THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER:
DEVOTED TO EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS.
Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents.
_Crebillon's Electre_.
As _we_ will, and not as the winds will.
RICHMOND:
T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.
1834-5.
SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
VOL. I.] RICHMOND, OCTOBER 15, 1834. [NO. 2.
T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.
TO THE PUBLIC, AND ESPECIALLY THE PEOPLE OF THE SOUTHERN STATES.
The favorable reception of the first number of the Messenger has been a
source of no small gratification. Letters have been received by the
publisher from various quarters, approving the plan of the publication,
and strongly commendatory of the work. The appeal to the citizens of
the south for support of a substantial kind, was not in vain. Already
enough have come forward as subscribers, to defray the necessary
expense of publication; and contributions to the columns of the paper
have been liberally offered from different quarters. The publisher
doubts not that with his present support, he will be enabled to furnish
a periodical replete with matter of an acceptable kind. The useful and
agreeable--the grave and gay--will be mingled in each number, so as to
give it a pleasing variety, and enable every reader to find something
to his taste. Thus will the paper become a source of innocent
amusement, and at the same time a vehicle of valuable information.
That such a paper is to be desired in the southern states no one will
controvert, and all must be sensible that an increase of public
patronage will furnish the most effectual means of having what is
wanted. An enlarged subscription list would put it in the power of the
publisher to cater in the literary world on a more liberal scale; and
the extended circulation of the paper, which would be a consequence of
that subscription, would furnish a yet stronger inducement to many to
make valuable contributions.
The publisher also makes his grateful acknowledgements for the friendly
and liberal support received from various gentlemen residing in the
states north of the Potomac. Many in that quarter, of literary and
professional distinction, have kindly extended their patronage.
Already the number of contributions received, has greatly exceeded the
most sanguine expectations of the publisher. Still he would earnestly
invite the gifted pens of the country to repeat their favors, and unite
in extending the INFLUENCE OF LITERATURE.
LETTER FROM MR. WIRT TO A LAW STUDENT.
The countrymen of WILLIAM WIRT hold his memory in respect, not more for
his mental powers than for his pure morality. Every thing which comes
to light in regard to him, tends to show that his character has not
been too highly appreciated. The letter which occupies a portion of
this number, and which is now for the first time published, exhibits
him in a way strongly calculated to arrest attention. A young gentleman
who is about to leave the walls of a university, and looks to the law
as his profession, who is not related to or connected with Mr. Wirt,
nor even acquainted with him, and knows him only as an ornament to his
profession and his country, is induced by the high estimate which he
has formed of his character, and the great confidence that might be
reposed in any advice that he would give, to ask at his hands some
instruction as to the course of study best to be pursued. Mr. Wirt,
with constant occupation even at ordinary times, is, at the period when
this letter is received, busily employed in preparing for the supreme
court of the confederacy, then shortly to commence its session. Yet
notwithstanding the extent of his engagements, he hastily prepares a
long letter replete with advice, and of a nature to excite the student
to reach, if possible, the very pinnacle of his profession. What can be
better calculated to increase our esteem for those who have attained
the highest distinction themselves, than to see them submit to personal
trouble and inconvenience, for the purpose of encouraging the young to
come forward and cope with them? It would seem as if there were
something in the profession of the law which tends to produce such
liberality of feeling. We find strong evidence of this, if we look to
the course of the two men who are generally regarded as at the head of
the Virginia bar. How utterly destitute are they of that close and
narrow feeling which, in other pursuits of life, not unfrequently leads
the successful man to depress others that his own advantages may with
greater certainty be retained.
A few remarks will now be made upon the contents of the letter. The
student, says Mr. Wirt, must cultivate most assiduously the habits of
reading, observing, above all of thinking: must make himself a master
in every branch of the science that belongs to the profession; acquire
a mastery of his own language, and when he comes to the bar speak to
the purpose and to the point. He is not merely to make himself a great
lawyer. General science must not be overlooked. History and politics,
statistics and political economy, are all to receive a share of
attention.
Much of this advice may well be followed by minds of every description,
but some portion of it seems better fitted for an intellect of the
highest order than for the great mass of those who come to the bar.
Lord _Mansfield_ could be a statesman and a jurist, an orator of
persuasive eloquence and acute reasoning, and a judge "whose opinions
may be studied as models." And Sir _William Jones_ has shown that it
was possible for the same individual to be a most extensive linguist,
an historian of great research, a person of information upon matters
the most varied, an author in poetry as well as prose, and a writer of
equal elegance upon legal and miscellaneous subjects.
But these were men whose extraordinary endowments have caused the world
to admire their strength of understanding and their great attainments.
Mr. Wirt seems to think it best to open a field the whole extent of
which could only be reached by such minds as these, and excite others
to occupy as large a portion of it as practicable, by inculcating the
belief that "to unceasing diligence there is scarcely any thing
impossible."
That much may be effected by labor and perseverance, no one will
controvert. Mr. Butler is an example. He states, in his reminiscences,
that he was enabled to accomplish what he did, by never allowing
himself to be unemployed for a moment; rising early; dividing his time
systematically; and abstaining in a great degree from company and other
amusements. Yet while the student is exhorted thus to persevere, some
caution may be requisite lest his time be lost amid the variety of
subjects that are laid before him in the extensive course which Mr.
Wirt has prescribed.
Generally speaking, the student of law will fail to attain the highest
point in his profession, unless the principal portion of his time be
given to that profession. While travelling the road to professional
distinction, he may, without greatly impeding his course, for the sake
of variety, occasionally wander to the right or to the left, provided
he will speedily return to his proper track. But if he open to himself
a variety of paths, walking alternately in them, and spending in one as
much time as in another, he will find that he can never travel far in
any. In _England_ the lawyer commonly devotes himself with great
constancy to his profession, and suffers his attention to be diverted
from it by nothing else. In our country, and especially in the southern
states, more politicians than lawyers are to be found at the
bar.--Hence the English lawyers are generally, as lawyers, more able
and more learned than those of our country. There, as well as here, the
lawyer who devotes a large portion of his life to politics, will become
less fit for his peculiar vocation.
Lord _Brougham_ is mentioned by Mr. Wirt, but he constitutes no
exception to this remark. He was, it is true, at the same time an
extensive practitioner at the bar, and a leading member of the House of
Commons. He kept pace with the literature of the day, and contributed
largely to the periodical press. The wonder was how he could do all
this and go into society so much as he did; how _he_ could do it, when
so many able men found the profession of the law as much as they could
master. But his fellow practitioners could, to some extent, solve the
problem. The truth was, that Lord _Brougham_ was more remarkable as an
ingenious advocate than as an able lawyer, and made a much better
leader of the opposition than he has since made a Lord Chancellor.
There are many abler lawyers now presiding at his bar, and the decrees
of his master of the rolls are more respected than his own.
In our country every one must, to some extent, be informed on the
subject of politics, that he may be enabled to discharge his duty as a
citizen; and history and general literature should certainly receive
from all a due share of attention. But if the student of law remember
what has oft been said of his profession, that the studies of even
twenty years will leave much behind that is yet to be grappled with and
mastered, he will perceive the necessity, if he desire to become a
profound jurist, of making all general studies ancillary and
subordinate to that which is his especial object. If he would know to
what extent his attention may be divided, he may take Mr. Wirt himself
as an example. In him extensive legal attainments were happily blended
with general knowledge; powers of argument and eloquence were well
combined; and in the forcible speaker was seen the accomplished
gentleman. His good taste and sense of propriety would never allow him
to descend to that low personality which has now become so common a
fault among the debaters of the day.
A word to the gentleman who forwarded the letter. His reasons for
transmitting it are not inserted, because it is believed that no
relative or friend of Mr. Wirt can possibly object to the publication
of _such_ a letter.
C.
BALTIMORE, DECEMBER 20, 1833.
_My dear sir:_
Your letter, dated "University of ----, December 12," was received on
yesterday morning--and although it finds me extremely busy in preparing
for the Supreme Court of the United States, I am so much pleased with
its spirit, that I cannot reconcile it to myself to let it pass
unanswered. If I were ever so well qualified to advise you, to which I
do not pretend, but little good could be done by a single letter, and I
have not time for more. Knowing nothing of the peculiarities of your
mental character, I can give no advice adapted to your peculiar case. I
am persuaded that education may be so directed by a sagacious and
skilful teacher, as to prune and repress those faculties of the pupil
which are too prone to luxuriance, and to train and invigorate those
which are disproportionately weak or slow; so as to create a just
balance among the powers, and enable the mind to act with the highest
effect of which it is capable. But it requires a previous acquaintance
with the student, to ascertain the natural condition of his various
powers, in order to know which requires the spur and which the rein. In
some minds, imagination overpowers and smothers all the other
faculties: in others, reason, like a sturdy oak, throws all the rest
into a sickly shade. Some men have a morbid passion for the study of
poetry--others, of mathematics, &c. &c. All this may be corrected by
discipline, so far as it may be judicious to correct it. But the
physician must understand the disease, and become acquainted with all
the idiosyncracies of the patient, before he can prescribe. I have no
advantage of this kind with regard to you; and to prescribe by
conjecture, would require me to conjecture every possible case that
_may_ be yours, and to prescribe for each, which would call for a
ponderous volume, instead of a letter. I believe that in all sound
minds, the germ of all the faculties exists, and may, by skilful
management, be wooed into expansion: but they exist, naturally, in
different degrees of health and strength, and as this matter is
generally left to the impulses of nature in each individual, the
healthiest and strongest germs get the start--give impulse and
direction to the efforts of each mind--stamp its character and shape
its destiny. As education, therefore, now stands among us, each man
must be his own preceptor in this respect, and by turning in his eyes
upon himself, and descrying the comparative action of his own powers,
discover which of them requires more tone--which, if any, less. We must
take care, however, not to make an erroneous estimate of the relative
value of the faculties, and thus commit the sad mistake of cultivating
the showy at the expense of the solid. With these preliminary remarks,
by way of explaining why I cannot be more particular in regard to your
case, permit me, instead of chalking out a course of study by
furnishing you with lists of books and the order in which they should
be read, (and no list of books and course of study would be equally
proper for all minds,) to close this letter with a few general remarks.
If your _spirit_ be as stout and pure as your letter indicates, you
require little advice beyond that which you will find within the walls
of your University. A brave and pure spirit is more than "_half the
battle,_" not only in preparing for life, but in all its conflicts.
_Take it for granted, that there is no excellence without great labor._
No mere aspirations for eminence, however ardent, will do the business.
Wishing, and sighing, and imagining, and dreaming of greatness, will
never make you great. If you would get to the mountain's top on which
the temple of fame stands, it will not do _to stand still_, looking,
admiring, and wishing you were there. You must gird up your loins, and
go to work with all the indomitable energy of Hannibal scaling the
Alps. Laborious study, and diligent observation of the world, are both
indispensable to the attainment of eminence. By the former, you must
make yourself master of all that is known of science and letters; by
the latter, you must know _man_, at large, and particularly the
character and genius of your own countrymen. You must cultivate
assiduously the habits of _reading_, _thinking_, and _observing_.
Understand your own language grammatically, critically, thoroughly:
learn its origin, or rather its various origins, which you may learn
from Johnson's and Webster's prefaces to their large dictionaries.
Learn all that is delicate and beautiful, as well as strong, in the
language, and master all its stores of opulence. You will find a rich
mine of instruction in the splendid language of Burke. His diction is
frequently magnificent; sometimes too gorgeous, I think, for a chaste
and correct taste; but he will show you all the wealth of your
language. You must, by ardent study and practice, acquire for yourself
a _mastery_ of the language, and be able both to speak and to write it,
promptly, easily, elegantly, and with that variety of style which
different subjects, different hearers, and different readers are
continually requiring. You must have such a command of it as to be able
to adapt yourself, with intuitive quickness and ease, to every
situation in which you may chance to be placed--and you will find no
great difficulty in this, if you have the _copia verborum_ and a
correct taste. With this study of the language you must take care to
unite the habits already mentioned--the diligent observation of all
that is passing around you; and _active_, _close_ and _useful
thinking_. If you have access to Franklin's works, read them carefully,
particularly his third volume, and you will know what I mean by _the
habits of observing and thinking_. We cannot all be _Franklins_, it is
true; but, by imitating his mental habits and unwearied industry, we
may reach an eminence we should never otherwise attain. Nor would he
have been _the Franklin_ he was, if he had permitted himself to be
discouraged by the reflection that we cannot all be _Newtons_. It is
our business to make the most of our own talents and opportunities, and
instead of discouraging ourselves by comparisons and imaginary
impossibilities, to believe all things possible--as indeed almost all
things are, to a spirit bravely and firmly resolved. Franklin was a
fine model of _a practical man_ as contradistinguished from a
_visionary theorist_, as men of genius are very apt to be. He was great
in that greatest of all good qualities, _sound, strong, common sense_.
A mere book-worm is a miserable driveller; and a mere genius, a thing
of gossamer fit only for the winds to sport with. Direct your
intellectual efforts, principally, to the cultivation of the strong,
masculine qualities of the mind. Learn (I repeat it) _to think_--_to
think deeply, comprehensibly, powerfully_--and learn the simple,
nervous language which is appropriate to that kind of thinking. Read
the legal and political arguments of Chief Justice Marshall, and those
of Alexander Hamilton, which are coming out. Read them, _study them_;
and observe with what an omnipotent sweep of thought they range over
the whole field of every subject they take in hand--and _that_ with a
scythe so ample, and so keen, that not a straw is left standing behind
them. Brace yourself up to these great efforts. Strike for this giant
character of mind, and leave prettiness and frivolity for triflers.
There is nothing in your letter that suggests the necessity of this
admonition; I make it merely with reference to that tendency to
efflorescence which I have occasionally heard charged to southern
genius. It is perfectly consistent with these herculean habits of
thinking, to be a laborious student, and to know all that books can
teach. This extensive acquisition is necessary, not only to teach you
how far science has advanced in every direction, and where the _terra
incognita_ begins, into which genius is to direct its future
discoveries, but to teach you also the strength and the weakness of the
human intellect--how far it is permitted us to go, and where the
penetration of man is forced, by its own impotence and the nature of
the subject, to give up the pursuit;--and when you have mastered all
the past conquests of science, you will understand what Socrates meant
by saying, that he knew only enough to be sure that _he knew
nothing--nothing, compared with that illimitable tract that lies beyond
the reach of our faculties_. You must never be satisfied with the
surface of things: probe them to the bottom, and let nothing go 'till
you understand it as thoroughly as your powers will enable you. Seize
the moment of excited curiosity on any subject to solve your doubts;
for if you let it pass, the desire may never return, and you may remain
in ignorance. The habits which I have been recommending are not merely
for college, but for life. Franklin's habits of constant and deep
excogitation clung to him to his latest hour. Form these habits now:
learn all that may be learned at your University, and bring all your
acquisitions and your habits to the study of the law, which you say is
to be your profession;--and when you come to this study, come resolved
to master it--not to play in its shallows, but to sound all its depths.
There is no knowing what a mind greatly and firmly resolved, may
achieve in this department of science, as well as every other. Resolve
to be the first lawyer of your age, in the depth, extent, variety and
accuracy of your legal learning. Master the science of pleading--master
Coke upon Littleton--and Coke's and Plowden's Reports--master Fearne on
Contingent Remainders and Executory Devises, 'till you can sport and
play familiarly with its most subtle distinctions. Lay your foundation
deep, and broad, and strong, and you will find the superstructure
comparatively light work. It is not by shrinking from the difficult
parts of the science, but by courting them, grappling with them, and
overcoming them, that a man rises to professional greatness. There is a
great deal of law learning that is dry, dark, cold, revolting--but it
is an old feudal castle, in perfect preservation, which the legal
architect, who aspires to the first honors of his profession, will
delight to explore, and learn all the uses to which its various parts
used to be put: and he will the better understand, enjoy and relish the
progressive improvements of the science in modern times. You must be a
master in every branch of the science that belongs to your
profession--the law of nature and of nations, the civil law, the law
merchant, the maritime law, &c. the chart and outline of all which you
will see in Blackstone's Commentaries. Thus covered with the panoply of
professional learning, a master of the pleadings, practice and cases,
and at the same time a _great constitutional and philosophic lawyer_,
you must keep way, also, with the march of general science. Do you
think this requiring too much? Look at Brougham, and see what man can
do if well armed and well resolved. With a load of _professional
duties_ that would, _of themselves_, have been appalling to the most of
_our_ countrymen, he _stood, nevertheless, at the head of his party in
the House of Commons_, and, _at the same time, set in motion and
superintended various primary schools and various periodical works, the
most instructive and useful that ever issued from the British press, to
which he furnished, with his own pen, some of the most masterly
contributions_, and yet found time _not only to keep pace_ with the
progress of the _arts and sciences_, but _to keep at the head of those
whose peculiar and exclusive occupations these arts and sciences were_.
_There_ is a model of _industry and usefulness_ worthy of all your
emulation. You must, indeed, be a great lawyer; but it will not do to
be a mere lawyer--more especially as you are very properly turning your
mind, also, to the political service of your country, and to the study
and practice of eloquence. You must, therefore, be a political lawyer
and historian; thoroughly versed in the constitution and laws of your
country, and fully acquainted with _all its statistics_, and the
history of all the leading measures which have distinguished the
several administrations. You must study the debates in congress, and
observe what have been the actual effects upon the country of the
various measures that have been most strenuously contested in their
origin. You must be a master of the science of political economy, and
especially of _financiering_, of which so few of our young countrymen
know any thing. The habit of observing all that is passing, and
thinking closely and deeply upon them, demands pre-eminently an
attention to the political course of your country. But it is time to
close this letter. You ask for instructions adapted to improvement in
eloquence. This is a subject for a treatise, not for a letter. Cicero,
however, has summed up the whole art in a few words: it
is--"_apte--distincte--ornate dicere_"--to speak _to the purpose_--to
speak _clearly and distinctly_--to speak _gracefully_:--to be able _to
speak to the purpose_, you must understand your subject and all that
belongs to it:--and then your _thoughts and method_ must be _clear in
themselves_ and _clearly and distinctly enunciated_:--and lastly, your
voice, style, delivery and gesture, must be _graceful and delightfully
impressive_. In relation to this subject, I would strenuously advise
you to two things: _Compose much, and often, and carefully, with
reference to this same rule of apte, distincte, ornate;_ and let your
_conversation_ have reference to the same objects. I do not mean that
you should be _elaborate and formal_ in your ordinary conversation. Let
it be _perfectly simple and natural_, but _always, in good time_, (to
speak as the musician) and well enunciated.
With regard to the style of eloquence that you shall adopt, that must
depend very much on your own taste and genius. You are not disposed, I
presume, to be an humble imitator of any man? If you are, you may bid
farewell to the hope of eminence in this walk. None are mere imitators
to whom nature has given original powers. The ape alone is content with
mere imitation. If nature has bestowed such a portion of the spirit of
oratory as can advance you to a high rank in this walk, your manner
_will be_ your own. In what style of eloquence you are best fitted to
excel, you, yourself, if destined to excellence, are the best judge. I
can only tell you that the _florid and Asiatic style_ is not the taste
of the age. The _strong_, and even the _rugged and abrupt_, are far
more successful. Bold propositions, boldly and briefly expressed--pithy
sentences--nervous common sense--strong phrases--the _felicitè audax_
both in language and conception--well compacted periods--sudden and
strong masses of light--an apt adage in English or Latin--a keen
sarcasm--a merciless personality--a mortal thrust--these are the
beauties and deformities that now make a speaker the most interesting.
A gentleman and a christian will conform to the reigning taste so far
only as his principles and habits of _decorum_ will permit. The florid
and Asiatic was never a good style either for a European or an American
taste. We require that a man should _speak to the purpose_ and _come to
the point_--that he should _instruct and convince_. To do this, his
mind must move with great strength and power: reason should be
manifestly his master faculty--argument should predominate throughout;
but these great points secured, wit and fancy may cast their lights
around his path, provided the wit be courteous as well as brilliant,
and the fancy chaste and modest. But they must be kept well in the back
ground, for they are dangerous allies; and a man had better be without
them, than to show them in front, or to show them too often.
But I am wearying you, my dear sir, as well as myself. If these few
imperfect hints, on subjects so extended and diversified, can be of any
service to you, I shall be gratified. They may, at least, convince you
that your letter has interested me in your behalf, and that I shall be
happy to hear of your future fame and prosperity. I offer you my
respects, and tender the compliments of the season.
WM. WIRT.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
MISFORTUNE AND GENIUS: A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.
"You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better day: Those happy smiles
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd."--_King Lear_.
In a late excursion through the western districts of Virginia, having
been detained at the picturesque village of F----, I took a seat in the
stage coach, intending to visit some of the neighboring springs. The
usually delightful temperature and clear sky of the mountain summer,
had been suddenly changed into a cold misty atmosphere; and as I stept
into the coach, the curtains of which had been let down for greater
comfort, I found a solitary female passenger sitting in one corner of
the carriage, and apparently absorbed in deep contemplation. She was
plainly but genteely dressed, in a suit of mourning; and there was
something in her whole appearance, which would have immediately struck
the eye of the most careless observer. Her face, and such parts of her
head as were unconcealed by her bonnet, seemed to me, at a single
glance, to present a fine study for the disciples of Lavater and
Spurzheim--or at least to furnish a model which a painter would have
loved to transfer to his canvass. Her features were not what are
usually termed beautiful; that is, there was not that exquisite
symmetry in them, nor that brilliant contrast between the delicate
white skin and raven hair, or between the coral lip and the lustrous
dark eye, which with some constitute the perfection of female beauty;
but there was something beyond and superior to all these:--There was a
fine intellectual expression which could not be mistaken. I do not even
recollect the color of her eyes: I only remember that those "windows of
the soul" revealed a whole volume of thought and feeling--and that
there was cast over her countenance an inexpressible veil of sadness,
which instantly seized upon my sympathies. As the stage drove off, the
crack of the coachman's whip, and the lumbering of the wheels, seemed
to rouse her from her reverie, and I remarked a deeper tinge of
melancholy pass over her features. It was to her like the sound of a
funeral knell! She was about to bid adieu, perhaps forever, to the
scenes of her infancy--to scenes which were endeared by the remembrance
of departed joys, and even consecrated by bitter inconsolable sorrows!
After the customary salutation, I determined to engage my interesting
fellow-traveller in conversation; and I at once perceived by the modest
blush which suffused her cheek, and by the timid responses she made to
my inquiries, that she was conscious of appearing in the somewhat
embarrassing situation of an unattended and unprotected female. I
studied therefore to put her mind at ease, by a delicate pledge of my
protection as far as my journey extended. Words of kindness and respect
seemed to fall upon her ear, as if she had been unused to them. Her
countenance, which had sunk in gloom, was lighted up by a mild
expression of tranquillity. I saw that I had somewhat won upon her
confidence, and I determined to improve the advantage, by affording her
an opportunity of narrating her story--a story which I was curious to
know, and which I had already half learned in her care-worn visage, her
garments of woe, and her apparently forlorn and unbefriended condition.
Such are the mysterious sympathies of our nature, that whilst the
sorrowing heart experiences a transient relief in pouring its griefs
into another's ear, there is a no less melancholy pleasure in listening
to the tale of misfortune, and participating in the misery of its
victim. My companion did not hesitate, in her own peculiar and artless
manner, to relate her story. It was brief, simple and affecting.
Maria (for that was her name,) was now in her sixteenth year, and was
one of several children, born not to affluence, but to comparative
independence. A doating grandmother adopted her, when not two years
old, with the free consent of her parents. They had other offspring to
provide for; and their residence was not so remote, but that occasional
visits might preserve unbroken the ties of filial and parental love.
The venerable grandmother devoted her humble means to the maintenance
and education of her charge. Her aged bosom rejoiced in beholding
herself, as it were, perpetuated in this blooming scion from her own
stock. She spared neither pains nor expense, consistent with her
limited fortune, in preparing her young descendant for a life of
usefulness, piety and virtue. In truth, her dutiful grandchild was so
"garnered up in her heart," that she became the only worldly hope of
her declining years. Maria was her earthly solace--the tie which bound
her to life when all its charms had faded--the being who made it
desirable to linger yet a little longer on the confines of the grave.
But how fleeting and unsubstantial is human hope! Scarcely a fortnight
had elapsed since this venerated lady had been called to realize
another state of being. When Maria touched upon this part of her
narrative, I could perceive the agony of her soul. I could see the
tearful and uplifted eye as she exclaimed, "Yes, sir! it has pleased
Providence to deprive me of my only earthly benefactress!"
I was troubled at the misery I had occasioned, and I hastened, if
possible, to administer such consolation as seemed to me proper. "But
you have parents," I replied, "who will take you to their home, and
gladly receive you in their arms?" Little did I think that the wound
which I thus attempted to heal, would bleed afresh at my remark. The
afflicted girl appeared to be deprived, for a moment, of utterance. Her
heart seemed to swell almost to bursting, with the strength and
intensity of her feelings. "My friend," she at length replied, in a
tone of comparative calmness, "for by that name permit me to call you,
even on so short an acquaintance,--you have touched a theme upon which
I would gladly have avoided explanation. The interest you have already
shown, however, in my unhappy story, entitles you to still more of my
confidence. You shall know the whole of my cruel fortune. Though my
father and mother are both still living, they are no longer parents to
me. My father _might have been_ all which a friendless and unprotected
daughter could desire; but alas! for years and years past, he has lost
the 'moral image' which God originally stamped upon his nature. The
DEMON OF INTEMPERANCE has long--long possessed him. His feelings and
affections are no longer those of an intelligent and rational creature.
He scarcely knows me as his offspring; but turns from me with sullen
indifference, if not disgust. My mother!"----
At the mention of that hallowed name, the fair narrator seemed to be
almost choked by the violence of her emotions. She stopped an instant
as if to respire more freely.
"My mother," she continued, "cannot extend to me her arm. She is
herself broken-hearted and friendless; she is wasting away under the
chastening rod of Providence!"----
"Heavens!" I inwardly exclaimed, "what havoc--what torture have I not
inflicted upon this innocent bosom! Why did I officiously intermeddle
in things which did not concern me--things too, which I could only know
by tearing open the yet unhealed wounds of an anguished heart." I was
at the point of offering some atonement for the mischief I had done. I
saw the whole picture of wretchedness as it was presented to Maria's
mind. I even shared, or thought that I shared, in the sorrows which
overwhelmed her. My imagination conjured up before me the churlish and
miserable wretch who was then wallowing in the stye of brutal
sensuality--and in whose bosom all holy and natural affection had been
drowned by the fatal Circean cup. I beheld his pale and neglected
partner, writhing under that immedicable sickness of the heart--not of
hope deferred, but of dark, absolute despair. I turned to the object
before me. I saw how those affections which clung around her beloved
protectress, as the tendrils of the vine cling around the aged tree,
were in one evil hour withered forever. She, an unprotected destitute
orphan--worse than an orphan--thrown upon the wide, cold and unfeeling
world--perhaps seeking an asylum in the house of some half welcoming
and distant relative. What a throng of perplexing--might I not say,
distracting reflections, at that moment rushed upon me! I endeavored to
change the subject, but at first without success. I experienced some
relief, however, by being assured, that the relative to whose house she
was now hastening, had offered his aid and protection, in the spirit of
kindness and sincerity.
The most wonderful part of my story is yet to be told. When Maria was
sufficiently composed, I resolved to divert the conversation into more
agreeable channels. I was struck with the delicacy and propriety of her
speech--with the simple, correct, and even elegant language which she
used. Another and a quite unexpected source of admiration was yet in
reserve for me. I touched upon the topic of her education--upon the
books she had learned--the seminaries she had attended--and the
teachers by whom she was instructed. Even here methought I might be
officious and imprudent. What could be expected from a girl of
sixteen--from one who had been born to humble fortune--from one who had
had no one at home except an unlettered grandmother, to stir up within
her the noble spirit of emulation, and to fan the divine sparks of
genius and knowledge. Might she not suppose that I intended to deride
the ignorance of youth, and expose the deficiency of her acquirements!
Not so! At the bare mention of her books and instructers, I saw for the
first time, the clouds which had gathered around her brow begin to
disperse. There was evidently something like a smile which played upon
her features. It looked like the rainbow of peace, which denoted that
the storm of passion was passing away. Oh, how eloquently did she
discourse upon the beauties and delights of learning! Next to the star
of Bethlehem, which gilded her sorrowing path, and which for two years
had attracted her devotional spirit,--knowledge was the luminary which
she worshipped with more than Persian idolatry. The reader shall judge
of my surprise and admiration, when he is informed, that this artless
girl of sixteen--this youthful prodigy--had already amassed a richer
intellectual treasure, than often falls to the lot of men of superior
minds, even at the age of maturity. The great masters of Roman and
classical antiquity she had read in their original tongue--the Georgics
and Æneid of Virgil--the Commentaries of Cæsar--Selections from
Horace--and the matchless orations of Tully, were as familiar to her,
as household words. She was also conversant with the French, and
thoroughly grounded in her own vernacular. Besides the usual elements
of mathematics, she had even encountered the forbidding subtleties of
algebra; and although mistress of the pleasing study of geography,
there was nothing which had so filled her mind with delight as the
sublime researches of astronomy. She loved to contemplate the harmony
and beauty of the planetary system,--and to soar still further on the
wings of thought, into that vast and illimitable firmament where each
twinkling luminary is itself the centre of a similar system. She had
watched too the fiery and eccentric track of the comet, "brandishing
its crystal tresses in the sky;" and from all the wonderful movements
and harmonious action of the heavenly bodies, she had realized the
impressive sentiment of Young, that
"An undevout astronomer is mad."
From the marvellous works of creation as revealed in that most sublime
of all human sciences, her soul had been transported to the Creator
himself, whom she worshipped in adoring humility.
But why enumerate--why speak of her varied and almost numberless
acquirements? There was scarcely a branch of learning with which she
did not manifest at least some acquaintance. Even the popular and
somewhat pleasing science of phrenology had not escaped her attention.
In the theories and conclusions of its ardent disciples however, she
was reluctant to concur. The moral and intellectual character did not,
in her opinion, depend on the position of the brain, or the
conformation of the skull. It squinted at the hateful doctrine of
materialism; at least she thought so, and until better satisfied, she
would not believe. Though closely engaged for years in her regular
scholastic studies, this extraordinary female had found leisure to
stray occasionally into the paths of polite and elegant literature. She
had culled from the most illustrious of the British bards, some of
their choicest and sweetest flowers; and the beautiful fictions of
Scott were faithfully stored in her memory.
Deeply interested as I felt in this young and highly gifted girl, the
hour of separation was at hand. The journey before her was
comparatively long and tedious; mine would speedily terminate. When
about to bid her adieu, I fancied that I saw regret painted in her
countenance. Her solitude would bring back some of those gloomy
reflections, which society and conversation had in some measure
dissipated. I handed her a literary work which I had with me, to
beguile the loneliness and misery of her journey. She accepted it with
eagerness and gratitude. A new current of joy sprung up in her bosom.
Commending her to the protection of heaven, I pressed her hand, and
left my seat in the coach.
My sensations, when the vehicle swiftly departed, were of a mixed
character. There was a strange combination of pleasure and pain. Poor
Maria, I thought, we may never again meet in this world of sorrow; but
if ever a pure aspiration was breathed for thy happiness, it is that
which I now offer. I know that there is something within me which
borders on romance; and perhaps many will suppose that my imagination
has thrown over this adventure an illusive coloring. It may be so; but
even after an interval of composed reflection, I have not been able to
discover any thing in the foregoing sketch which does not substantially
conform to truth. I have often moralized on Maria's story, and in my
blind distrust of the dealings of an all wise Providence, have wished
that human blessings could be sometimes more equally distributed. I
have thought of the hundreds and thousands of the gay, simple,
fluttering insects, dignified with the name of fashionable
belles,--born and reared in the lap of luxury,--reposing in moral and
intellectual sloth, and quaffing the delicious but fatal poison of
adulation,--how inferior, how immeasurably inferior, most, if not all
of them were, to this poor, neglected, deserted orphan. I have thought
how hard was that decree, by which the light, trifling and glittering
things of creation should be buoyed up to the surface by their own
levity--whilst modest merit and suffering virtue were doomed to sink
into obscurity, and perhaps into wretchedness. On the other hand, I
have loved to look at the sunny smiles which Hope, in spite of us, will
sprinkle over the chequered landscape of life. It is impossible! I have
exclaimed, that one so young, yet so unfortunate--so highly improved by
moral and mental culture--so worthy of admiration and esteem, should
live and die unknown and unregretted. She surely was not
--------"born to blush unseen,
And waste her sweetness in the desert air"--
at least such is my hope, and such is doubtless the prayer of every
generous reader.
H.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
EXAMPLE IS BETTER THAN PRECEPT.
I never read Jeremy Bentham's 'Book of Fallacies:' it is known to me
only through the Edinburgh Review. I am uncertain whether it _gibbets_
the above saying, or not; but no fallacy of them all better deserves to
be hung up on high, for the admonition of mankind. There is none more
mischievous, in the best filled pack of the largest wholesale
proverb-pedler.
"_Example is better than precept!_"--is the constant plea, the
invariable subterfuge, of those who do not want to follow good counsel.
Be the counsel ever so sage--be the propriety and expediency of
following it ever so manifest--if it perchance do not square to a T
with the adviser's own practice, he is twitted with this sapient
apothegm; and the advised party wends his way of folly as completely
self-satisfied, as if he had demonstrated it to be the way of wisdom by
an argument clearly pertinent, and mathematically unanswerable. Yet how
is his argument more to the purpose--how is he more rational--than if
he should refuse to take a road pointed out by a sign-board, because
the board itself did not run along before him? May I not correctly show
to others a way, which it is not convenient or agreeable for me to
travel myself?
I could fill a book with the instances I have known, of people who have
deluded themselves to their own hurt, by relying upon this same
proverb.
For years, I have been a little given to drinking: not to excess, 'tis
true--but more than is good for me. A sprightly younker, whose thirst
appeared likely to become inordinate, being counselled by me to abstain
altogether from strong waters, as the only sure resource of those
afflicted with that propensity--told me, "_example was better than
precept,_" and refused to heed the one, because he could not have the
other also. He has since died a sot. The last three years of his
existence were, to his wife, years of shame, terror, and misery, from
which widowhood and the poor-house were a welcome refuge. His children
are schooled and maintained by the parish.
My appetite is better than ordinary. It is, in truth, too much
indulged, and not a few head-aches and nightmares have been the
consequence. Venturing once, on the score of my woful experience, to
admonish a young friend whom I saw entering the habit in which I was
confirmed, he confuted me with the accustomed logical
reply--"_example,_" and so forth. Seven years afterwards saw him
tottering on the grave's brink, with an incurable _dyspepsia_, the
fruit of gluttony, and of gluttony's usual attendant, indolence.
When a boy, I was a famous _climber_. Perched in a cherry tree one day,
I saw a lad, clumsier than I was, going far out upon a slender branch.
I cautioned him that it would break. "Didn't I see you on it just now?"
said he: "and there you are now, further out on a smaller limb!
_Example's better_"--but before he could end the saying, his bough
snapped, and he fell twenty feet, breaking a leg and dislocating a
shoulder by the fall.
Another time, as I and a smaller boy were hunting, he walked over a
creek upon a log, which he saw was just able to bear his weight,
through rottenness. "You had better not venture," said he to me. But I
said, I had always heard, _example was better than precept_, and
following him, was soused by the breaking of the log, in six feet
water. Being a good swimmer, I escaped with a ducking, (it was near
Christmas,) and with wetting my gun, lock, priming, and all: so that it
cost me a full hour to refit for sport.
It is not, however, commonly, either _immediate_ or _bodily_ harm that
we incur by means of this Jack-o'lantern proverb. Our faith in it is
not sufficient to lead us into instant and obvious danger: it is in
general the opiate with which we lull ourselves, only when the evil we
are warned against is of the _moral_ kind, or likely to occur at a
remote period.