memory; unfixed my power of attention and my habits of thought; blunted
my zest for history; dimmed my perception of reasoning; gave me the
most illusory ideas of human life and character; and filled my brain
with fantastic visions. A passion for learning, and the timely counsels
of a sensible friend, subsequently won me so far from this career of
dissipation, that I surmounted in some degree its evil effects, and
acquired a moderate stock of solid knowledge: but to my dying day I
shall feel its cloying, _unhinging_, debilitating influence upon my
mental constitution. Still, even latterly, I have continued to indulge
myself with the best novels, as they appeared. My weakness in this
respect unluckily became known to a young girl, who seemed to be
exactly treading in my footsteps; and whom I earnestly warned of the
dangers besetting that path. "Now, cousin L., how can you talk so, when
I have seen you _devouring_ the _Antiquary_, and _Guy Mannering_, and
_Patronage_, and I don't know how many besides! You need not preach to
me: _example is better than precept._" _Therefore_--for the reasoning
seemed to her as conclusive as Euclids--_therefore_ she went on, with
undistinguishing voracity, through all the spawn of the novel press:
and there is not now a sadder instance of the effects of novel-reading.
After rejecting with disdain three suitors every way her equals, (and
in real merit her superiors,) because they were so unlike her favorite
novel heroes--did not woo on their knees or in blank verse--and had
'such shocking, vulgar names'--she, at three and twenty, married a
coxcomb, formed precisely after the model upon which her 'mind's eye'
had so long dwelt. He was gaudy, flippant, and specious; knew a dozen
of Moore's Melodies by rote; could softly discourse of _the heart_ and
its _affections_, as if he really possessed the one, and had actually
felt the other; and, most irresistible of all, his name was EDWIN
MORTIMER FITZGERALD. The result may be imagined. The society of such a
being could not long please. Their conversation was a routine of
insipid frivolity and angry disputes. With no definite principles of
economy or of morals, he wasted his fortune and wrecked his health over
the bottle and at cards--excitements, the usual resource of a weak,
ill-cultivated understanding. She is now a widow, scantily endowed, at
the age of twenty-seven. Her mind, too much engrossed by her darling
pursuit to have learned, even in the impressive school of adversity, is
nearly a blank as to all useful knowledge: imagination, paramount there
over every other faculty, is prolific of innumerable fooleries; she can
do no work beyond crimping a ruff or making a frill: and her nerves,
_shattered_ by tea, late hours, and sentimental emotion at fictitious
scenes, threaten a disordered intellect and a premature grave.
To this impertinent adage, about _example_ and _precept_, is it chiefly
owing that I am at this moment a bachelor, aged fifty. I used it to
parry the repeated instances made me by a friendly senior bachelor, to
be "up and a doing," in the journey towards matrimony. As the proverb
commonly silenced him, it appeared to me at last, as it does to most
people, a satisfactory answer; it was the lullaby, with which I hushed
into repose every transient qualm that his expostulations excited. My
friend at length, in reasonable time, took me at my word, and added
example to precept: he married, well and happily. But one obstacle or
other, real or imaginary, had by this time confirmed me in my
inactivity. Business occupied my time: chimerical visions of female
excellence, in spite of my better reason, haunted me from the regions
of romance, and made me hard to be pleased, even by merits which I was
obliged to confess were superior to my own: courtship, by being long in
view yet long deferred, came at length to appear clothed in
embarrassment and terror: a failure, resulting (as vanity whispered,)
purely from the awkwardness produced by embarrassment and terror,
finally crushed all matrimonial aspirations: and, as it is now absurd
to hope for a _love-match_, (a genuine novel-reader can brook no other)
I am e'en trying to resign myself to the doom of perpetual celibacy.
'Twere needless to multiply examples. These suffice to shew, not only
how absurd in reasoning, but how hurtful often in practice it is, to
consider advice as at all the _less good_, for not being enforced by
the giver's example. That proverb has done as much harm in the world as
the doctrine of the Pope's infallibility, or of the divine right of
kings; or as the silly saying, "_stuff a cold, and starve a fever;_"
or, as (by its perversion) that unfortunate one, "_spare the rod, and
spoil the child._"
Yet, after all, the maxim I have been exposing is not _untrue_.
_Example_ IS better than _precept_: DOES more effectually shew _the
right way_. But it is _fallacious_, and _mischievous_, by being
misapplied. Instead of being regarded merely as a rebuke to the
adviser, it is absurdly taken by the _advised_ as a justication to
himself in persisting in error. In most cases it is not even a _just_
rebuke to the _adviser_: because ten to one there is _some
dissimilarity of situation or of circumstances_, which makes it not
expedient or proper for him to do what he nevertheless _properly_
recommends to another. While I shew you your road--and shew it with
perfect correctness--my own duty or pleasure may call me another way,
or may bid me remain where I am. But the adage is _never_ an apology
for the advised party's neglect of advice: and whensoever he attempts
to use it as such, his plea, though abstractly true, is impertinent--is
nothing to the purpose.
M.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE POWER OF FAITH.
"Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the
"days of Herod the King, behold there came wise men from the
"east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born king of the
"Jews? for we have seen his star in the east and have come to
"worship him."
Pleasure! thou cheat of a world's dim night,
What shadows pass over thy disk of light!
To follow thy flitting and quivering flame,
Is to die in the depths of despair and shame;
'Tis to perish afar on a lone wild moor,
Or the wreck of a ship on a hopeless shore.
Come listen, ye gay! I will tell of a star
Whose beaming is brighter and steadier far;
It rose in the East, and the wise men came
To see if its light were indeed the same
Which their old books said would be seen to rest
On Bethlehem's plains, in its silver vest,
To point to the spot where a Saviour lay,
Who would gather his flock, all gone astray;
Would frighten the wolf from his helpless fold,
And loosen the grasp of his demon hold;
And lead them away to his pastures green,
Where all is so verdant and fadeless seen,
Where the river of life is a ceaseless stream,
And the light of his love is the sweetest beam
That ever shone out on benighted eyes,
And brighter the face of those lovely skies,
Than ever was seen in the softest sleep
When the senses are hushed in calmness deep;
And spirits are thought, with their gentle breath,
To breathe on the lids of a seeming death,
And whisper such things in the ear of wo,
As the waking sinner must never know.
Oh, what doth he ask in return for this,
The light of his love, and such draughts of bliss?
What doth he ask for the boon thus given?--
Faith in the blood of the Son of Heaven.
A cry was heard in Rama!--and so wild--
'Twas Rachel weeping for her murder'd child:--
She would not be consoled--her youngest pride
Was torn in terror from her sheltering side;
At one dread blow her infant joy was gone
To glut the rage of Herod's heart of stone;
What drave the tyrant in his wrathful mood,
To bathe her lovely innocents in blood?
Why stoop'd the savage from his kingly throne,
To fill Judea with a mother's moan?--
Weak wretch! he idly sought in his alarm,
To stay the purpose of Jehovah's arm;
The creature, crawling on his kindred dust,
Would stay the bolt, descending on his lust;
The crafty counsel of his finite mind
Would thwart the God, who rides upon the wind;
Yea, "rides upon a Cherub," and doth fly,
Scatt'ring his lightnings through the lurid sky.
Vain hope! the purpose of his heart, foreknown,
Ere yet the falcon swoops, the prey is flown;
On Egypt's all unconscious breast is laid
Another babe, like him whom erst the maid
Daughter of Pharaoh on the wave espied
In bark of bulrush, floating o'er the tide
Where 'twas her wont her virgin limbs to lave,
And snatched in pity from a watery grave;
True to the chord that wakes in woman's heart,
True to the pulse which bids her promptly start
To shield defenceless childhood in her arms,
And hush the plaining of its young alarms.
Infant adored! I dare not here essay
To paint the lustre of thy glorious way:--
Let earth attend, while holy tongue recount
Thy hallow'd lessons from the Olive Mount,
While Heaven proclaims its messenger of love
On Jordan's banks descending as a dove,
While grateful multitudes in plaudits vie,
And Zion shouts hosannah to the High!
O'er famed Gethsemane, I must not tread.
Sad o'er its memory let tears be shed;
From bloody Calvary, the soul recoils
From impious murderers, sharing in thy spoils;
From thy dread agony, and bosom wrung,
A world in awful darkness, sably hung,
When earth was shook, the vail was rent in twain
And yawning graves gave forth their dead again.
From theme too great, too sad, I turn away,
From strain too lofty for a feeble lay--
They sought to quench in blood thy hallow'd light,
To stay, the foolish ones! thy stayless flight;
They did indeed thy breast of meekness wring,
Which would have gathered them beneath its wing;
Infuriate Jacob trampled on thy cross,
Thy loved ones mourned in bitterness, thy loss,
When suddenly is heard the earthquake shock,
The sepulchre repels its closing rock,
The grave is tenantless!--the body gone,
The trembling guards in speechless terror thrown;
Th' attending angel comes with lightning brow
And raiment whiter than the dazzling snow,
Comes to attest with his eternal breath,
Our God triumphant over sin and death.
Here let me pause and fix my ardent gaze--
Faith is my star, whose ever-during rays
Can guide my steps through life's surrounding gloom
And cheer the paths which lie beyond the tomb;
How was I lost in earth's bewildering vale
When first I turned and saw that silver sail
Above my dim horizon, breaking slow,
When all of peace for me seem'd gone below;
My world was sad and comfortless and drear
Or cross'd by lights that glance and disappear;
Look back, my soul, on scenes which long have passed,
Think on the thousand phantoms I have chased;
Count o'er the bubbles whose delusive dyes
Have danced in emptiness before mine eyes;
How were they followed,--won--and heedless clasp'd
How fled their hues! evanished as I grasp'd!--
That last and loveliest one, whose rainbow light
Will break at times on memory so bright,
How did it fleet with all its fairy fires,
Fanned by the breath of young and soft desires!
Caught by its tinsel shine, deceptive shed,
I flew, with throbbing heart and dizzied head,
A giddy round, where all beneath were flowers,
Where sped, with "flying feet," the laughing hours:
Dissolved the charm--dispelled the brilliant dream--
Why changed to baleful shadow did it seem?
What roused the madman from his trance, and left
His heart a waste--of love--of joy bereft?
What woke the foolish one?--unmanned his heart?
Death, mid the treach'rous scene, did sudden start,
And o'er my light of love his breath expires,
It pales--it fades--extinguish'd are its fires!
But now, how blest the change! there is a power
Can foil e'en death--can rob his only hour
Of half its sting--can even deck with charms
The cold embrace of his sepulchral arms:
'Tis but the transient sinful passport this,
To "joys unspeakable and full of bliss;"
'Tis but a short,--convulsive,--fitful thrill,--
A momentary pang,--a sudden chill;--
When free, the disembodied spirit flies
Where, incorruptible, it never dies;
To scenes the Patmos prophet, glowing paints,
Where near the jasper seat adore the saints,
Where bow of emerald circles round a throne
In glory brighter than the sardine stone!
Yet hold!--nor thus as if in scorn my soul
Still break from earth and spurn its dull control;
Why wilt thou bound away through paths of ether,
Swift as "young roes upon thy mountains, Bether?"
Turn--turn to earth, the blinded vision fails,--
We must not look beyond those sapphire veils,
Which mercy spreads in beauty o'er the skies,
To spare the weakness of unhallow'd eyes;
Oh, check the thought which soars, presumptuous man!
Nor dare the heights that thou must never scan.
But though shut out from that all radiant goal
While "this corruptible" enchains the soul,
He whom a gracious God hath given to see
Yon light which burst on darkened Galilee,
Will find a charm in that clear steady ray
Which sweetens life and sanctifies decay;
All changed the face of this dark prison, earth,
It seems to spring as from a second birth;
Chaos is gone,--as first it fled the sight
Of Him who spake, and sudden there was light!
Sweet flowers now spring upon the pris'ners path,
Where once but thorns beset the child of wrath;
A balm for wounds that once could rack the frame,
Such monitory thoughts the fondest wish to tame.
Such hope to cheer and stay the sinking breast,
A prize so noble,--and so calm a rest!
Such alter'd views!--new heavens!--and other skies!
Some veil before was bound upon his eyes,
Thus sudden loosed, as if angelic hands,
Invisible, unbound his fettering bands.
Where now the cold and soul revolting gloom
That hung its shadows o'er the yawning tomb?
Where gone the grief that with o'erwhelming load
Press'd down the heart and crush'd it on its road?
Lost in the hope of those prospective joys
Where sorrow enters not, nor death annoys.
S.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE SWEET SPRINGS OF VIRGINIA, AND THE VALLEY WHICH CONTAINS THEM.
BY W. BYRD POWELL, M.D.
Mr. Jefferson has said, and we admit it, that a sight of the Natural
Bridge is worth a trip across the Atlantic. But as this does not
preclude the possibility of greater curiosities existing, we are
allowed the privilege of expressing the belief, that the Sweet Springs,
inclusive of the entire valley which contains them, present to a
philosophical mind, a scene of incalculably greater interest. The
bridge, by one mental effort, is comprehended, and speculation put at
rest. Not so with this valley; but like the bridge, the first
impressions produced by it create amazement, but as soon as this state
of feeling is displaced by further observation, a train of thought
succeeds, of unceasing interest, upon the character and variety of the
causes which could have produced such a pleasing variety of effects.
In the first place, the several springs, bubbling forth immense volumes
of water, highly charged with lime, carbonic acid gas, free caloric,
and in some instances iron, are objects of peculiar interest to the
philosopher, and so they will remain, more especially, until more facts
in relation to them are discovered, and the laws of chemical affinity
are better understood.
In the second place, the great fertility of the valley, even to a
common observer, will be remarked as a matter of very uncommon
occurrence.
In the third place, those elevations which cross the Valley, five in
number, popularly known as the Beaver Dams, are marvellous matters,
transcending even the Natural Bridge; and that they were constructed by
beavers, cannot admit of a doubt. But then the mind is lost in
amazement at the probable number of the animals that inhabited the
valley, and the immensity of their labor.
The valley is bounded by high hills, perhaps mountains, and the one
that terminates its lower extremity consists of slate, and is separated
from the lateral ones by a stream of small magnitude above its junction
with the valley branch, which is made up measurably of the mineral
waters. The lateral mountains, at their lower extremity are slate; at
the other, sandstone; and in the middle, limestone.
From the upper spring, or the one now in use, to the junction of its
branch with the mountain stream above treated of, is three miles, and
the fall in that distance was originally about one hundred and fifty
feet. Then there was between these lateral hills no valley or flat
land--this has been produced by the Beaver Dams which divided the
original declination into five perpendicular _falls_, measuring each
from twenty to thirty-eight feet--thus producing out of one mountain
gutter, five beautiful tables of the richest soil in the world. And
this too, simply by retaining the _debris_ from the surrounding hills,
as it was annually washed in, and also the lime from the mineral
waters, which, since the production of the fountains has been
constantly depositing. It is furthermore evident that no one of these
dams was the work of one season, but of many, just as the necessity for
elevation was produced by the filling up of the artificial basin.
As a description of one of those dams will serve for all, we will take
the largest, and the one which bounds the lower extremity of the
valley.
This dam constitutes one bank of the stream which receives the valley
waters, and is about thirty-eight feet high, and half a mile in length;
the elevation, however, gradually diminishes from the centre to the
extremities. The mineral waters of the valley contain, as we have
intimated, an immense quantity of lime, which is deposited with
astonishing rapidity in the state of a simple carbonate, (especially in
those places where the water has much motion,) producing those mineral
forms called _stalactites_ and _stalagmites_. With this knowledge it is
easy to comprehend how these imperishable monuments of beaver labor and
economy were produced.--For instance, these animals, according to their
manner of building, felled trees across the mouth of the branch, and
filled smaller interstices with brush, which would cause motion in the
water and serve as nuclei for its mineral depositions. Consequently, in
this dam may be seen immense incrustations of logs, brush, roots and
moss. In many instances, the ligneous matter, not being able to resist
the decomposing effects of time and moisture, is entirely removed,
leaving petrous tubes, resembling, in the larger specimens, cannon
barrels. These calcareous deposites not only cemented the timber
together, but secured the entire work against the smallest percolation,
prevented the escape of mountain _debris_, and rendered permanent a
labor, which under other circumstances, would little more than have
survived the duration of the timber, or the life of the industrious
artificer.
The outside of the dam is stalactical in its whole length, which
resulted from the beaver's keeping its summit level, and thus causing
the water to flow over every point of it. This circumstance, in
connexion with the stream that washes its outer base, has caused large
and over hanging projections of the stalactical deposites, and
cavernous excavations; attached to the roofs of which is to be seen a
great variety of small and beautiful spars. At the point over which the
water at present is precipitated, the dam, is a bold and interesting
spectacle. Add to this a large descending column of white spray, into
which the water is converted by obstacles opposing its march over the
dam, and the scene is rendered truly sublime.
The soil of the several basins seems to rest on stalagmite, and the
channel of the branch is worn out of it.
In many places, far above the present level of the basins or dams, may
be seen large rocks of this stalagmite: thus proving incontestibly,
that this water occupied a position, two hundred feet at least above
what it did at the time the beavers commenced their labor, and before
the deep excavation was effected between the mountains.
Finally, we deem it proper to make a few more remarks upon the first
topic we introduced,--namely, the waters themselves. As to the agents
concerned, and the play of affinities between them, it is useless for
us to hazard an opinion, more especially as we have not made ourselves
analytically acquainted with them. Let it suffice to point out the
several springs, and those sensible properties and qualities which will
necessarily be observed by every visiter; and first of the spring now
in use.
As soon as this beautiful fountain is brought within the compass of
vision, attention will be arrested by the constant and copious escape
of fixed air, and the boldness of the stream. As soon as it is
introduced to the mouth, its sweetish taste and warmth are
discovered--and then its stimulating effect upon the system will be
perceived; and finally, if the visiter will walk below the spring, five
or six rods, he will discover the stalagmitic rocks of limestone which
have been formed by successive depositions from this water.
The next spring below, is popularly called the Red Spring. It is
characterized by a red deposite, which we regard as the carbonate of
iron, by a strong sweetish calybiate taste, by its warmth, by the
boldness of the stream, and by the absence of any fixed air escaping.
The two springs below this, resemble the first in every respect, so far
as the unaided senses can discover. We feel called upon to add, that no
one should venture a free use, as a drink, of the Red Spring water,
unadvised by an intelligent physician. It is a powerful water, and can
never prove an indifferent agent in any constitution.
And finally, we beg leave to advise every visiter, whose soul is warmed
by a scientific love of natural phenomena, not to leave the ground till
he shall have seen the major part, at least, of what we have feebly
attempted to describe.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
RECOLLECTIONS OF "CHOTANK."
_Olim meminisse juvabit._--VIRGIL.
Blessed, yea thrice blessed, be the hills and flats, the "forests" and
swamps of Old Chotank! Prosperous, yea doubly prosperous be their
generous cultivators--worthy descendants of worthy sires--VIRGINIANS
all over, in heart and feeling, soul and body. From the Paspatansy
swells to the Neck levels, may they have peace and happiness in "all
their borders."
How often do I turn over memory's volume and linger upon the page which
tells of my first visits to "Chotank"--so full of almost unalloyed
pleasure. The recollection steals upon the mind like soft strains of
music over the senses, giving the same chastened satisfaction.
Can I ever forget the happy days and nights there spent: The ardent fox
hunt with whoop and hallo and winding horn: And would even TEMPERANCE
blush to look, after the fatigues of the chase, at the old family bowl
of mint julep, with its tuft of green peering above the inspiring
liquid--an emerald isle in a sea of amber--the dewy drops, cool and
sparkling, standing out upon its sides--all, all balmy and inviting?
And then, the morning over and the noon passed, the business of the day
accomplished, the social board is spread, loaded with flesh and fowl
and the products of the garden and the orchard! Come let us regale the
now lively senses and satisfy the excited appetite! What care we for
ragouts and fricassee's, and olla podrida's, and all the foreign
flummery that fashion and folly have brought into use? The juicy ham,
the rich surloin, the fat saddle, make the _substantials_ of a VIRGINIA
dinner, and "lily-livered" he, who would want a better. But when
friends and strangers come--and welcome are they always! nature's
watery store house is at hand, and windy must be the day indeed, when
the Potomac cannot furnish a dish of chowder or crabs, to be added to
the feast. How I have luxuriated at a Chotank dinner! Nor let pleasures
of the table in this intellectual age be despised? Goddess of
Hospitality forbid it! And well may I address thee in the _feminine_
gender, thou dispenser of heartfelt mirth! 'Tis WOMAN'S smile enlivens
the feast--'tis WOMAN'S handy care that has so well provided it--'tis
WOMAN'S kind encouragement that adds a charm to all you see around you.
And now let us loll in the cool portico, shaded with the Lombardy
poplar--the proper tree, let them say what they will, to surround a
gentleman's mansion--so tall and stately, and therefore so appropriate.
How delightful is the breeze on this height! See the white sails of the
vessels, through the trees on the bank of the river, spread out to
catch it, and how gracefully and even majestically they glide along.
You can trace them up and down as far as the eye can reach, following
their quiet courses. The beautiful slopes of the fields in Maryland,
cultivated to the water's edge, fill up a picture surpassingly
beautiful--not grand, but beautiful; for what can please more than the
calm sunshine shed upon upland and lowland, with the glad waters
glistening in its rays, and just enough of man's works on both "flood
and field" to give life and motion to the scene! Surrounded with such a
prospect as this, let the old folks discuss their crops, talk of their
wheat and corn, and prognosticate the changes of the weather--or, as
times now go, settle first the affairs of the county, then of the
state, and lastly of the nation, while we steal away to the parlor.
DAUGHTERS OF VIRGINIA! always fair, always lovely, how much fairer and
lovelier than ever, do you appear in your own homes, surrounded by your
fathers, your brothers and your kinsmen. How it has delighted me to
watch the overflowings of your innocent hearts, to enjoy your winning
smiles--to listen to the music of your voices! I see in you no
hypocrisy and deceit, the moral contagious diseases caught by
intercourse with corrupt society--I find no "town-bred" arts, mocking
the modesty of nature--I discover no cunning devices to attract that
attention which merit alone ought to command. May this be written of
you always! May the land which produces noble, generous sons, ever have
for its boast and pride, THE MOST VIRTUOUS DAUGHTERS.
And now having seen the young men _fairly_ "paired," if not matched,
let us leave them with a blessing, and look after our more aged
friends.
Politics have run high since we left them, but the "cool of the
evening" is cooling the blood, and "a drink" settles the controversy.
Friends and neighbors cannot afford to quarrel even about what concerns
themselves, much less about things so far off as at Washington. With
Virginia gentlemen there is always a courtesy and kindness even in
heated argument which precludes the possibility of offence.