When storms howl around me and dark tempests roll,

And Nature seems mov'd and convulsed to each pole--

When billows o'er billows tempestuously foam,

How dear is the thought of my lov'd native home.

The Laplander's breast, cold and dreary as night,

Beats wildly with transport, and throbs with delight,

When mem'ry, sad mem'ry, once chances to roam,

And recalls the past joys of his lov'd native home.

The soldier who combats at tyranny's call,

In far distant climes, where grim terrors appal,

At the last beat of life, when he ceases to roam,

While dying, remembers his dear native home.

Grim slav'ry's poor victim, long destin'd to mourn

O'er the ruins of peace that will never return,

Views with heart-bursting grief, old Ocean's white foam,

And dies as he thinks of his lov'd native home.

Misfortune's sad child, while he wanders afar,

Still guided by Destiny's mysterious star,

Heaves a sigh, while visions of intellect roam,

And paint on his mem'ry the sweets of his home.

When sorrows the cheek of remembrance bedew,

And disease, death, and misery glare dreadful to view,

How grateful, when far from our country we roam,

Are the long cherish'd thoughts of our lov'd native home.

Who wanders o'er far distant realms to enjoy

Life's baubles of pleasure and wealth's glitt'ring toy,

In his old age returns, no longer to roam,

From the long absent shades of his dear native home.

Would fortune permit me once more to return

To the cot of my youth, that in sadness I mourn,

Oh! nothing again shall induce me to roam

From the scenes, the lov'd scenes of my sweet native home.

{645}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MEMOIR OF THE AMBITIOUS LAWYER.

NO. I.

Will your honor hear me through, before you pronounce sentence.--_Old

Play_.

I was the son of a country clergyman, who, passionately fond of

literature himself, determined to send me into the world with a good

collegiate education. I went through the course of study at the

University of ----, studied hard, graduated with considerable

distinction, and was very fully impressed with the idea that I was a

youth of fine parts and acquirements. On leaving college, I determined

to spend a twelvemonth in recreation and amusement, before I entered

upon the study of a profession.

On my first introduction into the society of the active world, I

expected of course, to command that homage to my superior talents and

acquirements which I thought I so richly merited, and which was so

willingly awarded by the young men at the University of ----. But I

was not only treated with indifference, but contempt. I soon acquired

the character of a conceited coxcomb--a dogmatist without knowledge or

talents. Few of the enlightened part of the community condescended to

converse with me on equal terms; my challenges for argument, in order

to discover my abilities, were disregarded: and I had the

mortification of having the reputation of a fool, without the

opportunity as I thought, of correcting the impression. This treatment

determined me to anticipate the time I had allotted for the

commencement of the study of a profession. The consciousness that I

possessed talents, and the illiberal treatment I conceived I had met

with from the world, excited within me, an ambition of the most

corroding nature. I was determined to extort from an envious world,

that respect which I believed was so unworthily withheld. I had a

restless desire to chalk out my fortunes unassisted. With a single eye

to my purpose, I placed myself somewhat in a hostile attitude to the

world. Such was the uncompromising nature of my pride, and such the

ill-judged confidence in my own abilities, that I enjoyed no man's

friendship, and sought the patronage of none. In two months after I

left the University of ----, I purchased a few books, and commenced

the study of the law. For two years, I gave the most unremitting,

untiring attention to my books. Many nights did I toil over the dry

pages of Coke, until the east was streaked with the approach of

returning day. Many times was my mind so far absorbed, by intense and

abstract thought, that I have been forced suddenly to throw down my

books and count the tiles on the roof of the house, to recall my

aberrated thoughts and prevent absolute derangement. There is always

an exhilaration of feeling which attends mental excitement, that

renders the life of a student happy; and, while my health remained

unimpaired, my hours of study passed pleasantly away. But intense

application began to affect my health, and consequently my spirits; a

melancholy sat continually on my "faded brow." I became unhappy,

without then knowing why; yet I never lost sight of my unalterable

resolve, to make those crouch to my importance, who had once spurned

me from their presence. Occasionally the idea would recur, "would it

not be better to return to my social feelings, unbosom myself to my

relatives, and be content with the good opinion of those with whom I

associated;" but pride and ambition would soon silence such

intimations of my better nature, and goad me on to the attainment of

my object at any sacrifice. In looking back through a period of more

than threescore years, I can distinctly recollect that sullen pride,

that mortified but unsubdued ambition which shut me out from the

pleasures of social intercourse, and "preyed like the canker worm, on

the vitals of my repose."

On perceiving the decline of my health and spirits, my father, with

little persuasion, prevailed on me to take out license and commence

the practise of my profession. By devotion to my studies, I had

acquired such a knowledge of the elementary works, as enabled me to

pass a sustainable examination before the judges of ----. In the

twenty-first year of my age, on the twenty-fifth day of October, with

my license in my pocket, I set out for a distant county court. It was

a fine morning; the air was bracing, but not cold. When I had mounted

my horse, and set off in a brisk trot, on a level and beaten Virginia

country road, I felt an exhilaration that the novelty of my purpose

and the healthy nature of my exercise was well calculated to inspire.

It is needless to inform the reader of the multifarious and never

realized visions of distinction and applause, that my heated brain

formed that day. There is something rather enervating in the young

dreams of love; but the early visions of ambition instil an ardor into

the soul, which nerves the faculties to the most daring enterprize, or

the most laborious undertaking. Both, however, heighten self-respect,

and diffuse a pleasing tranquillity over even excited feeling.

The crowd had already gathered when I reached the court house of ----.

The political rivals had commenced haranguing the mob; the shrill cry

of the Yankee pedler vendueing his goods, the hoarse laugh of the

stout Virginia planter, the neighing of horses, the loud voice of the

stump orator, and the menaces of county bullies, met for the purpose

of testing their pugilistic talents, broke upon the tympanum in no

agreeable confusion. Here was a group collected around a decapitated

cask of whiskey, emptying its contents to the health of favorite

candidates; there a collection eyeing with eagerness two combatants

encircled in a ring, struggling for the acclamation of "the best man."

At a respectful distance stood the man of authority, the Virginia

justice, commanding the peace; but his vociferous interference only

met with the response of "Hands off: fair play!" In this promiscuous

assemblage, every grade of society in the county was represented. Here

was the rich, unpopular aristocrat, with his lofty bearing. The

representatives of old, and once rich and aristocratical families, who

had left nothing but a name for their posterity, were here mingling

familiarly with the plebeian herd, seeking popularity as the only

step-stone to political eminence. Here was seen, also, the rich

demagogue--the people's man--the frequenter of militia musters, the

giver of good dinners, without distinction of guests. Here, also, was

the substantial two hundred acre freeholder. Of the most conspicuous

"_minora sidera_," the Kentuckian horsedrover, the horsejockey, the

ganderpuller, might be mentioned. I soon passed this congregated mass,

and reached the bar. One of the fraternity was kind enough to

introduce me to the court and his professional brethren. It {646} is

useless to describe my sensations during the continuance of that term

of the court. I was, generally, either entirely unnoticed, or treated

with marked contempt. So undeserving and discourteous did this

treatment seem, that I asked an old lawyer, who appeared rather more

affable than his brethren, what it meant; he smiled, and whispered

that every young lawyer, and particularly _a college lawyer_, was,

_prima facie_, a fool, until he showed the contrary. I profited so

much by this rough response, as to resolve to push my own way, without

soliciting favor, and careless even of common courtesy.

After about four months attention to my courts, I found a world of

difference between the life of a student and a lawyer. The one deals

with his fellow at the most confiding and innocent age; the other

deals with every variety of character, and meets with every grade of

vice. When I first discovered with what a cold and selfish set of

creatures I had to mingle, I became melancholy, disgusted with my

profession and every thing attached to it. The fearful thought came

over my mind to turn scoundrel, and manage the _world_ in its own way;

to "carve it like an oyster"--"to ride mankind as Pyrrhus did his

elephant." But my better nature prevailed, and I determined to

persevere in the difficult task of mingling with mankind and

preserving my principles uncontaminated by the contact.

When we reflect what a trivial occurrence alters one's fortunes, we

are ready to conclude that life is a complete game of hazard, and man

the creature of circumstances. If it had not been for a singular

accident, I might have toiled on through the prime of my existence,

without success in my profession, and deserted it after my glittering

youth was spent, a disappointed and pennyless misanthrope. I took a

small "tide of fortune at its flood, and it led to glory." It was

twelve months from the time I took out license, that I was touched on

the arm by a stranger, who asked me if I was not Owen the lawyer? I

told him I was; he then retained me to defend him in a prosecution

against him for forgery, and added, that my general celebrity as a

criminal advocate, had induced him to employ me. The application was

of a kind so new to me, (for I had never been spoken to either for

counsel or defence) that in the agitation of the moment I did not

discover that I was mistaken for a lawyer of some eminence, of the

same name, who attended the same court. As soon as he left me, cool

reflection came, and I was convinced that I had been retained through

mistake. I immediately went in search of the forger, to suggest the

mistake. I met with him among a number of by-standers and a few

members of the bar. As soon as he saw me, he accused me of practising

a fraud upon him, by designingly confirming him in his error. I

immediately turned from him, remarking that I could be no gainer by

altercation with a forger. But from the reception that his charge met

with among some of the by-standers and lawyers, I was impressed with

the conviction that they either believed, or affected to believe, the

accusation of the forger. I concealed my chagrin as well as I could

until his trial came on, and availing myself of the invitation of the

prosecutor to assist him, I made a speech containing the bitterest

invective and perhaps the best argument that I have ever made since.

As soon as I look my seat I observed approbation or envy on every

countenance that met my eye, for the criminal was very opprobrious to

the multitude. He was convicted by the unanimous voice of the court. I

was congratulated on every side on the success of my "maiden effort,"

and by numbers of the obsequious crowd who previously withheld from me

even the ordinary civilities of life.

NARRATOR.

LITERARY NOTICES.

THE CRAYON MISCELLANY, No. II. containing Abbotsford and Newstead

Abbey. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1835.

We hailed with pleasure the appearance of the first number of the

Crayon Miscellany, but we knew not what a feast was preparing for us

in the second. In Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey, the author of the

Sketch Book is at home. By no one could this offering to the memories

of Scott and Byron have been more appropriately made. It is the

tribute of genius to its kindred spirits, and it breathes a

sanctifying influence over the graves of the departed. The kindly

feelings of Irving are beautifully developed in his description of the

innocent pursuits and cheerful conversation of Sir Walter Scott, while

they give a melancholy interest to the early misfortunes of Byron. He

luxuriates among the scenes and associations which hallow the walls of

Newstead, and warms us into admiration of the wizard of the north, by

a matchless description of the man, his habits, and his thoughts. The

simplicity and innocence of his heart, his domestic affections, and

his warm hospitality, are presented in their most attractive forms.

The scenes and the beings with which Sir Walter was surrounded, are

drawn with a graphic pencil. All conduce to strengthen impressions

formerly made of the goodness and beneficence of Scott's character,

and to gratify the thousands who have drawn delight from his works,

with the conviction that their author was one of the most amiable of

his species. No man knows better than Washington Irving, the value

which is placed by the world (and with justice) upon incidents

connected with really great men, which seem trifling in themselves,

and which borrow importance only from the individuals to whom they

have relation. Hence he has given us a familiar (yet how beautiful!)

picture of Abbotsford and its presiding genius; but the relics of

Newstead, which his pensive muse has collected and thrown together,

brightening every fragment by the lustre of his own genius, are

perhaps even more attractive. He touches but a few points in Byron's

early history, but they are those on which we could have wished the

illumination of his researches. The whole of the details respecting

Miss Chaworth, and Byron's unfortunate attachment to that lady, are in

his best manner. The story of the White Lady is one of deep interest,

and suits well with the melancholy thoughts connected with Newstead.

An instance of monomania like that of the White Lady, has seldom been

recorded; and the author has, without over-coloring the picture,

presented to his readers the history of a real being, whose whole

character and actions and melancholy fate belong to the regions of

romance. In nothing that he has ever written, has his peculiar faculty

of imparting to all he touches the coloring of his genius, been more

fully displayed than in this work.

{647} We give a short extract from each of these sketches, although

they can afford no idea of their collective charms. The conversational

powers and social qualities of Sir Walter Scott, are thus described:

"The conversation of Scott was frank, hearty, picturesque, and

dramatic. During the time of my visit he inclined to the comic rather

than the grave, in his anecdotes and stories, and such, I was told,

was his general inclination. He relished a joke, or a trait of humor

in social intercourse, and laughed with right good will. He talked not

for effect or display, but from the flow of his spirits, the stores of

his memory, and the vigor of his imagination. He had a natural turn

for narration, and his narratives and descriptions were without

effort, yet wonderfully graphic. He placed the scene before you like a

picture; he gave the dialogue with the appropriate dialect or

peculiarities, and described the appearance and characters of his

personages with that spirit and felicity evinced in his writings.

Indeed, his conversation reminded me continually of his novels; and it

seemed to me, that during the whole time I was with him, he talked

enough to fill volumes, and that they could not have been filled more

delightfully.

"He was as good a listener as talker, appreciating every thing that

others said, however humble might be their rank or pretensions, and

was quick to testify his perception of any point in their discourse.

He arrogated nothing to himself, but was perfectly unassuming and

unpretending, entering with heart and soul into the business, or

pleasure, or, I had almost said folly, of the hour and the company. No

one's concerns, no one's thoughts, no one's opinions, no one's tastes

and pleasures seemed beneath him. He made himself so thoroughly the

companion of those with whom he happened to be, that they forgot for a

time his vast superiority, and only recollected and wondered, when all

was over, that it was Scott with whom they had been on familiar terms,

and in whose society they had felt so perfectly at their ease.

"It was delightful to observe the generous mode in which he spoke of

all his literary cotemporaries, quoting the beauties of their works,

and this, too, with respect to persons with whom he might be supposed

to be at variance in literature or politics. Jeffrey, it was thought,

had ruffled his plumes in one of his reviews, yet Scott spoke of him

in terms of high and warm eulogy, both as an author and as a man.

"His humor in conversation, as in his works, was genial and free from

all causticity. He had a quick perception of faults and foibles, but

he looked upon poor human nature with an indulgent eye, relishing what

was good and pleasant, tolerating what was frail, and pitying what was

evil. It is this beneficent spirit which gives such an air of

bonhommie to Scott's humor throughout all his works. He played with

the foibles and errors of his fellow beings, and presented them in a

thousand whimsical and characteristic lights, but the kindness and

generosity of his nature would not allow him to be a satirist. I do

not recollect a sneer throughout his conversation any more than there

is throughout his works."

It is more difficult to fix upon an extract from the sketch of

Newstead Abbey, but we take the following as coming within the limits

of our notice:

"I was attracted to this grove, however, by memorials of a more

touching character. It had been one of the favorite haunts of the late

Lord Byron. In his farewell visit to the abbey, after he had parted

with the possession of it, he passed some time in this grove, in

company with his sister; and as a last memento, engraved their names

on the bark of a tree.

"The feelings that agitated his bosom during this farewell visit, when

he beheld around him objects dear to his pride, and dear to his

juvenile recollections, but of which the narrowness of his fortune

would not permit him to retain possession, may be gathered from a

passage in a poetical epistle, written to his sister in after years.

"'I did remind you of our own dear lake

By the old hall, _which may be mine no more_;

Lemans is fair; but think not I forsake

The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:

Sad havoc Time must with my memory make

Ere _that_ or _thou_ can fade these eyes before;

Though, like all things which I have loved, they are

Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

I feel almost at times as I have felt

In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,

Which do remember me of where I dwelt

Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,

Come as of yore upon me, and can melt

My heart with recognition of their looks,

And even at moments I would think I see

Some living things I love--but none like thee.'

"I searched the grove for sometime, before I found the tree on which

Lord Byron had left his frail memorial. It was an elm of peculiar

form, having two trunks, which sprang from the same root, and after

growing side by side, mingled their branches together. He had selected

it doubtless, as emblematical of his sister and himself. The names of

BYRON and AUGUSTA were still visible. They had been deeply cut in the

bark, but the natural growth of the tree was gradually rendering them

illegible, and a few years hence, strangers will seek in vain for this

record of fraternal affection.

* * * * *

"At a distance on the border of the lawn, stood another memento of

Lord Byron; an oak planted by him in his boyhood, on his first visit

to the abbey. With a superstitious feeling inherent in him, he linked

his own destiny with that of the tree. 'As it fares,' said he, 'so

will fare my fortunes.' Several years elapsed, many of them passed in

idleness and dissipation. He returned to the abbey a youth scarce

grown to manhood, but as he thought with vices and follies beyond his

years. He found his emblem oak almost choked by weeds and brambles,

and took the lesson to himself.

"'Young oak, when I planted thee deep in the ground,

I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine,

That thy dark waving branches would flourish around,

And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.

Such, such was my hope--when in infancy's years

On the land of my fathers I reared thee with pride;

They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears--

Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide.'

"I leaned over the stone ballustrade of the terrace, and gazed upon

the valley of Newstead, with its silver sheets of water gleaming in

the morning sun. It was a Sabbath morning, which always seems to have

a hallowed influence over the landscape, probably from the quiet of

the day, and the cessation of all kinds of week day labor. As I mused

upon the mild and beautiful scene, and the wayward destinies of the

man whose stormy temperament forced him from this tranquil paradise to

battle with the passions and perils of the world, the sweet chime of

bells from a village a few miles distant, came stealing up the valley.

Every sight and sound this morning, seemed calculated to summon up

touching recollections of poor Byron. The chime was from the village

spire of Hucknall Torkard, beneath which his remains lie buried!

"I have since visited his tomb. It is in an old gray country church,

venerable with the lapse of centuries. He lies buried beneath the

pavement, at one end of the principal aisle. A light falls upon the

spot through the stained glass of a gothic window, and a tablet on the

adjacent wall announces the family vault of the Byrons. It had been

the wayward intention of the poet to be entombed with his faithful dog

in the monument {648} erected by him in the garden of Newstead Abbey.

His executors showed better judgment and feeling, in consigning his

ashes to the family sepulchre, to mingle with those of his mother and

his kindred.

* * * * *

"How nearly did his dying hour realize the wish made by him but a few

years previously in one of his fitful moods of melancholy and

misanthropy:

"'When time, or soon or late, shall bring,

The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,

Oblivion! may thy languid wing

Wave gently o'er my dying bed!

No band of friends or heirs be there,

To weep or wish the coming blow:

No maiden with dishevelled hair,

To feel or feign decorous woe.

But silent let me sink to earth,

With no officious mourners near:

I would not mar one hour of mirth,

Nor startle friendship with a fear.'

"He died among strangers, in a foreign land, without a kindred hand to

close his eyes, yet he did not die unwept. With all his faults, and

errors, and passions, and caprices, he had the gift of attaching his

humble dependants warmly to him. One of them, a poor Greek,

accompanied his remains to England, and followed them to the grave. I

am told that during the ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew in an

agony of grief, and when all was over, seemed as if he would have gone

down into the tomb with his master.--A nature that could inspire such

attachments, must have been generous and beneficent."

* * * * *

THE CONQUEST OF FLORIDA, by Hernando de Soto; by Theodore Irving.

Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard.

There is so much of romance in the details of Spanish conquests in

America, that a history of any one of the numerous expeditions for

discovery and conquest, possesses the charm of the most elaborate

fiction, even while it bears the marks of general truth. These

adventures occurred during the age of chivalry, when danger was

courted for distinction, before the progress of science and literature

had opened other avenues to renown, and when personal valor was looked

upon as the pre-eminent quality--skill in arms as the highest

accomplishment of an aspiring spirit. No nation was more celebrated

during that chivalrous age than Spain, and in none did the genius of

chivalry longer resist the influences under which it finally fell into

decay. Upon the discovery of America, a wide field was opened for the

warlike spirit of the age, and Spain sent forth her hosts of

adventurers, filled with wild visions of boundless wealth, and the

easy conquest of the barbarian nations of those golden regions. There

are in the histories of their exploits, so many displays of dauntless

courage--of skill in overcoming difficulties--of the power of a few

disciplined warriors, to contend successfully with hosts of equally

brave, but untutored savages--and so many exhibitions of the generous

qualities of the soldier, that in the glare of brilliant achievements,

and the excitement of thrilling incident, we are tempted to overlook

the injustice and cruelty which marked the footsteps of the

conquerors.

Mr. Irving's work is one of great interest. The conquest of Florida by

De Soto, while it is contrasted with the conquest of Mexico by Cortez,

(which immediately preceded it) in regard to its results to those

engaged in it, resembles it in the patient suffering and indomitable

bravery of the adventurers, and in the numerous thrilling scenes

through which they passed. While the conquest of Mexico enriched the

followers of Cortez, and poured the wealth of the new world into the

lap of Spain, that of Florida proved fatal to all who attempted it,

and ended in disaster to the ultimate conquerors. Ponce de Leon, the

visionary, who sought in Florida the Fountain of Youth, Vasques de

Ayllon, the ruthless kidnapper, and Pamphilo de Narvaez, the well

known rival and opponent of Cortez, had made fruitless attempts to

colonize this disastrous coast. But the last and most splendid effort

of that day, was made by Hernando de Soto, a cavalier who had served

with Cortez, and had returned to Spain in the possession of immense

wealth derived from the spoil of Mexico. The enjoyment of the highest

favor at the court of his sovereign, the charms of a young and lovely

bride, and the allurements of his splendid position at home, were

insufficient to repress the spirit of adventure which he had imbibed

in the wars in Mexico, and the prevalent belief that Florida presented

a scene for conquest still more magnificent than Mexico. De Soto was

doomed to prove that the golden dreams of wealth with which the

unexplored regions of Florida had been invested, were baseless

illusions. But his adventures and achievements afford a rich mine of

romantic incidents which Mr. Irving has presented in a most attractive

form:

"Of all the enterprises," says he, "undertaken in this spirit of

daring adventure, none has surpassed for hardihood and variety of

incident, that of the renowned Hernando de Soto and his band of

cavaliers. It was poetry put in action; it was the knight-errantry of

the old world carried into the depths of the American wilderness:

indeed, the personal adventures, the feats of individual prowess, the

picturesque descriptions of steel-clad cavaliers, with lance and helm

and prancing steed, glittering through the wildernesses of Florida,

Georgia, Alabama, and the prairies of the Far West, would seem to us

mere fictions of romance, did they not come to us recorded in

matter-of-fact narratives of cotemporaries, and corroborated by minute

and daily memoranda of eye witnesses."

Hernando de Soto was in every respect qualified for the task he

undertook in this ill-starred expedition. But the Floridian savage was

a more formidable foe than his Mexican brother--more hardy of frame,

and more implacable in his revenge. Hence, although the imagination is

not dazzled in the conquest of Florida, with descriptions of boundless

wealth and regal magnificence--although the chiefs are not decked in

"barbaric pearls and gold"--their sturdy resistance, and the varied

vicissitudes created by the obstacles which nature presented to the

conqueror's march, afford numberless details of great interest. The

book abounds with thrilling passages, from which, but for the crowded

state of our pages, we should make a few extracts. Whether it is the

merit of the writer or his subject, (probably it is a combination of

both,) which gives to this work so much fascination, we will not

decide; but it is scarcely possible to commence it, (at least we found

it so) and lay it aside until its perusal is concluded.

* * * * *

{649} CHANCES AND CHANGES; a Domestic Story, by the author of "Six

Weeks on the Loire." Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard.

This is an uncommon book. In these days of high excitement and

_powerful_ writing, it is refreshing to be introduced among characters

of so much purity, benevolence and intelligence as those delineated in

"Chances and Changes." The moral of the book, although it is not

ostentatiously pressed upon the attention, is obvious and forcible. A

lovelier being than Catherine Neville, the heroine, can scarcely be

imagined. There is nothing new in the story--the events are such as

might easily be supposed to have occurred, and the leading features of

the plot may be stated in a few words: Colonel Hamilton, a man of

fashion and something of a _roué_, is engaged in a duel with a

baronet, in consequence of an intrigue between the Colonel and the

titled wife of his antagonist. The latter is dangerously wounded, and

Colonel Hamilton seeks a refuge for several months in the remote

dwelling of his former tutor, Mr. Neville, a benevolent and

conscientious clergyman. Hamilton becomes enamored of Catherine

Neville, who returns his passion with all the ardor of a first love.

He at length mingles with the world of fashion again, is involved once

more in his former intrigue, and although struggling to retain and

deserve the affections of Catherine, becomes completely entangled in a

criminal attachment. Catherine, after a long and painful conflict with

her feelings, resolves to conquer her ill-placed affection, and is

ultimately united to a worthier object. The struggles between passion

and duty in her breast, and the conflict of good and evil in Hamilton,

are admirably portrayed. The sentiments and opinions are often

striking, and the style elegant and attractive. We give a few

extracts, taken at random:

"Come along with me," said she, "come and look by the side of the

little stream that runs through the garden."

"This girl, after all, can do whatever she likes with me," thought

Hamilton, as he rose with affected effort, from the chair which he had

just before vowed to himself nothing should induce him to stir from,

until it was time to dress for dinner. Away they went to the brook,

and found Mr. Neville standing there, looking at the daffodils with

all the delight of the poet whose words were on his lips.

"I wandered lonely as a cloud,

That flits on high, o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of dancing daffodils.

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing near the trees.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle in the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line,

Along the margin of a bay.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee,

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company.

I gazed and gazed, but little thought

What wealth to me the show had brought.

For oft when on my couch I lie,

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude.

And then my heart with pleasure fills

And dances with the daffodils."

Hamilton was so unused to hear Wordsworth quoted in any other tone

than that of ridicule, or absurd parody, that he was amazed to hear

his old tutor, whose taste he revered, not more from habit than

experience of its correctness, repeat these lines with the enthusiasm

of Catherine herself, and conclude them with a panegyric on their

author, as having formed a new school in poetry, and finding

"Books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in ev'ry thing."

* * * * *

"Well, sir, what do you think of our daffodils?" said Mr. Neville,

pointing to them exultingly, "are they not enough to inspire a poet?"

"I am not poet enough to answer the question," said Hamilton, "but I

remember the eldest of poets says they make very good salads."

"Ah ha!" said Mr. Neville, "I am glad you have not forgotten old

Hesiod--but, however, I did not think of getting into Greek when I

quoted Wordsworth."

"Nor I of hearing anything like common sense spring out of a quotation

from him," said Hamilton. "Not but that all he says may be very fine,

but I am of another school--I am a Byronian--he is the only man that

is read in Town--those Lakeists that go and make faces at themselves

on the waveless waters, and then run home to put their reflections

upon paper, are quite outvoted now; even the ladies never think of

them."

"No, I suppose not," said Mr. Neville, "any more than they would think

of seeing hay-makers in their verandas, or a sheep-shearing in their

drawings-rooms. But 'the children of darkness are wiser in their

generation than the children of light,' and he who sings of nothing

but lawless crimes, and sated vices, does wisely to address his song

to the inhabitants of an overgrown and luxurious metropolis."

"Yes, yes; he is sure enough of sympathy, plenty of dancing daffodils

there,--only of rather an opposite species. What do you say, Miss

Neville, do you like the titled Bard?"

"Quite well enough, as a poet, to wish he had made choice of better

subjects. Edward Longcroft says he has in him a fragment of almost

every other poet's distinguishing excellence, but unfortunately his

own genius is only a fragment itself, and, therefore, he produces

nothing but fragments after all."

"Very wise in Mr. Longcroft--I dare say he could prove every thing he

says most mathematically; but I fancy he will find the generality of

his acquaintance admire diamond sparks more than brick-bats--though

one is only a part, and the other a whole."

"Very good! very good!" said Mr. Neville, "but who have we here?" he

added, as he looked towards the little gate. "Ah ha! here he is

himself--now we can have diamond sparks versus brick-bats, as long as

you like, and see who has the better of the argument."

A matter-of-fact-man is well portrayed in the following:

"Henry Barton," said she to herself, "is a good creature, as ever was

born; and he has great merit, too, in cultivating his mind so

sedulously, surrounded as he is only by the clodpoles his father has

brought him up amongst. But, after all, he is such a mere

matter-of-fact-man, that one soon tires of him--he tells one an

anecdote just as he reads it, and there's an end of it. And then he

moralizes, too, in such a common-place way, and wonders how the Romans

could degenerate so as to suffer themselves to be conquered by the

Goths, and finds out that it was an abominable thing in Henry VIII to

cut off his wives' heads, and not much better in Queen Elizabeth to

sign Essex's death warrant. There is no play of imagination about

him--no whim, no wit--he would as soon think of launching a man of

war, as maintaining a paradox."

The subjoined sentiment is beautifully expressed:

"Ah, is there any happiness like that of the affections! from the

soul-absorbing influence of individual love, through all the endearing

gradations of natural ties, {650} and selected friends, down to the

generalized claims of our fellow-creatures: it will ever be found that

all our real enjoyments are solid only as the feelings of the heart

are connected with them; and long after the traces of external objects

may be effaced from the memory, the kindly sentiments and participated

feelings, with which they may have been connected, remain indelible in

the interior recesses of the breast, which they fill with a sweet

indistinctness of recollected enjoyment."

And how much truth in Catherine's criticism of Byron:

"I cannot feel the beauties of any poetry whatsoever," said Catherine,

"when I think the poet has no feeling himself--I have admired many

passages in Lord Byron's earlier works, even to enthusiasm; but when I

came to his most unfeeling mockery of the agonizing sympathies he had

raised in his description of a storm, by the odious levity with which

he concludes it, I closed the book, and never read another page of his

writing. I thought of it ever after as of those monstrosities in

painting, of beautiful heads, and cloven feet, and it inspired me with

the same disgust."

* * * * *

_North American Review, No. LXXXVIII: July 1835_.--The last number of

this periodical contains several admirable articles. We subjoin a list

of its contents:

Art. I. A Tour on the Prairies, by the author of the Sketch Book.--II.

The American Almanac for the year 1835.--III. Memoirs of

Casanova.--IV. Machiavelli.--V. Life and Character of William

Roscoe.--VI. Mrs. Butler's Journal.--VII. Dunlap's History of the

Arts.--VIII. Slavery; an Appeal in favor of that Class of Americans

called Africans, by Mrs. Child.--IX. Audubon's Biography of Birds.-X.

Webster's Speeches.

The first article is a noble eulogy on the genius of Washington

Irving, well according with the merits of the writer, and the honest

pride which every American feels in the possession of such a luminary

in our native literature. Great as has been the praise lavished upon

his works, we feel with the reviewer that full justice has not as yet

been accorded them--and it is with pleasure we perceive that the world

at large is becoming more alive to his merits. The following rapid

glance at the various triumphs of his genius, will be read with a

general concurrence in its truth:

"Compare him," says the reviewer, "with any of the distinguished

writers of his class of this generation, excepting Sir Walter Scott,

and with almost any of what are called the English classics of any

age. Compare him with Goldsmith, one of the canonized names of the

British pantheon of letters, who touched every kind of writing, and

adorned every kind that he touched. In one or two departments, it is

true, that of poetry and the drama--departments which Mr. Irving has

not attempted, and in which much of Goldsmith's merit lies--the

comparison partly fails; but place their pretensions, in every other

respect, side by side. Who would think of giving the miscellaneous

writings of Goldsmith a preference over those of Irving, and who would

name his historical compositions with the Life of Columbus? If in the

drama and in poetry Goldsmith should seemed to have extended his

province greatly beyond that of Irving, the Life of Columbus is a

_chef d'oeuvre_ in a department which Goldsmith can scarcely be said

to have touched; for the trifles on Grecian and Roman history, which

his poverty extorted from him, deserve to enter into comparison with

Mr. Irving's great work, about as much as Eutropius deserves to be

compared with Livy. Then how much wider Irving's range in that

department, common to both the painting of manners and character! From

Mr. Irving we have the humors of cotemporary politics and every-day

life in America--the traditionary peculiarities of the Dutch founders

of New York--the nicest shades of the school of English manners of the

last century--the chivalry of the middle ages in Spain--the glittering

visions of Moorish romance--a large cycle of sentimental creations,

founded on the invariable experience--the pathetic sameness of the

human heart--and lastly, the whole unhackneyed freshness of the

West--life beyond the border--a camp outside the frontier--a hunt on

buffalo ground, beyond which neither white nor Pawnee, man nor muse,

can go. This is Mr. Irving's range, and in every part of it he is

equally at home. When he writes the history of Columbus, you see him

weighing doubtful facts in the scales of a golden criticism. You

behold him, laden with the manuscript treasures of well-searched

archives, and disposing the heterogeneous materials into a

well-digested and instructive narration. Take down another of his

volumes, and you find him in the parlor of an English country inn, of

a rainy day, and you look out of the window with him upon the

dripping, dreary desolation of the back yard. Anon he takes you into

the ancestral hall of a baronet of the old school, and instructs you

in the family traditions, of which the memorials adorn the walls, and

depend from the rafters. Before you are wearied with the curious lore,

you are in pursuit of Kidd, the pirate, in the recesses of Long

Island; and by the next touch of the enchanter's wand, you are rapt

into an enthusiastic reverie of the mystic East, within the crumbling

walls of the Alhambra. You sigh to think you were not born six hundred

years ago, that you could not have beheld those now deserted halls, as

they once blazed in triumph, and rang with the mingled voices of

oriental chivalry and song,--when you find yourself once more borne

across the Atlantic, whirled into the western wilderness, with a

prairie wide as the ocean before you, and a dusky herd of buffaloes,

like the crowded convoy of fleeing merchantmen, looming in the

horizon, and inviting you to the chase. This is literally _nullum fere

genus scribendi non tigit nullum quod titigit non ornviit_. Whether

anything like an equal range is to be found in the works of him on

whom the splendid compliment was first bestowed, it is not difficult

to say."

The articles on Machiavelli, and on the life of Roscoe, are both

excellent in their way. The former has particular attractions, as it

is a luminous disquisition on the character and writings of one who

for ages was an enigma in the political and intellectual world, whose

works, like those of Dante and Faust, have been interpreted by

opposing critics in the most conflicting manner, and whose name, error

and prejudice handed down from century to century, have rendered

synonymous with all that is crafty and corrupt in the art of

government.

The notice of Mrs. Butler's work is the best we have seen. The

reviewer performs his task with redoubtable good humor. The gentleness

with which he calls the lady to account for her literary offences, and

the hearty tribute of praise he bestows on the best portions of her

work, show that he is determined to

"Be to her faults a little blind,

And to her merits very kind."

But the review of Mrs. Child's ill-judged appeal on the subject of

slavery, has for us a more powerful attraction than any in the number.

It is not possible that we should be witnesses of the momentous

occurrences of the day, and not feel most sensitively every reference

to a topic in the discussion of which all that we love and reverence

is involved. The impatient zeal of pretending enthusiasts, who in the

pursuit of what to {651} them seems good, disregard the frightful

evils which their blind impetuosity may produce, cannot but awaken in

those upon whom these evils must fall, a trembling anxiety for the

future, and an indignant resentment against the madmen who are blindly

jeoparding the peace of the country and the lives of thousands. We

cannot trust our feelings upon this subject. We see too clearly the

horrors in perspective, which fanaticism is preparing for us, and we

humbly hope that the results of its insane excess, may be averted. The

reviewer in the North American, thinks and feels correctly on this

subject, and we regret that we can only make room for the closing

passages of his remarks:

"That we must be rid of slavery at some day, seems to be the decided

conviction of almost every honest mind. But when or how this is to be,

God only knows. If in a struggle for this end the Union should be

dissolved, it needs not the gift of prophecy to foresee that our

country will be plunged into that gulf which in the language of

another, 'is full of the fire and the blood of civil war, and of the

thick darkness of general political disgrace, ignominy, and ruin.'

"There is much error upon this as well as other subjects, to be

corrected, before the public can act deliberately or wisely in

relation to it. It is too common to associate with the slave-holder

the character of the slave-merchant. And we regret to see the

abolitionist of the day seizing upon the cruelties and abuses of power

by a few slave-owners in regard to their slaves, in order to excite

odium against slave-holders as a class. This is alike unreasonable and

unjust. Very many of them are deeply solicitous to free the country of

this alarming evil, but no feasible means by which this is to be

accomplished has yet been offered for their adoption. Such

denunciations are no better than the anathemas of fanaticism, and

ought to be discountenanced by every well wisher of his country. The

subject of slavery is one, in regard to which, more than almost any

other, there are clouds and darkness upon the future destinies of

these states. It is one upon which all think and feel more or less

acutely, and it is moreover one upon which all may be called upon to

act. It is, therefore, we repeat, with regret that we see intellects

like that of Mrs. Child, and pens like hers, which may be otherwise so

agreeably and beneficially employed, diverted from their legitimate

spheres of action, and employed in urging on a cause so dangerous to

the union, domestic peace, and civil liberty, as the immediate

emancipation of the slaves at the South."

* * * * *

_American Republication of Foreign Quarterlies_.--The London, Edinburg

and Westminster Reviews for April, 1835, have been republished by Mr.

Foster, in his cheap and valuable series of periodicals. The Edinburg

Review contains an article on American Poetry, in the course of which

a general glance at the literature of this country is taken; and a

more favorable opinion expressed of its achievements than that work

has hitherto entertained. This fact is worthy of remark, when it is

recollected that the taunting query, "Who reads an American book?"

emanated from that journal not many years since. The most attractive

articles in the Westminster, are those upon "Lucy Aiken's Court of

Charles II," and "Dunlop's Memoirs of Spain." To us, an article in the

Quarterly on "Maria, or Slavery in the United States, a picture of

American Manners, by Gustave de Beaumont, one of the authors of a work

on the Penitentiary System in the United States"[1]--"The Stranger in

America, by F. Leiber," and "New England and her Institutions, by one

of her sons," is the most attractive in the April number. The work of

M. de Beaumont has not, as we have heard, been translated or

republished in this country. His views of our manners and institutions

are exhibited in the form of a novel, which the Quarterly declares to

possess considerable interest, and to display in parts a large share

of the true genius of romance, notwithstanding that the incidents are

few and the commentaries copious. The author declares in a preface,

that "though his personages are fictitious, every trait of character

has been sketched from the life, and that almost every incident in his

tale may be depended on as a fact that had fallen under his own

observation." The reviewer is somewhat scandalized at the author's

avowal of "his belief that the democratic system of government, as now

established in America, is the best machinery that ever was invented

for developing the political independence and happiness of mankind,"

and endeavors to show that M. de Beaumont's strictures upon our

manners and condition (and he cannot be charged with undue lenity in

his censure) are inconsistent with that avowal. The reviewer makes

copious extracts from the work, which show that the author is disposed

to censure severely the condition of the colored population in this

country, without a fair consideration of the circumstances which

produced it. But we can scarcely judge of the book from the extracts

in the review, which are probably the most unfavorable that could be

found, as the reviewer displays a strong desire to draw from the

opinions of the French author, support for the assertions of English

travellers.

[Footnote 1: "Marie, ou l'Esclavage aux Etas-Unis, Tableau de Moeurs

Americaines par Gustave de Beaumont, l'un des Auteurs de l'ouvrage

intitulé Du Systeme Pénitentiare aux Etas-Unis."]

* * * * *

MY LIFE, by the author of Tales of Waterloo, &c. New York: Harper &

Brothers. 1835.

This is the production of a lively and spirited writer. He describes

skirmishes, onslaughts and battles, with the familiarity of one who

has not seldom taken a part in such actions--traces the Irish

character with great fidelity, and best of all, his book abounds in

humorous incidents. The _contre-pieds_ between the hero and his

cousin, "Jack the Devil," are admirably detailed. Jack is a rare

specimen of the Wild Irishman, and we have seldom been more amused

than we were with the history of the scrapes in which he involved

himself and his cousin. The battle of Waterloo is sketched briefly,

but with a graphic pen. The last struggle of that day, when Ney led

the Old Guard to the charge, and the description of the "field red

with slaughter," after the work of death had concluded, give evidence

of the painting of an eye-witness.

* * * * *

BELFORD REGIS, or Sketches of a Country Town, by Miss Mitford.

Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1835.

Like "Our Village," these are delightful productions, abounding with

wholesome satire of folly and prejudice, and displaying in strong

relief the humble virtues of retired life. Some of the characters are

conceptions of great loveliness, and many of the scenes are wrought

with most pathetic effect. The story of Hester is admirable. We have

seldom dwelt with more delighted interest over a picture of juvenile

virtue and self-devotion.

{652}

EDITORIAL REMARKS.

We have but a few words to offer upon the contents of the present

number. Generally they must speak for themselves; but in regard to

others we may be permitted a passing comment.

No. II of the Dissertation on the characteristic differences between

the sexes, sustains the high character of the first number. And

although the branch of the subject--Religious Differences--which the

author has discussed in the present number, seems to promise little

amusement for the general reader, it will be found upon perusal, to

have been so ingeniously treated, so beautifully illustrated, that

even he who entirely eschews polemics, will be edified and delighted.

It was upon this point that we felt the most solicitude for the

success of the writer, for there is no part of his subject so

difficult to manage, or in which he was so liable to fall below the

expectations of his readers. But he has overcome its difficulties, and

presents us with a disquisition, entirely free from the narrowness of

sectarian views, and deeply grounded in the philosophy of the human

mind. His view of the religion of woman is accurate and

beautiful,--her proneness to lean on the strength of a more powerful

being, her confiding nature, her facility in believing where man

cavils and doubts, and the tendency of her religious sentiments to

degenerate into superstition, contrasted with the besetting evils of

man's religious faith--bigotry and fanaticism--are admirably

portrayed. His illustration of this contrast is clear and convincing,

whilst his style throughout is easy and attractive. He seems to have

drawn the true inspiration from his subject, and is doubtless a

believer in the doctrine of the ingenious Biron--

"From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive:

They sparkle still the right promethean fire;

They are the books, the arts, the academes,

That show, contain, and nourish all the world;

Else, none at all in aught proves excellent."

Grayson Griffith is a religious story. We approve of the moral, as a

matter of course--who will not? But we do not come quite up to the

writer's standard of perfection, for we candidly confess we cannot see

the germs of perdition in a social game of whist; and while we detest

gambling and gamblers, the proscription of amusements innocent in

themselves, because some remote analogy may be traced between them and

practices at once immoral and every way destructive, seems to us

irreconcileable with sound logic or true philosophy. The attempt to

trace the vices of men to early habitudes is not always successful, as

the power of good or evil impressions over the mind and habits, is

essentially modified by the character of each individual. Besides,

accident often determines the destinies of men, so far as we can see,

in very spite of every previous tendency. We doubt, for instance,

whether the fascinations of the faro-table would not have been as

great to Grayson if he had never seen a card, as they proved to be, as

related in the story. But we are getting into the discussion of a

question which requires more time and space than we have to spare.

The "Letter on the United States, by a _Young Scotchman_," is

generally amusing; but some of the passages in it strike us with

surprise. He tells us that, "although the Americans are great novel

readers, there is too much matter-of-fact about them; they are too

calculating and money-making [this from a Scotchman!] to serve the

purposes of the novelist. They form but indifferent heroes and

heroines of romance, and hence Cooper is obliged to resort to the sea

to rake up pirates and smugglers, or to go back to the revolution or

the early settlement of his country to find characters and incidents

calculated to give verisimilitude and interest to his tales." This

seems to us hasty and jejune criticism. Cooper was not, as we know,

"_obliged_" to rake up pirates and smugglers; but as this writer has

told us in the ninth number of the Messenger, "He (Cooper) had been

for some years an officer in the American Navy, where he acquired a

knowledge of all the minutiæ of nautical life, which was of great

service to him in the composition of some of his tales. These are

justly considered as his best"--and he might have added, are written

with power peculiar to Cooper, of whom it may truly be said:

"His march is on the mountain wave

_His home_ is on the deep."

And well would it have been for his fame had he never abandoned his

proper element. On shore he generally makes as awkward a figure as one

of his nautical heroes would do, after a voyage, before he had gotten

rid of his "sea legs." We have read Cooper's last, the Monikins, but

at too late a period to allow a regular notice of it in this number.

_En passant_, however, we must say that it is an entire

failure--vapid, pointless, and inane. It appears to be an attempted

satire on mankind, a bungling imitation of Swift's account of the

_Houynhmins_, Mr. Cooper's monkies are a tedious race, and his Yankee

captain, "Noah Poke," the principal interlocutor, as the lawyers would

term him, is little better. We believe that all who have read this

work, will agree, that the sooner its author is "_obliged_" to take

again to salt water, and "rake up pirates and smugglers," the better

it will be for his own reputation, and the purses of his booksellers.

In regard to the poetry of this number, we must content ourselves with

drawing attention to the pathetic effusion "on the Deaf, Dumb and

Blind Girl."

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Many favors have been again unavoidably postponed. The communication

of _Scriblerus_ exhibits talent, and is written well, but is not

adapted to the pages of the Messenger. The writer would doubtless

succeed upon other subjects, and we invite him to make the experiment.

"A fragment of the thirteenth century," has held us in doubt for some

days; but we have finally decided upon its exclusion. We are not

better pleased with the poetry of _Timandi_, than with his prose.

The quantity of rhyme poured in upon us, is indeed a matter of

admiration. The effusions which we consign to outer darkness monthly,

are past enumeration. Such, for instance, as one containing the

following lines, and which purports to be "copyed from a young ladies

Album"--

Miss E---- we have oftimes met before

And--we may--meet no more

What shall I say at parting

Many years have run their race

Since first I saw your face

Around this gay and giddy place

Sweet smiles and blushes darting.

{653}

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

Vol. I.] RICHMOND, AUGUST 1835. [No. 12.

T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some account of the other

Barbary States.

No. VII.

Events of great importance had also occurred in Algiers, by which this

ancient stronghold of piracy was stripped of its terrors, and its

impotence fully demonstrated.

The resources of this state were even more severely affected by the

wars of Europe, than those of Tunis and Tripoli, as it depended less

than either of them upon native industry for support. A Pasha of

Algiers, who wished to retain his throne and consequently his life,

was forced to keep his troops engaged in wars from which they might

individually derive profit; to increase their pay at the expense of

the public treasury was ineffectual, and he who attempted thus to win

their favor was soon despised and overthrown. They required the

excitement of contests and plunder, and bread not won at the dagger's

point seems to have had no relish with them. In 1805, these

desperadoes murdered their Dey Mustapha, only because he was of too

peaceable a disposition. Under Achmet his successor, they had a war

with Tunis, but it was conducted in a very languid manner, for no

plunder could be expected.

The United States continued to pay the enormous annual tribute which

had been stipulated in the treaty of 1796, but not punctually. The

little respect which was paid to neutral rights at that period by

France and England, rendered the transmission of the naval stores

composing the tribute difficult and unsafe, and this was the reason

always alleged by the American Consul in accounting for the delay; but

it was also in a great measure intentional, from the idea on which the

other nations tributary to Algiers acted, that by thus remaining

always in arrears, the fear of losing the whole sum due, would render

the Dey less inclined to make any sudden depredations on their

commerce. A strict adherence to engagements voluntarily entered into,

would have been perhaps the better, and certainly much the more

dignified course, as the Dey would have found it to his interest to

conciliate those who paid so regularly.

Whilst the American squadron remained in the Mediterranean, these

excuses were listened to without many signs of impatience, but on its

departure Achmet raised his tone, and after threatening for some time,

he at length in the latter part of 1807 sent out his cruisers with

orders to seize American vessels, informing Mr. Lear at the same time,

that this was not to be considered as a hostile proceeding, and should

not disturb the peace between the two countries.

The Algerine cruisers took three American vessels, of which two were

brought into port and condemned; the crew of the third the schooner

Mary Anne, rose upon their captors, killed four of them, and having

set the remaining four adrift in a boat, carried the vessel safe into

Naples. As soon as the Dey received the news of this, he ordered the

American Consul instantly to pay sixteen thousand dollars as

satisfaction for the lives of his eight subjects. Mr. Lear endeavored

to obtain a delay until he could receive the orders of his government;

but he was threatened with imprisonment, and a number of ships of war

were ready to sail for the purpose of plundering American vessels; he

therefore, after a formal protest, paid the sixteen thousand dollars

for the Algerines killed, as well as the whole amount of the tribute

then due.

Shortly after this occurrence, on the 7th of November, 1808, the

Turkish soldiery revolted, and having killed Achmet, placed in his

stead Ali the keeper of a small mosque. What were their reasons for

such a choice cannot be stated, but the expectations of the Turks seem

not to have been fulfilled; for on the 4th of March, 1809, they

quietly took their sovereign to the common house of correction, and

there strangled him. They then raised to the throne a decrepid old man

named Hadji Ali, whose character was much more conformable with their

wishes, for he proved to be one of the most energetic, as well as most

ferocious tyrants ever known even in Algiers. He determined to revive

the old glory of his state, and again to offer to all Christian

nations the alternative of war or tribute.

Great Britain and France were at that time the only commercial nations

at peace with Algiers and paying no fixed tribute, yet they vied with

each other in the richness of their presents, which were made with

great regularity on all public occasions. Great Britain too, passively

encouraged the piratical propensity of the Algerines, by allowing them

to plunder and carry off the miserable inhabitants of the territories

which were occupied by her troops and at least nominally under her

protection, while France and the countries subject to or in alliance

with her, were secure from such depredations. The British did more;

for in 1810,--when neutral commerce had been extinguished, and the

resources of Algiers were in consequence almost cut off, as neither

could tribute be sent nor compensation be obtained for it by

piracy--at this conjuncture two large ships and a brig entered the

harbor, laden with warlike munitions, the whole sent as a present to

the Dey from the government of Great Britain. Seventy thousand dollars

were soon after received through the agency of the same government

from Spain, in satisfaction for a pretended injury committed by a

Spanish vessel.

By the aid of this timely supply, Hadji Ali was enabled to fit out a

respectable naval force, which under the command of the Rais Hamida a

daring and skilful corsair, sailed for the coast of Portugal, and for

some time continued to insult and plunder the vessels of that wretched

kingdom; this too, at a period when its fortresses were held by

British troops, and its harbors filled with British ships of war.

At the commencement of 1812, it was almost certain that war would soon

take place between the United States and Great Britain; in expectation

of this, it was {654} important to the latter power to raise up as

many enemies as possible to the Americans, and to deprive them of

places of refuge for their vessels. It was principally with this

object, that an Envoy was sent to the Barbary States; and he was made

the bearer of a letter from the Prince Regent to the Dey, containing

an offer of alliance, with the obligation on the part of Great Britain

to protect Algiers against all its enemies, on condition of the

observance of existing treaties between the two nations. The Envoy,

Mr. A'Court,[1] was a man well calculated for carrying into effect the

objects for which he was chosen, and he here first gave proofs of

those talents which have since raised him to exalted stations in his

country. He soon acquired great influence over the savage Turk; he

demonstrated to him the designs and advances of Napoleon towards

universal dominion, and made him tremble for the safety of his own

Regency. On the other hand, he exhibited the mighty naval power of

Great Britain, and endeavored to convince the Dey, that he could only

escape the fate of the greater part of the European sovereigns, by

seconding her efforts in resisting the insatiable conqueror. The

United States were represented as the allies of France, possessing an

extensive commerce, but having no naval force to protect it.

[Footnote 1: Now Lord Haytesbury.]

These views were confirmed by the assurances of the Jewish merchants,

who conducted nearly all the outward trade of Algiers, and who were

generally consulted on points of foreign policy. A truce was in

consequence obtained for Sicily, the captives from that island being

however retained in slavery. A peace was also negotiated between

Algiers and Portugal, the latter agreeing to pay a large sum

immediately, and a heavy annual tribute in future. However, the Dey

could not be led to declare war against the dreaded Emperor of France,

although he had no objection to a quarrel with the United States,

conceiving that it might be made very profitable, either by

depredations on their commerce, or by obtaining an increase of their

tribute. He gave the first hint of his intentions to the American

Consul, by sending him the Prince Regent's letter, under pretence of

requesting a translation of it into Italian, but really for the

purpose of inducing him to bid higher for the friendship of Algiers.

No notice being taken of this, he became more insolent in his demands

and threats.

At length, on the 17th of July, 1812, the ship Alleghany arrived at

Algiers, laden with naval and military stores, which were sent to the

Dey and Regency by the United States, according to the terms of the

treaty of 1796. The Dey at first expressed his entire satisfaction

with what was sent, and a part of the cargo was landed; a few days

after, the Minister of Marine informed the American Consul, that his

master had been much astonished on examining the lists of the

articles, to find that several of them were not in such quantities as

he had required, and also that some cases containing arms had been

landed at Gibraltar, for the Emperor of Morocco; that he considered

the latter circumstance as an insult to himself, and he would not,

therefore, receive any part of the cargo of the ship. Mr. Lear

endeavored to show that the value of the articles sent, was more than

equal to the amount due by the United States, and that if this were

true, the Dey should not complain if a part of the cargo originally

shipped were destined for another purpose.

In reply to this a new demand was made. By the treaty of 1796 the

United States engaged to pay, "annually to the Dey the value of twelve

thousand Algerine sequins (21,000 dollars) in maritime stores," and

payment to this amount had been made for each year since 1796. The Dey

now contended that the time should have been counted by the Mahometan

calendar which gives only 354 days to the year, and that consequently

the United States owed him arrears of tribute for six months, to which

the differences between the Mahometan and Christian years since 1796,

when added together would amount. Against this novel demand, the

Consul remonstrated and protested in vain; he was ordered to pay the

whole sum due immediately in cash, the stores offered as tribute not

being receivable, otherwise he would be sent in chains to prison, the

Americans in Algiers be made slaves, the Alleghany with her cargo be

confiscated, and war be declared against the United States. With such

a prospect before him, the Consul could only pay the money, which was

effected through the agency of the Jewish mercantile house of Bacri.

As soon as this was done, the Consul and all the Americans were

commanded to quit Algiers immediately; they accordingly embarked in

the Alleghany for Gibraltar, where they arrived on the 4th of August.

Orders were then given by the Dey to his cruisers to take American

vessels; but the apprehension of war with Great Britain had caused

most of them to leave the Mediterranean, and the only prize made by

the Algerines, was a small brig the Edwin of Salem.

Information of these outrageous acts was officially communicated to

Congress by President Madison on the 17th of November, 1812; but war

had been declared by the United States against Great Britain, and the

American flag was not seen in the Mediterranean until 1815, in which

year ample satisfaction was obtained for the indignities which it had

suffered from Algiers.

In 1814 Hadji Ali was murdered, and his Prime Minister was invested

with the sovereign authority; within a fortnight afterwards, the

latter underwent the fate of his predecessor, and Omar the Aga or

commander of the forces was made Pasha. Napoleon had by this time been

overcome, and a congress of European potentates and ministers was

assembled at Vienna, engaged in regulating the affairs of that portion

of the world, which circumstances had placed under their control. To

this congress a memorial was presented by the celebrated Sir Sidney

Smith, the object of which was the formation of a naval and military

force, by means of contingents furnished and supported by the nations

most interested, for the purpose of protecting commerce and abolishing

piracy in the Mediterranean. It was declared that the Ottoman Porte

would willingly contribute to the attainment of this end, and that

Tunis was also disposed to relinquish its unlawful attacks upon the

commerce of Christian nations, provided it were sure of protection

against the other two states of Barbary.

This romantic proposition seems to have engaged but little the

attention of the congress, and a petition of the Knights of Malta for

a restoration of their island was equally disregarded. Sir Sidney's

plan was {655} impracticable, and the Knights of St. John could never

have seriously imagined that Great Britain would give up such a

possession as Malta on considerations of doubtful philanthropy; they

probably only hoped for some individual indemnification. No question

concerning the Barbary States indeed seems to have been debated at the

Congress of Vienna; the execution of any plan respecting them, must

have depended on the approval of Great Britain, the commerce of which

being secure from interruption, she had no interest in the suppression

of these pirates.

Attempts had been made on the part of the United States, to obtain the

liberation of the crew of the Edwin and of some other Americans who

were held captive in Algiers; but Hadji Ali refused to part with them

for any sum that would probably be offered, his object being to

increase the number of his captives, in order to compel a renewal of

the treaty on terms still more favorable to himself than those of the

convention of 1796. Omar, who was a much more rational being than

Hadji Ali, would probably have acceded to these offers, but they were

not again proposed; no sooner were the difficulties between the United

States and Great Britain arranged by the Treaty of Ghent, than the

former power made preparations to rescue its citizens from slavery by

force, and to punish the Algerines for the outrages committed in 1812.

A squadron consisting of three frigates, a sloop, a brig and three

schooners, was fitted out and sent under Commodore Stephen Decatur to

the Mediterranean, which sea it entered on the 14th of June, 1815. The

Dey had already been notified of its approach by a British frigate,

which appears to have been despatched for this purpose to Algiers; but

the warning was disregarded, for his ships were all sent out, and no

measures were taken by him to put the city in a state of defence.

On arriving at Gibraltar, the American Commodore received information

that several Algerine ships were in the vicinity, and he immediately

sailed in pursuit of them. On the 17th, the frigate Guerriere

Decatur's flag ship overtook near Cape de Gatte the Algerine frigate

Mazouda, commanded by the famous Rais Hamida; after a short action the

Mazouda was taken, Hamida and thirty of his crew being killed. On the

19th an Algerine brig of twenty-two guns was also captured and sent

into the port of Carthagena, in Spain; on the 28th the American

squadron appeared before Algiers, and proposed to the astounded Dey

the terms on which he might obtain peace with the United States.

Confounded at the loss of his ships and the death of his daring

Admiral, and dreading that the rest of his cruisers which were out,

might fall into the hands of the Americans, Omar at once assented to

the terms proposed, and a treaty was signed on the 30th of June, 1815.

By its terms all the American prisoners were instantly to be

surrendered without ransom, indemnification being made for their

injuries and losses, and for all the seizures of American property in

1812; the Americans on their part, surrendering without ransom all

their prisoners. No demands for tribute, under any name or form, were

ever after to be made by Algiers on the United States; all American

citizens taken on board the vessels of any other country, were to be

set at liberty and their property to be restored as soon as their

citizenship should be proved; vessels of either party were to be

protected in the ports, or within cannon shot of the forts of the

other, and no enemy's vessel was to be allowed to leave a port of one

country in pursuit of a vessel of the other, until twenty-four hours

after the sailing of the latter; with many other provisions highly

favorable to the United States. The American commander promised to

restore to the Dey, the frigate and brig which he had taken, and the

frigate was in consequence immediately given up; the brig was for some

time detained by the authorities at Carthagena, on the pretence that

it had been captured within the jurisdiction of Spain.

The peace being thus made, and the stipulations of the treaty complied

with as far as possible, Mr. William Shaler was installed as Consul

General of the United States for the Barbary Regencies, and the

squadron sailed on the eighth of July for Tunis, where its presence

was required by circumstances which it will be necessary to detail.

During the great European war, the armed ships of France and England

were in the habit of conducting their prizes into the Barbary ports

and there selling them; a number of American vessels were indeed thus

disposed of by the French, under the infamous Decrees of Berlin and

Milan. The British Government, not content with this species of

neutrality, sent Admiral Freemantle with a squadron to Tunis and

Tripoli, and thus obtained from each of these powers, an engagement

not to suffer any of the belligerents on the other side, to bring

British vessels as prizes into its ports. After the declaration of war

by the United States against Great Britain, no American armed vessel

had ventured to pass the Streights of Gibraltar, until December 1814,

when the privateer brig Abællino, from Boston, commanded by W. F.

Wyer, entered the Mediterranean and took a number of prizes, some of

which were sent into Tunis and Tripoli.

On the arrival of the first of these prizes at Tunis, Mr. Noah, the

American Consul, at the request of the master, applied to the Bey for

permission to sell her and her cargo. Mahmoud in reply showed him the

engagement with Great Britain, which forbade his granting such a

license; and the British Consul threatened, in case it were allowed,

to send to Sicily for a squadron, in order to avenge this infraction

of the treaty with his country. License to sell the vessel was however

obtained by Mr. Noah, and she was accordingly disposed of with her

cargo, Prince Mustapha the Bey's youngest son, contriving by fraud and

by force, to become the purchaser of the greater part of the cargo, at

very reduced prices.

Information of this having been conveyed to Admiral Penrose, who

commanded the British naval forces on the Sicily Station, he sent a

ship of the line and two brigs of war to Tunis, with a letter to the

Bey, enjoining him to arrest the sale of the prize, and to forbid

admission to others in future. With the latter requisition Mahmoud

declared his readiness to comply; and two other prizes having soon

after been sent in by Captain Wyer, he permitted the British to take

possession of them, although they were at the time actually at anchor

under the guns of the Goletta fortress. The vessels were immediately

carried to Malta, where they were restored to their original owners,

the prize crews being retained as prisoners.[2]

[Footnote 2: It may be proper here to observe, that although the

treaty of peace between the United States and Great Britain, had been

signed at Ghent on the 24th December 1814, and ratified at Washington

on the 17th of February 1815, yet a space of forty days after the

ratification was allowed by the terms of that treaty, during which all

prizes taken by either party in the Mediterranean, were to be

retained; and hostilities were in fact continued in that sea until the

29th of March.]

{656} Mr. Noah protested against these proceedings, as being contrary

not only to the general principles of national law, but also expressly

to the terms of the tenth article of the treaty between the United

States and Tunis, which stipulates that "the vessels of either party

if attacked by an enemy under the cannon of the forts of the other

party, shall be defended as much as possible;" he at the same time

gave notice to the Bey, that he would be required to make

indemnification for the prizes which he had thus suffered to be

carried off. Mahmoud, who had not had so much experience with regard

to the customs and institutions of the Franks as had been acquired by

Hamouda, could not comprehend this; he offered to intercede for the

restoration of the vessels, and plainly told the Consul that if the

captain of the Abællino chose to cut out two British merchant vessels

which were then lying in the harbor, no attempt would be made to

obstruct him.

Things were in this state on the 20th of July, when the American

squadron arrived at Tunis from Algiers. The Bey was instantly required

to pay forty-six thousand dollars, at which the two prizes which had

been carried off were estimated; he of course refused, endeavored to

evade the demand, and finally threatened resistance. But he had by

this time been fully informed of what had taken place at Algiers, and

the martial appearance and determined bearing of Decatur, who treated

with him personally, not a little contributed to intimidate him; under

these circumstances he thought it expedient to yield, and paid the

money on the 31st, making some remarks on the occasion, which clearly

showed that he had been encouraged by the British Consul to persevere

in resisting the demand.

As soon as this business was concluded, Decatur sailed with his whole

force for Tripoli, where he arrived on the 10th of August. Into this

port the Abællino had carried two prizes; shortly after their

entrance, the British armed brig Paulina with another vessel of war

entered the harbor, and retook the prizes, the commander of the

Paulina at the same time declaring his intention to pursue the

Abællino if she should leave the place. This was done immediately

under the castle walls, without any attempt at interference on the

part of the Pasha. The American Consul, Mr. Jones, instantly requested

Yusuf to cause the vessels to be restored, intimating that in case

they were not, the Pasha would be compelled to pay for them himself;

the Consul also demanded, that measures should be taken, in compliance

with the tenth article of the treaty, to retain the British ships of

war in the harbor, twenty-four hours after the sailing of the

Abællino, which was about to put to sea. To both these demands Yusuf

refused to yield assent; the prizes were in consequence sent to Malta,

and the Abællino was detained in Tripoli. The American Consul then

pulled down his flag, and sent information of the circumstances to the

other Mediterranean Consulates, in order that it might be communicated

to the commander of the squadron immediately on its arrival.

As soon as Decatur entered the harbor, he required the Pasha to pay

twenty-five thousand dollars for the two prizes which he had suffered

the British to carry off; it was paid in two days. In recompense for

the assistance which had been rendered to the Americans by the king of

Naples and the Danish Consul, the commodore also demanded the delivery

without ransom, of eight Neapolitans and two Danes, who were held in

slavery in Tripoli; they were immediately surrendered and restored to

their homes.

Thus, in a great measure, in consequence of the promptitude and energy

of the gallant officer who commanded the American squadron, within

fifty-four days after its arrival in the Mediterranean, were these

three piratical powers completely humbled by a force apparently

inadequate to make any impression on the weakest of them. The treaty

with Algiers was doubtless extorted by fear, and the Dey had no

intention to keep his engagements longer than he was obliged, as facts

afterwards showed; but important benefits were obtained at once, in

the liberation of the captives and the restoration of the property

taken in 1812. The moral effects produced in favor of the United

States, not only in Barbary but in Europe, were incalculable; since

that period, no Americans have been enslaved in either of those

countries, and not a cent of tribute has been paid by the United

States to any foreign power.

Scarcely had the Americans quitted Algiers, when a Dutch squadron

consisting of four frigates, a sloop and a brig, under the command of

an admiral, made its appearance. The object of this display was merely

to propose a renewal of the treaty made before the subjugation of the

United Netherlands by France, on conditions of annual tribute. Omar

however refused to renew the treaty, unless all arrearages of tribute,

which were for more than twenty years, were paid; negotiations on

these terms was impossible, and the admiral sailed away.

The Barbary cruisers, then undisturbed, renewed their depredations on

Sardinia and Naples; the vessels of these defenceless countries were

taken, and the inhabitants of the coasts were dragged away in great

numbers to the slave markets of Africa. Great Britain alone could put

a stop to these outrages; the French navy was disorganized, those of

the other European powers were inadequate. But the British government

was unwilling to give up the old system with respect to the

Mediterranean pirates, and a relation of its proceedings will suffice

to show, that they were by no means to be ascribed to a more liberal

policy, and that their results were not proportioned to the means

employed.[3]

[Footnote 3: It may not be improper here to quote the observations

contained in the London Annual Register, [for 1816, page 97] a work

generally remarkable for its temperance and impartiality. "It has long

been a topic of reproach which foreigners have brought against the

boasted maritime supremacy of England, that the piratical states of

Barbary have been suffered to exercise their ferocious ravages upon

all the inferior powers navigating the Mediterranean sea, without any

attempt on the part of the mistress of the ocean to control them, and

reduce them within the limits prescribed by the laws of civilized

nations. The spirited exertions of the United States of America in the

last year, to enforce redress of the injuries they had sustained from

these pirates, were calculated to excite invidious comparisons with

respect to this country; and either a feeling of national glory, or

some other unexplained motives, at length inspired a resolution in the

British government, to engage in earnest in that task which the

general expectation seems to assign it."]

{657}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EXTRAORDINARY INDIAN FEATS OF LEGERDEMAIN.

[From the Manuscripts of D. D. Mitchell, Esq.]

I have felt some reluctance in narrating the following singular feats,

(I had almost said miracles) which I saw performed among the Arickara

Indians, not because I considered them unworthy the attention of the

curious, but lest I should be accused of sporting with the reader's

credulity, or of availing myself too largely of what is supposed by

some to be the _traveller's privilege_. I acknowledge that the

performance was altogether above my comprehension, and greatly excited

my astonishment.

In civilized life, we know the many expedients to which men resort in

order to acquire a subsistence, and are not therefore surprised, that

by perseverance and long practice, stimulated by necessity, they

should attain great dexterity in the art of deception. To find it,

however, carried to such great perfection by wild and untutored

savages, who are neither urged by necessity, nor indeed receive the

slightest reward for their skill, is certainly very surprising.

In travelling up the Missouri during the summer of 1831, we lost our

horses near the Arickara village, which caused our detention for

several days. As this nation has committed more outrages upon the

whites than any other on the Missouri, and seem to possess all the

vices of the savage without a redeeming virtue, we found ourselves

very unpleasantly situated near the principal village, without

sufficient force to repel an attack if one should be made. After some

deliberation, we adopted the advice of an old Canadian hunter, and

determined to move our chattels directly into the village, and, whilst

we remained, to take up our lodgings with the tribe. We were

emboldened to this step, by the assurance of the hunter, that the

Arickarees had never been known to kill but one man who had taken

refuge within the limits of their town, and that their forbearance

originated in the superstitious belief that the ghost of the murdered

had haunted their encampment, and had frightened away the buffalo by

his nightly screams.

We were received in the village with much more politeness than we

expected; a lodge was appropriated to our use, and provisions were

brought to us in abundance. After we were completely refreshed, a

young man came to our lodge and informed us that a band of bears, (as

he expressed it) or medicine men, were making preparations to exhibit

their skill, and that if we felt disposed we could witness the

ceremony. We were much gratified at the invitation, as we had all

heard marvellous stories of the wonderful feats performed by the

Indian medicine men or jugglers. We accordingly followed our guide to

the medicine lodge, where we found six men dressed in bear skins, and

seated in a circle in the middle of the apartment. The spectators were

standing around, and so arranged as to give each individual a view of

the performers. They civilly made way for our party, and placed us so

near the circle that we had ample opportunity of detecting the

imposture, if any imposition should be practised. The actors (if I may

so call them) were painted in the most grotesque manner imaginable,

blending so completely the ludicrous and frightful in their

appearance, that the spectator might be said to be somewhat undecided

whether to laugh or to shudder. After sitting for some time in a kind

of mournful silence, one of the jugglers desired a youth who was near

him, to bring some stiff clay from a certain place which he named on

the river bank. This we understood, through an old Canadian named

_Garrow_, (well known on the Missouri,) who was present and acted as

our interpreter. The young man soon returned with the clay, and each

of these human bears immediately commenced the process of moulding a

number of little images exactly resembling buffaloes, men and horses,

bows, arrows, &c. When they had completed nine of each variety, the

miniature buffaloes were all placed together in a line, and the little

clay hunters mounted on their horses, and holding their bows and

arrows in their hands, were stationed about three feet from them in a

parallel line. I must confess that at this part of the ceremony I felt

very much inclined to be merry, especially when I observed what

appeared to me the ludicrous solemnity with which it was performed.

But my ridicule was changed into astonishment, and even into _awe_, by

what speedily followed.

When the buffaloes and horsemen were properly arranged, one of the

jugglers thus addressed the little clay men or hunters:

"My children, I know you are hungry; it has been a long time since you

have been out hunting. Exert yourselves to-day. Try and kill as many

as you can. Here are white people present who will laugh at you if you

don't kill. Go! don't you see that the buffalo have already got the

scent of you and have started?"

Conceive, if possible, our amazement, when the speaker's last words

escaped his lips, at seeing the little images start off at full speed,

followed by the Lilliputian horsemen, who with their bows of clay and

arrows of straw, actually pierced the sides of the flying buffaloes at

the distance of three feet. Several of the little animals soon fell,

apparently dead--but two of them ran round the circumference of the

circle, (a distance of fifteen or twenty feet,) and before they

finally fell, one had three and the other five arrows transfixed in

his side. When the buffaloes were all dead, the man who first

addressed the hunters spoke to them again, and ordered them to ride

into the fire, (a small one having been previously kindled in the

{658} centre of the apartment,) and on receiving this cruel order, the

gallant horsemen, without exhibiting the least symptoms of fear or

reluctance, rode forward at a brisk trot until they had reached the

fire. The horses here stopped and drew back, when the Indian cried in

an angry tone, "why don't you ride in?" The riders now commenced

beating their horses with their bows, and soon succeeded in urging

them into the flames, where horses and riders both tumbled down, and

for some time lay baking on the coals. The medicine men gathered up

the dead buffaloes and laid them also on the fire, and when all were

completely dried they were taken out and pounded into dust. After a

long speech from one of the party, (of which our interpreter could

make nothing,) the dust was carried to the top of the lodge and

scattered to the winds.

I paid the strictest attention during the whole ceremony, in order to

discover, if possible, the mode by which this extraordinary deception

was practised; but all my vigilance was of no avail. The jugglers

themselves sat motionless during the performance, and the nearest was

not within six feet of the moving figures. I failed altogether to

detect the mysterious agency by which inanimate images of clay were to

all appearance suddenly endowed with the action, energy and feeling of

living beings.

* * * * *

[From the same.]

Remarkable Dream and Prediction, with their fulfilment.

Many whose opinions are entitled to profound respect, have believed

that man in his primitive or savage state, without the means of

cultivating or exercising his reasoning powers, has been occasionally

favored by divine or supernatural illumination. Whatever difference of

opinion may exist however, in reference to this subject, there can be

none as to the _facts_ about to be recorded. In the fall of 1827, an

old Mandan chief proclaimed early in the morning, through the village

or town of his tribe, the following dream, which he alleged to have

had the over night. "The Great Spirit," said he, "appeared to me last

night and told me that my feast had given him much satisfaction--that

he had concluded to take pity on me, and afford me an opportunity to

avenge the death of my son. He told me when the sun had performed

about half his journey, that I must start and go down to the little

lake, (about ten miles distant)--that there I should find four of my

enemies lying asleep, and that amongst them was the one who had slain

my son--that I should attack and kill all four, and return safe to the

village with their scalps." This dream the old Mandan repeated to

William P. Pilton and James Kipp, traders, who were then present, and

who are now living and can vouch for the fact. About noon he departed

for the lake, and would suffer none to accompany him. In the evening,

to the astonishment of every one who had heard the dream, he returned

with four scalps and the arms and clothing of four Arickara warriors.

This chief was afterwards called "Four Men," in commemoration of this

exploit.

But the following extraordinary prophecy, and its subsequent exact

fulfilment, came within my personal knowledge. If it does not prove

direct supernatural interference, it at least shows that events

previously foretold, have come to pass in a manner which no human

sagacity can well understand.

In the spring of 1829, about the 14th of March, I was preparing to

leave my wintering ground, which was just below the fork of the _River

Des Moins_. A camp, consisting of about fourteen lodges of Menomonies,

or Wild Rice Indians, situated a few hundred yards below my house, was

also prepared to move down the river immediately on the breaking up of

the ice, which was then daily expected. The wife of one of the

principal men was very sick, and inasmuch as her illness would delay

their departure, they felt much solicitude for her recovery, and

requested an old man among them called "_The Bears Oil_," to call down

the Spirit who presides over human life and question him respecting

her recovery. The venerable doctor or seer at first seemed reluctant

to comply, but on receiving several presents he commenced

preparations. The first thing to be done was the erection of a house

or lodge for the reception of the Spirit. Four poles of about ten feet

in length were planted in the ground, forming a square of about four

feet. The whole camp brought out their blankets, which were wrapped

around the poles from the bottom to the height of about eight feet. On

the ends of the poles was suspended all the finery which the camp

could afford, as a greater inducement, I suppose, for the Spirit to

descend. When these preparations were completed, the old man raised up

the lower edge of the blankets and crawled into the lodge, where he

remained entirely concealed from the spectators--not forgetting

however to take with him his drum and medicine bag. From the time he

entered, he was silent for nearly an hour, when at last he commenced

singing in a low voice, accompanying himself on the drum. The words of

the song, as well as the conversations which he afterwards carried on

with the Great Spirit, were in a language entirely unknown to any

except the initiated; and I have observed in all ceremonies of a

similar kind, and among all tribes of Indians, the same unintelligible

jargon is used. The Great Spirit delayed making his appearance so

long, that I began to think the inducements were not sufficient; {659}

and being anxious to witness the conclusion of the ceremony, I sent to

my house for some tobacco and ammunition as an additional offering.

This gave much satisfaction to the Indians, and appeared also to be

highly acceptable to the Spirit,--for a violent shaking of the lodge,

and the jingling of the hawk bills which were fastened to the end of

the pole, announced his arrival.

The old man proceeded immediately to business. In a short time he

announced to the wondering crowd which surrounded the lodge, that the

woman would die about sunrise on the following morning. He also stated

that the cause which would produce her death was a fever in the heart,

and this was occasioned by her always being in a bad, angry humor. The

object of invoking the Spirit was accomplished in what had been

announced; but the priest of the oracles further observed, that the

Great Spirit had signified his willingness to answer any one question

which might be asked. As the Menomonies were apprehensive of an attack

from the Sioux, their fears naturally induced them to ask if any other

person belonging to their camp should die or be killed previously to

their reaching the Mississippi. The old man soon returned the answer

of the Great Spirit, which was, that three of those who were then

present would never see the Mississippi again. I was astonished at the

old fellow's boldness in thus hazarding his reputation on a prophecy,

the fulfilment of which seemed so very improbable. Some of the young

men ventured a second question, and inquired the names of the persons

who were sentenced to die--but immediately the shaking of the lodge

and the jingling of the hawk bills, as before, announced the sudden

departure of the Spirit. The old man made his appearance, but was

evidently much displeased that the last inquiry was made. His look was

sullen and angry, and he maintained a stubborn silence. Finding that

nothing more was to be learned, I returned home, and amused myself

with what I then supposed a ridiculous superstition.

Early next morning I walked to the Indian camp, in order to ascertain

if the sick woman was still living; and before I proceeded far, I met

several of her own sex, provided with hoes and axes, going to prepare

her grave. They told me that she died precisely at the time that

_Bears Oil_ had predicted; and they further informed me that the

Indians were preparing to move down the river as soon as the ice had

started, not doubting that the other three condemned to death by the

prophet were doomed to be killed by the Sioux.

Two days after the woman's death, an Indian ran into my house and told

me, that a tree which they had commenced cutting down the evening

before, and which had been imprudently left standing cut half way

through, had just blown down, and had fallen across one of the lodges,

by which a woman and child had been instantly killed. He congratulated

himself that, according to the prophecy, only one more person was to

die, and earnestly hoped that it might not be himself.

On the 20th of the month the ice broke up, and on the 22d the Indians

and traders started in company to descend the _Des Moins_ in boats.

For several days we journeyed on without accident or annoyance--and

when we at length arrived within ten miles of the Mississippi, several

of the men began to teaze and joke the old prophet, asking if he meant

to throw himself overboard in order to verify his own prediction. The

old man paid no attention to their jests, but sat silently smoking his

pipe, and apparently absorbed in deep thought. He was an object of

general attention, nor shall I ever forget his appearance. His tall

and emaciated form lay stretched at some length on the deck; his

hollow sunken eyes were turned upward, and appeared straining in

search of some invisible object; and ever and anon long streams of

tobacco smoke were blown through his nose, ascending in curling vapors

above his head. His imagination appeared to be busied in forming

figures out of the smoke, and when a breeze scattered it away, he

immediately sent forth another whiff, again to resume his ideal

occupation. As we approached the Mississippi, the laugh and jests of

the boatmen became more loud and frequent--but he appeared to be

entirely insensible to surrounding objects, and I had almost come to

the conclusion that the venerable seer was about to fulfil his own

prophecy. Just at that moment the man who was steering my boat

complained of a violent headach, and begged me to place some other

person at the helm, which was accordingly done. He seated himself on

deck, but I remarked that his countenance underwent various changes in

quick succession. He paused for a moment, and then exclaimed,

apparently in great agony, "I am the third person destined never to

see the Mississippi, for I am now dying. Oh, my friends, raise me up

and let me but behold the river, for it may possibly change my

destiny!" I exhorted him to keep up his spirits, and to dismiss such

apprehensions from his mind, assuring him that it was impossible for

him to die before we reached the Mississippi, for that as soon as we

turned the point below we should be in sight of the river. Thinking

that some slight indisposition had concurred with the words of the

prophet to excite his imagination highly, I stepped to the bow of the

boat, and ordered the men to row round the point as quick as possible.

I stood on the bow until the point was turned, and the majestic

Mississippi lay stretched before us in full view. I immediately called

to _Baptiste_, (the sick man's name,) and told him he might now see

the river; but the only answer I received was from one of the

men--"_He is dead!_" "Impossible!" I thought, and ran to the {660}

body--but it was too true; the man was a corpse, and his eye now

glazed in death _had not perceived the perturbed waters of the Father

of Floods!_ I turned to the old sorcerer, whom I now considered as

such, and was struck with the calm indifference with which he received

the intelligence. "Villain!" I exclaimed, seizing him at the same

time, with strong indignation, by the arm, "it was you who killed this

man! You have poisoned him, and I will have you drowned for it." The

old man replied with great composure, and without the least symptom of

fear--"if you believe it was I who raised the wind which blew the tree

across the lodge and killed the woman and child, then you may believe

that I poisoned this man." I was struck with the justness of the

defence, and said nothing more to the prophet.

* * * * *

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ON THE DEATH OF JAMES GIBBON CARTER.

O'er the fam'd seat of science and of arms,

What dire disaster spreads such wild alarms?

What requiem sad is chanted o'er that bier?

Why streams the silent, sympathetic tear?

Why droop the ensigns of our sister state,

As though they mourn'd a fallen nation's fate?

In long procession through the crowded hall,

With measur'd footsteps and uncover'd pall,

Columbia's youthful chivalry appears

With crape-clad banners, and with trailing spears;

Whilst o'er each head funereal cypress bends,

And the sad streamer from each arm descends;

They weep the young--the noble--and the brave,

Consign'd by "doom" to an untimely grave;

Ere manhood stamp'd its image on his brow,

Or gave his lips the soldier's gen'rous vow,

Snapt was this scion in an evil hour.

Nor ling'ring death, nor sickness claim'd their pow'r;

But full of life--joy sparkling in his eye--

The fell destroyer came, commission'd from on high,

And Carter perish'd! Casuists, be still!

Was it without his mighty Maker's will?

Has not Omnipotence itself the pow'r

To bring repentance in the final hour?

Oh sad vicissitudes of earthly trust--

Hopes--bright as seraph's smile, consign'd to dust!

Here would we drop the veil o'er mortal woe,

Or give the dark'ning picture brighter glow,

But Truth forbids. At duty's call we come

To paint the horrors at his distant home.

Lo! by the patriot's couch a group appears,

Repressing anguish, and restraining tears;

Though at the effort nature's self recoils,

(For nature claims her tributes and her spoils,)

Brief are the hours which now the sick man claims,

Nor asks he more, since Zionward he aims:

The feeble sands of life are almost spent--

Dim is his eye--his locks with silver blent;

He, with the Patriarch of eld, may say,

"Short, but replete with woe, has been my day."

Then spare the agony his heart must know,

Ere waning life should sink beneath this blow.

But, oh! the Mother's desolated heart!

What charm can sooth--or what a balm impart?

Her hope--her stay--snatch'd to an early tomb,

Involving life itself in tenfold gloom!

MARCELLA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES.

When in my life's propitious morn

The sun of joy and hope once smiled,

Fair Poesy, of Pleasure born,

Each fancied sorrow oft beguiled.

But when the blast of real woe

Withered the brightness of my soul--

Bade me to dream of bliss no more,

And yet denied the Lethean bowl,

Did Poesy, like that bright star

That burns upon the brow of night,

Scatter misfortune's clouds afar,

And with her beauty glad my sight?

Ah, no! She flies the wretched breast,

To seek the gay and happy throng;

In mirth's soft bowers she loves to rest,

And speed the flying hours along.

Where fountains play, and flowrets bloom,

And where no thoughts of care intrude,

To beauty's halls the Muse has flown,

And left me to my solitude.

But lo! a fairer form appears,

On heavenly pinions hovering nigh;

She bids me dry repining tears,

And points me to her native sky.

She tells me of repose and peace

Which to the pure in heart are given,

And bids my sorrowing bosom cease

To mourn for those who're blest in heaven.

Religion! on thy brow doth glow

The rainbow hues of hope and joy;

That perfect peace thou canst bestow,

Which nothing earthly can destroy.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

STANZAS.

The moon as brightly shines to-night,

The scene as lovely ought to be,

As when I gazed upon its light

And thought sweet Hope was born for me;

'Tis _I_ am changed, and not the hour--

Alas! the darkness centres _here_;

No clouds about yon planet lower,

I only view it through a tear.

Soft, lovely orb! some smiling eye

Ev'n now reposes on thy beams,

Some maid that never breathed a sigh,

Forsakes for thee her tranquil dreams;

Methinks I view her buoyant breast,

And mark the hopes that tremble there;

I also dreamed that I was blest,

'Till waked from slumber by a tear.

F. L. B.

{661}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LIONEL GRANBY.

CHAP. V.

The voice of youth! the air is rife

With a dream of glorious things,

And our harp is thrilling with the life

Of all its shining strings.--_Newspaper_.

The famed drinking song of Rabelais "_Remplio tous verre vuide_," the

offspring of that wonderful man whose humor electrified an age, and

whose sarcasm did as much for religious reformation as the logic of

Luther, greeted my ears when I descended at the Raleigh in

Williamsburg. Before me was a huge and curiously misshapen edifice,

surmounted by a box, which looked more like a coffin than a porch.

Over it the frowning head of the immortal patron of tobacco and

potatoes ghastly smiled through its gamboge and vermilion, looking

like one of those rough portraits, which in the earlier maps of

Virginia, are placed amid the _terra incognito_, where "divers

salvages inhabit." The porch was filled with young men, sitting in

that peculiar posture, which resembled them to the mortars which

grimly flank some armed fort, moving themselves and their legs from

the banisters, only to examine a case of pistols, on which an

atrabilarious youth was lecturing with great spirit. A few seemed to

be absorbed in a newspaper, while more than one was employed in

catching the echo of the bacchanial song, and murmuring it back to the

festive board. The arrival of Arthur Ludwell and myself, produced a

momentary sensation of curiosity and attention, and we had scarcely

dismounted from our horses, ere we were frankly invited to join in the

festivities of the club. With his accustomed prudence, Arthur declined

the dangerous honor, while I, through an utter recklessness of heart,

and a burning thirst for excitement, quickly accepted the offer, and

was immediately ushered into the "_Apollo_," a long and dimly lighted

room, in which, around a table, were gathered the bloom of boyhood and

the bud of adolescence. Wine, adulterated into poison by its union

with brandy, and that original sin of southern intemperance mint

julap, stood forth the bold heralds of an incipient debauch. A young

man of dark complexion and melancholy countenance, acted as the

president of the board, occasionally struggling with himself for a bad

pun, or joining in the chorus of each mirthful song.

"How has the affair between Leger and Allan terminated?" inquired a

faint voice near me.

"Diffugere _vives_," responded the president, "for they fought this

morning at the hay-yard with my pistols. Leger had the advantage of

the ground, '_mutat terra vices_,' and hit Allan at the third fire.

However, his wound is not dangerous; they are now friends. Here's to

their health, and to the ball, which in purifying honor, exalts

friendship."

I did not comprehend either the logic or morality of this toast--yet I

drank it through common civility; and from my desire to be considered

as a youth of spirit, I soon reeled in the full grossness of

intoxication. The lights were now extinguished, and we sallied forth,

fired with the ambition of "putting the town to rights." At the door I

met Scipio, who gazing on me for a moment, averted his face and burst

into tears. I passed rapidly by him, and with difficulty smothered a

curse which my pride aimed at his weakness. Unnoticed by my companions

he silently followed me; and it was his hand which raised me from the

earth where I had fallen, and his arm which bore me to my room.

I arose the next morning with a shattered frame and an aching heart,

nor could my crazed philosophy destroy the blush with which memory

every moment bitterly suffused my cheek. But was not drunkenness the

attribute of genius! the unerring characteristic of intellect!--for

while tradition sighed over the memory of the victims of intemperance,

the lustre of genius awoke the pity of sympathy, the pardon of virtue,

and the emulation of folly. All the promising young men who have sunk

into a drunkard's grave, were full of high and lofty intelligence, and

would have realized the proudest hope of fame but for this fatal

excess of genius. Strange fatuity! and stranger that its rottenness

should excite either our pity or forgiveness!

College life is a little dream of human passion and human infirmity.

It is the same eternal track of disappointment, over which folly

vaults and ambition staggers--a record of youthful happiness written

on a summer's leaf, it glitters for the moment, and fades away beneath

the spirit which freshens it into beauty. 'Tis the miniature arena in

which human life first disports its vices, its hopes, and its

imaginings--and if no other knowledge be acquired, the collegian can

look with pride on his acquaintance with the world, its follies and

its pleasures, and hug to his bosom that kernel of truth which has

been wrested from the hard husk of disappointment. We had numerous

debating societies, where the elements of government, the subtleties

of law, and the vagaries of taste were nightly discussed. We were

either orators or philosophers--the former declaiming in all the pomp

of verbosity, the latter deciding in all the solemnity of silence.

Newspapers were eagerly read, and many a maiden pen first fleshed

itself in these shambles of faction. All write in Virginia for these

greedy receptacles of morbid ire and political venom--and he who can

sketch the hundredth-told tale, in improved bombast, or provincial

dialect, becomes the little great man of the cross-roads, or struts

the swelling Junius of the courtyard. Write in jagged orthography--the

dictionary is at hand; scuffle through the rules of grammar--the

printer has a happy talent of correcting by his own grammar; violate

the sense of language and the chastity of style, for this is a trait

of towering genius; but write, and write again, until you can gaze

with triumph on the tenth number of some masterly Cato--some learned

Sidney--or some eloquent Curtius. These compliments are the certain

rewards of your labors--for the printer's praise is measured by your

fustian, and that of his readers is gained by the length of your

numbers.

I found Pilton, a student of reputation and character, which added

bitterness to the malignity of my hate. Our meeting was cold, formal

and ceremonious; and on my part, I was repulsive almost to direct

insult. My hate was fierce, violent and untamed--but still it was open

and undisguised, apparently losing its malice in good breeding, and

its assassin-like propensity in honor. As usual, his habits of intense

application had given him a high rank both in his class and in the

esteem of the professors, while his ill-breeding was forgotten in the

light which learning threw around him. To all my open attacks, secret

insinuations, and {662} malevolent hints, he exposed that affected

candor and subtle magnanimity, which neutralized the poison and

blunted the edge of my weapons.