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling; well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleeplessif I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? Are ye like those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? His descriptions of scenery are executed with a bold and rapid hand; lie seizes upon only a few striking objects, and his landscape is a mere outline, which he leaves to be filled by the readers imagination. This is true to a fault, for he not unfrequently fails to raise a scene to the fancy. He makes us conceive motions and actions, much better than colours and forms. Stillness, silence, and distance sometimes sug~ gest to him vast conceptions, but his descriptions of inani- mate nature generally owe little of their beauty to the senti- ments which the scenes naturally and directly inspire, and to contemplate them with any intrrest, we must borrow the emo- tions of the author or of the character he introduces, in Berns, and Cowper, and Thompson, we see woods, and fields, and streams, with precisely those emotions and associations, which the objects themselves produce; in Byron we are al- ways reminded that we are looking through a medium, and are assuming the impressions of another, instead of yielding ourselves to our own. The portraiture of sensible things, accordingly, becomes of secondary importance, when we are principally occupied with the sensations they produce in those who are represented as beholding them. Thus the most ordinary objects, sketched in the most hasty and care- less manner, may be the basis of original and brilliant poet.. ry. In the following extract the images are pleasing, dis- played with great felicity and freedom, but the effect is much heightened when they are considered to be contemplated by an ~inaciated, fetter-worn prisoner of Chillon, through a crev- ice of his prison. The object first alluded to is the Alps. 104 Byrons Poems. [May, I saw their thousand years of snow on hightheir wide long lake below, And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush Oer channeld rock and broken bush; I saw the white-walld distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down; The fish swam by the castle wall, And They seemed3 oyous each and all; The eagle rode the rising blast; Methought he never flew so fast, As then to me he seemed to fly, And then new tears came in mine eye, And I felt troubledand would fain I had not left my recent chain; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode Fell on me as a heavy load. Prisoners of Chillon, p. 21. But Byrons greatest skill lies in analysing and displaying character. lie penetrates into the recesses of intellect and passion with a keen sagacity, and throws out his profound conceptions with the facility and freedom of superficial thoughts. We have in mind the sketches of Russia, Gibbon, Voltaire, and Bonaparte, as a justification of the above re- mark. We make an extract, from the first of which every part is just and forcible. Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, The apostle of affliction, he who threw Enchantment over passion, and from woe Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew How to make madness beautiful, and cast Oer erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past The eyes, which oer them shed tears feelingly and fast~ Childe Harold, c. 3, p. 43. The mention of Rousseau suggests the philosophers, and the lines upon them, and their opinions, and the consequences of them, are somewhat remarkable, from one who holds the rank and title of a nobleman. 1817~.] Byrons Poems. 105 82 They made themselves a fearful monument The wreck of old opinions...things which grew 2Breathd from the birth of time; the veil they r,int, And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. But good with ill they also overthrew, Leaving but ruins wherewith to rebuild Upon the same foundation, and renew Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refilld, As heretofore, because ambition was self-willd. 83 But this will not endure or be endurd! Mankind have felt their strength and made it felt. They might have used it better, but, allurd By their new vigour, sternly they have dealt On one another; pity ceas~d to melt With her once natural charities. But they Who in oppressions darkness cavd had we They were not eagles, nourishd with the day; What marvel theti, at times, if they mistook their prey? 84 What deep wounds ever closd without a scar ~ The heart bleeds lpngest, and but heals to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquishd, bear Silence, but not submission; in his lair Fixd passion holds his breath, until the hour Which shall atone for years; none need despair. It caine, it conieth and will come4he power To punish or forgive~in one we shall be slower. p. 46. As poetry, the latter part of this quotation is knotty and obscure. As philosophy or speculation, it may all arise from a very lad, or a very good disposition. rj he wrongs, in- dignities, and oppressions, which men have suffered from rU- lers, who have regarded there as only the instruments of their pleasures and their passions, may sometimes extort from the philanthropist, a curse upon the scel)tred tormenters of t he human race. He may even feel a gratification, that men have sometimes taken terrible vengeance on their oppressors. But such sentiments cannot become habitual, without etubit- tering and perverting the mind, and they often arise in the first place, from a servile and guilty dread of power, and en- Vol. V. No. 1. 14 106 Byrons Poems. [May, vy of superiority, rather than from a concern for the welfare of mankind. This cannot be the case of Lord Byron, yet we think he expresses a too sturdy, and vindictive kind of republicanism. Rulers have, to be sure, had very much the advantage of the ruled, in the interchange of wrongs, but tlwy have probably been no worse, and it is more character- istick of a philosopher and philanthropist to devise plans of improvement and amelioration, than to expect the power to punish, and the hour which shall atone for years. Though so mu.ch had already been sung and said of the Field of Waterloo, and the conqueror and captive of the world, they are new subjects in the hands of Byron. I he gathered beauty and chivalry of Beigiums capital, the sound of revelry where Musick arose, with its voluptuous swell, And all xvent merry as a marriage-bell ; 1)reluding to the deep sound that struck like a rising knell, and the cannons opening roar, form one of the finest com- binations that descriptive poetry can furnish. He makes a transition from the battle to the greatest and worst of men, whose overthrow was its object and consequence, and then introduces some reflections, of which he himself no doubt feels the full force. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy lzane; there is a fire And motion of the soul, which will not dwell iii its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire; And, but once kindled, quenchiess evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Ot aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore ! Time only use of the latter part of the concluding line is to make out the measure. TVhe descriptions of the Rhine and its scenery, are to us the least interesting part of this canto, and though we caught a few cheering glimpses of nature on the way, we were glad, on the whole, to leave behind us the castled crag of Drachenfels, Ehrenbreitstein, and the lonelier column by the lone wall, making marvel that it not decayed, and find 1817.) Byrons Poems. 107 ourselves upon the shores of the clear placid Leman. The remaining part of the canto is written with great spirit, and contains a rich and voluptuous description of the scene of the Heloise. The readers of Childe Harolds pilgrimage have no doubt observed the change of style which has taken place since the commencement of the work. The author began with assum- ing Spencers language as well as his stanza, but he has re- tained little more than the latter, and in the third canto we invariably find eye, no where ee. Perhaps uniformity is hard. ly requisite upon his plan, which, in fact, differs very little from no plan at alL He says in the preface that a ficti- tious character is introduced for the sake of giving sonic con- nexion to the piece, and the unity of the work therefore con- sists wholly in this, that it is a metrical journal of the trav- els, reflections and fancies of harold, as they are recorded by his companion and amanuensis Lord Byron. Now the in- troduction of a fictitious personage evidently gives no great- er connexion to the parts of this poem, than if all had been put down in the proper person of the author. But though the introduction of Harold gives no unity to the work, he is a very convenient instrument for the writer, more espccially as he has a great deal to say about this same Harold; and this is reason enough for introducing him. We would not be understood to object to the want of unity in this string of cantos; we only wish his lordship not to pretend there is any thing in them that deserves that name, except the use of the same stanza. We think that poetry is most easily and ac- curately estimated by its effects, and that this, of all arts, can least endure the fetters of a system, as its vital principles are novelty and invention. We therefore will not trouble our- selves to inquire to what technical species this poem belongs, or whether it belongs to any. We would scrupulously avoid repeating those common place rules, by means of which little minds fancy they can comprehend great things, and shall be perfectly satisfied if Lord Byron writes good sense whenever he finds a subject, and puts down the whole under the title of a Romaunt, though he can find no authority for his so doing in Aristotle, ~w Horace. But though we are inclined to make a very liberal dispen- sation from rules, and do not think that the regular acccnh~ 108 Byrons Poems. [May, and monotonous cadences of Pope alone constitute Verse, still it seems to us that versification requires more of melody, measure, and harmony, than we can possibly make of many lines in this canto, without violating the accent required by - the sense. It is not easy, we think, to gratify the ear, by the mode of reading the following lines, and many others that occur in this volume. And their masts fell down piecemeal, as they droppd, & c. Darkness, p. 32. There the hot shaft should blast, whatever therein lurkd. v. 96 How the lit lake shines, a phosphorick sea. V. 93. can. 3. If a compromise be made between the sense and the meas- imre, they read but ruggedly. We make these remarks, how- ever, with some hesitation, not being confident of having hit upon the ha:piest mode of reading, and being conscious that an occasional transposition of the accent gives relief and spirit to verse, and that a writer may shew his knowledge of harmony much more in these variations where he has to con- suit his ear, than in a servile adherence to the regular meas- ure. Of the short poems with ~vliich this volume concludes, the sonnets and the piece entitled Churchills Grave, are inferiour to the authors usii~l manncr in such productions. The Pris~ onems of Cliillon and the Dream are much better. But we ar*1 most pleased ~~itlm the piece headed Darkness, in which the author has permitted his genius to range at large in all that is dreary, gloomy, and desolate. [had a dream, which was not all a dream, The bright sun was extinguishd and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went, and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chilld imito a selfish prayer for light; And they did live by watchfires and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for heacons; cities were consumed And men were gatherd round their blazing homes To look once more into each others face; 181T.] Byrons Poems. 109 Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanoes, and their mountain torch; Forests were set on fire..but hour by hour They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks Extinguishd with a crash, and all was black. The world was void, The populous and powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless.. A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and oceans, all stood still, And nothing stirred within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rolling on the sea, And thei rmasts fell down piecemeal; as they droppd They slept on the abyss without a surge~- The waves were dead, the tides were in thcir grave, The moon their mistress had expired before; The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perishd; darkness had no need Of aid from them ... She was the universe. This, like the other works of the same writer, abounds ira those faults which will probably render posterity willing to let it die. It is a subject of regret, that so much excellence should be encumbered with great blemishes, and blemishes which do not result from a want of inventive resource in the author, but partly from a wayward taste, and partly from a love of singularity and a desire of making an experiment on the in(lulgence of his readers, and seeing to what length ex- travagances and absurdities may he put off upon them. This itinerary species of poetry requires, perhaps, and therefore justifies, many abrupt introductions and violent transitions; but it does not demand wild starts and affected flourishes, which seem to he introduced out of a defiance of publick taste and a wanton contempt of all the common no- tions of propriety. There are in all the poems of Lord By- ron, numerous forced and perverse applications of words, and many of the epithets, we should suppose, would wonder at the situation they occupy, no less than the lonely column, mentioned by his lordship, marvelled that itself did not de- cay. There is sometimes a confusion of imagery, and fig- ures are accumulated upon each other, till both the subject and the ornaments are lost in an irregular glittering mass, with- out order or proportion. Conceits, far fetched thoughts, and 110 Wheatons Reports. [May, jingles of words are very fashionable af late, and Chide Harold in the fashion; but they are no more than empirical tricks to excite the wonder of superficial admirers, and after they have dazzled the unskilful for a time, and obscured the mild and steady splendour of real beauty, the glare ceases, and the glittering wonder of the moment is neglected and forgotten. It is another fault in these poems, that the sub.. ject is often abandoned and lost sight of, in quest of some dis- tant comparison or illustration. This practice is not allow- able in the most leisurely pursuit of recreation. We require something like method, and progress, even in our amuse- ments, and if, in an incursion of pleasure, our companion ~ill be running away into the fields for every flower or but- terfly he sees, we think him a trifler, and become weary of his company. But one of Lord Byrons greatest and most frequent mistakes consists in his endeavour to give anima- tion to his poetry, by attributing consciousness and intelli- gence to inanimate objects, which after all show no signs of thought, but remain, in spite of all the writers efforts to the contrary, inmoveable, dead, material things. This practice is commonly the resort of a poor invention and cold fancy, but Lord Byron seems to use it out of a love of conceit, and from a want of delicate, discriminating taste. We take leave of Lord Byron, as we believe most of his readers do, with a regret, that, since he has written so wel~, be has also written so ill. AlIT. VI. Reports of cases, argued and adjudged in the Sn- preine Court of the United States. By Henry Wheaton, Coun- sellor at law. Vol. i.Matt. Carey, Phil. 1816. THE Court, whose decisions are reported in the volume be- fore us, derives from the constitution an extensive and im- portant jurisdiction. Every subject of judicial cognizance, which can in any manner affect our external relations, or our domestick peace, is submitted to its judgment, an(l that judgment is fimial. Not only does it contribute, with all the other powers in the government, to the general purposes of tIme confederacy; it is, in a more peculiar sense, the guardian of constitutional sanity; the power which pre

Wheaton's Reports 110-119

110 Wheatons Reports. [May, jingles of words are very fashionable af late, and Chide Harold in the fashion; but they are no more than empirical tricks to excite the wonder of superficial admirers, and after they have dazzled the unskilful for a time, and obscured the mild and steady splendour of real beauty, the glare ceases, and the glittering wonder of the moment is neglected and forgotten. It is another fault in these poems, that the sub.. ject is often abandoned and lost sight of, in quest of some dis- tant comparison or illustration. This practice is not allow- able in the most leisurely pursuit of recreation. We require something like method, and progress, even in our amuse- ments, and if, in an incursion of pleasure, our companion ~ill be running away into the fields for every flower or but- terfly he sees, we think him a trifler, and become weary of his company. But one of Lord Byrons greatest and most frequent mistakes consists in his endeavour to give anima- tion to his poetry, by attributing consciousness and intelli- gence to inanimate objects, which after all show no signs of thought, but remain, in spite of all the writers efforts to the contrary, inmoveable, dead, material things. This practice is commonly the resort of a poor invention and cold fancy, but Lord Byron seems to use it out of a love of conceit, and from a want of delicate, discriminating taste. We take leave of Lord Byron, as we believe most of his readers do, with a regret, that, since he has written so wel~, be has also written so ill. AlIT. VI. Reports of cases, argued and adjudged in the Sn- preine Court of the United States. By Henry Wheaton, Coun- sellor at law. Vol. i.Matt. Carey, Phil. 1816. THE Court, whose decisions are reported in the volume be- fore us, derives from the constitution an extensive and im- portant jurisdiction. Every subject of judicial cognizance, which can in any manner affect our external relations, or our domestick peace, is submitted to its judgment, an(l that judgment is fimial. Not only does it contribute, with all the other powers in the government, to the general purposes of tIme confederacy; it is, in a more peculiar sense, the guardian of constitutional sanity; the power which pre 1M7.] Wheatons Reports. 111 serves all others in their due and wholesome exercise; which checks their excesses, corrects their disorders and mistakes; and, like conscience in the moral system, vindicates the au- thority of the laws, when they are in danger of violation or neglect. A written constitution would be of little use without such a tribunal. Its restrictions, however clear and positive, would be ineffectual to control the ambitious, and even the errours of men in power would be drawn into precedent, and would gradually undermine the political structure. In maintain- ing the permanency of our civil institutions, therefore, the agency of the Judiciary is of the highest necessity and mo- ment. The importance of uniform decisions in matters of com- mon interest, and the real or supposed danger of partiality in the courts of the States, are well known to have been a- mong the principal objects, for which the jurisdiction of the tederal courts was given. Iii the words of Chief Jus- tice Marshall,* the constitution itself either entertains ap- prehensions on this subject, or views with indulgence the possible fears and apprehensions of suitors. Whether these apprehensions are well or ill founded, they seem to have been felt, as soon as an attempt was made to unite in a confeder. ated republick. Within a few months after the commence- inent of the revolutionary war,t Congress exercised its then undefined authority in recommending to the several legisla- hires, to erect courts for the purpose of determining con- cerning captures, and to provide that all trials in such cases be had by a jury, allowing in all cases an appeal to Con- gress, or to such person or persons, as they should appoint for the trial of appeals.The articles of confederation, rati- fied on the 9th July, 1778, provided that Congress should have the sole and exclusive right of establishing rules for dcciding in all cases, what captures on land or water should be legal, and of appointing courts for the trial of piracies and felonies committed on the high seas, and establishing courts for receiving and determining finally appeals in all cases of captures. The same article provides, that all dis- putes between States, concerning boundary, jurisdiction, or any other cause, and all controversies, concerning the pri- vate right of soil, claimed under different grants of two or 5 Cra. 87~ t 25No~. 1775. 112 Wheatons Reports. ~May, more States, should be decided in the last resort by Con- gress, or appeal. When the present more national form of government was adopted, the enlargement of the legislative powers made a corresponding extension of the judicial authority indispen- sable. A good law without execution, says Bishop Taylor; is like a promise unperformed. Such was the fate of the laws, or rather recommendations of the Congress, deriving its powers from the articles of confederation; and such, without a court of commenstirate jurisdiction, must have been that of the most salutary acts of legislative power, under our existing constitution. Whether the present organization of the federal judiciary be the most convenient and proper, and what danger there may be of an inordinate increase of its authority, we have not time to examine. There are cer- tainly very serious objectiojis to some parts of the system, and the example of English courts established originally for special and definite purposes, but by means of fictions, and the consent of parties, gradually embracing in their jurisdic- tion almost every kind of controversy, may lead some to ap- prehend a similar growth of power in the courts of the United States. Thus far there has been no indication, sufficiently unequivocal to be a just cause of alarm, of a disposition in the federal judiciary, to extend its authority beyond those lim- its, which are sanctioned by the fair and legitimate con- struction of the constitution. Whenever such a disposition shall be apparent, a powerful barrier against encroachment will, we trust, be found in the courts of the several States. Among the means, which may best serve to keep both the federal and state, courts within their proper bounds, corcect reports of their respective decisions may certainly be num- bered. Conflicts will be less likely to arise, when each knows the limits, which the other assigns to its authority. They will mutually enlighten and assist each other in the construction of that constitution, under which they act, and either may draw back when it finds that incautiously or from the natural love of power, it has stepped upon doubtful and disputed ground. From the peculiar structure of our government, the national and state judiciaries are both su- preme within their respective spheres. There is no common arbiter. And hence the importance of preventing contro- versies, of which the end cannot be foreseen. lair.] Wheatons Reports. 113 For this reason, as well as on account of the general in- terest which belongs to the reports of a court, in which so many novel and important questions are discussed, we heard -with real pleasure of the appointment of Mr. Wheaton to the office of reporter, and of the resolution of Mr. Cranch to publish the cases from the close of his sixth volume to the commencement of Mr. Wheatons labours. These last, as well as Mr. Wheatons volume, are no~v before the publick; but our limits, and the imperfect examination we have been able to give them, will admit of our noticing them but slight ly. The duty of a reporter was formerly much more arduous and responsible, than it now is. He ~vas obliged to eatch the words, as they fell from the lips of the judges, and to trans- fer them to his page, there to remain as a guide to those, who in after times should be entrusted with the administration of justice. It was not strange, that he should often err, and that many of the limitations and restrictions which accom.. panied the opinion should be omitted in the report. We are told by Master iPlowden, that there were anciently four re- porters of cases in law, who were chosen and appointed for that purpose, and had a yearly stipend from the king for their trouble therein; which lersons used to confer all to~ gether at the making and collecting of a report, and their report, being made and settled by so many, and by men of such approved learning, carried great credit with it, as in- deed it ought. This cautious method, however, continued but a short time. Of late years, the practice has been for the judges themselves, upon questions of any importance, to reduce their opinions to writing. Very little is left for the reporter, but to give a clear statement of the facts, and an accurate and faithful account of the arguments of counsel. His title to praise must of course be as limited as his expos- ure to blame. But what the reporter loses in reputation is gained to the piiblick in the increased assurance of the fidel- ity of the report, the more full exposition of the reasons, on which the decision is founded, and the more exact definition of its extent and boundaries. Mr. Whieaton, however, has not confined himself within the humble limits, to which the mere exercise of h~s duty as a reporter would have restricted him. With a laudable am- bition. he seems resolved to assert a higher claim to reputa- t~on, than would be consistent with the hare d~liueation of Vol. V. No. 1. 15 114 Wheatons Reports. [May, arguments, which are not his own, and for the ability or de- feds of which he of course is not responsihie. He has scat- tered through his volume notes upon some of the most mi- portant points connected with the cases reported, in which he has given a compendious view of the law, as it is to be found in the most approved foreign writers. Most of these relate to maritime law, and to the jurisdiction and practice of the admiralty in matters of prize and revenue. They are in general well executed, and will be valuable aids to the student in directing him to the sources of legal information. Two notes of considerable length are inserted in the ap- pendix. The first, containing a sketch of the practice in prize causes, will be found useful, if we should unfortunately be engaged in another war. The other is an historical de- duction of the rule of war of 1756, from its origin down to the late orders in council. This note contains much useful information, and discovem~ an ingenuity and extent of re- search highly creditable to the author. Its object is to prove, 1. That the rule had not been recognized or applied at any period earlier than the war of 1756. 2. That in its origin, it was confined to cases of such complete identification with the enemys interests, as to give a hostile character to the prop- erty. s. That the rule, whatever it was, was suffered to slum- ber during the war of the American revolution. 4. That when revived in the war of the French revolution, the sphere of its activity was enlarged, beyond even the instruc- tions of the executive government. How far Mr. W. has succee(led in proving these points, is~ a question which it would be inconsistent with the object of this review to dis- cuss. There is, however, reported in this volume a case, which we are apprehensive will be employed as a powerful argument against our neutral claims, in the event of a fu- hire European war. We allude to the case of the L~orn- mercen, (p. 38?.) The question in this case was, whether this vessel, being Swedish, and having been captured in transporting grain, the property of British subjects, from Ire- laud to Spain, by the special permission of the British gov- ermmnient, and as appeared from the papers, for the use of the British forces there, was entitled to freight. The claim of the neut~a1 owner for freight was rejected by a majority of the court.* Now, it is true, that this decision does not pro- fly four judges against three, Marshall, Livingston, and .Johnon dis. senting. 1817.3 Wlaeatons Reports. 115 fess to be founded upon the principle, that no trade is to be allowed to the neutral in war, which is prohibited to him in peace, but upon the ground, that being engaged in transport- ing provisions for the use of the forces of our enemy, though not acting against us, but in another and distinct war, he is to be considered as much incorporated with that enemy, as if he had been carrying his despatches, or transporting his troops. It would not become us to question the correctness of this reasoning. But there are certainly arguments of no incon- siderable weight, which may he opposed to it by the future belligerent, when our own citizens shall be in the situation of the Swedish claimant. These arguments cannot be better expressed, than in the words used by C. J. Marsh all, (p. 402) in explaining the reasons of his dissent. The inquiry, then, whether the act, in which this individual Swede was employed, would, if performed by his government, have been considered an act of hostility to the United States, and might rightfully he so considered, is material to the decision of the question, whether the act of the individual is to be treated as hostile. Great Britain and Sweden were allies in the war against France. Consequently, the king of Sweden might have ordered his troo.ps to cooperate with those of Britain, in any place, against the common enemy. lie might have ordered a reinforcement to the British army on the peninsula, and this reinforcement might have been transported by sea. An attempt on the part of the United States to intercept it, because it was aiding their enemy, would certainly have been an interference in the war in Europe, which would have provoked and would have justified the resent- ment of all the allied powers. It would have been an interfer- ence, not to be justified by our war with Britain, because those troops were not to be employed against us. If, instead of a rein- forcementof men, a supply of provisions was to be furnished in that part of the allied army, which was British, would that alter the case? Could an American squadron intercept a convoy of provisions, or of military stores, of any description, going to an army engaged in a war common to Great Britain and Sweden, and not against the United States? Could this be done without interfering in that war, and taking part in it against all the allies? If it could not, then any supplies furnished by the government of Sweden, promoting the operations of their common ivar, whether intended for the British, or any other division of the allied armies, had a iight to pass unmolested by American cruisers. It is not believed that any act, which, if performed by the government, would not be deemed an act of hostility, is to be so downed if l1t~ Wheatoits Reports. [May, performed by an individual. Had the provisions, then on board the Commercen, been Swedish property, the result of this reasou- ing is, that it would not have been confiscated as prize of war. Being British ~property, it is confiscable; but the Swede is guilty of no other offence than carrying enemys property, an offence not enhanced in this particular case by the character of that prop- erty. He is, therefore, as much entitled to freight, as if his cargo had been of a different description. It ought to be stated, however, that the Chief Justice de- clares that it was not without difficulty he came to this con- clusion. Among the constitutional questions, which have been agi- tated from time to time in the courts of the United States, by far the most interesting and momentous is that of the power of those courts to take cognizance of crimes and of- fences not defined by the constitution, or by statutes made in pursuance of it. In the case of an indictment before the Cir- cuit Court of Pennsylvania for attempting to bribe a com- missioner of the revenue, (2 DalI. 393,) Judge Chase declared that, in his opinion, the United States, as a federal gov- eminent, had no common law, and consequently no indict- ment could be maintained in their courts for offences merely at the common law. The point has been argued on several occasions since that time, and particularly in the celebrated trial of Col. Burr before the Circuit Court at Richmond. It had not, however, beemi decided by the Supreme Court un- til the case of the United States vs. Hudson ~ Goodwin, re- ported in 7 Granclt, 32. This was an indictment for a libel on the Congress of the U. S. and the question of jurisdiction was certified on general demurrer from the Circuit Court of Connecticut. Pinckney, Attorney General, for the U. S. and Dana, of counsel for the defendants, both declined arguing. The court decided against the jurisdiction, and Judge John- son delivered an opinion, explaining the reasons of this de- cision. It was supposed that the question was then at rest; but in the volume now under review, in the case of United States vs. Goolidge, (p. 415,) it is brought again before the court, and though the forinei~ decision is not overruled, yet from the intimations of several of the judges, the point may be considered as still open for discussion. It cannot, be too much regretted, that a question of so much importance, should thus remain unsettled; especially as it involves the exist- 181T.] WI& eatons Reports. 11~ ence or non-existence of an entii~e code of criminal justice. In this uncertainty and division of opinion, we can only re- fer such, as take an interest in the subject, to the able and learned opinion of the Hon. Judge Story in favour of the ju- risdiction, reported in 1 Cir. Court Rep. 415, and to the opinion before mentioned of the Hon. Judge Chase, to the arguments in Burrs case, and a note of Judge Tucker, an- nexed to his edition of Blackstone, for the reasoning in sup- port of the opposite doctrine. We had intended to give a view of the arguments on each side of the interesting question which arose in the case of .Alartir& vs. Hunters lessee, reported in this volume, (p. 305.) But we must hasten to the close of this article. We will merely inform the reader, that in the case referred to, the constitutionality of that section of the judiciary law, which authorizes the revision in certain cases of the decrees and judgments of courts of the States by the Supreme Court oK the United States, was contested by the Court of Appeals of the State of Virginia; who refused to obey a mandate for the Supreme Court, reversing their judgment in a cause of great magnitude, involving the title to a large tract of land, which the State of Virginia had seized, during the revolu- tionary war, and bad granted to several purchasers. An elaborate opinion was delivered by Story J. the result of which was, that the court, in pursuance of the powers given by the statute, proceeded to execute its own judgment with- out a second mandate to the Court of Appeals. This has therefore become a controversy between Vir- ginia and the United States. It remains to be seen, wheth. er that State will, as Pennsylvania did in the case of the exec- utors of Rittenhouse, oppose by force the execution of the decree. We are disposed to say very little as to the manner in which Mr. Wheaton has reported the arguments of counsel. Nec enim reprehendere libet, nec laudare possumus. Their general defect is in stating positions, rather than the reasoning and illustrations, by which they are supported. In some instances, they are very fully and ably reported. Mr. Wheaton~s own argument, and that of his antagonist in the case of the 4ntonia, and Mi. llitnters in that of ./lmmi- don vs: Smith ~ at. may be mentioned as examples. Mr. Wheaton has, we think, been unfortunate in attempt- big sometimes to preserve the coruscations of fancy, with 1I~l *~heatons Reports. (May, which the orator has soughtto decorate his discourse. These, however proper and becoming at the bar, are entirely out of place in the report of a law case. It is hardly possible to retain tht~mtu~curately, and their effect depends so much oft what precedes and follows, that a figure, very beautiful when delivered, may appeal distorted and awkward in the brief sketch, to which a reporter is limited. We felt this p~infulIy in reading the succession of indistinct and confused images, which close the argument of that eminent civilian and ora- tor, who was of counsel for the defendant in errour in the case of .Mitrtin vs. Hunters lessee.* We believed that though here and there might be a word of his pronouncing, the whole could be but the mutilated like- ness of his eloquence; the broken and disjointed limbs of a form once beautiful. Who, that has been accustomed to the oratory of Mr. Dexter, can suppose the following sentences to have passed his lips. I have long inclined to the belief, that the centrifugal force was greater than the centripetal. The dan~er is, not that we shall fall into the sun, but that we may fly off in eccentrick orbits, arid never return to our perihelion. But though I will struggle to preserve all the constitutiqnal powers of the national govern~ ment, 1 will not strain and break the constitution itself in order to assert them; there is danger too on that side. The poet describes the temple of Fame as situated on a mountain covered with ice. The palaces of power are on the same frail foundation; the foot of adventurous ambition often slips in the ascent, and sometimes the volcano bursts, and inundates with its lava the surrounding country. Who does not perceive, that though some few strokes of the picture may be from the pencil of that distinguished master, yet it wants the tint and colouring, which were the chief con- stituents of its heauty; which softened its glare, and gavI~ consistency and harmony to the whole ?We do not mean, however, to accuse Mr. Wheaton of any want of skill in the execution of this attempt. We believe very few would have done it so well. The truth is, that a painter may as well hope to imitate on his canvass the changes of the evening cloud, as a law reporter to preserve, in their force, distinct- ness and beauty, the displays of imagination that are some. times made in a legal argument. p. 320,321. 1817.1 .qtwient cemetery in .?~4tples. ~l9 Upon the whole, we are well satisfied with the manner, in which Mr. W. has commenced his labours, and shall look with impatience for a second volume. ART. VII. ~femoria ~ULo rime to dz Un antico sepokreto Greco-Rumano, di Lorenzo Just~7tiani. In Napoli, 1812, pp. 193. TUE study of antiquities is no where more generally cul- tivated or more highly respected, than in Italy. Surround- ed by the ruins of lost empire and the memorials of departed glory, which are at once their pride and their reproach, its present inhabitants regard every relick of their boasted an- cestors with natural but almost superstitious veneration. This sentiment is heightened by witnessing the zeal of the hosts of foreigners, who annually cross the Alps, and descend into this delightful country, not like its former invaders to insult and plunder it, but to increase the gaiety of its cities; to add something to the scanty property of the people; to admire its edifices, superiour even in ruins to the most finish- ed productions of modern architecture, and to indulge in that glowing enthusiasm, which is kindled by the conscious- ness of standing on the very spots, where exploits were achieved, that elevate the dignity of human nature. This study is further recommended by the opportunity, which it affords of asr~ertaining the social character and do- mestick occupations of the ancients; the amusements of their leisure hours, tjiose little every day occurrences, which bear a stronger resemblance to the realities of our own lives, and excite a more lively conviction that they were of the same species of beings as ourselves. The fact too that the relicks of their skill in the arts surpass the labours of the moderns even more than the deeds related of them surpass the ordin- ary events of our degenerate days, gives an additional cred- ibility to their history, and affords indirect but persuasive evidence of the actual performance of the achievements as- cribed to this wonderful people. The discoveries of the antiquary tend also to elucidate oh- scure passages in the writings of the ancients, still the models of taste, the first objects of our serious study, and the guides of our earliest literary efforts~

Justiniani's account of an ancient Cemetery in Naples 119-128

1817.1 .qtwient cemetery in .?~4tples. ~l9 Upon the whole, we are well satisfied with the manner, in which Mr. W. has commenced his labours, and shall look with impatience for a second volume. ART. VII. ~femoria ~ULo rime to dz Un antico sepokreto Greco-Rumano, di Lorenzo Just~7tiani. In Napoli, 1812, pp. 193. TUE study of antiquities is no where more generally cul- tivated or more highly respected, than in Italy. Surround- ed by the ruins of lost empire and the memorials of departed glory, which are at once their pride and their reproach, its present inhabitants regard every relick of their boasted an- cestors with natural but almost superstitious veneration. This sentiment is heightened by witnessing the zeal of the hosts of foreigners, who annually cross the Alps, and descend into this delightful country, not like its former invaders to insult and plunder it, but to increase the gaiety of its cities; to add something to the scanty property of the people; to admire its edifices, superiour even in ruins to the most finish- ed productions of modern architecture, and to indulge in that glowing enthusiasm, which is kindled by the conscious- ness of standing on the very spots, where exploits were achieved, that elevate the dignity of human nature. This study is further recommended by the opportunity, which it affords of asr~ertaining the social character and do- mestick occupations of the ancients; the amusements of their leisure hours, tjiose little every day occurrences, which bear a stronger resemblance to the realities of our own lives, and excite a more lively conviction that they were of the same species of beings as ourselves. The fact too that the relicks of their skill in the arts surpass the labours of the moderns even more than the deeds related of them surpass the ordin- ary events of our degenerate days, gives an additional cred- ibility to their history, and affords indirect but persuasive evidence of the actual performance of the achievements as- cribed to this wonderful people. The discoveries of the antiquary tend also to elucidate oh- scure passages in the writings of the ancients, still the models of taste, the first objects of our serious study, and the guides of our earliest literary efforts~ 120 .IDLcleflt eernetery in .Naples. [May, In addition to all this, the antiquities of Italy are so sim- ple and perfect, as to delight the most ignorant, and so nu- inerous as to afford sufficient subject for the most indefatiga- ble labours of the learned. it is not necessary in this as in most other studies to store the memory with tecl~iisaI wor4s and elementary principles before any interest can ke excited or any pleasure enjoyed in its pursuit; its very rudiments are attractive; the first sight of these venerable monuments fills us with admiration. rfhei.e is no man, however inexperienced in the language or unacquainted with the labours of antiquaries, who would not feel proud of human nature in ascending the steps of the capitol. and impressed with a sentiment of awe in visiting the sephulchres on the Esquiline hill, and treading upon the very bones and ashes of the Romans ; who would not seek with eager curiosity the spot consecrated by the death of Cicero, and regard with no common emotion the tomb of Virgil. On the other hand, the antiquary, whose researches ex- tend far beyond these, and similar objects of vulgar adinira- tion, needs not fear that he shall ever want employment for his talents, or excitement for his curiosity. Rerculaneum and Pompeii are not yet exhausted; in the opinion of Mr. Eustace they have hardly been examined; and the discoveries, which are every day made in Italy by mere accident, are satisfactory evidence that well directed researches would not be unrewarded. One of these discoveries is the subject of the work whose title is at the head of this article. Prince Justiniani dis- plays in it his knowledge of antiquities, and his opinions on the merits of some of his fellow labourers in the same vener- able science; without any great exercise of imagination or of ingenuity. Some account of the facts, which it relates, may amuse our readers. In forming a new street near the Royal Library in Naples in the year 1810, it was found necessary to cut through a garden belonging to P. P. Teresiani. The spot, which it occupied, was formerly a small hill, composed of volcanick strnta, and called Casiello. About two hundred and fifty years since, it was purchased by (bliC ot the family of Som ma, who levelled the summit, and covered it with vegetable mould, in order to convert it into a garden; and to support us side8. 1)uilt thick walls on the soiiih and on the east, one 1817.] ,Encie~t e.~m4,~ry in ~& ples. l~1 of which w~.s eve himdred feet long, and eighty feet high, the other rather less. In digging through this garden, ~about fifty feet above the level of the street, anal thirty feet beneath the top of the terrace, a sepulchre of tufa was discoy- ered, and soon after, several others of the same substance, and some of tiles; the former the work of Greeks, the lat- ter of Romans, as will hereafter ~ppear.* The prince is satisfied from the appearance of these se- pulchres, that they were originally placed on the declivity of the hill. and exposed to publick view; and to corroborate this opinion, mentioiis m~tny temples and other ancient edi- fices, discovered near them, at a still greater distance be- neath the present surface of the earth. He endeavours fur- ther to prove, that a publick road,f anAl the aqueduct of Se- rino, passed near this cemetery; but his arguments on this subject cannot be weighed, nor even comprehended, without an intimate acquaintance with the local facts and objects on which they are founded...He then describes the cemetery and its contents. These monuments, anciently placed on the surface of the ground not to cover but to contain the remains of the dead, have no peculiar name in our language. Those formed of tufa might be called Sareophagi, but those built of tiles could not with any propriety receive this app~11ation. The term sepu~cra, which Justiniani applies to them, is rendered sepul. chres. The expression seems quite as appropriate in English as in Italian. ~ It was a custom of the ancients, to place their funeral monuments along the sides of the publick roads; and this circumstance accounts for the frequent use of Siste Victor, and similar expressions in their epitaphs. The moderns have retained this mode of address, though they have aban- doned the practice, in which it originated. Victor is still inscribed on our tomb stones, and has been so long and universally employed, that it would be affectation now to condemn its use. Yet the man who turns aside from the common business of life, to read the inscriptions in our grave yards, might be addressed with more strict propriety as a stranger, (.Advena) for the monuments of our predecessors are now carefully separated, we might almost say hidden, from the world. ~We take pains to remove the remembrancers of death from our sight, and the thought of it from our minds. One cannot help regretting the discontinuance of the ancient prac- tice of intermingling the monuments, and the memory of the dead, with the dwellings and the occupations of the living; not only on account cf the moral advantages, which might result from it, but because there is something very interesting to the imagination in this sort of intercourse ~nd familiarity with the ~lead. Even the reveries of Swedenborg on this subject, arising from natural feelings, and leading to no violation of duty, should be regarded not only without contempt, but with complacency. I was never much displeased, says the Vicar of Wakefield, with those harmless delusions that tend to make us more happy. And there i~ much reason, as well as humanity, in the sentiment. Vol.V. No.1. 16 1~2 .~iwient cemetery in JVaptes. [May, The scpulchres of tufa were composed of the finest stone found in the vicinity of Naples. They were rectangular from 7~ to 11 feet long, and from 4~ to 5 feet wide externally, and about a foot thick. There are four much smaller, con- taining the skeletons of children. The sides of some of these sepulchres consisted each of a single piece of tufa, while in others, each side consisted of t~vo pieces, placed one upomi the other; the bottom and each end always of a single piece and the tup of three pie(:e5. These were nicely join- ed, but without cement; their internal surfaces were highly l)olisheU, the external very rough, which last circumstance may have been occasioned by their exposure at first to the air, and afterwards to the dampness of the ground. One ov these was enclosed by two walls of brick work, forming a sort of chamber, with its entrance on the south, and time sepulchre in its centre. One sepulchre was of a different form from the rest, re- sembling the tomb which is placed in our churches on the day of the commemoration of the dead. It dilkrcd from the others also, in being placed upon a mass of brick work, covered with stucco, and painted red like the walls of the houses in Herculaimetmmn and Pompeii. The whole monument was 7~ feet high, 6~. long, and 3 feet wide. These sepulchres were not displaced, though many of them had lost their covers; and the sides of almost all of them were broken. They were placed irregularly, not ly- ing at equal distances, noi in the same direction. The sepulchres built of tiles, more numerous, but not so ancient, were interspersed among those made of tufa. The bottoms of these were composed of tiles, bricks and pieces of tufa, the sides of fiat tiles, which, inclining inward, formed an angle at the summit. Each side consiste(I of three tiles, three feet square; and each end of a single tile. They were not so l)ertect as those of tufa, but the skeletons within them were in better preservation. In one of them was a little py- ramid of brick at the head of the body, which was probably intended to support the inscription. On the western side of another of these sepulchres, was distinguished the place of the inscription, and on a fragment of white marble, which still remained, ~vere the following letters. D PLOTIOJ 1816.] ~ncienI cemetery in .Naples. 128 Over this spot was a niche apparently for a lamp. East of this were three others, each of which was enclosed in a mass of brick work, called by the Romans, sepimcntum; one of these masses was 8 feet long, by 8~ wide. On each of them was a pedestal bearing a pyramid, made of brick with a facing of flat tiles. The tops of these pyramids were broken, but some balls of terra cotta found near them proba- ably ornamented their summits. These monuments were entirely covered with stucco, and painted red, like the edifices of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Notwithstanding their long continuance under ground, the colour was as vivid as if recently applied, and carefully pre- served from the air. In November, 1810, was discovered in the eastern part of this cemetery, a wall of tufa, about sixteen inches thick, which on further examination, was found to be part of a rec- tangular enclosure, 25 feet long, 22~ feet wide. Within it were many fragments of white marble, and of stucco, and on the southern side, the two following inscriptions. First Inscription. VIAE . LIBERAE CONJUGI . BENF~ MERENTI M . DIRIUS . CLAYDINUS ET. CANINIA. LIBERALIS FILIAE . PIENTISSIMAE. VIXIT. ANNIS . XXY. Second Inscription. D.M METIAE . iIIC TORLNAE . QVE XIT. AN. XXXXI. IMDIR. CLAYD IANUS.C.B.M.F, In each of the above described sepulchres was found a skeleton, lying according to the custom of the ancients, with 1~4 4ncie~it cemetery in JVapies. [May~, the arms straight; and not crossed on the breast, ii~ the manner afterwards introduced by Christians. Some of the sepulchres of tufa had several skeletons in each. One of the skeletons was that of a man, whose thigh-bone had been broken, and the manner, in which it was united, proves the unskilfulness of the surgeons of that age, in the art of reducing fractures.* In the mouths of all the skeletons excepting those of chil~ dren were coins, two of silver, the rest of copper. In the se~ul- chres of tufa these coins were Greek, only one of those so- pulchres containing both Greek and Roman coins. In the sepulchres of tites all the coins were Roman. None were discovered but such as were previously well known to anti. quaries. Among the Greek coins were some bearing an ox, with a human face,hearded; and crowned by a winged victory; and on the reverse a head and the legend Nso~.~:T~v in Greek characters. This is known to he the impression on the most ancient coins struck at Naples; and it is hence concluded that the cemetery is coeval with the city ; which was founded about three centuries before the Christian era. The Roman coins were of the time of the empire, princi- pally of the emperours Caligula, Claudius# and the Antoni~ nines; the last of whom began his reign in 161 after Christ. The Ronians derived from the Greeks the custom of plac- ing money in the mouths of the dead, to pay Charon for ferrying them across the Styx. This however was not ne- cessary for children, their innocence entitling them to a passage gratis. In these sepulchres, particularly in those of tufa, were found vases, painted and varnished like those cimmonly called Tus- can. These however were only remarkable for their antiq- uity. Some fragments of a finer composition, found within these sepulchres, and some corresponding fragments, found without, encourage the opinion that the ancients were accus- tomed to break their most precious vases during the funeral This broad assertion of Prince Justiniani is hardly supported by the fact, that one individual had a fracture of his leg improperly treated; nor is it in truth just. The works of Hippocrates and of Celsus fsrnish abun- dant evidence that they were not igno?arit of the art of reducing fractures of the limbs The latWr is very copious and correct on this subject; and the mode of treating fractures of the thigh, invented by the former, differs from the modern practice of extension and counterextension, recommend- ed by Dessault, only in the apparatus by which it is effected. 1817.3 .4iu~ient eeme(erij in .NVtples.~ ceremony, and to scatter the fragments in and about th~ sepulchre. Some bowls Were found whole, and some of a better quality broken. These sepulchres contained also several of the little earth- en vessels, usually termed ktchrymatories, but which are sup posed by Prince Justiniani to be intended for perfumes; some earthen pots, undoubtedly deposited there, filled i~ith food, and some lamps of very fine ware, on many of which birds were represented in basso relievo. lb one of the sep- ulchres of tufa was a statt~e of terra cotta, two inches longs very inelegantly and unskilfully formed. T~vo alabaster boxes, of about two inches high, but much broken, were also found, and sixteen goblets of glass~ The latter were yel- low, white, or violet; they seemed intended to contain odot- ous balsams and distillations, and were always found un- stopped; probably in order that the perfumes might fill the sepulchre. On the bottom of these goblets there was no appearance of the rough glass, now frequently seen on such vessels; and the Prince declares himself unable to imagine by what means the ancients avoided this redundance.* When these goblets were first taken up, thin laminae were detached from them; which, floating in the air. reflected va- rious brilliant colours; but this sort of decomposition soon ceased, and they recovered their original compactness. A box of terra cotta in one of the sepulebres of tufa, con- tained forty little circular pieces of glass, probably intended for the game ~uvv~AiO~, which consists in throwing tip five of these at the same time, receiving them on the back of the hand as they fall, thence casting them up again and catching them all in the second descent. This game is still known at Na- ples, and called .TPiano in Cielo, and among us Jact-sftmes. In some of these sepulchres were found scrapers, (used in bathing,) nails, formerly perhaps driven into the sides of the sepulchre, and which had fallen in consequence of the corro~ sion oftheirpoints; and metallick mirrors, in which were spots sufficiently bright to reflect a distinct image. Only one of these retained a frame, which was of ivory. In one of these sepulchres of tufa was an instrument of The rough knob on the bottom of glass vessels, is called by our woik men punty, and serves to connect the vessel with the rod, by which it is handled after it is detached from the blow pipe. It is afterwards ground off from well finished specimens; and was probably removed in 1 ho same mode by the ancients. 126 ~mcient cemetery in J~apLes. [May, copper, resembling a pair of snuffers; in several of them were shells of the species* worn by pilgrims. These were pierced with holes, in order that they might be fastened to the garments; whence it appears that this custom among Christian pilgrims is derived from the ancient Greeks. Egg shells were also found in the Greek sepulchres, hav- ing constituted probably a part of the provisions deposited there. Without the sepulchres were found fragments of glass and of tuscan vases, a broken lamp, coins, shells, and many nails, and the inscriptions above stated. Prince Justiniani thinks that this cemetery belonged to the Fratria of the .Mopsopei, one of the twelve Fratrie or communi- ties into which Naples was divided by its Athenian founders. In the concluding chapters he answers the objections urged a- gainst his opinion of its antiquity. The most plausible of these objections is that it was the custom both of Greeks and Romans,during three centuries before the Christian era,to burn the bodies of the dead; for Cicero mentions it as a remark- able fact, that the family of the Cornehii continued the an- cient practice 6f inhumation till the time of Cornelius Sylla, the Dictator, who ordered his body to be burned, that it might not be disinterred and insulted by his enemies, like that of Marius. To this Justiniani answers by quoting an assertion of Pliny, that some other families retained the same practice; and he might have added that the very fact mentioned of Marius proves inhumation not to have been confined to the Cornehii alone. He also cites Virgil to prove that ~vhen bo- dies were burned, the bones were not consumed, and thinks that these skeletons may have been taken from the funeral pyre and deposited in their sepulchres. This reasoning is not satisfactory. It appeai~s indeed from many passages in Homer and Virgil that the bones them- selves were not consumed on the pyre; but the same passa- ges shew that the ligaments, which connected them, were de- stroyed ;t and it is hardly credible that all the bones found in this cemetery should be placed in such perfect order, and their relative position so accurately preserved, after the de * Ostrea maxima. f AEyou~ A~vz~sO ossa collecta. Et sirnilia ~a~im. 1817.] .flncient cemeter!, in .Naples. 127 struction of all the ligaments. Nor can it be supposed that inhumation was a singular exception from the common prac- tice at Naples, since there does not appear to have been a single instance of any other mode of sepulture in the whole cemetery. The most obvious conclusion is, that this practice was more frequent in Naples, and perhaps throughout Italy, than has generally been supposed. Another objection is, that the skeletons in the sepulchres of tufa did not all lie in the same direction, whereas the dead were interred by the Megarensians with their heads toward the east, and by the rest of the Greeks with their heads to- ward the west. To account for this deviation from the usage of the Greeks, Justiniani cites a passage from Lucre- tius, which states that during the plague of Athens, it was impossible to inter the dead with the usual ceremonies, and founds on it a conjecture that many of the funeral rites and among theni this of placing the head toward the ~vest, were generally abandoned during the plague, and not afterwards resumed. It is a bold conjecture. Since the difficulty of in- terring the dead regularly was considered so important as to be named among the serious evils resulting from the plague of AthenstWit plague, which caused the death ot Pericles, the depopulation of the city, and its humiliation before its brave but barbarous rivalcan it be supposed that this ir- regularity would continue longer than the necessity in which it originated? After all, though we are not satisfied with the answers of Justiniani, we do not think the objections themselves very ma- terial. They are not of sufficient weight to overbalance the evidence derived from the impressions on the coins and from the general appearance of the sepulchces and of their con- tents, in favour of their antiquity. The utmost that can be deduced from them is an opinion that the funeral rites of the ancient Neapolitans did not strictly agree with those of the Romans or with those of the Greeks. This last fact would not be readily admitted by an antiquary of Naples, lest it might seem not quite consistent with the claims of that city to an Athenian origin. I 2S intdiigence and Remarks. tMay, INTELLIGENCE AND REMARKS. [The following letter is from a gentleman, late an officer of the University in Cambridge, and now chaplain on board of the U. S. ship Washin~ton in the Mediterranean. It gives some account of books, winch he sent out to the University library, accompani- ed with a few remarks on what occurred to him at Naples, and elsewhere. It discovers in some degree the literary taste and talents of the authors and contains information, which we think may be interesting to many of our readers. We are gratified to perceive, from the attentions which have been paid him, that he is estimated by strangers, as he is by his friends. This letter was written to the librarian of the University. It will not be out of place to say here & lso, that this gentleman has laboured with no common assiduity since his abser~ce in collecting specimens of natural history and antiquities, which he has sent home to his friends, and to enrich the cabinets of societies.] U. S. Ship Washing~ttmn, Gibraltar Bay, DEAR SIR, Feb. 14, 1817. I SENT you, on the 6th inst. by the ship Packet, the cata- logues of the principal Neapolitan booksellers. I now send to Boston a box, containing the following hooks for the li- brary. 1st. Two treatises Sid .!~Ietodo degli ..,qntichi, & c. and & heletri Gumani, & c. by Andrea de Joris. They were presented to inc by the author for the library of our TJniver- sity. I was introduced to him just before we left Naples. He enjoys the high literary dignity of Inspector General of Publick Instruction iii the kingdom of Naples. In the church lie is next to a bishop, and almoner to one of the prin- ces royal. But, which is more to the purpose, he is univer- sally reputed to be a very learned and a very good man. He excels in the knowledge of classical antiquities. Among other instances of his politeness, he spent half a day in ac- companymg me personally through the royal in useum, which, with all similar institutions in the kingdom, forms a part of his official charge. it contains all the antiquities, which were formerly in the museum at Portici, with the royal col- lection of pictures and statues; and embraces the national academy of fine arts. I was shown, of course, the Hercu

Letter from the Mediterranean 128-131

I 2S intdiigence and Remarks. tMay, INTELLIGENCE AND REMARKS. [The following letter is from a gentleman, late an officer of the University in Cambridge, and now chaplain on board of the U. S. ship Washin~ton in the Mediterranean. It gives some account of books, winch he sent out to the University library, accompani- ed with a few remarks on what occurred to him at Naples, and elsewhere. It discovers in some degree the literary taste and talents of the authors and contains information, which we think may be interesting to many of our readers. We are gratified to perceive, from the attentions which have been paid him, that he is estimated by strangers, as he is by his friends. This letter was written to the librarian of the University. It will not be out of place to say here & lso, that this gentleman has laboured with no common assiduity since his abser~ce in collecting specimens of natural history and antiquities, which he has sent home to his friends, and to enrich the cabinets of societies.] U. S. Ship Washing~ttmn, Gibraltar Bay, DEAR SIR, Feb. 14, 1817. I SENT you, on the 6th inst. by the ship Packet, the cata- logues of the principal Neapolitan booksellers. I now send to Boston a box, containing the following hooks for the li- brary. 1st. Two treatises Sid .!~Ietodo degli ..,qntichi, & c. and & heletri Gumani, & c. by Andrea de Joris. They were presented to inc by the author for the library of our TJniver- sity. I was introduced to him just before we left Naples. He enjoys the high literary dignity of Inspector General of Publick Instruction iii the kingdom of Naples. In the church lie is next to a bishop, and almoner to one of the prin- ces royal. But, which is more to the purpose, he is univer- sally reputed to be a very learned and a very good man. He excels in the knowledge of classical antiquities. Among other instances of his politeness, he spent half a day in ac- companymg me personally through the royal in useum, which, with all similar institutions in the kingdom, forms a part of his official charge. it contains all the antiquities, which were formerly in the museum at Portici, with the royal col- lection of pictures and statues; and embraces the national academy of fine arts. I was shown, of course, the Hercu 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 129 lanean manuscripts, and the manner of unrolling them. The one then unrolling had been begun a short time before, and neither the subject nor authors name could yet be ascer- tained. Mr. Hayter had returned to England, and a neph- ew of Jorius was prosecuting the work. Jorius pointed out to me the vases described in his first treatise; and in his own house showed me the furniture taken by him from the sepulchre at Cumae, which is tile subject of the second. I received from him a few sepulchral vases and ancient coins, and was to have a work on commerce by his brother, had we remained a day longer. He, as well as others, was very particular in his inquiries about the state of literature and the arts in the U. States. I answered as I could, and was not silent about our oldest University. Fortunately I had with me catalogues of the library and alumni, and that number of the Medical Journal, which contains a sketch of the institution. Jorius expressed a desire to open a literary intercourse with us, and requested letters from me; though he was often assured, that I was merely a private young man, and acting as such. I wish to send him ~vhat has been writ- ten in our country on Indian antiquities, because he express-. ed an interest in the subject, and reads English with ease, as he also does German and French. 2. Trattenimento .Mirnsilethre~ numbers of a cheap monthlyjournal,containing elementary knowledge for the mass of the people, given to me by the editor, Abbe Foschi. Before the last political change in Naples, literature and education were in a flourishing state. I sent to President Kirkland some numbers of the Biblioteca Analetica, published at that time. But on the return of the king, a check was given to every literary enterprize, by embarrassing restrictions on the press. This cheap magazine of Fosehi was an attempt to revive the popular mode of disseminating information. He continued it but three months. I mentioned to you that this gentleman was secretary to Prince di Cardito, President of publick instruction, & c. By him I was introduced to Prince and Princess di Cardito, and from him received cx-. traordinary offices of kindness. He conducted me to the principal colleges, and introduced me to their superintend-. ants..took me to a school for the deaf and dumb, (which they say is superiour to Abbe Sicards,) where I saw the mode of discipline used, and heard exercises of pupils in all stages of their progress. I never was more interested than in this Vol. V. No. 1. 17 i~o J*~eUigewwe wi4 RemurkL (May~, school. I was next conducted by him to tue royal botanick gardenand afterwards to an. institution which, I think, is iniique. It is a Chinese college for the instruction of Chi- nese young men in the learning of Europe, but especially in the Christian religion. It was founded about a century ago by Matthew Ripa, a Neapolitan. Ihe pupils leave China by stealth, and after completing their education, return in the same way. They retain their costume and manners.-.live entirely secluded from Europeans, except their teachers-~.. are suffered to speak no language but Chinese and Latin ~ which last they use with fluency and accuracy. At present there are but seven. They seemed intelligent, cheerful, and afffthle. They read to me from a Chinese book..showed some exquisite paintings in Chinese styleand conversed with much good sense and shrewdness. The portraits Qf all the patrons and alumni of the institution adorn the walls. From Foschi I received the laws of the university in Na4Aes, which were sent to Dr. Kirkland. I have mentioned, that, if the University should ever wish to procure books, & o. from Italy, he had politely ofibred hi~ gratuitous services and influence. The inclosed paper contains a proposition he oue day made, to send every three or four months, notices. of new l)ublications and interesting occurrences in the literary worldand, on being requested, to purchase whatever the University should wish to obtain and authorize him to pre- cure. Whatever may be thought of this, I hope, at least, that he will receive the thanks of the institution for his dts- position to serve the interests of learning in our country. In one of his letters to me, after speaking of the advantages of intercourse between learned societies in different parts of the world and interchange of their published transactions, he says something of our communication with that at Naples, and adds quin immo praesto sum pariter, per meos, quos Romae cob, Florentiae, Mediolanique, amicos, tantundoni, si libuerit, proctirare. s. Piezas V& ias.-4wo volumes of tracts relating to the island of Minorca, by Dr. Ramis y Ramis of Mahon. The author presented them to me for the library. He is a native of Mahon, and was educated in Avignon. He is very aged, and has a venerable appearance. During the active part of his life, he was celebrated as an advocate; but for some years past has been entirely devoted to literary pursuits, and to the illustration of hjs country by writing its political and ISIT.) IIiige~w. and Remarks~ 131 natural history. He may be styled the Philosopher of Mi.. norca from his preeminent learning and virtue. As member of the Royal Historical Society of Spain, he has written ma- ny memoirs on detached subjects; but has now in the press a digested history of his native island. He is also publishing a work en Roman Inscriptions, a prospectus of which I send. He will soon reprint his entire works, a copy of which he will present to the library. I made arrangements with Mr. Laddico, our consul in Mahon, to forward them as soon as published. 4. Principis de ta lectura Menorquinaa spellingbook oC the Minorcan language, which is quite different from the Spanish, (Castilian,) but nearly resembling the Cataloniaii dialect. Printing it is now forbidden by a royal edict, and Lastilian is substituted for it in the Minorcan schools. It. is musical and pleasant to the ear, and said to be well adapt- ed to poetry. I saw several manuscript tragedies and other poems written in it by Dr. Ramis in the early part of his life. He found with difficulty this printed specimen of the tongue, ~nd presented it to me for the library. I think it was com- piled by him. 5. Sannazarius, & c. and Fracastorins, & c.two vol- nines containing the modern Latin poets of Italy. I remem- ber reading formerly an essay of Knox on these poets; but their works were not to be found in the library, except San- nazarius. They derive their principal interest from their connexion with the revival of learning, and their descriptions of local scenery, which, with respect to the vicinity of Na- pIes, are as true now, even in minute things, as when first written.~Eucherii Indrime,a curious work on the baths of the island of Ischia, in which the author contrives to des- cribe every remarkable ob~ject, existing about Naples at the time he wrote. Santoiji opera poetica.Of this au- thor I know nothing, expcept that he flourished in the bright- est period of French literature, and seems to have been ac- quainted with Bossuet, Corneille, & c.. Ganz~ae de Vesu- vii con~agratione quistota,a description, by an eye witness, of the great eruption of that volcano in 1631, and an account of the pious doings of the Neapolitans to conciliate their of- fended patrons. Prospetto degli scavi di Ercotano e di Porn- peia good account of those places at the time it was writ- ten; but the part of Pompei then uncovered forms only a small portion of what is now visible.

University of Naples 131-133

ISIT.) IIiige~w. and Remarks~ 131 natural history. He may be styled the Philosopher of Mi.. norca from his preeminent learning and virtue. As member of the Royal Historical Society of Spain, he has written ma- ny memoirs on detached subjects; but has now in the press a digested history of his native island. He is also publishing a work en Roman Inscriptions, a prospectus of which I send. He will soon reprint his entire works, a copy of which he will present to the library. I made arrangements with Mr. Laddico, our consul in Mahon, to forward them as soon as published. 4. Principis de ta lectura Menorquinaa spellingbook oC the Minorcan language, which is quite different from the Spanish, (Castilian,) but nearly resembling the Cataloniaii dialect. Printing it is now forbidden by a royal edict, and Lastilian is substituted for it in the Minorcan schools. It. is musical and pleasant to the ear, and said to be well adapt- ed to poetry. I saw several manuscript tragedies and other poems written in it by Dr. Ramis in the early part of his life. He found with difficulty this printed specimen of the tongue, ~nd presented it to me for the library. I think it was com- piled by him. 5. Sannazarius, & c. and Fracastorins, & c.two vol- nines containing the modern Latin poets of Italy. I remem- ber reading formerly an essay of Knox on these poets; but their works were not to be found in the library, except San- nazarius. They derive their principal interest from their connexion with the revival of learning, and their descriptions of local scenery, which, with respect to the vicinity of Na- pIes, are as true now, even in minute things, as when first written.~Eucherii Indrime,a curious work on the baths of the island of Ischia, in which the author contrives to des- cribe every remarkable ob~ject, existing about Naples at the time he wrote. Santoiji opera poetica.Of this au- thor I know nothing, expcept that he flourished in the bright- est period of French literature, and seems to have been ac- quainted with Bossuet, Corneille, & c.. Ganz~ae de Vesu- vii con~agratione quistota,a description, by an eye witness, of the great eruption of that volcano in 1631, and an account of the pious doings of the Neapolitans to conciliate their of- fended patrons. Prospetto degli scavi di Ercotano e di Porn- peia good account of those places at the time it was writ- ten; but the part of Pompei then uncovered forms only a small portion of what is now visible. 132 Intelligence and Remarks. [May, 6. .4nalisi sit i cantratti e La capacitd de Gesuiti. This seems to be a reply to an attack on the Jesuits in the height of their power. The controversy must have been in some measure private, as neither party used the press. The sub- ject of this analysis has no interest now, but I am told it is written with great elegance and Jesuitick acuteness. This manuscript must have been highly valued by its original owner, if one may judge from the elegance of the chirogra- phy and binding. 1 purchased it for a few cents in Naples at a stall of old books and catchpenny pamphlets. This cir- cumstance~surprized me, as the Jesuits are in a good meas- ure restored in that city. 7. Grammatica per imparare le tiugue hal. Greca- Volgare, e Turca, 4c. di Pianzola. 4 vols. in one. This is the work of a missionary in the Grand Signors dominions. The Greek and Turkish are expressed in Frank characters, the vowels having the Italian sound. Within a few years, since modern Greek has been more cultivated, this mode of writ- ing it has been laid aside. I once amused myself with trans- cribing, in Greek characters, the geographical article on America, vol. i. p. 107. and found it much purer than F had suspected from its appearance in a foreign dress.~-. Apa~o~ Mvt~oAoy:xovthe first volume of the Arabian Nights in Ro- maick. It was given to me by K. N. Ripo, an intelligent Greek, native of one of the Tonian islands. In comparing it with Forsters late edition in English, I find the narrative sometimes much abbreviated, an(l sometimes much enlarged. I saw no Romaick books at Naples or Messina; but they abound in Leghorn and Venice. I presume Prof. Everett will procure whatever is curious and interesting~ of this sort. Molitomuc Bukvize, ihia .~Vauka, and Priprava Duhovna,apparently, three religions tracts; but in what language, or whether all in the same language, I am quite unable to determine. As one of them was printed at Ragusa, I presume it is Sclavonick, or Arnaout, or some other dia- lect of the Illyrick... .~ntILologia Persica.This contains excerpta from IPersian niorajists and poetsspecimens of Mejnouns tale an(l Sadis song. I procured it at Mahon for a trifle. Books of this sort are always rare. I do not find the title of this in the library catalogue. 8. Sopra mm iscriziane Greca, dissertassione. I knew a nephew of the author in Naples. While we were at Tunis, 2nother nephew, a connt, banished, for political reasons, was Intelligene~ and Remarks. 138 relieving the tedium of exile by making excavations among the ruins of ancient Utica. It is the same Roman Borgia family, which has sometimes been so infamous in history. . Cwniehii .LInthologica.~a translation of a part of the An- thology, with notes. Livii Lib. XCI. Fragmentum. & c. ~ Della spedizione degli .IIrg(mauti, & c. These I procured, not because I thought them very valuable, bitt because they were offered to me for an inconsiderable price. Being with- out sufficient means of purchasing books, I have avoided, as much as possible, temptations to do it. From my little col- lection I have chosen the volumes which I now send, for the library; presuming, that no contribution to its increase, however small, will be unacceptable. ~ Translation of .IIbb6 Foscitis Letter. [The following is a translation of the letter of Abbe Foschi, mentioned above. It gives us pleasure to insert it here, not only because it discov- ers the goodness of heart, and enlargement of views of the author, but be cause it shows the favourable opinion, which he entertains of our country, and his readiness to use his best exertions to promote its literary interests. We ought, perhaps, in justice to the Ahb~, to state, that the original man. uscript in Latin appears to have been written in haste, and without much time for reflection, or maturing a plan. We have omitted a few notices of English books, because they are already well known in this country.] WHEN I was yesterday on board the Commodores ship, with the cleanliness, good order, and size of which, and the politeness of the commander, and officers, I was much gratified, I made a proposal, in conversation with you, for establishing a literary inter- course, which might be useful to your University in Cambridge, and honourable to myself. This proposal I now reduce to writ- ing, that you may consider it at leisure, and that it may be com- inunicated to the University. I receive information, by letters, every month, respecting sci- entifick, useful, and curious works, published in the principal cit- ies of Europe, of the substance of which I will draw up a method- ical account in writing, every three or four months, to be sent to the University, that some estimate may be formed of the merit of the works, and whether it may be worth while to make use of my

Translation of Foschi Abbe's Letter 133-136

Intelligene~ and Remarks. 138 relieving the tedium of exile by making excavations among the ruins of ancient Utica. It is the same Roman Borgia family, which has sometimes been so infamous in history. . Cwniehii .LInthologica.~a translation of a part of the An- thology, with notes. Livii Lib. XCI. Fragmentum. & c. ~ Della spedizione degli .IIrg(mauti, & c. These I procured, not because I thought them very valuable, bitt because they were offered to me for an inconsiderable price. Being with- out sufficient means of purchasing books, I have avoided, as much as possible, temptations to do it. From my little col- lection I have chosen the volumes which I now send, for the library; presuming, that no contribution to its increase, however small, will be unacceptable. ~ Translation of .IIbb6 Foscitis Letter. [The following is a translation of the letter of Abbe Foschi, mentioned above. It gives us pleasure to insert it here, not only because it discov- ers the goodness of heart, and enlargement of views of the author, but be cause it shows the favourable opinion, which he entertains of our country, and his readiness to use his best exertions to promote its literary interests. We ought, perhaps, in justice to the Ahb~, to state, that the original man. uscript in Latin appears to have been written in haste, and without much time for reflection, or maturing a plan. We have omitted a few notices of English books, because they are already well known in this country.] WHEN I was yesterday on board the Commodores ship, with the cleanliness, good order, and size of which, and the politeness of the commander, and officers, I was much gratified, I made a proposal, in conversation with you, for establishing a literary inter- course, which might be useful to your University in Cambridge, and honourable to myself. This proposal I now reduce to writ- ing, that you may consider it at leisure, and that it may be com- inunicated to the University. I receive information, by letters, every month, respecting sci- entifick, useful, and curious works, published in the principal cit- ies of Europe, of the substance of which I will draw up a method- ical account in writing, every three or four months, to be sent to the University, that some estimate may be formed of the merit of the works, and whether it may be worth while to make use of my Intelligence and Remai*s 134 [tWay, services in the purchase of them. Beneath I add a specimen of such a digested account. During this year, 1816, have been published..Observatiors on the adipocere of Vegetables, and the composition of the essence of Roses, by Melander. Others before Melander were acquainted with the fact, that the essential oil of roses is decomposed by the action of Alcohol, into a substance, which is fluid when exposed to the rays of the sun, and solid and semi-opaque when cold,. without smell and with a sensible taste; and that from the alcohol, when cold, is precipitated a white substance in laminated chrystals, which some have considered vegetable wax. But Melander has ascertained, by experiments, that the composition of both substances is the same, and that it has a nearer analogy with adipocere, than with wax; for he maintains the artificial, and not well established dis- tinction between wax, tallow, and adipocere. He has further observed, that a portion of adipocere may be ob- tained, without the decomposition of essence of roses, by distilling the petals of the common roses, receving the distilled water in a Florence flask, and continuing the distillation without changing it; by which process adipocere appears on the surface of the water as a white pellicle, which, as will readily he believed, is not the true essence of roses. This is composed of at least two substan- ces, that is, of adipocere and an essential aromatick oil. Adi- pocere is not volatilized except at the heat of boiling water, is more fixed than arotnatick oil, and is insoluble in water. From these facts the author has deduced four useful observa- tions concerning the essence of roses, and the dilference of its goodness according to the process of distillation, and the quantify of the roses; and has established the important conclusion, that the aroma of some flowers, whose essential oil cannot be extract- ed, may be fixed by the inodourous adipocere of roses, and hence that similar essences of those flowers may be obtained. A dissertation of Joseph Mangilius was published in 1816, con- cerning the poison of the viper. From a variety of experiments Mangilius deduces the following inferences. 1. That ammonia is the most powerful remedy for the bite of the viper. 2. That the force of nature is rarely sufficient to overcome the power of ithe 1~1T.i Iiitc1~~gt~nce oazd Remarks. 185 venom, in case% in which this is not received in a sufficient dose to destroy the vital principle. 3. That opium and musk, although they resemble ammonia in their stimulating power, are not to be preferred to ammonia as a cure for this dangerous bite. Dutingthe same year has also been published,by PeterConfigliac. chi, a description of a bellows to produce artificial respiration in cases of asphixia. This useful instrument attracted much attention, when it was exhibited, and received a prize at the royal Institute. / The idea of throwing air into the lungs, in cases of asphixia, is not new; and some time after it was suggested, the two motions of insphation and expiration were introduced in imitation of nature, not o~ily as it respects the mechanical action of the air dilating the vessels of the lungs, but also the chemical stimulus concurring to produce those changes in the blood which are essen- tial to animal life. Many difYerent gases have been thrown into the lungs at different degrees of temperature, according to the difference in the cases of asphixia. Sometimes, however, the artificial compression of the chest seemed insufficient to expel the air from the lungs, and the breath- ing of air from a living animal into one, which was apparently dead, might, in some cases, become dangerous, because too violent, and in others useless, because too feeble. A mechanical process was therefore adopted; and a double bellows was proposed by John Hunter, which is now improved by Configliacchi. This in.. strument is attended with three advantages. 1. In equal circum- stances the action is prolonged. 2. Its construction is adapted to various cases of necessity. 3. The machine may be appl~d to numerous experiments in physicks and physiology. At Konigsburg, in 1816, Professor Yater published a litera- ry history of the grammars and dictionaries of all the languages of the earth..[Littertttur der Grammxztiken, & c.] in which, on a plan more comprehensive, than that of Marsden, in his catalogue of dictionaries, all grammars and dictionaries, and the various languages of the world are treated with the most profound erudi- tioii. At the same place, a critical history of the Hebrew language, and of its characters, was published by Professor Genzenius, au- thor of a Hebrew lexicon. 136 Intelligmwe attd Remarks. [MayD Beker has published, at Berlin, the Orations of .Esckines and .Deinosthenes for the crown accompanied with inedited scolia, tak- en from manuscripts deposited at Paris. At Breslau, the critical edition of Xenophon, by Sneider, has been completed by the publication of the sixth volume, which con- tains his small treatises on politicks. Benedict has published critical commentaries on Thucydides, the result of the labour of many years. Creutzer has given a very elaborate edition of Plotinus, De Pub chritudine, accompanied with commentaries. I shall here close my specimens, from which you may have ob- served in what manner I might enlarge or condense the view. I repeat the suggestion, that you may communicate this design to your friends, that, if they please, they may use my services. My communications may be answered through your consuls or minis- ters, with the following direction; to K. D. N. Foschi, at Prince Carditos, Naples. U~tiversity of .Aaples. [~VE have lately received from Italy a part of the new statutes of the I~o rAt LycEuM of Naples, drawn up by the direction of Ferdinand IV, and approved by him. The whole was not printed, when our correspondent took from the press the loose sheets, which he has sent. These comprise an account of the general course of studies, and the duties and employ- ments of the several officers and professors; and the whole seems design- ed to be a complete system of regulations, both for the external and in. ternal management of the institution. As we think it may gratify some of our readers, ~ve shall translate that part of the statutes, which relates to the scheme of studies adopted in the Lyceum. The full course is divided into sixteen departments of instruction, as follows.] 1. Religious and moral catechism; Italian grammar; practi- cal arithmetick. 2. Application of the grammatical rules of the Italian language to the classicks, with a grammatical analysis; sacred history; geography. 3. Latin grammar; exercises in writing correctly the 1talia~ language; profane history; mythology. 4. Application of the grammatical rules of the Latin language to the classicks, with a grammatical analysis.

To Correspondents 136-139

136 Intelligmwe attd Remarks. [MayD Beker has published, at Berlin, the Orations of .Esckines and .Deinosthenes for the crown accompanied with inedited scolia, tak- en from manuscripts deposited at Paris. At Breslau, the critical edition of Xenophon, by Sneider, has been completed by the publication of the sixth volume, which con- tains his small treatises on politicks. Benedict has published critical commentaries on Thucydides, the result of the labour of many years. Creutzer has given a very elaborate edition of Plotinus, De Pub chritudine, accompanied with commentaries. I shall here close my specimens, from which you may have ob- served in what manner I might enlarge or condense the view. I repeat the suggestion, that you may communicate this design to your friends, that, if they please, they may use my services. My communications may be answered through your consuls or minis- ters, with the following direction; to K. D. N. Foschi, at Prince Carditos, Naples. U~tiversity of .Aaples. [~VE have lately received from Italy a part of the new statutes of the I~o rAt LycEuM of Naples, drawn up by the direction of Ferdinand IV, and approved by him. The whole was not printed, when our correspondent took from the press the loose sheets, which he has sent. These comprise an account of the general course of studies, and the duties and employ- ments of the several officers and professors; and the whole seems design- ed to be a complete system of regulations, both for the external and in. ternal management of the institution. As we think it may gratify some of our readers, ~ve shall translate that part of the statutes, which relates to the scheme of studies adopted in the Lyceum. The full course is divided into sixteen departments of instruction, as follows.] 1. Religious and moral catechism; Italian grammar; practi- cal arithmetick. 2. Application of the grammatical rules of the Italian language to the classicks, with a grammatical analysis; sacred history; geography. 3. Latin grammar; exercises in writing correctly the 1talia~ language; profane history; mythology. 4. Application of the grammatical rules of the Latin language to the classicks, with a grammatical analysis. 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 137 5. Illustration of the classical prose and poetical writers, who are distinguished for accuracy of style, elevation of sentiment, beauty and precision. Greek grammar; Greek and Roman an- tiquities. 6. Rhetorick; Italian and Latin poetry; application of the grammatical rules to the Greek classicks, with a grammatical analysis. Philosophy; natural law; truth of the catholick religion; synthetical mathematicks. 8. Analytical and physical matheinaticks. 9. Chemistry and pharmacy, illustrated by experiments in the chen~icaI laboratory. 10. Natural history, with the aid of cabinets in mineralogy and zoology, and a botanick garden. 11. Law of the kingdom, and civil processes. I~2. Law, and criminal processes. 13. Anatomy and physiology, attended with dissections in the anatomical theatre. 14. theory and practice of surgery, comprehending obstetricks and clinical practice in the hospital. 15. Theory of physick. 16. Practice of pl~ysick. The first eight of the above departments constitute the course in the Lyceum, and these occupy a space of eight years. The last eight seem to come more particuiarly under what is termed the university. After the course in the Lyceum, such students as wish to ob- tain a doctors degree in medicine or surgery, must study three years longer; and if they propose to be examined for approbation, they must study four years. Each of the sixteen departments has its professor, who is oblig.. ed to use such books for text books, and for the purpose of illus- tration, [per corredare la speigazione] as shall be appointed by the directors of the institution, in order that the course of instruc- tion may be uniform and progressive. The following are the books adapted to each respective department. 1. Catechism composed for the use of the primary achool; Vol. V. No. 1. 18 138 Intelligence and Remarks. [May. Soaves grammar; Practical Arithmetick for the use of primary schools. 2. Boccaccio; Casa; Firenquola; Sacred History, adapted to the purpose of publick instruction; Galantis Geography for youth. S. The Port Royal Compendium; Profane History; Tomeos Mythology. 4. Port Royal Latin Grammar; Phredrus; Nepos; Ciceros Epistles; C~esars Commentaries; Virgils Eclogues and Geor- gicks. 5. Port Royal Latin Grammar; Ciceros Offices and Orations; Virgils ]Eneid; Port Royal Greek Grammar; New Testament; Goldsmith. 6. Majellis Institutes of Oratory; Sallust; Livy; Tacitus; horace; Isocrates; Homer; Demosthenes. 7. Soaves Institutes; Eineccios treatise on the truth of the Catholick Religion; Flauto; Giennattasio. 8. Bossut; Fergola; Analytical Conick Sections; the profes~ sors lectures to be illustrated by Lagrange, Euler, Monge, Hatch. ette, Blot. 9. Institutes of Sementini; the professor shall use also in hi~ lectures Majon, Adet, Brugnatelli, Thomson, Berthollet, Bouillon, Lagrange. 10. Millin; in his lectures on zoology, the professor shall use the works of Buffon, the supplement of Lacepede, with Dumeril and Cuvier; and in those on mineralogy, Brougniarl, Haiiy, Werner, Breislak, Melogravi. On botany he shall use Liunmus, Jussieu, Cirillo, Petagna, Lenore. 11. The civil laws of the kingdom, now in force. 12. The criminal laws of the kingdom. 13 The professor of anatomy shall follow as a guide, Frances- co Cerio, Grimaldis Anatomy, using also the works of Goem- mering, Bichat, Boyer, together with the late discoveries of Gall on the structure of the brain. In physiology he must follow Rich- erand, as translated by P. Ruggiero. He may also use for illus- trations, whatever he finds to the purpose in Ilaller, Dumas, Dar- win, Cabanis. 14. Institutes of Richter; with the aids also of Monteggia and Richerand. 1817.] Intelligei~ce and Remarks. 129 15. The institutes, which form the Theory of Physick of An. dna, and also of Miglietta. 16. Andrias Institutes of the Practice of Medicine, together with illustrations from Odier, Burserio, Cirillo, Darwin, Pinel. The first eight professors lecture two hours and a quarter in the morning, and one hour and a half in the afternoon; the others give one lecture a day each, of two hours duration, either in the morning or afternoon, according to the direction of the rector ot the institution. Library of Harvard University. A SMALL addition of about 80 volumes, of German works, and German editions of the classicks, was made to the Library, the last October. A considerable number of hooks likewise was received from Germany for the use of gentlemen of the government, and resident graduates in divinity. A large importation for the Li- brary, and for the use of gentlemen connected with the Universi- ty, is expected this season. The present means of increasing the Library, however, are not sufficient to furnish it with many books, which it is desirable it should possess, or to enlarge very rapidly the number which it contains. The Library is now very useful, but it might easily be rendered much more so. A circular letter was so~netime since sent to the different booksellers and publishers in the United States, and particularly to those in New Englar~d, requesting them to furnish a copy of each work which they might cause to be printed. This could be done for the most part at a very trifling expense to the gentlemen thus contributing; and would be a means of making their different publications immediately known to a considerable body of literary men. It would at the same time rapidly augment the Library; and leave the greater part of its funds to he appropriated to the purchase of foreign publications, so that many of the most valuable of the latter might at once be brought into the country. We regret, however, that the request has not been generally attended to. We wish that many more of our fellow citizens felt the same interest and zeal in rendering

Ninth Satire Translation of Boileau 139-140

1817.] Intelligei~ce and Remarks. 129 15. The institutes, which form the Theory of Physick of An. dna, and also of Miglietta. 16. Andrias Institutes of the Practice of Medicine, together with illustrations from Odier, Burserio, Cirillo, Darwin, Pinel. The first eight professors lecture two hours and a quarter in the morning, and one hour and a half in the afternoon; the others give one lecture a day each, of two hours duration, either in the morning or afternoon, according to the direction of the rector ot the institution. Library of Harvard University. A SMALL addition of about 80 volumes, of German works, and German editions of the classicks, was made to the Library, the last October. A considerable number of hooks likewise was received from Germany for the use of gentlemen of the government, and resident graduates in divinity. A large importation for the Li- brary, and for the use of gentlemen connected with the Universi- ty, is expected this season. The present means of increasing the Library, however, are not sufficient to furnish it with many books, which it is desirable it should possess, or to enlarge very rapidly the number which it contains. The Library is now very useful, but it might easily be rendered much more so. A circular letter was so~netime since sent to the different booksellers and publishers in the United States, and particularly to those in New Englar~d, requesting them to furnish a copy of each work which they might cause to be printed. This could be done for the most part at a very trifling expense to the gentlemen thus contributing; and would be a means of making their different publications immediately known to a considerable body of literary men. It would at the same time rapidly augment the Library; and leave the greater part of its funds to he appropriated to the purchase of foreign publications, so that many of the most valuable of the latter might at once be brought into the country. We regret, however, that the request has not been generally attended to. We wish that many more of our fellow citizens felt the same interest and zeal in rendering 140 intelligemnee and Remarks. [May, service to the University, which is discovered by the writer of the first of the preceding letters. The following gentlemen, publish- ers and booksellers, have presc~nted copies of works, in conformi. ty with the request abovementioned. William Hilliard, Esq. Cambridge. Mr. Hilliard has long been in the practice of presenting copies of his publications. The late Mr. Samuel Etheridge, Cbarlestown..Mosheims Ec- clesiastical History, 6 vols. 8vo. Johnsons Lives of the Po- ets, 2 vols. 8vo. Newcomes Life of Christ, 8vo. Calmets Dic.. tionary of the Bible, 4th volume, 4to. Messrs. Flagg & Gould, Andover. Newcomes Greek Harmo- ny of the Gospels. Large paper, 4to, elegantly bound. This work is highly creditable to the young publishers, who have just commenced business, for its typographical elegance and correct- ness. Messrs. West & Richardson, Boston. Biglands History of England, 2 vols. Svo. Mr. John Hoff; Charleston, (S. C.) The works of Dr. MCal- Ia, 2 vols. 8vo. Mr. Edward Earle, Philadelphia. Beloes Herodotus, 4 vols. 8vo. This work is distinguished by the neatness and beauty of its typography. Mr. Samuel T. Armstrong, B9ston. Sc6tts Family Bible, in six volumes.sixth American edition. We do not mean to include in the above list those gentlemen who have presented books, of which they were the authors or ed- itors. The Library has received from Professor Cleaveland, a copy of his work on Mineralogy, and from the Rev. William CoIl- yer, Charlestown, a copy of Prideaux Connection, of an edition, the publication of which he has superintended. Dexter Lectures. Tua Dexter Lectures, on the interpretation of the New Tes- tament, delivered in the Chapel of Harvard University, will com inence the next College Term. The following is a brief analysis of their subjects..

Dexter Lectures 140-142

140 intelligemnee and Remarks. [May, service to the University, which is discovered by the writer of the first of the preceding letters. The following gentlemen, publish- ers and booksellers, have presc~nted copies of works, in conformi. ty with the request abovementioned. William Hilliard, Esq. Cambridge. Mr. Hilliard has long been in the practice of presenting copies of his publications. The late Mr. Samuel Etheridge, Cbarlestown..Mosheims Ec- clesiastical History, 6 vols. 8vo. Johnsons Lives of the Po- ets, 2 vols. 8vo. Newcomes Life of Christ, 8vo. Calmets Dic.. tionary of the Bible, 4th volume, 4to. Messrs. Flagg & Gould, Andover. Newcomes Greek Harmo- ny of the Gospels. Large paper, 4to, elegantly bound. This work is highly creditable to the young publishers, who have just commenced business, for its typographical elegance and correct- ness. Messrs. West & Richardson, Boston. Biglands History of England, 2 vols. Svo. Mr. John Hoff; Charleston, (S. C.) The works of Dr. MCal- Ia, 2 vols. 8vo. Mr. Edward Earle, Philadelphia. Beloes Herodotus, 4 vols. 8vo. This work is distinguished by the neatness and beauty of its typography. Mr. Samuel T. Armstrong, B9ston. Sc6tts Family Bible, in six volumes.sixth American edition. We do not mean to include in the above list those gentlemen who have presented books, of which they were the authors or ed- itors. The Library has received from Professor Cleaveland, a copy of his work on Mineralogy, and from the Rev. William CoIl- yer, Charlestown, a copy of Prideaux Connection, of an edition, the publication of which he has superintended. Dexter Lectures. Tua Dexter Lectures, on the interpretation of the New Tes- tament, delivered in the Chapel of Harvard University, will com inence the next College Term. The following is a brief analysis of their subjects.. 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 141 Lectures I, TI, III. The science of biblical interpretation, rendered necessary by the diversities of religious opinion which exist among Christians. Causes of these diversities; or, in other words, causes of the er- rours, which have been introduced into the religion of Christians. The lwo first lectures will treat of the causes which began to op- erate very early, and the effects of which were not counteracted before the period of the reformation. The third, of the character and effects of the reformation. Lectures IV, V. False doctrines in religion necessarily connected with misinter- pretations of the Scriptures. On the misinterpretations of the Scriptures, by the Christian Fathers; with a general view of those in later times. Lecture VI. On the three kinds of knowledge, necessary to a correct inter- pretation of the contents of the New Testament; viz. 1. A knowledge of the circumstances, under which the discourses of our Saviour were delivered, and the writings of the New Tes- tament composed. 2. A knowledge of their style. 3. A knowl- edge of the meaning of single words and phrases to be found in them. Lecture VII. The opinions concerning the Christian scriptures, implied in the preceding lecture explained, and supported. A distinction is to be made between the truths and precepts of Christianity, which are of universal interest and obligation, and those writings, by which a knowledge of them is preserved. rhe discourses of our Saviour and the epistles of the New Testament, were occa- sionat discourses and compositions, directly ad4ressed to those only, to whom they were spoken or written. These opinions, the necessary foundatiou of any just interpretation of the Christian scriptures. Lecture V[II. Statement and history of the opposite opinions respecting the 142 Intelligenct~ and Remarks. [Mayr, Christian scriptures, which have prevailed. Effects of these opin- ions upon their interpretation. Lecture IX. A fundamental canon of interpretation resulting from the opin- ions explained in the 7th lecture. This canon of interpretation, and those opinions, defended against objections. Lectures X, XI, XII, XIII. The scriptures to be interpreted on the same principles as all other writings. On the essential characteristicks of language; and the principles of its interpretation. Lecture X on the neglect of these in the interpretation of the scripture. Commencement of the exposition of the characteristicks of language. Lectures XI, XII, the same subjects continued. Lecture XIII, on the general principles of the interpretation of language. These lectures will be delivered at 9 oclock A. M. on the fol- lowing days. Lecture I, Tuesday, June 3. Lecture II, Wednesday, June 4. Lecture III, Tuesday, June 10. Lecture IV, Tuesday, June 17. Lecture V, Wednesday, June 18. Lecture VI, Tuesday, June 24. Lecture VII, Tuesday, July 1. Lecture VIII, Wednesday, July 2. Lecture IX. Tuesday, July 8. Lecture X, Tuesday, July 15. Lecture XI, Wednesday, July 16. Lecture XLI, Tuesday, Ju- ly 22. Lecture XIII, Wednesday, July 23. Another course of lectures will be delivered, during the term following Commencement. 4frican Expeditions.Two expeditions were fitted out from England during the last year, at great expense, and with very sanguine expectations, to explore the interiour of Africa, with a particular view of settling the question relative to the Niger. An idea having prevailed that this river terminates by the Congo, a large, and hitherto unexplored river, which meets the ocean in the southerly part of the continent, it was determined that one expedition should proceed to the mouth of the Congo, and ascend that river, while the other, by following nearly in Parks track by the river Gambia, should reach the Niger, and by descending that

African Expeditions 142-143

142 Intelligenct~ and Remarks. [Mayr, Christian scriptures, which have prevailed. Effects of these opin- ions upon their interpretation. Lecture IX. A fundamental canon of interpretation resulting from the opin- ions explained in the 7th lecture. This canon of interpretation, and those opinions, defended against objections. Lectures X, XI, XII, XIII. The scriptures to be interpreted on the same principles as all other writings. On the essential characteristicks of language; and the principles of its interpretation. Lecture X on the neglect of these in the interpretation of the scripture. Commencement of the exposition of the characteristicks of language. Lectures XI, XII, the same subjects continued. Lecture XIII, on the general principles of the interpretation of language. These lectures will be delivered at 9 oclock A. M. on the fol- lowing days. Lecture I, Tuesday, June 3. Lecture II, Wednesday, June 4. Lecture III, Tuesday, June 10. Lecture IV, Tuesday, June 17. Lecture V, Wednesday, June 18. Lecture VI, Tuesday, June 24. Lecture VII, Tuesday, July 1. Lecture VIII, Wednesday, July 2. Lecture IX. Tuesday, July 8. Lecture X, Tuesday, July 15. Lecture XI, Wednesday, July 16. Lecture XLI, Tuesday, Ju- ly 22. Lecture XIII, Wednesday, July 23. Another course of lectures will be delivered, during the term following Commencement. 4frican Expeditions.Two expeditions were fitted out from England during the last year, at great expense, and with very sanguine expectations, to explore the interiour of Africa, with a particular view of settling the question relative to the Niger. An idea having prevailed that this river terminates by the Congo, a large, and hitherto unexplored river, which meets the ocean in the southerly part of the continent, it was determined that one expedition should proceed to the mouth of the Congo, and ascend that river, while the other, by following nearly in Parks track by the river Gambia, should reach the Niger, and by descending that 1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 143 mysterious stream hope to meet their brethren in the heart of Af- rica. The last mentioned party under Maj. Peddie and Capt. Campbell reached the mouth of the Gambia in September last. They were detained some months in making the necessary pre. parations for the prosecution of the journey. They were to be accompanied by an armed force of 200 men. We have heard di- rectly from Sierra Leone that on the 4th of December, Capt. Campbell was at that place, where a number ~f men, blacks and whites, had volunteered fr~in the regiment forming the garrison, on the condition that each man who returned should receive a boun- ty of 800 pounds. They were to rendezvous at the Rio Nonas, and thence to proceed shortly on the expedition. By very late news from Sierra Leone, by way of London, we are informed that Maj. Peddie died at Rio Nonas, the place of rendezvous for the party, before the expedition started for the in- teriour. Capt. Campbell succeeded to the command of the party. The other expedition, under the command of Capt. Tuckey, who was accompanied by several gentlemen of science, qualified to make every useful observation, arrived in the government ship Congo, and Transport Dorothy, at the mouth of the Congo on the 3d of July. They here embarked on board a sloop so constructed as to draw little water, in which they ascended the river about 120 miles. They here found the current so rapid and the bottom so rocky, that they could proceed no farther by water. They then landed, and proceeded 220 miles along the bank of the river, in which distance they passed four cataracts, when sickness and the want of supplies compehied them to retrace their steps. They all succeeded in regaining their ship, on the 2d of October, hut in such an exhausted state, that of the fifty six persons who landed, eighteen, including the Captain, Lieutenant, and all the scientifick part of the expedition, died in a short time after they returned on board ; and wt~en the two vessels arrived at Bahia, where they stopped on their return to England, but eight of the crew of the Congo were able to do duty. From Bahia the two vessels proceeded to Portsmouth, where they arrived the last of February. Capt. Tuckeys journal was continued to the day of his death, and it is already advertized as heing in the press for publication in London, with the notes of the

New University of Poland 143-144

1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 143 mysterious stream hope to meet their brethren in the heart of Af- rica. The last mentioned party under Maj. Peddie and Capt. Campbell reached the mouth of the Gambia in September last. They were detained some months in making the necessary pre. parations for the prosecution of the journey. They were to be accompanied by an armed force of 200 men. We have heard di- rectly from Sierra Leone that on the 4th of December, Capt. Campbell was at that place, where a number ~f men, blacks and whites, had volunteered fr~in the regiment forming the garrison, on the condition that each man who returned should receive a boun- ty of 800 pounds. They were to rendezvous at the Rio Nonas, and thence to proceed shortly on the expedition. By very late news from Sierra Leone, by way of London, we are informed that Maj. Peddie died at Rio Nonas, the place of rendezvous for the party, before the expedition started for the in- teriour. Capt. Campbell succeeded to the command of the party. The other expedition, under the command of Capt. Tuckey, who was accompanied by several gentlemen of science, qualified to make every useful observation, arrived in the government ship Congo, and Transport Dorothy, at the mouth of the Congo on the 3d of July. They here embarked on board a sloop so constructed as to draw little water, in which they ascended the river about 120 miles. They here found the current so rapid and the bottom so rocky, that they could proceed no farther by water. They then landed, and proceeded 220 miles along the bank of the river, in which distance they passed four cataracts, when sickness and the want of supplies compehied them to retrace their steps. They all succeeded in regaining their ship, on the 2d of October, hut in such an exhausted state, that of the fifty six persons who landed, eighteen, including the Captain, Lieutenant, and all the scientifick part of the expedition, died in a short time after they returned on board ; and wt~en the two vessels arrived at Bahia, where they stopped on their return to England, but eight of the crew of the Congo were able to do duty. From Bahia the two vessels proceeded to Portsmouth, where they arrived the last of February. Capt. Tuckeys journal was continued to the day of his death, and it is already advertized as heing in the press for publication in London, with the notes of the 144 utelligenee and Remarks. [May, gentlemen who acccompanied him. It is said not to hold out the least encouragement for prosecuting the research further. Be yond that of determining the geographical problem of the course of the Niger, it does not promise a single advantage. If the Con- go he a continuation of that river, it cannot be useful for the pur- pose of navigation, on account of its numerous rapids and cataracts. The country is so miserable, that it cannot engage the attention of the merchant. It is thinly peopled, and the inhabitants are of the lowest description of human beingscowardly, cruel, and in- dolent; a very small quantitity of grain is produced, and that by the labour of the women. Tne soil is hard and steril. After ad- vancing thirty miles from the shore, during the whole extent of their journey, the ground was rocky and full of stones, except the ravines, which were covered with a thick mould, formed by the de- composition of the leaves and other vegetable substances. The gentlemen, whose zeal for scientifick research, led them to embark in the enterpnize, found nothing in the natural history of the country to excite their interest in the least. The climate was temperate; Fahrenheits thermometer seldom rising higher than 71, or falling below 60, and there was scarcely a shower of rain while they remained on shore. The country was barren and un- inviting. Their sufferings from fatigue and want of provisions were excessive. Capt. Tuckey died of complete exhaustion, with- out any fever. The other principal persons who died, were Lieut. Hawkey; Prof. Smith, botanist; Mr. Tudor, comparative anato- mist; Mr. Cranch, collector of objects of natural history; Mr. Galwey, a friend of Capt. Tuckey, who volunteered from love of science; and Mr. Eyre, the purser. Guriaus .Manuscripts. The Life of James the Second, king of England, collected from memoirs written by his own hand, together with his advice to his son, and his will, has been published, by command of the Prince Regent, from the original Stuart manuscripts, which had been carefully preserved at Rome in the family of the Pretender, and have been lately discovered since the death of the Cardinal d York, the last of the Stuarts, and are now deposited at Carlton

Curious Manuscripts 144-149

144 utelligenee and Remarks. [May, gentlemen who acccompanied him. It is said not to hold out the least encouragement for prosecuting the research further. Be yond that of determining the geographical problem of the course of the Niger, it does not promise a single advantage. If the Con- go he a continuation of that river, it cannot be useful for the pur- pose of navigation, on account of its numerous rapids and cataracts. The country is so miserable, that it cannot engage the attention of the merchant. It is thinly peopled, and the inhabitants are of the lowest description of human beingscowardly, cruel, and in- dolent; a very small quantitity of grain is produced, and that by the labour of the women. Tne soil is hard and steril. After ad- vancing thirty miles from the shore, during the whole extent of their journey, the ground was rocky and full of stones, except the ravines, which were covered with a thick mould, formed by the de- composition of the leaves and other vegetable substances. The gentlemen, whose zeal for scientifick research, led them to embark in the enterpnize, found nothing in the natural history of the country to excite their interest in the least. The climate was temperate; Fahrenheits thermometer seldom rising higher than 71, or falling below 60, and there was scarcely a shower of rain while they remained on shore. The country was barren and un- inviting. Their sufferings from fatigue and want of provisions were excessive. Capt. Tuckey died of complete exhaustion, with- out any fever. The other principal persons who died, were Lieut. Hawkey; Prof. Smith, botanist; Mr. Tudor, comparative anato- mist; Mr. Cranch, collector of objects of natural history; Mr. Galwey, a friend of Capt. Tuckey, who volunteered from love of science; and Mr. Eyre, the purser. Guriaus .Manuscripts. The Life of James the Second, king of England, collected from memoirs written by his own hand, together with his advice to his son, and his will, has been published, by command of the Prince Regent, from the original Stuart manuscripts, which had been carefully preserved at Rome in the family of the Pretender, and have been lately discovered since the death of the Cardinal d York, the last of the Stuarts, and are now deposited at Carlton 1817.] Intelligence and kemarks. 145 house. This work is in two large volumes quarto, and comprises the history of Great Britain and France, from the latter part of the reign of Charles I, to the close of king Williams reign. The au- thor is the Rev. 3. S. Clarke. Besides the manuscripts of the Stuart family, from which this history is compiled, a further and more recent discovery has been made at France. Letters from that city as late as January last, published in the French and English newspapers, mention that a great number of packages of manuscripts, sufficient to cover the sides of a small chamber, arranged with great care, beginning with James II, and ending at the death of the Pretender, had just come to light. By some means not known, they came into the posses. sion of Tassoni, Auditor of the Pope, and were confidentially en. trusted to a priest of the name of Lussi. At length a knowledge of their existence came to a Scotch gentleman, named Watson, who had resided at Rome during a part of the war. After some negotiation, through the agency of Lussi, Watson purchased the papers for the sum of two hundred crowns, and removed them to his own lodgings. The affair soon became known, and was the subject of much conversation; and Tassoni, finding he had been deceived by Lussi, respecting the value of the papers, represented it to the Secretary of State, and by his orders Lussi was arrested, the papers were seized and sealed, and remain in possession of government. A gentleman who had a short view of the papers before they were seized, thou.h many of them were not unpacked, says that they are undoubtedly authentick and valuable. Those which he saw embraced both publick and private matters, from correspond ence with foreign powers and plots for invasion, to the private amours of the Pretender, and the details of the doinestick ar~ rangements of the Court of Albany. Some of the letters are in the hand writing of James, and the Pretender. Many families in Scotland and Ireland are implicated and some that had never been suspected, and others that had only been suspected, are deep. ly comprornitted, particularly the Windham family, which gave much important information. There is a long letter of Atterbury, arranging a plan of invasion; and one from the Duke of Leeds to Admiral Baker, then in command of the channel fleet, offerino him Vol. V. No, 1. IQ 146 Intelligence and Remarks. [May, a peerage and 400,000 1. in case of his defection. There are let. ters of the Duke of Norfolk, which are very cautious. There are also letters from the Queen, which are letters of in- troduction for exiied and fugitive Irish families to her Italian friends. The most cnrious are the letters of Miss Walkinshaw to Prince Charles; those of het daughter to the same; those of James to him; and the remonstrance of his friends in Scotland. It is to be hoped that these papers will be recovered by the Brit- ish nation, so that they may shed that light, which they ought to atli)rd, upon some of the most important events of English history. .New University in Poland. The Emperour of Russia, as king of Poland, has issued an Ukase at Warsaw, for founding a Uni- versity in that city. The Ukase is in Latin. The University is to be composed of five faculties; Theology, Jurisprudence, Polit- icat Economy, Philosophy, and the fine arts. The Professors of the first order are to be declared Nobles, with the power, if professors ten years, of transmitting their nobility to their de- scend ants. The Rector of the University is to be censor of all books published by the professors. .No. 55 of the Edinburgh Beview.~.Those who are acquainted with Swift, generally think that the article upon Scotts edition of his works does him great injustice, considering him either as a man, a tory, or an author; and they hardly know whether to be more pleased with the brilliance and eloquence of the review, or dissatisfied with its unfairness. They almost wish that Swift were alive, to return the civilities of the reviewer. The review of Stewarts history of metaphy sicks is learned, and has marks of deep and original thinking, but is wanting in execu- tion. There is abundance of ingredients, but they do not seem to he elaborated into a uniform, consistent composition. The re- viewer does miot appear -to have formed a definite plan; at least the reader does not readily perceive, that something has been un- f dertaken and accomplished. The article en lihels is written with ability, and is the more in- teresting to us, as our law upon the subject is the same with the English, except that we permit the truth to be given in evidence in actions for libels upon a candidate for a publick elective office, if the alleged libel have relation to the candidates qualifications for the office, and he have consented to be proposed for it. ILJV6W 1ublicatkrns. 147 .New Publications. MADAME DE STAEL is about publishing a work entitled, Vieiv~ of the principal occurrences of the French Revolution. 1his work is to be published at the same time in French, German, and Exiglish. It was reported, though the report was subsequently contradicted, that a company of publishers had given her 100,000 franks for the copyright for the three. countries. The letters of the Earl of Chesterfield, Arthur Charles Stanhope Esq. relative to the education of his Godson, the late Earl ot Clxes- terfield, have lately been published, from the originals. The private correspondence of Dr. Franklin, from 1753 to 1790, has lately been published in England and in France. Mr. Sirnond has published in London, with his name, a second edition of his Journal of a Tour and Residence in England, en. larged, with an appendix on France, written in 1815 and 1816. THOMAS MOORE has in the press anew poem,called Lalla Rookh, an oriental Romance. It is to be accompanied with illustrations from paintings by R. Westail. Mr. MATURIN, author of Bertram, has produced at Drury Lane Theatre, a new Tragedy, called .Mianuel. The Lbndon criticks say, that it is not suited to dramatick representation. J. A. Cummings has lately published a work to assist instruc- ters and parents in teaching the scriptures to the young. It is quite small, and looks no higher than usefulness. It consists of questions, about 2000 in number, on the historical parts of the New Testament. Those relating to the gospels are proposed in the order, or according to the Harmony, adopted by Doddrid~e in his Exposition ; those upon the Acts follow the order of the chapters. The verses, containing the answers, must be sought out, for there is no particular designation of them; the learner is constantly called from one chapter and book, to another; and no doubt this is a simple and sure way of making him perfectly fa- miliar with such a work as the Bible. Some questions relating to Jewish antiquities, or upon obscure passages, are briefly answer- ed by Mr. Cummings; others, on the geography of the countries, through which Jeius and his apostles travelled, are to be answer- ed by turning to the maps, which are bound with the work. As this book is not to supersede, in the least, a connected reading of the scriptures, but merely to quicken the interest and recollection of young learners, we trust that every teacher will at least prove it. Every scheme should be fairly tried, which proposes to bring us better acquainted with the scriptures in their own language. Instructers are two apt to put abridgments of the Bible into a childs hands, from the mistaken notion ihat they will be better relished than the Bible itself. 148 .Nhv Pubttcatwns. [May, Coale & Maxwell, Booksellers, Baltimore, have in the press a handsome edition of TOOKES PANTHEON, from the thirty third London edition, revised by a gentleman of Baltimore, printed on fine paper and embellished with thirty engravings from antique statues, executed by FAIRMAN. The object of the editor of this edition is to present to the publick a complete summary of heath- en mythology in a chaste diction for the study of ladies as well as gentlemen, who may be inclined to read the works of the poets of Greece and Rome. Without a general knowled~e of heathen mythology, the immortal writings of Homer, Virgil, Ovid, and others are almost unintelligible, and their beauties in no inconsid- erable degree lost. TooKEs PANTHEON has stood the test of timc; it is more than a century since it was published, and the labours and researches of the learned author are at this day justly esteemed. The sole exception, urged by many, is that the work is not adapted to the youth of either sex. In this edi.. tion, an attempt has been made to render it free from this ob- jection, by expunging every expression which might be considered indelicate or improper to be read by persons of every age and of each sex, at the same time every fact of the author at all impor- tant is retained, and (with the exception of the phraseology) the original work is closely adhered to. While this book wil Ibe re- sorted to by all, interested in polite literature, as a valuable book of occasional reference, it is particularly adapted for use in schools and colleges. it is understood the publishers design to put it at a low price. Eastburn & Co. New York, and Cummings & Hilliard, Boston, propose publishing a fourth edition of Hannah Adams Dictiona- ry of all Religions and Religious Denominations, with corrections and large additions. The merit of this work is sufficiently known. The freedom from prejudice, and the liberal and coni- prehensive views with which it is written, nre Sufficientto give it claims to the unequivocal approbation of the wise and intelligent of every denomination of Christians. The delineations of the different sects are drawn with remarkable fidelity and candour, and we wonder, while reading them, how the author contrived so effectually to keep from view her own opinions and impressions. These traits of excellence do not by any means constitute the ~vhole merits of the book; we mention these particularly, because they are conspicuous, and because, in a work of this description, they are so difficult to preserve. We might enlarge on the dis- criminating judgment with which the most iinortant points in each doctrine are selected and arranged, and the pious feelings and temper of charity which every where prevail. [Such notices of new publications, as may be sent to our publishers, shall be inserted in this journal; and we hope that p3mblishers and booksellers lair.] AIeteorolog~. 149 generally will supply us, as ~opportunities may offer, with information of this kind. Books sent to the library of Harvard University will be noticed.] abstract of .Ttfeteorological Observaticrns for December, Januar!,, February, and .March, taken at Cambridge. By Prof. Farrar. Barometer. Thermometer. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. G. 80.75 30.~5 30.77 420 53 420 Dec. .~ M. 30.220 30.188 50.190 24.83 36.64 27.48 IL. 29.72 29.69 29.71 8 15 8 (G. 30.51 30.50 30.78 52 52 42 Jan. M. 30.032 30.016 30.047 18.29 30.35 19.43 (L. 29.43 29.27 29.29 10 10 ......3 G. 30.50 30.49 30.52 35 48 37 Feb. ..~ M. 30.075 30.00 29.871 11.21 25.00 14.57 IL. 29.43 29.08 29.00 .18 4 .16 r G. 30.61 30.60 80.59 37 50 59 Mar. .~ M. 30.103 30.073 30.088 24.66 38.8 32.41 IL. 29.54 29.69 29.5~ 4 23 12 December, rain and snow reduced to water 1 inch. Ditto for January 3.17for February 3.28for March 1.12. Average heat of each month of the last year compared with the mean temperature of the several months, deduced from the obser- vations of 23 years. Mean of 1816. Jan. Feb. Mar. April. May. Jun. July. Aug. Sept. Oct. Nov. Dec. Year. 30.22 26.40 31.33 11.18 52.15 61.30 65.90 67.42 57.65 50.56 42.23 29.65 46.33 Mean of 23 scars. 24.97 27.01 35.46 46.76 56.66 67.36 72.44 70.66 62.43 50.71 38.75 30.05 48.6 Average heat of the last January 22.36, that of February 16.93. This latter month, it will be seen, was more than ten degrees colder than the, mean above given. The next coldest in the period refer- red to was that of 1791, when the mean heat was 20.7. The fob. lowing is the mean state of the thermometer on the coldest days, which have occurred since 1790. It is the result of three obser- vations; viz, at 7 oclock A. M. 2 P. M. and 9 P. M. 1792, Jan. 23d, ......6.50 or 6.50 below zero. 1797, Jan. 8th, ~750 1807, 1815, Jan. 31st~ -.10.20. 1817, Feb. 5th, .~7.6o. Feb. l4th,60.

Library of Harvard University 149

lair.] AIeteorolog~. 149 generally will supply us, as ~opportunities may offer, with information of this kind. Books sent to the library of Harvard University will be noticed.] abstract of .Ttfeteorological Observaticrns for December, Januar!,, February, and .March, taken at Cambridge. By Prof. Farrar. Barometer. Thermometer. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. G. 80.75 30.~5 30.77 420 53 420 Dec. .~ M. 30.220 30.188 50.190 24.83 36.64 27.48 IL. 29.72 29.69 29.71 8 15 8 (G. 30.51 30.50 30.78 52 52 42 Jan. M. 30.032 30.016 30.047 18.29 30.35 19.43 (L. 29.43 29.27 29.29 10 10 ......3 G. 30.50 30.49 30.52 35 48 37 Feb. ..~ M. 30.075 30.00 29.871 11.21 25.00 14.57 IL. 29.43 29.08 29.00 .18 4 .16 r G. 30.61 30.60 80.59 37 50 59 Mar. .~ M. 30.103 30.073 30.088 24.66 38.8 32.41 IL. 29.54 29.69 29.5~ 4 23 12 December, rain and snow reduced to water 1 inch. Ditto for January 3.17for February 3.28for March 1.12. Average heat of each month of the last year compared with the mean temperature of the several months, deduced from the obser- vations of 23 years. Mean of 1816. Jan. Feb. Mar. April. May. Jun. July. Aug. Sept. Oct. Nov. Dec. Year. 30.22 26.40 31.33 11.18 52.15 61.30 65.90 67.42 57.65 50.56 42.23 29.65 46.33 Mean of 23 scars. 24.97 27.01 35.46 46.76 56.66 67.36 72.44 70.66 62.43 50.71 38.75 30.05 48.6 Average heat of the last January 22.36, that of February 16.93. This latter month, it will be seen, was more than ten degrees colder than the, mean above given. The next coldest in the period refer- red to was that of 1791, when the mean heat was 20.7. The fob. lowing is the mean state of the thermometer on the coldest days, which have occurred since 1790. It is the result of three obser- vations; viz, at 7 oclock A. M. 2 P. M. and 9 P. M. 1792, Jan. 23d, ......6.50 or 6.50 below zero. 1797, Jan. 8th, ~750 1807, 1815, Jan. 31st~ -.10.20. 1817, Feb. 5th, .~7.6o. Feb. l4th,60.

Meteorology At Cambridge, by Professor Farrar 149-150

lair.] AIeteorolog~. 149 generally will supply us, as ~opportunities may offer, with information of this kind. Books sent to the library of Harvard University will be noticed.] abstract of .Ttfeteorological Observaticrns for December, Januar!,, February, and .March, taken at Cambridge. By Prof. Farrar. Barometer. Thermometer. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. G. 80.75 30.~5 30.77 420 53 420 Dec. .~ M. 30.220 30.188 50.190 24.83 36.64 27.48 IL. 29.72 29.69 29.71 8 15 8 (G. 30.51 30.50 30.78 52 52 42 Jan. M. 30.032 30.016 30.047 18.29 30.35 19.43 (L. 29.43 29.27 29.29 10 10 ......3 G. 30.50 30.49 30.52 35 48 37 Feb. ..~ M. 30.075 30.00 29.871 11.21 25.00 14.57 IL. 29.43 29.08 29.00 .18 4 .16 r G. 30.61 30.60 80.59 37 50 59 Mar. .~ M. 30.103 30.073 30.088 24.66 38.8 32.41 IL. 29.54 29.69 29.5~ 4 23 12 December, rain and snow reduced to water 1 inch. Ditto for January 3.17for February 3.28for March 1.12. Average heat of each month of the last year compared with the mean temperature of the several months, deduced from the obser- vations of 23 years. Mean of 1816. Jan. Feb. Mar. April. May. Jun. July. Aug. Sept. Oct. Nov. Dec. Year. 30.22 26.40 31.33 11.18 52.15 61.30 65.90 67.42 57.65 50.56 42.23 29.65 46.33 Mean of 23 scars. 24.97 27.01 35.46 46.76 56.66 67.36 72.44 70.66 62.43 50.71 38.75 30.05 48.6 Average heat of the last January 22.36, that of February 16.93. This latter month, it will be seen, was more than ten degrees colder than the, mean above given. The next coldest in the period refer- red to was that of 1791, when the mean heat was 20.7. The fob. lowing is the mean state of the thermometer on the coldest days, which have occurred since 1790. It is the result of three obser- vations; viz, at 7 oclock A. M. 2 P. M. and 9 P. M. 1792, Jan. 23d, ......6.50 or 6.50 below zero. 1797, Jan. 8th, ~750 1807, 1815, Jan. 31st~ -.10.20. 1817, Feb. 5th, .~7.6o. Feb. l4th,60. 150 Meteorology. [May, Feb 15th, ~..430 The greatest cold that has been observed dur- ing this period of twenty seven years, was on the morning of the 15th Feb. when the thermometer descended to 180 below zero. The next greatest cold, was that of Jan. 26, 1807, when the tlier- mometer stood at 160 below. The coldest day was that of Jan. S 1st, 1815. The coldest week occurred in 1812, from Jan. 16th to the 22d; the average state of the therruometer was about 1 ~ above 0. Errata in the meteorological tabie,for .Afarch, 1816. Against the 18th day of the month, instead of 5 read .5, and in the re- sults at the foot of the table read the same. .flbstract of Meteorological Observations, taken at Brunswick By Prof. Cleaveland. FEB. 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 16.150 Do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold - 12.91 Greatest heat - - - - - - - 48.00 Greatest cold - - - - - - - .23.25~ Mean height of the Barometer - - 29.625 in. Greatest monthly range of do. - - 1.5 10 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 4.010 Days entirely or chiefly fair 10 Do. do. do. cloudy 18 Directions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. N. W. 1s..N. E. 12S. W. 10W. 3N. 1.E. iS. iS. E. 1. The predominant form of the clouds has been the cirro-stratus, occasionally attended by the cirrus, and, toward the latter part of the month, often passing into the cirro-cu~nulus. MARCH, 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 3050o Do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold 27.96 Greatest heat - - - - - - - 53.00 Greatest cold - - - - - - - ..7.50f This indicates degrees below the zero. t This degree of cold occurred on the night of the 2d of March; since which the thermometer has not fallen to the zero.

Meteorology at Brunswick, by Professor Cleaveland 150-152

150 Meteorology. [May, Feb 15th, ~..430 The greatest cold that has been observed dur- ing this period of twenty seven years, was on the morning of the 15th Feb. when the thermometer descended to 180 below zero. The next greatest cold, was that of Jan. 26, 1807, when the tlier- mometer stood at 160 below. The coldest day was that of Jan. S 1st, 1815. The coldest week occurred in 1812, from Jan. 16th to the 22d; the average state of the therruometer was about 1 ~ above 0. Errata in the meteorological tabie,for .Afarch, 1816. Against the 18th day of the month, instead of 5 read .5, and in the re- sults at the foot of the table read the same. .flbstract of Meteorological Observations, taken at Brunswick By Prof. Cleaveland. FEB. 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 16.150 Do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold - 12.91 Greatest heat - - - - - - - 48.00 Greatest cold - - - - - - - .23.25~ Mean height of the Barometer - - 29.625 in. Greatest monthly range of do. - - 1.5 10 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 4.010 Days entirely or chiefly fair 10 Do. do. do. cloudy 18 Directions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. N. W. 1s..N. E. 12S. W. 10W. 3N. 1.E. iS. iS. E. 1. The predominant form of the clouds has been the cirro-stratus, occasionally attended by the cirrus, and, toward the latter part of the month, often passing into the cirro-cu~nulus. MARCH, 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 3050o Do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold 27.96 Greatest heat - - - - - - - 53.00 Greatest cold - - - - - - - ..7.50f This indicates degrees below the zero. t This degree of cold occurred on the night of the 2d of March; since which the thermometer has not fallen to the zero. 1817.] Meteorology. 151 Mean height of the Barometer - - 29.688 in. Greatest monthly range of do. - 1.010 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 2.000 Days entirely or chiefly fair 17 Do. do. do. cloudy 14 Directions of the winds in proportional numbers, vis. S. XV. 15N. E. 11. N. W. 9S. E. 4N. 3.W. 2E. 1.S. 1. During this month, the cirro-stratus form of the clouds has been less frequent, than it was in the winter months; and, on the con- trary, the cirro-cumulus has been much more frequent, especially toward the close of the month. .lleteorology. Result of .Tsleteorotogteal observations, made at Williams College, 1816. By Professor Dewy. Jan. Feb. 1 25.3 27.2 223.8 24.8 3 13. 33. 416.5 37. 526.7 23.8 614.1 19. 713.3 20.1 8 6.7 5.9 911.1 10.5 10 10.3 14.9 11 9.7 20.5 12 19.8 29.8 13 8.4 12.1 14 2.7 0.7 15 8.6 .8 1621.7 8.2 1744.7 23.4 1832. 35.1 1934.4 33. 2021.4 33.4 21~~0.s 32.7 22~14 ~ 2331.7 24~40.9 33.8 2524.4 40.2 2631.1 33.8 27111.6 29.7 28)19.6 37.1 29)25.6 40.2 30113.1 51 29.8 Mean. 21.OS 25.13 Highest. 53. 48. Lowest. 13.3 8. 30.6 29. 4 nches of 1.75 water. Mar. 33.8 40.5 43.9 32. 27.~ 29.1 31.5 14.3 6.7 15.4 22.7 32. 32.7 35.1 16. 28.9 18. 8.2 21.5 33.9 30.5 18.9 31.4 37.1 32.5 49, 48.4 43. 27.1 30.4 37.9 29.35 67. 6.3 32.7 11 27 2.38 2.17 April. 52.6 34.2 31.1 43.2 52.7 51.3 38. 48.6 49.9 29. 35.4 37.6 35.8 30.6 31.5 31.6 32.9 32.9 39.6 44.4 40.6 42.1 44.8 42.1 47.3 30.7 53.2 54.3 58.3 63.8 42.68 80. 26.2 35.5 30 1.63 May. 63. 44.7 56.8 61. 60.3 56.7 48. 41.9 44.3 50.8 49.1 54.2 55. 39.8 46.1 45.5 40. 45. 56.3 58.3 65.4 67.3 50. 52.7 44.3 53. 58. 59.7 47. 58. 65. 52.81 78. 33. June. 70.6 69.3 56.4 56.8 68.8 43.4 43.5 44.8 48.6 44.1 54.8 65.8 62.4 69.4 64.3 62.2 62.4 60.3 73.4 56.6 64.9 74.7 76. 77.9 56.7 61.8 62~7 56.8 57.4 58.4 60.8z1 90. 32.3 34.5 3 3.55 11 3.67 July. 63.2 69. 67.3 61.9 64.8 59.7 55.5 58. 54.5 62.8 68. 65.1 65.8 67. 71.5 79.1 59.2 58.5 59.2 71.8 66. 71.1 73. 66.6 60.4 62.5 63.9 60. 59.8 62, 66.7 64.6~ 90. 43. 30. 2 2.13 Aug~. 65.5 67.7 70.4 66.5 65.1 63.1 64.5 67.2 65.8 65.7 71.1 69.6 67.1 66.3 74.2 73.5 68.2 71.2 73.5 63~ 1 51.6 59.8 61.9 66.6 61.3 63.3 57.2 50.2 54.1 64. 62.2 64.89 87. 37.5 34. 29 1.69 Sept. 54.2 64.6 67.3 62. 62.6 61.2 31.6 67.3 57.6 51.5 50.2 52.5 51.4 56.4 60.5 56.5 51.2 56.7 57.3 62.3 41.7 51.5 56.7 58. 51.9 40.4 40.1 42~9 46.2 50. 55.02 85. 25.3 38.7 28 1.10 Oct. Nov. 52.3 54. 50.6 39.8 44.2 41.7 34.8 45.4 57.3 61.9 52.7 46. 49.1 54.6 56.2 53.4 40.9 38.8 40.6 50.3 58.2 57.6 49.7 42.5 39.9 48. 41.7 40.8 49.9 ~55. 531 48.42 73.2 27.8 36. 44.7 44.3 57.7 65. 55.7 39.6 37.8 43.7 37.9 35.8 30.8 26.6 28.4 34.1 43. 36.9 52.5 61.5 63.5 60.9 31.1 21.4 31.8 32.4 23.6 23.1 35.5 25.2 27.4 40. 39.73 71. 5.5 28. Dec. 29.8 13.7 15.8 19.1 22.2 32.8 38.3 34.2 p20.5 22.9 32.9 42.2 40. 28.8 25. 11.5 21.4 39. 15.9 19. 18.5 13.8 22.9 34.7 44.1 42.2 44. 32.5 32.7 18.7 30.7 27.71 50. 1. 28. 1 26 24 2.33 2.71 0.87 * This line contains the greatest range of the thermometer in one day, and the fol. lowing line the day of each month when it occurred.

Meteorology at Williamstown, by Professor Dewey 152-156

.lleteorology. Result of .Tsleteorotogteal observations, made at Williams College, 1816. By Professor Dewy. Jan. Feb. 1 25.3 27.2 223.8 24.8 3 13. 33. 416.5 37. 526.7 23.8 614.1 19. 713.3 20.1 8 6.7 5.9 911.1 10.5 10 10.3 14.9 11 9.7 20.5 12 19.8 29.8 13 8.4 12.1 14 2.7 0.7 15 8.6 .8 1621.7 8.2 1744.7 23.4 1832. 35.1 1934.4 33. 2021.4 33.4 21~~0.s 32.7 22~14 ~ 2331.7 24~40.9 33.8 2524.4 40.2 2631.1 33.8 27111.6 29.7 28)19.6 37.1 29)25.6 40.2 30113.1 51 29.8 Mean. 21.OS 25.13 Highest. 53. 48. Lowest. 13.3 8. 30.6 29. 4 nches of 1.75 water. Mar. 33.8 40.5 43.9 32. 27.~ 29.1 31.5 14.3 6.7 15.4 22.7 32. 32.7 35.1 16. 28.9 18. 8.2 21.5 33.9 30.5 18.9 31.4 37.1 32.5 49, 48.4 43. 27.1 30.4 37.9 29.35 67. 6.3 32.7 11 27 2.38 2.17 April. 52.6 34.2 31.1 43.2 52.7 51.3 38. 48.6 49.9 29. 35.4 37.6 35.8 30.6 31.5 31.6 32.9 32.9 39.6 44.4 40.6 42.1 44.8 42.1 47.3 30.7 53.2 54.3 58.3 63.8 42.68 80. 26.2 35.5 30 1.63 May. 63. 44.7 56.8 61. 60.3 56.7 48. 41.9 44.3 50.8 49.1 54.2 55. 39.8 46.1 45.5 40. 45. 56.3 58.3 65.4 67.3 50. 52.7 44.3 53. 58. 59.7 47. 58. 65. 52.81 78. 33. June. 70.6 69.3 56.4 56.8 68.8 43.4 43.5 44.8 48.6 44.1 54.8 65.8 62.4 69.4 64.3 62.2 62.4 60.3 73.4 56.6 64.9 74.7 76. 77.9 56.7 61.8 62~7 56.8 57.4 58.4 60.8z1 90. 32.3 34.5 3 3.55 11 3.67 July. 63.2 69. 67.3 61.9 64.8 59.7 55.5 58. 54.5 62.8 68. 65.1 65.8 67. 71.5 79.1 59.2 58.5 59.2 71.8 66. 71.1 73. 66.6 60.4 62.5 63.9 60. 59.8 62, 66.7 64.6~ 90. 43. 30. 2 2.13 Aug~. 65.5 67.7 70.4 66.5 65.1 63.1 64.5 67.2 65.8 65.7 71.1 69.6 67.1 66.3 74.2 73.5 68.2 71.2 73.5 63~ 1 51.6 59.8 61.9 66.6 61.3 63.3 57.2 50.2 54.1 64. 62.2 64.89 87. 37.5 34. 29 1.69 Sept. 54.2 64.6 67.3 62. 62.6 61.2 31.6 67.3 57.6 51.5 50.2 52.5 51.4 56.4 60.5 56.5 51.2 56.7 57.3 62.3 41.7 51.5 56.7 58. 51.9 40.4 40.1 42~9 46.2 50. 55.02 85. 25.3 38.7 28 1.10 Oct. Nov. 52.3 54. 50.6 39.8 44.2 41.7 34.8 45.4 57.3 61.9 52.7 46. 49.1 54.6 56.2 53.4 40.9 38.8 40.6 50.3 58.2 57.6 49.7 42.5 39.9 48. 41.7 40.8 49.9 ~55. 531 48.42 73.2 27.8 36. 44.7 44.3 57.7 65. 55.7 39.6 37.8 43.7 37.9 35.8 30.8 26.6 28.4 34.1 43. 36.9 52.5 61.5 63.5 60.9 31.1 21.4 31.8 32.4 23.6 23.1 35.5 25.2 27.4 40. 39.73 71. 5.5 28. Dec. 29.8 13.7 15.8 19.1 22.2 32.8 38.3 34.2 p20.5 22.9 32.9 42.2 40. 28.8 25. 11.5 21.4 39. 15.9 19. 18.5 13.8 22.9 34.7 44.1 42.2 44. 32.5 32.7 18.7 30.7 27.71 50. 1. 28. 1 26 24 2.33 2.71 0.87 * This line contains the greatest range of the thermometer in one day, and the fol. lowing line the day of each month when it occurred. 1817.] .Afeteorology. 153 The thermometer is suspended upon the north side of the house, and protected from the direct rays of the sun. It is about six feet from the ground. The temperature is observed at 7 A. M. and 2 and 9 P. M. The above abstract of the observations contains the mean temperature of each day of the year, deduced from the three observations; the mean of each month; the highest and lowest temperature of each month; the greatest range on any one day of each month, and the day upon which it happened; and the quan- tity of rain and snow in each month. The mean temperature of the months is given accurately to the second figure of decimals; in the others the nearest tenth is taken. The mean temperature for the year is 44.35. of the highest and lowest in each month is 44.95. of 7 A. M. and 2 P. M~ is 45.69. of9P.M.is 41.79. Quantity of water 25.98 inches. Dew and frost probably from 6 to 9 do. Winds are almost wholly of four directions. At some one of the daily observations, the wind has been from the N. XV. 279 times; S. 95; S. E. 74; and S. W. 71. It has been through the day from the N. W. 157 days. The highest temperature was 94O~ at noon, June 24th. This was an extremcly hot forenoon ;~a shower about 1 oclock cooled the air several degrees. Among the sudden changes of temperature, that of July 5th may be mentioned. The temp. was 810 at 1, 430 at 5, and ~60 at 9 P. M. It is a common opinion, that the mean temp. of the place may be obtained from taking the mean temp. of its springs. The situ- ation of the springs, however, must make some difference, even when there are no chemical combinations which affect their tempe- rature. The following is the temp. of three springs, taken each month in the year. The 1st 48.39~ 2d 47.1~ 3d 46.110. The 1st is near a rise of land of 64 feet, and its temp. has varied only 1.250 in the year. The others are under very small elevations and appear to be much more alfrcted by the falling of rain and the melting of snow. The temp. of the ~d has varied 5O~ and of the Sd, 180 in the year. The drought affected the last Spring so munch that its mean temp. may not perhaps be relied upon. Vol. Th No. 1. 154 .Afeteoro1og~f. [May, The very singular seasons of 1816 will long be remembered. The mean temperature of the summer months was several degrees lower than common. The mean of June, July and August, for the six preceding years, is 62.63; for 1816 it is 63.46. But in those six years, the morning observations were made about one and a half hour earlier than in 1816, and, in the middle of the day, frequent- ly before two P. M. This shows, that the temp. of the summer of 1816 must have been several degrees lower than usual. The mean temp. of those six years was 44.87, which is about half a degree higher than the mean of 1816, when two of the daily observations were made at warmer parts of the day. Frosts are extremely rare in this region in either of the summer months; but in this year, there was frost in all of them. June 5th at noon, the temp. was 830a thunder shower had cooled the atmosphere 140 at 2 P. M. June 6th the temp. about 440 through the daysnowed several times. On the mountain to the west, and in Cheshire, Windsor, and Peru, at the S. E. the ground was white with snowtravel- lers complained of the severity of the N. W. wind and snow storm. June 7th, no frost, but the ground frozen, and water frozen in ma- ny places from ~th to ~th inch thick. Moist earth was frozen half inch thick, and could be raised from round Indian corn, the corn slipping through and standing unhurt. Had not the wind made the vegetables very dry, it is not improbable that they would have been frozen also. June 8th, Some ice was seen in the Inor- ningearth very little frozenno frostwind still strong and piercing from the N. XV. Cucumbers and the like appeared near~ ly destroyed. June 9th, Less wind, and some warmer. Jane 10th, Sevet e frostIndian corn, beans, cucumbers, and the like, cut down. The corn grew again. June 11th, Severe frost.become warmertemp. at 2 P. M. 70.5. Ten days after the frost, the trees on the sides of the hills, whose young leaves were killed by the frost, presented for miles the appearance of having been burned or scorched. The same appearance was visible through the county .-4n parts, at least, of Connecticutand, also, on many parts of Long Island, as I was told by a gentleman of undoubted veracity, who had visited the Island. In one instance near us, the frost killed corn by the side of flax, which was uninjured. June 29th and 30th, Some frost was seen. July 9th, Frost this morning, 1817.1 M~teorolog~,. 155 which killed parts of cucumbers. Aug. ~2d, Cucumbers were kil.. led by the frost. Aug. 29th, Severe frost. Some fields of Indian corn were killed on the low grounds, while that on tl~e higher land was unhurt. This fact occurs every year. Very little Indian corn became ripe in this region. Of that which was cut up at the roots immediately after being killed, and made to stand upright in small collections, about one half became fit for food But that which was not cut up, made no further progress towards maturity. In the former case, there was sufficient sap remaining, for the pro. cess of vegetation to continue; in the latter, the roots being un. hurt, the stalks, and especially the ears, became loaded, and over- loaded with water. had the above fact been known generally., much more corn would have been ripened. The other kinds of grain, as wheat, rye, and oats, produced abundantly. The crops have not been finer or in greater quantity, for several years. I have taken pains to inquire of farmers in this and the adjoining states, and they have uniformly stated, that the cooler summers are much more favourable for the growth of English grain, as rye and wheat, than the warmer. The opinion of each one has been independent of the others in every case. The crop of potatoes was variable. In many instances they were as large and abundant as usual; in others, directly the re- verse. Generally speaking, the crop was less than usual, by a- bout one third or one fourth. The quantity of hay was less in about the same proportion. Its quality, however, was very excel- lent, and many farmers supposed it would afford about as much more nutriment, as the quantity was less than common. Of ap- ples, not one fourth of the usual quantity was produced. Wild fruits, as strawberries, blackberries, & c. were very abundant. fhe drought was less severe in this place, than in many towns both north and south. But, even here, the quantity of rain from Aug. 27th to Oct. 16th, was only 1.3 inch; and in the last thirty (lays of this period only 0.33 inch. For several days before the rain on Oct. 17th, it was remarked that the earth was growing moist. grass starting anew in various placesthe roads cut up by wheels in places, over which they had rolled for weeks without making but very little impression.and the springs and small streams yielding larger quantities of water. These were obvious facts. 1 3tJ .Abtice to correspondents. They were said to be common before the termination of droughts, and very many were, conse(juently, in full expectation of rain. These are, however, the first facts of the kind, to which I had pai(l any attention. They are similar to what is called by corn- muon people the swelling of the mnater, at the close of a dry time in winter. It has long been matter of common remark, that when the streams are covered with ice, the water swells, and raises the ice, or rises above it, just before the fall of rain; and this swelling of the water is considered a sure indication of the termination of the dry period, if these be facts, they afford a strong proof of Dr. Halleys theory of the supply of springs and streams. The subject, if it has not been already determined, is worthy of the at- tention of the curious observer of nature. To Uorrespondcnts. The Editor requests those, who may make any communications for this journal, to direct to the care of the publishers, No. 1 Cornhill, Boston, or Ililliard and Metcalf, Cambridge. it is ex- pected that such communications as come through the post office, unless made by request, will be sent free of postage. A well written article, received through the medium of the post office, was rejected with regret; but the authQr will perceive that his views are so different from those expressed in various parts of the journal, that we could hardly adopt them.

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The North American review. / Volume 5, Issue 14 North-American review and miscellaneous journal University of Northern Iowa Cedar Falls, Iowa, etc. July 1817 0005 014
Conflagration of Havre de Grace 157-164

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW & ND MISCELLANEOUS JOURNAL. No. XLV. JULY, 1817. Conflagration of Havre de Grace. Lw two or three histories of the late war, we have noticed erroneous statements respecting the operations of the British at the head of the Chesapeake, and particularly at Havre de Grace. The truth is, no official or correct account of these transactions was given in the papers of the day. No one, we believe, who was at all acquainted with the occurrences from personal observation, made any communication on the subject, and the short notices, which were published, we~ rather the result of vague report, than of any accurate know- ledge of facts. We think it will gratify some of our readers, and serve, perhaps, to guard future historians against er- rours, if we offer them in this place a more detailed narra- tive of those events, than has yet appeared, founded on facts, which came under the observation of the writer, and for the correct statement of which we hold ourselves responsible. Considerable alarm had been excited as early as the 2OtI~ of April, 1813, among the inhabitants residing around the head of the Bay, by reports continually circulated, that the British were rapidly advancing, and were resolved, for rea- sons not very distinctly known, to commit depredations on them particularly, and to make them acquainted, not only with the apprehensions, but with some of the realities of war. The enemy had already burnt several small vessels in the bay north of Baltimore, aiid landed in a few places, but without doing much injury, except occasionally driving off cattle for provision, where the owners had fled and h~ft Vol. V. No. 2. 21 158 (Jot~Jiagration of [July. them behind. They were always desirous of making a fair purchase, and of paying the full value of what they received. We feel it incumbent on us to remark, however, that instan- ces of so criminal a violation of the laws of their couiitry, as that of voluntarily affording supplies to an enemy, if they oc- curred at all among the inhabitants, were exceedingly rare; and it is no more than justice to the enemy to state, that in some instances money was left behind, in a conspicuous place, to the full amount of what had been taken away. They took, plundered, and burnt the small vessels pass- ing from one shore of the bay to the other, belonging to in- dividuals, and loaded entirely with private property. This was their uniform practice. Even fishermens boats did not escape; and some individuals, and even families, were reduced to absolute want, by the losses they sustained from this species of depredation. On the 28th of April, a brig and two or three schooners came to anchor in the bay, a little below Havre de Grace. This village is beautifully situated on the west side of the Susquehanna, a short distance above the confluence of that river with the Chesapeake. It is a port of entry, and was once a place of considerable trade, and were it not for the obsti~uction of navigation by a bar at the mouth of the river, and falls a few miles above, it would probably be one of the most important commercial points in that part of the coun- try. These obstacles were found sufficient to counteract some very energetick attempts, which were made several years ago by a few gentlemen of wealth and enterprize, to promote its growth and importance. At the time when it was attacked by the British, it might perhaps be considered rather on the decline. It was principally engaged in the herring fishery, which is carried on to a great extent in the vicinity, and with large profits to the proprietors. On the next morning another brig and schooner joined those which came up the day before, and together with them anchored mm time precise spot where the fleet was stationed in 1~77, which brought up the forces under Lord Howe, be- fore the battle of Buandywine. During the day, they all disappeared, passed round Turkey Point, and proceeded up Elk River, as far as the small village of French Town, where the enemy burnt one or two warehouses, but no private dwellings, as has been erroneously stated. They burnt al- ~o two vessels in the river. They returned the next day; 1817.] Hai.,re de Grace. 159 atid resumed their former station. A large number of bar- ges were seen for several hours making various movements in the bay, and it was generally thought that an immediate visit to the town was intended; but after landing a body of marines on a neighbouring island, they returned quietly to the shipping. The inhabitants of Havre de Grace had, for three weeks previous to this period, been making preparations for defence, and several companies of militia were called in to their aid. But these were in a very disorderly state, without discipline or arms. They were soon supplied with the latter, ho~vev- er, by the governour, and, under the command of a colonel, were reduced to some degree of order. A battery was thrown up at Point Concord, where the river unites with the bay, behind which were mounted an eighteen pounder and two nines. These were manned by a company of volunteers, principally exempts .from military service. Patrols were stationed every night, for two or three miles along the river and the bay, and every thing seemed to indicate a resolution to be prepared for any event. This vigilance continued till within three or four days of the time, when they were actually attacked. At this time, the inhabit~tnts, wearied with continual excitement and la- borious exercise, began to relax from their exertions, and as the English had continued tranquil for some time, with- out discovering any hostile intentions, they fancied them- selves in less danger, than they had apprehended. By some unaccountable want of foresight, all the cavalry and some of the infantry were suffered to return to their homes, and those which remained became uneasy and disorderly. The officers were often absent, and even at the time of the at- tack, the commanding officer was several miles from town, and did not arrive there, till after the work of destruction was accomplished, and the anth& rs of it had retired. Such was the state of things till Saturday afternoon, the first of May, when information was received from a deserter, that an attack would certainly be made on the town th~ follow- ing nightthat orders had already been given, and every thing was in complete readiness in the squadron. This re- port was immediately circulated and produced a general agi- tation. Many of the women and children were sent from the town. No time was lost in making every possible preparation for defence. The militia, amounting to about two hundred 160 Canjiagration of [July. and fifty men, were kept at their arms all night, patrols were stationed in every place where they could possibly be of any service, the volunteers at the battery were at their guns, and a general determination seemed to prevail of giving the enemy a warm reception. But the night passed away, and no enemy had been seen. This alarm, however, was not without just ground. The story of the deserter was substantially true; but a timely discovery in the squadron, that a man had escaped, and the supposition that he would give the information which he did, caused the expedition to be deferred till the next night. It was a general belief afterwards, that had Ihe attack been made at the time first proposed, it would have been successful- ly repelled. Exhausted with fatigue, and believing themselves to have been deceived, the inhabitants retired quietly to rest the next night, seemingly without any appreheRsion of danger, or any preparation for meeting it. The militia, except a small num- ber necessarily on duty every night, were dispersed in vari- ous parts of the town. But in the midst of this imaginary se- curity, at day break, on the third of May, the drums beat an alarm, and a discharge of cannon immediately followed. At that moment were seen twenty barges filled with the en- emy, advancing rapidly towards the town. The people, who were nearly all in bed, being thus suddenly awakened, were thrown into the greatest consternation. The guns at the battery, however, were soon manned, and began to operate on the barges as they advanced towards Point Concord, around which they were obliged to pass beforo they could enter the town. The women and children fled in every di- rection to the neighbouring hills and woods. The militia were called to their arms with all possible speed, but in such a state of confusion, that they could not be rallied. Con- greve rockets began to be thrown from the barges, the threatening appearance of which produced a still greater ag- itation, and when one of the militia was killed by a rocket, it was a signal for a general retreat. They left their ground, and escaped with great~ l)recipitation and disorder to the nearest woods, even before a man of the enemy had landed. In the mean time, the enemy passed round the point under a smart fire from the guns at the battery, and soon effected a landing. They had kept up a tremendous discharge of balls, rockets, and shells, and the town was already in flames. A 1817.3 Havre de Grace. itil party immediately advanced to the battery, and took posses- sion of the guns, which had been deserted, but not until it would have been rashness to remain by them longer. These guns were turned upon the town, and did much injury. The sun had scarcely risen, when all the enemys forces were landed, and marched to an open square in the centre of the town. They were here separated into bands of thirty or forty each, and sent to plunder and burn such houses as were not already on fire. A division of fifty men marched nearly a mile into the country in pursuit of the militia, but returned unsuccessful. Those engaged in plundering and burning did more execution. Their manner was, on entering a house, to plunder it of such articles as could be of any service to them, and easily transported, and convey them to their barges. Ev- ery man had his hatchet in his girdle, and when wardrobes and bureaus happened to be locked, they were made to yield to the force of this instrument. This was not a work of much time, and as soon as it was accomplished, they set fire to the house, and entered another for the same purposes. The firing of cannon had ceased, and no other noise was heard, than the roaring of flames, the crash of falling tim- bers, and the occasional lamentations and entreaties of a few of the inhabitants, who had braved every danger with the hope of preserving frorr~ destruction their only means of sub- sistence. Their intreaties, however, were unavailing. Gen- eral orders had been given to burn every house, and these ~vere rigorously executed, till they were at length counter- inanded by the admiral. Immediately after he came on shore, which was not till some time after the landing of the forces, two or three ladies, who had courageously remained in their houses, during the whole commotion, endeavoured by all the powers of female eloquence to dissuade him from his rash pur- poses. He was unmoved at filst; but when they represented to him the misery lie ~vas causing, and pointed to the smoking ruins under which was buried all that could keep their pro. prietors from want and wretchedness, he relented and counter- inanded his original orders. This was not done, till more than half of the town had been ronsumed. It has been said in a very respectable history of the times, that one house only escaped the flames; but this is a mistake. Havre de Grace consisted of ahout sixty houses, and of these not more than forty were burnt. Many others were plundered and much injured, and scarcely one remained 162 Coi~flagratii.m of ~JuIy, which was not perforated with balls or defaced by the explo- sion of shells. During these operations, two barges ascended the river five miles, to the head of navigation, where their crews burnt a warehouse. They expected to have found there a number of vessels, but these had been previously sunk for protection. They were easily raised afterward without having received essential injury. The enemy did not remain in Havre de Grace, more than four hours. They then went on board their barges, passed out of the river, and ascended a small creek to a furnace, be- longing to Col. Hughes, about eight miles north of Havre de Grace, where large numbers of publick cannon had been made, and were still making. This establishment, comprising very curious machinery for boring cannon, was valued at twenty thousand dollars. It was entirely destroyed, as well as the cannon, which had been finished, and not yet taken away. At sunset the barges were seen passing down the bay, and before dark they had arrived at the shipping. It is not easy to assign any cause, other than the caprice of its projector, for this violent attack on a defencejess and un- offending village. No reasons of a publick nature could have induced it. No publick property was deposited there, nor were any of its inhabitants engaged in aiding the prosecution of the war. The conduct of the sailors while on shore was exceedingly rude and wanton. The officers gave such of the inhabitants, as remained behind, liberty to carry out such articles of fur- niture as they chose, while the sailors were plundering their houses; but the sailors, not content with pillaging and burn- ing, broke and defaced these also, as they were standing in the streets. Elegant looking glasses were dashed in pieces, and beds were ripped open for the sport of scattering the feathers in the wind. These outrages, to be sure, were not command- ed by the officers, but they were not restrained by them. Little can be said, indeed, in favour of the officers conduct in this particular. They selected tables and bureaus for their private use, and after writing their names on them, sent them on board the barges. Time admiral himself was pleased with an elegant coach, which fell in his way, and command- ed it to be put on board a boat, whicim belonged to the propri- etor of the ferry, and taken to his ship. This order was ex- ecuted, although he was told it belomiged to a poor coach- maker, whose family must stiffer by its loss. Havre de Grace. 163 iBut the most distressing part of the scene, was at the close of the day, when those, who had fled in the morning, returned to witness the desolation of their homes, and the ruin of all their possessions. Most of them had escaped without being able to take any thing away, except the clothes which cover- ed them. They returned wretched and disconsolate, and seemed overwhelmed with the thoughts of the misery and want which awaited them. 1~ut their immediate necessities were relieved by the benevolence and liberality of a few gentle- men in the neighbourhood, who received them kindly into their houses, and supplied them with provisions. A deputation with a flag of truce was soon after sent, by the inhabitants of Havre de Grace, to the admirals ship. He released the prisoners, but was obstinate in refusing to return any private property, or to make any reparation to individuals for their losses. He expressed disappointment at having met with so feeble a resistance, and said he could not commend the courage of the people of Havre de Grace, who had suffered five hundred men to land and plunder their town. Two days afterwards a party of marines went up the river Sassafras in several barges, and burnt the small villages of Frederick and Georgetown, which stood near its banks. All the British vessels immediately after left this part of the Ches- apeake, and joined the squadron below. We ought not, perhaps, to close this account without saying a word of ONeale, who has been celebrated in song, and who made some noise in the official correspondence of the day. He was a sturdy, vociferous Irishman, from the west of Ire- land, who had been fifteen years in this country, and had dur- ing several of them superintended a nail manufactory in Havre de Grace. He seemed, for some reasons connected with his country, to have contracted a fiend-like hatred for the English, and appeared rejoiced at the opportunity he was likely to have of satisfying his vengeance. He was the most active man at the guns, and the last who left them, and was finally taken prisoner with his musket in his hands in the posture of defence, while marching alone from the battery into the town. He was afterward released with the other prisoners. 164 Essay em Postures. [July, JOR THE NORTH AMERICAN JOURNAL Essay on Postwres. Sedeant spectentque. Vzao. In most strange postures we hare seen him set himself. SRi K5PI~ARL MR. EDITOR, AMONG the many ingredients which go to form the ~om~ plete scholar, all must allow posture to be quite preeminent. He would deserve a sneer for his pretensions, who affected the literary character, whilst at the same time he was ignorant of the rare and difficult accomplishment of sitting with his feet against the wall at a higher level than his head, or of leaning in due contemplative style upon his elbow. But the subject has unfortunately never been reduced to a science. How is it, Sir, that the motions of the stars, for centuries to come, have been nicely adjusted to the fraction of a second that minerals, and alkalines, and gases have been classed and systematizedthat the operations of the mind have been ana- lysed and developedthat anatomy, even anatomy, that kind- red department, has left almost no region of its own unexplored, whilst the far more domestick, human, useful, and every-day business of postures, has remained unnoticed and forgotten? To remove this scandal to science, is the object of the few humble pages following. The author will be satisfied if he but excite attention to the subject, and will gladly leave the consummation of his attempt to greater adepts in atti- tude than himself. Posture, Sir, in its most general sense, may be defined, a modification of the body and limbs, for the purpose either of ease or show. It may be divided into standing, kneeling, lying down, and sitting.* The first belongs chiefly to the arts of dancing masters and drill sergeants; the second to love and devotion; the third to ladies of fashion and delicate vahitudi- narians; it is the fourth and last only which now claims our attention, and that, principally, so far as it respects the seden- tary class of people, called scholars. We shall enumerate the several varieties of sitting postures, describing them as exactly as possible, and dwelling on the peculiar advantages which they possess with the quiet votaries of literature. There is a fifth kind, but it is not known in Massachusetts Proper.

Essay on Postures 164-175

164 Essay em Postures. [July, JOR THE NORTH AMERICAN JOURNAL Essay on Postwres. Sedeant spectentque. Vzao. In most strange postures we hare seen him set himself. SRi K5PI~ARL MR. EDITOR, AMONG the many ingredients which go to form the ~om~ plete scholar, all must allow posture to be quite preeminent. He would deserve a sneer for his pretensions, who affected the literary character, whilst at the same time he was ignorant of the rare and difficult accomplishment of sitting with his feet against the wall at a higher level than his head, or of leaning in due contemplative style upon his elbow. But the subject has unfortunately never been reduced to a science. How is it, Sir, that the motions of the stars, for centuries to come, have been nicely adjusted to the fraction of a second that minerals, and alkalines, and gases have been classed and systematizedthat the operations of the mind have been ana- lysed and developedthat anatomy, even anatomy, that kind- red department, has left almost no region of its own unexplored, whilst the far more domestick, human, useful, and every-day business of postures, has remained unnoticed and forgotten? To remove this scandal to science, is the object of the few humble pages following. The author will be satisfied if he but excite attention to the subject, and will gladly leave the consummation of his attempt to greater adepts in atti- tude than himself. Posture, Sir, in its most general sense, may be defined, a modification of the body and limbs, for the purpose either of ease or show. It may be divided into standing, kneeling, lying down, and sitting.* The first belongs chiefly to the arts of dancing masters and drill sergeants; the second to love and devotion; the third to ladies of fashion and delicate vahitudi- narians; it is the fourth and last only which now claims our attention, and that, principally, so far as it respects the seden- tary class of people, called scholars. We shall enumerate the several varieties of sitting postures, describing them as exactly as possible, and dwelling on the peculiar advantages which they possess with the quiet votaries of literature. There is a fifth kind, but it is not known in Massachusetts Proper. 1817.) 2ssa~ on Postures. 165 First. The most universal, easy, and gentlemanlike is denominated the cross-kneed posture. All ranks, classes, and ages of males, together with some individuals of the other sex, cultivate this attitude with very happy success. it is no uncommon thing to see as many as sixteen or seventeen in a company, who, throughout an entire evening, most patiently and heroically persevere in this inoffensive mode of arranging the nether limbs. The child of three years of age adopts it among the first imitative accomplishments which exc~ the joy and admiration of his parents. The aspiring schoolboy, by piling one knee upon another, adds a year to his existence, and bodies forth the 4i~nity of the future man. The youth, who is just entering the world, who has a letter of introduction to Mr. of Boston, or New York, or Philadelphia, would be put to infinite embarrassment, if the privilege of crossing his knees were denied him. But without going through eve. ry age for the illustration of this division of our subject, I proceed to observe, that the cross-kneed posture is not to be adopted by all persons, at all times, and on all occasions. It is much too nice and trim for every-day use. I know ma- ny a respectable farmer, who will never sit in this fashion, except in his best suit, on a Sunday, or at a board of Select- men, or at the examination of a district school, or when vis- iting an acquaintance in town. What, sit cross-kneed and erect in a plain frock and trowsers, and on a common work- ing day? Why, Sir, it would be as preposterous and uncom- mon, as to read the Bible on a Monday, or to fix ones thoughts and eyes during the offering up of prayers on a Sab- bath. But this part of oui subject is susceptible of a few subdivis- ions. Of cross-kneed postures there are five kinds. 1. The natural, which consists in throwing one knee over the other, and thinking no more about it. This is by far the best, and ought to be recommeiided universally to your readers. 2. The broad-calfed, which is effected by turning the upper knee out in such a manner, as to present as large a face of the in- ner calf as possible. This was very much in fashion nineteen years ago, but has since that time gradually subsided, and is practised, I believe, at present, only by those Who love the fashions of their youth, and a few country-gentlemen in nan- keen pantaloons. S. The long-legged, so called, because this posture requires the foot of the upper leg to reach quite down to the floor. It was attempted to b~ brought into fashion Voh.Y. No.2. 22 166 Essag on Postures. [July, about ten years ago, but it could not succeed, in consequence of the shortness of the limbs of some gentlemen in high ton at that time. It is nevertheless a graceful and elegant posture, and may be practised by your readers, for varietys sake and with considerable ease, if they will but remember to draw the Ibot of the under leg in an oblique, retrograde direction, giv- ing time tipper an opportunity to descend and meet the floor. I have seen it employed with much execution at tea parties an(l ~morning calls, but it is too much of a dress thing to be used on common occasions. 4. The awkward. This con- sists in bringing the upper leg round and locking it behind the other. Persons of absent habits, or 2f indifferent breed- ing, use this posture iii company. In piivate, it is employed, when a man gets a little nervous, and is besides almost al- ways assumed unconsciously, when one is engaged in a deep mathematical investigation. Hence, great mathematicians, with some splendid exceptions, are rarehy exempt from the habit of sitting in this mode. Lastly. Time bowsprit posture. This your fashionable, juvenile readers will recognise to be time one which is at present universally in vogue. It consists in exten(ling out the leg as far and as high as the muscle can bear. Two or tlwee years since, our boot manufacturers, (shoemakers is a word quite out of date,) very kindly assist- ed this posture, by stiffening the instep of the boot, so that the style in question could be properly preserved without much painful tension. I am strongly inclined to believe, that time bowsprit posture was adopted in this country out of compliment to our gallant seamen. It is at present used by about one half of time gentle- men you meet, but so far as my observation extends; appears (~wobably in consequence of the peace) to be somewhat on the decline. I would remark, by the way, that the cross-kneed posture. is now almost out of use with the other sex. For what rea- SOli they themselves best know. There was indeed an at- tempt. about five or six years since, to get up the fashion among ladies, of adopting this posture, and at the same time of bendimmg over the upper foot, so as to make it form a cres- cent. She, whose foot coul(l describe the most complete curve, was envie(l and admired by all her competitors. But, alas Mr. Editor, there are but few persems whose feet are suffi- ciently flexible to enable them to shine in this accomplish- ment. And so it was dropped. Out of a company of twenty 1817.] Essa?, on Postures. 167 five ladies whom a friend of mine reconnoitred the other eve- ning at a tea party, twenty one sat with their feet parallel ana together; two, a matron somewhat advanced, and a maiden lady, whose old associations of gentility induced them so to sit, were found in the cross-kimeed predicament, aiid the remaining two, being the youngest of the whole company, had drawn their feet under their chairs, and crossed them there. But we have too long deferred the more immediate object of thi~ Asay, which is, to show the connexion between pos- ture and literature. At what times, and on what occasions, shall the cross-kneed posture be adopted by the decorous and conscientious scholar? In the first place, let him be sure him- mediately to assume it, on the entrance of a strange.i~ into his study. It is almost as great a mark of ill-breeding to use any other mode of sitting on such an occasion, as it would be to hold your book still open in your hand. I own, that no posture in which you can sit, conveys quite so barbarous a hint to your poor visitant as the holding of your book open, which, I regret to say, is sometimes unthinkingly indulged by scholars, who would be sorry not to be thought gentlemen. But, Sir, let me repeat it, the cross-kneed is the posture in which to receive a visitor, with whom you are not on terms of considerable intimacy. It gives you time to collect your ideas; it tacitly informs your visitor that he is of conse- quence enough in your eyes for you to think about the posi- tion of your limbs; it thereby conciliates his good feelings, and induces him civilly to present before your face a similar example. When you are thus both seated according to due form and manner, you may interchange thoughts with much facility and effect. But be sure not to abandon the cross- kneed posture till the end of the first half-hour. After that period, you may venture to stretch youmr feet out, and lean back in your chair. By the end of the second half-hour, you may put your feet over the fire-place, and if your visitor stay two hours, and be somewhat tedious and unprofitable, con- trive by all means to get a table between you, and thrust your feet up into his face. Time is valuable, insomuch that the saving of it is one of those few instances wimere the end sanctifies the means. It often is not enough to pull out your watch; not enough to sit ten minutes, without saying a word to your companion or even looking at him; not enoumgh to glance every two muinutes at your study table; no~ Sir, the Essay on Postures. 168 ~July,~ only method often which is efficacious, is the attitude I have just mentioned, which may be called the assault-and-battery posture, and which exhibits a new and fair illustration of the importance of our subject to the man of letters. In the second place, let the votary of literature adopt the cross-kneed style in general company. The great advantage of it there is, that it saves him from a thousand ungraceful at- titudes, and strange crookednesses, which savour too decided- ly of the ~tudy, and into which lie will be apt almos4~ inevita- lily to slide, if he ventures beyond the sheltering pr~thcts of the cross-kneed posture. It has too long been the reproach of the scholar, that he behaves like nobody else. For mer.. cys sake, then, Mr. Editor, since every body else behaves so very well, let us act like them. Let us not bring a reproach upon our profession, and render a life of letters unpopular by our manner of sitting. A few sacrifices of this nature will cost us no very tremendous effort, and may be of incalculabl. service to the cause of literature and science. In the third place, the style in question is to be assumed amidst all kinds of plain reading, where but little attention and study are required. Indeed, so appropriate is it on these oc- casions, that scholars might very pardonably denominate it the belles-lettres posture. How delicious, Mr. Editor, when you have obtained the Edinburgh or the Quarterly, and for my own part, let me add, too, the North American, from the book- sellers, all new and fresh as is the month of May,~ to take your ivory knife in the right hand, your Review in the left, your cigar, if you please, in your mouth, and at a window, on which the rays of the setting sun are richly, soft- lv falling, and a western breeze is luxuriously blowing, to site. how? Unworthy he of all these invaluable blessings, who takes any other posture at first than the true hehles-hettres- cross-kneed. Or when, in the society of friends, you read aloud the adventures of Conrad, Roderick, or Robert Bruce. or in imagination range through old Scotland with the author of the Antiquary, or visit England, France, Italy, and Greece, with moderii travehlers,.~whilst you gracefully 1101(1 the book with a wide-spread hand, your thumb and little finger ~ressing on the leaves to prevent them from closing, your middle finger propping the back, and the other 18174 Essa!, on Postures. 169 two faithfully employed each to support a separate cover of the bookdo not fail to complete the elegant scene by ad- justing one knee above the other in the manner worthy of your employment. Take, generally, this posture, moreo- ver, when you read historywhen you snatch up the Spec- tator or Mirror to save the odds and ends of your precious time.when you are reading letters from persons with whom you are not intimately acquainted, (posture not being to be thought of in perusing the epistles of your much valued friends,) and on all occasions, in short, when your mind only goes out to gather ideas, copously, easily, freely. So much for this posture, Sir, on which I would gladly write pages and pages more, if some other classes did not press upon me with strong claims for consideration. Secondly; Next to the cross-kneed, that which is most appropriate to secluded, literary characters is the parieto-pe- dot po3ture. This consists, as will be seen at once from the etymology of the term, in fixing the feet against the wall. This posture was instituted for the relief of literary limbs. However valuable, indispensable, and gentlemanlike may be the cross-kneed, it would be fatiguing and unhealthy always to conform the body strictly to its rules. For this reason, allow the feet of your readers occasionally to make the deli- cious and grateful transition from the floor to the wall; with this strict proviso, to he transgressed on no condition whatever, that they never shall so sit in the presence of a being of the gentler sex. And here, let me expatiate, pa.. rieto-pedal posture, in thy praise. At this very moment, while I am assuming thee in languid luxury, holding in my hand a Horace, which is prevented from closing only by my fore-finger, unconsciously placed on Otium Divos.here, as in a direction parallel to the horizon, I station my feet against the wainscot, and leaning back my chair, fall sweetly and quietly into a rocking, which is more gentle than the cradle-vibra- tions of half-sleeping infancyhere let me ponder on all thy excellency. I feel thy influence extending through my frame. I am brought into a new world; the objects around me as- sume side-long positions; the trains of my ideas are quick- ened; the blood rushes back, and warms my heart; a literary enthusiasm comes over me; my faculty of application grows more intense; and whatever be the book which I next reach from the table, I find my interest in its contents redoubled, my power of overcoming its difficulties increased, and alto- 170 Essay on~ Postures. [July, gether my capacity of gaining knowledge incalculably en- larged and extended. Mild, and easy, and lovely posture! Let the votary of decorum stigmatise thee as awkward and half indecent; let the physician reproach thee as unnatural and unwholesome; let indigestion, with bleeding at the nose, and personal deformity shake their hideous fists of threatening from out of the mists of the future; still will I lounge with thee; still shall every room where I reside bear marks of thee, whether they be deep indentations in the floor, occasioned by my back- ward-swinging chair, or blacker and more triumphant insignia impressed by my shoes upon the wall. Be thou my shelter from the spleen of vexatious housewives, and the harassing formality of ceremony; sooth my fullfed afternoons; inspire my dyspepsical dreams, and let my last fatal apoplexy be with thee. Thirdly. We come now to the favourite posture of all s& vere and laborious students. It is simple, picturesque, char- acterisfick. Place your elbow on the table, prop one of your temples with your knuckles, and if it be excuseable to intro- duce features into this subject, (though I have another treatise partly finished upon literary tricks,) let a slight knitting of the brow take place between your eyes, and you are at once, I will unhesitatingly hazard the assertion, in that position, in which Aristotle discovered the categories; in which Pythago- ras investigated the properties of the right-angled triangle, and Locke defined infinity; in which Newton balanced the world, Copernicus, like another Joshua, made the sun stand still, and La Place deduced the great motions of our sys- teni; in which Bacon sat, while turning the whole course of science, as a pilot turns the course of a ship; in which Stew- art was seated, when he detected the errour of the French philosophers, and proved that there must be something beside the power of sensation, which is able to compare one sensa- tion with another; in which Bentham unfolded the true prin- ciples of legislation, and Berkeley devised the theory of acquired vision; in which Eichhorn made his researches in *Q Genesis, and Paley his into the epistles ;a posture, in short, in which time greatest energies of intellect have ever been ptmt forth, and by the efficacy of which alone, assure yonr young readers, they can hope for eminence, or look for almost indefinite advances towards the future perfectibility of our race. Its name is the (1elvin~. Fourthly. Now, Mr. Editor, let your elbow remain pre4 Essa1, on Postures. 171 cisely where it was in the last posture; but instead of knit- ting your brow, and fixing your eyes on the table, let your head turn round, till your open hand is upon the sinciput; let your forehead be smooth, as the sleeping surface of a lake; let your eyes be rolling on vacancy, and presto. you are fix- ed at once in the genuine attitude poetical. It is this posture alone, which Shakspeare had in his mind, nay, in which Shakspeare must have sitten, when he described the fine frenzy of the poet, whose eye glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. It was this posture, in which the most interesting portrait of Pope was executed, that has de- scended to our times. So sat he, I will hazard every poet in my library, when he penned this line, And look through Nature up to Natures God. So sat Milton, when he described Those thoughts which wander through eternity. In this posture must Goldsmith where Alpine solitudes ascend, Have set him down a pensive hour to spend, And placd on high above the storms career, Lookd downward, where a hundred realms appear~d,~~ & c. It could be only while thus leaning and thus looking, that Chaucer used to scatter through his poems innumerable re- freshing descriptions of those vernal seasons, When that Pheebus his chair of gold so hie Had whirled up the sterrie sky aloft, And in the Bole* was entred certainly, When shouris sotet of rain descended soft, Causing the ground, fe1~f times and oft, Up for to give many an wholesome air, And every plaine was yclothed faire, & c. What other attitude could our contemporary Campbell have taken, when he leaped in imagination up t~ those glorious heights on our side of the Atlantick, Where at evening Ahle~any views Through ridges burning in her western beam~ Lake after lake interminably gleam ? Bull. ~ Sweet. t M~& n. 172 Essay on Postures. EJuly, In what other posture could the chaste Tasso have placed himself, when he addressed to the Muse of Christianity that invocation, of which you will excuse the following imperfect version? 0 Muse! not thou, whose meaner brows desire The fading growth of Iaurelld Ilelicon, But thou, that chantst a~nid the blessed quire, Which pours sweet musick round the heavenly throne! Breathe thou into my breast celestial fire; 0 smile~ and not thy votary disown, If truth with flowers I weave, and deck my song With other graces than to thee belong. Byron must have sitten in this posture, in some cold mid. night, when he dreamt his dream of darkness; and Southey must have persisted in the same attitude through a whole ver- nal season, when he wrote his Thalaba. So sat Homer and Scott in the conception of their battles ;~ So sat Virgil and Leigh Hunt in the imagination of their sceneries ;~ Wordsxvorth must have arranged his corporeity in the very quintessence of the poetical posture, when he sketched the following outline of his Recluse ;~ For I must tread oa shadowy ground, must sink Deepand aloft ascending, breathe in worlds, To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. So sat his neighbour Wilson, when he described the stream, half-veiled in snowy vapour, which flowed With sound like silence, motion like repose ; or the duteous daughter in the sick chamber of her mother, whose feet Fell soft as snow on ~ So sat Thomson when lie wrote this line; Ten thousand wonders rolling in my thought, And Lucan when he wrote these; niger inficit horror Terga mans: longo per multa vohuinins tractu Aestuat unda minax: flatusque incertafuturi, Turbida testantur conceptos tequora ventos. 1817.] I~ssay on Postures. 1T 0 So sat Akenside, when his mind Darted her swiftness up the long career Of devious comets, . and looked back on all the stars. So David sat (I would reverently suppose) in his houi s of inspiration, when contemplating man, the sun, moon, and stars. To say not~ting of innumerable others. Fifthly,~ the metaphysical posture. Viace both elbows on the table, let the insides of the two wrists be joined together, keeping the palms just far enough asunder to admit the chin between them, while the tips of the little fingers come up and touch the outside corners of the eyes. This posture, Sir, from its fixedness, gives you at once an idea of solidity. The mutual contact of two of the most tender and sensible parts of the human body, the tip of the finger and the eye, will assist you in making experiments on sensation, and as your whole head is fastened, as it were~ into a socket, your eyes must look straight forwards, and your train of reflection will be thus more continuous and undisturbed. Keep precise- ly so for several days together, and you will at length arrive triumphantly at the important and philosophical conclusion, that mind is matter. Innumerable other attitudes crowd upon my recollection, the formal discussion of which, after just hinting at a few of the most prominent, I must waive, and leave them to be treated by writers of freer leisure, and more enlarged views of posturology. For instance, there is the dishabille posture, formed by lying at full length on your chair, crossing y our feet upon the floor, and locking your hands upon the top of your headvery common and very becoming. In conversa- tion, there is the positive posture, when you lean your cheek upon one finger; the sentimental, when you lean it upon two fingers; the thoughtless, when you lean it upon three, thrust- ing at the same time your little finger into your mouth; and lastly, the attentive, when you lean your cheek outright up. on your whole hand, bend forward, and stare the speaker in the face.There is the sheepish posture, formed by placing your legs and feet parallel and together, laying both hands upon your knees, and contemplating no earthly thing, save your own pantaloons. This is to be assumed, when you are overwhelmed with a joke, which you cannot for the life of you answer, or when you are attacked with an argument, which Vol V. No. Q. 174 Essay on Postures. [July, you have not the ingenuity to repel. There is the den cat posture, firmed by iaying the ankle of your left leg on the knee of your right, and so forming a Triangle. Then there is the lay posture, made by throxxing the legs wide asunder, and twirling the watch-chain. There is the musical posture, where you bring one foot round behind the other, and rest the toe most delicately and aerially on the floor. This was used by one of the small band from Bonapartes court, who lately charmed our metropolis with the violoncello and guitar. Why i~ it not as appropriate to the flute as to the guitar? There is the monologne posture, when, in default of a corn- panion, you take another chair, place your feet into it, and hold high converse with yourself.But, Mr. Editor, by far the most independent, lordly, and scholarhike style is, to command as many chairs for your own accom- modation, as can possibly come within reach. I had a chum, whilst I was in college, who put in requisition every chair but one, in the room. He had one for each of his feet, one for each of his arms, and the last for his own more immediate self. As our whole number of that article of furniture was but half a dozen, I was often per- plexed at the entrance of a friend to kiiow how I should economise for the convenience of all sevenI beg pardon, I should have saidall three of us. After some confused apologies, I used to offer tIme visiter my own, and betake myself to the window-seat, quite willing, I assure you, to undergo such embarrassments, for the reputation of living with one of the best posture-masters within the walls. Ah, Sir, that was time glory of sitting. I cannot describe the si- lent admiration with which I used to gaze upon the sprawl- ing non-chalance, the irresistible ennui, the inimitable lounge, with which my room-mate could hit the thing off after aim emiorinous dinner. I ought here to observe, that the state of miiind peculiarly adapted to the posture~ now under consideration, is that of perfect vacuity, and that if I write much longer, I simall probably prepare your readers to as- smime it. I conclude thercthre by ~vishing them all, whatever may be their favourite mode of sitting, The gayest, happiest attitude of things. S. 175 1817.] Books relating to .America. BOOKS RELATING TO AMERICA. The examination of Doctor Benjamin Franklin, relative to the repeat oJ the .~merican Stamp .~ct in 1766. THIS remarkable examination would alone be sufficient to establish the character of Franklin, for great ability, sagaci- ty, and wit. The administration, who were then carrying into effect that series of measures, Which was intended to,en- slave the Colonies, and xvhich re6ulted in their fortunate and glorious independence, might have received from these an- swers of Dr. Franklin, a timely warning of the folly and in- practicability of their design. But they were obstinate, and the present generation may view this obstinacy with grati- tuile, since it has given them the enjoyment of national honour and prosperity, which might otherwise have been deferred to a generation yet unborn. The copy I have in hand, is in a volume of tracts, which was purchased at the sale of the library of the celebrated Home Tooke, and it possess- es some additional value, from the numerous marks it bears of the interest with which he read it. Almost every question and answer has some mark of a pen; a few that have an unusual number of these marks, will be copied, to ~ive a specimen of the examination. q. Can any thing less than a military force carry the stamp act into execution? s. I do not see how a military force can be applied to that purpose. q. )Vhy may it not? .~. Suppose a military force sent into America, they will find nobody in arms; what are they then to do? They cannot force a man to take stamps who chooses to do with- out them. They will not find a rebellion; they may indeed make one. Q. Suppose an act of internal regulations connected with a tax, how would they receive it? ./1. I think it would be objected to. q. Then no regulation with a tax would be submitted to? .fI. Their opinion is, that when aids to the crown are wanted, they are to be asked of the several assemblies, ac- cording to the old established usage, who will, as they al

Books relating to America 175-182

175 1817.] Books relating to .America. BOOKS RELATING TO AMERICA. The examination of Doctor Benjamin Franklin, relative to the repeat oJ the .~merican Stamp .~ct in 1766. THIS remarkable examination would alone be sufficient to establish the character of Franklin, for great ability, sagaci- ty, and wit. The administration, who were then carrying into effect that series of measures, Which was intended to,en- slave the Colonies, and xvhich re6ulted in their fortunate and glorious independence, might have received from these an- swers of Dr. Franklin, a timely warning of the folly and in- practicability of their design. But they were obstinate, and the present generation may view this obstinacy with grati- tuile, since it has given them the enjoyment of national honour and prosperity, which might otherwise have been deferred to a generation yet unborn. The copy I have in hand, is in a volume of tracts, which was purchased at the sale of the library of the celebrated Home Tooke, and it possess- es some additional value, from the numerous marks it bears of the interest with which he read it. Almost every question and answer has some mark of a pen; a few that have an unusual number of these marks, will be copied, to ~ive a specimen of the examination. q. Can any thing less than a military force carry the stamp act into execution? s. I do not see how a military force can be applied to that purpose. q. )Vhy may it not? .~. Suppose a military force sent into America, they will find nobody in arms; what are they then to do? They cannot force a man to take stamps who chooses to do with- out them. They will not find a rebellion; they may indeed make one. Q. Suppose an act of internal regulations connected with a tax, how would they receive it? ./1. I think it would be objected to. q. Then no regulation with a tax would be submitted to? .fI. Their opinion is, that when aids to the crown are wanted, they are to be asked of the several assemblies, ac- cording to the old established usage, who will, as they al 1r6 Books relating to ,qrnerica. [July, ways have done, grant them freely. And that their money ought not to be given away, without their consent, by per- soiis at a distance, unacquainted with their circumstances and abilities. The granting aids to the crown, is the only iiieans they have of recommending themselves to their sove- reign, and they think it extremely hard and unjust, that a body of ineii, in which they have no representatives, should make a merit to itself of giving and granting what is not its but theirs, and deprive them of a right they esteem of the utmost value and importance, as it is the security of all their other rights. q. But in places where they could be protected, would not the people use them rather than remain in such a situa- tion, unable to retain any right, or recover, by law, any debt? ./1. It is hard to say what they would do. I can only judge what other people will think, and how they will act, by what I feel within myself. I have a great many debts due to me in America, and I had rather they should remain unrecoverable by any law, than submit to the stamp act. They will be (lebts of honour. It is my opinion the people will either continue in that situation, or find some way to extricate themselves, perhaps by generally agreeing to pro- ceed in the courts without stamps. As a specinen of the system of keeping the publick, in Eng- land, ignorant of the real situation of this country, and from considering the consequences that might follow the meas- ures of the ministry, the following question, asked no doubt by some of the opposition and overruled, will suffice. q. What is the number of men in America able to bear arms, or of disciplined militia? .1. There are I suppose, at least (Qyeslion o!{jected to. lie withdrew. Galif d in again.) After a series of questions which xvent to assert the right of la~ ing internal taxes in the colonies by the authority of the British parliament, they endeavour to place him in a di- lemma, by mixing the questions of the external taxes; this gives an instance of his peculiar wit. q. Does the distinction between internal and external taxes exist in the words of the Charter? .~. No, I believe not. 1817.] Books relating to America. q. Then may they not, by the same interpretation, object to the parliaments right of external taxation? A. They never have hitherto. Many arguments have been lately used here to shew them that there is no differ- ence, and that if you have no right to tax them internally, you have none to tax them externally, or make any other law to bind them. At present they do not reason so, but in time they may possibly be convinced by these arguments. Q. Suppose the king should require the colonies to grant a revenue, and the parliament should be against their doing it, do they think they can grant a revenue tr the king, with- out the consent of the parliament of Great Britain? A. That is a deep question..~As to my own opinion, I should think myself ~t liberty to do it, and should do it, if I liked the occasion. The following are the concluding questions and answers. q. What used to be the pride of the Americans? A. To indulge in the fashions and manufactures of Great Britain. q. What is now their pride? A. To wear their old clothes over again, till they can make new ones. An Oration, delivered .vlarch fifteenth, 1775, at the request of a number of the Inhabitants of the town of Boston, by Dr. Thom- as Boltan. Difficile est Satyram non scribere. Nam quis iniqu~ Tam patiens urbis. tam ferreus, ut teneat se ? Juv. Sat. Et quando vitioruni copia. Ibid. Printed in the year 1755. Ix looking over some volumes of miscellaneous tracts, there are some which are of not quite so grave a cast as the rest; and two or three are noticed in this article to relieve it of a little of its usual, forbidding dryness. This oration was de- livered in ridicule of the orations on the 5th of March, and particularly the last, by General Warren. A few British officers and tories assembled for the purpose of getting up this piece of ridicule, which is however poorly executed. One or two extracts will suffice. I cannot boast the ignorance of Hancock, the insolence of 178 Books relating to knerica. [July, .fldams, the absurdity of Rowe, the arrogance of Lee, the vic- ious life and untimely death of Jlothneaux, the turgid born- bast of Warren, the treasons of ~uincy, the hypocrisy of Cooper, nor the principles of Young. Nor can I with propri- ety pass over the characters of these modern heroes, (or to use their own phrase, Indians,) without a few- observations on their late conduct. He afterwards goes on to characterise these individuaLs more particularly. The first of these chiefs is ams, a sachem of vast elocution; but being extremely poor, retails out syllables, sentences, eulogiums, & c. to draw in the multi- tude; and it tan be attested that what proceeds from the mouth of .~ms is sufficient to fill the mouths of millions in America. But it is prophesied that the time is near at hand, when the frothy food will fail them. But generous John scorns to let him starve.far from it; tis well-known his purse-strings have been at Sams disposal ever since lie assisted in makimig the oration, delivered by John on the 5th of March, 1774, to a crowded audience of Narra- ~anset Indians.~ The second of these chiefs is Hck, who, having been pos- sessed of too much money for a private gentleman, resolved to make a publick attempt to become a monarch, and having courted popularity and power almost as long as he did Miss , Miss , or Mr. Barnards cook-maid, Betty Price, is at last likely to be jilted in his turn, and in the end to be wedded to beggary, contempt, and a gallows. What a vapid, stupid thing scandal becomes, when the con- temporary malice, which gave it a zest, is extinct! The ~1nrerican Times, a satire, itt three parts, in which are de~ lineated the characters of the leaders of the .american rebellion.. .flmong~t the principal are Franklin, Laurens, .~dams, Han- cock, Jay, Diter, Duane, Wilson, Pulaski, Witherspoun, Reed, .McKea n, Washington, Roberdean, Morris, Ghase, c$c. 4c. by Camillo Qjterno, poet taureat to the congress. Facit indigna- ~io-cersus. London, 1780. Tnis production abounds with all the virulence and abuse characte ristick of ~ai4y excitement. To the generation which succeeded, it sounds stra~igely to hear those men whom they look to with reverence and gratitude thus covered with abuse. 1817.] Books relating to ~1merica. 179 The versification, though it hardly rises above mediocrity, is occasionally superiour to most similar productions.One or two extracts will give an idea of it. After describing Robert Morris,. he falls with increased abuse on the late Governeur Morris. Of head erect, arid self-sufficient mien, Another Morris presses to be seen; Demons of vanity, you know him sure; This is your pupil, this is Governeur; Some little knowledge and some little sense, More affectation far, and more pretence; Such is the manhis tongue he never balks, On all things talkable he boldly talks; A specious orator of law he prates, A pompous nothing mingles in debates; Consuirimate impudence, sheer brass of soul, Crowns every sentence, and completes the whole; In other times unnoticed he might drop, These times can make a statesman of a fop. The following is a description of some of the Patriots of Boston. What groupe of wizards next salutes my eyes, United comrades, quadruple allies? Bostonian Cooper,* with his Hancock joind, Adams with Adams, one in heart and mind; Sprung from the soil where witches swarmd of yore, They come well-skilld in necromantick lore; Intent on mischief, busily they toil, The magick cauldron to prepare and boil; Arrayd in sable vests and caps of fur, With wands of ebony the mess they stir; See! the smoke rises from the cursed drench. And poisons all the air with horrid stench. Celestial muse, I fear twill make thee hot, To count~the vile ingredients of the pot; Dire incantations, words of death they mix, With noxious plants, and water from the Styx; 7rreasons rank flowers, ambitions swelling fruits, Hypocrisy in seeds, and fraud in roots, * ~C Cooper, Hancock, and the two Adamses,of the first of thesc only it can be necessary to say any thing; Dr Cooper is a congregational minis- ter of Boston, and the oracle of those few rebels who are in the secret of affairs.If a human being can take delight in having been the author of mi~ery, this man must be one of the happiest in creation. 180 Books relating to Jlmerwa. (July, Bundles of lies, fresh gathered in their prime, And stalks of calumny grown stale with time, Handfuls of zeals intoxicating leaves, Riot in bunches, cruelty in sheaves; Slices of cunnin~, cut exceeding thin, Kernels of malice, rotton cores of sin; Branches of persecution, boughs of thrall, Ai~d sprigs of superstition, dipt in gall; Opium to lull or madden all the throng, And assa-fretida profusely strong; Milk from Tisiphones infernal breast, Herbs of all venom, drugs of every pest, With minerals from the center brought by Gnomes, All seethe together till the furnace foams. Was this the potion, this the drawrht designd, To cheat the croud, and fascinate mar~Iund? 0! void of reason they who thus were caught; 0! lost to virtue, who so cheap were bought; 0! folly which all folly sure transcends, Such bunglino~ sorcerers to account as friends. Yet tho the frantick populace applaud, Tis satires part to stigmatize the fraud; Exult, ye jugglers, in your lucky tricks. Yet on your fame the lasting brand well fix; Cheat male and female, poison age and youth~ Still well pursue you with the goad of truth; Whilst inmid-heavn shines forth the golden flame, Hancock and Adams shall be words of shame; Whilst silver beams the face of light adorn, Cooper of Boston shall be held in scorn. There is no book so poor but some reflection may be drawn from it. hi the passage last cited, there is a striking instance of the false light in which we often see contemporary charac- ters. Posterity arranges the order of precedence differently. The author here exalts Dr. Cooper far above the other gen- tlemen who are named with him. Hewas indeed a remarka- ble character, but he neither acted nor wrote any thing, though he was capable of both, that will be long remembered; and he is n~xv seldom spoken of, but by those remaining individu- als who knew him personally. It is not so of the others. After a man has triumphed, and has attained a glorious emi- nence, lie will look back on attacks like these, with the same sort of feelings, that a person, seated on a hill, would look down on the briars and mud of a swamp, which he had bee~i obliged to traverse to gain his situation. Books relating to ~meri ca. 181 The prowess of the JJhig Club and the manwuvres of Le~ion. Pro aris et focis. 1 These demoniacs let me dub With the name of Legion Club. SWIFT. Baltimore, printed for the author, 1777. THIS small pamphlet gives an account of a transaction which excited considerable attention at the time, produced the interference of the legislature, and a proclamation from the governour prohibiting all associations of the description, of what has been since called Jacobin Clubs. In this instance, a printer named Goddard, had published a piece of irony on the propositions that had been recently made by the British commissioners to put an end to the war. The dull dema- gogues, who composed the club, took it seriously, and gave the printer notice that he must leave the town in 24 hours, and if he did not, the inference was pretty plain that he would be assassinated. It seems from this pamphlet, that some events, which took place in that city at a later period, were not without a precedent. ~ monumental gratitude attempted in a poetical relation of the danger and deliverance of several of the members of Yale Col- lege in passing the Sound from South-hold to .TVew Haven, .fiugust 20, 1726. .Yew London, printed and sold by T. Gieen, 1727. Tuis little poem begins thus ;. Storms, whirlwinds, hurricanes, rain, thunder, fire, Suiphurious, cataracts of vapour dire, Artillry of the north, hoarse, western roar; And myriads of nameless dreadfuls more; Terrifick meteois rangd in rude array, Pregnant of darkness, and the fate of day; Superiour transports, wonder, horrour, care, Ye fearful simples that compound despair, & c. This college has since produced verses of a different stamp. There is one laughable device in it, which was probably ow- ing to the fancy of the printer. The rising, falling, rising, falling flood, 0 horrour! nature jarrs, ferments the blood, & c, Vol. V. No. 2. 24 13~ Italian Drama. [3uly~ In the first of these lines the words rising, filing, with the aid of different sized letters, are arranged in an ascending and descending form, like the gamut in musick, and by this means paint to the eye as well as the imagination the scene they describe. The English poem is followed by a short Latin one, in which the initials of the party, consisting of ten, are given by taking the first letter of the line as follows; D. H orrendum fragili, nullo Rectore carina, E. S ospite per liquidos campos tetendimus iter; G. B rumapressum atque Hyeme, nubiferaque Proceila, & c. Italian Drama. THE following remarks are translated principally from an article in the Bibtioteca .ulnatitica, a periodical work of con- siderable merit formerly published in Naples, but suppressed on the accession of the present king to the throne. These re- marks are valuable as coming from Italy, and expressing the opinions, which the Italians themselves entertain of their claims in the department of drainatick compositions. They probably place themselves too high, but it has long been our belief, that the more Italian literature is known, the more it will be found to contain worthy of our study and admiration. The article from which we take the following, is a review of the sixth volume of Ginquen& s Literary history of Italy. On the revival of letters in Italy, while the other nations of Europe still amused themselves with wretched farces, the Italian authors, yielding to the happy impulse given them in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, attempted to infuse that spirit ~nd dignity into drarnatick compositions, which had already been communicated with so much success to the lyrick and epick. The first performance of much merit was the So- phonisba of Trissino, dedicated to Leo X. Many other wri- ters of high claims soon followed, and even Tasso was ambitious to try his fortune in the career of tragedy and produced ~his Torrismond. We observe in the Italian tragedies of that period the same defect which had been comnion among the Latins ; they gave representations of the manners and customs of other countries, and not those of Italy. Besides this capital defect, these tragedies were extremely

Italian Drama 182-187

13~ Italian Drama. [3uly~ In the first of these lines the words rising, filing, with the aid of different sized letters, are arranged in an ascending and descending form, like the gamut in musick, and by this means paint to the eye as well as the imagination the scene they describe. The English poem is followed by a short Latin one, in which the initials of the party, consisting of ten, are given by taking the first letter of the line as follows; D. H orrendum fragili, nullo Rectore carina, E. S ospite per liquidos campos tetendimus iter; G. B rumapressum atque Hyeme, nubiferaque Proceila, & c. Italian Drama. THE following remarks are translated principally from an article in the Bibtioteca .ulnatitica, a periodical work of con- siderable merit formerly published in Naples, but suppressed on the accession of the present king to the throne. These re- marks are valuable as coming from Italy, and expressing the opinions, which the Italians themselves entertain of their claims in the department of drainatick compositions. They probably place themselves too high, but it has long been our belief, that the more Italian literature is known, the more it will be found to contain worthy of our study and admiration. The article from which we take the following, is a review of the sixth volume of Ginquen& s Literary history of Italy. On the revival of letters in Italy, while the other nations of Europe still amused themselves with wretched farces, the Italian authors, yielding to the happy impulse given them in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, attempted to infuse that spirit ~nd dignity into drarnatick compositions, which had already been communicated with so much success to the lyrick and epick. The first performance of much merit was the So- phonisba of Trissino, dedicated to Leo X. Many other wri- ters of high claims soon followed, and even Tasso was ambitious to try his fortune in the career of tragedy and produced ~his Torrismond. We observe in the Italian tragedies of that period the same defect which had been comnion among the Latins ; they gave representations of the manners and customs of other countries, and not those of Italy. Besides this capital defect, these tragedies were extremely 1817.] Italian Drama. 183 deficient both in style and versification. They were much more in the tone of lyrick poetry, than of the kind adapted to tragedy, and the lines were too uniform and monotonous. The verse and the style of tragedy were not yet created. Maffei began this creation, but Alfieri has brought it to per- fection. Whatever may have been said by some Italian criticks and poets, who wished to transfer the lyrick style to tragedy, that of Alfieri will forever be the true style of Ital- ian tragedy. It is sufficient to compare the productions of Alfieri with the translations of some French tragedies by Cesarotti, to be fully convinced of the correctness of these remarks. Alfieri himself discovers some slight faults, which have been the subjects of censure, but he has happily with- stood the ill natured criticisms, which a few feeble versifiers have directed against him. His style is not only good, but could hardly be improved. It must be allowed that the Italians were the restorers of tragedy among the moderns. Without renouncing the honour which belongs to ourselves, says the French writer, without admiring beyond measure die Italian poets, who have preceded us, and whom we have surpassed, without at- tempting to extenuate the defects of their ancient stage, they certainly deserve great credit, and our warmest grat- itude, for what they have accomplished. To take them now for models would be to go backwards; but yet we ought not to deny the great advantage we have received by having formerly taken them. The Italians ought to be the more obliged to Ginquen~ for thus rendering them justice, as they have great reason to complain of the ill founded opinions of Marmontel and La Harpe. The same justness and depth of remark, which he discov- ers in speaking of tragedy, are also visil)le through the rest of the volume, in which he treats of comedy. The ardour, which prevailed in Italy during the fifteenth century for the study of the Greek and Latin languages, necessarily led to a knowledge of the ancient authors. The comedies of Terence and Plautus were acted at Rome, Fer- rara, and Florence, both in Latin and Italian; but ne~v plQts were soon formed, new dialogues written, and modern char- acters and adventures brought upon the stage. The acade- my de Rozzi in Siena gave the first example of this novelty. Very soon appeared the Calandria of Cardinal Bibiena, tIme .Vitndragora of Machiavel, and the Smtppositi of Ariosto. In 184 Italian Drama. [July, all the comedies of these times, prevailing customs are little regarded, and religious persons and opinions are treated with no great civility; but we find in many of them, the wit of iPlautus in all its amenity, and that inimitable comick humoul, sought in vain in the Italian comedies of later times ;tbat wit, we mean, which, to use the expression of Horace, quatit pqpulum rsu. This laughter, however, did not arise from the ridiculous- ness of the incidents only, but from the vivacity of the styl. and expressions; arid it must be confessed, that single Ital- ian authors, especially those of the last century, having wished to proscribe the common use of the Tuscan dialect, and to limit themselves to that only, which they call the general language of Italy, it has been impossible for them to write with the same force and vivacity. This is, in our opinion, a great evil. The Tuscan dialect, which contains in itself this pretended general language of Italy, abounds in many forms of expression of uncommomi elegance, great delicacy, and a refinement truly Attick. It is impossible to imagine a language better adapted to comedy than this. The Ital- ian authors of the last age have endeavoured to bring into disrepute, and even to hold up to ridicule, this admirable di- alect, and the result has been, that all the Italian comedies, since then, have been cold and insipid. B tint let us return to the comedy of the fourteenth century. Thellalian comedyof this period, says Ginquen~, was with- out doubt imperfect, but still it was comedy. We [the French] were even worse. A man appeared in our nation, whose con- ception of what constituted true corne(ly was more correct than that of any who had preceded him. But before Moliere, and even during his time, where could be found a comedy which could he compared with the tiJalandria, .Mandragora, or the best theatri- cal pieces of Ariosto, and many others? After Moliere the case is wi(lely different; the French comnedy, that is, the comedy of character and manners, prevailed. Th~e Italians themselves have since imitated him, who. from their writers alone, had drawn the most profound secrets of his art; and that art has been brought to perfection on their theatre, as well as on our own. Let us treat them with more justice than we have hitherto done; but let theni be equally just towards us. Let us confess that the Italians were the first to revive good comedy; and let them own that we have since surpassed them. Their comedies of the sixteenth century are superiour to any, which ~t that time existed in any part of 1817.] Italian Drama. 185 Europe, and approach near to the models, which they laboured to imitate; but the place, which belongs to the author of the Tar- tuffe and the eAfisanthrope, must be assigned not only above their best coinick poets, but even above those of the ancients. Another kind of dramatick poetry arose towards the close of the sixteenth century, that glorious era of Italian resuscita- tion. This was the Pastoral Fable, which pourtrays, as our author jusfly remarks, the enchantment and the innocence of that imaginary period, which we call the golden age; the primitive, or rather the refined purity of the sentiments ot~ love; and the romantick events arising from that tender pits- sion. After many attempts, more or less fortunate, a great man, who had received the palm for epick poetry, also bore it away in the pastoral drama. Tasso composed his .dminla, and so much did he excel in this kind of writing, that he car- ried it at once to perfection. Guarini followed him, and even dared to contend with him for a - prize; and we must confess, that, if he does not equal him in smoothness and cor- rectness of style, he is not inferiour in some passages, where lie endeavours to paint the passions, and to expose to view the mysterious working of the human heart. An invention which also belongs to Italy, which may be re- ferred to the same age, and which forms a great Cl)O cha in the most enchanting of the arts, is the musical drama. The union of musick and poetry is very ancieiit. Among the Greeks, tragedy itself was sung, and accompanied with in- struments. This custom was imparted by them to the Latimis, but it quickly passed away after the invasion of the barbarians. The ~vorld owes to Tuscany the revival of theatrical mushk. The court of Florence, which piqued itself upon surpassing in splendour all other courts, gave the first example of those mythological representations, in whicfr a union of all the fine arts offered to the imagination a most magnificent and aliurin~ spectacle. But a great step still remained to be taken, before the music- al drama should arrive at that state of perfection, to which it was soon after carried. In the narrative, and even in the dialogue of the intermediate parts, every thing was sung by many voices mu the style of madrigals. These pieces succeeded each other with- out any connexion or transition. The singing ceased, and began again in the same strain, and the representations were condtmcted by various persons, in a kind of musical language, which accom 186 1~aiian Drama. [July, odated itself to the rapidity of the dialogue, and supplied the place of declamation, without ceasin~ to be musick. Eiiiilio del Cavalliere is said to have attempted in Florence, in 1590, the first play in which the action was continued, divided into scenes, and the whole set to musick. He wrote, after this manner, two pasto- rals, entitled, the Despair of Filenus and the Sat~z~r. The society, calling themselves the friends of the arts, sought with indefatigable zeal, to form that continued declamation, which the Greeks called melopea. rVhe young poet, Octavius Rinuccini, James Pen, a learned writer, and Julius Caccini, a celebrated singer, after much study and various attempts, produced at last a kind of melopea, by setting the declama- tions to musick. They made a trial of it in the pastoral of Daphne, written by the first, and set to musick by the two last. After a short time they composed another piece from the fable of Eurydice and Orpheus; which was performed with great splendour in the year 1600, at the celebration of the marriage of Maria de Medici with Henry IV. The ef- fect which it produced was beyond description. They knew not what name to give to this new species of declamation, and finally called it recitative, that is, proper for dramatick narrations. In 1608, Rinuccini wrote a third lyrick drama, entitled .ilrianna, which is now considered a model. It was set to musick by Claudimis Monteverde. To the Tuscans, then, we are indebted for the invention of the regular lyrick drama, and theatrical musick, in which the musical pieces ale happily united into a continued composition by the interven- tion of the musical declamation. It still remained to bring forward the musical comedy, and the comick opera. Horatio Vecchi, a Modanese, at the same time a poet and musician first added this kind of performance to the others, towards the close of the sixteenth century. He published his ~nti-parnassus, a musical comedy, in 1597. Ginquen~ closes his volume with the following remarks, by which it may be seen what obligations modern nations have been under to Italy, and how many sources of pleasure and refinement it has afforded. Tim the dramatick art generally, says he, this remarkable age of Leo X, left something to he done by those which succeed- ed; but if we cast a glance on the picture which Italy here pre- sents, we shall see, that witl~out mentioning the melo drama, and its connexion with the arts, it had tragedies founded on history, 1817.] Preamble of a letter from the Dey of.Illgiers. 187 as well as fictitious, full of interesting and terrible incidents; that it had comedies of character and plot, in which vice and folly were represented as they should be; that it had, finally, pastorals abounding in delicacy, imagination, and beauty. It created and retained these treasures, and had increased them even to excess, before a single dramatick performance had ap- peared on any other theatre in Europe, which was in any degree distinguished for genius, reason, or sentiment. Preamble to a letter from the Dey of .Algiers to the President of the U. S. Translated from the .qrabick. [This curious specimen of the modern regal style of the East, was sent to us from the Mediterranean, by a gentleman who was at Algiers soon after the Deys letter was written, and who was acquainted with our consul in that place. We can vouch, there- fore, for its genuineness, and the accuracy of the translation.] Wim the aid and assistance of Divinity, and in the reign of our Sovereign, the Asylum of the world, powerful and great monarch, transactor of all good actions, the best of men, the shadow of God, Director of the Good Order, king of kings, supreme ruler of the world, emperour of the earth, emulator of Alexander the Great, possessor of great forces, sovereign of th two worlds, and of the seas, king of Arabia and Persia, emperour, son of an emperour, and conqueror, .Atahmood Kan, (may God end his life with prosperity, and his reign be everlasting and glorious,) his humble and obedient servant, actual sovereign, governour, and chief of Algiers, submitted forever to the order of his imperial Majestys no- ble throne, Omar Pasha (may his government be happy and prosperous) ;. To his Majesty the emperour of America, its adjacent and dependent provinces and coasts, amid wherever hi~ govern- ment may extend, our noble friend, the support of kings of the nations of Jesus, the pillar of all Christian sovereigns, time most glorious amongst the princes, elected amongst many lords and nobles, the happy, the great, the amiable James Mad- ison, emperour of America, (may his reign be happy and glori- ous, and his life long and prosperous,) wishing him longposses- sion of the seat of his blessed throne, and long life and health, amen ;..hoping that your health is in good state, I inform you that mine is excellent (thanks to the Supreme Being,)

Preamble to a letter from the Dey of Algiers 187-188

1817.] Preamble of a letter from the Dey of.Illgiers. 187 as well as fictitious, full of interesting and terrible incidents; that it had comedies of character and plot, in which vice and folly were represented as they should be; that it had, finally, pastorals abounding in delicacy, imagination, and beauty. It created and retained these treasures, and had increased them even to excess, before a single dramatick performance had ap- peared on any other theatre in Europe, which was in any degree distinguished for genius, reason, or sentiment. Preamble to a letter from the Dey of .Algiers to the President of the U. S. Translated from the .qrabick. [This curious specimen of the modern regal style of the East, was sent to us from the Mediterranean, by a gentleman who was at Algiers soon after the Deys letter was written, and who was acquainted with our consul in that place. We can vouch, there- fore, for its genuineness, and the accuracy of the translation.] Wim the aid and assistance of Divinity, and in the reign of our Sovereign, the Asylum of the world, powerful and great monarch, transactor of all good actions, the best of men, the shadow of God, Director of the Good Order, king of kings, supreme ruler of the world, emperour of the earth, emulator of Alexander the Great, possessor of great forces, sovereign of th two worlds, and of the seas, king of Arabia and Persia, emperour, son of an emperour, and conqueror, .Atahmood Kan, (may God end his life with prosperity, and his reign be everlasting and glorious,) his humble and obedient servant, actual sovereign, governour, and chief of Algiers, submitted forever to the order of his imperial Majestys no- ble throne, Omar Pasha (may his government be happy and prosperous) ;. To his Majesty the emperour of America, its adjacent and dependent provinces and coasts, amid wherever hi~ govern- ment may extend, our noble friend, the support of kings of the nations of Jesus, the pillar of all Christian sovereigns, time most glorious amongst the princes, elected amongst many lords and nobles, the happy, the great, the amiable James Mad- ison, emperour of America, (may his reign be happy and glori- ous, and his life long and prosperous,) wishing him longposses- sion of the seat of his blessed throne, and long life and health, amen ;..hoping that your health is in good state, I inform you that mine is excellent (thanks to the Supreme Being,) 18S TILe late 11e~volution of Pernambuco. [July, constantly addressing my prayers to the Almighty for your felicity, & c. & c. ORIGINAL POETRY. Translatian of the .TVinth Satire of Boileau. Tins Satire is perfectly in the taste of Horace, and is by far the most powerful of any which have yet been presented to our readers. Modern literature perhaps possesses nothing com- parable to it; for though Byrons Satire has equal severity of invective, and occasionally the same force of antithesis, yet it is destitute of that wonderhil ingenuity of plan, which is almost peculiar to the productions of the author before us. Under the pretext of censuring bis own faults, M. Boileau here ~idroitly exposes to ridicule a crowd of authors, ~vho had coarsely expressed their indignation at being attacked in his former Satires. From beginning to e~d, be carries on a sharp dialogue with his own mind, and in the midst of their mutual reproaches, .repartees, and rejoinders, some how or other, every body else fares worse than the angry dispu- tants themselves. Look ye, my mind! a lecture I must read, Your faults Ill bear no moreI wont indeed! Too long already has my bending will Allowd your tricks and insolence their fill; But since youve pushd my patience to the last, Have at you now! Ill blow a wholesome blast. Why what! to see you in that ethic mood, Like Cato, pratiug about bad and good, Judging who writes with merit, and who not, And teaching reverend doctors what is what, One would suppose, that covered over quite With darts of Satire ready wingd for flight, I After writing the above introduction, we found in the Geneva quarto edition of 1716, the following encomium, which, while it justifies, at the same time far transcends our own. Thjs Satire is without contradiction the finest of the whole, and ex- ceeds all the others for art, invention, and finesse. In one word, we may boldly put it in competition with, and perhaps even in preference to every thing of the most perfect in its kind, with which antiquity has furnished ls.,,

Fourth Satire Translation of Boileau 188-200

18S TILe late 11e~volution of Pernambuco. [July, constantly addressing my prayers to the Almighty for your felicity, & c. & c. ORIGINAL POETRY. Translatian of the .TVinth Satire of Boileau. Tins Satire is perfectly in the taste of Horace, and is by far the most powerful of any which have yet been presented to our readers. Modern literature perhaps possesses nothing com- parable to it; for though Byrons Satire has equal severity of invective, and occasionally the same force of antithesis, yet it is destitute of that wonderhil ingenuity of plan, which is almost peculiar to the productions of the author before us. Under the pretext of censuring bis own faults, M. Boileau here ~idroitly exposes to ridicule a crowd of authors, ~vho had coarsely expressed their indignation at being attacked in his former Satires. From beginning to e~d, be carries on a sharp dialogue with his own mind, and in the midst of their mutual reproaches, .repartees, and rejoinders, some how or other, every body else fares worse than the angry dispu- tants themselves. Look ye, my mind! a lecture I must read, Your faults Ill bear no moreI wont indeed! Too long already has my bending will Allowd your tricks and insolence their fill; But since youve pushd my patience to the last, Have at you now! Ill blow a wholesome blast. Why what! to see you in that ethic mood, Like Cato, pratiug about bad and good, Judging who writes with merit, and who not, And teaching reverend doctors what is what, One would suppose, that covered over quite With darts of Satire ready wingd for flight, I After writing the above introduction, we found in the Geneva quarto edition of 1716, the following encomium, which, while it justifies, at the same time far transcends our own. Thjs Satire is without contradiction the finest of the whole, and ex- ceeds all the others for art, invention, and finesse. In one word, we may boldly put it in competition with, and perhaps even in preference to every thing of the most perfect in its kind, with which antiquity has furnished ls.,, 1817.] Original Poetry. 189 To you the sole prerogative was given, To hector every mortal under heaven. But have a care..with all that high pretence, I know the ~vorth of both your wit and sense. All your defects, in all their black amount, As easy as my fingers I can count. Ready I am to burst with laughter.when I see you snatch your weak arsd sterile pen, And with that censor-air, sit sternly down, TO wield the scorpion and reform the town; More rough and biting in your satires far Than angry scolds, or Gautier2 at the bar. But comea moments parley let us hold, Say whence you got that freak so madly bold? How could you dare attempt in verse to shine, Without one glance of favour from the Nine? Say, if on you those inspirations roll, Which stir the waters of the godlike soul? Tell how that rash fool-hardy spirit grew Has Phoebus made Parnassus plain for you? And have you yet the dreadful truth to learn That on that mount, where sacred splendours burn, He who comes short of its remotest height, Falls to the ground in ignominious plioht, And severed far from 1-brace and Voiture, Crawls round the bottomwith the Abbe Pure? Yet still, if all that I can do or say, Can I)either frighten nor persuade away The dire approaches of that villain-sprite, Which tenspts your sad infirnmity..to write. Why make your scribbling then a gainful thing, 4And chaunt the glories of our conqueror-king; So shall your whims and follies swell your purse, And every year shall fructify your verse, While by your thriving Muse is duly sold An ounce of smoke, for full its weight in gold. - Claude Gautier, a famous advocate, and excessively biting in his re- criminations. Hence he obtained the nickname of [he Scold. When a pleader wished to intimidate his opponent, he used to say, C~ ill let Gau~ tier loose upon you. 3 To account, once for all, for the unrelenting severity, with which this person is hunted by our a%thor, let it be observed, that the Abbe dc 1-ure had circulated some black and neorovuked calumnies against Loilca which deserved no less than the retaliation they received. 4 The successes- of Louis XIV, called forth a swarm of inferiour poets, ~vho sought that celebrity from their theme, which they never could gain of themselves. 4%l V. No. ~. 190 Original Poetry. Ah tempt me not, I hear you thus reply, In vain such splendid tasks my hand shall try. It is not every dabbler that can strike So high a chord, and thunder, Orpheus-like; Not every one can fill the glowing page, XVith scenes, where Discord swells and bursts with rage, Where hot Bellona, thundering, shrieking, calls, 5And frightened Belgium shrinks behind her walls, On snch high themes, without a throb of fear, 6Racan may chaunt-.--since Homer is riot here. But lack-a-day! for me and poor Cotin,7 Who rhyme by chance, and plunge through thick and thin, We, who turnd poets only on the plan Of meanly finding all the fault we can, By ciouds of schoolboys through our praise is sung, Our safest way we find.~-.to hold our tongue. Strains, worthy of a flatterer and a dunce Degrade both author and the king at once. In short, for me such subjects are the worst..~ My capabilities they sure would burst. Tis thus, my mind, you lazily affect The outward semblance of a chaste respect, While dark malignity, that poisnous sin, Broods, manklin~, with a double powr within. But grant, that if you sung such high-wrought things, The lofty flight would melt your ventrous wings, Were it not better and far nobler, say, Among the clouds to throw your life away, 5 The king had just taken Lisle, and made himself, in the same earn paign, master of several other cities in Flanders. 6 This compliment is either too high, or posterity is very unjust to this French Homer. Racan however was un Poete estim6 The reader may remember, that in the third Satire, the author ex- presses his fondness of good accommodation at the dinner-table, by de- claring that he ~vished for As much elbow room to indulge himself in, As Cassagne had at church, or the Abbd Cotin. Cassagne had the good sense to testify no resentment against the author. Not so with Cotin. He could not endure that his pulpit talents should he contested. In order to hive his revenge, he wrote a bad Satire against Boileau, in which he reproaches him, as if it were a great crime, for bay. ing imitated Horace and Juvenal. He also pu~ished an essay on the Sa- tires of the times, in which lie charged our author wth having done the greatest injuries, and imputed to him imaginary crimes. This only pro- voked a new tissue of railleries, of which the above is one, and Moli~me be. ing made a party in the game, the reputation of Cotin at length sunk un- der the contest. 1817.] Original Poetry. 191 Than thus to sally on the kings high road, And slash about in that unchristian mood, Rhyming and scoffing, as you daily do, Insulting those, who never speak to you, Rashly endangring others and yourself, And all to load your publisher with pelf? Perhaps you think, puffd up with senseless pride, To march with deathless Horace, side by side. Evn now you hope, that on yonr rhymes obscure 8Future Saumaises will the rack endure. But think what numbers well receivd at first, Have had their foolish expectations curst! How many flourish for a little date, Who see their packd-up verses sold by weight! writings, gathering wide renown, hand spread briskly through the town; A few months hence, despite their matchless worth, Powderd with dust, and never namd on earth, They to the grocers swell that solemn train, Led on by Serr6,9 and by Neuf-Germain,10 Or, at Port-Neuf1 perhaps, all gnawd about, Lie with their leaves defacd and half torn out. Ah! the fine thing, to see your works engage A loitring lacquey, or an idle page, Or make, perchance, conveyd to some dark nook, A second volume to Savovards book.12 Should fate allow, by some ~oodnaturd whim, Your verses on the stream of time to swim, Fulfilling, centuries hence, your spiteful vow, To load ~vith hisses poor Cotin, as now. Of what avail will be the future praise Which men may lavish in those distant days, If in your life-time now that trick of rhyme Blacken your conscience with repeated crime? Where is the use to scare the publick so? Why will you make each sorry fool your foe? Claude Saumaise, an excellent critick and commentator. 9 his is that miserable writer, of whom, in the third Satire, the coun- try nobleman exclaims, La SerrCs the author of authors for me 10 Neuf-Germain is described as a ridiculous and extravagant poet. 1 2 This was a place in Paris, where books were exposed to sale as waste paper. 12 Savoyard used to sing songs about the streets of Paris, and at length he must publish his New Collection of the Songs of Savoyard, as sung by himself at Paris ! 192 Original Poetry. [July, Why draw down many a secret hearty curse, Merely to show your talent at a verse What demon tempts you to the vain display Of proving out how well you can inveigh? You read a bookand if it does not strike, Who forces you to publish your dislike? Pray let a dunce in quiet meet his lot. Shall not an author unmolested rot? ~3Jonas, in dust, lies witherd from our sight, David, though printed, has not seen the light; 14 loses is staind with right Mosaick mould Along the margin ot each musty fold. How can they harm? those who are dead are dead; Shall not the tomb escape your hostile tread? What poison have they pourd within your cup, That you should rake their slumbering ashes up, 15Perrin, and Bardin, Pelletiere, Hainaut, Titreville, Coltet, Pradon, and Quinaut, Whose names forever to some rhyme you hitch, Like staring image in sepulchral niche? You say you hate the nonsense they produce, And that youre wearied outa fine excuse! Have they not wearied out both court and king? Yet who indictments has presimd to bring? Has the least edict, to avenge their crime, Silencd the authors, or suppressd the ihyme ? Let write who will. All at this trade may lose Freely what paper and what ink they choose. 6Let a romance, whose volumes nurnb~r ten, Dismiss its heroheaven alone knows when Yet ~vho can charge it with a single flaw Mainst the statute or the common law ? -n 1 3 The three poems, over which a requiem is sung in these three lines, were all the productions of different authors, and never had one breeze of succe~.s. 1 4 The line in the original is, La MoYse commence ~ moisir par les bords. Since the pun could not be exactly translated, we have ventured to sup. ply its place with an inferiour one, together with a reinforcement of al- literations. 15 Indifferent poets, who had at various times incurred the humour of our author in hIS satires. 16 The romances of Cyrus, Clelia, and Pharamond each extended to ten volumes. Original Poetr~p 198 Hence to this wild impunity we owe Those tides of authors which forever flow, Whose annual swell has never ceasd to drown, Time out of mind, this trash-devoted town. Hence not a single gate -post guards a door, With puff-advertisements not smotherd oer. Fastidious spirit! and will you alone Without prerogative, with name unknownq Presume to vindicate Apollos cause, Adjust his realm, and execute his laws? But whilst their works thus roughly you chastise, Will yours be viewd with quite indulgent eyes? No living thing escapes your rude attack, Think you no blow of vengeance shall come back ~ Ab yes, een now methinks some injurd wright Exclaims, Keep out of that mad critics sight. One cannot tell what oi~ten ails his brain. A paradoxno shrewdness can explain.. A very boyan inexperiencd fool, Who rashly grasps at universal rule; Who for a pair of well-turnd verses ends, Would run the risk of losing twenty friends. He gives no quarter to the godlike Maid, And wants his will by all the world obeyd. Is there a faultless pleader at the bar, Whose eloquence he does not mock anti mar? Is there a preacher, brilliant, chaste, and deep, At whose discourse he does not go to sleep? And who is this Parnassian monarch-lad? A beggar, in the spoils of Horace clad! ~ 18 Did not one Juvenal, before him, teach How few attend Cotin, to hear him preach? Those poets both wrote satires upon rhyme, And how he fathers upon them his crime! 1 Our author possessed in a very pcrfect degree r the talent of mini. ickry. Being a young advocate, his attendance at the courts of justice enabled him to catch the tone and manners of the pleaders there. He was 110 less an annoyance to all preachers, and all play-actors. 1 8 This is the most piercing thrust in the whole Satire. Saint Pavin and the Abbe Cotin, had charged our author with stealing from horace and Juvenal. The objection ~vas very impertinent, but by making Juve- imal talk about the Abbe Cotin, who lived sixteen or seventeen centuries after him, it fell back with tremendous force on the heads of its authors. 1 ~ It is necessary to remind the mere English meader, that neither Ho- race nor J.~venal, nor any Latin poet before the dark ages kne~v any thing of rhyme. 194 Original Poetry. (July, Behind their glorious names he hides his head; Tis true, those authors I have little read; But this I know, the world would get much good, If all that slanderous, satirick brood Into the river, (and twould he but fair) Were headlong pluugd, to make their verses there. See how they treat you, and the world astound; And the world deems you as already drownd. In vain will some good-naturd friend essay To beg for grace, and wipe your doom away. Nothing can satisfy the jealous wight, Who reads, and trembles as he reads, in fright, Thinks that each shaft is aimd at him alone, Believing every fault you paint, his own. Youre always meddling with some new affair, Picking eternal quarrels here and there. Why are my ears so frequently assaild With cries of authors and of tools irnpald? When will your zeal some due cessation find? Come now..Im seriousanswer me, my mind! My stars! you answer, what a mighty fuss! Why do you let your spleen transport you thus? Must I be hung, for having given once Or twice, a passing comment on a dunce? Where is the man, who, when a coxcomb brags, Of haviag written a mere piece of rags, Does not exclainv.you good-for-nothing fool.- You tiresome dunce ! you vile translating tool! Why should such nonsense ever see the day, Or why such wordy nothings make display? Must this be slander calld, or honest speech? No, Slander steals more softly to the breach. Thus, ~vere it made a doubt, for what pretence, M.... built a convent at his own expense.-.-. M.,.. ? cries the slanderer, with a solemn whine, Why, dont suspect him, hes a friend of mine. I knew him well before his fortunes grew, As fine a lacquey, as eer brushd a shoe. His pious heart, and honourable mind Would give to Godhis filchings from mankind. There is a sample of your slandrers art, Which stabs, with vast politeness, to the heart. The genrous soul, to such intrigues unknown, Detests the soft, back-biting, double tone. But surely, to expose a wretched verse, Hard as a stone, and dismal as a hearse, Originat Poetr2j. 195 To draw a line twixt merit and pretence, To throttle him, who throttles common sense; To joke a would-be wit, who wears out you, This every reader has a right to do. A fool at court may every day judge wrong, And pass unpunishd through the tasteless throng, Preferring (so all standards they disturb) 10~~heophilus to Racan and Malherbe, Or een pretend an equal price to hold For Tassos tinsel as for Maros gold. Some understrapper, for a dozen sous, Who shrinks not from the scorn of publick view, May go and take his station at the pit, 11And cry down Attila with vulgar wit; Unfit the beauties of the Hun to feel, He chides those Vandal verses of Corneille. Theres not a varlet-author in this town, No drudge of pen and ink.no copyist clown, Who is not ready to assume his stand, And sternly judge all writings, scale in hand. Soon as the anxious bard his fortune tries, He is the slave of every dunce who buys. He truckles low to every bodys whim, His works must combat for themselves and him. In preface meek, he gets upon his knees, To beg his candour.whom his verses tease. In vainno mercy let the author hope, When even his judge stands ready with the rope. And must I only hold my peace the while? If men are fools, shall I not dare to smile? What harm have my well-meaning verses done, That furious authors thus against me run? So far from filching their hard-gotten fame, I but steppd in, and built them up a name. Had not my verses brought their trash to light, It would have sunk, long since, to hopeless night. Whereer my friendly notice had not reachd, Who would have known Cotin had ever preachd? By Satires dashes fools are glorious made, As pictures owe their brilliancy to shade. In all the honest censures I have brought, I have but freely utterd what I thought; 20 Theophilus, it may be remembered, was a favourite of the good en. tertainer in the third Satire. ~i One of Corneilles beet dramas. 196 Original Poetry~ And they who say I hold the rod too high, Evn they in secret think the same as 1. Still some will murmur Sure he was to blame, 22Where was the need of calling folks by name? Attacking Chaplain too, so good a mali, 23Whom Baizac always praises when he can! Tis true, had Chaplain taken my advice, He neer had versified, at any price; In rhyme, he to himselfs the worst of foes, Oh had he always oeen content with prose ! Such is the cant in which they talk away, But is it not the very thing I say? When to his works I put my pruning-knife, Pray do I throw rank poison on his life My Muse, though rough, adopts the candid plan Still to disjoin the poet from the man. Grant him what faith and honour are his due, Allow him to be civil, modest, true, Complaisant, soft, obliging, and sincere, From me not evn a scruple shall you hear~ But when I see him as a model shown, And raisd and worshippd on the poets throne, 24Pensiond far more than wits of greater might, My bile oerflows, and im on fire to write. If Im forbidden what I think to say In printthen, like the menial in the play, Ill go and dig the earth, and whisper there, That evn the reeds may publish to the air, Till every grove, and vale, and thicket hears, Midas, king .Midas, has an asss ears. Bow have my writings .done him any wrong? His powers how frozen, or how cbilld his song? Wheneer a hook first takes the venders shelf, Let every coiner judge it for himselL 22 One day, the Abb6 Victoire met lloileau, and said to him, Chap- lain is one of my friends, and I dont lik& to have you call him by name in your Satires. it is true, that if he had taken my advice, he would nev- er have written poetry. Prose is much better tbr his talents. There it is, there it is ! said our poet, what do I say more than you? Why am I reproached for saying in verse, what every body else says in prose? I am but the Secretary of the publick. 23 Balzac was a nobleman, and a very popular writer of Letters. Out of about twenty of his volumes, six were filled with letters to Chaplain, and encomiums on his works. 24 Chaplain had in different sinecures and pensiOns about eight thou~ sand livres per annum. 1817.] Original Poetry. 197 25Bilaine may save it from his book-shops dust, Can he prevent a criticks keen disgust? 6A minister may plot against the Cid, And every breath of rapture may forbid, In vain, all Paris, more informd and wise 27books on Zimen~ with Rodrigos eyes. The whole Academy may run It down Still shall it charm and win the rebel town. But when. a work from Chaplains mint appearsq Straitly his readers all become ~inieres.28 In vain t~ thousand authors lau fhim high, The book comes forth, and gives them all the lie. Since then he lives the mark of scorn and glee To the whole townpray without chiding me, Let him accuse his own unhappy verse, Whereon Apollo has pronounced a curse; Yes, blame that Muse, that led his steps astray, His German Muse, trickd out in French array. Chaplain! farewell, forever and for aye ! Satire, they tell us, is a dangerous thing; Some smile, hut most are outragd at its sting. It gives its author every thing to fear, And more than once made sorrow for Regnier ;2 9 Quit then a path, whose wily power decoys The thoughtless soul to too ill naturd joys. To themes more geotle be your Muse confind, 30Ami1 leave Feuillet to reform mankind. What !give up Satire? thwart my darling drift? How shall I then employ my rhyming gift? 25 Bilaine ~vas a famous bookseller, who kept his shop in the grand hail of the palace. 26 Corneille having obtained the representation of his famous drama of the Cid, a party was fbrm~d against it, at the head of which was the great Cardinal Richelieu, prime minister of France. He obliged the French academy to criticise that play and their strictures were printed under the title of Sentiments of the French Academy respecting the Cid. 27 Zimene and Rodrigothe heroine and the hero of the Cid. 28 Liniere was an author who wrote severely against Chaplains Maid of Orleans. 2 9 Regnier was the first who wrote Satires in France. While very young, his verses provnked fUr him so mai~y enemies, that his father was obliged to chastise him. 3 0 Feujilet was a preacher excessivelyscvere in his manners, and alarm~ ing in his exhortations. He affected singularity in his publick perforim acces. Xol. N. No. ~. P1 198 Original Poetry. [July, Pray would you have me daintily explode My inspiration in a pretty ode? 31And vexing Danube in his course superb Invoke his reeds with pilfrings from Malherbe? 32Save groaning Zion from th oppressors rod, Make Memphis tremble, and the crescent isod? And passing Jordan, clad in dread alarms, Snatch (undeservd!) the ldu mean palms? Or, coining with an eclogue from the rocks, Pipe, in th~ midst oLParis, to my tl~)ck5, And sitting, (at my Wesk,) beneath a beech, Make Echo with my rustick nonsense screach? Or, in coldblood, without one spark of love Burn to embrace some Iris from above? Lavish upon her every brilliant name, Sun, Moon, Aurora, to relieve my flame? And while on good round fare I daily dine, Die in a trope, or languish in a line? Let whining fools such affectation keep, Whose drivling minds in luscious dulness sleep. No, no, dame Satire, chide her as you will, Charms by her novelties and lessons still. She only knows, in fair proportions meet, Ncely to blej~d the useful with the sweet; And, as good sense illuminates her rhymes, Unmasks and routs the errours of the times Dai es eeh within the altars hound to tread, And strikes injustice, vice, and pride, with dread. Her fearless tongue deals caustick vengeance back, Vi hen Reason suffers from a f ols attack. Thus by Lucilius, when his Lelius bid, The old Cotins of Italy were chid; Thus Attick Horace, with his killing leers, Bravd and oerwhelmd the Roman Pelletieres. Yes, Satire, boon companion of my way, Has shewn me where the path of duty lay; For fifteen years has taught me how to look With due abhorrence on a foolish book. Aisd eager oer Parnassus as I run, She smiles and lingers, willing to be won, 3 1 These lines allude to the writings of one Perier, who borrowed and spout sentences from Mallierbe. 3 2 It is possible that in these few lines, he has alluded to Tasso s ,lerusalcm, whose popularity at that time, being carried too far, might have rous~d ]3oileaus jealousy for the ancients, and caused in his mind a ~eaction, both urfavourable and unjust to the italian poet. 1817.] Original Poetry. 199 Strengthens my steps, and cheers my path with light, In short, for herfor her, Ive vowd to write. Yet een this instant, if you say I must, Ill quit her service, willing to be just. And, if I can but quell these floods of foes, Suppress the verse whence so much mischief rose. Since you commandretracting I declare, 33quinautts a Virgil! doubt it ye who (lare. 34Pradon shines forth on these benighted times, More like Apollo, than a thins of rhymes. 35To Pelletiere a higher palm is due 36fhan falls to Ablancourt and his Patru; Cotin draws all the world to hear him preach, And throucrh the crowds can scarce his pulpit reach; 37Sofals t%e phenix of our wits of fame, Perrin Well done, my mind, pursue that game. Yet do but see, how all the maddend tribe Your very l)raise to raillery ascribe. Heaven knows what authors soon, enflamd with rage, What wounded rhymesters will the battle wage. Soon will you see them dart th envenomud lie, Whole storms of slander will against you fly, Each verse you write be construed to a crime, And treasnous aims be chargd on evry rhyme. Scarce will you dare to sound your monarchs fame, Or consecrate your pages with his name; Who slights Cotin (if we believe Cotin) Has surely done th unpardonable sin, A traitor to his king, his faith, his God, Fit for the hangman, or the beadles rod. Butwhat? you say, can he do any harm? How has Cotin the power to strike alarm? Can he forbid, what he esteein~ so high, Those pensions, which neer cost my heart a sigh? 33 Alluding to the line in the third Satire; Reason says Virgil, but rhyme says Quinault. 34 A writer of tragedies. lie affected to be the rival of Racine. He was very ignorant. 35 See notes on the third Satire, in the N. A. Review, for January. 36 Ablancourt and Patru were very close friends; both elegant wri- ters. 37 The author of a manuscript history of the antiquities of Paris, ~o~rit. ten in a very bombastick style. Some mortifications and disappointments prevented the author from exposing it to the world. Boileau has a cut- ting verse upon him in the seventh Satire. Original Poetry. 200 [Jn1y~ No, no, my tongue waits not for sordid ore, To laud that king, whom friends and foe~ adore. Enough that I his praise may feebly speak, No other honour or reward I seek. My brush may seem capricious and severe, While making vice in its own swarth appear, Or holding up a set of fools to shame, Who dare to arrogate an authors name. Yet shall I ever treat with fond respect, My honoured Liege, with every virtue deckd.~ Yes, yes, you always will, thats very well, But, think you, will it stop their threatning yell? Pa nassian yells, you say,.I little count, A fig for all the Hurons on the mount ! .Mon Dieu, take care, fear evry thing, my mind, From a bad author, furiously inclind, Who, if he chuse, can.... What ~2....I know fsll well, 3 9 Bless me, what is it? .... Hush, I must not tell. How fair a hand his tints should blend, How mild an eye on his should bend, On seeing a Head of Raphael, elegantly copied by a young lady. XVHEN Raphaels genius gave with truth Tiw picturd semblance of his youth, - Had some kind Powr but lent his eye The piercing glance of prophecy, And shewn him through the mingled shade By distant climes, and ames made, 5 8 When the eighth Satire was published, it met with extraordinary success. The king himself spoke of it several times with great praise. On one of these occasions, the Sieur de St. Mauris, of the horse-guard, told the king, that Boileau had another Satire composed, (the ninth) which was still finer than that, and in ~vhich he spoke of his Majesty The king looked up with an air of surprise and offended dignity, and replied, a satire, in which he speaks of me, say you ? Yes, Sire, answered St. Mauris, but with all that respect which is due to your Majesty. The king then expressed a curiosity to see it, and when it was obtaind, he admired it beyond measure, and shewed it to several ladies and others about court. This was contrary to Boileaus wishes; but when the poem ivas so much circulated, that there was danger of a defective COPS getting abroad, he resolved to publish it. Thus, says the commentator, to whom we owe this story, it may in a manner be said, that this piece came to the pub- lick, through the hands of the king. 3 9 All the commentators have left these closing lines in the dark. Per- haps Boilean, too, meant to leave his readers as much perplexed as he did his own mind.

On seeing a head of Raphael elegantly copied by a young lady 200-201

Original Poetry. 200 [Jn1y~ No, no, my tongue waits not for sordid ore, To laud that king, whom friends and foe~ adore. Enough that I his praise may feebly speak, No other honour or reward I seek. My brush may seem capricious and severe, While making vice in its own swarth appear, Or holding up a set of fools to shame, Who dare to arrogate an authors name. Yet shall I ever treat with fond respect, My honoured Liege, with every virtue deckd.~ Yes, yes, you always will, thats very well, But, think you, will it stop their threatning yell? Pa nassian yells, you say,.I little count, A fig for all the Hurons on the mount ! .Mon Dieu, take care, fear evry thing, my mind, From a bad author, furiously inclind, Who, if he chuse, can.... What ~2....I know fsll well, 3 9 Bless me, what is it? .... Hush, I must not tell. How fair a hand his tints should blend, How mild an eye on his should bend, On seeing a Head of Raphael, elegantly copied by a young lady. XVHEN Raphaels genius gave with truth Tiw picturd semblance of his youth, - Had some kind Powr but lent his eye The piercing glance of prophecy, And shewn him through the mingled shade By distant climes, and ames made, 5 8 When the eighth Satire was published, it met with extraordinary success. The king himself spoke of it several times with great praise. On one of these occasions, the Sieur de St. Mauris, of the horse-guard, told the king, that Boileau had another Satire composed, (the ninth) which was still finer than that, and in ~vhich he spoke of his Majesty The king looked up with an air of surprise and offended dignity, and replied, a satire, in which he speaks of me, say you ? Yes, Sire, answered St. Mauris, but with all that respect which is due to your Majesty. The king then expressed a curiosity to see it, and when it was obtaind, he admired it beyond measure, and shewed it to several ladies and others about court. This was contrary to Boileaus wishes; but when the poem ivas so much circulated, that there was danger of a defective COPS getting abroad, he resolved to publish it. Thus, says the commentator, to whom we owe this story, it may in a manner be said, that this piece came to the pub- lick, through the hands of the king. 3 9 All the commentators have left these closing lines in the dark. Per- haps Boilean, too, meant to leave his readers as much perplexed as he did his own mind. Original roefr~. So gay a smile of joy h..d glowd, So rich a light had round him flowd, So soft a glance,so bright a ray To please.to dazzleto betray-.- That een thy pencils magick trace Had pausd to catch that wildring grace. And if the fabled artist fird To love a form that all admird, Gazd on the statue he had wrought V~Tith secret pangs of rapturd thought, And paid the image of his art The homage of a captive heart, Een thou perchance, hadst danger found, From brows with such enchantment bound, And by thy genius to pourtray The nameless charm, hadst felt its sway; And by thy work, been taught to know A shaft like that from Cupids bow. H. On the Raising of Jairus Daughter. THEY have watchd her last and quivering breath, And the maidens soul has flown; They have wrapt her in the robes of death, And laid her, dark and lone. But the mother casts a look behind, Upon that fallen flowr.~ Nay, start not.twas the gathring wind, Those limbs have lost their powr. And tremble not at that cheek of snow, Over which the faint light plays, Tis only the crimson curtains glow, Which thus deceives thy gaze. Didst thou not close that expiring eye? And feel the soft pulse decay? And did not thy lips receive the sigh, Which bore her soul away? She lies o~ her couch all pale and hushd, And heeds not thy gentle tread, And is still as the spring4lowr by traveller crushd, Which dies on its snowy bed.

On the Raising of Jairus' Daughter 201-202

Original roefr~. So gay a smile of joy h..d glowd, So rich a light had round him flowd, So soft a glance,so bright a ray To please.to dazzleto betray-.- That een thy pencils magick trace Had pausd to catch that wildring grace. And if the fabled artist fird To love a form that all admird, Gazd on the statue he had wrought V~Tith secret pangs of rapturd thought, And paid the image of his art The homage of a captive heart, Een thou perchance, hadst danger found, From brows with such enchantment bound, And by thy genius to pourtray The nameless charm, hadst felt its sway; And by thy work, been taught to know A shaft like that from Cupids bow. H. On the Raising of Jairus Daughter. THEY have watchd her last and quivering breath, And the maidens soul has flown; They have wrapt her in the robes of death, And laid her, dark and lone. But the mother casts a look behind, Upon that fallen flowr.~ Nay, start not.twas the gathring wind, Those limbs have lost their powr. And tremble not at that cheek of snow, Over which the faint light plays, Tis only the crimson curtains glow, Which thus deceives thy gaze. Didst thou not close that expiring eye? And feel the soft pulse decay? And did not thy lips receive the sigh, Which bore her soul away? She lies o~ her couch all pale and hushd, And heeds not thy gentle tread, And is still as the spring4lowr by traveller crushd, Which dies on its snowy bed. 202 Original Poetry. The mother has flown from that lonely room, And the maid is mute an(1 pale. Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb, And dark is her stiffend nail. Her mother strays with folded arms, And her head is bent in woe, She shuts her thoughts. to joys or harms, No tear attempts to flow. Ilut listen! what name salutes her ear? it comes to a heart of stone; Jesus, she cries, has no power here, My daughters life has flown. He leads the way to that cold white couch, And bends oer the senseless form, Can his be less than a heavenly touch? The maidens hand is warm! And the fresh blood comes with roseate hue, While deaths dark terrours fly, Her form is raisd, and her step is true, And life beams bright in her eye! Watertown, 1817. ETHE author of the following ode has taken the liberty to anticipate a little, and to consider the distinguished scholar, to whom it is addressed, as already on his pilgrimage throtigh those classick regions, where not a mountain rears its head nnsung.~] ODE. ~1d E. B. per Grceciarn iter tencntern. o TU~ beatir sortis et ardute! Qui nunc fugaces persequeris choros, Per prata, per valles Achivas, Pieridum, timidasque Nymnphas! Quo vertis errans? Threyceys jugis, Vbas opacis robora frondibus, Ornosve, qure, chordmr sequaces .iEagrii, saluere, vatis?

Latin Ode 202-204

202 Original Poetry. The mother has flown from that lonely room, And the maid is mute an(1 pale. Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb, And dark is her stiffend nail. Her mother strays with folded arms, And her head is bent in woe, She shuts her thoughts. to joys or harms, No tear attempts to flow. Ilut listen! what name salutes her ear? it comes to a heart of stone; Jesus, she cries, has no power here, My daughters life has flown. He leads the way to that cold white couch, And bends oer the senseless form, Can his be less than a heavenly touch? The maidens hand is warm! And the fresh blood comes with roseate hue, While deaths dark terrours fly, Her form is raisd, and her step is true, And life beams bright in her eye! Watertown, 1817. ETHE author of the following ode has taken the liberty to anticipate a little, and to consider the distinguished scholar, to whom it is addressed, as already on his pilgrimage throtigh those classick regions, where not a mountain rears its head nnsung.~] ODE. ~1d E. B. per Grceciarn iter tencntern. o TU~ beatir sortis et ardute! Qui nunc fugaces persequeris choros, Per prata, per valles Achivas, Pieridum, timidasque Nymnphas! Quo vertis errans? Threyceys jugis, Vbas opacis robora frondibus, Ornosve, qure, chordmr sequaces .iEagrii, saluere, vatis? Original Poetry. 203 Ant fontis oram Castaiji prernis, Haurire tentans, nec vetit& matiu, Undas sacratas; et Cam~enis, De proprio velut amne, libans? Lustrasve Athenis inclyta Palladis Delubra; sanctos ant Academhe Lucos pererras, et Platonis Grandiloqui venerare sedes? Quocunque cursum, per tumidum mare, IPer grata Musis littora, per juga Flectas, memento patri~, narn Te procul, atque domi tuetur~ NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. Anur. IX. The .Narrative of Robe~ .Ildams, a sailor, who was wrecked on the western coast of .dfrica, in the year 1810, was detained three years in slavery by the .drabs of the great Desert, and resided several months in the city of Tom bucloo. With a map, motes, and an appendix. PP. 200. Boston, Wells IN our last number we published a notice of this book, to- gether with a similar narrative, which was taken at Cadiz several months previously to this, expressing at the same time our suspicioll, that the w hole of that l)art, which related to the interiour, and particularly to the city of Toinbuctoo, was a fabrication. We propose now to examine the subject more at large, and to bring forward such reasons as have in- diaced us from the beginning to regard the story as a ficuion, and a gross attempt to impose on the credulity of the publick. To us, indeed, this has appeared so obvious, that we should not think it worthy of any serious examination, had it not excited so much interest, and gained universal belief in Eng- land. The narrative first appeared there in a splendid quarto form; or rather it occupied a small corner in a book of this description; by much the greater part being composed of introductory details, copious explanatory notes by various hands aiid on various subjects, elaborate concluding remarks in defence of the story and the notes, together with two learn- ed and well written appendices, which have no connexion with any other part of the book. it was sent into the world, also, under the sanction of some of the most distinguished

Narrative of Robert Adams 204-224

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. Anur. IX. The .Narrative of Robe~ .Ildams, a sailor, who was wrecked on the western coast of .dfrica, in the year 1810, was detained three years in slavery by the .drabs of the great Desert, and resided several months in the city of Tom bucloo. With a map, motes, and an appendix. PP. 200. Boston, Wells IN our last number we published a notice of this book, to- gether with a similar narrative, which was taken at Cadiz several months previously to this, expressing at the same time our suspicioll, that the w hole of that l)art, which related to the interiour, and particularly to the city of Toinbuctoo, was a fabrication. We propose now to examine the subject more at large, and to bring forward such reasons as have in- diaced us from the beginning to regard the story as a ficuion, and a gross attempt to impose on the credulity of the publick. To us, indeed, this has appeared so obvious, that we should not think it worthy of any serious examination, had it not excited so much interest, and gained universal belief in Eng- land. The narrative first appeared there in a splendid quarto form; or rather it occupied a small corner in a book of this description; by much the greater part being composed of introductory details, copious explanatory notes by various hands aiid on various subjects, elaborate concluding remarks in defence of the story and the notes, together with two learn- ed and well written appendices, which have no connexion with any other part of the book. it was sent into the world, also, under the sanction of some of the most distinguished .Narrative of Robert .& tams. 205 men in England, as will be seen from the following notice, taken from the editors Introductory Details. The story having come to the knowledge of Earl Bathurst, the Right Honourable the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Major General Sir Willoughby Gordon, the Right Honourable Sir Jo- seph Banks, John Barrow, Esq. George Harrison, Esq. Henry Goulburn, Esq. M. P. and other members of the government, who interest themselves in African atlhirs, and they having expressed a desire to see Adams, he waited upon them in person, and the Nai rative was at the same time transmitted to them for perusal. It is unnecessary to give stronger evidence of the general impres- sion derived from this investigation9 than is alThrdeszl by the fact, that the Lords of the Treasury were pleased to order the poor man a handsome gratuity for his equipment and passage home ; and Sir Willoughby Gordon in a letter, which the editor had sub- sequently the honour to receive from him, expressed his opinion in the following ~vords ; The perusal of his statement, and the personal examination of Adams, have entirely satisfied me of the truth of his deposition. If he should be proved an impostor, he will be second only to Psalmanazar. Thus supported, the narrative gained credit every where, and made an article in almost every periodical publication in the British domimons. It was gravely and elaborately reviewed in the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, and the latter in particular entered into a manful defence of its most glaring absurdities. ConsidePed in this light, it assumes an importance, and deserves a notice, to which it would not otherwise be entitled. In other views, also, the subject is not without claims to our attention. During these twenty years past an uncom- mon enthusiasm has prevailed on the other side of the Atlan- tick, particularly in England, on the subject of Africa. The peculiar condition of this ill fated country has called into ac- tion at the same time two of the most powerful principles of the human mind, sympathy and curiosity. The noble design of abolishing from the earth the detestable traffick in human blood, which was prompted by the philanthropy and prose- cuted by the zeal of a few great menthe results of the in- vestigations which took place in consequence of this design~ the wrongs, oppressions, and crue1tie~, which were found to be practised on an inoffensive and unprotected race of beings their intellectual degradationtheir wretched state of exis- Vol V. No. ~. 206 .iVarrative of Robert Adams. [July, tence, arising from an entire ignorance of the arts of civiliz- ed life, and of the first principles of moral and religious obli- gations ;all these have operated powerfully in touching the springs of benevolent feeling, and exciting a generous wish that these unhappy people might be relieved from this burden of wretchedness..made acquainted wish the joys and com- forts of social life, and the cheering hopes and iiifluences of Christianity. These causes have excited a desire of making more par- ticular inquiries into the geography of the interiour, and the condition and character of the inhabitants. But such inqui- ries have only increased, without satisfying curiosity. All here is mysterious and uncertain. The Romans are said to have crossed the great desert, and penetrated as far as the iNiger, but no European in modern times, if we except Leo Africanus, has advanced so far in this direction, or been able to bring, from the mo4 interesting part of the interiour, any correct information. Several individuals, within a few years past, have fallen a sacrifice to the ardour of their zeal in at- tempting to prosecute discoveries into these unknown and in- hospitable regions. Among them we have to lament our un- fortunate countryman, Ledyard, who, in native leve of ad- venture, and persevering energy of character, has probably never been surpassed. But the world has seldom united in stronger feelings of sympathy for the fate of auy individual, than that of Pai~k, the flower of modern chivalry, and the most enthusiastick practical advocate for African emanci- pation. We are not more astonished at the irresistible curi- osity and unabated ardour of this bold adventurer, than at hi~ coolness and deliberation on the approach of danger, his l)a- tient endurance of suffering, and calm resignation to the most disastrotis and appalling events that could await him. From him we have learned more concerning the interiour of Africa, than from every other traveller. The grand object of his first mission was to discover the direction and terinina- tion of the Niger, and to gain some definite knowledge of the great central mart of Africa. This object he accomplished but in part. After many perils and sufferings, he succeeded in discovering the Niger, and travelled several days along its banks9but prudence prevented his proceeding as far as Tomnhiictoo, and all the knowledge he gained of that city wa~ derived from the authority of others. .N~arrative of Robert 4dams. Nothing was known with certainty of the kingdom or city of Tombuctoo till the beginning of the sixteenth celittiry, when Leo Africanus wrote his description of Africa. He was a native of Spain, and going over to Africa during the political disasters of his country, he travelled in various parts of the interiour, and resided for some time at Tombuc- too. He gives a full and apparently honest account of this city, and represents it as a place of great importance, and the capital of an extensive and powerful empire. It was the residence of the king, who possessed vast wealth, and was surrounded with splendour and magnificence. The kings palace and a stately mosque were built of stone and lime by an artist from Spain, and many of the other buildings were also of the same materials. He speaks of merchants of great wealth residing there, and of~ a trade being carried on by means of caravans from Barbary, and through the port Ka- bra, to almost every part of Africa. This account of Leo has always been credited, though lie has sometimes been found a fallible guide in geography. It was requisite from the nature of his work, that he should re- late many things on the authority of others, and he was thus occasionally led into errours ;.but when lie speaks from per- sonal observation, we have no reason to doubt his veracity or suspect his honesty. Succeeding researches have generally verified his statements. What he says of the power of the king ofTomnbuctoo, and the consequent importance of his dominions, was confirmed fifty years afterwards by Marmol, a Spanish writer, who had been taken prisoner and carried into the in- teriour of Africa. The cheriff, Mahomet, says he, in the height of his prosperity, [1540] had thoughts of conquering this and other kingdoms of the blacks, as had been done in former ages by the Leptunes. He set forward with a thou- sand eight hundred horse, and an infinite number of camels, loaded with ammunition and provision; but being informed, that the king of Tombut was marching to meet him with three hundred thousand men, line made his way back to Tarudant. Marmol says he was himself in this expedition. The French at Galam, a settlement o~ the Senegal, receiv- ed similar accounts relative to Tombuctoo from the Mandin- go merchants, who ~vent annually on a trading expedition to 208 .Narrative of Robert .4darns. [JulyD that city.* They spoke of the merchandize collected there from various parts as immense, and described the articles, which were commonly brought from the northern parts. This description agreed entirely with the truth, as was ascertained by M. Bine, who several times saw the caravans set out from Tripoli to cross the desert. What we have here related, we believe, is the substance of all that was known of Tombuctoo for nearly three hundred years,from tue beginning of the sixteenth to the close of the eighteenth century. This was not a period very auspicious for African im- provement. The want. of enterprize in Europe, resulting from the decline of ten centuries, left men without motives ei- ther of interest or curiosity sufficient for prompting them to extend their-researches into a country, which was known on- ly for its deserts, and the piracies, barbarism, and stupidity of its inhabitants. And when the mind again recovered its energies in the more civilized parts of the world, it was long occupied with objects less remote and less doubtful. The re- vival of letters in Europe..tbe resuscitation of commerce the f~rrnation of political establishmentsthe new relations, which were beginning to exist between different nations,all these afforded sufficient scope for the noblest exertions of in- tellect, and the grandest schemes of enterprize. When the cbange~s, arising from these, ceased to attract by their novel- ty, and to awaken attention by their importance, the new world, which had late!y been discovered, was a theatre am- ply capacious for carrying into effect any adventurous pro- ject. The dde of discovery turned wholly in this direction. To ascend th~ rivers and penetrate the interiour of this tin- known regiouto traverse its forestsexplore its lakesand clamber to the summits of its mountains, were exl)loits of no ordinary hazard or trifling fame. New bays, and islands, an(l straits were daily added to the charts of the mariner till finally the project of a northwest passage absorbed every other. This spirit of discovery gave rise to the grand ex- peditions under Cook, and the valuable acquisitions of Jlou- gainvillethe (lisastrous fate of La Perouse, arid the ill suc- cess of DEntrecasteaux. The commercial, scientifick and political world were equal- Nouvelle Relation d Afrique, par Labat, Tom. iii, p. 661, et suiV. 1817.] .Narrative of Robert ./Idams. ~O9 ly engaged in these enterprizes, and the idle and curious gazed with admiration, because they saw nothing more won- derful to admire. But when these had lost their novelty and their motives, the active spirit, which had prompted to them, did not slumber. The accumulated ills of Africa, as well as the natural disadvantages and privations to which it is sub- jected, had already awakened the sympathy of the friends of humanity. It became now the object of general attention and interest. The travels of Bruce, Valiant, Barrow, Lucas, arid Horneman were read with eagerness, although the knowl- edge they gave respecting the interiour, and the state of Af- rica in general, was exceedingly limited. The old account of the wealth and magnificence of Tombuctoo was revived.. and various speculations were raised for the purpose of solv- ing that great geographical problem, the course and termi- nation of the Niger. The first regular and well digested account of Tombuctoo, and its trade with the Barbary states, was pulAished by Mr. Jackson in his description of Morocco. He resided many years in that country, and obtained his information respect- ing the interiour, as he says, by a long series of inquim4es, and from sources on which he could rely. He had himself re- ceived caravans of merchandize from Tombuctoo, and seems to have succeeded in drawing information from the traders, without awakening their apprehensions, or exciting their jealousy. These people have always looked with a jealous eye on those inquisitive Europeans, who have made inqui- ries, which in any way affected their commercial concerns, and have been often induced for these reasons to make false representations. No one had thought of questioni ~g the gen- eral truth of Mr. Jacksons account, till the new story of Ad- ams made its appearance, with such high pretensions and un- der so imposing a form,but then, as a thing of course, it began to be believed erroneous. We have conversed on this subject with Mr. Court, an Eng- lish gentleman, who has resided in a mercantile capacity more than twenty years at Mogadore. He speaks in the most uri- qualified terms of the correctness of Jacksons statements in what relates to Morocco, and assures us, that what he has said of the interiour ~vas derived from the very best authorities, and such as might, in most cases, be relied on with confidence. Mr. Court has been frequently engaged in an intercourse Narrati~ve of Robert 4dams. [July, with merchants from Tombuctoo, and what he has been table to learn from them corresponds entirely with the account giv- en by Jackson. He says there are regular trading establish- inents in Morocco connected with others in that city, and that caravans are passing more or less frequently every year. From what Mr. Jackson could learn, as well as from the uniform testimony of the caravan merchants in other parts, this city is of great extentthe emporium of central Africa.the resort of traders from every part of the conti- nentinhabited by people from different countries, all of whom are tolerated in their religious belief and worship.. the soil productive, and the climate favourable. This is a general outliiie, and as such it disagrees entirely with the sto- ry of Adams ;this story, in fact, has scarcely a single point of resemblance to any other discription ~vhich has been giv- en, either ancient or modern. We come now to a more immediate examination of the nar- rative under consideration. From what has been said of tho present state of knowledge on the subject, our readers will be able to judge with some accuracy of the degree of credit, which ought to be attached to any novel pretensions. We take it for granted, that, as far as internal evidence is con- cerned, the Cadiz and London narratives are to be consider- ed of equal value,or if any difference exist, it ~vill be in favour of the former, as this was taken more than a year be- fore the other, when the recollection of the narrator must have been more vivid than at so long a time afterwards. We pro- pose to compare these narratives in some of their more im- portant parts, and to point out (liscrepancies, which we be- lieve are alone sufficient effectually to destroy the credibility of both. At the very outset we are presented with a difficulty, which seems incapable of solution, and which goes very far towards overthrowing the whole story. When at Cadiz, Adams repa resented the shipwreck to have taken place near Cape Noon, in latitude twenty eight degrees north, but at London he makes it happen at Cape Blanco, five hundred miles farther south. The London editor has consequently begun at this latter point on the map to trace the route of Adams according to his representation of courses and distances, and finds that such a route must approach near the known l)osition of Tombuctoo, and come out near Wednoon where it ought to terminate. 1817.] JVarrative of Robert .Adams. 211 / But let us trace the same line from Cape Noon, and we shall not approach within four hundred miles of the city, and shall come out, not to the place where we started, as we ought, but into the Mediterranean near Algiers. If the wreck actually took place, therefore, at Cape Noon, it is obvious, that the formal detail of courses and distances, in making which Ad. ams was so particular and so obstinate, is a mere fabrication. But, disconnected with his own statements, which are in this particular contradictory, and therefore of no weight, there is every reason for believing, that the ship was stranded at this place. It is a fact well established, that no wrecks have been known to happen on this coast much south of Cape Bajador, in latitude twenty six north. Mr~ Court was very posith~e that during the twenty five years, in which he has resided at Mogadore, there has been nb instance ofa shipwreck south of this point ;wrecks had not been unfrequent, but they uni- formly happened between Cape Bajador and Cape Noon. The same remark is made by Jackson, who adds, that the coast between these capes is subject to an almost perpetual haziness, which prevents mariners from seeing the land, till they are driven ashore by a strong current setting from the west. Adams mentions a haziness, and a violent surf at the place of his shipwreck. Captain Riley, whose narrative has lately interested the publick, was wrecked on this coast, and his description corresponds exactly with what is here related. It is essential to remark, that in his first narrative at Ca- diz, Adams was quite as particular in mentioning the direc- tions, distances, and times of his different journeyings across the desert, as lie was afterwards at London, but there is scarcely a single point of agreement between the two accounts. The whole distance, according to the first, would not take him hut little niore than half way from the sea coast to the city of Tombuctoo, if time line were traced from Cape Noon,.~and if from Cape Blanco, it would extend south, instead of east, as it ought, quite across the Senegal, nearly as far as the Gam- bia. There is no mode of reconciling those differences, nor any way of a~counting for them, except by supposing the whole of this part of the narratives to be a tissue of inve~mtions, brought forward in this positive manner to give plausibility to the pretended intervening incidents. It seems very proba- ble, that befere he went to London, he had discovered the blunders of his first statements, and learnt to adapt his distan .Nwrative of Robert Adams. [July, ces to his places ;*~for Mr. Storrow, the gentleman who examined him at Cadiz, assures us that while there, Adams was not the stupid, unthinking, simple being, which we are led to suppuse him from the remarks of the London editor. He was shrewd, intelligent, and proud, and valued himself highly on the reputation of having been at Tombuctoo. He saw it gave him causequence, and was disposed to take advan- tage of it. From the sea coast to Tombuctoo there is a general resem- blance in the outlines of the two narratives, but much is added We shall here insert a table, which was made by the English editor, from the London narrative,and on the next page one, which we have collected from the narrative at Cadiz. It ~ ill require but a single glance to discover that they are totally dissimilarand few probably will desire stronger evidence of their both having been fabricated when the narratives were taken. LONDON NARRATIVE. iJy~. (Jour.e. i)ist in m. Travelling to the Donar in the desert~ 30 E.~ S. 450 To & udenny, - - - 1?~ S. S. E. 840 To a village in the interiour, - 10 E. 200 To Toinbuctoo - - - 15 E. by N. 300 Distance iu miles to Tomhuctoo, 1290 Up the river La Mar Zarah - 10 E. N. E. 180 From the river to Taudeny 13 N. 234 To Woled Doleim, - 31 N. W 464 ...ElKabIa, - - 2 N.byw. 30 Woled Abousebah, 9 N. E. 162 Woled Adrialla, - 6 N. N. W. 150 Aiata Monessa Ahi, - 3 N. W. 54 Wednoon, - - - 5 80 Akkadia - - - 1 N. 30 Mogadore, - - 11 240 Distance from Tombuctoo to ) adore in miles, Mog- 1624 Staid on the sea coast, - - 14 At the town in the interiour, - 30 In concealment near Soudenny - 11 At Soudenny, - - - 4 At Taudeny, - - - 14 At Tomhuctoosix months, 1817.] Xarrative of Robert Adam8. 218 to the last, which is not found in the first, by way of eking out and giving it an air of the marvellous. In the former he says the captain died of fatigue and exhaustion,in the lat- ter he gives a particular account of his having been murdered by the Arabs. A more romantick description is here found, also, of the adventurous expedition to Soudenny for the pur- pose of stealing negroes ;.-he talks of a ~ remarkably ugly negro chiefenlarges on the dress, manners, and amuse- ments of the inhabitants, their weapons of warfare, the higher and lower orders of people, their houses and furni- ture, and many other things, which appear to be rather the answers to detached questions, than a continuous voluntary relation. Re tells a story of a certain tribe of negroes near Soudenny, who have large holes in the cartileges of their noses, in which they wear gold rings. He had probably seen people of this description in the south of Morocco, and learnt that they came from beyond the desert. Mr. Jackson mentions hay- CADIZ NARRATIVE. From the sea coast to the town in~ the interiour, - - - S To Soudenny, - - Tomhuctoo, - - Distance to Tombuctoo - tip the river La Parsire - From the river to Taudeny, - to Hehigobla [El Kabla] - to Lagossa, - - Wednoon, Mogadore, Distance from Tomhuctoo to Moga-~ dore, - - - 5 Staid on the sea coast - At the town in the interiour, - At Soudenny, - - - At Tornbuctoo.nine months, - At Taudeny, - - - Days. 18 16 8 10 12 15 15 8 30 60 1 4 Vol V. No. 2. Course. Dist. in m. S.E. byE. 80 S.E.b S. 270 ~. 320 670 E. 100 N.byW. 140 N. W. 168 N.w.byw. 150 N.E.byN. 150 120 828 214 Xarrative of Robert .,ldarns. [July, ing seen in this part of Morocco, a number of negroes from Wargarra ornamented in this way. Our limits ~viIl not allow us to enter into a minute exam- ination of his description of Tombuctoo,we can only men- tion some of the more important particulars, from which th~ merits of the whole may be easily estimated. Both narra- tives, in what relates to this city, have the appearance of hav- ing been extorted by a series of questions, which being ne- ~c~sarily on kindred topicks, often received similar answers, because it wiamld be impossible, without direct contradiction, to answer them otherwi,e. But there are many striking disagreements, and such as could not have arisen from for- getfulness or want of observation. At London he describes the king and queen as old, grey- headed personages,but Mr. Storrow, who questioned him very particularly on this point, is confident that he told him the king was a man in middle life, robList and active. In his answers concerning the kings family and court, upon Which he was closely questioned, lie never mentioned a queen or any female of distinction. Had he really seen the extra- ordinary Fatima, dressed in the manner he describes, it is not likely lie would have passed her over at that time with- out notice. It will be in place here to remark, that in all his answers relating to his residence at Tombuctoo, Mr. Storrow found him exceedingly vague and unsatisfactory, and was often obliged to put his questions in a variety of forms before lie could collect from him any thing definite on the subject of inquiry. There is nothing more extraordinary or improbable, per- haps, in the whole story, than what he says of the character and occupations of the king. All the mercantile concerns of the city are represented as being transacted by him individual ly. He is the only acting merchant, and his palace the on- ly warehouse in his dominions. Now all this is exceedingly absurd,and if we reflect on the immense trade which is known to be carried on here by caravans from every part of Africa.fromn the borders of time Red seafrom Egypt, Bar- bary, and the western coastand probably by an extensive inland navigation on the Niger, we shall not hesitate to say it is absolutely imnpossihle. With Barbary alone the trade is sufficient to emnj)hoy constantly a large number of acting mer- chantsand to pretei~d that tIme xvhole conies nuder the per- ~omial inspection of an individual, and he a king, ~vho is at 1817.] JVarrative of Robert .~dams. 215 the same time sole governour, law-maker, and judge, is a tax on our credulity, which ~ve cannot conceive any one in his right mind will consent to pay. Besides, Mr Dupuis himself, who is a very strong advocate for Adams, says he has always iind~rstood from the merchants, that there are shops in this city, in which are exposed to sale foreign and domestick commodities. At Sansanding, which we must suppose, from its Vicinity to Tombuctoo, bears a strong re- semblance in its general character to that city, Mr. Park saw vast numbers of shops and traders stalls, in which van- ous kinds of merchandise were sold or exchanged. There ~vas, also, a large space appropriated for the great market every Tuesday, when astonishing crowds of peoI)le came from the country to purchase articles in wholesale, which they retailed in the different villages. Finally, we believe there is no instance of a city or village of much size in any part of the world, in which there are not resident merchants engaged in purchasing and vending goods, with such privi- leges and under such municipal restrictions, as are deemed proper by the government under which they live. This is a point on which it was not possible for Adams to be mistaken,he could not be daily in the streets of a large city for nine, or even six months, without learning the occu- pations of its inhabitants, and being able to describe them minutely,.and if, in attempting to do this, he is inconsistent and absurd, we have the best grounds for supposing him to practise an equal imposition in such particulars as are less obvious, and of which our knowledge is too limited to detect false representation. The people are said to give no indication of any religious belief or impressions,.they have no forms of worship 01. re- ligious rites. But tbis is not to be credited. Great nnm- bers of Mohammedans are constantly visiting the city, and it would be folly to suppose, that many do not live there, espe- cially when we recollect that tbe place has been, till very lately, if it is not at present, under the government of Moors, or people of Moorish descent. Mr. Dupuis is convinced that Mohammedans reside there, and adds, it is also generally believed in Barbary, that there are mosques at Tomnbuctoo. Mr. Park saw Mohammedan negroes on the borders of Baim- barra, who read the Koran, and possessed Arabick mnanu- scripts. In one account, Adams speaks of circumcision as being 216 .JVarrative of Robert Sidams. [JulyD universal, and describes the ceremony as being performed with a good deal of pomp ;.in the other he intimates, that it was not practised at all among the negroes, for he saw only a few who had been circumcised, and he supposed them to have been in possession of the Moors. These are things in which it would not be possible for him to mistake or forget. The ceremonies of marriage and divorce are also very differ- ently described. In regard to the occupations of the inhabitants, there are few special disagreements,and yet there is not much simi- larity in the representations. The assertion, that no particular classes of people were devoted to mechanical employments of any kind, or to manufactures, wants at least the support of probability. W hen at London he seems to have been in more of a story telling mood, than when examined the year be- foreand he has accordingly embellished this last narrative with more curious relations and striking incidents, than the former. But the same want of particularity and definite state- ment is apparent in both. The animals, which he describes, are such as are common in Barbary, and such as he might have seen within the con- fines of Morocco. We will pass over the wonderful stories of the elephant twenty feet high, with four enormous tusks, all growing out of the under jaw,of the curious animal, which had a hollow in its back like a pocket, as well as some oth- ers equally wonderful, and which caine near shaking the faith of Sir Joseph Banks, as we believe they were all in- vented after Adams left Cadiz. Neither can we stop to ex- amine the editors speculations on the probability of his hav- ing mistaken a calabash for a cocoa nut. At Cadiz, among other animals, he spoke of horses, and described them as small and weak, and as being accoutred for riding with a rude sort of packsaddle, and a bridle made of grass rope. In the other narrative he says expressly, there are no ltorses,and we hardly know how to understand the assertion in the Quarterly Review, in defence of this statement of Adams, that it is conformable to the account given by Leo Africanus. The fact is directly the contrary. It is certain he speaks of a large company of body guards of the king, who were mounted on horsesand also of the cour- tiers riding on these animals. He says the best horses were hronght from Barbary, but the smaller ones ~vcre raised at 1817.] JVarrative of Robert .~1danis. Tombuctoo.* Horses are common in this part of Africa ; IPark found them abundant in Kaarta and Bambarra, and rode on horseback several days in those countries. No part of the story has excited more speculation, than that in which a river is described as passing westerly within two hundred yards of the city. This part of the narrative, as his editor observes, is peculiarly his own,no hint has been giv- en any where else, of a river passing in this direction near the city. The Niger has always been mentioned, from the time of Leo Africanus~ himself, as not approaching with- in twelve miles of the town,and it is known also to flow easterly. The editor acknowledges, that on this fact res- pecting the river, the credit of Adams is completely ~)le(1g- ed. But in our estimation, the contradictions and vague- ness, which appear in his several relations at Mogadore, Cadiz, and London, are sufficient to destroy all claims to be- lief in this instance, even without any fartf~er direct evi- dence. In his story to Mr. Dupuis at Mogadore, he did not speak of this river as flowing westerly, but discovered some uncertainty on the subject, observing that he had not taken very particular notice,nor did he give it any name. Mr. Dupuis had often heard the traders mention a river near Tombuctoobut they uniformly described it as running easterly, and lie had always understood it to be the Niger. Adams told Mr. Dupuis, also, that he had seen the natives navigate the river in fleets of from ten to twenty canoes to- gether, that he had been informed they were absent occa- sionally a month or more, and frequently returned to Tom- buctoo laden with slaves and merchandize. At Cadiz, he called the river La Parsire, and said, its waters were clear and of good taste ;and in speaking of the canoes, lie rep- resents them as used merely for crossing the river, or occa- sionally for fishing. During my residence at Tombuctoo, lie observes, and subsequent march to the eastward, I never saw any of them ascending or descending the river, or used in any way for the conveyance of baggage or merchandize. At London, the name is transformed into La Mar Zaralithe water becomes brackish, and the river is made to assume a decided westerly direction. There is no authentick account or even tradition of a riv- er running nearer the city than the Niger. In Labats Col * Description d Afrique, Liv. ~. p. 324. 218 J4arrati~ve of Robert .Idarns. [July, lection [vol. ii, p. 163] mention is made of a river, by the name of Guien, which is said to run in the vicinity of Tom- buctoo,but no information is given about its source or di- rection ;and we need only be told, that Labat adopts th. opinion of Edrisi and Abulfeda in supposing the Niger to run west, and that in fact he considers it the same as the Sene- gal, to be convinced of the little ci~edit, which is to be attach- ed to his authority on this subject. The editor, in his concluding remarks, has levied no ordi- nary tax on his invention, to prove that Leo Africanus has been misunderstood in what he says of the relative position of the city and the Niger. He labotirs this point with great parade of learning and philological criticism. He collates tho various readings of the Italian, Latin, French, and Eng- lish translations, and would make it appear that some of them are ambiguous, some unintelligible, and some contradictory; but in our apprehension there is not a clearer passage in the whole Description of Africa, than the one in question. We select the Italian, because this version is allowed to have been made by Leo himself from his original Arabick. Speaking of the city, he says, Xicina a tin ramo dcl Niger circa a dodi- ci miglia, which in our conception has but one meaning, and that a very obvious onethe city is about twelve mites frnn a br!uich of the .Niger. This is also confirmed afterwards where he (lescrihes the port Kabra, as situated on the Niger, twelve miles from the city. The editor would have it all mean, that Tombuctoo is situated on a branch of the Niger, twelve miles. from the principal stream, and on this false construction ~f Leo he rests the credit of Adams, relative to this important part of his narrative, and on which he consid- ers it completely pledged. All accounts agree in making Kabra the grand port of trade for all merchandize brought from different countries up or down the river,but if a navigable river pass by the city, as Adams represents, is it probable that all the commercial business would be transacted at so great a distance? Is it probable, that he would have remained several months so near this great depository of merchandize without hearing of it? Leo says the city ~vas watered by sluices or canals running from the Niger ;would this have been necessary, if a stream of xv ater passed within its precincts? Park had no hints of such a river, although lie was within two hundred miles of Tombuctoo, and received his informa sir.] .JVarrative of Robert adams. 219 tion from an intelligent trader, who had been there seven times, and on whom he seems to place reliance ;..but the ed- itor, as well as the writer in the Quarterly Review, affects to treat Parks authority in this particular with very little def- erence, and assigns as a principal reason, that he did not understand the language of the natives, with whom he con- versed. We presume these writers had forgotten, that Park made a long speech in the Bainbarra language to Modibin- nie, the kings minister, explaining his motives for coming into his masters dominions. This was, to be sure, during his second mission; but it was immediately after his arri- val in the country, before he could have had time to learn any thing of the language, had he been ignorant of it when he came there. He must, therefore, have acquired the lan- guage during the first mission, and there is no reason for supposing him to have been ignorant of it, when he made his inquiries about Tombuctoo at Silla. Besides, h6 assures us, that lie received his information from such various quarters, as induced him to believe it authentick.* The state of government at Tombuctoo is another point in which Adams story differs from every other account. It has always been represented to be in the hands of the Moors. Park was told at Silla, that the king [or chief] himself, and the principal officers of state were Moors, and that the Mo- hammedans there were very zealous in propagating their religion. It is a well known fact in Moorish history, that Tombuctoo was for a long time subject to the em- perour of Morocco previous to the death of .Miuley Ishmael in 1727.After this event the tribnte began to be irre~gularly transmitted, and was finally discontinued. The Moors, sta- tioned in garrison there, had intermarried with the natives, and lost in some degree their attachment for the country of their ancestors,but still they preserved their influence, their manners, and religion. Jackson observes, and he seems to sl)eak with a knowledge of the fact, that the Cadi, or chief ma~jstrate of Tombuctoo in 1800, had been a principal trader in Mogadore, and was son in law to the governourwho be- ing unsuccessful in his commercial affairs, crossed the desert, and soon obtained the appointment of Cadi. He was a shrewd man, about thirty five years old. Mr. Jackson had resided long at Mogadore, and it is very unlikely he would Last Mission, p. 244. 2~O .)Varrati~ve of Robert 4darns. [July, have made such a statement without kndwing it to be true. It is not understood from Jackson, nor necessarily from Park, that Tombuctoo is at present an independent kingdom of itself, but rather a province in the dominions of the king of iBambarra ;and this Cadi, it would seem, held his office un- tier him. We have not time to pursue Adams through all the im- probabilities, inconsistencies, and contra~Iictions of his story. We have mentioned some of the more important only, and such as could not possibly arise from defect of memory or observation ;.~ve will notice only two or three more. In the last narrative he talks a good deal about a Portuguese boy, by the name of Stevens, who accompanied him throughout his whole tour,~in the other he does not once hint at this circumstance, but gives the impression constantly that he was alone. He saw no canoes more than ten fret long, and according to one account, these were made of the date tree, and to the other, of thefig tree. Park bought canoes at San- sanding forty fret long, out of which he constructed the schooner Joliba. At Cadiz he said the natives regarded him with indifference, and manifested no desire of knowing any thing more of him or of his country, than what he voluntari- ly told them,.at London he tells of the people coming in crowds to stare at him and his companion, and of having afterwards understood that many persons came several days journey on purpose. At one place he makes his residence in Tonmbuctoo nine months,at the other, six months. With regard to the size of Tombuctoo, we have no dispo- sition to magnify it vastly beyond the dimensions, which it would be made to have from the description of Adams. Mr. Court told us it had generally been represented to him as less, than the city of Morocco. We have no doubt it has been oii the decline for many years, and that Haousa, being in a more central position, may have become a place of more iml)ortance ;but still it is certain, that Tombuctoo is yet the theatre of a very extensive commercial intercourse, and the only resort of the large caravans from the north and the west,and as such, it would be idle to consider it any other than a place of wealth. activity, and large population. Such it would appear to be from every other account except the one before us, whose pretensions we have sufficiently examin- ed. It may be remarked, that Sansanding contains eleven thousand inhabitants, although it has never been known as a 1817.] ~Mirrati~ve of Robert Adams. 221 place of trade or importance. We put no confidence, howev- er, in any part of Sidi Hamets stories about his journeyings into the interiour, which occupy so large a portion of Cap- tam Rileys book, and which make Tombuctoo contain two hundred and sixteen thousand inhabitants. We will only observe further, that were tbe narratives we have been considering pursued from Tombuctoo to Moga- dore, they would be scarcely recognized as describing the same events. The times~and distances, which, let us repeat, were in both cases pertinaciously insisted on by the narrator, entirely disagree throughout, as may be seen by a slight in- spection of them in the preceding note. The London narra- tive in this part is duly set off with appropriate adventures and incidents, which probably had not been thought of at Ca. diz, but which serve to give effect and interest, and what was nf equal importance to the editor and booksellers, to swell the book into a comely size. We shall add here such external evidence, as we have been able to collect from different sources, in confirmation of the opinion ~ve have ailvanced. The following is a letter from Mr. Storrow. Boston, June 2, 1817. . I first sa~v Robert Adams during the summer of the year 1814 in Cadiz. Mr Simpson, the American Consul at Tan- gier, stated to Mr. Charles H. Hall of Cadiz, that an American sailor was with him, who had been redeemed from slavery among the Moors, and who was said, durin~ the period of his captivity, to have been carried to a greater distance into the interiour of Africa, than any white person had before advanced. The man was represented to be in extre~ne wretchedness, and Mr. Hall, as well from benevolence as from the desire to learn his history, re- quested that he might be sent to him in Cadiz. I snw him immedi- ately after his arrival at that place. My first impressions were not in his favour; he seemed ignorant and stupid, but on farther acquaintance I found him crafty and observing. As his general conversation was incoherent, I requested him to give me a special detail of the occurrences of his captivit-; in such shape as might be committed to paper. The only method of arriving at this was by a series of inquiries, embracing the whole period. In that part of his narration relating to his residence in Morocco, I had no reason to doubt him, but as soon as he represented himself to have been carried beyond the confines of that kingdom, I perceiv- ed an evident difference of manner. Hi~ answers ~vere more Vol V. No. ~2. 222 .TVarrative of Robert didams. [July, vague; there seemed a greater dependence on invention than memory; a willingness tJ be assisted and readiness, as I thought, to assent to any thing I suggested. He was irritated by the expression of any doubt of his veraci- Pr, although when it was called in question he adduced no other proof of it than a more positive assertion. When the story was completed, my doubts had so far prevailed that I affixed to it no value whatever ;partly from the meagreness of the narrative it- self, and partly from the mode in ~vhich it was eornmunicated. I assented to the leading facts of the shipwreck and captivity, and ot his having been carried from place to place within the limits of Morocco, and imagined that by imputing what he saw in that kingdom to other parts of Africa, he found it easy to impose on those who had never been in either. His inducement to frame a story was apparent, as by means of it he had acquired a currency and temporary livelihood, which he had sufficient shrewdness to anticipate at the commencement. Shortly after examining Ad- ams, I met an intelligent man by the name of Jewet, who had been in the interiour of Africa, as far as Bambarra; he rejected the sto- ry as improbable and unlike his own experience. Shortly after~ wards intelligence arrived through Mr. Shnpson, from one of Ad- ams shipwrecked comrades, stating that his story was false; that he had never been separated- from his companions in captivity for a sufficient lenoth of time to warrant his account. The process of acquiring information from Adams was tedious. After a short trial I found it ineffectual to depend on what might be suggested by himself unassisted. 1 therefore divided the whole time into small portions, making special inquiries as to the em- ployment of each part. When on a march, I endeavoured to re. fresh his memory by inquiring into the occurrences of each day in regular succession. When stationary in any village or en- campment, I endeavoured to elicit every thing by a mir~ute refer- ence to whatever I imagined might belong to such place. At the end of the inquiry on each subject, I read to him the result, and requested him to communicate whatever else might suggest itself. In relation to several topicks, on which I was doubtful, he told me repeate(lly, that he had nothing more to offeramong these were the king and royal family of Tomnuuctoo, and the birds and beasts of that region generally. The times, (lirections, and distances of his several journies ~vere calculated by him With care and al)parent precision. In these he depended on memory solely. The courses were ascer- tained, as he said, by onserving the sun and stars. It may appear singular that I made no exertion to expose what I considered to be an imposture. In the early part of the narrative I entertained no doubts; in the subsequent part after 1817.] JVarrati~ve of Robert ~darn~. doubts had arisen, I contented myself with my own conviction, without seeking for means of-explaining it to others ;~mnore espe- cially as there appeared no reason for attaching any importance either to Adams or his journal. Yours, SAMUEL A. STORROXY. We insert here also an extract from a letter which we have lately received on the subject, from a gentleman of respecta- bility at Gibraltar, dated March ~7, 18 iT. We have just returned from Tangier, where I saw Mr. Simpson, and conversed with him about Robert Adams. I wrote you sometime ago ~vhat Mr. Shaler told me of Mr Simp- sons detecting the imposture. I have with me his copy of the narrative, containing his marginal notes. Adams is indeed second only to Psalmanazar. The testimony of several of the crew proves, that be was never more than two or tlwee days journey distant from Wednoon, and some of his ship- mates were always with him. Mr. Hall, brother to the mer- chant with whom he resided thirteen months at (~adiz, and who was there at the time, is now in this place. He has read the narrative with me, and says the story is different fi~om the one he told at Cadiz, and in many parts contradictory, especially in what relates to Tombuctoo. Mr. Samuel A. Storrow, who was then at Cadiz, questioned him repeatedly, and carried to the United States in manuscript the result of his examinations. It was unfortuna1~e that Mr. Dupuis left his papers at Mogadore, for his memory certainly failed him, and as it respects dates, his statements in London contradict his letters now in possession of Mr. Simpson. All agree, that Adams was shrewd, observing, and of a retentive memory. Adams said in London, that he was a native of Hudson, in the state of New York, and that he sailed from New York, June 17th, or as he said at Cadiz, May 7th, 1810. We state with confidence, on the authority of a gentleman who kis re- sided at Hudson ever since its first settlement, that no family of this name has been known there till within twelve years, and that no person of the character and pretensions of Adams has ever been heard of in that place. We have seen a letter from the collector of New York, which certifies, that no ves- sel answering Adams description of the Charles has cleared from that port. We leave our readers to draw such inferences from these cads, as they think proper. To us they appear conclusive~ 224 The Village. [July, and connected with the fabulous character of the narrative, they impress a conviction of deception and bold imposition, on the part of Adams, which we think no one, who examines the subject with much interest or candour, can resist. ART. X. The Village; a Poem. Portland, Edward Little & Co. pp. 180. WE were pleased with the publication of this poem, not so much on account of its merit, for we have often read better poetry, as because it is doing something towards keeping up the practice of the art. We American geniuses have not as yet produced very brilliant specimens in this kind, but by re- peating our attempts we shall, no doubt, succeed in the end. Under this title it is natural to expect some particular scene, some stream, fields, church, school-house, tavern; of which a definite image is conveyed to the readers mind home qtiack, fiddler, pettifogger, justice, clergyman; with his peculiar manners and characteristicks so displayed that the reader may be introduced to him, and form a kind of per- sonal acquaintance. But the author works upon a different plan; he gives a general description of mountains and their formation, without intimating that he has any particular mountain in view, except by the word yon, which lie uses after the manner of Campbell in the introduction to the Pleas- ures of Hope, of which an imitation is ~ittempted in the intro- duction to this poem. He then introduces the aboriginal in- habitants, rattlesnakes, women, lawyers and criminal law, clergymen and superstition, scandal, party-spirit, & c. with some sensible, though rather common-place reflections, all in a very general manner. In the table of contents is put- down ihe lawyer, the physician, among the items of subjects hut on looking at the pages referred to, we find that no par- ticular lawyer or physician is meant. We presume that we shall not be understood to require that, in a ~OC1fl of this sort, the writer should inform us in what county his village is situated, and how many miles and in what direction it lies from the shire town ; or on what day of what month in any particular year, the minister was or- dained. We mean to say that the chief beauty and, indeed, indispensable requisite, of this sort of poetry, is the lively rep-

Village, a Poem 224-226

224 The Village. [July, and connected with the fabulous character of the narrative, they impress a conviction of deception and bold imposition, on the part of Adams, which we think no one, who examines the subject with much interest or candour, can resist. ART. X. The Village; a Poem. Portland, Edward Little & Co. pp. 180. WE were pleased with the publication of this poem, not so much on account of its merit, for we have often read better poetry, as because it is doing something towards keeping up the practice of the art. We American geniuses have not as yet produced very brilliant specimens in this kind, but by re- peating our attempts we shall, no doubt, succeed in the end. Under this title it is natural to expect some particular scene, some stream, fields, church, school-house, tavern; of which a definite image is conveyed to the readers mind home qtiack, fiddler, pettifogger, justice, clergyman; with his peculiar manners and characteristicks so displayed that the reader may be introduced to him, and form a kind of per- sonal acquaintance. But the author works upon a different plan; he gives a general description of mountains and their formation, without intimating that he has any particular mountain in view, except by the word yon, which lie uses after the manner of Campbell in the introduction to the Pleas- ures of Hope, of which an imitation is ~ittempted in the intro- duction to this poem. He then introduces the aboriginal in- habitants, rattlesnakes, women, lawyers and criminal law, clergymen and superstition, scandal, party-spirit, & c. with some sensible, though rather common-place reflections, all in a very general manner. In the table of contents is put- down ihe lawyer, the physician, among the items of subjects hut on looking at the pages referred to, we find that no par- ticular lawyer or physician is meant. We presume that we shall not be understood to require that, in a ~OC1fl of this sort, the writer should inform us in what county his village is situated, and how many miles and in what direction it lies from the shire town ; or on what day of what month in any particular year, the minister was or- dained. We mean to say that the chief beauty and, indeed, indispensable requisite, of this sort of poetry, is the lively rep- The Village. resentation of objects and characters to the imagination. As to essays upon liberty, slavery, law, physick, divinity, and the like, they are quite as well in plain prose, and the reason why writers make up such things into what they call poetry, is that, if they leave their thoughts to be huddled together into rectangular parallelograms by the printer, they seem quite ordinary and tame, but when they are drawn out in regular order, according to the most approved rules of prosody, and move with a jingle of rhymes, they seem to make a very pret- ty figure, and to be worthy of being looked at. The following extracts afford a pretty fair specimen of the poefry, and contain less of loose and general description and common-place remark, than any other part of the poem. Shallow and deep, by turns, and swift and slow, There I behold the winding Saco flow. In early spring, when showrs increase its tides, And melted snows pour down the mountains sides, Ive seeti it raging, boisterous, and deep, Oerflow it~ banks, and through the upland sweep. The farmers hopes, the lumbrers hard-earnd thrift, Logs, bridges, booms, and boats were all adrift. Trees, fe~ices, fields, whateer opposd its course, Were torn and scatterd by th oerwhelming force.. Along its borders, spreading far and wide, The tall, straight pines appear on every side. To these thick woods the hardy labourer goes, And rears his sheltring tent amid the snows, His couch ti,e hemlocks twigs, his house-hold ware, A jug and basjet, filld with simplest fare. Ye, who induTge in indolence and ease, Whom splean invades and moody vapours seize, To whom each day an age of trouble seems, Whose nights are wakeful or disturbd by dreams, Observe the happy quiet of his rest, And learn, like him, by labour to be blessd. Ye boasted epicures, diseases prey, Who waste in vile excess your lives away, Observe his frugal board, be ~vise at length, And gain, like him, from temprance, health and strength. With nervous arm, he wields the keen edgd axe, And plies anew, each day, untird attacks. Till by his strokes the forest levelld round, With prostrate trunks and branches heaps the ground. The oxen, faithful sharers of his toil, 226 Re~volutior& in~ Pernambuco. Drag to the rivers brink the heavy spoil, Thence floated downward to the distant mart, And changd from natures form, to works of art. p. 19. His curnberd land the sturdy yeoman clears; Felld by his strokes, the forest prostrate lies; Its vital sap the glowing summer dries, And last the bonfires burn, th~ boughs consume, And spreading flames the hemisphere illume. The freshning breezes fan the growing blaze, Rear the bright sparks and cloudy columns raise, And whirl the storm of rushing fires along Oer lighted hills, and crackling vales among. Swift fly the birds, as spread~ the ruin round, The frighted reptiles hide within the ground, And all the forest tribes grow wilder at the sound; p. 21. Neither these lines, nor any others of the poem, contain any bold strokes of genius or delicate touches of art; yet they in- dicate talents which the possessor might mature into very re~- pectable poetical powers. ART. XI. ~ account of the events, that have taken place in Pernamlmco since the happij and glorious revolution commenc- ed, in the town of the Recfe, on the sixth of March, in which the generous endeavours of our brrve Patriots exterminated in this part of Bra~ii, the infernal monster of royal tyranny. Printed at Pernambuco, March 10, 18 17~ SINCE Europe Iris ceased to be convulsed, and its agitat- ed surface begun to settle into l)eaceful smoothness, the at- tention of men has been drawn to South America; and that part of our continent has bec~me the scene of the most interesting transactions, that are now taking place in the world. A grand spectacle is presented in the extent of territory, over which the contest between established authority and newly conceived rights is spreadthe vindictive violence, with which the struggle is conductedthe millions of people engaged in the conflict, and the importance of the interests to be de- cided upon. We of the United States contemplate these transactions with a lively concern. Our example has ani- mated the South-American provinces to declare themselves independent, and the times are fresh in our recollection, when

Revolution in Pernambuco 226-239

226 Re~volutior& in~ Pernambuco. Drag to the rivers brink the heavy spoil, Thence floated downward to the distant mart, And changd from natures form, to works of art. p. 19. His curnberd land the sturdy yeoman clears; Felld by his strokes, the forest prostrate lies; Its vital sap the glowing summer dries, And last the bonfires burn, th~ boughs consume, And spreading flames the hemisphere illume. The freshning breezes fan the growing blaze, Rear the bright sparks and cloudy columns raise, And whirl the storm of rushing fires along Oer lighted hills, and crackling vales among. Swift fly the birds, as spread~ the ruin round, The frighted reptiles hide within the ground, And all the forest tribes grow wilder at the sound; p. 21. Neither these lines, nor any others of the poem, contain any bold strokes of genius or delicate touches of art; yet they in- dicate talents which the possessor might mature into very re~- pectable poetical powers. ART. XI. ~ account of the events, that have taken place in Pernamlmco since the happij and glorious revolution commenc- ed, in the town of the Recfe, on the sixth of March, in which the generous endeavours of our brrve Patriots exterminated in this part of Bra~ii, the infernal monster of royal tyranny. Printed at Pernambuco, March 10, 18 17~ SINCE Europe Iris ceased to be convulsed, and its agitat- ed surface begun to settle into l)eaceful smoothness, the at- tention of men has been drawn to South America; and that part of our continent has bec~me the scene of the most interesting transactions, that are now taking place in the world. A grand spectacle is presented in the extent of territory, over which the contest between established authority and newly conceived rights is spreadthe vindictive violence, with which the struggle is conductedthe millions of people engaged in the conflict, and the importance of the interests to be de- cided upon. We of the United States contemplate these transactions with a lively concern. Our example has ani- mated the South-American provinces to declare themselves independent, and the times are fresh in our recollection, when Revoluti0n in Pernambuco. 227 our own enthusiasm and courage were inflamed by the same exclamations of Liberty, rights, independence, tyranny; and we feelingly remember with what fearful odds the ardour of stripling power wages war against the mature and practised strength of habitual authority. In regard to tue great interests of humanity, these con- vulsions afford no subject of regret or apprehension, for it seems to us impossible, that the result should leave the peo- ple of South America in a condition of deeper degradation and wretchedness, than that in which they have existed un- der the imbecile despotisms of Portugal and Spain. With respect to our particular interest, we have little to lose; our political system is not propped up by any set of prejudices, which will be endangered by the shock of this concussion, though it should be sufficiently violent to crush the decayed fabricks of Spanish and Portuguese oppression. We may suffer a little by the temptations which these contests hold out to the adventurotis spirits of our young men, and also by the rash speculations of our merchants. iBut we ought not to grudge the loss of a few enterprising individuals, if their emigration to South America affords them the chance of im- parting to the people there something of our skill in the arts of living and of government; and though mercantile enter- prise may urge on some few to imprudent and disadvanta- geous risks, yet we shall probably be great gainers on the whole, by having free access to the resources ~vhich a revo- lution will throw open to our commerce. V/hatex er may be our wishes concerning the future welfare of the inhabitants of those countries, we have no ground to expect that they will soon form independent governments, of sufficient strength to bind together their heterogeneous mate- rials, and elaborate them into a uniform body by an upright administration of salutary and equal laws. The character of the people makes that of the government, and their prin- cipal difference consists in this, that the latter is commonly much the worse of the two; and this is very natural; it would be a phenomenon unprecedented and not to be explain- ed, if a nation were found, where the people as private citi- zens were profligate, knavish, and weak; while as the mein- bers and instruments of the government, they were wise, economical, and honest. A government and a people, be- tween which there has long been a mutual action and reac- tion, become assimilated to each other. and accordingly a 228 Revolution in Pernambuco. government of long standing is a pretty safe index of both national and individual character. Judging, then, of the people of South America, by the governments under which they have long endured existence, or by what we can directly learn concerning themselves, we can form but slender hopes of any political constitutions they will be able soon to establish. The Portuguese and Spanish governments are commonly represente(l to be among the most degraded, feeble and corrupt, of political institutions. Now colonial governments are known to be generally, perhaps universally, the degenerate offspring of those from which they emanate. They are the clumsy imitations of hum- ble followers, who, in aping their betters, display a union of all their faults, with only a shew of their virtues. It will appear from the accoi~nt we propose to give of the revolution in Pernambuco, that the government of that province was a rotten branch of a decayed stock. The governour bought his office of the creatures of the court, and looked for remu- neration through his own creatures in his captaincy. The other offlcei~s carried on the same sort of traffick. The col- lectors of the revenue frequently sold their connivance at the evasion of the laws. The judges often received bribes of both parties in a suit, and gave judgment in favour of him who bid the highest price upon it. It is altogether improbable, that a people, that has been long governed in this manner, should possess those exalted notions of justice and that rev- erence for fixed princil)lCs and the uniform and irresistible operation of laws, which are necessary to a popular govern- went, which is, in effect, no other than political self-govern- ment. By looking in to the internal structure, and composition of society in the Spanish and Portuguese provinces for data on calculation, concerning the political institutions which it is possible for them to constitute and administer, we shall find sufficient grounds of discouragement; but there are not wanting those of hope. We may leave out of consideration the civil, military, and judicial officers of the old govern~ went; as, in case of any civil commotion, they will gemi- erally be induced by their habits, their 5t11)l)05Cd interest, and evident danger, to quit the scene unless they are able to reduce the rebels. The secular clergy being enti- tled to protection by their profession. and aitached to their people by the ties of duty and feeliug. are likely to remain Revolution.in Pernambuco. 229 fixed to the soil, whether it be under monarchical or repub~ lican jurisdiction. Many of theni are said to be men of learii- ing and worth, little qualified, however, by their profession, for the civil affairs of a commonwealth. if they engage in publick business, their narrow views xviii rather em~ar- rass than strengthen a goveinment. The best, and perhaps the only service they can render, is in the disc harge of their ecclesiastical functions, and even here, U() great reliance can be place~l upon them by the government in a new erder of things. The friars are accounted an indolent, conteiiuptible race, incapable of importance or usefulness under any government. The landholders are an important part of every commu- nity. Those of Brazil are said to be illiterate and inactive. They commonly own an extensive tract of land, and carry on a system of cultivation not unlike that of South Carolina and Georgia. Their insular, detached situation, in respect to each other, prevents them from acting as a body, and there is accordingly little danger of their being the first movers of disturbance, under any system, new or old. They have the whole art of l)oliticks and free citizenship to learo, and are not in a situation to make rapid progress in their new study. There are some remnants of the original inhabitants of different tribes, and those of Pernambuco generally live iii little villages, built of straw and clay. They subsist npon wild fruits in the season of them, and at other times labour merely enough to procure what is absolutely necessary to ex- istence. Their nmnber is small, and they are of no more political importance than the wild animals, in whose neigh- bourhood they commonly dwell. This is the account xve re- ceive from gentlemen of IPernambuco; but we ought not tQ omit to add, that Brewsters Encyclopedia represents their number to be much greater, and comprising9 at least, one third of the whole population, ard mentions them as entitled to more consideration. But neither the Encydoiinedias, nor Gazetteers are very good authorities unon this sul~ject. The slaves compose between one forvth and one third Dart of the inhabitants, and may he considered as so much dead weight on the machinery of government. In every eons,derable town, are a few Euroneans, between whom and the Brazlians there is often some degree of anlina- thy. These generally come out from Portugal on commercial enternrises, and retain their favourable dispositions to the mon arel iv. Vol V No ~. 230 lievotution in Pernamtntco. [July, But the body and strength of the population consists of Bra- zilians, comprehending those descended of Europeans, as well as those who count among their ancestors both Europeans and the aborigines of the country. Among these there is a feel- ing of kindred and common interest, without much regard to the slight shades of distinction in complexion. It is with these and a few restless, aspiring, or generous-spirited foreigners, that the revolutionary movements commence. The instruments first used here, as every where else in sim- ilar cases, are the pol)ulace of the towns. These are put in motion by the merchants, lawyers, and soldiers, and with these three descriptions of men, originate the patriotick de- signs and effi)rts. Masonry affords them a convenient chan- nei of communication, with the more respectable part of the conmmunitv, and the Portuguese government, sensible of the facilities which the masonick art gives for projecting and communicating secret designs, prohibited it by law. But this only put them to the trouble of adding to their other se- crets, that of the existence of their society, and its nominal annihilation only served to add to the number and zeal of of its members. This association may be made one of the most efficient instruments in giving strength and stability to the ne~v governments. But, after all, it seems almost im- possible that the few enlightened individuals among them, should. with the external political change, produce an inter- nal moral revolution, in an untutored people. There is the greatest danger that the leaders themselves may not be unit- ed by any common views and principles of sufficient strength to hold them together sufficient time to go through with the process. It is doubtful whether it is possible, under any cir- cumstances, to effect such a revolution in the space of a few years. We may not, however, despair of their being able, iii some of the provinces, to bring about an order of timings, which, though rude and imperfect, may yet contain in itself time principles of imnprovement and progression, and be final- ly modified and adjusted into proportion, and matured into strength and durability. This is more likely to happen in Brazil, than in the Spanish colonies; for the Portuguese are much more tractable and docile, than the Spaniards, and their intercoursii~ with the English has given them some informa tion and liberality of mind. United resistance to a bad government, and its overthrow by the irresistible heavings of national feeling, are no proof 1817.] 11e~vo1ution in Pernambuco. 231 that the people are capable of a better. No people ever de- tested arbitrary power more heartily, or ad~nired personal liberty and rights with more enthusiasm, than did recently the French; but when they were free to constitute whatever government they pleased, they sho~ved that they were inca- pable of exercising or submitting to any other than an abso- lute power. They are destitute of that moral structure of character, which is the basis and indispensable requisite of a stable, free polity. So the South Americans have sufficient indignation against the corruption and arbritary interfer- ences and exactions of their old governments; they are also warmly affected by their new love of just laws, security of property and personal liberty; but these sentiments do not give them the skill and prudence necessary to form and ad- minister sound institutions. It is possible however that they may instruct themselves by experience, and where so little is hazarded, and so much may be gained, we are very glad that an experiment is made. We have made these remarks with a particular view to the recent events in Pernambuco, of which we purpose to give a short account, upon the authority of respectable gen- tlemen, who were on the spot, and took a part in the trans- actions. The captaincy, as it is called, of Pernambuco, forms the most eastern part of South America, between the latitude of live and eleven degrees south, and with the captaincies of IParaiba and Rio Grande towards the north, extends along the coast about six hundred miles, and into the interiour to the distance of six or eight hundred miles. By time returns of the parish priests, made last year, it appears that the number of inhabitants iii Pernambuco is one million one hun- dred thousand, comprehending people of all sorts, foreign- ers and natives, freemen and slaves. The captaincies of Paraiba and Rio Grande are comparatively small, but of the number of inhabitants we are not informed. This population is scattered, very sparingly of course, over this extensive territory. The capital, bearing the name of the province, called also the town of the Recife, contains 32,000 inhabit- ants; Olinda, about four miles distant to the north, 13,000; Guiana, in the interiour, about forty miles from the ~capital, 15 or 20,000; Paraiba, the capital of the captaincy of the same name, 6000; and Rio Grande, 5000; there are other towns in thBso captaincies of one, two, and three thousand. 252 Revolution in Pernarnlntco. LJul~ Tue remainder of the population is scattered in villages, farin-hooses, n~id plantations, occupying patches of cultivat- edt lands, surrounded by forests awi un~uodied tracts. The climate is salubrh)us and teml)erate, the thermometer rarely rising above iAie eighty fourth degree; and the soil, though dirheult t~ bring imiti cultivation on account of the luxuriance 01 spontaneous vegetation, yields in prodigious abundance. The pure atmosphere and healthful climate give tone and sun si~iliry to the physical organs of the inimabitamits, while na- ture spreads before them a perpetual banquet, and unceasing- ly regales their senses with the niingLd beauty of flowers and richness of ripened fruits. The pro~~i?inces of South America were no doubt reminded, by our revolu~ ion and su bsequ cut national intl)ortalmce, that they were but colonies, t~mough they might be independent and powerhui states; yet tile Pernanibucans, with time other inmiahitaiits of Brazil, lived on in contented and inglorious loyalty, till Bonaparte drove their sovereign froni his Euro p~an capital. The news ot the winces voyage having p~ ceded him, the governour of 1ernambta~o litted out a vessel laden with prox sions, to meet the royal fleet, and time l)eople testified their loyalty and joy by voluntary contributions of all sorts of (lelicate refreshments, with w~tch to ~ elcomne their sovereign. On his amrival and estabislimnent at Rio Jeneiro, they thought that the era of the glory and happiness of the Brazilians, had commenced. These hopes were (lisap pointed, as was to he exiwcted, but the disappointmnent was not sudden, and producc~d little sensation among the people. They onfcioated some great and glorious good, they hardly defined to themselves what, wlmich, when they failed to real- ize, they felt rather the regret of parting with a pleasing il- Psion. than resentment at having sustained a serious wrong. They have never, like us, been in the habit of conning over their ~rievaiices till they ha(l learned them by rote, or reite- rating rernons#va nees aiid demanding redresses, with respect- ful, hut hold and persevering importunity. But though they were not versed in the arts of resisting and controlling the aclmiuislration of government. an(l had not made a multitude of political maximus a part of their habitual system of acting an(l thinking, still they were not regardless of the aflhirs of government, or unconscious that they had personal rights and interests. The moral an(l political commotions, that have been agitating society, produced some sensation in the Por Revolution in Pernambuco. ~233 tuguese colonies; and the increasing and steady splendour of reason, as ~vell as the fitful and glaring coruscations of the new philosophy, emitted faint glimmerings into that distant region of mental obscurity. They had been taught by inter- course with Englishmen and Americans, that kings were, at least, made as much for their subjects, as subjects for their kings. They had learned insensibly, and by something like a new faculty of intuition, that publick prosperity is inti- mately connected with individual welfare. Their eyes were opened, they hardly knew how, to the weakness and corruption of their own government, and they began to en- tertain a conviction, that it was possible for them to be much more powerful and respected as a community, and much more free, secure, and better informed, as individuals. The contest between loyalty and republicanism in the neighbour- ing Spanish colonies, of which it was impossible to preveumt theum from obtaining some obscure, uncertain intelligence, sug gested to them the thoughts of expelling~ a government, whose character they began now pretty ~vell to understand, and of erecting themselves into independent commonwealths. Though there was no press, no newspaper, or other conveti- ient channel of information at Pernanibimco, yet the people had, by some uneau~ or other, universally come to an under- standing that a revolution was very probable, and had ac- cordingly made np their minds to that event. No l)lan of effecting it was formed, nor did those who desired it most and who expected to lie the leaders, propose to take the first steps in bringing it about. They conversed with each other secretly upon the subject, and thus while they were insensi- bly working themselves up to meet the crisis, and by that means hastening it, they resolved patiently to wait for some measure of\the government that would excite resistance, or some other favourable conjuncture, when the patriots of the city were to take up arms; upon receiving intelligence of which, their friends in the other towns, and in the country, were to come in to support thmeun with as many followers as they could collect. But all this was rather tacitly under- stood, than exrnessly agreed impon, and it was not CXI)ected that there would so soon be an occasion of carrying their views into effect. The governour and judge of Pernambuco were appointed by the king for three years. At the time of the revolution Caetano Pinto de Miranda Mont~negro ha(l held the oflice ~34 Revolution in Per& tmbueo. [July, of governour for thirteen years, and had administered the affairs of the captaincy in such a maniter, as not to excite the particular dislike of the people. They mAde some corn- piiunts of his indolence, and love of pIeas~ire, and inatten- tioii to their applications fur his protection and interference, but they considered him, on the whole, as a pretty good sort of maii. The same causes, which made the people re- publicans, rendered him more vigilant. On the fifth of March last, lie and his council, coining to the conclusion that the republican (lispositions of the principal citizens and military officers must be checked by some strong measures, made a list of proscription, containi g between one amid two hundred names of the most distimigoished muon of the prov- ince. Among these was a son of one of the council who was present. The men thus proscribed were to be arrested and imprisoned, and some of them publickly executed, some se- cretly poisoiied, and others, perhaps, set at large, when it could be done with safety. This J)roceeding was kept secret, and was not made known till after the cevolution, when it was disclosed by the counsellor xvhinise son was among the proscribed, and who espoused the cause of the patriots. On the morning of the following day, the sixth, the gov- ernour gave orders for the arrest of Domningos Joze Mar- tins, a distinguished merchant. But to prevent alarm, the officer was ordered to direct Martins to wait upon the governour. He readily attended the messenger through the streets, and over time bridge that separates the different parts of the town, till they came to the common gaol, when he was informed that he was a prisoner, and was put into confinement. Three military officers were meantime arrest- ed, one of whom, by name of Domingos Thmeotorio Jorge, understanding the cause of the arrest, exclaimed against the injustice and tyranny of the proceedimig, as he was pass- ing through the streets to the place of his confinement, and called upon the citizens to take up arms. It was now about one o clock, when another officer went to the qnarters of the soldiers, to arrest a captain by the name of Joze de Barros Lima, who (Irew his sword and stabbed the officer, and being seconded by his son iii law, they killed him on the spot. Intelligence of this transaction being carried to the governour, another of his officers, coveting time glory of bringing rebels to punishment. offered his services to go and fetch Barros. Time governour would 1817.] Revolution in Pernambuee. 235 have dissuaded him, but he persisted, and was accordingly dispatched on the commission. But he volunteered his ser- vices in an unfortunate enterprise, for the scene that had just been acted, and the addresses and appeals of Barros and his son-in-law, had wrought up the soldiers, about two hun- dred in number, to the highest pitch of enthusiasm and des- paration, so that on comihg to their quarters, he Ibund them tinder arms, and was saluted with the cries of liberty, long live Joze de Barros Lima, tong live aur country; and as soon as the soldiers saw him, they exclaimed, another tyrant, thire is our enemy, and immediately discharged their pkces at him, and he was perforated by so many balls, that his body was, to use the narrators expression, like a sieve. This had passed in a short space of time, it being now but about two o clock, when Pedro de Silva Pedroza, a captain of artillery, put hiniseif at the head of the soldiers, and led them towards the prison, which they forced and set Martins, whom we have before mentioned, and about two hundred other prisoners, debtors, felons, & c. at liberty. Martins harangued the soldiers, demanded arms for the prisoners, and called upon the citizens to espouse the cause of their country. Re was answered with shouts of enthusiasm and applause. A body of five hundred Was instantly formed, who, with Pedroza and Martins at their head, proceeded directly to the treasury, where the marshal was already stationed with about four hundred militia hastily assembled, they hardly knew for what cause. Both parties seemed to be fully sen- sible of the importance of the four millions of (lollars de- posited there, either in promoting or obstructing a revolution. They proposed to the marshal the alternative of surrendering, with the promise of departing in safety to the fort, or resist- ing without the hope of quarter. He chose the former, and very prudently, as appears from the fact that his militia-men, as soon as they learned time object of these movements, flew to embrace the new patriots, and devoted themselves to the cause of republicanism. The governour and his attendants had meantime taken shelter in the fortress of Brum, which commands the en- trance of the harbour. Only a trifling achievement now remained to give the patriots undisputed possession of the town. Pernamnbuco is ~itiiated on the coast, at the mouth of the rivers Bibimibe and Capivaribe. The Capivaribe comes from the south and 36 Aevohttion in Pernainbuco. [July, running through the town parallel to the coast, forms a junction with the Bibiribe; when their united ~~raters flow through the town again towards the south, and are discharged into the harbour. The town is thus divided into three pads, which are connected to each other by two wooden bridges. The part next the ocean is called the Recife; the interruedi- ate part, Outra Bunda; and that on the opposite bank of the Capivaribe, being the most inland, Boa Vista. About four hiui~d~ed loyalist Europeans bad collected, with axes and three or four picces of cannon at the eastern end of the bridge, that connects the Recife with Outra Buiida. Some were firing the cannon, though without effect, not being very skilful engineers; while others were employed in cutting away thc bridge, with the intention of interrupting all com- munication between those two parts of the town. They bad not, however, proceeded far in their work, when a detach- ineut of fifteeti or twenty soldiers appeared on the opposite side of the river, ~x ith one piece of cannon. A discharge of one or two cartridges of powder, without ball, put the Europeans to flight, who, abandoning their cannon and axes, vanished ami~ng the inhabitants, and thus, it being now about three o clock, the revolution was completed. IDuring the remainder of the day, and the following night, the town exhibited as little confusion as could be expected tn so sudden an explosion~ The leaders of the patriots were busy in making arrangements, giving orders, and pro- viding for their own and the publick safety. Many of the more wealthy inhabitants shut themselves up in their lions- es, waiting to learn in what character it would be pm- dent for them to make their appearance. Others were run- ning to ai~~ fro, in wild joy or astonishment; and shouts of long live the patriots, long live our country, and destruc- tion to royal tyranny, resounded from every quarter, while the bells were ringing and the drums beating in every part of the city. But no property was injured or violence coin- mitted, except that the soldiers massacred some twelve or fif- teen, who refused to unite in these exclamations. On the next day, the seventh, the governour, accepting the terms offered him, took his departuwe from the province, being guarded by the patriots out of the harbour, and till he was beyond the reach of danger and insult. Bands of inusick were kept playing in The streets, as signals of con- cor(l an(l peace. 181 7.] Early on the eighth, the people were assembled in the court of the treasury, to hear and a~iprove a paper, signed by thirty or hrty of their leaders, in which .~ acio Ribeiro Pes- soa, a priest; Mr. Martins, already mentioned, a merchant; Domiiigos Theotorio Jorge, a military officer, aiA one of those arrested; a land holder, who had also been a colonel of militia; and Joze Luiz de Mendonca, a lawyer, xvere p~~- posed as the members of a provisional go~ eminent. r1~hie peo~)Ie elected them by acclamation, after tile manner of the French revol tio)n. During all this time and a few following days, l)atliOtS were flocking into the town from every uirection, armed, some with guns, and others w ithm pikes, or whatever other rude weapon they could hastily fabricate or procure. But, there being no service for them to perform, they returned peaceably to their homes. Many of the priests took up arms, and offered their services to the government. The students of tile college of Ohinda were formed into a military company, for the practice of martial exercises. Sow e of time planters offered all their horses to mount tile cavalry that was forming, and presented great supplies of provisiomis br the use of tile army. The vicar of the Cape of St. Ammgus- tine, a town on the coast eighteen miles south of Pernanibu- co, came into the hail where the new government was sit- ting, on the Sunday morning after the revolution, which took place on Thursday, and offered t~ make them a present of all his o~vn property, an(l told them, that, if the pubhick exigen~ cies required it, the silver candlesticks of his church should be at their service. Iii the afternoon of the same day lIe brought in a slave, tile only one of which lie was master, whom he declared free, that lie might enter the publick service a~ a soldier, declaring at the same time, timat he himself should be ever ready to die by the side of his manumitted slave, figilting in the cause of liberty. Intelligence was soon received that the caiitaincies of Pa- raiba and Rio Grande of the North, had fo1lo~ved the example of Pernambuco. At Paraiba the women offered to the imew government all their jewels and trinkets, and ~vere even desir- ous to bear arms by the side of their husbands and brothers, and prove themselves worthy descendants of the heroes who drove tIme Dutch from Paraiba in 1640. On the ninth, the new government published a proelama~ ~88 Revolution in Pernambuco. [July, tion, calculated to quiet the apprehensions of the Europeans, and unite them in the patriotick cause. This proclamation was the first timing ever printed at rer- nainbuco. It ~x as fortunate for the patriots, that, about two years ago, a Mr. Catanho bad imported a printing press into Pernamnbuco. lie had spent the intermediate time and about twelve hundred dollars, in conducting a petition through the ministerial avenues to the throi~, riid, a fe~v days before the revolution, had procured a royal license to print, at Pernamim- buco, such things as the governour and his council might ap- prove. He had sold the privilege and the press to Mr Mar- tins, who made a present of the l)~C55 to the new govern- ment. A second publication issued from this press on the tenth, which was an account of the revolution that had just taken place, and the translated title of which is prefixed to this ar- ticle. This paper is drawn up not without ability, and is well adapted to the circumstances under which it was pit lished. It complains of the policy of the old government in exciting animosity between the Europeans and native Bra- zilians, the plain meaning of which probably is, that offices and privileges were confined to the former. It speaks of the duplicity, corruptness, and enormous, exactions of the roy- al tyranny; informs the people of the abolition of titles, and inculcates upon them the importance of a unanimity of views, and the industrious pursuit of their agriculture and other occupations. It states that neither the civil or judicial officers had been displaced, and that they continued to dis- charge their functions, as if nothing had happened. The ne~v government exhibited great activity and pru- dence, in em~)loying men of talents in the publick service, re- pairing and strengthening the fortifications, and equipping and disciplining an army. They had, by time fifth of April, five regiments, making in all about four thousan(l five hun dred men, well eqnipped, and as well disciplined as the short time would permit. It was intended to increase the army to the number of fifteen thousand. That number will, they think, be suflicient to withstand any force the king can send against them. They supposed that, at any rate, though their force shall fall far short of what they propose, they can retire into the interiour, and there be invincible; an(l by continually harassing their assailants, and picking them off one after amv4her. finally become conquerours. Sancho, or the Prorerbialist. 9 It is a fact, worthy of remark, that one of the five regi- ments is composed entirely of blacks, which proves that they are now of considerable consequence, or are likely to be so, if the revolution succeeds. Supposing this account to be soniewhat favourable to the patriots, as it probably is, still it appears that they have among them no inconsiderable cizncert, prudence, and liber- ality of views. They seeni to take advantage of circunistan- ces ~ ith promptness and address, and to use every means of husbanding and multiplying their resources. But whatever be their talents or conrage, it is evident that their limited re- sources render their fate dependent on the disposition of the other parts of Brazil. ART. XII. Sancho, or the Pro-cerbwlist. By J. W. Cunning- ham, Vicar of harrow. Boston, Wells & Lilly, 1817. AUTHoRs in our day have certainly very little right to complain o~ the patience of their rea(lers; they meet with much of that charity that believeth all things, hopeth all thin~gs, is not easily provoked. When a man has once ac- quired popular favour, or even caught the popular eye, with whatever inclinationAt looks on him, the trade of authorship becomes immediately profitable. His first work, if it meet with success, whether from merit or caprice, is a recommendation for all that follow, however indifferent. A good beginning is like a letter of introduction, arid of old it had no longer effi- cacy than those missions have in England, where they entitle a man to one dinner, and after that leave him to make his way by his good behaviour; but of late, readers have adopt- ed the hospitality of our southern planters, with whom a let- ter operates as a consignment for the season. This readi- ness to be pleased, though an excellent quality of the heart, marks but an indifferent state of taste; and is one of the many proofs of an opinion which ~ve hold, that an extensive diffusion of the elements of literature is unfavonrahie to its eminence. When education was hard to be obtained, and depended altogether on individual exertion, it natmwally fell to the lot of the most powerful minds alone. An author had not then his choice of writing for the vulgar or the learned, ftinr then the vulgar could not read; and if he hoped that his book

Klaproth, the German Chemist 239

Sancho, or the Prorerbialist. 9 It is a fact, worthy of remark, that one of the five regi- ments is composed entirely of blacks, which proves that they are now of considerable consequence, or are likely to be so, if the revolution succeeds. Supposing this account to be soniewhat favourable to the patriots, as it probably is, still it appears that they have among them no inconsiderable cizncert, prudence, and liber- ality of views. They seeni to take advantage of circunistan- ces ~ ith promptness and address, and to use every means of husbanding and multiplying their resources. But whatever be their talents or conrage, it is evident that their limited re- sources render their fate dependent on the disposition of the other parts of Brazil. ART. XII. Sancho, or the Pro-cerbwlist. By J. W. Cunning- ham, Vicar of harrow. Boston, Wells & Lilly, 1817. AUTHoRs in our day have certainly very little right to complain o~ the patience of their rea(lers; they meet with much of that charity that believeth all things, hopeth all thin~gs, is not easily provoked. When a man has once ac- quired popular favour, or even caught the popular eye, with whatever inclinationAt looks on him, the trade of authorship becomes immediately profitable. His first work, if it meet with success, whether from merit or caprice, is a recommendation for all that follow, however indifferent. A good beginning is like a letter of introduction, arid of old it had no longer effi- cacy than those missions have in England, where they entitle a man to one dinner, and after that leave him to make his way by his good behaviour; but of late, readers have adopt- ed the hospitality of our southern planters, with whom a let- ter operates as a consignment for the season. This readi- ness to be pleased, though an excellent quality of the heart, marks but an indifferent state of taste; and is one of the many proofs of an opinion which ~ve hold, that an extensive diffusion of the elements of literature is unfavonrahie to its eminence. When education was hard to be obtained, and depended altogether on individual exertion, it natmwally fell to the lot of the most powerful minds alone. An author had not then his choice of writing for the vulgar or the learned, ftinr then the vulgar could not read; and if he hoped that his book

Law School in Harvard University 239-244

Sancho, or the Prorerbialist. 9 It is a fact, worthy of remark, that one of the five regi- ments is composed entirely of blacks, which proves that they are now of considerable consequence, or are likely to be so, if the revolution succeeds. Supposing this account to be soniewhat favourable to the patriots, as it probably is, still it appears that they have among them no inconsiderable cizncert, prudence, and liber- ality of views. They seeni to take advantage of circunistan- ces ~ ith promptness and address, and to use every means of husbanding and multiplying their resources. But whatever be their talents or conrage, it is evident that their limited re- sources render their fate dependent on the disposition of the other parts of Brazil. ART. XII. Sancho, or the Pro-cerbwlist. By J. W. Cunning- ham, Vicar of harrow. Boston, Wells & Lilly, 1817. AUTHoRs in our day have certainly very little right to complain o~ the patience of their rea(lers; they meet with much of that charity that believeth all things, hopeth all thin~gs, is not easily provoked. When a man has once ac- quired popular favour, or even caught the popular eye, with whatever inclinationAt looks on him, the trade of authorship becomes immediately profitable. His first work, if it meet with success, whether from merit or caprice, is a recommendation for all that follow, however indifferent. A good beginning is like a letter of introduction, arid of old it had no longer effi- cacy than those missions have in England, where they entitle a man to one dinner, and after that leave him to make his way by his good behaviour; but of late, readers have adopt- ed the hospitality of our southern planters, with whom a let- ter operates as a consignment for the season. This readi- ness to be pleased, though an excellent quality of the heart, marks but an indifferent state of taste; and is one of the many proofs of an opinion which ~ve hold, that an extensive diffusion of the elements of literature is unfavonrahie to its eminence. When education was hard to be obtained, and depended altogether on individual exertion, it natmwally fell to the lot of the most powerful minds alone. An author had not then his choice of writing for the vulgar or the learned, ftinr then the vulgar could not read; and if he hoped that his book ~4O & tncho, w the Pr~zrverbia1ist. [July, should be b& ught, it was necessary it should be suited to in~ tellects of the iiigher order. No temptations theii existed that could produce such books as half the poetry, aiid more than half tLle novels of our time; alas, there were no senti- mental chamber-maids or romantick cooks; children were taught only useful trades or manly exercises, amid the race of iolers, that xviii exist under every form of society, instead of poisoning their minds for want of employment, inansued other sports~ that at least gave health to the body. But since every one can read, literature is in great deniand, and like every other commodity, the greater the demand for it, the worse is its quality. An author who writes for money, which is the principal or secondary motive xvith most of them, can no more afh)rd now to sell pure literature, than a l~irmer can to sell milk at the market price, while all his neigilb)urs get as much for milk and xxrater. The number of the half learned is so much increased beyond that of the scholars, that books, which must always accommodate themselves to their readers, have been kindly qualified ~o the taste of the lowest capacity. There are indeed, and alxvays will be, a few gentlemen authors, xvho can still afford to write well, preferring the approbation of the few to the applause of the many, and content oii the score of gain, if their books do not run them in debt; hut of these the number xviii be very small, while that of the calculating class seems, under the auspices of Mr. Lancaster av!d Dr. Bell, to be capable of an almost in(lefiflite extension. When all men, women, and children, Christian and Imeatheim, shall be taught their letters, we may almost believe with St. John, the world would not contain the books that should be written.But though 1 iteratmare suffer by this process, we cannot reasona- blv complain. while so much is eft~cted by it for religion, and morals, and civil liberty. The educatiomi of all classes ape rates like an agrarian law; and if it leaves us hut a moderate share of literary wealth, it at least gives m;s tIme satisfaction of knowing, that fexv are very poor. While all have enough to make them free and happy, the luxuries we lose are of little moment; he mnust have little taste, and less benevolence, who would con-tine in his pleasure-groumids the streams that muight give plenty and verdure to the humblest and farthest fields his eye can reacI~. It is our (lutY and i)leas!Ire as mcmi, to do all that we can for thm~ general (liffilSiOll of knowledge and happiness ; bait we fear that much which we hove and admire, would necessarily be sacrificed to procure that state of tbing~ 18114 Sancho, or the Praverbkdist. 241 most favourable to the views of the philanthropist. In a perfect state of society, we apprehend that mere men of let- ters, and even our reviewing selves, would be found almost superfluous; at least the times, when those idle callings have most flourished, were certainly not the happiest or the best. But alier all, we are so well convinced of the impracticability of all the sclieii~es of improvement which would thus reduce our value in the community, that we assure our readers we ~vill make no attempt to prevent their being as well informed and as happy as they will. We were led to think vhat we have here set down, by read- ing Sancho, or the Proverbialist ; which is a very fair ex- amj)le of the most indifferent kind of writing, by a man con- fessedly of considerable talent. Mr. Cunningham gained some reputation by his first work, and really deserved it ; it was a work of feeling, simplicity, and morality, with some podtry, and no cant. His succeeding works (we speak not of his verse) have had little to recommend them, except their general moral tendency, and they have become tinged with too much of the show of religion. The author is unwearied in his encomiums on Mother Church, and though he no where breaks into open intolerance, there are abundance of covert censures of the dissenters. These occur so frequent- ly and unnecessarily, and seem at times so inconsistent with the Catholick and tender spirit he evinces on other occasions, that we are almost inclined to suspect the motive of such an uneasy attachment to the established worship. In page 129 of this book he speaks, with a sly sort of applause, of a per- son, who praised the church, though he had omdy a poor vicarage; we have no doubt this was meant to remind the reader of the Vicam~ of Harrow, and furthermore we half sims- pect time fact is, that he himself praises the church, because he is but a poor vicar; not that the hope of spiritual preferment is time cause of his loving the church, but if he were better provided for, we really think his love would be quite as fer- vent, and much more quiet. But independent of all interest- ed views, such remarks are neither useful nor becoming. Moral precepts are never thrown away, however light the oc- casion on which they are introduced; the mostplayful breeze may scatter upon good ground some of the seeds of good liv- ing. Such precepts can hardly be too often repeated, or too familiarly connected with our most ordinary and most in- teresting pursuitslet them be intro(luced in any manner, ~42 Sancho, or the Proverbialist. [July, and they may do good; they may revive a forgotteii prin- ciple, or at least strengthen a good habit. But we should with more caution recommend the forms of religion on eve- ry occasion, and especially those points of belief or modes of worship, about which men may honestly differ; we can- not hope to change a settled opinion, or gain a convert to a sect by a passing encomium. Such an attempt, unless sen- ously and thoroughly made, will produce more doubt than conviction, more disgust on one side than attachment on the other. Mr. Cunningham therefore may be very honest in this course, but wecannot think him judicious. To his l)ie- ty and morality, however, there can he no objection. They ai e both of the purest and most rational kind. The World without Souls interested us from the nov- elty of the idea, and the touching simplicity with which the few characters are described by the author, and describe themselves; there was a peculiar vein of subdued melan- choly, a sad good feeling in the father. and an ingenuous but shrewd simplicity in Gustavus, that took strong hold of the heart. The incidents were nothing, but the characters were such as made a romance of the most common occur- rences. The Velvet Cushion, which followed, was lit- tie m~re than a vindication of the tenets of the church, and looked too much like a hint to the lords spiritual, for the authors benefit, to be very interesting to others. The book now before us is, perhaps, still less attractive; there is in it little addressed to the feelings or the understanding; it is a simple story of a perverse school-boy and his t~vo aunts; one of whom, old and ill favoured, loved proverbs; and the other, young and comely, loved the Bible and the church and both agreed in loving little Sancho. The design of the work is, as may be conjectured from the title, to prove the fallacy of proverbs; a~d we should have taken it without hes~ itation for a good little book for children, and given the author l)raise for devoting his time to a humble, though very useful objeci, had it not contained many reflections in a man- ner so mature, and on subjects of such a nature, as made us suspect it might after all be meant for grown people. Mr. Cunningham has been praised for simplicity, and lie seems, in endeavonring to support that reputation, to have fallen in- to the errour, that to be simple is to be praiseworthy without re~ard to the value of the subject or the matter. To a certain extent this is true, for if a man will talk or write nonsense., 1817.] ,~aucho, or the Proverbialist. it cannot be denied he had better do it as simply as possible, and the same is true ~xlien he writes sensibly, and even sub- liinely. But simplicity, as it is commonly understood, is only a quality of style, and can give no value to that, which lids not sonic other recommendation; it prevents what is mere- ly ~ orthless from being ridiculous, an(l gives, or rather leaves to grand and touching thoughts, their native strength and beauty; but farther than this negative value, it is not to be sought or praised. There is indeed a simplicity of thought very different from all this, a direct communication from heart to head, that is the effect of the most refined cultiva- tion, an(l as almost independent of manner; a simplicity like that of Flaxmans exquisite drawings for sculpture, the re- stilt of consummate skill, though apparently so little labour- ed as to seem within the reach of all. Of this, both tl~e for- mci books of Mr. Cunningham contained some specimens, in the latter it was the only beauty, and in the former it was mixed with much that approached the moral sublime. But all this has evaporated before we come to Sancho; the mate- rials of which are briefly these ;Sancho, when a little boy, was sent to school, and directed by his ugly aunt to regulate all his actions by this maxim ; Take care of Number Onewhich he obeyed to the letter, and in consequence be- came greedy, and for this he was plundered and beaten by his schoolmates, and ~)hysicked by the doctor; lie became cruel, and was whipt; he became a thief, and was dismissed from school; after which he ~vent to another, fortified with this auxiliary; Do at Rome as they do at Romeby the help of this, he was merely hated and despised; lie then with a still stronger reinforcement of proverbs, on the subjects of Re- ligion, Character, and Friends, entered the university, where lie remained with much time same sucre~s, until his aunt died, and left her fortune to his sister instead of Sancho. At this time lie was deeply confirmued in habits of selfish ness, infidel- ity, envy, and discontent; in a word. a thoroughly had man~ at home however he meets a clergyman, who tells him a story of a penitent young female, and his remaining aunt re- stores the 1fortune lie had lost, when suddenly by the opera- tion of these two marvellous facts, lie becomes good. religious, and contented; loves his aunt Rachel, and amuses his old age by burning his infidel books. If our readers cannot see here materials enough for a tale of nearly two hundred ~1ages, they have only to imagine, them cruelly stretched an(i eked out 244 Delanos Vo~jages an4 Thvvds. [July, with old stories, and gratuitous dissertations about the Church of England and English universities, all which contain not a valuable remark or a new truth. We do not see one good purpose that can be answered by such a book.the publick certainly get nothing by it, for it is not calculated to amuse or do good to any one; it is too childish for men, and unin- tclligible to children. We can give the author no more cred- it for the design than for the execution; he could not surely suppose the world needed a refutation of proverbs like those lie has set forth and abused; had he chosen more specious maxims for the object of his ridicule, some good effect might have been produced; there are, no doubt, many false rtmles of conduct in the form of proverbs, that may deceive the un- wary, but who can fear such as Ta~e care of Number one Do at Rome as they do at Rome Never too late to repent The nearer to church the farther from God, & c.? We know not what influence such sayings may have in England, but we beliex e the author could hardly find a man who regulates a single action of his life by them; and certainly, if there be such a man, he will no more change his opinion by reading this book, than ~ve should be deterred from robbing birds nests, or playing marbles on a Sunday, by the life and death of King Pippin. if it were worth while to remark other faults in such a book, we might mention one common to mauy good novels, as well as bad ones, that when the moral of the story requires a reformation in the hero, it is brought about without any suf- ficient cause, and in a period quite inadequate to correct root- ed habits of vice. ART. XIII. .~ .Narrative of Voyages and Travels in the ~Nor- therm and Southern Hemispheres, comprising three voyages rmtnd the world, together with a voyage of survey and dis- ecreery in the .Pacjjlck Ocean and Oriental Islands. By .ilma- sa Delano. Boston, printed by E. G. House, 1817. NOTWITIISTANDING tIme many obvious incitements to hook- making, which are apparent to us, we cannot help sometimes falling into conjectures about the motives, which could have lead to the publication of many of the works that appear. To make a book of five or six hundred pages, is no small matter after all, let its subject and merits be what they may. Amid

Delano's Voyages and Travels 244-257

244 Delanos Vo~jages an4 Thvvds. [July, with old stories, and gratuitous dissertations about the Church of England and English universities, all which contain not a valuable remark or a new truth. We do not see one good purpose that can be answered by such a book.the publick certainly get nothing by it, for it is not calculated to amuse or do good to any one; it is too childish for men, and unin- tclligible to children. We can give the author no more cred- it for the design than for the execution; he could not surely suppose the world needed a refutation of proverbs like those lie has set forth and abused; had he chosen more specious maxims for the object of his ridicule, some good effect might have been produced; there are, no doubt, many false rtmles of conduct in the form of proverbs, that may deceive the un- wary, but who can fear such as Ta~e care of Number one Do at Rome as they do at Rome Never too late to repent The nearer to church the farther from God, & c.? We know not what influence such sayings may have in England, but we beliex e the author could hardly find a man who regulates a single action of his life by them; and certainly, if there be such a man, he will no more change his opinion by reading this book, than ~ve should be deterred from robbing birds nests, or playing marbles on a Sunday, by the life and death of King Pippin. if it were worth while to remark other faults in such a book, we might mention one common to mauy good novels, as well as bad ones, that when the moral of the story requires a reformation in the hero, it is brought about without any suf- ficient cause, and in a period quite inadequate to correct root- ed habits of vice. ART. XIII. .~ .Narrative of Voyages and Travels in the ~Nor- therm and Southern Hemispheres, comprising three voyages rmtnd the world, together with a voyage of survey and dis- ecreery in the .Pacjjlck Ocean and Oriental Islands. By .ilma- sa Delano. Boston, printed by E. G. House, 1817. NOTWITIISTANDING tIme many obvious incitements to hook- making, which are apparent to us, we cannot help sometimes falling into conjectures about the motives, which could have lead to the publication of many of the works that appear. To make a book of five or six hundred pages, is no small matter after all, let its subject and merits be what they may. Amid 1817.] Delanos Voyages and Traiels. 245 the reward which should be obtained, as an adequate compen- sation for the labour, ought in no case to be inconsiderable. The goodness of the market is doubtless a powerful provoca- tive to authors, as well as to labourers in every other calling; and we are inclined to the opinion, that writers of voyages and travels have their full share of encouragement from this source. A great proportion of the reading part of the commu- nity look only for amusement. To such persons, novels and books of travels have much more powerful attractions, than works of any other description. There are, besides these, a class of people belonging to the reading genus, of imaginations too sluggish to be excited by fiction, and minds not sufficient- ly cultivated or strong, to bring works of taste or science with- in their reach; and who depend therefore altogether upon the traveller and navigator, for their literary supplies. Happily for the numerous writers of travels and their read- ers, this species of composition does not call for great powers of mind. He must be dull indeed, who cannot give a tolera- bly interesting account of very interesting places. And a man who is in the way of travelling muchmore especially upon the oceanmay often chance to be thrown upon parts of the globe, a simple narr~ition of facts relating to which, how- ever awkwardly told, will be, in no inconsiderable degree, useful and entertaining. Whoever is so hopelessly tedious and uninviting, as.to find no description of readers whatever~ willing to accompany him on his expeditions, will himself have the greatest cause to lament his own folly, by being left to settle the whole fare. And should some tempest-beat- en mariner, who had made three or four voyages round the world, of three or four years each, with only the success of getting safe home again, (a kind of success, perhaps, the least desirabble to himself, and it might be to his friends, of any he could have looked for,) contrive to share the loss of his luckless adventures with the publick, by puhlishing an account of them; we should hardly have the heart to find much fault, provided the damage to the community extended only to the immediate contribution. It is to be observed however, that this is not always the case. There are works of this denominatiom~, properly ranking under the head of pro- fessional books, in which the writer undertakes so to des- cribe places, and make such practical remarks on navigation, as may serve to regulat~ the course of any others, who have aftevwards to pursue the same track. And here the responsi 246 liJekuio8 Vo~jagcs ~zd Travels. {1July, hility becimes imposing. To the reader for amusement, it were indeed of little moment, whe,ther the advantages of a given coursethe safety of a particular h~rbour~-or the best means of obtaining slq)plies, are, as stated by the narra- tor, the results of a good judgment and sufficient experience; whether the bearing of rocksthe position of islamisand the danger and extent of shoals, be laid down with great ex- actness. But to the lonely navigator of a distant and unfre- quented sea, to whose keeping the lives and property of others have been committed, and who in an hour of danger and doubt, ~vhen his own judgment could no longer assist him, has resorted to such a book, for its proffered guidance, the case is far different. And we should be slow to say, that a man was deserving of censure only, who, actuated either by vanity, or want, would, in this way, heedlessly put at risk the existence and interests of his fellow beings. The book before us, a present to the community frbm Capt. Amnasa Delano, is an octavo volume of about six hundred pages. The reader will think the size very reasonable, when he comes to find that he is carried in it three times round the world; on a voyage of survey and discovery in the Eastern Ocean ; and further favoured with a biographical sketch of the au- thor, written by a friend. Capt. Delano observes in the pre- face No seaman from the United States has enjoyed the same opportunity for observation and discovery in the Eas- tern Ocean, which was afforded to me by the voyage I made with Commodore MClure. My remarks upon the naviga- tion along the coast of New Holland, Van Diemans Land, New Zealand, and round Cape Horn, will also be new to my readers, and, I am confident, of great value. And a little further on; It was also thought expedient to introduce such information concerning the places which I visited, as might render the book interesting and instructive to lands-men, and as should give me an opportunity to offer my sentiments, as they occurred upon various topicks, in morals, condition, and character. Capt. Delano appears then to have had two things in view; first, to give such an account of the navi- gation of the seas lie traversed, founded on personal observa- tion and experience, as might be of great practical impor- tance to seamen; and, secondly, a description of places and events, which, when aided by his own remarks, would afford entertaining and improving information to general readers. We shall endeavour to select such passages from this work, 1817.] DeLanos Voyages aszd Travei& . 2~4? as will convey to our readers some idea of its merits in th& latter point of view, and then make any observations, that our scanty means of information will admit of, with regard to the other, which we deem indeed by far the most impor- tant, and should suppose must have been the principal object with the author. The work commences with a sketch of the life, character, death, and burial of Major Samuel Shaw, one of the gentle- men who contracted for the building of the ship Massachu- setts, the vessel in which Capt. Delano begins his adven- tures; and goes on to give the respective histories of the person who was contracted with, of the draughts-man, and of the master builder, Daniel Briggs, and his four brethren; interspersed with such judicious remarks, as the characters, occupations, and exits of the several subjects suggested to our author. We are then carried, by a very admirable division of the subject, from the contractors, builders, master-builders, and their respective relathes and friends, and their families, to the ship built; and receive a very minute and entertaining relation of the various parts of which the Massachusetts was composed; spars, beams, masts, keels, yards, decks, & c. & c. with their exact dimensions. This is followed by a comprehensive biogra- phy of every officer and seaman; and we bare at length hap- pily hauled off from Hancocks Wharf on Sunday, the 28th day of March, in the year of our Lord 1790, at precisely 4 oclock in the afternoon. It is to be lamented, that by a ve~y unfortunate oversight of Capt. Delano, we are left entirely in the dark asto the names, characters, & c. of the persons who were collected on the wharves to witness our departure, although it is mention- ed in a general way, that the crowd was uncommonly great. ~ut of justice to Capt. Delano, we would express our satis- faction at the singular benevolence he has evinced, by intro- ducing the lives of so many of his acquaintances into this nar- rative. It is well known how pleasant it is to see ones name in I)rint; and the persons noticed, with their friends, rnu~t feel highly gratified with the civility here paid them. Capt. Delano has certainly done much more in this way, than could possibly be expected of him, considering he has made but one volumeindeed we think there can scarcely be many persons, natives of Boston, and time vicinity, who will not find some relation or other, more or less distant, handsomely mentioned in the course of this work. As Capt 248 Delanos Voijages and Travels. [July, Delano seems to have intended his book for something of a precedent to afterwriters, we cannot but hope they will be careful to profit by his example in this particularit can cause but little inconvenience to the writer; ans~vers exceed- ingly well for filling up; makes the book very populara majority of the publick being under obligationsand is cer- tainly vastly agreeable to readers of all sorts. After arriving at Canton, the Massachusetts was sold to the Danish compa- ny there; the crew disper~ied; and Capt. Delano, at Macao, a town in the province of Canton, falls in with Corn. MClure, who had been sent out from Bombay by the English East India company, with the command of two vessels, the Pan- ther and Endeavour, on an expedition to the Eastward, to visit the Pelew Islands, New Guinea, New Holland, the Spice Islands, and others in the Eastern Ocean. And he takes up with an offer made him by this gentleman, to join in the cruise. On their run from Canton to the Pelew Islands, they touched at the port of San Pio Quinto, one of the Babuyane islands, for the purpose of taking in wood and water; and Capt. Delaiio relates with great good humour an experiment that was made on his credulity by his fellow officers. Two of them, having returned one evening from a days duty on shore, produced a number of substances which they said they had found in the course of their rambles, and sup- posed to be gold ore, but very judiciously added, that as they knew so little of minerals, and did not much like to la- bour for nothing, in collecting what might subject them to ridicule when they should return home, they doubted whether they should go out again to increase their specimens. Capt. Delano, whose imagination was not a little excited by the art- ful dqscriptions they had given him, and thinking them too faint-J~ carted in the business, determined to pursue the subject birnse~f;he was further encouraged to it by his friend Drum- mond, a Scotchman, and one of the gold discoverers, who, clapping him on the shoulder, said, Odds, mon, if you are set upon this, there is my large canvass bag, which will hold two or three bushels; take that, and my Malabar boy ~ ith you for a guide; he knows the place where we found these curi- ous ores, and you can return with a back load of gold. Af- ter a night, as he says, of South Sea drcams,~ he sat out upon his enterprise. The Malabar boy could speak no English, and Capt. Delano unfortunately nothing else; so, with as much communion together as such circumstances would ad- 1817.3 I)elaiaos Voyages a~z4 Travels. 249 mit of, they passed the day in the most fatiguing and gain- less search for a substance, the supposed specimens of which were taken, as he afterwards discovered, from the ships medi- cine chest. At the close of the day, he returned again to the shore, exhausted with fatigue and disappointment, and gives the following description of his feelings and reflections ; When I was seated in perfect silence on a rock in the rivetr near its source, and could hear the echo of the waters through the awful stillness of the desert, mingled with the occasional, but unin- telligible, expressions of anxiety by the poor Malabar boy; and when I remembered that I was at an almost immeasurable distance from my native country, in the service of a foreign power, the vic- tim of an imposition, which appeared to me under various aspects, and now in a savage spot, where the natives might be every mo- ment upon me, I confess I was not very far fro~n that mixed mood of melancholy mortification and terrour, which required but little more to overcome me for the hour. Had I been attacked, despe- ration might have roused me, and made me brave; vexation and pride, however, were my friends and supporters, till better feelings regained their elasticity and force, and after leaving the rock for the shoreIand~the ship, every step, and ever new ect, assisted to restore my seif-controul and the consolations of hope. The feelings which I then experienced, have taught me how to judge of the sufferings and wants of men, whose spirits fail, when they are at a distance from home, and appear to themselves to be cast out from the sympathies of the human family. It is an evidence of as much folly as it is of inhumanity, to say that none but weak and dastardly minds are subject to these impressions. Good talents and lively imagination, a temperament o in enuousness and hon- esty, and those qualities of the soul, which give the charm to de- cisive and efficient characters, serve only to add bitterness, under such circumstances, to the feeling of desolation. Whoever may have command of men abroad, let him not, when he finds any ot them oppressed with these feelings, begin to despise and reproach them, as mean and pusillanimous; let him learn human nature better, and by kindness, by increased manifestations of sympathy, by diversifying their employments, and appointing such as are adapted to th.eir condition, let him oTadually raise their hearts, in- vi~orate their resolution, and bind t~em to duty, virtue, and friend- ship forever. Many are the instances, in which generous and feeling minds have baen ruined, and only relieved by death, when they were subject to the command of others, and during a period of depression were inhumanly treated without the means of redress. Sailors and all men, even of the meanest education, have the es- sential qualities of high minds, and are exalted and improved, at the same time that they are won, by generosBy and kindness~ ~25Q DeIafto~s Voyages and Tra~vets. [July, We think this extract does much credit to the feelings and good sense of Capt. Delano, and we are perfectly willing that our readers should consider it as a specimen of his style, but not on our authority.; we rather suspect, from a comparison of this, and a number of other passages, with the general fin- ish of the work, that the friends, whose revision of it has been acknowledged in the preface, being possibly somewhat ex- hilarated by a short reprieve from the statement of. latitude and longitude, the veering of winds, and delineation of liar- hours, must have given rather more polish to these parts, than was perhaps altogether consist7ent with a strict adherence to the style of the author. On describing the island of Timor, Capt. Delano takes oc- casion to give a pretty long account of the remarkable facts relative to the ship Bounty and her mutinous crew ;a very interesting notice of which many will recollect to have seen in the Quarterly Review for April ~tnd July, 1815, under the article of Porters Cruise in the Pacifick Ocean. The facts were shortly these ;..In 1789, the British ship Bounty was em~)loyed in conveying the bread-fruit-tree from Otaheite to the British colonies in the West Indies. On her passage between these places, a part of her crew, headed by Fletcher Christian, the masters mate, mutinied; put the commander, Lient. Bligh, and eighteen others, iiito the launch, set them adrift, and carrie(l off the vessel. Lieut. Bligli by good for- tune made the island of ~I imor, from whence he returned home. As soon as the news of this affair reached England, Capt. Edwards was dispatched with the Pandora to search for the mutineers; fourteen, out of five and twenty, were found at Otaheite, but no traces could be discovered of Christian and the rest of them, who had left Otalieite in the ship, with the intention, a.s was said, of never returning to it. Nothing more was heard of them, nor were they conjectured to be still in existence, until February 1808, more than eighteen years after the mutiny took place, when Capt. Mayhew Folger of Nantucket, in this State, chanced to touch at Pitcairns island, in the South Pacifick Oceanbefore then, supposed to be un- inhabitedand there very unexpectedly met with the only surviving mutineer, Alexander Smith, in the manner and situation afteri~entioiwd. About six years later than this period, Sir Thomas Stains and Capt. Pip~n, of the British ships Briton and Tagus, visited the island, and from their account of it, was ma(lC up the article referred to in the Quar 1817.] Delatos Vo~ag& ~ and Tra~~els~ 521 terly Review. Capt. Delano assigns as a reas6n for intro- ducing the narrative here, that from being possessed for a time, of the manuscript history of Capt. Edwards, and from repeated conversations had with Capt. Folger for the express purpose of learning the particulars of his interview with the extraordinary inhabitants of Pitcairns island, the information he was enabled to give, was more minute, and of an earlier date, than any before published. The following extract ap- pears to be the substance of what he learned from Capt. Fol- ger. The Topaz, in which he sailed, (speaking of Folger,) was fit- ted and owned in this place by James and Thomas H. Perkins, Esquires, and crossed the South Pacifick Ocean in search of islands for seals. Being in the region of Pitcairns island, according to Car~terets account, he determined to visit it, hoping that it might furnish him with the animals which were the objects of his voyage. As he approached the island, he was surprised to see smokes ascending from it, as Carteret had said it was uninhabite4. With increased curiosity, he lowered a boat, and embarked in it for the shore. He was very soon met by a double canoe, made in the manner of the Otaheitans, and carrying several young men, who hailed him in English at a distance. They seemed not to be wil- ling to come near to him, till they had ascertained who he was. He answered, and told them he was an American from Boston. This they did not immediately understand. With great earnest- ness they said, you are an American; you. came from America; where is America? Is it in Ireland? Capt. Folger thinking that he should soonest make himself in. telligible to them, by finding out their origin and country, as they spoke English. inquired, Who are you ?. We are English- men. . Where were you horn ?.. Un that island which you see.. How then are you Englishmen, if you were horn on that island, which the English do not own, and never possessed ?... We are Englishmen, because our father was an Englishman..-... Who is your father? With a very interesting simplicity, they answered, Aleck... Who is Aleck ? Dont you know Aleck? How should I know Aleck?.. Well then, did you know Captain Bligh of the Bounty? At this question, Folger told me, the whole story immediately burst upon his mind, and pro- duced a shock of mingled feelings, surprise, wonder, and pleasure, not to be descrihed. His curiosit~y which had been already ex- cited so much on this subject, was revived, arid he made as many ihquiries of them, as the situation in which they were, would permit. ~52 Delanos Voyages and Travels. [July, They informed him, that Aleck was the only one of the Boun- tys crew, who remained alive on the island; they made him ac- quainted with some of the most important points in their history; and with every sentence, increased still more his desire to visit the establishment, and learn the whole. Not knowing whether it would be propel and safe to land without giving notice, as the fears of the surviving mutineer might be awakened in regard to the object of the visit, he requested the young men to go and tell Aleck, that the master of the ship desired very much to see him, and would supply him with any thing which he had on board. The canoe carried the message, but returned without Aleck, bringing an apology for his not appearin~, and an invitation for Capt. Folger to come on shore. The invitation was not immedi- ately accepted, but the young men were sent again for Aleck, to desire him to come on board the ship, and tQ give him assurances of the friendly and honest intentions of the master. They re- turned however again without Aleck; said that the women were fearful for his safety, and would not allow him to expose himself or them, by leaving their beloved island. The young men pledg- ed themselves to Capt. Folger, that he had nothing to apprehend if he should land; that the islanders wanted extremely to see him, and that they would furnish him with any supplies which their village afforded. After this negotiation, Folger determined to go on shore, and as he landed, he was met by Aleck and all his family, and was welcomed with every demonstration of joy and good will. They escorted him fromii the shore to the house of their patriarch, where every luxury they had was set bofore him, and offered with the most affectionate courtesy. lie, whom the youtns in the canoe, with such juvenile and characteristick simplicity, had called Aleck, and who was Alex- ander Smith, now began the narrative, the most important parts of which have already been detailed. It will be sufficient for me to iutroduce here, such parts only as have not been mentioned, but are well fitted to give additional interest to the ~eneral out- line, by a few touches upon the minute features. Smith said, and Ii pon this point Capt. Folger was very explicit in his inquiry at the time, as well as in~ his account of it to me, that they lived un- der Christians government several years after they landed; that during the whole period they enjoyed tolerable harmony; that Christian became sick, and died a natural death; and that it was after this, when the Otaheitan men joined in a conspitacy and killed the English husbands of the Otaheitan women, and were by the widows killed in turn on the following night. Smith w~ thus the only man left upon the island. 1817.3 Delanos Voyages and Travels. 253 It seems that Sir Thomas Staines, in a letter addressed to Vice Admiral Dixon, states, that Christian fell a sacrifice to the jealousy of an Otaheitan man, withiix three or four years after their arrival on the island ; and another account re- ceived from the mate of Capt. Folgers vessel, that he became insane, and threw himself from the rocks into the sea. But Capt. Delano affirms, on the authority of Folger, that the statement, above made by him with respect to this circuin- stance, is the correct one. Smith had taken great pains to educate the inhabitants of the island in the faith and principles of Christianity. They were in the uniform habit of morning and evening prayer, and were regu- larly assembled on Sunday for religious instruction and worship. It has been already said, that the books of the Bounty furnished them with the means of considerable learning ;Prayer books and Bibles were among them, which were used in their devotions. It is probable also that Smith composed prayers and discourses par- ticularly adapted to their circumstances. lie had improved him. self very much by reading and by the efforts he was obliged to make to instruct those under his care. lie wrote and conversed extremely ~vell, of which he gave many proofs in his records and his narrative. The girls and boys were made to read and write before Capt. Folger, to show him the degree of their improvement. They did themselves great credit in both, particularly the girls. When Smith was asked if he had ever heard of any of the great battles between the English and French fleets, in the late wars, he answered How could I, unless the birds of the air had heemi the heralds? He was told of the victories of Lord Howe, Earl St. Vincent, Lord Duncan, and Lord Nelson. He listened with at- tention till the narrative was finished, and then rose from his seat, took off his hat, swung it three times round his head with three cheers, threw it on the ground sailor like, and cried out Old England forever ~ The young people around him a~peared to be almost as much exhilarated as himself, and must have looked on with surpriLe, having never seen their patriarchal chief so excited oef ore: Smith docs not appear to have shown any inclination to leave the island. The houses are represented as uncommonly neat, and made after the manner of those at Otaheite. Time von ng men were employed in the fields and gardens ; and in niaking canoes, household furniture, implements of agricul- ture and fishing gearthe girls in making cloth fmoin the cloth tree, and attending to their domestick concerns. The ~54 Delanos Voyages and Travels. [July, aprons and shawls worn by the latter, were made of the bark of the cloth-tree. When the island was visited by Capt. Fol- gei~, Aleck did not endeavour to conceal his real name of Alexander Smith. We find however that after-visitors mention him under the name of John Adams. Captb Delano attributes this change of name, to the fears excited in Smith, by the information he received from Capt. Folger, of the search made for the mutineers by Capt. Edwards in the Pan- dora, and supposes the one assumed, to be taken from that of President Adams, which was a prominent one in the account given to Smith by Folger of the federal constitution of the United States, which had gone into operation since this es- tablislmnient on Pitcairns island. The number of the inhab- itants, as mentioned by Folger in a letter to Capt. Delano, amounted at this time to thirty four, including women and children; this number was increased, when Sir Thomas Stains was there, to forty; and it is afterwards put by the Review- ers at forty six, besides infants.We confess that we deem- ed this account of the Pitcairn family sufficiently interest- ing, fully to compensate us for the break it occasioned in our authors narrative. And we persuade ourselves that the same view of it will also avail us with our readers, as an excuse for having madc so copious extracts. The portion which we have selected,, appears never to have been published before, and certainly is entitled to the more consideration, for rep- resenting the appearance and conduct of these happy island- ers on the first visit ever paid them; indeed, so singular and encouraging am~ example is presented by Smith, of the ten- dency of the human heart to virtue, when a removal from the deceptive and debasing pleasures amid pursuits of the world has suffered time passions to become calm, that we could hardly feet ourselves blameless in neglecting to notice it, should it on that account come to the knowledge of but one person the less. The next chapter is devoted to reflections on the historyof time Bounty, and of Pitcairns Island. And if Capt. Delano (lid not receive the same friendly assistance in the construc- tion of ~tq timat we formerly hinted at, we do him injustice. ~Xe ought to observe, to the credit of Capt. Delano, that tlironglm the whole of this book, lie speaks of himself with the same al)parent openness and impartiality, as of any third per- son, amid shows no inclination to conceal anecdotes, that might be amusing, from a frar of the effect they would have 1817.] 255 Delanos toyages and Travels. upon his character with the reader. During his last voyage, whilst in Basss straights, his adventures were well nigh brought to an unfortunate conclusion, by the sudden sinking of a boat in which he, together with his brother and four others, were passing from his vessel to the main land. Only two, however, of the company were drowned. And the rep- reseritation of his feelings on seeing them die, is given in so bold and undisguised a manneris so different from the affected accounts we usually get from survivors in such cases, and at the same time so descriptive of the selfishness whicjr always operates when great interests are at stake, that we cannot forbear extracting a small part of it. After stating the manner of the boats sinking, their distance from the land, which was about a third of a mile, and how much he was en- cumbered by his dress, he says, I was just heading for the land, when looking to the left, I saw one of my faithful sailors, a Swede, by the name of John Fostram, making towards me with all possible exertion. 1 turned my head from him, and used every effort to prevent his reaching me, which I greatly apprehended he would; but the poor fellow, finding his attempts fail, relinquished the oar he had grasped in his hand, his bead gradually lowering, until his strength being entirely exhaust- ed, he gave up, and sunk. I never, until then, had experienced any satisfaction in seeing a man die; but so great is the regard we have for ourselves when in danger, that we would sooner see the whole human race perish, than die ourselves. I remember but few incidents in the course of my life, that were more gratifying to me, than that of Fostrams sinking; for I was not only relieved of t~e dread of his involvin~ me in his own fate, but had likewise the oar he relinquished within my reach, which I immediately siezed, and headed again for the land. Very soon after, I observ- rd another of my poor distressed sailors, a native of Nova Scotia, named Willia& Thomnpson, making towards me on the right hand. I pulled from him, though he did not give me so much uneasiness as the former, as he was at a greater distance. This poor fellow soon met his fate in a similar manner with Fostramn. I likewise made shift to procure his oar, and placed it under rue, and then once more headed for the land. We might readily go on to make other selections sufficient- ly amusing, did we not think it necessary to hasten to the few words we have to say, of the merits of this work, as it re- lates to navigation. Although it has been but a few years since the circumnavigation of the globe was attempted, and 256 Delanos Voyages and Travels. [July, we should almost venture to say, that until very lately, many persons could be found somewhat undecided in their notions, as to the element in which it was performed; yet so well directed have been the efforts of the English to add to the stock of information on nautical affairsand so well have these efforts been seconded by the enterprise and activity of our own countrymenthat a voyage round the world has now got to be quite an every day affair. Byron, Wallis, Carte- ret, Cook, and Vancouver have been successively sent by the English government into the North and South Pacifick Oceans, and along the Northwest Coast of America, upon voyages of survey and discovery.all of them able meti, and well appointed. In addition to this, various expeditions of a similar nature have been fitted out, under the direction of private companies; and numberless individuals too, both of that country and our own, invited by a lucrative trade in skins, on the North~vest Coast, have not been backward to brave the dangers of these remote seas; nor do we mean to assert, that these enterprises have been confined to the Eng- lish and Americans. The French and Russians have shared also in the honour and prefit of them. After the acquaint-~ ance with these waters, which must have been obtained from so ample means of information, we may well conceive that Capt. Delano would have but a poor chance of relating ~any thing very novel. Whoever would wish to acquire a satis- factory knowledge of the ports and islands in these regions, the character, customs, and resources of their inhabitants, would doubtless look for it to some higher source, than this work. And the seaman, whose object it is to become a ~kil- ful navigator there, would do well to seek his instruction from the eminent men, who have been expressly selected to furnish it. All this, however, does not convince us, that a book, like the one in hand, if substantially correct and sufficiently mi- nute, may not be of some use. In this country, where com- mercial enterprise is carried to a very great extent, the offi- cers of our most valuable ships must often be young men, and not always fully experienced in the voyages they under- takemany of them too, from the nature of their early ed- ucation, and their active duties, but little inclined to search for information in the voluminous and scientifick works of such men, as we have mentioned. A book of less pretension, written by one engaged in the same occupation with them- selves, of the same country, possibly an acquaintance, and in 1817.] Tales of m~ Landlord. 257 the practical style, and homely, inartificial manner, which we should expect from a man bred upon the sea, stating those facts, which he had found by his own experience to be the most useful, would be much wore likely to draw their atten- tion; and in the cabin of a merchautman, might perhaps bear some comparison with works, that in their general na- ture, were infinitely more valuable. We are sensible that oF the correctness of the statements, and the soundness of the advice given by Capt. Delano, we are not very competent judges. We have, however, made inquiries of gentlemen, whose experience in these seas ought to give great weight to their opinions, and they inform us, that as far as their knowledge extends, the work is generally correct. In many instances the observations are very minute, and made with such an air of confidence, as would hardly be ventured upon, but by one who felt well convinced of their justness. N or does the au- thor hesitate to differ in many instances from very high author- ities. With respect to the passage round Cape Horn, con- cerning the dangers of which, there has been much contrari- ety of opinion.he takes side with those, who represent its hazards to be generally magnified; and in speaking of the harbour of Valparaiso, he asserts that many of the remarks made by Vancouver relating to the prevailing winds there, in the winter months, and the courses and distances, are in- correct, and advances as a reason for the confidence he has in his o~vn opinions, that he had entered, or been in the port of Valparaiso, in nearly every month in the year, whereas Vancouver was there but one short visit, of a month or two. Taking into view the nature of the remarks made by Capt. Delano, and relying upon the opinion we have received of his general correctness, we should think this iiar- rative might be of some use to seamen, not experienced in the voyages he describes; and that persons who read for amusement, and whose taste is not liable to be offended by homeliness of style, may b~ entertained by it. ART. XIV. Tales of my Landlord, collected and arrange(l by Jedediah Cleishbothain, school-master and parish derk of Gandercleugh. Edinburgh, four volumes in two. ~rE regret we cannot go more fully than our limits will al- low us, into an examination of the character of the class of

Tales of my Landlord 257-278

1817.] Tales of m~ Landlord. 257 the practical style, and homely, inartificial manner, which we should expect from a man bred upon the sea, stating those facts, which he had found by his own experience to be the most useful, would be much wore likely to draw their atten- tion; and in the cabin of a merchautman, might perhaps bear some comparison with works, that in their general na- ture, were infinitely more valuable. We are sensible that oF the correctness of the statements, and the soundness of the advice given by Capt. Delano, we are not very competent judges. We have, however, made inquiries of gentlemen, whose experience in these seas ought to give great weight to their opinions, and they inform us, that as far as their knowledge extends, the work is generally correct. In many instances the observations are very minute, and made with such an air of confidence, as would hardly be ventured upon, but by one who felt well convinced of their justness. N or does the au- thor hesitate to differ in many instances from very high author- ities. With respect to the passage round Cape Horn, con- cerning the dangers of which, there has been much contrari- ety of opinion.he takes side with those, who represent its hazards to be generally magnified; and in speaking of the harbour of Valparaiso, he asserts that many of the remarks made by Vancouver relating to the prevailing winds there, in the winter months, and the courses and distances, are in- correct, and advances as a reason for the confidence he has in his o~vn opinions, that he had entered, or been in the port of Valparaiso, in nearly every month in the year, whereas Vancouver was there but one short visit, of a month or two. Taking into view the nature of the remarks made by Capt. Delano, and relying upon the opinion we have received of his general correctness, we should think this iiar- rative might be of some use to seamen, not experienced in the voyages he describes; and that persons who read for amusement, and whose taste is not liable to be offended by homeliness of style, may b~ entertained by it. ART. XIV. Tales of my Landlord, collected and arrange(l by Jedediah Cleishbothain, school-master and parish derk of Gandercleugh. Edinburgh, four volumes in two. ~rE regret we cannot go more fully than our limits will al- low us, into an examination of the character of the class of 258 Tales of m~j Landlord. [July, compositions, to which this work belongs. We should be willing to divest ourselves of the prerogatives of our office, and engage in the inquiry with all the humility becoming learners. We are inclined to believe that it and the world have much occasion for mutual forgiveness, and that the fair neutral ground of reconciliation would be considerably near- er the half-way point than most seem willing to suppose. In fictitious narrative, simply considered, there is doubt- less not of necessity any treason; and- if knowledge, of what- ever kind, makes its way most surely, when it comes in such a form as to excite curiosity, and so fix attention, it should seem that moral truth could scarcely be conveyed through any other channel, with better prospect of success. The relish for works of this species is universal and keen how un- skilfully constructed soever, they never want for readers. Yet it is not their best recommendation, that they will carry instruction where, if it assumed a soberer garb, it never could have reached. It deserves always to be remembered, that the easier half is not effected, when the assent of the under- standing is gained to moral truth. To be efficient, it must be conveyed with impression. It must be made to mingle itself with the feelings. It must be enabled in some sense to as- sume the strength, and operate with the certainty of impulse. Its capacity for enforcing its lessons with such authoritative ef- fect, is all which gives that most thorough, though most severe of teachers, experience, so clear a superiority over injunction or example. Day after (lay of life, is only setting in more conspicuous light, what had always seemed imidisputably plain, and from its very familiarity had lost its influence. Novel writers profess to give copies of life and manners; to trace the ever varying modifications of temperament, and develop the springs of action ;aud the knowledge of human nature is, one only excepted, the most valuable sort of know- ledge. If they fall short of their engagement, if they give imperfect or distorted represent~ttions, the fault is without doubt not of the plan, but of the execution. The reputation of the writer is answerable, not the character of the class of writings. We do not allow much weight to the objection, that in order to sustain time requisite measure of interest, such representations must l)e overstrained ;~hy which we suppose is intended that the distinctions of merit and fortune must be drawn more definitively than reality ever draws them ;both l)ecause we doubt if there be produced by authentick history a Tales of m!,I Landlord. 259 much more vivid impresssion of reality, and because, allow- ing all for this, which any can be disposed to claim for it, we conceive that it is more than balanced by the selection of topicks, which the nature of fictitious narrative admits. The whole territory of invention may be lawfully ranged for incidents proper to forward the design; and nothing extra- neous need be introduced to mar its symmetry, and dissipate its effect. If in real history we could be assured of the fidel- ity of the copy, the advantage still would be the same, which a fancy landscape has over a sketch from nature. The truth of the imitation in the one would be a separate claim on at- tention, notwithstanding the confusing incongruity of its parts. But the unity of effect, the distinctness of expression in the other, could not but engage a more animated interest. An occasion for the application of a generous princil)le may probably never present itself, similar to that by which it had been foi~med. But this is nothing, so that the disposition be but cherished. If we never have opportunity to sacrifice rank and fortune like Glenthorn, or love like Theodore, to duty, not a day passes that duty does not demand some effort, or the heroick spirit of self-devotion may not find room to act. And we should begin to despair of a mind, which could retain its selfishness unshaken by representations such as these. We are not to learn that many very pernicious works have been written, which must be ranged under the head of nov- els; nor do we care to task ourselves with a refutation of the stale sophism that the perversion of an instrument is rea- son against its use. If they have made many sentimental- ists, and some libertines, it is only the more desirable that a weapon so efficient may be managed l)y faithful hands. It was a thing to be expected that a class of works, level to the capacities, and addressing itself to the curiositV of all, should have sought for popularity wherever it promised to be found; that such men of abilities as were better pleased to make their gifts profitable to themselves than to society, should, in this as in other trades, have been little scrupulous as io the weans of making their calling gainful; that here, as else- where, it should have been made an object to suit every descrip- tion of customers with the commodity which their tastes re- quired. For a similar reason, but more perhaps, from the tincture which the earliest romances took from the existing state of manners, extravagant deference has been demanded 260 Tales of my Landlord. ~July, to the omilipotence of love, and not unfrequently there may have been ascribed to it something like a dispensing power. ~Ye do not flow recollect an instance, among the higher class- es of novels, of a fable constructed without its aid. But fif- ty years ago it would not have been thought a very prudent experiment to leave it out of a dramatick plot. Home wrote his tragedy of Douglas, and it was found that a play, and a good play, might be composed, and the heroine be a wife and mother. We incline on the whole to believe that the question as to the character of works of fictitious history is, strictly speak- ing, a question of fact; and that if there are works of this description, honestly designed and executed with judgment, they form a large accession not more to the stock of harm- less entertainment, than to the means of culture of the under- standing and the heart. We wish the more that we had greater confidence in this belief, because, whatever be their influence, it is destined, we conceive, to do much towards de- termining the character of the age. If they really may work extensive good, the time appears to have come for their ben- efits to be realized. They have gained a circulation not paralleled by any other class of compositions in the history of letters. The saying of one who was no novice in the sci- ence of human nature, that lie cared not what laws a peo- ple were governed by, so he had but the making of their bal- lads, may at this time be applied with yet fuller significance to them. And what is very auspicious, as they have grown in popularity, they have assumed a higher character. Na- ture has beeti drawn in all its phases as variously shaded by the accidents of country, character, and rank; fidelity to the original has been made a strict condition of celebrity, and the views exhibited of life have become almost beyond comparison more philosophical and just; love has been ~)ractically admitted to form but a part, and not a very large part, of the concerns of existence; and for the most part pu- rity of moral design is accounted a thing of moment. It is among the distinguishing glories of the age, that some of the most accomplished minds it has produced have not disdained to employ themselves, in this region of literary ground, in making the homely rules of ordinary duty intelligible and interesting to the least improved, and recommending them by the attractions in which the eloquence of simplicity and feel- irtg is always able to array them. Romance, so to speak, has Tales of my Landlord. ~61 left the castle and the forest for the cottage and the work- shop, and its path may be traced by a line of fei~tility and verdure. We ascribe no small part of the generally un- proved state of morals among the labouring classes in the moth- er country, to tbe condescending exertions of Miss Edgewtirth and Miss More. The Cheap Repository Tracts, especially, of the latter most estimable person, by their influence in promoting habits of ecoiiomy and industry, did as much, we apprehend, towards stemming the revilutionary torrent, when it tlireat~ ened the overthrow of rational liberty in its last transatlan- tick retreat, as all the precautions of Pitt, and the terrours of the kings attorney-general. Strange as the scheme would have been thought a century ago, it has even been attempted in this projecting age to make fictitious history a vehicle of religious truth.* The experiment has not yet been fairly tried, and it would be but presumption to pre- dict its failure. We think there is less danger that the union will be found impracticable, than that, with what- ever success it be effected, such works will not find read- ers. Those who might be expected to favour them most will be disposed to resort rather to other sources of instruc- tion; and it is not to be disguised that the mass of novel- readers are readers only for amusement. There is danger of driving them away by so grave a pretension. Their mor- al nutriment, to be received, must be all insinuated. They must he taught and amended, while they imagine they are only entertained. The author of Waverley, of Guy Mannering, and the An- tiquary, is among the most popular novelists of this age of nov~ els. He has reached this rank over obstacles such as would have been fatal to any but a genius of the highest order. His professed purpose has been to illustrate at different stages a state of manners formed in the conflict of causes very pecu~ liar,the remnant of the baronial system on the one hand, and the encroachments of a fanatical spim4t of revolution on the other ;manners marked by singularities as striking as the influences under which they grew were opposite, and of which scarce a ruin remains to shew the truth of the likeness. It was further necessary that much of the business of the c~lebs, Discipline, Self-control, et al. h. m~ Vol. V. No. ~. $4 Tales 0f my Landlord. [3uly, scene should be conducted in a barbarous di~Ject, fainilia~r to but few even in the sister kingdom, and little better than heathen Greek to all heyQnd the limits of the empire. These are difficulties inseparable from the design; but as if reckless of them, and disdaining to distrust his powers, this writer has wilfully heaped impediments in the way of his success, and ventured, without apology and with some- thing like defiance, on faults such as only the most signal ex- cellencies could vedeem. He has great resources, but evi- d~ently little care in their selection. His stories interest, not generally from the nature of the incidents that compose them, still less from the skill with which they are combined, but from the spirit, the eloquence, with which they are told. The reader finds himself instantly engaged, and is hurried forward with such speed, as leaves hijn no time to look about him, and observe that he journeys niuch through by-paths, and that great part of his travel helps him but little on his way. This is less the fault of Waverley than of the other works; but in all it is more or less matter of regret, when, as we grow more familiar with the ground, we find ourselves at leisure to remark it. Another great blemish is the not imufrequent introduction of the marvellous into a plot of re- cent times, if not to help out the catastrophe, at any rate to multiply the instruments of interest, and so secure an addi- tional class of admirers, not indeed of the most discriminat- lug character ;an errour only differing in degree from that of a dramatist, who should group the furies of Euripides with the Merry Wives of Windsor, or introduce the ghost in Adelmuorn into the Highland Reel. To cut short the cata- logue of his ill deserts,his dialogue, though equalling in its best estate the happiest efforts of Miss Burney or Miss Edgeworth, and throwing all others quite into the shade, yet not seldom approaches too nearly, if it does not often invade the limits of vulgarity. These are the faults of this author, and such a load they make as only a literary Atlas could support. Abundant as they are, they scarcely qualitY the praise extorted by his mnerits~ Ilis carelessness, while it leaves the critick much to cavil at, does not allow the reader f~r amusement only, to dis- cover that he has any thing to regret. It is always the carelessness of a thoroughly accomplished man, conscions that be he negligent as lie will, he cannot but he graceful. His unequalled power of giving interest, by his manner of Qti3 18W.] Tales of m~, Landlord. narrating it, to a story for the most part not skilfully can- trived, is not more admirable than his fertility in illustra- tion the vivacity of his descriptions of scenery and man- ners, and his philosophical insight into the mysteries of character and motives as they are mutually modified. The state of society he describes is one, of which we not only know absolutely nothing, but so widely remote from our own, or any we have read of elsewhere, that it is no easy thing to form a conception of it as really existing, when ever -~o happily described. Yet we cannot but observe that it supposes no ingredients, other than what actually belong to the human composition; and no room is left us to doubt of its reality, for if nature did not furnish the study, how came the picture so spirited and consistent, yet at the same time so peculiar? His descriptions of natural objects are all poe- try. In this art he never had his superiour. And all these other excellencies are set off and adorned by the inimitable versatility, the strength, liveliness, humour, and pathos of his dialogue ;~we use the word al~vays not in its most re- stricted technical sense ;never flagging in circumstances the most unpropitious; preserving with scrupulous nicety the proprieties of situation and character, and as It shifts from grave to gay, alternately convulsing time reader with laugh- ter, and melting him to tears. We have stated what seem to us the most prominent pecu- liarities of the author of these extraordinary productions. They all, blemishes and beauties, appear in so marked a manner in the work before us, that we have no hesitation iii asserting its fraternal affinity with them, though no hint is given on the title page of such relationship. It consists of two tales; the first of which occupies but half of one of the volumes. The scene is laid in Scotland, a hundred years after the union of the crowns. The title of the black dwarf is fur- nished by the principal character. We shall not give the story, both because we wish to induce all our readers, who have not already done so, to gather it for themselves, and because, as we should tell it, it would be a very unfair sample of the mer- it of the work. In our hands, we fear it would be likely to assume something like the attitude of the adversary at the ear of Eve, and only an enchanted touch could swell it into fair proportion. In other points it does not shame its de- scent, and there are touches of pathos in it, not unworthy of the author of Waverley. 264 Tales of my Landlord. [July, The personage, who gives his name to the tale, first ap- pears to Earnscliff and ElIiotwe must speak as if they and our readers were already acquaintedas they are pass- ing borne from a hunt over a desert heath. To this spot, some popular legends were attached, which quelled the spir- its of the latter, his courage being, like Ajaxs, of that dis- creet sort, which bears itself most bravely in the day-light. The object which alarmed the young farmer in the middle of his valorous protestations, startled for a moment even his less prejudiced companion The moon, which had arisen during their conversation, was, in the phrase of that country, wading or strug ling with clouds, and shed only a doubtful and occasional light. By one of her beams, which streamed upon the great granite col- umn, to which they now approached, they discovered a form, ap- parently human, but of a size much less than ordinary, which mo. ve(l slowly among the large gray stones, not like a person intend- ing to journey onward, hut with the slow, irregular, flitting move- ment of a being who hovers aroun(l some spot of melancholy re- collection, uttering also, from time to time, a sort of indistinct muttering sound. The height of the object, which seemed even to decrease as they approached it, seemed to be under four feet, and its form, so far as the imperfect light afforded them the means of discerning, was very nearly as broad as loi~g, or rather of a spherical shape, which could only he occasioned by sinne strange personal deformity. The young sportsman hailed this extraordinary appearance twice without receiving any a~swer, or attending to the pinches by which his companion emideavoured to intimate that their best course was to walk, on, without giving farther disturbance to a bein~ of such singular and preternatural exteriour. To the third repeated de- mand of Who are you? What do you here at this hour of night ~ a voice replied, whose shrill, uncouth, and dissonant tones made Elliot step two paces hack and startled even his com- panion, Pass on your ~ and ask nought at them that ask nought at you. What do you do here so far from shelter? Are you benight- ed on your journey? Will you follow us home? (God forbid, ejaculated Hobbie Elliot, invo!untarily,) an(l I will give ~ycu a lodging. 1 would sooner lodge by myself in C deepest of the Tarras- flow, again whispered Hobbie. Pass on your way, rejoined the figure, the harsh tones of his voice still more exalted by passion. I want not your gui- danceI want not your lodgingit is five years since my head vv~s under a human roof, anI trust it was for the last time. 1817.] Tales of my Landlord. 265 He is mad, said Earnscliff He has a look of auld Hum- phrey Ettercap, the tinker, that perished in this very moss about five years syne, answered his superstitious companion; but Humphrey was na that awfu big in the bouk. Pass on your way, reiterated the object of their curiosity, the breath of your human bodies poisons the air around ~ the sound of your human voices goes through my ears like sharp bodkins. Lord safe us! said Hobbie, that the dead should bear sic fearfu ill-will to the living!his saul mann be in a puir way, Im jealous. Come, my friend, said Earnscliff, you seem to suffer un- der some strong affliction; common humanity will not allow us to leave you here. Common humanity! exclaimed the being, with a scornful laugh that sounded like a shriek, where got ye that catchword. that noose for woodcocks that common disguise for man-traps that bait which the wretched idiot who swallows, will soon find covers a hook with barbs ten times sharper than those you lay for the animals which you murder for your luxury! I tell you, my friend, again replied Earnscliff, you are in- capable to judge of your own situationyou will perish in this wilderness, and we must, in compassion, force you along with us. Ill hae neither hand nor foot int, said Hobbie; let the ghaist take his am way, for Gods sake. My blood be on my own head, if I perish here, said the fig- ure; and, observing Enrnscliff meditating to lay hold on him, he added, and your blood be upon yours, if you touch hut the skirt of my garimments to infect me with the taint of mortality! The moon shone more brightly as he spoke thus, and Earnscliff observed that he held out his right hand armed with some ~vea- p0mm of offence, which glittered in the cold ray like the blade of a long knife, or the barrel of a pistol. It would have been ma(lnes to persevere in his attempt upon a being thus armed, and holding such desperate language, especially as it was plain he would have but little aid from his companion, who had fairly left him to settle matters with the apparition as he could, and had proceeded a few paces on his way homeward. Earnscliff, therefore, turned and followed Hobbie, after looking back towards the supposed mani- aek, who, as if raised to frenzy by the interview, roamed wildly areund the great stone, exhausting his voice in shrieks an(l impre- cations that thrilled wildly along the waste heath. They visit him again the following day, amid his unpre- possessing exteriour is described more particularly. ~26ti Tales of my Landlord. The being whom he addressed raised his eyes with a ghastly stare, and getting up from his stooping posture, stood before them in all his native deformity. His head was of uncommon size, covered with a fell of shaggy hair, partly grizzled with a~ e; his eye-brows, shaggy and prominent, overhung a pair of sinai, dark, piercing eyes, set far back in their sockets, that rolled with a portentous wildness, indicative of partial insanity. The rest of his features were of the coarse, rough-hewn s tamp, with which a painter would equip a giant in a romance, to which was added, the wild, irregular, and peculiar expression so often seen in the countenances of those whose persons are deformed. His body, thick and square, like that of a man of middle size, was mounted upon two large feet; but nature seemed to have forgotten the legs and the thighs, or they were so very short as to be hidden by the dress which we wore. His arms were long and brawny, fur- nished with two muscular hands, and were uncovered in the ea- gerness of his labour, were shagged with coarse black hair. It seemed as if nature had originally intended the separate parts of his body to be the members of a giant, hut had afterwards capri- ciously assigned themn to the person of a dwarf, so ill did the length of his arms and the iron strength of his frame correspond with the shortness of his stature. His clothing was a sort of coarse brown tunick, like a monks frock, girt round him with a belt of seal-skin. On his head he had a cap made of badgers skin, or some other rough fur, which added considerably to the grotesque effect of his whole appearance, and overshadowed fea- tures, whose habitual expression seemed that of sullen malignant misanthropy.~~ It is hard to excite in a good mind any feelings in unison with a character like this. The attempt, from its difficulty, ~vas worthy of the author; and if he has not fully succeeded, he has not wholly failed. The misanthropy has nothing dtstinguishing; it is the misanthropy of Timon and Pen- ruddock. But Timon is repulsive; nothing reconciles us to him but his death; and Peuruddock, we think, has been made inconsistent, in order to put him within the range of sympa- thy. No such fault is here. Inj uries are accumulated, till we are forced to make allowance for reaction; and we are taught to pity till we are almost ready to forgive. The caus- es which bowed down, and finally crushed a proud and ar- dent mind, are very powerfully imagined. He was born to all time gifts of rank and fortune; with feelings keen, disin- terested and confiding, and an understanding capable of any culture. The sense of his deformity, however, haunted him Tates of m~, Landlord. 267 like a phantom. He felt more than all the severity of his destiny, and determined to unite himself with the human family, by becoming a universal benefactor. His generosity was profuse, but indiscriminating; the bounty which flowed from a source so capricious was often abused, and his confi- dence frequently betrayed; the domestick whom he had. bred from infancy, made mouths at him as he stood behind his chair; the scoff of the rabble, and the sneer of the yet more brutal vulgar of his own rank, was to him agony and break- ing on the wheel. His wounded affections had been taugh1~ to cling about one, who appeared able to estimate, worthy to deserve, and willing to requite them; and the second place in them was held by a friend, whom assiduous kindness seem- ed to have rendered grateful. His marriage, for which the day had been appointed, was delayed by the death of his pa- rents. The second period fixed on had nearly arrived, when in an evil hour, at the earnest request and intreaty of his friend, they joined a general party, where men of different political opinions were mingled. A fray ensued, and he saved his friends life at the expense of that of his antagonist. The consequence was a years imprisonment. The irrita- bility of a diseased imagination was now aggravated by the inflictions of remorse; and he only lived in the hope of form- ing, with his wife and friend, a society, encircled by which he might dispense with more extensive communication with the world. Before the term of his imprisonment expired, his mistress was the wife of him, in whose defence he had in- curred the punislunent and- the memory of murder. It was as if the last cable, at which the vessel rode, had suddenly parted, and left her abandoned to all the wild fury of the tempest. A fit of insanity tendered temporary confinement necessary, but it was needlessly protracted, to retain the management of his estates. When released at length, free- dom and wealth were unable to restore the equipoise of his mind, over which remorse and misanthropy now assumed in appearance an unbounded authority. This appears to us a most striking and original conception. A high, generous spirit,courting sympathy,living on af- fection,yet pent within a covering, whose uncouthness en- tails on it those evils, more intolerable than any which make the stated penalty of guiltderision and disgust; struggling to assert its claim to kindred with humanity, by acts of pro- fuse and undistinguishing kinduess. and finding atrocity ~263 Tales of my Landlord. ~July, where it looked for devotedness, and desertion where it had reposed its hopes, presents an object of unmingled misery, which finds its way to the bottom of the heart. We suppose no one reads this tale, but regrets that a lar- ger edifice has not been raised on so noble a foundation as the leading character had furnished. Besides what we have noticed, there are parts of rare merit. The contrast be- t~veen Hobbies elation of heart as he goes home for the re- ward of his honest attachment, and his despair when he finds how different a reception had been prepared for him, is drawn with great effcct. His generous anxiety to pacify the indig- nation of the Recluse, at his involuntary offence, and his pi- ous care, when his friend had disappeared, of every thing ~vhich he had loved, are strokes of native pathos. For the characters~tlie Recluse, Hobbie, and the matron have mo- nopolized the powers of the author. That of Mr. Vere, we apprehend, is a combination of qualities, which can scarcely come together in nature. Too little is seen of the heroine, and that little does not make us impatient for more. Earns- cliff is a good marksman, but almost as dull a lover as Dc Wilton, oi Malcolm Gr~me; and Ratcliffe, Mareschal, Sir Frederick, Miss Ildert3n and the rest, are much such com- positions as natur& manufactures, when she makes a gross. We have only room for one extract more. It decribe~ the first meeting of Elliot and his family after their misfortune. The whole scene from which it is taken is perhaps the most touching in the book. The meeting between Hobbie and his family was in the highest degree affecting. His sisters threw themnselve~ upon him, and al- most stifled him with their caresses, as if to prevent his looking round to (ti5tingui~h the absence of one yet more beloved. God help thee, my son! He can h~lp, when worldly trust is a broken reed.~Such was the welcome of the matron to her un- fortun:1te grandson. He looked eagerly round, holding two of his siste& hy the hand, while the third hung about hjs neck. I see you: I count you: my grandmother, Lillias, Jean, and An- not; but where is he hesitated, and then continued, as with an effort, Where is Grace? Surely this is not a time to hide herself frae me: theres nae time for daffing now. 0 brother! and Our poor Grace! was the only answer his questions could procure, till his grandmother rose up, and gently disengaging him from the weeping girls, led him to a seat, and, with the afl~cting serenity which sincere piety, like ~il sprinkled 1817.] ~69 Tales of my Landlord. on the waves, can throw over the most acute feelings, she said My bairn, when thy grandfather was killed in the wars, and left me with six orphans around me with scarce bread to eat, or a roof to cover us, I had strength,not of mine own: but I had strength given me to say, the Lords will be done! My son, our peaceful house was last night broken into by moss-troopers, armed and masked; they have taken and destroyed all, and carried off our dear Grace ;pray for strength to say, His will be done. Mother! mother! urge me not; I cannot: not now: I am~a sinful man, and of a hardened race..Masked! armed! Grace carried off! Gie me my sword, and my fathers knapsack: I will have vengeance, if I should go to the pit of darkness to seek it! 0 my bairn! my bairn! be patient under the rod. Who knows when he may lift his hand off from us? Young Earnscliff, heaven bless him, has taen the chase, with Pavie of Stenhouse, and the first comers. I cried to let house and plenishing burn, and follow the reivers to recover Grace, and Earnsclitl and his men were ower the Fell within three hour after the deed. God bless him; hes a real Earnsclilf: he~s his fathers true son: a leal friend. A true friend, indeed; God bless him! exclaimed Bobbie lets on and away, and take the chase after him. 0, my child, before you run on danger, let me hear you but say, His will be done! Urge me not, mother, not now. He was rushing out, when, looking back, he observed his grandmother make a mute attitude of affliction. He returned hastily, threw himself into her arms, and said, Yes, mother, I can say, His will be done, since it will comfort you. May He go forth: may He go forth with you, my dear bairn; and 0, may He give you cause to say on your return, His name be praised! Farewell, mother! farewell, my dear sisters! exclaimed El- liot, and rushed out of the ~ The scene of the second tale also, which is called, for rea- sons somewhat ~vhimsical, Old Mortality, is laid in Scot- land, and chiefly in the reign of Charles II. It begins with the assassination of the Archbishop of St. Andrews, by a par- ty of Coveiianters, and terminates with the battle of Kilhie- crankie in the first year of William III. Of this period, how- ever, of about ten years, all vxcept two or three montb~ is passed by the principal character on the continent, and we know nothing further of what occurs to any of the persons concerned during his absences than they sec fit mutually to Vol. V. No. 2. 35 270 Tales of niy Laudldrd. (July, communicate at his return. Morton, the fortunate suitor of the piece, and of course by prescriptive right the hero, is the orphaii son of a soldier, who had served Cromwell against the king, and afterwards the king against the rebels. He had beezi educated in presbyterian principles, and in littte else, by a careful uncle, who loved the kirk better than the king, the king as well as the covenant, and his coffers bet- tei~ thaii either. Possessing, however, a noble spirit, and an understanding so happily constituted as to be able to neutral- ize the usual effects of a faulty education, the mind of young Morton had advanced with rapid, though timid steps, and he becanie ~vise and accomplished, without having suspected it. He had inherited from his father an undaunted cour- age, and a firm and uncompromising detestation of oppres- sion, whether in politicks or religion. But his enthusiasm was unsullied by fanatical zeal, and unleavened by the sourness of the puritanical spirit. The paralyzing sense of dependence, however, and an ingenuous diffidence, the natur- al consequence in such a mind of limited facilities for expand.~ ing itself, had, hitherto, hung like a clog about his virtue, fet- tering though unseen, and heavy, though it clanked not. Thus barred from the path of honour, he had turned into that of love, arid found a more enlivening warmth than that of the sun of glory in the bright blue eyes of Edith Bellenden. Returning from a tvappen-schaw, or county muster, at which his first ambition had been gratified by winning the proud title of Captain of the popinjay, Morton falls in with Balfour of Burley, fresh from the murder of the primate. As they come to a pass, by which Burley had expected to gain the hills, and join the covenanters who bad collected in some force, he is ~ arned that the path is ambushed, and that no means of safety are left him, but in concealment for the miight. Unwilling to bring (langel on his uncle or thrmn any connex- ions for himself with so desperate an adventurer, Morton hes- itates how to act, till the stern fanatick demands his protec- ti~ii as due to the preserver of his fathers hif~. In the course of a conversation, in which Burley attempts before they part to draw his host over to the discontented party, the distrust which sometimes comes over him of the reality of that influ- ence, under which he professes to act, is thus expressed. Young man, returned Balfour, you are already weary of me, and would he yet more so, perchance, did you know the task ~817.] Tales of my Iitndlor& 27~ upon which I have been lately put. And I wonder not that it should be so, for there are times when I am weary of myself. Think you notit is a sore trial for flesh aiid blood to be called upon to execute the righteous judgments of Heaven, while we are yet in the body, and retain that blinded sense and sympathy for carnal suffering which makes our own flesh thrill when we strike a gash upon the body of another? Arid think you, that when some prime tyrant has been removed from his place, the instru- ments of his punishment can at all times look back on their share in his downfall with firm and unshaken nerves? Must they not sometimes question even the truth of that inspiration which they have felt and acted undei? Mi~st they not sometimes doubt the ori~in of that stron~ impulse with ~vhich their prayers for heav- enly direction under difficulties have been inwardly ai;swered and confirmed, and confuse, in their disturbed apprehensions, the r~s- ponses of truth itself with some strong delusion of the enemy Weary of wearing out a life without object, and witnessing publick miseries which he cannot redress, Morton resolves to go abroad, and win his fortune by his sword. The opposi- tion of his uncle discourages him for the present, and the fol- lowing day his motions are left still less at his own disposal. The family of Milnwood are surprised by avisit from a par- ty of the life-guards, under the command of Sergeant Both- well, who afterwards makes some figure in the story. Mor- ton confesses that, ignorant of the crime of his guest, he had given shelter, unknown to his uncle, to one of the proscribed assassins of the primate. But a timely application of the guineas of the thrifty laird is about to procure his release, when the strenuous testimony raised against the man of sin, even the scarlet man, by an ancient denizen of the lands ofTlllietudlem,the feudal residence of the grandmother of Edith,.who had been dismissed from that loyal house for contumacy, and found shelter under the roof-tree of Miln- wood, leaves the complaisant officer ho pretence for selling an indulgence, and Morton is carried away prisQner to Til- lietudlem. By the resources of her handmaid, Edith discovers the stranger, who at his own request had been disguised9 to be no other than him she would least have wished it to be; and with the ready ingenuity of love, contrives ~vithout disclosing her own interest in the result to call to the castle her itncle, Major Behlenden, from whose friendship for Morton she con~ ceived some hope. The following morning Colon~ Grahatn~ 27~ Tales of my Landlord.: [Jnly, of Clavei~house arrives at the tower, at the head of his reg- iment of dragoons, on his way to disperse the rebels on Lou~ don Hill. The description of this heroick butcher, better known in history by his title of Viscount Dundee, is in the best manner of the author. Grahame of Claverhouse was in the prime of life, rather low of stature, and slightly, though elegantly, formed; his gesture, lan- guage, an(4 manners, were those of one whose life had been spent among the noble an~l the gay. his features exhibited even femin- ine regularity. An oval face, a straight and weliformed nose, dark hazel eyes, a complexion just sufficiently tinged with brown to save it from the charge of eWeminacv, a short upper lip, curved upward like that of a Grecian statue, and slightly shaded by small niustachios of light brown, joined to a protusion of long curled locks of the same colour, which fell, down on each side of his face, contributed to form such a countenance as liinners love to paint an~1 ladies to look upon The severity of his character, as well as the higher attiibutes of undaunted and enterprising valour which even his enemies were compelled to admit, lay concealed under an exteriour which seemed adapted to the court or the saloon rather than to the field. The same gentleness and gaiety of expression which reigned in his features seemed to inspire his actions and gestures; and, on the whole, he was generally es~teemed, at first sight, rather qualified to be the votary of pleasure than of ambition. But under this soft exteriour was hidden a spirit unbounded in daring and in aspir- ing, yet cautious and prudent as that of Machiavel himself. Pro- found in politicks, and imbued, of course, with that disregard for individual rights which its intrioucs usually generate, this leader was cool and collected in d~ing~r, fierce and ardent in pursuing success, careless of death himself, and ruthless in inflicting it up- on others. Such are the characters formed in times of civil dis- cord, when the highest qualities, perverted by party spirit, and inflamed by habitual opposition, are too often combined with vices and excesses which deprive them at once of their merit and of their lustre. Mrs. Dennisons talents are again put in requisition, and Edith visits her lover in his dungeon. Claverhouse resolves to shew him no mercy. The renionstrances of Major Bal- lenden, and the entreaties of- Lady Margaret,wh6, with all her antipathy to whigs, was not so blood-thirsty as, she would have it believed,are equally unavailing, and Morton is at last with difficulty rescued by the influence of Lord E lrlr.] Tales of my Lan~Ilord. 27~3 vandale, his rival for the favour of Miss Bellenilen, exerted ~t her instance. He is carried away prisoner with the regi- ment, as well as Mause, whose testimony had brought bun into thrall, and who, with her son Cuddie, and the pre. cious Mr. Gabriel Kettledrummle,~ had been brought off as trophies by a party employed in the dispersion of a conven- tide. The parson and the old woman, being in the good judgment of Serjeant Bothwell the fittest company for each other, are indulged in pursuing their journey side by side. They do not go far before the full cauldron of their zeal boils over. At first, the aged pair of sufferers had been contented to con- dole with each other in smothered expressions of complaint and indignation; ~ut the sense of their injuries became more pungent- ly aggravated, as they communicated with each other, and they hecame at length unable to suppress their ire. Woe, woe, and a threefold woe unto you, ye bloody and vi. olent persecutors! exclaimed the Reverend Gabriel Kettle- drummle Woe, and threefold woe unto you, even to the break- ing of seals, the blowing of trumpets, and the pouring forth of vials! Ay.aya black cast to a their ill-faard faces, and the out. side othe l& of to them at the last day,~ echoed the shrill counter- tenour of Mause, falling in like the second part of a catch. I tell you, continued the divine, that your rankings and your ridingsyour neighings and your prancmgsyonr bloody, barbarous, and inhuman crueltiesyour benumbing, deadenino, and debauching the consciences of poor creatures by oaths, sou~?- damning and self-contradictory, have risen from earth to Heaven like a foul and hideous outcry of perjury for hastening the wrath tocomehugh; hugh! hugh! And I say, cried Mause, in the same tone, and nearly at the same time, that wi this auld breath omine, and its sair taen down wi the asthmaticks and this rough trot.. - Deil gin they wad gallop, said Cujidie, wad it but g~r her baud her tongue. Wi this auld and brief breath, continued Mause, will I testify against the backslidings, defections, defalcations, and de- clinings of the landagainst the grievances and the causes of wrath. Peace, I prytheePeace, good woman, said the preacher, who had just recovered from a violent fit of coughing, and found his own anathema borne down by Mauses better wind, peace, and take not the word out of the mouth of a servant of the altar. ~74 Tales ~?f my Landlord. [July, .1 say, I uplift my voice and tell ye, that before the playis played outay, before this very sun gaes down, ye sail learn that neither a desperate Judas, like your prelate Sharpe thats gone to his place; nor a sanctuary-breaking Holofernes, like bloody-minded Claver- house; nor an ambitious Diotrephes, like the lad Evandale; no~ a covetous and wand-following Demas, like him they ca Senjeant Bothwell, that makes every wifes plack and her meal-ark his am; neither your carabines, nor your pistols, nor your broadswords, nor your horses, nor your saddles, bridles, sarcingles, nose-bags, nor niartingales, shall resist the arrows that are whetted and ih e bow that is ent against you. That shall they never, I trow, echoed Mause; castaways are they ilk ane o thembesoms of d~struction, fit oni to e flung into the fire when they have sweepit the filth out o the temple-whips of small cords knotted for the chastisement of those wha like their warldly gudes and gear better than the Cros~ or the Covenant, but when that warks done, only meet to mak latchets to the deils brogues Fiend hae me, said Cuddie, addressing himself to Morton, if I dinna think our mither preaches as well as the minister!. But its a sair pity o his boast, for it aye conies on just when hes at the best ot, and that lang routing he made air this morning is sair again him too.Deil an I care if he wad roar her dumb, and than he wad haet a to answer for himselIts lucky the roads rough, and the troopers are no taking muckle tent to what they say wi the rattling o the horses- feet; but an we were anes on saft grund, well hear news o a this. Cuddie~ conjectures were but too true. The words of the prisoners had not been mueh attended to while drowned by the clang of the horses hoofs on a rough and stony road; but they flow entered upon the moorland, where the testimony of the two zealous -captives lacked this saving accompaniment. And, ac- cordingly, no sooner had their steeds begun to tread heath and green sward, and Gabriel Kettledrummle had again raised his voice with, Also I uplift my song like that of a pelican in the wilderness And 1 mine, had issued from Mause, like a sparrow on the house-tops XVhen, Hello, ho! cried the corporal from the rear; rein up your tongues, or ill clap a martingale on them. I will not peace at the commands of the profane, said Ga- briel. ~Nor I neither, said Mause, for a biddiiig of no earthly pots- herd, though it be painted as red as a brick of the Tower of Ba- hel, and caitsel a corporal. 1817.] Tales !fm!, L~mdiord~ This may serve for a specimen of the authors comick powers. The speeches of the same zealous testifier which at MilnWood lost Morton his liberty are still better, but we cannot give them entire, and a selection would be difficult.. Pursuing their march, they come in view of the position of the insurgents on Loudon Hill, and a battle ensues, in which the kings troops are totally routed. It is described with in- finite spirit. We have not room for the whole but cannot forbear to extract what follows. Bothwell had his own disadvantages to struggle with. His detour to the right had not escaped the penetrating observation of Burley, who made a corresponding movement with the left wing of the inountedJ insurgents, so that wh en Bothwell, after riding a considerable way up the valley, found a place at which the hog could be passed, though with some difficulty, he perceived he was still in front of a superiour enemy. His daring character was in no degree checked by this unexpected opposition. Follow me, my lads, he called to his men; never let it be said that we turned our backs before these canting rouud -beads. With that, as if inspired by the spirit of his ancestors, he shouted, Bothwell! I3othwell! and throwing himself into the morass, he strnggled throng it at the head of his party, and attack- ed that of Burley with such fury, that he drove them back above a pistol-shot, killing three men with his own hand. Burley, pe~ celving the consequences of a defeat on his point, and that his iqen, though more numerous, were unequal to the regulars in using their arms and managing their horses, threw himself across Both- wells way, and attacked him hand to hand. Each of the com- batants was conside ~ed as the champion of his respective party, and a result ensued hiore usual in romance than in real story. Their followers, on either side, instantly paused, and looked on as if the fate of the day were to be decided by the event of the combat between these two redoubted swordsmen. The comba- tants themselves seemed of the same opinion; for, after two or three eager cuts and pushes had been exchanged, they paused, as if by joint consent, to recovem- the breath which preceding exer- tions had exhausted, and to prepare for a duel in whch each seemed conscious he had met his match. You are the murdering villian, Burley, said Bothwell, grip- ing his sword firmly, and setting his teeth close. you escaped me once, but.(he swore an oath too tremendous to be written (lown) thy head is worth its weight of silver, and it shall go home at my saddle-bow, or my saddle shall go home empty for me. Yes, replied Burley, with stern and gloomy deliberation, I am that John Balfour who promised to lay thy head where TaLes of in~j LaiaLlord. ~JuIy, thou shouldst never lift again; and God so do to me, and more also, if I do not redeem my word. Then a bed of heather, or a thousand marks! said Bothwell, striking at Burley with his full force. The sword of the Lord and of Gideon! answered Balfour, as he parried and returned the blow. There have seldom met two combatants more equally match- ed in strength of body, skill in the manao~ernent of their weapons and horses, determined courage, aud unre~Ienting hostility. After exchanging many desp8rate blows, each receiving and inflicting several wounds, though of no great consequence, they grappled together as if with the desperate impatience of mortal hate, an4 Bothwell, seizing his enemy by the shoulder-belt, while the grasp of Balfour was upon his own collar, they came headlon~ to the grnund. The companions of Burley hastened to his assistance, but were repelled by the dragoons, and the battle became again general. But nothing could withdraw the attention of the com- batants from each other, or induce them to unclose the deadly clasp, in which they rolled together on the ground, tearing, strug- gling, and foaming, with the inveteracy of thorough-bred bull- dogs. Several horses passed over them in the melee without their quitting hold of each other, until the sword-arm of Bothwell was broken by the kick of a charger. He then relinquished his grasp with a deep and suppressed groan, and both combatants started to their feet. Bothwells right hand dropped helpless by his side, but his left griped to the place where his da~gger hung; it had es- caped from the sheath in the struggle,..and ,-with a look of miii.- gled rage and despair, he stood totally defenceless, as Balfour, with a laugh of savage joy, flourished his sword aloft, and then passed it throegh his adversarys body. Bothwell received the thrust without fallingit had only grazed on his ribs. He at- tempted no farther defence, but looking at Burley with a grin of deadly hatred, exclaimed, Base peasant churl, thou hast spilt the blood of a line of kings! Die, wretch !.-.-.die,. said Balfour, redoubling the thrust with brtter aim; and, setting his foot on Bothwells body as he fell, he a third time transflxeJ him with his sword. Die, blood-thirsty dog! die, as thou hast lived !.die, like the beasts that perish... hoping nothing.believing nothing. And FEARING nothing! said Bothwell, coIlectin~ the last effort of respiration to utter tl~ese desperate words, an~ expiring as soon as they were spoken. The result of the baffle sets the prisoners at large, and gives Morton opportunity of repaying his debt to LoNi Evan ~i8l7i Tales of m~g Landiord. dale. The certainty that a civil struggle cannot now be avoided, the memory of his private wrongs, and the hope of being able to do something towards relieving the burden of publick distress determine him to hesitate no longer between honour and loyalty, and to join the party of the insurgents. By the influence of Burley, who has his own purposes to an- swer by the choice, he is appointed one of their commanders. Three preachers, Burley, and the laird of Lancaile, com- pose the rest of the military delegation. The council decide to rest a day to refresh their troops, and then attack the for- tress of Tillietudlem, which Major Bellenden, with the aid of Lord Evandale and a small detachment of the guards, had been prepaijug meanwhile to hold out against them. Tillie- tudlem is assaulted, but without success. Burley and Mor.. ton fail in front, and a diversion attempted under the auspices of Cuddie in the rear is foiled more bloodlessly by the intre- pidity of the versatile Jenny. In this conjuncture the Cove- nanters resolve to attempt it by blockade; and Morton, much to his chagrin, is detached with the body of the army to drive Claverhouse and Lord Ross out of Glasgow, while Burley, with five hundred men, sits down before the tower. The first attack on Glasgow is repulsed; but rather than hazard the event of a second, the cavaliers evacuate the city, and, after an absence of nearly a month, Morton has time to re- turn to the camp before Tillietudlem. He arrives most op.. portunely. During his absence, Burley had made prisoner of Lord Evandale in a sally, and the following morning his life was to be the forfeit, if the garrison did not surrender. Morton, with his sompanion, the Rev. Mr. Poundtext, con- stitute a majority of the military council; and he takes ad- vantage of the authority, thus acquired, to liberate his friend, whom he dismisses with proposals for a pacification to the duke of Moninouth,.and to persuade the gallant Major, who still held out in despite of mutiny and famine, to capitulate on honourable terms.~ From the liberation of his friends of Tillietudlem, Morton returns to his camp at Hamilton upon the Clyde ;* and is followed thither by Burley with a strong party of Camero- nians. Here they soon learn that the duke of Monmouth is The scene of the fine ballad of Scott, beginning~, When princely Hamiltons abode Ennobled Cadyows gothick towr~. Vol. V. No, ~, ~36 Tales of my Landlord. ~27t3 [July, on his march to attack them in their position, and Morton is appointed to the dangerous duty of ascertaining on what terms they may be admitted to treat. He is denounced in his absence as a prelatist, an anti-covenanter, and a nullifi- dian; and he returns from a fruitless mission to find the in- flituated bigots instead of preparing to perform the worldly offices of vindicating their liberties, or selling them dear, engaged with all their might in searching out the causes of wrath and defection. Their fate could not be doubtful. With only three hundred followers, Burley and Morton de- fended the long pass of Bothwell bridge with desperate val- our, till their ammunition failing, it was left open to the as- sailants, and the panick-struck covenanters fell an unresist- ing prey. So terminated the decisive battle of l3othwell bridge, which for a time emboldened the itisolence of ecclesiastical ambition. and drew the halter more closely than ever round the neck of Presbyterian Scotland.Morton and his attendant, pursuing their r~treat from the fatal field, fall in with a party of zealots, by whom his sudden appearance is regarded as no less than a divine intimation that he is to be made an offering to atone for the sins of the congregation. He is directed to expect his fate as soon as the hour which terminates the Sabbath shall have transpired. Only a few moments of horrible sus- pense now remain to him, and the inaniack Mucklewrath has risemi to anticipate their passage, when Claverhouse suddenly surrounds the house with a troop. He had been interested in Mortons favour by Lord Evandale, and warned of his danger by the faithful Cuddie, who in consideration of his orthodox descent from that precious woman Manse Head- rigg, had been excused from sharing the fate of his Erastian master. A fray ensues, in which the troopers are of course victorious, and Morton, dizzy with such strange reverses, is rescued in his utmost peril. The interview between him and Claverhouse is interrupted by a singular occurrence. We shall quote the passage, because it illustrates a remark which we have been forced to make. ~ You would hardly believe, said Claverhouse in reply, that, in the beginning of my military career, I had as much aver- sion to seeing blood spilt as ever man fe!t, it seemed to me to be wrung from my own heart; and yet, if you trust one of those whig fellows, be will tell you I drink a warm cup of it every morn~

Edinburgh Monthly Magazine 278-287

Tales of my Landlord. ~27t3 [July, on his march to attack them in their position, and Morton is appointed to the dangerous duty of ascertaining on what terms they may be admitted to treat. He is denounced in his absence as a prelatist, an anti-covenanter, and a nullifi- dian; and he returns from a fruitless mission to find the in- flituated bigots instead of preparing to perform the worldly offices of vindicating their liberties, or selling them dear, engaged with all their might in searching out the causes of wrath and defection. Their fate could not be doubtful. With only three hundred followers, Burley and Morton de- fended the long pass of Bothwell bridge with desperate val- our, till their ammunition failing, it was left open to the as- sailants, and the panick-struck covenanters fell an unresist- ing prey. So terminated the decisive battle of l3othwell bridge, which for a time emboldened the itisolence of ecclesiastical ambition. and drew the halter more closely than ever round the neck of Presbyterian Scotland.Morton and his attendant, pursuing their r~treat from the fatal field, fall in with a party of zealots, by whom his sudden appearance is regarded as no less than a divine intimation that he is to be made an offering to atone for the sins of the congregation. He is directed to expect his fate as soon as the hour which terminates the Sabbath shall have transpired. Only a few moments of horrible sus- pense now remain to him, and the inaniack Mucklewrath has risemi to anticipate their passage, when Claverhouse suddenly surrounds the house with a troop. He had been interested in Mortons favour by Lord Evandale, and warned of his danger by the faithful Cuddie, who in consideration of his orthodox descent from that precious woman Manse Head- rigg, had been excused from sharing the fate of his Erastian master. A fray ensues, in which the troopers are of course victorious, and Morton, dizzy with such strange reverses, is rescued in his utmost peril. The interview between him and Claverhouse is interrupted by a singular occurrence. We shall quote the passage, because it illustrates a remark which we have been forced to make. ~ You would hardly believe, said Claverhouse in reply, that, in the beginning of my military career, I had as much aver- sion to seeing blood spilt as ever man fe!t, it seemed to me to be wrung from my own heart; and yet, if you trust one of those whig fellows, be will tell you I drink a warm cup of it every morn~ 1817.1 Tales of my Landlord. 279 ing before I breakfast. But, in truth, Mr. Morton, why should we care so much for death, light around us whenever it may? Men die daily.not a bell tolls the hour, but it is the death-note of some one or other, and why hesitate to shorten the span of others, or take over-anxious care to prolong our own? It is all a lottery..when the hour of midnight came you were to dieit has struckyou are alive and safe, and the lot has fallen on these fel- lows who were to murder you..It is not the expiring pang that is worth thinking of in an event that must happen one day, and may befal us on any given momentit is the memory which the sol- dier leaves behind him, like the long train of light that follows the sunken sunthat is all which is worth caring for, which distin- guishes the death of the brave or the ignoble. When I think of death, Mr. Morton, as a thing worth thinking of, it is in the hope of pressing one day some well-fought and hard-won field of battle, and dying with the shout of victory in my earthat would he worth dying for, and more, it would be worth having lived for P At the moment when Grahame delivered these sentiments, his eye glancing with the martial enthusiasm which formed such a prominent feature in his character, a gory figure, which seemed to rise out of the floor of the apartment, stood upright before him, and presented the wild person and hideous features of the maniack, so often mentioned. His face, where it was not covered with blood streaks, was ghastly pale, for the hand of death was on him. He bent upon Claverhouse eyes, in which the grey light of insanity still twinkled, though just about to flit forever, and exclaimed with his usual wildness of ejaculation, Wilt thou trust in thy bow and in thy spear, in thy steed and in thy ban- ner? And shaRnot God visit thee for innocent blood ?Wilt thou glory in thy wisdom, and in thy courage, and in thy might? And shall not the Lord judge thee ?Behold the princes, for whom thou hast sold thy soul to the destroyer, shall be removed from their place, and banished to other lands, and their names shall be a desolation, and an astonishment, and a hissing, and a curse. And thou, who hast partaken of the wine-cup of fury, and hast been drunken and mad because thereof, the wish of thy heart shall be granted to thy loss, and the hope of thine own pride shall destroy thee. I summon thee, John Grahame, to appear be- fore the tribunal of God, to answer for this innocent blood, and the seas besides which thou hast shed. He drew his right hand across his bleeding face, and held it up to Heaven as he uttered these words, which he spoke very loud, and then added more faintly, how long, 0 Lord, holy and thue, dost thou not judge and avenge the blood of thy saints? As he uttered the last word, he fell backwards without an at- tempt to save himself, and was a dead man ere his head touched the floor. 80 ~TaLes of my Landlord. ~July, Our readers will recollect that Dundee, emphatically call- ed the last of the Scots,* actually lost his life,..and with it King James hopes of remounting the throne of his fathers,. in winning the battle of Killiecrankie against Mackay, the general of the prince of Orange.Morton accompanies Claverhouse to Edinburgh, is examined before the privy council, and released through the influence of that officer and Lord Evandale, on condition of leaving Scotland. Something like ten years rolls,.or, as the author will have it, gallops,.over the heads of the subjects and the readers of the story. when a tall handsome stranger, in the uniform of a Major General rides down a winding descent on the southern bank of the Clyde, and stops at a cottage, which proves to be the homestead of Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbevt; Headrigg, our old friends Cuddie and Mrs. Dennison, whose loves and adventures furnish the under-plot of the work. He inquires for the family of Til- lietudlem, and is told that they had lost their estates by means of the instrument by which they held them, having fallen in- to the hands of Burley at the capture of the tower, and that they are now absent for a short time from a farm-house in the neighbourhood at which they usually reside, the proper- ty of Lord Evandale, to whom Edith had been betrothed. In this house, which is committed to the superintendance of the trusty Mrs. Headrigg, he takes up his quarters for the night. The next morning he undesignedly overhears a con- versation between Lord Evandale and Miss Bellenden, who,~ at the request of the former, had met there at an early hour, in which he urges and she dissuades their immediate union. An unwilling consent is at last obtained, and while Lord Evandale retires to summon the aid of the church, Morton,.. as our readers already perceive the stranger to be,leaves his retreat, and unable to refuse himself a last sight of her so loved, now lost to him forever, looks in at a window of the room. She ~raiscs her eyes at the moment, and instantly sinks into a swoon. Edith was no sooner somewhat restored to herself than she begged, in a feeble voice, to be left alone with Lord Evandale. All retreated, Jenny with her usual air of officious simplicity, La- dy Emily and the chaplain with that of awakened curiosity. No His character seems to be the Shibboleth ~f Scotch parties. rhe in. famous is the most respeetfal epithes he is indebted tbr to the Encyclope- dists. 9. 1~1T.] Tales (~fm~ L4iuV.o,tL ~s1 sooner had they left the apartment, than Edith beckoned Lord. Evandale to sit beside her on the couch; her next motion was to take his hand, in spite of his surprised resistance, to her lips; her last was to sink from her seat and clasp his knees. Forgive me, my Lord! she exclaimed. Forgive me !L must deal most untruly by you, and break a solemn engagement. You have my friendship, my highest regard, my most sincere gratitudeYou have more; you have my word and my faith But,O, forgive me, for the fault is not inine.you have not my love, and I cannot marry you without a sin! You dream, my dearest Edith! said Evandale, perplexed in the utmost degree you let your imagination beguile you~ this is but some delusion of an over-sensitive mind; the person whom you preferred to me has been long in a better world, where your unavailing regret cannot follow him, or if it gould, would only diminish his a mess. You are mistaken, Lord Evandale, said Edith solemnly. I am not a sleep-walker or a mad woman. NoI could not have believed from any one what I have seen. But having seen him, I must believe mine own eyes. Seen kim ?seen whom? asked Lord Evandale, in great anxiety. Henry Morton, replied Edith, uttering these two words as if they were her last, and very nearly fainting when she had done so. Miss Bellenden, said Lord Evandale, you treat me like a fool or a child; if you repent your engagement to me, he con- tinued, indignantly, I am not a man to enforce it a ainst your clination; but deal with me as a man, and forbear t~is He was about to go on, when he perceived, from her quivering eye and pallid cheek, that nothing less than imposture was intend- ed, and that by whatever means her imagination had been so im- pressed, it was really disturbed by unaffected awe and terrour. He changed his tone, and exerted all his eloquence in endeavour.. ing to sooth and extract from her the secret cause of such terrour. 1 saw him! she repeated..-. I saw Henry Morton stand at that window, and look into the apartment at the moment I was on the point of abjuring him forever. His face was darker, thin- ner, and paler than it was wont to be; his dress was a horse- mans cloak, and bat looped down over his face; his expressioi~ was like that he wore on that dreadful morning when he was ex- amined by Claverhouse at Tillietudlem. Ask your sister, ask La~ dy Emily, if she did not see him as well as I.-.I know what has called him up--.he came to upbraid me, that, while my heart was with him in the deep and dead sea, I was about to give my hand to another. My Lord, it is ended between you and mebe the Tales of my Landlord. [July, consequences what they will, she cannot marry whose union dis- turbs the repose of the dead. Iii the meantime, iNlorton rushes from the house, and swims his horse over the Clyde, below llothwell bridge. Not hav- ing been seen to cross it, nor on any of the roads, Lord Evan- date finds it impossible to trace him. Mrs. Ileadrigg, who had recognised him, had her own deep-sighted reasons for keeping her knowledge to herself. She was one of those pat- terns of conjugal discretion, who make their own will the guide of their husbands, and poor Cuddie was obliged to conquer his feelings, and hold his tongue. None else in the neighbourhood knew t$at Morton was in being. He was supposed to have been ~vrecked on his passage to Holland, and the secret of his apparition in the garden remained an lin- penetrable mystery. Morton, intent only on securing the happiness of his friends, now that it is all over with his own, determines to search out the retreat of Burley, and wring from him the means by which he has exercised so fatal an influence over the house of Tillietudlem. He finds him in a most picturesque and lonely retreat. The description which we should give, but that our limits are fast contracting, is admirable. Some parts of it, however, put us in mind of the cavern in Guy Mannering. Burley attempts in vain to persuade Morton to renew his claim to the hand of Edith, by promising in the event of his success, and on condition of his joining Claverhouse and him- self against the government, to put him in possession of what other~vise he destined for Basil Olifant, one of the malcon- tent leaders, and next heir of Tillietudlem. He then destroy.s the instrument by which it had been conveyed to Lady Mar- garet, and Mwte,n narrowly escapes his fury by leaping over the dreadful chasm, which separates his hiding place from the opposite bank. Returning to the cottage, where he had found his guide, he overhears a party of troopers talking over a plot, which had been formed between Burley, Olifant, and themselves, to arrest or assassihate Lord Evandale, who was maturing designs against the state, and vas soon to join Claverhouse in the xvestern highlands. He dispatches a mes- senger to Fairy Knowe,whose stimpidity however defeats the design,togive him notice of his danger, and hastens himself to Edinburgh to lead a party of horse to his rescue. He does not arrive till after Lord Evandale has been as- saulted and mortally wounded. The conclusion must be giv- en imm the authors own words. 18174 Tales of my Landl4nd. 283 A hasty call to surrender, in the name of God and King Wi!- ham, was obeyed by all except Burley, who turned his horse and attempted to escape. Several soldiers pursued him by command of their officer, but heing well mounted, only the two headri~~st seemed likely to gain on him. He turned deliberately twice, and discharging first one of his pistols, and then the other, rid himself of the one pursuer by mortally wounding him, and of the other by shooting hi~ horse, and then continued his flight to Bothwell Bridge, where, for his misfortune, he found the gates shut and guarded. Turning from thence, he made for a place where the river seemed passable, and plunged into the stream, the bullets from the pistols and carabines of his pursuers whizzing around him. Two balls took place when he was past the middle of the stream, and he felt himself dangerously wounded. He reined his horse round in the midst of the river, and returned towards the bank he had left, waiving his hand, as if with the purpose of inti- matiwr that he surrendered. The troopers ceased firing at him acco riingly, and awaited his. return, two of them riding a little wax into the river to seize and disarm him. But it presently appeared that his purpose was revenge, not safety. As he ap- proached the two soldiers, he collected his remaining strength, and discharged a blow on the head of one, which tumbled him from his horse. The other dragoon, a strong, muscular man, had in the meanwhile laid hands on him. Burley, in requital, grasped his throat, as a dying tyger seizes his prey, and both losing the saddle in the struggle, came headlong into the river, and were swept down the stream. Their course might be traced by the blood which bubbled up to the surface. They were twice seei~ to rise, the Dutchman striving to swim, and Burley clinging to him in a manner that showed his desire that both should perish. Their corpses were taken out about a quarter of a mile down the river. As Balfours grasp could not have been unclenched with- out cutting off his hands, both were thrown into a hasty grave, still marked by a rude stone, and a ruder epitaph. XV hile the soul of this stern enthusiast flitted to its account, that ot the brave and generous Lord Evandale was also released. Morton had flung himself from his horse upon perceiving his situ- ation,to render his dyin~ friend all the aid in his power. He knew him, for he pressed his ~iand, and, being unable to speak, intimat- ed by signs his wish to be conveyed to the house. 1his was done witVi all the care possible, and he was soon surrounded by his lamenting friends. But the clamorous grief of Lady Emily was far exceeded in intensity by the silent agony of Edith. Un- conscious even of the presence of Morton, she hung over the dy- ing man; nor was she aware that fate, who was removing one faitbftil lover, had rastored another as if from the grave, until ~i~4 cItiks of ~iij L~indiord. [July, Lord Evandale, taking their hands in his, pressed them both ef- fectionately, united them together, raised his face, as if to pray for a blessing on them, and sunk hack and expired in the next moment. We have given thus prolix a summary of this narrative, because, with whatever loss of credit to ourselves, we wished to lead our readers to observe, how much of its attraction it owes to the manner of the writer. It will be seen that the incidents are few; hut they are selected with a tact, which in a writer of fictitious history is a quality second only to in- vention, combined with considerable art, and narrated with an eloquence sustained in every part, and never suffering the interest of the reader to subside. The charm thus thrown over the whole, it would he impossible to describe; but it is needless, it is better felt. The connexion of the incidents with historical events* gives an air of reality, which adds greatly to the interest. The moral is obvious and unex- ceptionable. We do not perceive that any partiality is evinc- ed to either of the conflicting parties, which divide the ac~ tors. We should be at a loss to decide, whether the author is whig or tory; churchman or dissenter. If there are no detached passages so fine as the trial and execution of Fergus in Waverley, the fishers funeral and the scene on the beach in the Antiquary, or some of those in which Meg Merriies appears in Guy Mannering, as a whole we think it not surpassed by either, and decidedly superiour to the last. There are certainly fewer incidents superfluous; they are be- sides for the most part more probable, and their connexion is more intimately preserved. The perfect naturalness of all the traits of manners, is especially worthy of remark. From the obtrusive, though amiable self-complacency of Lady Margaret, describing his most sacred majestys disjune at Tillietudleu, to the little peasant girl, setting down her pitch- er and parting her fair flaxen hair, to answer the stranger with whats your wull? all is painted to the life. Of the characters, that of Claverhouse, as far as we know, is new, and is sketched with a masters hand. Edith is a picture of consummate female loveliness; modest, affectionate, ingenu- Historical truth is closely observed. Instances are the circumstan~ ces of Archbishop Sharpes murder; the details of the battles of Loudon Hill, Glasgow, and BothweJ~l bridge; and even the character and person of Lauderdale, Lord lieutenant. Lain~s Hist. Scotland, Books 7,8, 9,and 10. 1.817.] Tales of my Landlord. 285 otis, disinterested, faithful, timid in action, but intrepid in endurance ;not original, it is true; for happy is it, that any one, who has genius and feeling enough, may draw it from nature, and not have to search far for the model. Cud- die, Mrs. Dennison, Manse and Alison are all chef dueuvres in their way. Their individuality is strictly preserved, yet through it the elements of universal human nature may all along be discerned. Morton is all that in his capacity of hero he can be required to be, brave, generous, and con- stant. Burley is nobly drawn. It is a charactei which, though it has not seldom appeared, has not, that we know, been before introduced into a work of fiction; a sample of that spirit of dark, unrelenting bigotry, which Knox left for his legacy to the persecuted presbyterians of Scotland, graft- ed on a mind overrun with violent passions; justifying its fe- rocity with the plea of being directed by special inspiration; and in the midst of that claim to ridicule or detestation, ~vhich such delusion is commonly understood to bring, still retaining by its grand severity somethiiig of the archangel ruined. As we have spoken of the moral aspect of these works, we will make an exception, though we fear we may seem pre- cise. We find some of the characters in the habit of making compromises between convenience and truth, such as even the moralist of Carlisle, accommodating as lie has been thought to be, would scarcely bear them out in. We do not speak here of the provident Mrs. Dennison, who followed her instinct as a ladys maid, and lied; nor of the faithful Cuddie, in whose honest mind regard for his safety and his master took precedence of less obvious duties; nor of iBalfoiir, Whose scheme of morals involved higher principles than any here concerned; hut of no less personages than the hero ~f one tale, and the heroines of both. We do not care to give exam- ples. They are to be found by whoever may choose to look for them in vol. i. p. 57, ii. pp. 32, and 164, and iv. p. 123. There are others equally exceptionable, but ~ve cannot now refer to them. On the whole, we have been charmed with these works~ If we have many more such, ~ve fear we shall have done with sober history, and take to fiction for improvement no less than pleasure. Yet perhaps we should not say we fear; for we are half inclined to think we should he gainers by the change.We hear that they are again ascribed in Edi~- Vol. V. No. ~ 286 Tales of in~ Landlord. rJtiIy, burgh to Mr. Scott. Many of the same internal marks, ~vhich indicate their common origin, would lead us to be1iev~ them allied to ti1e poems of that fine genius; though from the different nature of the compositions, a comparison cannot be so fairly instituted, nor a result so convincing ftinrmed. Some of the characteristick excellencies of the novelist he holds in common with the poet. We may instance in his power of (lescrilling natural scenery, and of narrating in an imiterest- ing manner a simple story. We should have no doubt, hut that we think we have no warrant for believing Mr. Scott capable of touches of such deep subduing pathos, as are eve- ry where scattered through these works. Tine manner of describing battles, as they appear to a distant spectator, is common, and peculiar, to them. Morton and his fellow- prisoners overlookinig the heath of Drumclog are but tine counterpart of Clara and her guard surveying the field of Flodden. In some of their faults they resemble each other iio less. The passion for unnecessary superhuman agency, in despite of the hoary rule which says dignus sit vindice inodus appears not more in the predictions of Guy Manner- lug, Meg Merrilies and Habakkuk Mucklewrath, than in those of Constance de Beverly in Marmion, the grey-hair- ed sire and grisly priest in the Lady of the Lake, and the Abbot of Tona in the Lord of the Isles. It is the bad fortune of both too that same intruder always gets the start of the leginnate hero of the piece in the regard of the reader. De Wilton, Malcolm, perhaps Redmond, scarcely appear to a transient acqualutamice to deserve their good fortune. Fer- gus almost monopolizes the interest in Waverley, and, poor judges as we are in such matters, had we been in the place of Edith, we are not quite sure but tine day would Imave gone hard with Morton. If Mr. Scott be the author of these worksand we scarce- ly doubt it,he possesses a genius as prolifick and versatile as any on record. It is only about t~~n years since he first introduced himself to the publick. In this time he has pub- lished, besides smaller works, valuable editions of two stamid- ard authors, eight substantial volumes of ~)oetry, of unequal but all of indisputable merit, and five of tine best fictitious narrations of the age. And all this, while occupied in the dim- ties of an active life, and in the midst of studies which have placed him,in one department of iearnimi~, especially,a- inong tine best scholars of his time.-~If we do not err xx idely, be hoNs tine tenure of his immorality most firmly by his novels. 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. INTELLIGENCE AND REMARKS, ,qjj Rey. Tun following notice is from an intelligent correspondent, who obtained his information at Tangier, and may be relied on as correct. About seven years ago, a man came to Tangit~r, who called himself Ali Bey. He was well versed in the Arabick of the Le- vant, and the rites of the Mahometan religion. He said he was the son of a Bey of Egypt, who was, many years snce, forced to escape from his country in disgrace, and take refuge in Italy. There his children were instructed in the sciences of Europe, and privately by their father in the doctrines of Islamism. On his death-bed, the old man enjoined on this son to repair to the empire of Morocco, and perfect himself in the religion of his fa- thers. In the pious fulfilment of this injunction he was now come. He had the costume and manners of a mussulman, attended the mosque regularly, and approved himself an accomplished follower of the prophet. He resided in Tangier about six months, when the emperour sent for him to Mequinez, gave him a wife, and made him a favourite. Au Bey had two sets of fine astronomical instruments, one of which he gave to the cinpe- rour, whose confidence he seemed now unreservedly to possess. But unfortunately one day, from wrong information or miscalcu- lation of his own, he ventured to predict an eclipse. The em- perour sent to Tangier to know if one would take place at the stated time. Mr. Simpson consulted the almanack, and return- ed a negative answer. At length the day arrived, and no eclipse happened. You have deceived me, said the emperour, you are an impostor. Take himn.place him beyond Mount Atlas, and let him never again pass the confines of my empire. He was accordingly carried to the kingdom of Tafitet; from which, however, he contrived to escape, and in process of time lie ar- rived in Mecca. He there made himself of some importance and repute, by means of his talents and address, and was em- ployed in making drawings of the mosques, & c. He afterwamd~ passed to Alexandria, and thence to Europe.

Ali Bey 287-288

1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. INTELLIGENCE AND REMARKS, ,qjj Rey. Tun following notice is from an intelligent correspondent, who obtained his information at Tangier, and may be relied on as correct. About seven years ago, a man came to Tangit~r, who called himself Ali Bey. He was well versed in the Arabick of the Le- vant, and the rites of the Mahometan religion. He said he was the son of a Bey of Egypt, who was, many years snce, forced to escape from his country in disgrace, and take refuge in Italy. There his children were instructed in the sciences of Europe, and privately by their father in the doctrines of Islamism. On his death-bed, the old man enjoined on this son to repair to the empire of Morocco, and perfect himself in the religion of his fa- thers. In the pious fulfilment of this injunction he was now come. He had the costume and manners of a mussulman, attended the mosque regularly, and approved himself an accomplished follower of the prophet. He resided in Tangier about six months, when the emperour sent for him to Mequinez, gave him a wife, and made him a favourite. Au Bey had two sets of fine astronomical instruments, one of which he gave to the cinpe- rour, whose confidence he seemed now unreservedly to possess. But unfortunately one day, from wrong information or miscalcu- lation of his own, he ventured to predict an eclipse. The em- perour sent to Tangier to know if one would take place at the stated time. Mr. Simpson consulted the almanack, and return- ed a negative answer. At length the day arrived, and no eclipse happened. You have deceived me, said the emperour, you are an impostor. Take himn.place him beyond Mount Atlas, and let him never again pass the confines of my empire. He was accordingly carried to the kingdom of Tafitet; from which, however, he contrived to escape, and in process of time lie ar- rived in Mecca. He there made himself of some importance and repute, by means of his talents and address, and was em- ployed in making drawings of the mosques, & c. He afterwamd~ passed to Alexandria, and thence to Europe. 288 I~rtefligence and Remarks. [July, When he was sent out of Morocco, the Spanish and Portu- guese consuls, with whom he had heen intimate, were immedi- ately expelled from Tangier without examination. Mr. Simp- son assured me that he had positive information, that the pre- tended Au Bey is a Catalan, named Bahia, (not Badia, as has been said,) and that he was employed by the Prince of Peace to undertake this adventure. The king of Spain has, until lately, always kept two young men in Tangier, to learn the Arabick language, and to collect manuscripts, which they transmitted to Spain by stealth. arabick Manuscripts. A FRENCHMAN, who has been a long time in Morocco, has found in the interiour some curious manuscripts~ consisting of proclamations and addresses to the different tribes of the Moors, soun after they were driven from Spain, to induce them to unite for the purpose of reconquering the country they had lost. They are addressed to the tribes separately, characterising them by the climate, productions and genius of the different sections of the country, which they inhabited. They are said to be written in the finest style of oriental eloquence, and to be wor- thy the brightest period of Arabian literature under Haroun Abraschid. They are expected to be published soon with a French translation. Edinburgh Monthly Magazine. A NEW publication has been announced at Edinburgh under the title of the Edinburgh .Miontlily Maguzine. In their prospec- tus the editors remark, that whatever tends to illustrate the history, manners, or literature of Scotland, will be regarded with peculiar, though by no means exclusive, atten~tion. rrl~ey also intend, that their miscellany shall be characterized by a more judicious selection of original poetry, and particularly by a much more careful and comprehensive Review of new publications, than may at present be found in any simii~r wor!~. They state further, that they have the satisfaction of bringing the work forward with the aid of a numerous and able body of contribu

Arabick Manuscripts 288-289

288 I~rtefligence and Remarks. [July, When he was sent out of Morocco, the Spanish and Portu- guese consuls, with whom he had heen intimate, were immedi- ately expelled from Tangier without examination. Mr. Simp- son assured me that he had positive information, that the pre- tended Au Bey is a Catalan, named Bahia, (not Badia, as has been said,) and that he was employed by the Prince of Peace to undertake this adventure. The king of Spain has, until lately, always kept two young men in Tangier, to learn the Arabick language, and to collect manuscripts, which they transmitted to Spain by stealth. arabick Manuscripts. A FRENCHMAN, who has been a long time in Morocco, has found in the interiour some curious manuscripts~ consisting of proclamations and addresses to the different tribes of the Moors, soun after they were driven from Spain, to induce them to unite for the purpose of reconquering the country they had lost. They are addressed to the tribes separately, characterising them by the climate, productions and genius of the different sections of the country, which they inhabited. They are said to be written in the finest style of oriental eloquence, and to be wor- thy the brightest period of Arabian literature under Haroun Abraschid. They are expected to be published soon with a French translation. Edinburgh Monthly Magazine. A NEW publication has been announced at Edinburgh under the title of the Edinburgh .Miontlily Maguzine. In their prospec- tus the editors remark, that whatever tends to illustrate the history, manners, or literature of Scotland, will be regarded with peculiar, though by no means exclusive, atten~tion. rrl~ey also intend, that their miscellany shall be characterized by a more judicious selection of original poetry, and particularly by a much more careful and comprehensive Review of new publications, than may at present be found in any simii~r wor!~. They state further, that they have the satisfaction of bringing the work forward with the aid of a numerous and able body of contribu 1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 289 tors, and that they have been promised the occasional assistance of several individuals in different parts of the United Kingdom, whom the publick voice has already placed high in the ranks of literary distinction. IClaproth, the German Chemist. THE following is from Thompsons Annals of Philosophy for March. On the first of January, 1817, Martin Henry Von Kia. proth, Professor of Chemistry at Berlin, and by far the most celebrated chemist in Germany, died at a very advanced age. He had been a distinguished writer for at least forty years. Chemistry is under greater obligations to him, than to any oth- er chemist of his time. He devoted himself entirely to ana- lytical chemistry; and to him we are chiefly indebted for the knowledge, which we at present possess of the mineral king. dom, and for the formulas employed to develop the constituents of minerals. His labours are coniprized in six octavo volumes, under the title of Beitrdge zur chemischen Kenntniss der Mine. ratk& rper, the first volume of which was published in 1795, and the last in 1815. He was the discoverer of uranium, and he confirmed and completed the discovery of tellurium and titani- um. He likewise discovered zirconia and mellitick acid. Law School in Harvard University. Tnx following are the statutes and regulations adopted by the Corporation, and approved by the Board of Overseers, June 26, 1817. The Hon. ASAHEL STEARNS has been chosen professor, and the school will go into operatioa at the com- mencement of the college term in October. AT a meeting of the President and Fellows of Harvard Col. lege, May 14, 1817.The Royall Professor of Law having rep- resented to this Board, that in his opinion, and in that of many friends of the University, and of the improvement of our youth, the establishment of a school for the instruction of Students at Law, at Cambridge, under the patronage of the University, will tend much to the better education of young men destined to that profession, and will increase the reputation and usefulness of

Sancho, the Proverbialist 289-292

1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 289 tors, and that they have been promised the occasional assistance of several individuals in different parts of the United Kingdom, whom the publick voice has already placed high in the ranks of literary distinction. IClaproth, the German Chemist. THE following is from Thompsons Annals of Philosophy for March. On the first of January, 1817, Martin Henry Von Kia. proth, Professor of Chemistry at Berlin, and by far the most celebrated chemist in Germany, died at a very advanced age. He had been a distinguished writer for at least forty years. Chemistry is under greater obligations to him, than to any oth- er chemist of his time. He devoted himself entirely to ana- lytical chemistry; and to him we are chiefly indebted for the knowledge, which we at present possess of the mineral king. dom, and for the formulas employed to develop the constituents of minerals. His labours are coniprized in six octavo volumes, under the title of Beitrdge zur chemischen Kenntniss der Mine. ratk& rper, the first volume of which was published in 1795, and the last in 1815. He was the discoverer of uranium, and he confirmed and completed the discovery of tellurium and titani- um. He likewise discovered zirconia and mellitick acid. Law School in Harvard University. Tnx following are the statutes and regulations adopted by the Corporation, and approved by the Board of Overseers, June 26, 1817. The Hon. ASAHEL STEARNS has been chosen professor, and the school will go into operatioa at the com- mencement of the college term in October. AT a meeting of the President and Fellows of Harvard Col. lege, May 14, 1817.The Royall Professor of Law having rep- resented to this Board, that in his opinion, and in that of many friends of the University, and of the improvement of our youth, the establishment of a school for the instruction of Students at Law, at Cambridge, under the patronage of the University, will tend much to the better education of young men destined to that profession, and will increase the reputation and usefulness of t90 Intelligence and Remarks. [July, this seminary; and the Corporation concurring in these views, it was voted as follows. 1. That some Counsellor, learned in the Law, be elected to be denominated University Professor of Law; who shall reside in Cambridge, and open and keep a school for the instruction of Graduates of this or any other University, and of such others, as, according to the rules of admission as attorneys~ may be ad- mitted after five years study in the office of some Counsellor. 2. That it shall be the duty of this officer, with the advice of the Royall Professor of Law, to prescribe a course of study, to examine and confer with the students upon the subjects of their studies, and to read lectures to them appropriate to the course of their studies, and their advancement in the science, and generally to act the part of a Tutor to them in such manner as will best improve their minds and assist their acquisitions. S. The compensation for this instruction is to be derived from the Students; and a sum not exceeding one hundred dollars a year shall be paid by each one who shall attach himself to the School; but this sum shall be subject to be reduced hereafter by the Corporation, if, in their judgment, the emoluments of the School shall make such reduction reasonable, and consistent with the interest of the establishment. 4. The Students shall have access to the College Library on such terms as the Government of the University shall prescribe; and a complete Law Library be obtained for their use, as soon as means for that purpose may be found. 5. The Studenis shall be permitted to board in Commons on the same terms as other members of the College; and such ac- commodation shall be alThrded them ia respect to lodging rooms as may consist with the urgent claims of the existing establishment. 6. As an excitement to diligence and good conduct, a degree of Bachelor of Laws shall he instituted at the University, to be conferred on such Students as shall have remained at least eighteen months at the University School, and passed the resi- due of their noviciate in the office of some Counsellor of the Su- preme Court of the Commonwealth, or who shall have remained three years, or if not graduates of any college, five years, in the School, provided the Professor having charge of the same 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 291 shall continue to be a practitioner in the Supreme Judicial Court. ~.The Students shall have the privilege of attending the Lec- tures of the Royall Professor of Law free of expense, and shall have access to the other Lectures of the University usually al- lowed to be attended by Resident Graduates, without charge, or for such reasonable compensation as the Corporation, with the assent of the Overseers, shall determine. 8. The Law Students shall give bond for the payment of the College dues, including the charge of the Professor for in- struction, which shall be inserted in the Quarter Bills and col- lected by the College Officer, and the sums received for instruc- tion shall, when received, be paid over by said officer to the Pro- fessor. 9. The Law Students shall be on the same footing generally in respect to privileges, duties, and observance of all College reg- ulations, as by the laws pertain to Resident Graduates. & orrs Essay.~.WeIls & Lilly, Boston, have published an Es- say on the Historical Sense of the iNew Testament, by GOTTLOB CHRISTIAN STORR, late doctor of divinity, and professor of the- ology in the university of Tubingen ;translated from the Latin. We are glad to see any part of the writings of this celebrat- ed German critick exhibited to the publick in a form more tan- gible to the great mass of readers in this country, than that in which they appear in the original. We have little concern, in our literary capacity, with the theological dogmas of Storr, or with those of Farmer. Semler, or Eichhorn, which the translator says Storr has successfully opposed; but we do feel an inter- est in any attempt, made with unprejudiced feelings, and a gen- erous desire of promoting the important truths of the gospel, to illustrate those difficult and doubtful points, which have divid- ed the opinions of the greatest and best men, and too often pro- duced such agitations, as have proved pernicious to the inter- ests of society and the happiness of the world. We cannot help hoping that the translator may not be disappointed in his prediction, that the clergy of this country ~viIl not long refuse the advantages, which may he derived from the German theologians. To whatever results the over-earnest inquiries of a few speculative and visionary men may have led them, we feel assured, that the principles of criticism which have been lidelligenee and Remarks. [July, adopted, perhaps we may say invented by the Germans, with~ in a few years past, if applied with judgment, and an ardent and humble desire of the truth, are admirably calculated to elu- cidate what is obscure, to reconcile what have been thought in- consistencies in the sacred scriptures, and to enforce their leading truths and essential doctrines with a weight of evidence more powerful, than could be drawn from any sources indepen- dent of the application of these principles. We cannot stop to inquire, though perhaps we might make the inquiry, by what authority the translator has said, that this treatise is producing a great change in the sentiments of the Germans ? We are pleased with the plain good sense, can- dour, and many of the critical remarks which appear in the performance, but we do not think it calculated to produce a great change, particularly in the sentiments of a nation. The publick are under obligations, nevertheless, to the translator tor what he has done, and we sincerely hope he will persevere in ascomplishing the promise, which he has partially made, of ex- hibiting his author as the opponent of the celebrated Eichhorn, ~r in any other character in which he can be made useful to the publick, or to the cause of Christianity. Wanostiochts Gramnutr..-....XVest & Richardson, Boston, have published a Grammar of the French Language, wi*h practical Exercises, by N. Wanostrocht, LL. 1). It will prohably be deem- ed a sufficient evidence of the merits of this grammar, that it has within a few years been through thirteen editions in Lon- don, three in this country, and been printed several times at Paris. Its peculiar excellence seems to consist in the concise- ness and simplicity of its rules, and the lucid manner in which they are illustrated. It combines within a small compass a grammar, exercises, and introductory lessons, all ~o construct- ed and arranged, as to lead the student gradually and easily into a knowledge of the language. Learners are apt to he dis- couraged by the multiplicity of rules, exceptions to rules, and remarks on the peculiarities and intricacies of the language, which encumber Chambauds grammar. This, in fact, seem signed for such as have already become able adepts in the language, rather thaii for those, who are acquiring its elements. Wanostrochts is free from this fault, and is well adapted to beginners, at the same time that it contains every thing requi- site in a grammar, for making the student critically acquainted with the language.

Wanostrocht's Grammar 292-293

lidelligenee and Remarks. [July, adopted, perhaps we may say invented by the Germans, with~ in a few years past, if applied with judgment, and an ardent and humble desire of the truth, are admirably calculated to elu- cidate what is obscure, to reconcile what have been thought in- consistencies in the sacred scriptures, and to enforce their leading truths and essential doctrines with a weight of evidence more powerful, than could be drawn from any sources indepen- dent of the application of these principles. We cannot stop to inquire, though perhaps we might make the inquiry, by what authority the translator has said, that this treatise is producing a great change in the sentiments of the Germans ? We are pleased with the plain good sense, can- dour, and many of the critical remarks which appear in the performance, but we do not think it calculated to produce a great change, particularly in the sentiments of a nation. The publick are under obligations, nevertheless, to the translator tor what he has done, and we sincerely hope he will persevere in ascomplishing the promise, which he has partially made, of ex- hibiting his author as the opponent of the celebrated Eichhorn, ~r in any other character in which he can be made useful to the publick, or to the cause of Christianity. Wanostiochts Gramnutr..-....XVest & Richardson, Boston, have published a Grammar of the French Language, wi*h practical Exercises, by N. Wanostrocht, LL. 1). It will prohably be deem- ed a sufficient evidence of the merits of this grammar, that it has within a few years been through thirteen editions in Lon- don, three in this country, and been printed several times at Paris. Its peculiar excellence seems to consist in the concise- ness and simplicity of its rules, and the lucid manner in which they are illustrated. It combines within a small compass a grammar, exercises, and introductory lessons, all ~o construct- ed and arranged, as to lead the student gradually and easily into a knowledge of the language. Learners are apt to he dis- couraged by the multiplicity of rules, exceptions to rules, and remarks on the peculiarities and intricacies of the language, which encumber Chambauds grammar. This, in fact, seem signed for such as have already become able adepts in the language, rather thaii for those, who are acquiring its elements. Wanostrochts is free from this fault, and is well adapted to beginners, at the same time that it contains every thing requi- site in a grammar, for making the student critically acquainted with the language. 1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 293 Hilliard & Metcalf, Cambridge, have lately published a small book, called the Horrours of Slavery, in two parts. Part first contains observations, facts, and arguments, extracted from the speeches of Wilberforce, Grenville, Pitt, Burke, Fox, Martin, Whitbread, and other distinguished members of the British Parliament. Part second consists of extracts, chief- ly American, compiled from authentick sources, relating to the subject of slavery, and proposing measures for its abolition in the United States. By JOHN KENRICK. Chalmers on the Christian Revelation..The article, Ch~is- tianity, in the Edinburgh Encycloptedia, which has been so much read and so much admired, has at length been published by the author, Dr. Chalmers of Glasgow, in a separate volume. Two editions have already appeared in this country, and we can desire no better manifestation of the good sense and taste of the reading part of our community, than that this book meets so ready and general a reception. It is chiefly confined to the exposition of the historical argument for the truth of Chris- tianity, and the aim of the author has ,been to prove the exter- nal testimony so sufficient, as to leave infidelity without excuse, even though the remaining important branches of the Christian defence had been less strong and satisfactory than they are. We feel confident it will not be allowing him too high claims to say, that no treatise on the subject has been written with ni- cer discrimination in the selection and arrangement of topicks, or with such force and clearness of argument. Dr. Chalmers has also given to the publick, in another volume, a Series of Discourses on the Christian Revelation, viewed in connexion with the modern .flstronomy. These discourses have been )~e- printed in this country. The author combats in them, at some length, the argument, derived from modern astronomy, against the truth of the Christian Revelation; and, in the prosecution of his reasoning, he attempts to elucidate the harmony that nubsists between the doctrines of scripture, and th~ discove- ries of modern science. Signals at Sea..Wells & Lilly, Boston, have published a system of general Signals for night and day, whereby merchant vessels can communicate at a distance by means of the common colours of the ship, and with four lanterns by night, without go. ing out of their course. By CHARLES J~. SARGENT. Vol. V. No. 2. 38

Chalmers on the Christian Revelation 293-295

1817.] Intelligence and Remarks. 293 Hilliard & Metcalf, Cambridge, have lately published a small book, called the Horrours of Slavery, in two parts. Part first contains observations, facts, and arguments, extracted from the speeches of Wilberforce, Grenville, Pitt, Burke, Fox, Martin, Whitbread, and other distinguished members of the British Parliament. Part second consists of extracts, chief- ly American, compiled from authentick sources, relating to the subject of slavery, and proposing measures for its abolition in the United States. By JOHN KENRICK. Chalmers on the Christian Revelation..The article, Ch~is- tianity, in the Edinburgh Encycloptedia, which has been so much read and so much admired, has at length been published by the author, Dr. Chalmers of Glasgow, in a separate volume. Two editions have already appeared in this country, and we can desire no better manifestation of the good sense and taste of the reading part of our community, than that this book meets so ready and general a reception. It is chiefly confined to the exposition of the historical argument for the truth of Chris- tianity, and the aim of the author has ,been to prove the exter- nal testimony so sufficient, as to leave infidelity without excuse, even though the remaining important branches of the Christian defence had been less strong and satisfactory than they are. We feel confident it will not be allowing him too high claims to say, that no treatise on the subject has been written with ni- cer discrimination in the selection and arrangement of topicks, or with such force and clearness of argument. Dr. Chalmers has also given to the publick, in another volume, a Series of Discourses on the Christian Revelation, viewed in connexion with the modern .flstronomy. These discourses have been )~e- printed in this country. The author combats in them, at some length, the argument, derived from modern astronomy, against the truth of the Christian Revelation; and, in the prosecution of his reasoning, he attempts to elucidate the harmony that nubsists between the doctrines of scripture, and th~ discove- ries of modern science. Signals at Sea..Wells & Lilly, Boston, have published a system of general Signals for night and day, whereby merchant vessels can communicate at a distance by means of the common colours of the ship, and with four lanterns by night, without go. ing out of their course. By CHARLES J~. SARGENT. Vol. V. No. 2. 38 294 Intelligence and Jlcmarks. [July, The object of this pamphlet is one of considerable importance to the commercial part of the community; and as it may be car- ried into effect, without expense, and with very little trou- ble, we are induced to notice it, and recommend it to the con- ~ideration of our intelligent merchants. If they will ~ive the plan that attention which it deserves, we think they will take some general measures to have it realized. There is no person that has made a passage at sea, who has not felt the anxiety and importance of speaking with vessels, particularly on approaching the coast; there is no one who has made several passages, but has been placed in circumstances in which the obtaining information from other ships was essential to t~e safety of the vessel he was in; and there is no man who is acquainted with the risks of navigation and the history of shipwrecks, who does not know that it is the want of such infor- mation that has occasioned the loss of the greater part of lives and property which have been destroyed in this way. Some- times a vessel will not go out of her way to speak with anoth- er, which she may perhaps consider of no consequence; and of- ten a more obliging disposition cannot, if it would, approach a ship which wishes to communicate ;and in many cases, where they can approach, the violence of the wind and sea makes it dangerous to come near, and impossible to remain long enough to interchange a single question and answer. In all these cases this system of signals would serve all the purposes wanted, and would in almost every passage save some time, and much anxi- ety to a commander. Captain Sargent is an ~perienced navigator, and the plan he has here proposed is so simple, that it can be easily understood, and so ample, that it will answer every purpose. Any man who can take an Observation can comprehend this system, and a very little practice would make it quite familiar. Whatever ten(ls to the improvement of any profession, it is the particular interest of those concerned in that profession to adopt, since it is thus rendered more respectable. An adoption of signals, so as to communicate intelligence with facility, would be an acqui- sition higYv creditable to our merchant captains. It would be honourable to them to introduce this system, which in the course of time would no doubt become universal. The insulated efforts of individuals can, however, do but little. if our underwriters and l)rincipal merchants would reflect on the advantages, that would be derived from the general adoption of such a system, and join with the ~pectahle masters of ships in adopiing it, the example would doubtless be followed by oth- er cities, and this very desirable improvement carried immedi- ately into operation. 1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 295 Mr. Thomas of Philadelphia has published Comparative views of the controversy between the Calvinists and Arminians, by William White, D. D.Bish~p of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, in 2 vols. 8vo. We are glad to see so bulky a theological work from an American author, especially from so distinguished a divine as Bishop White. Patents granted by Congress.During the last session of Con- gress, an enumeration of the patents granted for the year 1816 was furnished by the Secretary of State, ot which the following is an abstract. Various kinds of mills and mill work Printing and its branches Distillation and Stills Improvements in weaving, spinning, & c. Steam Engines and their accompaniments Medical remedies - - Bridges and pontoons - Cutting and heading nails - Agricultural implements - - Stoves and fire places - - - Miscellaneous - - - - - - - 18 9. 12 - - 23 - - - 17 - - 4 - - -2 - - 6 - - - 21 - - 9 - - - 80 The patentees belong to different states, as follows ;-~ District of Columbia - - - - - - 7 Vermont - - - - - - - - 3 New Hampshire - - - - - - 5 Massachusetts - - - - - - - 36 Connecticut - - - - - - - - 18 Rhode Island - - - - - - - New York - - - - - - - - 55 New Jersey - - - - - - - - 11 Pennsylvania - - - - - - - 28 Delaware - - - - - - - I Maryland - - - - - - - - 13 Virginia - - - - - - - - 8 Nbrth Carolina - - - - - - - 2 South Carolina - - - - - - 1 Tennessee - - - - - - - - 1 Kentucky - - - - - - - - 7 Ohio - - - ~- - - - - - S In the miscellaneous class, is a great variety of manufacturing and economical processes; among the rest an improvement in plaiting ruffles.

Patents granted by Congress 295-296

1817.) Intelligence and Remarks. 295 Mr. Thomas of Philadelphia has published Comparative views of the controversy between the Calvinists and Arminians, by William White, D. D.Bish~p of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania, in 2 vols. 8vo. We are glad to see so bulky a theological work from an American author, especially from so distinguished a divine as Bishop White. Patents granted by Congress.During the last session of Con- gress, an enumeration of the patents granted for the year 1816 was furnished by the Secretary of State, ot which the following is an abstract. Various kinds of mills and mill work Printing and its branches Distillation and Stills Improvements in weaving, spinning, & c. Steam Engines and their accompaniments Medical remedies - - Bridges and pontoons - Cutting and heading nails - Agricultural implements - - Stoves and fire places - - - Miscellaneous - - - - - - - 18 9. 12 - - 23 - - - 17 - - 4 - - -2 - - 6 - - - 21 - - 9 - - - 80 The patentees belong to different states, as follows ;-~ District of Columbia - - - - - - 7 Vermont - - - - - - - - 3 New Hampshire - - - - - - 5 Massachusetts - - - - - - - 36 Connecticut - - - - - - - - 18 Rhode Island - - - - - - - New York - - - - - - - - 55 New Jersey - - - - - - - - 11 Pennsylvania - - - - - - - 28 Delaware - - - - - - - I Maryland - - - - - - - - 13 Virginia - - - - - - - - 8 Nbrth Carolina - - - - - - - 2 South Carolina - - - - - - 1 Tennessee - - - - - - - - 1 Kentucky - - - - - - - - 7 Ohio - - - ~- - - - - - S In the miscellaneous class, is a great variety of manufacturing and economical processes; among the rest an improvement in plaiting ruffles. 296 JAelligence and Remarks. [July, AMERICAN ACADEMY. Qfficers elected .Mity 27, 1817. EDWARD AUGLYSTIJS HOLYOKE, M. D. President. JOhN ThORNTON KIRKLAND, D.D. LL.D. J President. C 0UN~SELL0RS. Hon. George Cabot. Hon. Thomas Dawes. Caleb Gannett, Esq. Rev. Henry Ware, D. D. Rev. James Freeman, D. D. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Aaron Dexter, M. D. W. D. Peek, Prof. ./V~it. Hist. Hon. John Davis, LL. II. Hon. Josiah Quincy. John Farrar, Prof. .4ktth. Recording Secretary. Hon Josiah Qi.iincy, Corresponding Secretary. Thomas L. Winthrop, Esq. Treasurer. Jacob Bigelow, M. D. Vice Treasurer. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Librarian. John Gorbam, M. D. Cabinet Keeper. COMMITTE5~ OF PUBLICATIONS. Rev. Dr. Kirkland. Prof. Willard. Rev. Dr. Freeman. Prof. Farrar. Hon. Nathaniel Bowditch. Joseph Gardner Cogswell, Esq. was elected a member of the Academy, Aug. 14th, 1816. In 1~96 the late Count Rumford made a very liberal donation to the Academy, the proceeds of which, amounting at that time to one hundred and fifty dollars a year, were to be given every two years, as a premium to the author of the most important dis- covery or useful improvement that might be made in any part of the Continent of America or in any of the American Islands on light or on heat. The premium has been claimed by several per. sons, but has never been adjudged to any one. The fund has ac- cordingly been accumulating. It now yields between five and six hundred dollars a year. It was the wish of Count Rumford, that the premium, should consist of a gold or silver medal, of the value of three hundred dollars, and in case the fund should ac- cumulate, that the remainder of the proceeds should be given in money.

American Academy 296

296 JAelligence and Remarks. [July, AMERICAN ACADEMY. Qfficers elected .Mity 27, 1817. EDWARD AUGLYSTIJS HOLYOKE, M. D. President. JOhN ThORNTON KIRKLAND, D.D. LL.D. J President. C 0UN~SELL0RS. Hon. George Cabot. Hon. Thomas Dawes. Caleb Gannett, Esq. Rev. Henry Ware, D. D. Rev. James Freeman, D. D. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Aaron Dexter, M. D. W. D. Peek, Prof. ./V~it. Hist. Hon. John Davis, LL. II. Hon. Josiah Quincy. John Farrar, Prof. .4ktth. Recording Secretary. Hon Josiah Qi.iincy, Corresponding Secretary. Thomas L. Winthrop, Esq. Treasurer. Jacob Bigelow, M. D. Vice Treasurer. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Librarian. John Gorbam, M. D. Cabinet Keeper. COMMITTE5~ OF PUBLICATIONS. Rev. Dr. Kirkland. Prof. Willard. Rev. Dr. Freeman. Prof. Farrar. Hon. Nathaniel Bowditch. Joseph Gardner Cogswell, Esq. was elected a member of the Academy, Aug. 14th, 1816. In 1~96 the late Count Rumford made a very liberal donation to the Academy, the proceeds of which, amounting at that time to one hundred and fifty dollars a year, were to be given every two years, as a premium to the author of the most important dis- covery or useful improvement that might be made in any part of the Continent of America or in any of the American Islands on light or on heat. The premium has been claimed by several per. sons, but has never been adjudged to any one. The fund has ac- cordingly been accumulating. It now yields between five and six hundred dollars a year. It was the wish of Count Rumford, that the premium, should consist of a gold or silver medal, of the value of three hundred dollars, and in case the fund should ac- cumulate, that the remainder of the proceeds should be given in money.

Storr's Essays 296-297

296 JAelligence and Remarks. [July, AMERICAN ACADEMY. Qfficers elected .Mity 27, 1817. EDWARD AUGLYSTIJS HOLYOKE, M. D. President. JOhN ThORNTON KIRKLAND, D.D. LL.D. J President. C 0UN~SELL0RS. Hon. George Cabot. Hon. Thomas Dawes. Caleb Gannett, Esq. Rev. Henry Ware, D. D. Rev. James Freeman, D. D. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Aaron Dexter, M. D. W. D. Peek, Prof. ./V~it. Hist. Hon. John Davis, LL. II. Hon. Josiah Quincy. John Farrar, Prof. .4ktth. Recording Secretary. Hon Josiah Qi.iincy, Corresponding Secretary. Thomas L. Winthrop, Esq. Treasurer. Jacob Bigelow, M. D. Vice Treasurer. Charles Bulfinch, Esq. Librarian. John Gorbam, M. D. Cabinet Keeper. COMMITTE5~ OF PUBLICATIONS. Rev. Dr. Kirkland. Prof. Willard. Rev. Dr. Freeman. Prof. Farrar. Hon. Nathaniel Bowditch. Joseph Gardner Cogswell, Esq. was elected a member of the Academy, Aug. 14th, 1816. In 1~96 the late Count Rumford made a very liberal donation to the Academy, the proceeds of which, amounting at that time to one hundred and fifty dollars a year, were to be given every two years, as a premium to the author of the most important dis- covery or useful improvement that might be made in any part of the Continent of America or in any of the American Islands on light or on heat. The premium has been claimed by several per. sons, but has never been adjudged to any one. The fund has ac- cordingly been accumulating. It now yields between five and six hundred dollars a year. It was the wish of Count Rumford, that the premium, should consist of a gold or silver medal, of the value of three hundred dollars, and in case the fund should ac- cumulate, that the remainder of the proceeds should be given in money. 1817.] h~ellige?zce and Remarks. Proceedings of Foreign Philosophicat Societies. (From Thomsons Annals for March.] ON Thursday, Feb. 6, a paper by Mr. Edmond Davy, Professor of Chemistry to the Cork Institution, was read before the Royal Society, on Fulminating Platinum. This substanse is a brown powder, varying in shade, and some- times being very dark, according as the circumstances are varied in its preparation. It is specifically lighter than fulminating gold. It explodes violently when heated to the temperature of 4000, which is also the exploding temperature of fulminating gold. It does not explode by trituration or percussion. It is a non-con- ductor of electricity, which prevents it from exploding by the ac- tion of the galvanick battery. It indents a plate of metal when ex- ploded on it in the same way as fulminating gold. When ex- ploded between two plates, it acts most violently against the low- er One. It dissolves in sulphuric acid, without giving out any gas. The solution is very dark coloured. Nitric and muriatic acids have but little action on it. Chlorine decomposes it, and con- verts it into muriate of ammonia and muriate of platinum. Am.. moniacal gas has no action on it. When heated in muriatic acid gas, it is converted into muriate of ammonia and muriate of pla- tinum. When exposed to the air, it absorbs a little moisture, but does not otherwise alter its properties. The paper was terminated with a theory of the fulminating pla- tinum, which agrees very nearly with the theory of frdminating gold, given by Bergman and Berthollet. On Thursday, Feb~ 20, a paper by Mr. Pond, the Astronomer Royal, was read, on the Parallax of the fixed Stars. It is well. known that Dr. Brinkley has for several years past been observing certain fixed stars with a circular instrument at the Dublin Obser- vatory; that he has observed a sensible parallax in several of them amounting to about 2, that this parallex has constantly appeared in every years observation., and that it is too great to be ascribed to errours of observation. It was desirable that these observations should be confirmed by other astronomers. The circular instru.

Proceedings of Foreign Philosophical Societies 297

1817.] h~ellige?zce and Remarks. Proceedings of Foreign Philosophicat Societies. (From Thomsons Annals for March.] ON Thursday, Feb. 6, a paper by Mr. Edmond Davy, Professor of Chemistry to the Cork Institution, was read before the Royal Society, on Fulminating Platinum. This substanse is a brown powder, varying in shade, and some- times being very dark, according as the circumstances are varied in its preparation. It is specifically lighter than fulminating gold. It explodes violently when heated to the temperature of 4000, which is also the exploding temperature of fulminating gold. It does not explode by trituration or percussion. It is a non-con- ductor of electricity, which prevents it from exploding by the ac- tion of the galvanick battery. It indents a plate of metal when ex- ploded on it in the same way as fulminating gold. When ex- ploded between two plates, it acts most violently against the low- er One. It dissolves in sulphuric acid, without giving out any gas. The solution is very dark coloured. Nitric and muriatic acids have but little action on it. Chlorine decomposes it, and con- verts it into muriate of ammonia and muriate of platinum. Am.. moniacal gas has no action on it. When heated in muriatic acid gas, it is converted into muriate of ammonia and muriate of pla- tinum. When exposed to the air, it absorbs a little moisture, but does not otherwise alter its properties. The paper was terminated with a theory of the fulminating pla- tinum, which agrees very nearly with the theory of frdminating gold, given by Bergman and Berthollet. On Thursday, Feb~ 20, a paper by Mr. Pond, the Astronomer Royal, was read, on the Parallax of the fixed Stars. It is well. known that Dr. Brinkley has for several years past been observing certain fixed stars with a circular instrument at the Dublin Obser- vatory; that he has observed a sensible parallax in several of them amounting to about 2, that this parallex has constantly appeared in every years observation., and that it is too great to be ascribed to errours of observation. It was desirable that these observations should be confirmed by other astronomers. The circular instru.

Signals at Sea 297-299

1817.] h~ellige?zce and Remarks. Proceedings of Foreign Philosophicat Societies. (From Thomsons Annals for March.] ON Thursday, Feb. 6, a paper by Mr. Edmond Davy, Professor of Chemistry to the Cork Institution, was read before the Royal Society, on Fulminating Platinum. This substanse is a brown powder, varying in shade, and some- times being very dark, according as the circumstances are varied in its preparation. It is specifically lighter than fulminating gold. It explodes violently when heated to the temperature of 4000, which is also the exploding temperature of fulminating gold. It does not explode by trituration or percussion. It is a non-con- ductor of electricity, which prevents it from exploding by the ac- tion of the galvanick battery. It indents a plate of metal when ex- ploded on it in the same way as fulminating gold. When ex- ploded between two plates, it acts most violently against the low- er One. It dissolves in sulphuric acid, without giving out any gas. The solution is very dark coloured. Nitric and muriatic acids have but little action on it. Chlorine decomposes it, and con- verts it into muriate of ammonia and muriate of platinum. Am.. moniacal gas has no action on it. When heated in muriatic acid gas, it is converted into muriate of ammonia and muriate of pla- tinum. When exposed to the air, it absorbs a little moisture, but does not otherwise alter its properties. The paper was terminated with a theory of the fulminating pla- tinum, which agrees very nearly with the theory of frdminating gold, given by Bergman and Berthollet. On Thursday, Feb~ 20, a paper by Mr. Pond, the Astronomer Royal, was read, on the Parallax of the fixed Stars. It is well. known that Dr. Brinkley has for several years past been observing certain fixed stars with a circular instrument at the Dublin Obser- vatory; that he has observed a sensible parallax in several of them amounting to about 2, that this parallex has constantly appeared in every years observation., and that it is too great to be ascribed to errours of observation. It was desirable that these observations should be confirmed by other astronomers. The circular instru. 298 Intelligence and Remarks. [July, ment at Greenwich was considered as well adapted for the pur- pose; accordingly Mr. Pond made observations with it in 1812 and 1813; but he soon found that it would not answer the ex- pected object, unless it could be wholly devoted to such observa- tions. In consequence, he proposed at the last visitation that two ten-feet telescopes, fitted with micrometers, should be fixed to stone pillars, for the purpose of observing the parallax of the fixed stars, which proposal was approved ot~ Till these can be erected, two temporary telescopes have been fixed for making observations. At the first meeting of the Wernerian Natural History Society for the winter session, Nov. 23, 1816, Principal Baird communi- cated the copy of a letter From Lieut. Webb, dated Camp Fort, Peethora Gurh, April 2, 1816, in which that officer gives the alti- tudes of the principal snow peaks visible from Kumnon. He as- certained the height of 27 peaks in the Great Snowy Chain. The distances and bases were determinated trigonometrically. The lowest peak measured was 15,733 feet above the level of the sea; the highest peak, 25,669 feet above the sea; 21 of the peaks were from 20,000 to 25,000 feet above the level of the sea. Chimbora- zo, which has hitherto been considered the highest mountain in the world, has generally been estimated at only 20,280 feet; by Humboldt a little higher. M. C. Dupin, Foreign Associate to the Institute of Naples, has presented to the Royal Institute of France a Memoir on the re-es- tablisinent of the Marine Academy.M. Dupin, who in the lonian Isles exerted all his efforts in the organization of the first acade- my ever founded in these celebrated countries, endeavours in this new publication to hasten the revival of an institution of this kind applied to one of the most important branches of the publick pow- er and prosperity. He endeavours to prepare for this edifice more secure foundations, and better combined than those of the first creation. He points out the investigations necessary for completing the maritime art in its most important branches, and shows the means of facilitating these labours, and rendering them fruitful. 1817.) Jkteorolog~q. 299 A& stract of meteorological observations for April and .Atay, taken at Cambridge. Barometer. Thermometer.~ 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. ( G. 80.47 80.45 30.46 47 75 56 April .4 M. 80.038 30.029 30.015 38.00 52.7 88.05 IL. 29.47 29.48 29.47 26 42 28 (G. 30.42 30.39 80.40 63 78 64 May .4 M. 30.144 80.111 80.125 49.96 64.96 50.25 IL. 29.83 29.78 29.87 37 52 89 April. Rain on the 5th, a shower on the 7th, violent storm on the ~4th, in all 1.75 inch. May. A shower with thunder and lightning on the 11th, rain on the 18th, in the night of the 25th, on the 27th, 28th, and 8 1st, mall 1.5; 15th, 28th, and 80th frost; on the 15th ice formed .~ of an inch, peas destroyed on low grounds, while in some instances beans escaped on high. On the 14th, snow fell at Chester, Ver.. mont, 5 inches deep, and on the 6th remained in some places s feet deep on Lake am lain. May poles, it is said, were erected on the ice at Montreal, not known before for 40 years. The aver- age heat about 10 less than usual. On the 21st a considerable shock of an earthquake about 8 oclock A. M.continued about 20 seconds~..was perceived throughout most of New England. Abstract of .3leteorological observations, taken at Brunswick. April, 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 42A~70 do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold 89.06 Greatest heat - - - - - - 65.00 Greatest cold - - - - - 17.50 Mean height of the Barometer 29.777 in. Greatest monthly range of do. .710 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 2.188 Days entirely or chiefly fair 19 do. do. do. cloudy ii Direotions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. V4~ I. prevailing forms of the clouds have been the cirrus an# cis*~mulus. Mean Monthly temp. from three observations e~ich day do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold. 52.51 50.38

Meteorology At Cambridge, by Professor Farrar 299

1817.) Jkteorolog~q. 299 A& stract of meteorological observations for April and .Atay, taken at Cambridge. Barometer. Thermometer.~ 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. ( G. 80.47 80.45 30.46 47 75 56 April .4 M. 80.038 30.029 30.015 38.00 52.7 88.05 IL. 29.47 29.48 29.47 26 42 28 (G. 30.42 30.39 80.40 63 78 64 May .4 M. 30.144 80.111 80.125 49.96 64.96 50.25 IL. 29.83 29.78 29.87 37 52 89 April. Rain on the 5th, a shower on the 7th, violent storm on the ~4th, in all 1.75 inch. May. A shower with thunder and lightning on the 11th, rain on the 18th, in the night of the 25th, on the 27th, 28th, and 8 1st, mall 1.5; 15th, 28th, and 80th frost; on the 15th ice formed .~ of an inch, peas destroyed on low grounds, while in some instances beans escaped on high. On the 14th, snow fell at Chester, Ver.. mont, 5 inches deep, and on the 6th remained in some places s feet deep on Lake am lain. May poles, it is said, were erected on the ice at Montreal, not known before for 40 years. The aver- age heat about 10 less than usual. On the 21st a considerable shock of an earthquake about 8 oclock A. M.continued about 20 seconds~..was perceived throughout most of New England. Abstract of .3leteorological observations, taken at Brunswick. April, 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 42A~70 do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold 89.06 Greatest heat - - - - - - 65.00 Greatest cold - - - - - 17.50 Mean height of the Barometer 29.777 in. Greatest monthly range of do. .710 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 2.188 Days entirely or chiefly fair 19 do. do. do. cloudy ii Direotions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. V4~ I. prevailing forms of the clouds have been the cirrus an# cis*~mulus. Mean Monthly temp. from three observations e~ich day do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold. 52.51 50.38

Meteorology at Brunswick, by Professor Cleaveland 299-300

1817.) Jkteorolog~q. 299 A& stract of meteorological observations for April and .Atay, taken at Cambridge. Barometer. Thermometer.~ 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. 7A.M. 2P.M. 9P.M. ( G. 80.47 80.45 30.46 47 75 56 April .4 M. 80.038 30.029 30.015 38.00 52.7 88.05 IL. 29.47 29.48 29.47 26 42 28 (G. 30.42 30.39 80.40 63 78 64 May .4 M. 30.144 80.111 80.125 49.96 64.96 50.25 IL. 29.83 29.78 29.87 37 52 89 April. Rain on the 5th, a shower on the 7th, violent storm on the ~4th, in all 1.75 inch. May. A shower with thunder and lightning on the 11th, rain on the 18th, in the night of the 25th, on the 27th, 28th, and 8 1st, mall 1.5; 15th, 28th, and 80th frost; on the 15th ice formed .~ of an inch, peas destroyed on low grounds, while in some instances beans escaped on high. On the 14th, snow fell at Chester, Ver.. mont, 5 inches deep, and on the 6th remained in some places s feet deep on Lake am lain. May poles, it is said, were erected on the ice at Montreal, not known before for 40 years. The aver- age heat about 10 less than usual. On the 21st a considerable shock of an earthquake about 8 oclock A. M.continued about 20 seconds~..was perceived throughout most of New England. Abstract of .3leteorological observations, taken at Brunswick. April, 1817. Mean monthly temp. from three observations each day 42A~70 do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold 89.06 Greatest heat - - - - - - 65.00 Greatest cold - - - - - 17.50 Mean height of the Barometer 29.777 in. Greatest monthly range of do. .710 Quantity of rain and snow reduced to water 2.188 Days entirely or chiefly fair 19 do. do. do. cloudy ii Direotions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. V4~ I. prevailing forms of the clouds have been the cirrus an# cis*~mulus. Mean Monthly temp. from three observations e~ich day do. do. do. from maxima of heat and cold. 52.51 50.38 ~1Ieteorology. 8O~ [July. Greatest heat - - - - - - - 78.00 Greatest cold - - - - - Mean height of the Barometer - 29.948 in. Greatest monthly range of do. - - .720 Quantity of rain - - - - .510 Days entirely or chiefly fair - - 18 do. do. do. cloudy - 13 Directions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. W. 1. The predominant form of the clouds has been the cirrus. Thunder on the thirty first. To correspondents. A long review of a popular book was rejected with regret; but various reasons, which we should be willing to explain to the au- thor, had he favoured us with his name and address, induced us to think it not suited to our purpose. The interesting article in continuation of the Jesuits was re- ceived too late for this number. lATe have io acknowledge the liberality of our poetical corres- pondents, and to assure them, that several articles, with which they have favoured us, will appear in our next, The lines by X. are not without merit, but they want execution, and a little more of the turn of poetry. CORRIOENDA. In our last number, p 26,for 1812, read 1813 ~p. 32, for Philliberts read Philliberto..p. 104, for Russia read Rousseau.....p. 145, seventh line from the top, for France read Romep. 64, line SO, after the period, insert the following sentence; The elder Buxtorf took up their defence.

To Correspondents 300

~1Ieteorology. 8O~ [July. Greatest heat - - - - - - - 78.00 Greatest cold - - - - - Mean height of the Barometer - 29.948 in. Greatest monthly range of do. - - .720 Quantity of rain - - - - .510 Days entirely or chiefly fair - - 18 do. do. do. cloudy - 13 Directions of the winds in proportional numbers, viz. W. 1. The predominant form of the clouds has been the cirrus. Thunder on the thirty first. To correspondents. A long review of a popular book was rejected with regret; but various reasons, which we should be willing to explain to the au- thor, had he favoured us with his name and address, induced us to think it not suited to our purpose. The interesting article in continuation of the Jesuits was re- ceived too late for this number. lATe have io acknowledge the liberality of our poetical corres- pondents, and to assure them, that several articles, with which they have favoured us, will appear in our next, The lines by X. are not without merit, but they want execution, and a little more of the turn of poetry. CORRIOENDA. In our last number, p 26,for 1812, read 1813 ~p. 32, for Philliberts read Philliberto..p. 104, for Russia read Rousseau.....p. 145, seventh line from the top, for France read Romep. 64, line SO, after the period, insert the following sentence; The elder Buxtorf took up their defence.

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The North American review. / Volume 5, Issue 15 North-American review and miscellaneous journal University of Northern Iowa Cedar Falls, Iowa, etc. September 1817 0005 015
The Fairy Queen of Spenser 301-309

NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW AND MISCELLANEOUS JOURNAL. IN0. XV. SEPTEMBER, 18i7. FOR THE NORTH AMERICAN JOURNAL. The Faer!, queene of Spenser. FANCY, though she plays her freaks in the present age, has yet unquestionably lost the spring and vivacity of her youth. She has been so roughly treated by criticks of the last two hundred years, that it is no wonder her warmth is somewhat chilled, and her gamesome mood is subdued into Cautious measures. She reminds us of a declining beauty, who is le5s lavish than formerly of exposing the whole artil.. lery of her charmsdresses with more preciseness, but really with less grace than before.frolicks with the greatest staid- nessand appears before the world in the ambiguous charac- ter of a demure hoyden, a captivating antique. But~ what? The inspiration of our theme has betrayed us into downright adlegory. Johnson omitted Spenser in his unaccountable catalogue of poets; and Aikin has endeavoured, with most lamentable ill-success, to supply the defect. The present attempt will perhaps contribute only a humble offering to the furtherance of the design. I he literature of the age of Queen Elizabeth was the com~ pound result of three united streams, which rose at distances vastly removed from each other. The classicks of antiquity the romances of the middle ageand the translations of the Jewish scripturesthese are the ingredients whose incongru- ous and unassimulating mixture we behold in almost every Vol v. No. 3. 39 The Fuery queene of Spenser. 302 [Sept. portion of the mass. Until within a few years, a complete ferment and incorporation had not taken place; so that al- most the whole body of English poetry presents us with the discordant machinery of heathen mythology and Christian divinityan(l a vain attempt at the reconciliation of feudal maxims with Christian sentiments. Genius has at length in- formed itself, that it is much better to adopt the spirit than the names and deities of antiquity; and, divesting chivalry of its more barbarous and repulsive traits, it has made use of its remaining excellencies, in order to recommend the less dazzling lustre of modern sentiments, imagery and manners. For though Scott and his followers lay theii scenes in chival~ rous periods, yet they can take only the skeletons of their performances from the books which treat of those periods. rfhe life-blood and motion of the whole must be drawn from their own breasts and their own immediate experience. El- len is a modern Scotchwoman in every thing but her shallop; and Marmion is a marshal of Bonaparte, ~vith a helmet and a page. Lo~txliness and bravery are the produce of all ages; they are all we principally care about in reading Scott; and whether the latter appears in a coat of mail or a suit of regimentals, or ~vhether the former shines beneath a hood or a straw-bonnet, makes not the difference of a jot in the pul- sations and heavenly agitations which a true poetical descrip- tion of them excites. But notwithstanding the ill-assorted materials which com- pose the literature of the above-mentioned era, it must not be supposed that the consequences of their union were uniformly baneful. On the contrary, there was more gained from th~ mixture, however heterogeneous, than could have been de- rived from either ingredient in a sepirate state. It is true, taste was sometimes embarrassed; but on the whole, the higher flights of genius, the play of the loftier passions, and the expression of more godlike sentiments were the rich& fruits of that triple alliance. Heathen antiquity could fur- iiish magnificence; romance lent its enchantment, and the Bible taught the way to the heart. The first was the store- house of reason; the second of fancy; but the last could alone impart that tender melancholy, that mysterious moral- ity, which constitute the atmosphere of the most delightful regions of English poetry. The plan of the Faery Qucene is the grandest and most 1817.] The Faery queene of Spenser. 3O~i noble that ever entered into the constitution of t poem. It is a personification of all the virtues and vices, all the pas- sions and affections.yesdown to the appetites, and the lit- tie propensities, and even the negative qualities, which belong to the character of man. It is a universal looking-glass; the man does not live, who will not recognize somewhere in this wonderful mirror the features of his. own heart. Dis~ daining, like the common herd of epick poets, to make the events of history the stamina of his ~vork, the author has built his castle entirely in the air, and has sought his materials and resources only in the repositories of abstraction. It is true, Elizabeth, and Arthur, and England are introduced; but they are perfect underpieces, which, if circumstances demand- ed might be removed, and the names of any other monarchs and any other country be substituted with all imaginable ease. Can the same be said of the heroes of the Iliad, the Eneid, or the Paradise Lost? This is not urged as a merit, but only as a distinctive characteristick of the work. But cannot it be urged as a merit? Homer takes a hero, by whose exam- ple, whether good or bad, and its consequenc~s, he intends to convey instruction. But Spenser seize5 hold of a quality; christens it with a name; (though by the way too often shock~ ingly pedantick;) arms it cap-a-pie; and sends it forth into all the untried varieties of life. This quality we cannot help accompanying ~)ersonally through its adventures; the hero, we only look after. If we sometimes sympathiise with the hero, with the quality we do more; we identify it with something within our own bosoms. We lament that there is gone abroaq a deplorable aversion to allegory. When we put the question to our literary friends, Have you read Spenser~the negative rej)ly, which generally succeeds, is not so much explained by the length of the poem,or the obsoleteness of the diction~or the antique simplicity of the style, as by the laconick confes- sion, I dont like allegory. The secret of this antipathy, (to he at once both a little positive and severe,) lies in the mental effort which is requir- ed to develop it. And in order both to prove and to jihis- trate this, we shall go some way round, though we neverthe- less believe we shall come to the point. To one who is in the habit of attentively observing the amusements and voluntary occupations of children, it will be 304. 1?ze Faer?, queeue of Spenser. [Sept. evident, that very few among them have the patience or the pride to disentangle those right ancient and respectable mys- teries, denominated riddles. This imbecile propensity is gen- era1ly~ aggravated by the imprudence of the proposer, who prematurely cuts the knot before any thing like a fair trial has been made of the hearers ingenuity. The same or a worse fault is conspicuous in those little hooks of riddles, which preposterously announce the enigma on one side of the leaf, and its explication on the other; the consequence of which is, that the explication is generally the first thing examined, and then the riddle is profoundly studied, in order to ascertain how well it conforms to the answer! Now let it not be as- cribed to the uneasy apprehensions of visionary speculators, if we remonstrate against the foregoing process, as detrimen- tal to the interests of the rising generation. It has, we think, a decided tendency to contribute to the abundance, too for- midable at best, of superficial readers, superficial thinkers, and we will even go so far as to say, of superficial actors. For of those who derive both profit and delieht from literary pursuits, (pray let us, like Cicero, indulge a little peripatetic4) there are two classes. The one occupy themselves solely in gathering new facts and ideas; their minds are like a mov- ing camera obseura, ranging through the infinite scenes of literature, and only catching the impressions, which fall, like rays, in right lines, from the tips of authors pens, to the sur- faces of their own minds. It is true, that amongst this class, there are vtry many students who do not deserve to their broadest extent the epithets of idle, or useless, or superficial. In the course of their studies, they meet with many difficul- ties, which, rcquiring time and patience, rather than thought and investigation, they dutifully solve. Nor are the subjects which they prosecute by any means deserving of contempt. They pore over the never-ending rolls of history, with as se- rious a gaze, as any mathematician contemplates a demon- stration. Nay, they even extend their inquiries into the out- ward provinces of the severer sciences. They are ashamed to be ignorant of astronomy; but they take their lessons from Femeguson, ratJ~er than the Principia, and will cheerfully com- mit to memory the longest explanatory tables, whilst they st.udder~ at encountering the transitory intricacies of a dia- gram. Happily, there are books enough in the world to supply the insatiable curiosity and unremitting industry of 1817.] The Faer~,# queene of Spencer. so~ these universal readers. Arid if we adopt the theorem of some modern metaphysician as a calculus, who asserts that the human mind, by its utmost exertions, can attend only to seven ideas in a second of time, (as any one may perceive by mentally counting from one to eight as rapidly as he is able,) we may safely aver, that the class of readers who have just been described, go out of the world with their full complement of ideas, arid can scarcely look back with regret for having wasted in idleness the fraction of a second. The other class of readers are they, who have as keen an appetite for information as their more voracious brethren. But how exquisite soever is the pleasure of acquisition, that of reflection they experience to be more so. Arid where the question lies between gaining tetz new ideas, and revolving on- ly two in every possible light, they hesitate not a moment in adopting the latter alternative. Now we assert, that of these two modes of occupying the intellect, the last involves, to an incalculable degree, a greater amount of profit, a higher measure of delight, and a nearer approach to the summit of literary eminence. From which our promised inference is, that all those modes of education, or eien those juvenile amusements, which indulge the natural impatience, or ex- haust by prevention the laudable curiosity of youth, are prej- udicial to the interests of society. They train up a genera- tion of smatterers; they inflame an inextinguishable passion for novelty; they dismiss the mind from its own province, and reduce it to dependence; they replenish life with succes- sive troops of pretty performers, who glide along with the most elegant imbecility, till a stroke of adversity confounds them; in short, they fill our circulating libraries with rest- less, busy throngs, whilst they rob the profound Euclid of his deserved portion of plodders, and the mysterious Spenser of many willing and delighted devotees. In spite, however, of the terrours, which surround that gentle knight, yclepit Allegory, we are persuaded, that if fairly en. countered in the pages of Spenser, lie would be found to be less formidable than t,imi~ity and indolence have fancied him. It unluckily happened, a d it must not be concealed, that along with his rare powers of Allegory, Spenser was imbued with the strongest tincture af pedantry, which was the result, partly of the taste of his age, and more perhaps of his tin- common and overflowing erudition. This pedantry was the TIte Faerjj queene of Spenser. 306 [Sept. origin of those uncouth and unintelligible names, which lie has bestowed on his virtues and vices, his qualities and concretes, and by which he has needlessly darkened the dimness of his allegory. When one reads the Allegory of Criticism in the 3d tiumber of Johnsons Rambler, or the genealogy of true and false wit in the 35th of the Spectator, his task is by no means difficult, because the titles ot personification are on the level of the same language with the story. The readers effort, at most, is no greater than that of the boy before al- luded to, who picks out his riddle by the obvious clue of the answer. In this exercise, there is considerable pleasure; sInce one enjoys in it, not indeed the intense coruscations of wit, but its longer and milder stream. Had Johnson, how- ever, so far forgot himself and propriety as to give to the subject of his allegory the impenetrable denomination of Krinoia, had he called Taste, Saporetta, Justice, Jurapal, and Wit, Ingeniunculus, and shrouded his other personages behind equally mysterious veils, who could have fathomed his meaning? Apply this remark to our poet. It is not be- cause the Faery Queene is an allegory, that its perusal is often tedious and unimproving. Whatever it contains of gen- uine allegory is almost as plain as a picture. But the real knots which are scattered all over that exquisite texture con- sist in the meie pedantick appellations which are attached to the several characters, and which are by no means essential to the allegory. Let these appellations be interpreted, and the dragon which guards the fruit is slain. Why this task has never yet been executed amidst the multitude of annota- tions, exl)lanations, and perpetuol)erpetual commentaries which for the last two centuries have been lavished on the elucidation of Slmakspeare and other uld English poets, it is very hard for us to conceive. One would suppose that it would long since have been demanded by an impatient and superficial age. At any rate, we will venture to assert, that nothing hut this simple service is necessary to render the po~ em in question one of the most popular in any language. Bunyans Pigrims Progress is read and un(lerstood by eve- ry child in every nursery, althoug~it ~ as outright and ab- stract an allegory as ever sprung from the fancy of man. rVlie reason is, that Temperancr, and Charity, and Faith, and their plain-coated companions, are known as soon as seen, and the t~onnexion between each ofthcir names and their several adven 1817.] The Fuery queene of Spenser. S07 tures and exploits is understood at once. But when young gentlemen, who have passed through the university, and young ladies, who shrink not even at Locke, and are ac- quainted with all Sir Humphrys discoveries, commit them. selves to the perusal of the Faery Queene, in vain do they call into exercise all their powers and resources of etymology, to elucidate certain of the characters there celebrated. To one brave knight they perhaps at first ascribe the character of Honour. By the time however that his adventures are con- cluded, they have found reason twenty times to change his title. Some gentle damozell too may so far at first get into the good g~aces of the reader, that he whispers within him- self, This, I suppose, is Chastity. A few stanzas onward, however, the virtuous Chastity is found in a predicament which not only disappoints the readers expectations, but also mortifies or even puts in question his sagacity. And thus, before a struggle is made through half of the six books, the ~vhole work is generally dismissed with something like a part- ing execration against allegory. Ill-fated allegory! why art thou made responsible for the accidental frailties of on& of thy most illustrious votaries? Why should the pedantries and mis- nomers of Spenser fall upon thy head? Arise, some Tibbald, some Warburton, or Johnson, and with the ingenuity which was displayed on the Vice of Shakspeare, let the person- ages of Spenser be redeemed from that odium which they have so ~voefully incurred, and from that oblivion to which the lapse of time and the change of language are but already hurrying them too fast! We are after all very willing to confess, that even this clearing up would not leave the Faery Queene so complete a piece of plain ground as the smooth-shaven green of most of our modern poems. But we never will confess, till the experiment has been made, that it would not be beaten by as great a numher of travellers, who would derive from the very exercise of surmounting its difliculties and eluding its per- plexities, a richer aggregate of pleasure...We are glad that the mention of pleasure leads us away from the tedious track of discussion, and suggests to us the more agreeable task of speaking directly in the praise of Spenser. In some respects Spenser is superiour to Shakspeare. He wields the rod of enchantment with a more soothing and in- sinuating effect-and he throws on the clrnirings of his de so~ The Faer~j (peene of Spenser. ~[Sept. scription a brighter flood of light, as Well as a softer body of shade. It is true he has a smaller number of brilliant pas- sages; but then he redeems this comparative defect by a much less abundance of trash. He wrote at leisure, and de- liberately waited for inspiration; Shakspeare scribbled against timechased the musewon gloriously indeedbut sometimes abused her! The stanza of Spenser was too pre- cious an encasement for nonsense; whilst the colloquial struc- ture of Shakspeares materiel admitted the baseness along with the richness of sentiment. For though somewhat para- doxical, it is nevertheless a fact, that the difficulties of ihyme (and no versification is so much involved in them as the Spense- iian) keep the mind perpetually awake in pursuit of something good; and no poet, who has a spark of soul, ever pens a line for the sake of rhyme alonehe gives to each of his bells a tongue. Whereas the facilities of blank verse and prose, though they may not impede invention, yet by contracting the sphere of our minor associations of ideas, often lull us into the adoption of any sentiment that offers itself first. Another and a higher merit of Spenser is the lofty and sus- tained tone of morality, which pervades the whole of his ex- cellei~t poem. Not but there are many passages in the Faery Queene of too dangerous a tendency, if taken separate from the general order, and from their more immediate concatena- tion. But let him who experiences danger from a single line or a single scene, read on to the close of the adventure in which it occurs. The sequel will be sure to contain a sedative to rec- tify and quell the combustion of the most unhallowed imagi- nation. Vice is never represented there ~vithout its merited and inevitable consequences. But what is better still, our poet generally prepares us to encounter his slippery places, by a previous train of pure and delicate sentiment, with which he artfully excites emotions that strengthen, and moulds us into an attitude which fortifles, our fallible virtue. And this is the praise of Spenser, that whilst his subject inevitably leads his readers among scenes which are a fiery furnace to virtue, lie is the only man who, like the angel of God, could guard them safely through, whilst the astonished critick exclaims with Nebuchadnezzar, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt. Such is the Facry Queenea poem, which draws so nice a line of distinc- tion between the wantoniwss of nature and the mysteries of i8i7.] lYLe Jesuits. wickedness, that in its perusal the cheek of virtue scarcely knows why it blushes, whilst the rapiicity of a depraved im- agination seeks for its food in vain. From the general merit and moral character of the poem, we pass to a brief consideration of its lighter graces. The Faery Queene is a repository of all the minor beauties of poetry.Unbounded variety in its descriptions exact. fidelity in its copies of nature..inimitable playfulness in its sallies of fancyirresistible severity in its satirea ravishing transport in its flights of passionan unsparing copiousness, fertility, and richness of imageryin short, there is not a flower of Parnassus, which is not to be gathered there. The Jesuits. THE first conquests of Ignatius in Paris, were Lefevre an~i Francis Xavier, who taught philosophy in the universi- ty. He soon afterwards engaged four other disciples, Lai. nez, Salmeron, Bobadilla and R~.driguez. To bind his dis- ciples to him by irrevocable ties, he led them, on the day of the assumption, to the church of Mont Martre near Paris, where Lefevre, who had lately been made a priest, read the mass and adwinistered the sacrament to them, in the Subter- ranean chapel. After the mass, they all seven together, with loud and dis- tinct voices, took an oath, to undertake, in a certain time, ~ journey to Jerusalem, for the conversion of the infidels of the Levant, to renounce every thing they possessed in the world, except what was necessary for their enterprise; and in case they could not accomplish it, to throw themselves at the feet of the pope, to offer him their services, to place themselves under his orders, wherever it should ~please him to send them. Afterwards, three other disciples joined themselves to the first, namely, Le Jay, Codur and Brouct. For the perform- ance of their vo~v, these companions agreed upon a rendez- vous at Venice. On their way, though they were not yet priests, they preached pubhickly. At Venice these new preachers were attacked with vivacity. But Ignatius had the address to lull this storm, and he was there even elcyated to the priesthood, with sevei~al of his disciples. They resort- ed to Rome at the close of Lent in i338. Asseii~bled at the Vol. V. No. 3. 40

Jesuits 309-313

i8i7.] lYLe Jesuits. wickedness, that in its perusal the cheek of virtue scarcely knows why it blushes, whilst the rapiicity of a depraved im- agination seeks for its food in vain. From the general merit and moral character of the poem, we pass to a brief consideration of its lighter graces. The Faery Queene is a repository of all the minor beauties of poetry.Unbounded variety in its descriptions exact. fidelity in its copies of nature..inimitable playfulness in its sallies of fancyirresistible severity in its satirea ravishing transport in its flights of passionan unsparing copiousness, fertility, and richness of imageryin short, there is not a flower of Parnassus, which is not to be gathered there. The Jesuits. THE first conquests of Ignatius in Paris, were Lefevre an~i Francis Xavier, who taught philosophy in the universi- ty. He soon afterwards engaged four other disciples, Lai. nez, Salmeron, Bobadilla and R~.driguez. To bind his dis- ciples to him by irrevocable ties, he led them, on the day of the assumption, to the church of Mont Martre near Paris, where Lefevre, who had lately been made a priest, read the mass and adwinistered the sacrament to them, in the Subter- ranean chapel. After the mass, they all seven together, with loud and dis- tinct voices, took an oath, to undertake, in a certain time, ~ journey to Jerusalem, for the conversion of the infidels of the Levant, to renounce every thing they possessed in the world, except what was necessary for their enterprise; and in case they could not accomplish it, to throw themselves at the feet of the pope, to offer him their services, to place themselves under his orders, wherever it should ~please him to send them. Afterwards, three other disciples joined themselves to the first, namely, Le Jay, Codur and Brouct. For the perform- ance of their vo~v, these companions agreed upon a rendez- vous at Venice. On their way, though they were not yet priests, they preached pubhickly. At Venice these new preachers were attacked with vivacity. But Ignatius had the address to lull this storm, and he was there even elcyated to the priesthood, with sevei~al of his disciples. They resort- ed to Rome at the close of Lent in i338. Asseii~bled at the Vol. V. No. 3. 40 810 The Jesuits. ~Sept. house of Quirino Garzonio, they agreed that it was necessa- ry, us soon as possible, to erect themselves into a religious or- der, to prevent the company from ever dissolving, and to put themselves into a condition to rnultiI)ly themselves in all places, and to continue to all ages. These were large vic~vs. Ignatius would not have his society bounded by time nor place. On his arrival at Rome, this extatick patri- arch declared to his disciples, that as they combatted under the banner of Jesus Christ, the company had no other title to assume, but that of THE SOCIETY OF JESUS. This name had been conceived in his head during his retirement at Man- reze, in the first year of his conversion, and after the vision of the two standards, by which he had figured the plan of his or(ler, under warlike images. He did not, however, conduct himself by his visions, so en- tirely as to neglect his human means for extricating himself from difficulties and disembarrassing himself of accusations whicb were every where brought against him. For he was formidably attacked at Rome, as he had been at Venice, at Paris, at Salamanca, and at Alcala, for his singular conduct, his indiscretions, and his enterprises of preaching and direct- ing consciences. But he knew how to overcome these oppo- sithmms by ir~sinuating himself into the grandees and by acting the courtier. By this address, notwithstanding all the obsta- cles in his way, he accomplished his purpose of obtaining the al)l)robation of his order by the pope Paul III. Lie had pre- sented, in 1539, the project of his institution to this lion- tiff, who had committed it to tlmre~ cardinals for examination. Guidiccioni, one of these censors, a man of great merit and very learned, was very much opposed to this innovation, lie even composed a book to enforce the reasons of his opposi- tion; and his authority determined the two other cardinals. During this examination, there arrived an event, vhich was the origin of the great credit which the Jesuits afterwards obtained at the court of Portugal. John III. king of Por- tugal, wished to send missionaries to the Indies. He in- structed his ambassador at Rome to procure him term. rfhis ambassador was Mascarenhas, intimately connected with 1g. natius, who, it is said, had. been his confessor. lie requested of Ignatius, some of his companions. Ignatius gave him Rodriguez and Bobadilla. The last falling sick, he substi- tuted Xavier. The Jesuits. 311 Mascarenhas carried with him to Portugal these two mis- sionaries, who departed from Rome on the 15th of March 540, more than si~ months before the approbation of the in. stitution by the pope. Rodriguez remained in Portugal. Xavier went to India. Xavier appeared to be endowed with excellent qualities, and full of zeal for the salvation of souls. This missionary, who had taken the vow of poverty, and who has been graced by the Jesuits with the title of aposfie of the Indies, with the view to strike and gain the pagan princes, appeared before them, in the richest apparel, with splendid equipages, and a numerous train, of lackeys. He continued this ostentation to the last days of his life, and the Jesuits have not failed to exalt, with fervid panegyricks, this ardent charity of their apostle. Some however have questioned the prudence of displaying such a contrast between the apostles of the new world, and those of the first ages of Christianity. Ignatius, an intriguer by nature, and who had subtilty enough to insinuate himself intb favour with the great, employ- ed all sorts of means to remove the obstacles to the approba- tion of his institution. Perceiving that the great objection was, that the obedience promised to the pope was not abso- lute, he now promised an obedience without hounds, such as he had intended should be sworn to the general of his, order, who should be elected. Paul III. flattered by this promise, be- gan to be more favourable. On this occasion, Cardinal Contarin, connected with Igna- tins, served him efficatiously.- After the most pressing solici- tations and upon the promise of the most implicit subinis- sion to the pope, Paul III. by a bull of the twenty seventh of September 1545, approved the institution of Ignatius, re- straining, however, the number of members of sixty. iBut this restriction was soon removed by a bull of 1543. That which distinguishes this institution from others, is not any rule which subjects the members to any remarkable practiceS. The Jesuits themselves proclaim, in examnina- tion general, which they have placed at the head of their con- stitutions, that their kind of life is common, and that they are not obliged to submit to any. penitences or mortifications of amuy particular kind. Their institution is founded in privi- leges rather than rules. In fact, if we make an extract of the privileges upon which this society is founded, and of the papal bulls to the number 812 The Jest~its. :sept. of more than forty which the Jesuits have obtained, we shall see that they have procured themselves to be exempted froni all jurisdiction, both ecclesiastical and civil, from all tythe~ and impositions for themselves and their property; that their institution is an invasion, a universal encroachment on the rights of bishops, of curates, of universities, of corporations, of princes, of magistrates, of all authorities temporal and spiritual; that these exorbitant privileges, with which they have caused themselves to he invested, are fit only to over- throw all governments, and to spread troubles and confusion every where. They have procured it to be decided by papal bulls, that the government of their society is purely MONARCH- ICAL. From the origin of their establishment, the Jesuits proposed to themselves, to Swallow up all orders, all powers, all authority, all property, in one word, to concentrate every thing in their society and become universal monarchs. If such were the views of Ignatius, when, immediately after his conversion in the midst of his seraphick visions, he form ed the plan of his society; it must be acknowledged, that he had a vast genius, born for great enterprises, and that he thought less of being an apostle, than a conqueror. It appears that the Jesuits chose to paint hin~ in this lat- ter character. They have engraved upon this tomb, the fol- lowing inscription. Whoever you are, represent to your- self the image of the great Pompey, of Cesar, or of Alexan- der. Open your eyes to the truth, and you will see upon this marble, that Ignatius was greater than all those conquer- ors. Jesus Christ, in establishing his religion, has expressly ex- cluded all domination. Far from establishing a monarcby, lie willed that all should be decided by assemblies, and by the poll. But in the houses of the Jesuits, nothing is decided by the poll. Gregory XIV, by his bull of 1591, declares that Igna- tius determined that the government of his society should be monarchical, and that every thing should be decided by the single will of the general. The plan of Ignatius then, is in direct contradiction to the plan of Jesus Christ. INqIsIToR~ to the EU~a& cth hterads. $15 Visit to the Elixabeth IsLands. [A party of gentlemen lately visited the old colony and the Elizabeth islands. The following letter, giving an account of their journey, may amuse some of our readers.] DEAR , Boston, 2 Aug. 1817. I promised to relate to you the incidents of my ride; and it is my first occupation to address you, to tell of all I felt and all I saw, or rather of all that I remember; for I did riot see and feel so little in a week, as to promise that I will re. collect it all in a day. Monday the 21st of July we left Boston for New Bedford. iNear the road side in Abington we observed a remarkable tree, one of the ancient boundaries of the Plymouth Colony, whose inhabitants, after an union of more than a century with Massachusetts Bay, are still proud of their former in~ dependence, and of the superiour antiquity of their settlement. lATe were told that the road, on which we travelled, passed through the most fertile part of the Colony. The vegetation was certainly more forward than in the immediate vicinity of Boston. The rye was abundant, and in many fields ripe for harvest. In some, the reapers were actually employed. The Indian corn was backward and unpromising. The sides of the road were, during the first part of our ride, covered with roses in full bloom, and through the whole of it decorated with the red lily. In the town of Middleborough, thirty eight miles from Boston, we stopped a few moments on the banks of Assawampset pond, a lake six miles in length and three in breadth, whose deep coves, and bold and extensiv& promontories, present many beautiful scenes, agreeably diver.~ sified by wildness and cultivation. It is very shallow and its. bottom consists of bog iron ore, which has been an article of commerce ever since its discovery in 1747. The lake is owned in 70 undivided shares by the assignees of the original settlers of the town. Any person may dig the ore, which is sold on ftie banks of the lake at from four to seven dollars per ton, according to its quality. The purchaser pays the further sum of one dollar per ton to the proprietors, and the ore is then smelted, and cast into hollow ware in this and the neighbour~. irig towns. The quantity now dug here is much less than for- mcrly, hardly exceeding one hundred tons a year. We rod@

Visit to the Elizabethan Islands 313-324

to the EU~a& cth hterads. $15 Visit to the Elixabeth IsLands. [A party of gentlemen lately visited the old colony and the Elizabeth islands. The following letter, giving an account of their journey, may amuse some of our readers.] DEAR , Boston, 2 Aug. 1817. I promised to relate to you the incidents of my ride; and it is my first occupation to address you, to tell of all I felt and all I saw, or rather of all that I remember; for I did riot see and feel so little in a week, as to promise that I will re. collect it all in a day. Monday the 21st of July we left Boston for New Bedford. iNear the road side in Abington we observed a remarkable tree, one of the ancient boundaries of the Plymouth Colony, whose inhabitants, after an union of more than a century with Massachusetts Bay, are still proud of their former in~ dependence, and of the superiour antiquity of their settlement. lATe were told that the road, on which we travelled, passed through the most fertile part of the Colony. The vegetation was certainly more forward than in the immediate vicinity of Boston. The rye was abundant, and in many fields ripe for harvest. In some, the reapers were actually employed. The Indian corn was backward and unpromising. The sides of the road were, during the first part of our ride, covered with roses in full bloom, and through the whole of it decorated with the red lily. In the town of Middleborough, thirty eight miles from Boston, we stopped a few moments on the banks of Assawampset pond, a lake six miles in length and three in breadth, whose deep coves, and bold and extensiv& promontories, present many beautiful scenes, agreeably diver.~ sified by wildness and cultivation. It is very shallow and its. bottom consists of bog iron ore, which has been an article of commerce ever since its discovery in 1747. The lake is owned in 70 undivided shares by the assignees of the original settlers of the town. Any person may dig the ore, which is sold on ftie banks of the lake at from four to seven dollars per ton, according to its quality. The purchaser pays the further sum of one dollar per ton to the proprietors, and the ore is then smelted, and cast into hollow ware in this and the neighbour~. irig towns. The quantity now dug here is much less than for- mcrly, hardly exceeding one hundred tons a year. We rod@ 514 visit to the Bli%abeik Islands. [Sept. two miles along the western bank of this lake, and before we quitted it, saw on our right Long Pond, which in one place approaches so near it as to leave only a passage tor the road between them. On Assawampset was committed the murder of Sausaman, the immediate occasion 6f the war between our ancestors and King Philip, professedly a war of extermination, in which the two parties, struggling for existence, displayed a foresight and sagacity in planning their military enterprises, and a rapidity, fearlessness, and perseverance in executing them, which render that age one of the most interesting periods of our history; though the occasional acts of perfidy and atroc- ity committed on both sides make it one of the least honour- able. Now step forward again about a hundred and forty years from those scenes of blood, enter with us the peaceful dwel- lings of the Quakers of New Bedford, and say if humanity has not gained by the exchange. This town of New Bed- ford, where we arrived on Monday evening, and were de- tained by rain during the whole of Tuesday, is finely situat- ed on a gentle acclivity, rising from the western bank of the Acushnet, and commands a perfect view of the town of Fair- haven and the hamlet of Oxford, which occupy lower and more level ground on the other side of the river. It contains about two thousand five hundred inhabitants, a large portion of them Friends. The remainder is divided into two societies 0Tf baptists and two of congregationalists. It contains also an academy for the instruction of ioth sexes, possessing a libra- ry of eight hundred volumes, the gift of Samuel Elam Esq. and a philosophical apparatus ;..a charity school for the ed- ucation of eighty two children, supported and superintended by young ladies ;-.--a museum belonging to a society of gen- tlemen; and a social library. Many of the inhabitants are engaged in the whale fishery, and they wisely retain among themselves the profits of manufacturing, as well as of collect- ing the spermaceti. The plunder of the whales~~ pursued and destroyed in the Pacifick ocean, never quits their hands till it has gone through the whole process, which fits it for use, and is prepared to illuminate the ball room. At seven oclock on Wednesday morning we lift New Bed. ford in a sloop, descended that stately sound, Buzzards bay, and anchore~l near the ~vesternmost of the Elizabeth islands; * Visit to the elizabeth Islands. the first spot in New England occupied by Europeans, and the only one inhabited by them in the glorious days of Queen Bess. In 1602, Bartholomew Gosnold and thirty one others left England in a small bark to seek their fortunes in America. Believing that the common route by the Canary islands was unnecessarily circuitous, Gosnold steered directly west, and on the fourteenth of May, after a passage of seven weeks, caine within sight of the coast of Massachusetts bay. He did not land here, but sailing along the shore toward the south, pass- ed Cape Cod, to ~vhicli he gave the name it now bears, from the number of cod fish, that he caught there. Standing out to sea to avoid the Pollock rip, he overshot in the night the eastern entrance of the Vineyard sound, and afterwards, re- turning toward the land, coasted along the southern shore of the island now called Marthas Vineyard, supposing it a part of the main. To Nomans Land he gave the name of Mar- thas Vineyard, which has been since transferred, by some strange accident, to the larger island in its vicinity. After doubling a high ledge of rocks running a mile into the sea, he anchored in a cove of the island near them; naming it Eliz- abeth island in honour of the Queen. This island, possessing a vecy teitile soil, was then covered with trees and uninhab- ited. In the western part of it they found a pond of fresh water two miles in circumference, separated from the sea on one side by a narrow beach; and in this pond a rocky isles, of about one acre, on which they determined to fix their res- idence. A part of the company remained there three weeks, occupied in throwing up a fort, digging and stoning a cel- lar, and builJing a dwelling house; while the rest explored the neighbouring continent and procured a cargo of sassafras and skins. It was intended that twenty of their number should remain in their~ new habitation, and that the others should return to England to sell their cargo, and procure the means of establishing a permanent colony. Some difficulties however were occasioned by a dispute about the mode of di- viding the profits of the voyage; and soon afterwards the discovery that they had not provisions enough to victual both the fort and the vessel, and an attack on one of their boats by the natives, who had previously appeared friendly to them, completely discouraged them, and induced them to abandon the enterprise, and set sail for England on the eighteenth of Visit to the Elizabeth Islands. 3i6 [Sept. June, three weeks after their first occupation of the island. Dr. Belkuap takes some pains tojustif~ them for relinquish- ing their project so soon, by dwelling on the imprudence of remaining without the means of defence or of subsistence; but it seems to me that they need no justification. They were under iio obligation to remain; they had voluntarily under- taken as expedition for profit, and had a right to abandon it as-soon as they were weary of the enterprise. The name of Elizabeth was afterwards given to the whole group of islands in Buzzards Bay, and it seems to have been doubted which of theni was occupied by Gositoid, till Dr. Belkuap, visiting them in i797~, found the most westerly to agree perfectly with the description given of their resi- dence by the adventurers; and even thought that he discov- ered the remains of their cellar. Some young gentlemen of New Bedford had since visited the spot without finding these remains; and it was one object oC our journey to ascertain whether any such existed. Having landed on the eastern shore of the Island, and walked across it, we found at the other extremity a long, triangular pond, almost in the shape of a powder-horn, with its base near the western side of the Island, and its point directed toward the north. Its banks on the west and south are high; on the north it is separated from the sea by a curving beach not thirty yards wide, across which we dragged our boat and launched it into the fresh water of the pond. I call it fresh only because it is not sislt, for it is too brackish even for the palate of a Bosto.. nian. In the western end of the pond is a high islet, sur- rounde4 by a rocky margin and covered with a very rich soil, in which were growing the wild goosberry, the grape, elder, ynallows, primrose, eglantine, yarrow, sumach, wild parsnip, beach plum, wild cherry, wild pea, Solomons seal, the coti- volvulus, thoroughwort, and red clover. The stump of a red cedar stood near the shore, and ~ve brought home a piece of it as a remembrancer of our expedition. On the northern bank of the islet about ten yards from the water, we found a small excavation overgrown with bushes and grass, on one side of which were three large stones in a row at the distance of threefeet from each other, having un(ler them other stones ~fthes~me size lying in the same direction. Between these were smaller stones, which appeared by their form and smoothness to have been taken from the beach. In another 1817.] Visit to Ike Rlizabeth Islands. ~i7 slight excavation twenty eight yards south of the former near the centre and highest part of the islet, were similar stones, but very few in number, and not disposed in any apparent or- der. On digging in other parts of the islet, we found none of the same kind. We conjectured that the first excavation was all that remained of Gosnolds cellar, and the latter a part of the trench dug for the purpose of forming the fort. There can be no doubt that this was the place of his resi d~nce, for there is no other pond containing an islet in any one of the Elizabeth Islands. Every feature of the scene ro. minded us of the narrative of its discoverers. The trees in~ deed have fallen and left no trace of their existence, except the term Copicut, shady, the appellation of a lofty promontory~ extending from the centre of the island toward the north; hut the soil is still fertile, the beach, the lake, the islet are unaltered, and are rendered by their natural beauties, 110 less than by the recollections, with which they are associated, well worthy of the attention of a poet; and the gigantick rocks near the western coast of the island, against which the waves dash with the foam, and the fury, and the deafening noise of a cataract, would form as grand a picture in an epick poem, as Acroceraunia or Charybdis. But their names . These rocks are the sow and pigs ;.the blooming islet is Quawek Island; the beautiful lake and the island, which cuntains it, are styled Poocutokhunkuunoh island and pond, which is sometimes elegantly abbreviated into Cult yhunk. What words for the lips of the muses !The delicate ears of some of our party could not endure them, and we therefore gave to the pond and islet the name of their discoverer, Gosnold, and softened down the Indian appellation of the principal isl- and into L~uttoona, which you and other poets are expected always to employ hereafter, except in those cases, where it may be necessary for the sake of the rhyme, to make use of quawck, Poocutohkunkunnoh, and t3ult yhunk. We dined on Gosnolds Islet. On the beach which sepa. rates his pond from the ocean, we found the murex canicula- tus, a shell confounded by the inhabitants of this part of the Commonwealth with the murex carica, under the common iiame of perriwinkle, which properly belongs to neither. The island of Cuttoona contains about 516 acres, and has two houses on its eastern end, occupied by three families, who hire the island for 250 dollars per annum, and keep on i~ 16 cows and Vol. V. No. 3. 41 Pisj~ to the ~ixabet4 Islands. [Sept, 500 sheep. We re-embarked in the afternoon, and with ~ fair wind and favourable tide,coasted along the northern shore of Nashawenna, and passed through Quicks Iiole~ between that island and Pasque Island to Tarpaulin Cove, a fine har- bour on the south side of Nashaun, where we slept. A light- house 32 feet high, built of granite found in the island, is just erected on the point of land farming the southwestern side of the harbour. The next day, Thursday, we set sail for Gay Head, the northwestern extremity of Marthas Vineyard. It was call- ed by Gosnold Dover ~l~ff and owes its present name to the singular beauty of its appearance, when seen from the shore. In that direction it presents to the eye a perpendicular cliff ~ feet high, principally composed of white and blue clay, in which are irregularly interspersed vast beds of red and yel- low ochee, and of a black substance, which has been thought to indicate the existence of coal in its vicinity. Excavations have been made to the depth of 30 feet, in the hope of obtain. ing that valuable mineral, without success. The ochres are of a very bad quality. The white clay is the only useful ma. terial found here, and is sold by the Indians deliverable on board vessels for three dollars and a half, and in the cliff for one dollar per ton. The black part of the cliff seems to con- sist of decayed vegetable matter, and abounds with pyrites and with long, slender crystals of gypsum, called by the in- habitants Maushops needles. On the edge of the cliff is the Devils Den, a vast and deep basin, one side of which appears to have been washed away by the sea. Its form has induced some persons to consider it as the crater of an extinct volca- flo, but we saw no volcanick appearances near it. It was once the dwelling of Maushop. According to the tradition of the Indians, when their ancestors first came from the west to this island, they found it occupied by Maushop, a benevo- lent but capricious being, of gigantick frame and supernatur- al power. His daily food was broiled whales, and he threw many of them. on the Goast for the support of his Indian neighbours. At last, weary of the world, he sent his sons and daughter to play at ball, and while they were engaged in their sport, drew his toe across the beach, on which they were, and separated it from the island. The returning tide rising over it, the brothers crowded round their sister, care- less of their own danger; arid while sinking themselves, were 817.11 Visit to the R1i~abeth Islands. 319 only anxious t~ keep her head above the waves. Maushop commendea their fraternal affection, bade them always love hind protect their sister, and preserved their lives by con1~ert- ing them into whale killers, a sort of grampus, whose d~- scendants still delight to sport about the ancient dwelling of their great progenitor~ The giant then hurled his wife Sa~ cotiet into the air, and plunging himself beneath the waves, disappeared forever. Saconet fell on the promontory of Rhode Island, which now bears her name, and long lived there, ex- acting tribute from all passengers. At length she was con- verted into stone, still however retaining her former shape, till the white men, mistaking her probably for an i~l, lop- ped off ~both her arms; but her mutilated form remains to this day on the spot where she fell, and affllrds tasting and unimpeachable evidence of the truth of the tradition. The ~vest end of Marthas Vineyard containing 3000 acres of the best land in the island, and including Gay Head, is reserved for the Indians established at this place and their descendants. The whole number of proprietors is said to be 250; only 159 reside here at present. The land is undivid- ed; but each man cultivates as much as he pleases, and no one intrudes on the spot, which another has appropriated by his labour. They have not the power of alienating theit~ lands, being considered as perpetual children, and their prop- erty committed to the care of guardians appointed by the government of Massachusetts. These guardians let a part of the territory to whites, and appropriate the income to the support of the Indians. Intermartiages between the mem- bers of this tribe and negroes are so common, that there now exist very few of Iure Indian descent. One of these few we had the pleasure of seeing, when, tempted by curiosity, we had entered her miserable dwelling. It did not require a very powerful imagination to convert her into another Meg Merrilies. Her countenance bore the traces of extreme age, but her form, though slender, was erect, her voice firm, and her remarks shrewd and pertinent. The muscles of her face possessed a calmness and immobility, which seemed to prove that nothing agitated her feelings, ~vhile the quickness of her eye denoted that nothing escaped her observation. This cast of countenance, and the character it expresses, are not however peculiarities of the individual; they distinguish the whole race. 329 Visit to the Elizabeth Islands. ESept. The Indians of Gay Head have lately sent a memorial to the General Court, stating their grievances, and a committee has been appointed to examine into the ground of their com- plaints. Idleness is undoubtedly the great evil that afflicts them. Can it be remedied? We should not be discouraged because the efforts hitherto made for the improvement of their characters have been ineffectual; for it is not certain that they have been properly directed. Schools have been occasionally established among them to teach them reading and writing, arts of which they know not the value. Mis.. sionaries are constantly employed to preach the gospel to them. .But beings so indifferent to their fate that they will not make provision even for to day, cannot be expected to take much pains to prepare for futurity. They need some strong and direct excitement to rouse them from their torpor. it has been proposed to give them the power of alienating their property, which would soon be squandered. They would then be compelled to toil for a subsistence; and habits of industry once acquired might last longer than the necessi- ty, in which they originated. INor would there be any cru- elty in thus permitting them to waste their property, if it were certain that the experiment would succeed. Could they obtain industrious habits in exchange for their lands, it would be a profitable bargain to them, as well as to the corn- iinunity. But it may be said, and I fear too truly, that the present generation, palsied by inveterate indolence and ig- norant of any occupation capable of affording them immedi. ate subsistence, would sink in despondency, and find it easi- er to die than to labour. Is there however no hope for their children? Might they not be collected in one seminary, where they should be taught the mechanick arts, and incited to ex. ertion by emulation, the hope of reward, and the fear of punishment; and when their education should be completed, instead of being left here to be corrupted by their predeces- sors, sent forth to make their own way in the world~ The Indians are not incapable of serving themselves and the pub- lick. Many of them are employed in the whaling vessels of New Bedford, and are distinguished by their activity and ex- pertness. Such a project would indeed be expensive, but might ultimately prove less so than the present mode of pro. viding for their support. We ought not to despise them be- cause they are ignorant and degraded; for perhaps they are i817.) Visit to the Rlixabeth Islands. ignorant and degraded. only because they have already been so much despised. There is no school now at Gay Head. We returned to pass another night at Tarpaulin cove, where. we found excellent accommodations. Early on Friday morning our party set forward in a waggon, on horseback, and on foot for the northeastern end of Nashaun. This isl- and is severe and a half miles long; and one and three quar. ters broad. It contains about two thousand sheep, and is in high repute for the excellence of its butter and cheese. While all the Elizabeth islands west of it have been stripped of their woods, the trees here, consisting of beech, pine, oak, and hickory, have been carefully preserved, and afford shelter to a hundred deer, one of which bounded across our path at a little distance before us. Our conductor was a lively and intelligent young farmer, who has the superintendence of the island, and resides at its northern extremity. We were quite I)Ieased with the neatness and simplicity of his house; but imagine my surprise, on taking up a book, to find that it was the Fables of Lafontaine, which opened of itself at that. exquisite, inimitable tale Les deux pigeons. This was something romantick, and we began to look about us for a goddess in disguise. But on inquiry we found the ~ober fact to be, that our young farmer was a Frenchman, who had left his country at the age of fourteen, and acquired our Ian. guage so perfectly, that even when acquainted ~with his ori- gin, we could not detect the slightest foreign accent. After dinner we left Nashaun delighted with every thing that we had seen there. The Elizabeth Islands are part of Chil- mark, a town on M~~rthas Vineyard ;-their names are Cut- tyhunk, Penaquese, Gull, Nashawenna, Pesque, Nashaun, Onkatomka, Nannamisset, the two Ram islands, and the three Wepeckets. They are generally stocked with sheep, the average weight of whose fleeces is full three pounds. Those brought from the main are far less likely to live here than those born on the islands themselves. In the boat, which conveyed us from Nashaun to Falmouth, we observed the words 0 navis qu~e tibi creditum & c. writ- ten by the pencil of our friend Dr. B, who had been on Nashaun four days before us, and knew that we should fol- low him. As our party consisted of seven, I considered my- self entitled to a seventh part of the compliment, and wa~ proud of my portion; but would have resigned it willingly V~isU to the EIi%abeth Iskt~zd~. ESept. for the pleasure of his company. We sailed by Onkatomka, where one thousand five hundred bushels of salt are annually made by evaporation from sea water. The overseer receives, as a compensation for the whole labour, one fifth part of the produce. At Falmouth forty thousand bushels are made, valued at fifty cents a bushel. From the- water remaining after this process they make Glaubers salts, worth two cents a pound, at an expense not exceeding that previously incur- red by extracting the common salt. The fuel requisite for this purpose costs nothing more than the labour of cutting it. From Falmouth an excellent road led us to Sandwich, which we reached on Friday evening. Saturday morning, after catching a mess of trout for dinner, we visited the ruined cellar of the sachem of Mon- umet, the neighbourhood of which was the scene of an in- teresting adventure in the life of Captain Standish. We al- so looked at the ground, through which it has been proposed to ~ut a canal seven miles long, connecting Buzzards bay with that of Barustable. It is said that their waters do not stand at the same level; but this inconvenience would be remedied by a lock. More serious objections are, that the navigation of Buzzards bay is neither easy nor safe; that the force of the tides and the. nature of the soil, which is pure sand, would obstruct the canal, and that in winter, when most needed, because the passage round Cape Cod is thea most dangerous, it would be rendered impassable by ice. On the other hand, the advantages tobe derived by our capital from such a passage are great and obvious. Even should it admit vessels of the smallest size oiily, it would induce those, who oc- cupy the shores of the sound, to direct their commerce entire- ly to Boston, where they would find manners, and a mode of transacting business more similar to their own, than those of New York. it is by facilitating the means of intercourse between Boston and other parts of the state, that the former is to be rendered the great mart of our manufactures; not by establishing extensive manufactories within the limits of the town; they are always pernicknis in populous places; for have we any reason to expect an exemption from their evils, since the same causes, that produce so much mischief elsewhere, will operate here. In such establishments crowds of both sexes are collected from all parts of the country, sud.. denly exposed to many new temptations, removed from their i8~47.] Visit to the ELjxabetl4 Is1and~. early habits and associations; free~I from the salutary res- traints imposed on them by the constant presence of those, whose opinions they have been accustomed to respect; sev~. ered from all their natural connexions; torn from their na~ tive soil, from the spot where they had taken root and flour- ished; and thrown together to corrupt in a heap, under tho heated atmosphere of the town. Sunday we remained at Sandwich, and on Monday morn- ing left it on a very sandy road for Plymouth. In the course of our ride we saw two large rocks, called Sacrifice rocks, from a custom, still prevalent among the Indians, of throwing sticks of wood or branches of trees on them whenever they pass. Nobody seems to know the date or motive of this prac- tice. Near the road, seven miles south of Plymouth, is Clam Pudding pond, on whose borders the judges of the colony, when they made their pedestrian circuits in old times, were accustomed to Stop, and draw forth from their wallets their homely meal, consisting of roasted clams and hard Indian pudding, the luxuries of that age ofsimplicity. At Plymouth we made it our first business to visit Forefathers rock, the landing place of the pilgrims of i620, a more accessible, but far more interesting spot than Gosnolds islet. The men, who landed here, did not abandon their enterprise, though they had want and perils to contend with, as well as their pre- 4ecessors. But they cams with a different character and dif- ferent motives; they had been inured to adversity, excited and iuvigorated by persecution; they knew that the hopes of their friends in Holland depended on their perseverance; and they had made a contract with the Virginia company in England, by which they were pledged to remain here. The unexpected difficulties which they, encountered, the want of food, the severity of the climate, the dissase which destroyed nearly half their numbt~g~in the first winter, would have dis- couraged most men, ah4~rhaps have justified them in re- turning to Europe, notwithstanding their obligations to re- main. But these were not the men to urge the plea of neces- sity. In their estimation it was necessary to do their duty, but it was not necessary to live. And they have their re- ward. The evils endured by them, great as they were, are a cheap price for the blessings that they have purchased for their children. We are enjoying the recompense of their sufferings, and gathering the fruits of their labour. Retreat for the Sane. (Sept. The last interesting event, that I remember, was our sit- ting in Governour Carvers chair in the barbers shop at Plymouth. Such are the incidents and reflections, which have pleased your friend; but the greatest of my pleasures was the society of my companions; and it was not the least of them to re- turn. q Retreat for the Sane. Huc propius me Dum doc~o inbanire omnes, vos ordine adite. lou. MR. ED1T0R~ IT is obvious, that in the present state of this country, when very little money can be spared from individual and national wants, even to publick institutions of the most gener- al and acknowledged utility, none should be undertaken, but upon the surest and most permanent foundation, and of which the practicability, as well as usefulness is perfectly well as- certained. It becomes then important when a project of great and common interest is afoot, the plan and conduct of which, being once decided upon, do not readily admit of alteration, that a liberal discussion of the subject should previously be bad, and the various obstacles to it freely exposed. Nor should the investigation in such cases be limited to those only, who, from their occupations and course of thought, might be supposed the most competent to decide questions of that particular nature. Many of the hints which fall, as it were by chance, from the comparatively stupid and unlettered, may, in the hands of the wise and well informed, be turned to very good account. The above remarks are made, by way of apology for offering a few thoughts upon the recent plan of an hos- pital for the Insane. I am well aware that in touching upon this suhject, and advancing those notions about it which a most careful and thorough investigation has caused me to adopt, I have very many difficulties to contend with ; difficul- ties the more hard to be overcome, because they take their origin in our strongest and most confirmed passions and prejudices, and are fostered and established by the usual modes of education. A deep sense, however, of the good ef

Retreat for the Sane 324-334

Retreat for the Sane. (Sept. The last interesting event, that I remember, was our sit- ting in Governour Carvers chair in the barbers shop at Plymouth. Such are the incidents and reflections, which have pleased your friend; but the greatest of my pleasures was the society of my companions; and it was not the least of them to re- turn. q Retreat for the Sane. Huc propius me Dum doc~o inbanire omnes, vos ordine adite. lou. MR. ED1T0R~ IT is obvious, that in the present state of this country, when very little money can be spared from individual and national wants, even to publick institutions of the most gener- al and acknowledged utility, none should be undertaken, but upon the surest and most permanent foundation, and of which the practicability, as well as usefulness is perfectly well as- certained. It becomes then important when a project of great and common interest is afoot, the plan and conduct of which, being once decided upon, do not readily admit of alteration, that a liberal discussion of the subject should previously be bad, and the various obstacles to it freely exposed. Nor should the investigation in such cases be limited to those only, who, from their occupations and course of thought, might be supposed the most competent to decide questions of that particular nature. Many of the hints which fall, as it were by chance, from the comparatively stupid and unlettered, may, in the hands of the wise and well informed, be turned to very good account. The above remarks are made, by way of apology for offering a few thoughts upon the recent plan of an hos- pital for the Insane. I am well aware that in touching upon this suhject, and advancing those notions about it which a most careful and thorough investigation has caused me to adopt, I have very many difficulties to contend with ; difficul- ties the more hard to be overcome, because they take their origin in our strongest and most confirmed passions and prejudices, and are fostered and established by the usual modes of education. A deep sense, however, of the good ef $25 1817.] Retreat for the Saite. feds to be produeed by my opinions, upon the advancement of civilization, th~ progress of true knowledge, and the perma- nent happiness of mankind; and the recollection that no im- portant revolution in publick opinion has ever been brought about, but with the greatest opposition, and by very slow de- grees, has encouraged me. I shall not pretend to enter at great length into the subject ;a brief statement of some of the most prominent objections to this plan, as it now stands, to- gether with my own theory icspecting it, will comprise all I have to say. To effect a separation between the sane and insane persons of the community, seems indeed to be a most desirable object, take it in whatever point of view we may; but the manner and means of best eflhcting this separation, under existing circumstances, is not so plain and obvious, I apprehend, as some may choose to think it, but will be found, on the con- trary, to require no little consideration and forethought. The first, and fundamental errour of the intelligent gentlemen who have planned this institution, arises, I conceive, from an incorrect estimate of the number of insane persons in the community. Since my getting into years, and retiring from active business, I have been in the habit of devoting much of my time to works which treat of the mind. In pursuing this course, I chanced to take up, some years ago, a treatise upon mental diseases, written by a very eminent physician of this country, since deceased, in which- it was stated, as a well as- certained and undeniable fact, that about two thirds of the in- habitants of this world ~vere not in their right minds. Hav- ing never before turned my thoughts that way, I was at first. greatly astonished at the doctrine, and almost questioned the sanity of the learned author himself; being induced however, from its novelty, to look further into the matter, I very soon came fully into his opinion, and have ever since been the more and more strengthened in it. In consequence of the late successful attempt at the establishment of the above institu- tion, I was lead, with the assistance of a friend who is well versed in these things, to make some calculations as to the rel. ative numbers of the sane and insane in this country, and af- - ter a very laborious and exact estimate, we arrived at the fol- lowing results. Taki~g the term insane, in its most general signification, to comprehend all persons of disordered minds, we classed ~ No. 3. 42 & 26 Retreat for the Sane. [Sept. them under such several heads, as their different degrees of insanity seemed to demand, and after this manner found, that the number of those totally deprived of reason, and who in vulgar language are denominated Stark .~fad, amounted to about one out of every thousand persons ;..Staring, to about one out of every hundred ;Iusane, in its most confined sense, to about twenty five out of a hundred, or one quarter part ; Persons beside themselves, to about fifty out of a hundred ;~ Insane in its most extensive sense, deranged or cracked which three terms are nearly synonymousto about nine hun- dred out of every thousand; this last class being understood to include in it all those going before. I might here easily enumerate the various symptoms by which these several spe- cies of insanity are distinguished; point out the kinds most prevalent in particular sections of the country; and throw in some suggestions as to the probable causes of this difference, founded on an investigation of the local situation, air, and soil of the different parts of America, and the laws, education, and habits of the people; but as this is not absolutely essen- tial to my present object, and might appear invidious, I shall omit it. Some may think this an exaggerated, or mistaken account, but we assure them, that had we not pass- ed over unnoticed, all that immense class of persons who are deficient in common sense, the list would have swelled to a size sur~)aSsing credibility, and the number of sane left, been hardly worth the reckoning. We shall leave it to those who have the management of the institution, to determine, how they can accommodate, at one time, even so small a part of these, as will prevent only the continued increase of the main body. In the next place, have we sufficient grounds for our be- lief in the restoration ot~ these unt~or~u~ate persons? As this institution is established for the purposes of cure, and not as a place of deposit, it is supposed the l)atients will be selected, principally from the three last classes above men- tioned, the other two presenting, for the most part, decidedly hopeless cases. Now I cannot but fear, that there are some obstacles to the cure of these last, ~v~uich will be found well nigh insurmountable. One of the principal of these arises from a great unseasonableness of the necessary applications. When a person by some unkcky rap on the head, or violent internal disorder, becomes of a sudden downright mad, so as 1.817.] Retreat for the Sane. 327 to make chains and a straight jacket essential articles of his toilet, every one sees at once what the matter is, and he is taken in hand by the physicians, without loss of time; but these other kinds of insanity, not presenting any very violent symptoms, the disease often comes to be incurable before peo- ple are apprized of its nature. The deception is the great- er in such instances, because the persons, who rank under these classes of insane, particularly the last, are generally the most stirring, noisy, prominent men in the community, and before they are found out, get the character (from those who are not too intimate with them) of being what the world calls, devilish clever fellows. Ye come to the fact, this diseas8 is often taken at a mudi earlier period of life than we are apt to imagine,- Primaque lux vine prima furoris erat, And some think it is not unfrequently drawn in with the mothers milk. Its first indications are then naturally enough laid to the account of youthful spirit, wild oats, eccentrici4~y, remarkable genius, & c. & c. until after a while, when the sub- ject gets forward into life, some such unfortunate act is commit- ted, as cannot be misconstrued. Medical men, and the sane part of society, foresee indeed the issue, long before things come to this pass, but how are they to persuade the prejudiced rel- atives, and hulk of the community, (who, it i~ to be observ- ed, are most of them in different stages of the some disorder,) that men who are in the very heart of all the bustle, and ac- tivity, and parade of the world, are fit subjects for an insane hospital? Nimirum insanus paucis videatur, eo quod Magima pars hominum morbo jactetur eodem. When all are mad, where all are like opprest, Who can discern one mad man from the rest. But, Sir, supposing these difficulties not so great, as I have thought them to be, another question comes up; of deep inter- est to every individual, respecting the constitutionality of such an establishment. On turning over our constitution the oth- er day with a view to this, I felt some hesitation upon the point, whether insanity could be offered iii denkd of the right of suffrage. It may seem somewhat strange, that I should have given in for a moment to the least doubt about a matter, so perfectly well settled in the English books ; but my idea was, 323 Retreat for the Saner [Sept. that possibly the spirit of our government might vary the case. And in truth, sir, the more I canvassed the subject, the more was this notion confirmed. Upon recurrence to usage, in this particular, I coul(I not find a single instance in which a rejection was allo~ved on such grounds. I have moreover since learned from several first rate politicians, that it would be considered but a poor subterfuge in these times against the acts of a m~jority, that the course of their conduct afforded convincing proofs of insanity. Under these circumstances I am at a loss to know, upon what principle, the trifling minority of the sane could un- dertake to exercise such a power as this over the personal liberty of the insane, and thus deprive them of their most im- portant rights, as citizens of a free country. It is evident, that if (as some assert to be the fact) the sane should all hap- pen to belong to the same party in politicks, the exercise of this power would become at once the most irresistible polit- ical engine ever put at work; for it being an established point of faith with the members of each party, that the leaders of the other are iiothing less than stark mad, no sooner could a man come to any influence on the other side, than he would be accommodated with rooms in the insane l~ospital. I learn too, that this political mania, when once well worked into the blood, is the most incurable species of madness a person can be taken with; so that this establishment would be forthwith furnished to the full, with go~ernours, senators, representa~ trees and partzsans, there to remain for life, to the exclusion of patients of a less violent disorder, and much more open to cure. The foregoing objections, however, of whatever weight, may all safely be dismissed, provided the suggestion I am about to make shall be thought to carry any truth with it. In the course of the calculations before mentioned, I was brought to revolve in my mind, whether after all, insanity would not turn out to be the natural state of man, and sani- ty ~ie exception to the general rule; for upon looking back into the works of various ancient authors, I find that the sa- gcs and philosophers of all past ages entertained the same opinion concerning the majority of the people, in their re- spective times, as the learned gentleman above quoted does of those in the present. It is related of Socrates, that after having taken great pains to fir.d out a wise man, and consulted with every description of persons, be finally concluded that all men were fools. 1.817.) Retreat for the Sane. 32~ Democritus, a most celebrated philosopher of Abdera, held that all were mad, and on account of this opinion was es- teemed so himself, until the learned Hippocrates going to visit him was not only convinced of his wisdom, but became also a convert to his opinions. Pliny the younger, in his panegyrick on the Emperour Trajan, says Omnes actiones exproba~re 6tuhlitiam videntur. And Cardan, Lib. 3d de Sap. Pauci ut video sancr inentis sunt. The same sentiments are advanced in the works of C~ceio, Virgil, and Horace, and a most erudite author of the six- teenth century observes, in a preface to one of his works, give me but a little leave, and you shall see by what con- fessions, testimonies, arguments, I will evince it, that most men are mad, that they had as much need to go a pilgrimage to Anticyr~e, (as in Strabos time they did,) as in our days they run to Compostella, our lady of Sichem or Lauretta, to seek help; that it is like to be as prosperous a voyage, as that of Guiana, and that there is much more need of helle- bore than of tobacco. Virgil, in speaking of the Anticyr~ referred to above, two towns in Greece to which people re- sorted to obtain hellebore, esteemed a cure for madness, says, Plures ohm gentes navigabant illuc sanitahis causa, which gives us some idea of the numbers that were afflicted with this calamity, at the time to which he refers. It would be but a waste of time to notice all the authorities that might be ad. duced to this point. I shall notice but two other authorities and those to show how extensive the term insane is, in the contemplation of the law. It is said by Lyttleton in his trea- tise on descents, Also if a man which is of non sane memo- ry, that is to say in latine, qui non est compos mentis, & c. And my Lord Coke remarks upon this. Here Lyttleton explaineth a man of no sound meinorie to be nun compos men- us. Many times (as here it appeareth) the latin word ex- plaineth the true sense, and calleth him not amens, demens~ furiosus, lunaticus, fatnus, stultus, or the like, for non compos qnentis is most sure and legall. And Blackstone gives in his Commentaries the following definition of non compos mentis; A lunatick, or non coinpos mentis, is one who hath had understanding, but by disease, grief, on other accident, hath lost the use of his reason. A Itinatick is indeed properly one that hath lucid intervals; sometimes enjoying his senses, an4 380 Retreat for the Sane. [Sept. sometimes not; and that frequently depending upon the change of the moon. But under the general name of non corn- pos mentis, (which Sir Edward Coke says is the most legal name,) are comprised not only lunaticks, but persons under frenzies, or who lose their intellects by disease; those that grow deaf, dumb, and blind, not being born so; or such in short, as are judged by the court of chancery incapable of conducting their own affairs. And the civil law goes still further, and considers as non comp Os, whoever is in danger of wasting his estate by prodigality, and he is accordingly committed by the pra~tor, to the care of tutors or curators. These authorities sufficiently prove, I think, what has beeti the state of the world from the earliest times, and that the opinion I entertain is not singular, nor my calculations ex- travagant. Indeed had I followed the strict letter of the law, it is to be feared I should hardly have found exceptions enough, to have proved my rule. They all dote, though not alike. Having thus stated such principal objections to this estab- lishment as relate to the possibility of carrying it into operation, I shall take leave to make a lew observations upon the policy of it. Those who have paid any attention to political economy, and the government of large bodies of people, must be aware that it is often necessary to put up with many and great defects and abuses in the body politick, rather titan hazard the conse- quences of sudden and important changes. Now let such persons judge whether it ~viIl be feasible to withdraw at once so large a number of people from the community, without bringing things into great confusion, and endangering the publick quiet. The largest portion of every people is made up of the labouring classes, who depend for subsistence upon the sale of the articles they manufacturethe produce they raiseor the call for their personal servicesand it is apparent, both from the numbers and the general character and habits of the insane, that it is upon them they must prin- cipally rely. When these friends of the industrious, there- fore, shall have gone into retirement, and. their noble and generous mode of life given place to the meagre regimen of the hospital, who will ans~ver for the despair of the immense number of persons thrown out of employ? Who will venture 181Z.] Retreat ftr the & mne. $31 into the market amongst the enraged venders of the best legs of mutton, the first cuts of beef, and the earliest messes of peas? Who can expect to walk the streets without being run down by your coach and chaise makers; getting a dressing from your fashionable tailors; and some hard rubs, now and then, from your most approved furniture makers? Who then but will be completely dished, in the estimation of those emi- nent gentlemen of colour, to whom we are indebted for our dinner parties; and liable to have the discordant clamour of those, who direct our usual evening amusement, played off up- on him without measure? Nor is this all; ~vhat a vacating of seats in all your general assemblies and legislative bodies? What a desertion of important offices throughout the state and nation? Nor will the learned professions, as might be hoped, remain unaffected. How many deserted flocks will have to moan the loss of their worthy pastors? Wbat a de- mand will arise for lawyers, upon the sudden falling off of the present excellent supply? How many of the sick will lay their deaths to the want of physicians, who wonld have died without a word, if under their hands? Such are some of the numerous evils, which would unavoidably ensue, and which surely can have no little influence upon the minds of intelli- gent men. I shall not push my objections any further, by adducing the many other arguments which go to their support, lest a more general spirit of inquiry should be got up, than is per- haps to be wished for; and indeed I deem it a good reason for particular caution, and deliberation, in this business, that if the insane should happen to find out how things were going, they might forth~vith take such measures, as would effectual- ly put an end to any further discussion of the matter. Fully persuaded, as I am, that the difficulties connected with this plan are altogether insurmountable, and that this opinion does not proceed from any narrow views of the sub,ject, but is the result of a very candid and extensive examina- tion, aided by the observations of a long life, and much iead~ ing; and at the same time impressed with the belief that some method ought to l)C adopted, by which the present dis-. sonant intermingling of the sane and insane may be avoided; I venture, after due reflection, most respectfully to propose, that the present plan be so amen(1e41, as that, instead of an 332 I? etreal for t1& e Sane. [Sept. hospital for the insane, this establishinent be exclusively ap- propriated to the use of the sane. It would be impossible to enumerate, within the limits ii have proposed to myself, all the advantages of such an ar- rangement. To notice a few of them only ;we may observe, in the first place, that in this way all obstacles with regard to numbers immediately vanish; for it is apparent from the preceding statement, that let but a strict examination be had upon admission, and there will not more persons be found in the whole community, properly qualified, than would serve to people a very moderately sized establishment. The coercion too, which upon the other system would so often he indispensable, and the exercise of it so painful, becomes altogether unnecessary. For it being one of the most prom- inent and unaccountable characteristicks of the sane, to in- dulge a lamentable fondness for noiseless retiren~ent, and reading, ~nd speculation, and suchlike, gainless employments, and so to acquire a distaste for the active pursuits and splen- did shows, and fashionable amusements, which enlighten, and adorn, and give a zest to society and life; it is to be sup~ posed, they will not be behind hand in taking advantage of so fair an opportunity as this, for gratifying their singular propensities. Another circumstance, not altogether unworthy of consid- eration, is, that the funds of the institution will be greatly benefited, every person, sane or not, thinking his own imme- diate interest concerned in the subscription ; and we well know how good an effect such a notion has, both upon the magnitude of a (lonation, and the spirit in which it is bestow- ed. It will be sufficient to observe, that all the various and weighty objections to the other plan, have no place in this, and that the many excellencies of the proposed amendment, ~re counterbalanced by no disadvantages whatever, that I can bring to mind. It will doubtless be remarked, that I have taken no notice in the foregoing remarks, of (that by far the most valuable part of the human family) the females. This did not happen from neglect or forgetfulness on my J)art, but from my not having the least question of their per- fect sanity. I confess I was at one time a little shaken in thfs belief; it being suggested to me as demonstrated, ~y the late unparalelled running up of bonnets, from two stories to 1817.] Retreat for the Sane. 233 five,that the women must be light-headed, or they would he unable to carry so great an additional weight on the shoul- ders. There seemed at first to be something in this argu- ment. I was soon, however, convinced of its fallacy, by re- ceiving credible information of the true nature of these ma- chines. They were constructed, it seems, to supply the place of three articles of a ladys dress, formerly much used, but now entirely laid aside, viz, a pair of pockets, back-board, and high heeled.shoes. Being of large capacity and capable of containing much air, when there is any thing of a wind stirring, they operate in the way of a balloon, and have a great tendency to rise, and by being attached to the chin, ex- tend the neck, straighten the back, and lift the whole body so that the toes merely come to the ground, and thus atford an admirable substitute for the cumbrous back-boards, and uncouth heels, formerly in vogue, besides giving a lightness arid airiness to the gait, which is exquisitely enchanting. How often have I seen these lively beings come in this style down Park street, with a fine northwest wind in their favour, hardly touching upon the earth, and looking as if about to take their flight to those happy regions, which alone are worthy of them. That ancient and useful adjunct, the pock- et, having become totally obsolete, and the indispensable, its successor, used merely for show, this new fashioned bonnet is also calculated to serve as a general reservoir, into which may occasionally be thrown an extra pocket handkerchief, a change of shoes, on walking to a party, an additional shawl, when the weather looks~threatening, or any other odd articles, that are as well out of the way; these things having at the same time no bad effect as ballast, for some think the ladies are in danger of being carried away with this fashion. I trust this explanation will be as satisfactory to every one, as it has been to me; and I never met with any thing else in the ladies, that could lead to the least suspicion of their in- sanity. There may be a question indeed whether they would be inclined to go with the sane into retirement; naturalists asserting that they are more gregarious than men, and have an instinctive fondness for large towns. I am sensible that there are not wanting persons of so suspicious and illnatur- ed a turii, as to be always looking out for secret motives, in the actions of people, and casting round for some handle of that sort, with which to oppose every useful and important im-~ Vol. V. No. 3 43 Origitiat Poetry. [Sept. provement. And it would not surprise me if some such were to suggest that I was not altogether serious and sincere in my proposal. I will only say, that in my estimation, this is not a subject to trifle about, and that a disinterested regard for the best interests of the community, and the advancement of this institution upon the most solid and beneficial grounds, could alone have induced me to come forward with the fore. going observations. - ORIGINAL POETRY. MR. EDITORS I KNOW not that the attempt has ever been made, by any ~f the various translators of Horace, to give his Sapphics an English dress in the same metre.I send you the following rather as a curiosity, than as a specimen of elegant poetry. I believe, however, the version will be found tolerably correct. If you think it worthy of putting in type, you will, by publish.. ins it, oblige ii. Horace, Ode 11. B. I. Translated. Jam satis terris, nivis atque dii~, & c.. AMPLY, already, has the sire of thunder Sent down his tempests, driving sleet and halistones, rossed our tall towers, with flaming hand, and scatterd Fear through the city. Trembled the nations, lest the times of Pyrrha, Fraught with strange omens, should return upon them, When hoary Proteus drove his herds to wander Oer the tall mountains. When to the elm tops, clung the scaly millions; (Seats where the ring doves often lovd t assemble.) And in the sea above them, swam the wild does, Trembling with terror! Driven back with fury from the Tuscan ocean Turbid and swelling, have we seen the Tiber Frostrate the shrine of Numa, and the temples Sacred tQ Vesta.

Translation of Horace, Ode 2 B. 1. 334-336

Origitiat Poetry. [Sept. provement. And it would not surprise me if some such were to suggest that I was not altogether serious and sincere in my proposal. I will only say, that in my estimation, this is not a subject to trifle about, and that a disinterested regard for the best interests of the community, and the advancement of this institution upon the most solid and beneficial grounds, could alone have induced me to come forward with the fore. going observations. - ORIGINAL POETRY. MR. EDITORS I KNOW not that the attempt has ever been made, by any ~f the various translators of Horace, to give his Sapphics an English dress in the same metre.I send you the following rather as a curiosity, than as a specimen of elegant poetry. I believe, however, the version will be found tolerably correct. If you think it worthy of putting in type, you will, by publish.. ins it, oblige ii. Horace, Ode 11. B. I. Translated. Jam satis terris, nivis atque dii~, & c.. AMPLY, already, has the sire of thunder Sent down his tempests, driving sleet and halistones, rossed our tall towers, with flaming hand, and scatterd Fear through the city. Trembled the nations, lest the times of Pyrrha, Fraught with strange omens, should return upon them, When hoary Proteus drove his herds to wander Oer the tall mountains. When to the elm tops, clung the scaly millions; (Seats where the ring doves often lovd t assemble.) And in the sea above them, swam the wild does, Trembling with terror! Driven back with fury from the Tuscan ocean Turbid and swelling, have we seen the Tiber Frostrate the shrine of Numa, and the temples Sacred tQ Vesta. 48i7.] Orininal Pociqi. 335 River uxorious! proud to be th avenger Of the fair Illia, his complaining consort; On his left bank he pours his whelming waters Lawless an d daring. Thinned by paternal vices, future ages, Wondering, shall hear of civil strife and battle~ Ah! had that ill-directed valour rather Tamed the proud Persians! Say, to what God, shall this our falling empire Ca or assistance ?With what invocation Shall the chaste ear of unregarding Vesta Bow to her Virgins? Whom wilt thou choose, eternal sire of nations! All our past guilt to expiate ?ile present, Veiling thy shoulders with a cloudy mantle, Phoebus prophetick! Or, by the loves, and sportive mirth surrounded Thou ratber, laughter-loving queen of Eryx !. Or, thy neglected race, at length regarding, Mars our stern founder, Mars, with unceasing strife, and battle sated,. Thou whom dire tumults please, and shining helmets; And the stern visage of the Moorish soldier, On the foe glaring! Or if Cyllenius, thou, to earth descending, Change thy celestial, for a human figure, & lowing with youth, and willing to be titled, Ctsars avenger! Late mayst thou seek the skies, and long remaining Shed thy kind blessings on the Roman nation; Nor mayst thou soon~with growing crimes offended Leave us unaided. Here, may it please, to gain unequalled triumphs-.-- Here, mayst thou love the names of Sire and sovreign~ Nor the fierce Medes, to rob, unpunishd suffer, Thou, C~sar, ruling! - Original Poetry. (Sept. Horace, Book I. Ode IX. Imitated. To a discontented friend. THE hills are white with new falln snow, Beneath its weight the forests bow; The ice-clad streams can scarcely flow, Constrained by hoary winter. Haste, to the cheerful parlour fly, And heap the generous fuel high, And thenwhenever thou art dry, Why, broach the bright decanter. To Providence resign the rein, Nor vex with idle care thy brain, To know if thou shalt go to Maine, Ohio, or Kentucky. Nor give to moping dread thy mind ;~ The man to gloomy dreams inclind, The ills he fears will always find, And always be unlucky. Submit, if troubles cross thy ~vay~ Smooth up thy browenjoy the day For age steals on without delay- Repress thy wish for roving. The man who thinks(whateer his case) To cure lifes ills by changing place, Will find it but a wild goose chase, And ever be removing. Fortune may frown and friends desert, 1)omestick sorrows wring the heart Yet surely tis the wisest part To yield without repining. Enjoy the good, kind heavn bestows Leave sullen discontent to those, Who fear a thorn in every rose, To God thy all resigning. 336

Imitation of Horace, Ode 9, B. 1. 336-337

Original Poetry. (Sept. Horace, Book I. Ode IX. Imitated. To a discontented friend. THE hills are white with new falln snow, Beneath its weight the forests bow; The ice-clad streams can scarcely flow, Constrained by hoary winter. Haste, to the cheerful parlour fly, And heap the generous fuel high, And thenwhenever thou art dry, Why, broach the bright decanter. To Providence resign the rein, Nor vex with idle care thy brain, To know if thou shalt go to Maine, Ohio, or Kentucky. Nor give to moping dread thy mind ;~ The man to gloomy dreams inclind, The ills he fears will always find, And always be unlucky. Submit, if troubles cross thy ~vay~ Smooth up thy browenjoy the day For age steals on without delay- Repress thy wish for roving. The man who thinks(whateer his case) To cure lifes ills by changing place, Will find it but a wild goose chase, And ever be removing. Fortune may frown and friends desert, 1)omestick sorrows wring the heart Yet surely tis the wisest part To yield without repining. Enjoy the good, kind heavn bestows Leave sullen discontent to those, Who fear a thorn in every rose, To God thy all resigning. 336 Original Poeir~. Versification of a remark of Pliiiy.that all the elements were, in their turn, hostile to man, except the earth, who sustained him with the kindness of a mother, furnished an antidote for every poison that he might draw from her, and provided him ~vith a couch of rest at his death. MAN, on the mingled elements deXends For food, for warmth, for solace, an for breath, Yet foes attack him in the garb of friends, To work his woe, and haste his hour of death. Air, the sweet air, his feeble frame that feeds, Mounts with the tempest, on the whirlwind speeds, Breaks the strong trees that oer his mansion spread, Strews the lovd roof in ruins oer his head, Lifts the white surge, the angry ocean sweeps, And wheirns the vessel in the foaming deeps. The limpid water, which his health sustains, And sends new vigour through his wasted veins, Rising in wrath, a sudden deluge pours To waste his crops, and desolate his shores. His tall domes sink,his lofty fabricks float, Where bloomd his gardens, frowns a stagnant moat~ Slow, humid vapours from the bound arise, And pestilential fogs obscure the skies. The cheerful flame, his torpid blood that warms, Blown to quick vengeance, like a fury storms, Amid the shouts of fear, and terrors cry, Winds its red volumes round the midnight sky, Consumes the fabrick that his labour reard, Destroys the form, by ties of love endeard, Blackens his beauty, lays his glory low, Feeds on his wealth, and riots in his woe. See where its strength by marble bonds comprest, In earths dark caverns, heaves her torturd breast, Bursts from its vault, the trembling mountain rends, In streams of wild, sulphureous wrath descends, Blasts the green forests, ravages the plains, Destroys the vineyards, cottages, and swains, Rolls over cities vast its whelming tide, Oer regal palaces, and towrs of pride, Their sculpturd grandeur feeds the transient blaze, And oer their heads the burning billoW plays. Then oh, is man, with heavens deputed sway, At once the sport, the victim, and the prey Have all the elements cembind as foes,

A Remark of Pliny, versified 337-338

Original Poeir~. Versification of a remark of Pliiiy.that all the elements were, in their turn, hostile to man, except the earth, who sustained him with the kindness of a mother, furnished an antidote for every poison that he might draw from her, and provided him ~vith a couch of rest at his death. MAN, on the mingled elements deXends For food, for warmth, for solace, an for breath, Yet foes attack him in the garb of friends, To work his woe, and haste his hour of death. Air, the sweet air, his feeble frame that feeds, Mounts with the tempest, on the whirlwind speeds, Breaks the strong trees that oer his mansion spread, Strews the lovd roof in ruins oer his head, Lifts the white surge, the angry ocean sweeps, And wheirns the vessel in the foaming deeps. The limpid water, which his health sustains, And sends new vigour through his wasted veins, Rising in wrath, a sudden deluge pours To waste his crops, and desolate his shores. His tall domes sink,his lofty fabricks float, Where bloomd his gardens, frowns a stagnant moat~ Slow, humid vapours from the bound arise, And pestilential fogs obscure the skies. The cheerful flame, his torpid blood that warms, Blown to quick vengeance, like a fury storms, Amid the shouts of fear, and terrors cry, Winds its red volumes round the midnight sky, Consumes the fabrick that his labour reard, Destroys the form, by ties of love endeard, Blackens his beauty, lays his glory low, Feeds on his wealth, and riots in his woe. See where its strength by marble bonds comprest, In earths dark caverns, heaves her torturd breast, Bursts from its vault, the trembling mountain rends, In streams of wild, sulphureous wrath descends, Blasts the green forests, ravages the plains, Destroys the vineyards, cottages, and swains, Rolls over cities vast its whelming tide, Oer regal palaces, and towrs of pride, Their sculpturd grandeur feeds the transient blaze, And oer their heads the burning billoW plays. Then oh, is man, with heavens deputed sway, At once the sport, the victim, and the prey Have all the elements cembind as foes, Original Poetr9j. (Sept. His harm to corn p ass, and his good oppose? No; one alone, the hapless being spares~ Wages no war, and no resistance dares. Yes, earth, kind earth, her new-born son beholds, spreads a soft shelter, in her robe enfolds, Still, like a mother kind, her love retains, Cheers by her sweetness, with her food sustains, Paints her fair fiowrs to wake his infant smile, Spreads out her fruits to sooth his hour of toil, Renews her prospects, versatile and gay, To charm his eye, and cheat his cares away, And if her roseate buds, a thorn conceal, If some sharp sting the roving hand should feel, A medcine kind, the sweet physician sends, And where her poison wounds, her balm defends. But when, at last, her drooping charge declines, When the dear lamp of life no longer shines, When oer its broken idol, friendship mourns, And love, in horrour, from its object turns, Een while affection shudders, as it grieves, She to her arms, her mouldring son receives, Sings a low requiem, to her darling birth, Return! thou lovd one, to thy parent earth. Safe in her bosom, the deposit keeps, Until the flame that dries the watery deeps, Spreads oer the parching skies its qiienchless blaze, Reddens her features, on her vitals preys. Then struggling in her last, convulsive throes, She wakes her treasure from his deep repose, Stays her last groan, amid dissolving fires, Resigns him to his Maker, and expires. Thanatopsis. NOT that from life, and all its woes The hand of death shall set me free; Not that this head, shall then repose In the low vale most peacefully. Ah, when I touch times farthest brink, A kinder solace must attend; It chills my very soul, to think On that dread hour when life must end. In vain the flattring verse may breathe, - Of ease from ~airi, and rest from strife, 338

Thanatopsis 338-340

Original Poetr9j. (Sept. His harm to corn p ass, and his good oppose? No; one alone, the hapless being spares~ Wages no war, and no resistance dares. Yes, earth, kind earth, her new-born son beholds, spreads a soft shelter, in her robe enfolds, Still, like a mother kind, her love retains, Cheers by her sweetness, with her food sustains, Paints her fair fiowrs to wake his infant smile, Spreads out her fruits to sooth his hour of toil, Renews her prospects, versatile and gay, To charm his eye, and cheat his cares away, And if her roseate buds, a thorn conceal, If some sharp sting the roving hand should feel, A medcine kind, the sweet physician sends, And where her poison wounds, her balm defends. But when, at last, her drooping charge declines, When the dear lamp of life no longer shines, When oer its broken idol, friendship mourns, And love, in horrour, from its object turns, Een while affection shudders, as it grieves, She to her arms, her mouldring son receives, Sings a low requiem, to her darling birth, Return! thou lovd one, to thy parent earth. Safe in her bosom, the deposit keeps, Until the flame that dries the watery deeps, Spreads oer the parching skies its qiienchless blaze, Reddens her features, on her vitals preys. Then struggling in her last, convulsive throes, She wakes her treasure from his deep repose, Stays her last groan, amid dissolving fires, Resigns him to his Maker, and expires. Thanatopsis. NOT that from life, and all its woes The hand of death shall set me free; Not that this head, shall then repose In the low vale most peacefully. Ah, when I touch times farthest brink, A kinder solace must attend; It chills my very soul, to think On that dread hour when life must end. In vain the flattring verse may breathe, - Of ease from ~airi, and rest from strife, 338 1817.) Original Poetry. 839 There is a sacred dread of death Inwoven with the strings of life. This bitter cup at first was given When angry justice frownd severe, And tis th eternal doom of heaven That man must view the grave with fear. Yet a few days, and thee, The all-beholding sun, shall see no more, In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in th embrace of ocean shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolvd to earth again; And, lost each human trace, surrendring up Thino individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to th insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thy eternal resting place Shalt thou retire alonenor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant worldwith kings The powerful of the earththe wise, the goad, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre The hills, Rock-ribbd and ancient as the sun,ths vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woodsthe floods that move In majesty,and the complaining brooks, That wind among the meads, and make them green, Are but the solemn decorations all, Of the great tomb of inan.The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host oC heaven Are glowing on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.Take the wings Of morningand the Borean desert pierce. Or lose thyself in the continuous woods That veil Oregan, where he hears no sound Save his own dashingsyetthe dead are thert, And millions in those solitudes, since first S4~O Origuial 1oetrg. [Sept. The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep.tWe dead reign there alone... So shalt thou rest.and what if thou shalt fall lJnnoticed by the livingand no friend Take note of thy departure? Thousands more Will share thy destlny..The tittering world Dance to the grave. The busy brood of care Plod on, and each one chases as before His favourite phantom..-Yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee! ~ Fragment. STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery; and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares To tire thee of itenter~this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kinder calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Here thou wilt nothing find Of all that paind thee in the haunts of man, And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. Hence in these shades we still behold The abodes of gladness, here from tree to tree And through the rustling branches flit the birds In wantonness of spirit ;theirs are strains Of no dissembled rapture.while below The squirrel with raisd pawn and form erect Chirps merrily. In the warm glade the throngs Of dancing insects sport in the mild beam That wakd them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment; as they bend To the soft winds the sun from the blue sky Peeps in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The massy r6cks themselves And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees That lead from knoll to knoll a causeway rude,

Fragment 340-341

S4~O Origuial 1oetrg. [Sept. The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep.tWe dead reign there alone... So shalt thou rest.and what if thou shalt fall lJnnoticed by the livingand no friend Take note of thy departure? Thousands more Will share thy destlny..The tittering world Dance to the grave. The busy brood of care Plod on, and each one chases as before His favourite phantom..-Yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee! ~ Fragment. STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery; and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares To tire thee of itenter~this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kinder calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Here thou wilt nothing find Of all that paind thee in the haunts of man, And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. Hence in these shades we still behold The abodes of gladness, here from tree to tree And through the rustling branches flit the birds In wantonness of spirit ;theirs are strains Of no dissembled rapture.while below The squirrel with raisd pawn and form erect Chirps merrily. In the warm glade the throngs Of dancing insects sport in the mild beam That wakd them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment; as they bend To the soft winds the sun from the blue sky Peeps in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The massy r6cks themselves And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees That lead from knoll to knoll a causeway rude, Original Poetr~~. Or bridge the sunken stream, and their dark roots With all their earth upon them, twisting high Breathe fixd tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping oer its bed Of pebbly sands or leaping down the rocks, Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips its bill in water. Time and Pleasure. WHILE Times vast car with furious force, Oer Pleasures fields its path pursued; She tried each art to stop his course, And thus rebukd, besought, and wood. How darst thou oer my garden ride, The haunt of beauty, youth, and love; Thy iron wheels crush all its pride, And fright the songsters from my grove. Look at the ruin thou hast made! My Paradise is half defacd; Where thou hast passd tis all decayd, All leafless, desolate, and waste. These brilliant flowrs before thee view, Whose odours all the air perfume; For pity do not crush them too; Spare me these few, for thee they bloom. Stay then awhile, and rest thee now, Here in my bowr thy dwelling keep; Ill twine my roses round thy brow, And lull thee in my lap to sleep. See Love and Beauty kneeling there, To beg, entreat thee to remaiii. Shall Beauty breathe a fruitless prayer, And winning Love implore in vain? Why thus mispend thy precious hours; What whim impels thy wayward mind To fly from Pleasures couch of flowrs, And linger when on thorns reclind? Vol. V. No. 3. 4i~ isiv.I 341

Time and Pleasure 341-342

Original Poetr~~. Or bridge the sunken stream, and their dark roots With all their earth upon them, twisting high Breathe fixd tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping oer its bed Of pebbly sands or leaping down the rocks, Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips its bill in water. Time and Pleasure. WHILE Times vast car with furious force, Oer Pleasures fields its path pursued; She tried each art to stop his course, And thus rebukd, besought, and wood. How darst thou oer my garden ride, The haunt of beauty, youth, and love; Thy iron wheels crush all its pride, And fright the songsters from my grove. Look at the ruin thou hast made! My Paradise is half defacd; Where thou hast passd tis all decayd, All leafless, desolate, and waste. These brilliant flowrs before thee view, Whose odours all the air perfume; For pity do not crush them too; Spare me these few, for thee they bloom. Stay then awhile, and rest thee now, Here in my bowr thy dwelling keep; Ill twine my roses round thy brow, And lull thee in my lap to sleep. See Love and Beauty kneeling there, To beg, entreat thee to remaiii. Shall Beauty breathe a fruitless prayer, And winning Love implore in vain? Why thus mispend thy precious hours; What whim impels thy wayward mind To fly from Pleasures couch of flowrs, And linger when on thorns reclind? Vol. V. No. 3. 4i~ isiv.I 341 34~ Poetry. ISept. Why, why this hurry to be gone, When all my bliss depends on thee? Dear do not drive so madly on, 0 stay one moment here with me. What, wilt thou go ?then Ill not stay, Thy car shall be my blest abode; Ill sing to cheer thy weary way, And scatter flowrs along the road. Pleasd vi~ith the sweetness of her song, Time took the Syren fer his bride; But ere a year had rolld along, Disgust was born, and Pleasure died. [Selected.] The burial of Sir John Moore, who fell at the battle of Corunna, in Spain, in 1808. Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried, Not a soldier dischargd his farewell shot, Oer the grave, where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeams misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nnt in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we steadfastly gazd on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowd his narrow bed, And sinoothd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread oer his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly theyll talk of the spirit thats gone, And oer hms cold ashes upbraid him,

Burial of Sir John Moore 342-364

34~ Poetry. ISept. Why, why this hurry to be gone, When all my bliss depends on thee? Dear do not drive so madly on, 0 stay one moment here with me. What, wilt thou go ?then Ill not stay, Thy car shall be my blest abode; Ill sing to cheer thy weary way, And scatter flowrs along the road. Pleasd vi~ith the sweetness of her song, Time took the Syren fer his bride; But ere a year had rolld along, Disgust was born, and Pleasure died. [Selected.] The burial of Sir John Moore, who fell at the battle of Corunna, in Spain, in 1808. Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried, Not a soldier dischargd his farewell shot, Oer the grave, where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeams misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nnt in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we steadfastly gazd on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowd his narrow bed, And sinoothd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread oer his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly theyll talk of the spirit thats gone, And oer hms cold ashes upbraid him, 18i7.] Poetry. 843 But nothing hell reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock tolld the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant random gun, That the foe was suddenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory, We carvd not a line, we raisd not ~ stone, But we left him alone with his glory. NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. ART. XV. Opere di Xiccolo .~Jiac1iiavel1i, Giltadino e Segreta rio Fiorentino. Milano, vol. 10. pp. 4083. THEOLOGIANS and statesmen are peculiarly exposed to posthumous reverses of reputation; they are praised and condemned as the principles, which they professed, are adopt- ed and proscribed in the political and religious revolutions of succeeding times. But few have experienced so singular a fate as that of Nicholas Machiavel, applauded and censured by different generations, not for the same sentiments, but as the supposed champion of Opinions directly contradictory. Those who had the best means of ascertaining his character, his contemporaries of.alI parties, considered him the resolute supporter of a rel)uhlican form of government ;~as such he was employed in the most important offices during the short period of civil liberty enjoyed by Florence at the commence- ment of the sixteenth century; and as such on the re-estab- hshrnent of despotick po~vem, he was degraded, and imprison- ml, and tortured. Notwithstanding his vjeleat condemna tiOll of the abuses of the Roman Court, his writimrs were not only tolerated during the Pontificates ef Lc~ N, Adrian. and Clement VII; but ~vere l)u!)lished at Rome with the express sanction of the latter. A Papal Bull of Clement VIII, sixty live years after the death of Machiavel, first condemned the Prince, and excommunicated all who should icad it. ~fl~0 writer of this bull, said to be the Jesuit Possevin, had cer- tainly never read the treatise which it censures, for it con- demns the three books ot the Prince, ~vhereas that work con- sists of only une book; amid cites passages from it, which it Opere di .TViccolii .Ma~hiavelli. 34~ does not contain. Since that time, most good catholicks have thought it their duty, like him, to condemn the work without reading it, and many good protestants have followed the ex- ample, till Machiavelism has been adopted in most Europe- an languages as a synonym of intrigue, perfidy, and oppres- sion, and supposed to express the true character of Macha- vel. This supposition however has not been universal; now and then a man, accustomed to examine and decide for him- self, has denied or doubted its justice. A statement of the opinions of distinguished writers on the works of this cele brated man may shake the confidence of our readers, in sen- timents, which some of them perhaps have indulged without examination; and excite their curiosity to become acquaint- ed with the life and writings of one, who has been so unmer- cifully abused, or so capriciously defended. It is worthy of remark, that the partizans of unlimited monarchy are most violent in condemning The Prince, and most earnest in dissuading its perusal; while the supporters of popular governments generally recommend the work, and vindicate the intention of the author. This circumstance seems to prove that, whatever may have been the design of the treatise, its tendency is favourable to liberty, and hostile to despotism. Sucji we are persuaded is the fact. It is im- possible that any man could rise from the perusal of the whole work, believing it correct, without an earnest desire that it might be his lot to live in a republick. And in truth, those, who adopt a different conclusion, always deny the judg- ment or fidelity of the author. No man has been found har- dy enough to say, This is indeed just, but nevertheless an absolute monarchy is a good form of government. We are told that Catherine Dc Medicis, time Emperour Charles V, and the Sultan Solyman II, seriously made The Prince their guide; but this is not their own avowal or the acknowledgment of their friends; it is the accusation of their enemies. The most violent reproaches ever uttered against Machia- vel are from the pen of Paulus Jovius. But the venality of this historian and his unparalleled effrontery in publishing the most palpable falsehoods in favour of his masters an(l in de- rog~tion of their enemies have rendered his name infamous, and his opinions with regard to time partizans or the oppo- nents of the Medicisimmmworthiy of credit. Opere di .Niecoli, .1~fachia~elli. [Sept. Cardinal Pole and Moreri seem to take it for granted, that The Prince was designed seriously to recommend the max- ims contained in it, and condemn its author without reserve or qualification. Frederick Ii, of Prussia, a great general and an able mon- arch, but indebted for most of his literary reputation to his crown, wrote a commentary on The Prince, called the An- ti-Machiavel, in which he evidently supposes that treatise to contain the real sentiments of its author on the conduct, which princes ought to adopt, and of course condemns it. This work of the king of Prussia was honoured with a preface by Voltaire, echoing his Majestys sentiments, admir- ing his production, and asserting, that though Machiavelian principles ~were well refuted in this treatise of the king of Prussia, the world might one day see a still better refutation of them in the history of his life. It would indeed be amus- ing to compare some passages of the Anti-Machiavel with some actions of its royal author. The chapter, in which he proves that a war for conquest can never be justified, and that, in which lie displays the guilt of an unnecessary viola- tion of treaties, would form an admirable commentary on the invasion of Silesia. Tiraboschi and Tenhove, while they express the highest admiration of the talents of Machiavel, consider The Prince as a recommendation of the crirues which it attributes to new sovereigns, becauoe it is written in a didactick form, without any appearance of irony, and because similar maxims are proposed to absolute sovereigns in the discourses on Livy. Mr. Itoscoe relies on the same reasons to support the sanie opinion of the treatise, but forms a far lower estimate of the talents of the author. Lord Lyttleton, in his Dialogues of the Dead, bestows a high encomium on the ability and integrity displayed in the Discourses on Livy, and declares the excellence of this work to aggravate the guilt of the author in composing the Prince; which he conjectures to he written from the vanity of dis- playing great political sagacity. The authority of those, who have used the name of Machiavel as a popular term of reproach, without professing to express an opinion on his character or his works, will not be adduced against him, nor will that of his translators be urged in his favour. Montesquieu and Hume speak of his talents with respect. i8i~.] Opere di .Niccoli, .Mackiavelli. .347 The latter thinks that he learned his maxims of monarchical government from the corrupt governments of Italian and a~. cient sovereigns, and adds that experience has proved the falsehuod of every maxim in his Prince. Guicciardini Was his friend, and much of their correspon- dence is still preserved. Bayle in his Dictionary, Article Machiavel, has collecte4 the opinions of many writers, without statin~ his own. In his note L. is an extract from Albericus Gentilis, who was horn in the North of Italy in 1550, (for it is not to the inge~ nuity of the moderns that Machiavel is indebted for justifica- tion,) which asserts the utility of the Prince, and attributes its publication to the design of rendering usurpers odious. The same note contains the assent of Adam Rupert to this opin- Ion. Wicquefort* in his Ambassador, after recommending the works of Machiavel as highly useful, thus proceeds,-.-. I do not undertake to justify the Florentine Politician; I acknowl- edge that his works contain passages not very orthodox; but there are some capable of a more favourable construction than has been commonly put upon them by pedantry. We must consider them as statements of what princes do; not of what they ought to do; and if some of them seem inconsis- tent with the Christian religion, it is because they describe the actual conduct of tyrants and usurpers, and not the du- ties of lawful princes. Lord Bacont remarks, that A grave and serious descrip- tion of the crimes and artifices of men is to be considered one of the greatest securities of virtue. It is told of the Basihisk, that if it see any man first, he is destroyed; but if the man first see the Basilisk, the latter perishes. In the same man- ner fraud, imposture, and intrigue, if they are first discover- ed, lose the power to injure, and are dangerous to none but those whom they surprise. We are therefore indebted to Machiavel and such writers, who openly and undisguisedly relate what men commonly do, not what they ought to do. This, in Mr. Stewarts opinion, is not the language of ad. iniration; but at least it is a positive assertion, that the treatise alluded to is useful to mankind, that it is a description of ty- ranny, not a recommendation of it. * Book i. Sect. 7. ~ De Aug Scient, Lib. vii, Cap. 2. 348 Opere di .??zccoIi~ .)lfachiai.elli. [SeVt~ To the translation of Machiavels works, printed in London in ff775, is prefixed a letter, there ascribed to Machiavel him- self,justifying his character and his writings, and defending him from the three charges brought against him of being a favourer of tyranny, a favourer of democracy, and an ad- versary of religiQn. This letter is certainly spurious, and is said, on the authority of Warburton, to have been written by the Marquis of Wharton, father of the celebrated Duke. Rousseau in his Contrat Social* thus speaks of the Flo- rentine Secretary ; Under pretence of instructing sove- reigns, he gives important lessons to the people. The Prince of Machiavel is the manuel of republicans. In a note he adds, Machiavel was an honest man and a good citizen, but his connexion with the house of Medicis obliged him, during the oppression of his country, to conceal his love of liberty. The choice of his, execrable hero sufficiently evinces his secret design; and the opposition of the maxims in the Prince to those in his Discourses on Livy and in his History of Florence, proves that this profound politician has hitherto had only superficial or corrupt readers. The Court of Rome has strictly proscribed his works. Yes indeed; because it is described in them too truly. Lord Clarendon, whose sagacity in penetrating, and skill in portraying the characters of men are among the most conspicuous powers of his admirable genius, has, in the tenth iBook of his History of the Rebellion, the following passage. Machiavel in this was in the right, though he got an ill name by it with those, who take what he says from the re- port of other men, or do not enough consider themselves what he says and his method in speaking. He was as great an enemy to tyranny and injustice in any government, as any man then was, or now is, and says, that a man were better be a dog than be subject to those passions and appetites, which possess all unjust and ambitious and tyrannical persons; hut he confesses, that they who are so transported, and have en- tertained such wicked designs as are void of all conscience, must not think to prosecute them by the rules of conscience, which was laid aside or subdued before they entered upon ~them; they must make no scruple of doing all those impious things, which are necessary to compass and support the impi- ety to which they have devoted themselves; and therefore he Book iii. Chap. 6. i8174 Opere di .Vlceoli~ .Mischiaveii. 349 commends Cesar Borgia for not being startled with breach of faith, perjuries and murders, for the removal of those men who, lie was sure, would cross and enervate the whole enter- prise he had resolved and addicted himself to; and blames those usurpers, who had made themselves tyrants, for hoping to support a government by justice, which they bad assumed unjustly, and which having wickedly attempted, they mani- festly lost by not being wicked enough. M. Sismondi and Mr. Stewart endeavour to escape from this conflict of opinions by resorting to the only remaining al- ternative, the supposition that Machiavel wrote neither with a good design nor with a bad one, but without any design at all; that The Prince is the mere effusion ~ spleen and misan- thropy. On comparing these testimonies, few will deny to Macha- vel the praise of distinguished talents; those who do not number authorities, but weigh them, will certainly hesitate to assert his political depravity; and those, who bow implicitly to no authority, will perhaps be disposed to examine his works and his conduct, in order to form their own opinions of his integrity. A (letail of his actions will be the best clue to his character and the most instructive commentary on his writings. But it is impossible to estimate or even to under- stand his publick conduct, without considering the political situation ot his country. It is our intention therefore to state the revolutions, which he witnessed in the government of Florence, to relate the little that we have been able to learn of his publick and private life, and to examine the geiieral scope and design of his principal works. From 1434 to 1492 three generations of the Medicis, suc- cessively placed by their fellow citizens at the head of the gov- ernment, derived unlimited power from the affection of the people, which they obtained and merited by their talents, their virtues, and their publick spirit. Peter, to whom the administration of the government was committed on the death of his father, Lorenzo the magnificent, in 1492, unsatisfied with absolute power, if he could not display the pomp and ex- ercise the cruelties of despotism, contrived i~i the short space of t~vo years to secure the hatred of the Florentimmes, though their enthusiastick devotion to his family prevented any at- tempt to subvert his authority. In 1494, when Charles Viii of France was picparing to Vol. V. No. 3. tSept. march into Italy in order to enforce his claim to the throne of Naples, then occupied by Aiphonso ofArragon,Peterde Medici, in opposition to the wishes of the Florentines, who under the dominion of his ancestors had always been the confederates of the FreNch, entered into a strict alliance with the house of Arragon, and on the application of Charles for a free pas- sage through Tuscany, refused it as inconsistent with the trea- ty between himself and the king of Naples. At the same~ time the Neapolitan fleet occupied the harbour of Leghorn, the officers of that crown were permitted to raise recruits through- out Tuscany, and the whole disposable force of Florence, iOOO lances, joined the army which was posted in Romagna un- der the command of Ferdinand, to oppose the progress of the French. On entering the Florentine territory, Charles stormed the fortress of Favizano and put the garrison to the sword. His progress however was soon arrested by the town of Sarzana and the adjacent citadel, so strongly fortified that their reduction was supposed to be a very difficult enterprize. It was thought impossible for the French army to remain long before this city, as sufficient supplies could not be ob- tained there; and both dangerous and disgraceful to leave it behind them in the hands of an enemy. At this moment Peter do Medicis, equally presumptuous in security, and timid in danger, terrified by the approach of the French, fled to the camp of Charles, and kneeling at his feet, abandoned himself and his country to the royal mer- cy. To purchase an alliance with this sovereign, he surren.. ~lered to the French troops not only Sarzana, but all the prin. cipal fortified places of Tuscany, among them Pisa and Leg- horn. This degrading submission excited the wonder, contempt, and ridicule of his new allies, and roused at once the indig- nation of the Florentines, who immediately sent an embassy to Charles in order to obtain the restoration of the fortress.. es, and to conclude a more hommourable treaty. Peter, on learning their displeasure, hurried hack to Florence, where he found the magistrates and people, even those who had been his firmest jupporters, openly condemning his conduct. On the day after his return, the 9th of Nov. he went to the palace of the government, but was denied admittance by the magistrates. The people immediately flew to arms, the more hastily because Paul Orsini was approaching the city 1817.) Opere di Mceok) .~facI~ia~efli. with a body of troops at the request of Peter, in order to ~ port his authority; but.Peter, on learning that the magistrates had declared him a rebel, escaped from his house, to which he had retreated on the beginning of the commotion, and fled to Bologna, and afterwards to Venice. Charles, having obtained possession of the strongholds of Tuscany by the treachery of its prihce, led his army to Flor- ence and entered it in triumph. His first intention to re-estaW. lish the authority of the Medicis, was defeated by Peters re- fusal to entrust himself to the hands of the French. Confi~. dent of his own strength, and determined to avail himself of the advantages, which he possessed, the king next asserted that he had acquired the absolute dominion .f the city ~by! right of conquest; but it being publickly known that the Florentines were all provided with weapons, and had resoly.. -ed, if he persisted in his pretensions, to assemble in the pub- lick square at the sound of the great bell, and not to yield their independence without a struggle, he thought it better to attempt negotiation than to appeal to force. At an inter- view between him and the four Florentine commissioners, lie directed his secretary to read the form of a treaty, con taming, as he declared, the only terms that he would grant. It still insisted on the appointment by the French king of certain civil magistrates, and on the payment of a large trib- nte by Florence; and was no sooner read, than Peter Cap- poni, one of the commissioners, starting from his seat, snatch- ed it from the hands of the secretary, and tearing it in pieces, exclaimed to the king Since your terms are So degrad~ ing, sound your trumpets, and we will sound our bells; and instantly, with the other commissioners, quitted the apart- ment. This resolute appeal to arms saved the liberty of Florence. The French sovereign, in whose court Capponi had once resided as ambassador, well knew his spirit and firmness, and therefore thought it prudent to recal the com- missioners, and grant them terms more agreeable to their re- publican feelings. A treaty was immediately concluded, de- claring the exile of the Medicis and providing for the resto- ration of the fortresses, surrendered by Peter de Medicis to the French; the Florentines, on their part, stipulating to pay the sum of 120,000 ducats under the name of a subsidy to the French king. For four years after this period, Florence, under the form 3~2 Opere di .TViccolii .M~achia~elli. [Sept. of a democracy, was ruled and deluded by the Monk Savan- arola, and for four more, distracted by domestick faction. During these eight years, the Medicis, watching fur the dis- tresses of their country, and founding their hopes on her misfortunes, four times attempted, by the aid of foreign troops, to obtain possession of the city. Their fourth attempt, made in 1502 in alliance with Cesar Borgia, was defeated by the talents and policy of Peter Soderiuii, who was soon after chosen Gonfaloniere for life, and whose integrity and moder- ation secured, for ten years, the prosperity of Florence. All that we kno~v of Machiavel before this period is, that he was born on the 3d of May 1469, and that he wrote some comedies and tales, which were long admired, and are still preserved. On the establishment of the new form of govern- inent in 1502, he was appointed secretary of state, and retain- ed that important office during the whole government of So- derini, though the exercise of its duties was frequently inter- rupted by embassies to foreign sovereigns.* During his residence at the court of Borgia, that Prince perpetrated the massacre of Sinigaglia. Mr. Roscoe in the 1st vol. of Leo X, accuses Machiavel of having contrived the massacre, hut afterwards retracts the accusation, to advance another inconsistent with it, and more plausible, because it alleges a crime less enormnus, that of being an accessary be- fore the fact, and concealing the design from the victims~ As this is the only instance in which Machiavel is charged with practising any of the crimes recommended in The Prince, as the charge is first made by Mr. Iloscoe, and as the evi- dence on which it rests is all before us, we shall submit the whole cause to our readers. Borgia and the Orsini had for some time been secretly In 1502 he was sent as ambassadour to Cesar Borgia. *1503 to Rome. 1504 to France. 1505 employed to engage Baglioni in the service of Florence. 1506 again sent to Rome. 1507 to the Emperonr Maximilian at Trente. *1508 employed as commissioner in the Florentine camp before Pisa. 1509 ambassadour to the Duke of Mantua, and in the same year te Piombino to negotiate a treaty with the Pisan commissioners. 1510 to France. *1511 to Lombardy and France. His official letters dui-ing the embassies, marked with an asterisk, and some written as Secretary of State in 1510 and 1511, are published. iSV7.J Opere di .Nieeolii .M*schia~velti; plotting each others ruin, when fortune seemed to favour the designs of the latter by enabling them to surprise the city of IJrbino. As soon as they had thus commenced hostilities, they sent to Florence to ask assistance, and probably expect- ed a ready compliance with their request from the resentment of the inhabitants against Borgia for hnving, three months before that time, besieged the city, and plundered and wasted its environs. In this however they were disappointed. The Florentines, who had long been the enemies of the Orsini, not only refused to aid them in the design, but determined to unite with Bor.gia against them, and sent Machiavel as am- bassadour to that Iwince to offer him their assistance. Ma.. chiavel found him at Imola deserted by his soldiers, and a1~ most in despair: but the unexpected offer of the Florentines reanimated his courage, and he soon collected a sufficient ar- my to force his adversaries to a peace. The recent enemies agreed to unite their arms for the capture of Sinigaglia, and. the Orsini led their troops against that city, which was soon reduced excepting the fortress, the governour of which refus~ ed to capitulate with any one but Borgia himself. On learn- ing this fact, that sovereign left Cesena with his army for Sinigaglia, sending frequent messages, while on the road, to persuade the Orsini to await his arrival. The Florentine ambassadour, according to the custom of the age, accompani- ed the court in this expedition; or rather followed it, for he avoided making the same stages in order to obtain more com- fortable lodgings. On the 30th of December, however, he over~ took Borgia at Fano, where they passed the night. Early the next morning, Borgia left that place for Sinigaglia, whither he seems to have been followed in the course of the day by Machiavel; who there wrote to his government a short note, the substance of which is as follows. The day before yesterday I wrote from Pesaro what I had heard of Sinigaglia. I reached Fano yesterday. The Duke (Bor- gia) left that place early this morning with all his army and came here to Sinigaglia, where were the Orsini and Vitellozzo. They went out to meet him, and as soon as he had entered the city with them, he tuTned to his guards and had them taken prisoners. The troops are sacking the city. It is about sunset. I am in the greatest anxiety. I know not how to send this letter. I shall write more fully. I think they will not be alive tomorrow. The proclamations, which are circulating, say that the traitors are ta- ken, & c. $541 Opere di Z~wcol~ .~lfackiave1U. ESel3t. Another h~tter written 6n the same day, giving a more par- ticular statement of the circumstances, is lost, and appears never to have been received. In a letter dated the next day, containing a general account of the transaction, are the words cited by Mr. Roscoe. The Duke called me at two hours after sunset, and with the calmest countenance in the world congratulated me on this suc- cess, saying that he had spoken to me of it the day before, but without disclosing the whole; as was true.~-.-. He desired me to congratulate you on this success. In a letter of 8th of Janua- ry he writes, Every one here begins to wonder that you have not written to congratulate Borgia on what he has so lately done for your benefit, by which he thinks he has imposed an oblio~ation on the whole city. These passages seem to evince that insensibility to crimes which is too apt to result from witnessing their frequent re. petition; but do they support the charge of Mr. Roscoe? Do they prove a participation in this crime? Does it appear from all the circumstances that Machiavel had any opportunity of warning the Orsini of their danger; or even that he under~ stood the hints of Borgia before they were explained by the event? On the contrary, does not that Prince seem to refer to them on the next day for the very purpose of making them intelligible? It has also been remarked, that Machiavel no where laments the fate of the victims. But how could. he? It was a struggle between assassins; and the only cause ~f regret is, that both parties did not fall in the contest. Mr. Roscoe repeatedly calls Machiavel the friend of Bor gia. But we know no authority for the assertion. Machia- vels letters during this embassy are full of jealousy and sus- picion with regard to Borgias designs; they frequently in- timate that his professions of friendship for Florence are in- sincere, and that there is danger of his uniting with the Or- sini to attack that city; and often complain of the difficulty, which the writer finds in obtaining an audience. The mode, in which the Florentine ambassadours dispatches were con- veyed, rendered it imprudent for him to speak too freely of the sovereign, at whose court he resided. But his official letters, while at the court of Rome in 1503, (within a year af- ter the massacre of Sinigaghia,) mention Borgia in terms ~ery different from the language of friendship. One passage Opere di Mc~oL.i .~3ehiavelli. is quite explicit. Perhaps the letter, which I sent your lordships on the 26th, (containing a report that Borgia was assassinated by the Pope,) may be completely verified. It is manifest that his crimes have been conducting him, step by step, to punishment. In 1512, the Cardinal de Medicis, afterwards Leo X, who became, on the death of Peter in 1504, the head of the family, persuaded the Hol!, League, consisting of the Pope, the Em~ perour, the Venetians and Ferdinand of Arragon, to undertake the expulsion of Soderini and the re~toration of the Medicis. In pursuance of his design, the Viceroy of Naples led his ar- my against the city, accompanied by the Cardinal and his adherents. His Iirst demands were unanimously rejected by the Florentines, who however consented to the return of the Medicis as private citizens. The Viceroy accepted this con- cession, and promised to withdraw his troops, if the Floren. tines would also stipulate to pay him $9,000 ducats and supply his army with provisions. To this proposition the principal citizens assented, but the departure of the ambassadours was delayed one day, probably by the unwillingness of the Gon- faloiiiere to readmit the Medicis on any terms, and during this interval the army of the Viceroy stormed the Prato, a fortress within a few miles of Florence, and put the whole garrison to the sword. The knowledge of this event filling the city with consternation, thirty young men, partizans of the Medicis, availed themselves of the pubhick tumult, enter- ed the palace of the Gonfaloniere armed, and threatened him with instant death if he attempted resistance. By the same threat they forced the magistrates to pass an unwilling vote for his deposition, and in the subseque~tt night sent him un- der a guard to Siena. A treaty was immediately concluded between the Viceroy and Cardinal and the Florentines. The Medicis asked only their restoration as private citizens, without tiny share in the government, and the right of redeeming their former estates by paying the sums, which had been given for them by the actual possessours. Hardly, however, were they readmitted to the city, a new Gonfaloniere appointed, and the citizens returned to their peaceful occupations, when the Cardinal, having privately introduced a body of Italian soldiers. sur- rounded the assembly of the people, and occupied the palace of the magistracy with armed men, declared the government Opere di .Nieeoli~ .Afacltiaveii. [Sept. at an end, usurped the supreme authority, and appointed a council of sixty six of his adherents to administer it under his direction. This revolution took place early in September 1512. In the February following, it was discovered that some of the most distinguished young men of Florence, thinking proba- bly that they were under no obligation to obey a government established by perfidy and force, and desirous of restoring liberty to their country, had formed a conspiracy for the ex- pulsion of the Medicis. The principal conspirators were immediately executed. Machiavel, on suspicion of being connected with them, was deprived of the office of Secretary of State, and stretched on the rack to extort from him an acknowledgment of guilt; hut his firmness resisted the severity of the torture, and lie was remanded to prison, from which he was soon after released on the accession of theCardiiial de Medicis to the papal throne. A letter of Machiavel to his friend Vernaccia on this occa- Sion contains the following words. It is almost a miracle that I am alive; I have been deprived of my office and almost of life. God and my innocence alone pre- served me. Imprisonment and every other suffering I have en- dured, but now by the grace of God I ama well, and live as I can, looking to heaven for better days. Here the official labours of Machiavel terminate, and his literary life commences. The Discourses on Livy could not have been written before this time, for they are full of, allu- sions to the recent revolution. The Prince is said by Bayle to have been composed in 1515, and by Moreri to be a con- tinuation of the Discourses on Livy. It is remarkable that a writer so laboriously correct as Mr. Gibbon, should assert that The Prince was written before the usurpation of the Medicis, when the work itself is dedicated to Loreuzo de Medicis, as head of the Florentine government, and repeated- ly mentions the elevation of Leo X tQ the papal throne, the very Leo, who, while yet a Cardinal, usurped the government of his country, and who was chosen Pope on the 15th of March 1513. The more common errour of suI)posimIg the Prince one of its authors last productions is also refuted by the tm~ea- 4 tise itself; for in the commencement of the twenty first chap- ter is the following phrase, Ferdinand of .2rragon, the present i817.] Opere di .Niccoh .7~Iachiavelii. king of Spain; and Ferdinand of Arragon died in Italy in January 1516. The works themselves afford reason to be- lieve that The Prince and the Discourses were written at the same time. In the first ,chapter of The Prince, the author states, that he shall not notice republican governments in that work, because he had fully treated of them elsewhere, mean- ing in his Discourses; and in one of the last chapters* of the Discourses, declines the discussion of another question, be.. cause it had already been examined in The Prince, in the second book of the Discourses he mentions his treatise of principalities, probably the same work as The Prince, and not then completed; certainly not published, since it was never known by any other title titan that which it now bears. These works will therefore illustrate each other, and should be examined together. But ~ts the reputation of Machiavel seems to depend principally on the motives ascribed to him for the composition of The Prince, this examination ~vill be delayed till the subsequent incidents of his life are related, and the objects of some of hi~ other works noticed with the hope that an acquaintance with these may assist us to put a right construction on his earlier productions. From September 1513 till 1519, Florence was governed, under the directien of the Pope, by the younger Lorenzo, on whose death in 1519 the only legitimate princes of the house of Medicis were Leo, and his cousin Cardinal Julio. His holiness, feeling or pretexiding to feel desirous of establishing a constitution agreeable to his fellow citizens, required of Machiavel a project for the improvement of the Florentine government. This project is still extant. It proposes a donstitution perfectly republican, but confers on Leo and the Cardinal almost ahsolute authority during their lives, in or- der to induce them to adopt it. The author strongly urgcs every motive that could excite the personal ambition or awaken the patriotick feelings of the pontiff, and dwells on the glory of the founders of the ancient republicks, proposing their example for his imitation. But the features of the sys- tem were too deinocratick for Leo, and he committed the su- preme vower to Julio to be exercised under his own absolute control. Immediately after the death of Leo, in 1521, another con- spiracy for the recovery of liberty was detected among the B 3, CL 42. X7oi. V. No. ~. 358 Opere cli Niccoli.~ ~JiacIzia~vclli. [Sept. Florentine~. Machiavel was suspected of participating in it, without any other evidence than his known character, and the praises bestowed on Brutus and Cassius in his writings. It does not appear that he suffered any thing further on this occasion than a short iIDl)risoflment. In 1523, the Cardinal Julio de Medicis became supreme pontiff with the name of Clement VII. The governanent of IFlorence was by him entrusted to his nephews, Ilippolitus and Alexander de Medicis, un(ler the sul)erintendance and (lirection oC the Cardinal of Cortona. In 1526, an unsuccess- ful attempt was made to expel them, but the news of the sack of Rome, in April is~r, so terrified Cortona, that lie ahait- doned the city, and the l)eople recovered their liberty, which they retained, though distracted by faction, till 1530, when they were finally subjected to the yoke of the Medicis by the arms of Charles V. To Clement VII, Macli javel dedicated the History of Flor- ence, undertaken at his command. It commences with the foundation of the city, and terminates with the death of Lo- renzo the niagrificent, in 1A9-. Lord Bolingbroke says of the first book, that it is an historical map ot the period, which the author intends to describe, of great utility, and su- periour to any thing of the kind among the ancient histori- ans. Nor is the rest of the work unworthy of its commence- merit. The Art of War was ~)robably written in the latter part of its authors life. It must have been undertaken after the 17th of December 1517, since in a letter of that date, Machiavel. mentions Cosimo Rucellai, as being then at Rome; and the Art of War commences with a lamentation for his death, and a high eulogium of his character, and is professedly composed as a monument of affection to hi~ memory. Count Algarotti has written a critique, or rather a paimegyrick on this production, in which lie complains Pint Puy Segur, Fohlard, and mar. shal Saxe often copy ideas from it without ackiio~vledgment. Some criticks attempt to decry the work, by repeating a story of Bandello; That Macitiavel undertook one morning, at the request of the duke of ljrbino, to teach a regiment the discipline recommended in his Art of ~Var, and laboured two hours without success. Surely no one but a hiteiary recluse would estimate the merit of a treatise on the Art of War by the ability of its author to I)e~forn) the duties of a drilling ser~ i817.] Opere di .Niccolui .Afachiavelli. 359 jeant, or even condemn a drilling serjeant for incapacity, be- cause he could not render a regiment expert in a ne~v sys- tem of discipline in a single morning. Probably the whole story is only an exaggeration of the statement of Cardan, that the duke invited Machiavel to discipline a company ac- cording to the mode recommended in his treatise, and that he declined undertaking it.* On the 22d of June 1527, soon after the flight of Cortona, Machiavel died in extreme poverty. Boundelmonte, Ala- maitni. and Rucellai, men of unimpeached integrity, the lea- ders of the republican party in Florence, the champions and the hope of the people, were his constant companions, his un- wavering friends, and his political pupils. The partizans of the Medicis always considered him one of the most zealous of the libertines, for so they styled the advocates of liberty; and (he princes of that house never entrusted him with any more important office than that of historiographer, that of carrying messages to Guicciardini, then governour of Mode.. na, and that of negotiating with a society of monks at Carpi. On the last occasion Guicciardini begins one of his letters with these words. Dearest Machiavel, when I read your title of ambassadour to the monks of Ca~rpi, and consider to what kings, dukes. and prin- ces you have formerly been deputed, it reminds me of Lysander, after so many victories and trophies, employed in his old age to deal out the daily food of the same troops, whom he had so often led to victory. Such were the life and the writings of Machiavel. Yet notwithstanding his conduct, the conduct of his contempora- ries towards him, and the manifest design of the greater part of his voluminous works, he has been accused as the partizan and teacher of despotism. The evidence adduced in support of this accusation is derived from The Prince, and a few passages in the Discourses on Livy. The former treatise occupies about a hundred and thirty pages, and consti- tutes not one thirtieth part of his writings now extant. It professes to be a manuel for the instruction of new princes, In addition to the works above mentioned, Machiavel wrote short ac- counts of France and Germany, a narrative of the massacre of Sinigaglia, in which he relates it with the same coolness and indifference observed in his letters, and a biography of Castruccio Castracani, who lived about two centuries before him, very entertaining, but said to be very incorrect. 360 Opere. di Mccolli .Vachievelli. [Sept. (which is explained by the author to mean those who acquire their dominions by conquest or by usurpation,) and is a tissue of the most perfidious and oppressive maxims, accompanied by instances of their practice, quite as enormous as the pre- cepts themselves. One chapter only, the ninth, considers the duties of a sovereign, whose authority is derived from the will of his subjects, and recomme