scenery. Near us was a Russian castle and garrison, and the island,
which had been used as a military station since the reign of Peter the
Great, was guarded by strong fortifications, and enriched with an
infinite number of boats and vessels, and defended by ships of war and
gallies.
I now looked through the glass, which threw me back six hundred years.
How surprising was the change! One half of the island was a forest. The
other half was occupied by a spacious camp, containing innumerable wheel
carriages of singular forms. Before me lay a great army marshalled for
parade. I was struck with their uncommon dress and armor; and presently
more so, by a sight of their council chief, who occupied an elevated
platform, and seemed at that moment engaged in deep consultation.
At the head three seats were raised above the rest, on which sat three
personages of the greatest dignity. The central one, said my guide, is
none other than Genghis Khan, and in him you behold your ancestor. He is
now holding a council of war, and deliberating on an invasion of China.
But you have little reason to boast of your descent from one who has
destroyed fifty thousand cities. His tyranny and the perfidy of his
queen have roused a conspiracy, which, though it will not destroy him,
will imbitter his future life. Beneath a dark brow his fierce and
jealous eye seemed to dart the fires of glory and valor into every
surrounding breast. Yet he looked like one on whose heart the worm of
care unceasingly preys, and who is inwardly consumed by the fires of
ambition.
Leaving him, however, to his fate, my guide gave the signal of
departure. We crossed the Caspian sea, and the Circassian mountains. The
dominions of the ancient Medes and now of the Persians, passed beneath
us. In a few moments we alighted on a hill which commanded a view of the
fair and delectable vales of Sheeraz, the most celebrated province in
Persia. Sublime conceptions struck my fancy as we were travelling the
region of the clouds, when I saw stretched out on one side the vast
ridges of Mount Taurus, and far distant on the other, the plains where
Darius and Alexander fought. A sigh rose at the remembrance of the great
cities and powerful empires which once flourished there.
Before me was the vale of Sheeraz, for many miles in extent. The
surrounding mountains were covered with vines, and widely extended
prospects of rural felicity in that happy region. Innumerable flocks and
herds were scattered over the hills, the shepherds and shepherdesses
looked gay, all nature was blooming, and the Persians, brave, polite,
and elegant in every age, seemed the happiest people upon the face of
the earth. The sun shone with peculiar smiles from the cloudless azure,
and far remote the calm billows of the Persian Gulf, drew a silver line
on the horizon.
On this hill, said my conductress, once dwelt your ancient fathers. At
this she drew the glass to the twelfth circle, making from the Wolga a
transit of 600, and from this of 1200 years. I looked eagerly through
the prospective, and there arose before me a scene of unspeakable horror
and desolation. An immense horde of barbarians was ravaging and
destroying the whole country. Their faces flashed with fury. They were
swift and fierce as tigers. The villages and hamlets, as far as could be
seen were in flames; heaven was obscured by smoke; age, infancy,
innocence, and beauty, were mingled in indiscriminate slaughter; and
blood poured in all directions.
They rushed into a house which stood near me, dragged forth its
inhabitants, and cut them in pieces. The parents and the children were
mangled and slain together. A little infant only was left, and that, to
all appearance, by accident. It was flung upon the ground, and lay
wallowing in the blood of its parents, weeping at its fall, although
insensible to its deplorable condition. Behold, said my guide, _your
ancient father_. The existence of numerous generations depends on his
preservation, and from him multitudes shall descend. Astonished at man’s
inexplicable destiny, I gazed, admired, and wept.
At length a female barbarian came up. She was black, filthy, deformed,
hideously savage, and resembled a harpy. She spied the weeping infant,
and a sensation of humanity stole upon her heart. Kind nature, and
compassion to man, has implanted those heavenly sensibilities in the
rudest and most degenerate of her children. She took up the babe, and
seemed to sooth it. She wiped away its tears and blood, laid it in her
bosom and darted out of sight. The glass dropped from my hand, and I
stood rivetted in silent astonishment.
That child, resumed my companion, is carried into the bosom of Scythia;
there becomes first a robber, then a chieftain, afterward a sage. His
descendants dwelt at times in India, in the islands, in Tonquin, in
China, in Tartary; and a last issue, as you have seen, was the conqueror
of Asia. O Providence! how unsearchable are thy ways! What beings of
light, what fiends of darkness, are among thy children. O listen to the
fervent aspirations of a worm, and if thine ear is not inexorable, smile
on their destiny.
As the glass dropped, the modern vale of Sheeraz returned and as soon
vanished. Passing over Palestine, the Levant, Archipelago, Greece and
Italy, our next stand was on the banks of the Tiber, among ruined
monuments of ancient Rome. The remains of arches, towers and temples,
porticos and palaces, where the Cæsars and Scipios once lived, lay
before me. A gloomy grandeur covered the scene with awful solemnity, and
filled my soul with sensations equally sublime and melancholy.
“There the vile foot of every clown,
Tramples the sons of honor down,
Beggars with awful ashes sport,
And tread the Cæsars to the dirt.”
My airy governess now drew the glass beyond the eighteenth circle. I
looked through it and beheld Rome at the zenith of her ancient
greatness. A forest of towers covered her seven hills. Never, even in
imagination, had I beheld so grand a scene. Her temples, domes and
structures, rose and expanded on my view, and at once displayed the
glories of that queen of cities. Noble and beautiful villas covered as
far as the eye could see, the banks of the Tiber: and the whole prospect
appeared as though the wealth, the arts, sciences and elegance of the
world, were collected to adorn and beautify the scene.
In the forum a vast assembly of people were listening to the address of
an orator, who, from his dignified and commanding manner, I took to be
Cicero. My guide assured me it was none else. His attitude, his
gestures, his whole manner, were sublime. He was pleading for Milo. The
occasion had drawn together an innumerable throng of spectators. I
admired the elegance of the criminal: his appearance was firm, heroic,
and great. Pompey was present at the head of a select body of troops.
I have seen no man in modern times who can bear a comparison with
Pompey. He had the qualities of great men with a dignity peculiar to
himself.
On high glittered the Roman eagle, and the whole group of objects
appeared with a majesty and resplendence not to be described. The
judges, the criminal, the orator, the general, the nobility of Rome, the
army and the spectators, possessed a grandeur of countenance which might
have induced one to imagine that all the fine and noble countenances in
the world had been collected together.
After indulging my curiosity for a moment, my guide showed me _my
ancestor_. He was a common soldier, and stood near the general,
appearing to belong to his life guard. He listened with deep attention
to the orator; and at times, roused by the powerful flights of
unrivalled eloquence, seemed to lay his hand upon his sword, ready to
draw it in defence of innocence.
His descendants, continued my conductress, accompany Trajan in his
expedition into Asia, where, after various turns of fortune, some of
them, as you have seen, settled in the vale of Sheeraz. Here, I must
remark, that I was more interested than I had been before, for, upon
noticing him more particularly, I found him perfectly to resemble my
father in stature, proportions, and countenance.
The next field of discovery carried me back to the Trojan war. The
celebrated city of Troy, and the Phrygian shores, the fleet and army of
Greece, now engaged my whole attention. I was not a little gratified to
have a glance at a scene which has filled the world with noise, and been
so famous in poetry. Yet I must confess my expectations were not fully
answered. The Grecian chiefs appeared with far less splendor than they
are made to exhibit under the glowing pen of Homer. I liked Ulysses the
best of any of them. He was a sturdy old fellow, and although in
appearance somewhat of a barbarian, yet he was strong, manly, and
sagacious, equally able to ward off as to meet danger. I hoped now my
ambition would be crowned by finding Ulysses among my progenitors. My
guide, however, directly pointed out to me _Thersites_, assuring me that
he was the very man. To save time, I will give a description of him, as
we find it in Pope’s translation of Homer:
Thersites clamored in the throng,
Loquacious, loud and turbulent of tongue,
Awed by no shame, by no respect controlled,
In scandal busy, in reproaches bold:
His figure such as might his soul proclaim,
One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame,
His mounting shoulders half his breast o’erspread,
Thin hair bestrewed his long mishapen head,
Spleen to mankind his envious heart possessed,
And much he hated _all_ but _most_ the _best_.
Ugly as Thersites was, I thought it, however, no small honor to be
descended from one of the conquerors of Troy, and I intend at a
convenient time, to consult the ancient critics, to see whether Homer
has not been guilty of detraction in stating the character of Thersites.
From Troy the genii lead me directly to Mesopotamia, and we halted in
the midst of an extensive morass, a wild and trackless wilderness,
inhabited by noxious reptiles and wild beasts. Presenting me the glass,
she told me to make the best of it as this would be the last
opportunity. Under the eye of the perspective the scene presently
kindled with glowing colors and magnificent prospects. In the midst
wandered a spacious river, the circumjacent grounds, although reclaimed
from their native state, afforded those rural wild and romantic scenes
indicative of the _morning of improvement_ and invention. Thousands of
people appeared busy in building various structures. Many were leisurely
roving in the gardens and groves along the river banks. Contentment and
tranquility smiled, labor went on with cheerfulness, and the orders of
superiors were obeyed with a rude but lofty air of conscious freedom.
My conductress asked me whether I had yet noticed the _Tower of Babel_?
On which, turning to my right, I saw, not far off, that massive
structure. Its elevated summit rising toward the clouds, seemed indeed
to threaten heaven. I could not but remark how much I had the advantage
of Herodotus and some of the other Greek Philosophers, who viewed that
Tower in a state of decay, and yet gave a most wonderful account of its
greatness. I was now fully sensible that this was the seat of the first
of empires, and was beginning to observe more attentively several
things, when the appearance of some personages, at the head of a troop
of horse, attracted my notice. Two personages of majestic port, followed
by a numerous train, now drew near. Before them the statue of Apollo
Belvidere would have appeared diminutive.
You see, said my guide, Nimrod and Ham. The former was in the bloom and
vigor of manhood. In his eye the fire of ambition burned, and all his
actions bespoke haughtiness, ostentation and authority. He was the true
and original founder of the science of war and despotism.
In the appearance of Ham there was something almost more than mortal.
His deportment was grave, thoughtful, and gloomy. His snowy locks fell
over his shoulders which the flight of centuries had not bowed, and his
venerable beard swept a breast where the secrets of wisdom seemed
deposited. But yet his eye was fierce and cruel, and gave sign of his
inward depravity.
Whilst I was scrutinising to discover marks of consanguinity, my guide
pointed me to a little fellow just by me who was _making brick_. There,
says he, is _your progenitor_. His face was an isosceles triangle; and a
long sharp nose and chin gave him the air of complete originality. He
is, continued she, a true and legitimate offspring of Japhet. And now,
having favored you more than I ever did any other mortal, to give you
complete satisfaction, know, that from Noah to yourself there have been
one hundred generations; and in your line there have been one King, five
Princes, seven Butchers, eight Sages, five Commanders, ten Magicians,
six Pilgrims, fourteen Soldiers, twenty Husbandmen, seventeen Mechanics,
fourteen Sailors, thirteen Shepherds, eleven Beggars, eight
Philosophers, twelve Robbers, ten Hermits, nine Warriors, and one
Author.
Moreover, some of this illustrious line were present at the confusion of
Babel, at the sack of Troy, the battle of Pharsalia, the destruction of
Palmyra, the burning of fifty thousand cities in India and China, the
defeat of Bajaret, the assassination of Henry the Fourth of France, the
Powder Plot, and many other great events. Here I awoke, and behold! it
was a dream.
And now the information I would make of the knowledge derived front my
dream, is to publish forthwith an address to all the sons of Adam,
demonstrating the importance of keeping an exact genealogy. The plan of
which address is developed in the following articles.
I.—The seven subsequent years must be employed in exploring the
generations that are past; and as _I_ should be obliged to go to Wales
and Germany, most of us to Europe and perhaps some to Asia, if not to
Africa, I believe there had better be an armistice; for this business
cannot be accomplished without an universal peace.
II.—The scheme of Leibnitz of an universal language, might also in that
time or a little more, be matured. For in order to know the fair
Asiatics and Africans, we must certainly have a common language.
III.—When the scheme is effected, men will see more and more the
importance of improving their race. Upon this discovery a Science will
arise of infinitely greater glory and utility than that of War. Nations
will cross their breed as much as possible; and a wife from India or the
South Sea, will be prized more than a ship-load of silks.
IV.—Every man who dies without an issue is the _end of a line_. He is
like a thread cut from a weaver’s web, and never joined again, or like a
river that perishes in the sands of Africa, and never reaches the ocean.
The plan contemplated, therefore, will excite in men a universal desire
to propagate their species. Every man will see the folly and criminality
of remaining single, and the horrid impiety of exposing his life in war
before he has tied himself to some future generations. He will view it
as risking the extermination of an endless chain of beings equally
important with himself. And when he has become a parent, he will view it
still more impious to hazard his life in any way, now become necessary
for the preservation and care of his children.
V.—Thus the _art of killing_, which has been the main business of
nations, will be superceded by that of communicating, preserving and
improving life. And in future generations the names of heroes and
conquerors will be eternized only by their infamy, as crimes are
recorded in law Books, preceded by prohibition and followed by penalty.
The ages of war will be regarded as the period of universal destruction,
or rather as the _period in which the human race had not yet acquired
the use of reason_. Then Philosophers and Philanthropists will be
celebrated, and a man will only be considered as great as he is known to
be _good_.
December, 1840.
* * * * *
A SOLDIER’S THE LAD FOR ME.
BY A. M‘MAKIN.
There’s a charm in the fame
Of a soldier’s name,
With his colors so gay, and his spirits so light;
At his bold command,
No lass in the land,
Can withhold from his prowess her smile so bright,—
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
At fete or at ball
He is courted by all;
His step is the lightest that trips in the dance,
With his sword on his thigh,
And a smile in his eye,
Each belle doth acknowledge his bow and his glance,
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
When there’s mischief to pay,
He is first in the fray,
Nor blanches when death-shots are falling around,
With a tear for the foe
In the battle laid low,
He sheds not till victory his valor hath crown’d;
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
In his wild bivouac,
With his cup and his sack,
His sweetheart remember’d with heart, and with soul;
To beauty a fill,
And a cheer with a will,
While each comrade to friendship is passing the bowl.
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
Philadelphia, December 20, 1840.
* * * * *
THE BLIND GIRL.
BY MRS. C. DURANG.
“Can nothing induce you to give up the idea of going to the ball
to-night, my dear Maria?” said the anxious Mr. Worthington, “our dear
little one seems quite unwell, and surely the loss, or rather the
exchange of one pleasure for another, can not be so distressing,
particularly when the one is of so evanescent a nature as a rout.”
“What good could I possibly do the infant?” was the reply to this kind
expostulation of her doting husband; “you know Sarah is quite accustomed
to her, and really I think it ridiculous that you should wish me to stay
home; but lately you seem to rack your brains to contrive what means you
can devise to thwart my wishes: if I ask for anything that will cost the
slightest extra expense, the reply is: ‘we can’t afford it.’ Pray how do
other people afford to live in more style than we do, with less income
than ours?”
“Unfortunately, they _cannot_ afford it,” said Mr. Worthington; “and we
see the consequences daily. Many of the enormous failures that have
lately occurred, might have been prevented, but for the spirit of
rivalry that fashion has instilled into the families of many of our
merchants and citizens.”
“So,” said Mrs. Worthington, “because people fail, I am to be deprived
of everything I wish for, and kept at home to see whether the child is
_going_ to be sick. I am sure I have taken every precaution to prevent
its crying after me, for I have carefully covered its eyes every time I
have nursed it since its birth. Nay, I do not let it come into the room
where I am without something thrown over its face, that it may not know
me; so that if I was to remain home to watch it, it would neither be
better nor wiser; nay, it might frighten her to see a strange face.”
Mr. Worthington paused for some time, confounded by his wife’s unnatural
exultation, and want of affection for her infant, at last he exclaimed,
with considerable sharpness,—“_Have you a heart?_”
“I _once_ did, and _do still_, possess such an article, notwithstanding
I presume you consider yourself the proprietor.”
“It must be small indeed,” said Mr. Worthington with a sigh.
“Large enough for it to admit the whole circle of my friends,” added the
lady.
“I fear it will soon be untenanted, then,” uttered Mr. Worthington as he
left the room, finding it was impossible to dissuade her from her
purpose, and discovering, too late, the misery of being united to one
whose education had unfitted her for a wife.
Maria Wilson was an only child. At an early age she was left to the
direction of a mother, whose partiality for her daughter blinded her to
all her errors. The best affections of her heart had been neglected,
their place had been allowed to be usurped by pride, arrogance, and
self-sufficiency. Their means were circumscribed and insufficient to
enable her to shine in the gay world, although her beauty was well
calculated to attract the admiration of those who moved in it, and her
sole ambition seemed to be to gain pre-eminence there, so that when Mr.
Worthington, young, handsome, and rich, offered his hand, it was not
rejected:—he viewed her faults with the fondness of a lover, and
deceived himself into the belief that, once his, he could mould her
disposition to whatever he wished it to be; but, after marriage, she
launched into the vortex of fashionable life with enthusiasm, regardless
of consequences; she was courted and caressed; in vain he entreated, in
vain he expostulated; the wish of her heart was gratified; the goblet of
happiness, as she thought, was at her lips, and she was determined to
quaff it to the dregs; misfortune had not yet taught him to despair, and
hope still upheld him; he looked forward to the time when she would
become a mother, when the bonds of nature would form a fresh tie with
those of affection. But, alas! he was doomed to be disappointed; the
little stranger was viewed as an intruder, whose smile was not allowed
to meet the mother’s eyes; she mourned that the _fashion was past_ for
children to be put out to nurse, and never suffered it to be brought _to
her without its face being covered_, that it would not fret for her
absence. Every request from her husband to avoid unnecessary expenses,
were recorded as evidences of his want of love, or as proofs of a
contracted and narrow disposition.
She went to the ball,—and, when she returned, her little infant, Adela,
lay at the point of death. For the first time, a pang of regret and
remorse stung her bosom; repentance caused her tears to flow, as she
became a voluntary watcher of its sick bed. Oh! how anxiously did she
endeavor to behold one look from those eyes she had so often concealed
from hers; she feared they were closed never to be opened again. She sat
in silence and despair, endeavoring to catch the sound of that voice
whose plaintive wail she had so often despised, but for two days its
heavy breathing alone reached her ear.
Providence ordained that it should recover. On the third day it opened
its eyes, those eyes which, for the first time, met those of its mother,
and as she beheld it smile, a beam of newly-kindled affection woke in
her breast; she caressed her child, but it turned from her, and sought
the face it had been accustomed to behold; she endeavored in vain to
gain the affection of the slighted child; it clung to its nurse, Sarah,
who loved her with a mother’s fondness. After many fruitless efforts to
regain the treasure she had lost in her infant’s smiles and love, she
abandoned the attempt, and with the child’s return to health, she
returned to her old routine of levity and frivolity. Unthinking woman!
how little did she reflect what labor of mind, and sacrifice of personal
comfort her husband daily endured. Of what utility was his splendidly
furnished house to him? Surely he merited at least her gratitude, when
it was for her gratification that his hours were passed in his homely
counting-house, where dreariness was banished by the excitement of
business. The wooden chairs, the maps on the wall, the perpetual
almanac, table of interest and foreign exchange, pasted in formal array,
formed a strong contrast to the splendid rooms where the draperied
windows admitted the softened light, which reflected on gilded mirrors,
and carpets, where mingled the colors of the rainbow, to blaze in
beauty; while the rich vases, filled with flowers, rivalling in beauty
the choicest exotics in their hues, would tempt the looker on to believe
it was a paradise. And such it would have been to him in his hours of
relaxation, could he but have secured the affections of his Maria there;
but fashion was the forbidden fruit, and vanity the serpent; they both
proved irresistible; her beauty was the theme of universal admiration;
it was that which first attracted him, when he sought her heart and
hand. But the movements of the heart are imperceptible, its pulsations
are uncontrollable, and it will sometimes appear to vibrate on slight
occasions. Alas! he too late discovered that with hers it was but the
echo of ambition, pride, or vanity that had touched its chords; love had
never been awakened in her bosom.