Insults, recrimination, and outrage, between the soldiers and

citizens, were at length, on the 5th of March, 1770, consummated, by

the former's firing upon the latter in the streets of Boston, and

killing five men--with circumstances shocking to humanity. After one

of the slain (Mr. Gray,) had been shot through the body, and had

fallen on the ground, a bayonet was pushed through his skull, and his

brains fell out upon the pavement. This was the first bloodshed,

consequent on the long festering irritations of the period. The

officer (Capt. Preston) who gave the word "fire!" and six of the

soldiers who had so fatally obeyed it, were in the ensuing October

tried before a Boston jury: and, defended, in spite of obloquy,

popular clamor, and the remonstrances of timid or prudent friends, by

John Adams and Josiah Quincy, Jr., were even by that jury,

_acquitted_. It grieves us that we cannot pause here, to bestow a

merited tribute on the moral courage of the illustrious counsel who

dared defend, on the steady justice of the tribunal that could acquit,

and on the virtue and good sense of the multitude who, when the first

paroxysm of natural excitement was over, could applaud that defence

and approve that acquittal[3]--horrible as had been the

deed--maddening as had been the antecedent circumstances. But though

the killing happened not to be murder, (because the people had been

the assailants,) still, the violent destruction of five human lives by

an armed soldiery in the streets of a free and peaceful city, was too

impressive an example of what mischiefs may come of standing armies

and lawless government, to pass unimproved. It was determined to

solemnize each anniversary of that day, by a public exposition of

those mischiefs; by an oration, commemorative of the tragedy, and of

those great principles, the disregard of which had led to its

perpetration. Warren delivered two of these orations.[4] His first was

on the 5th of March, 1772. It is not contained in the little book now

before us, but we have seen it elsewhere: and on reading it, no one

need be surprised at its having well nigh urged the people, even at

that early day, to forcible measures. Its masterly argumentation is

equalled by its burning appeals to the passions. All the four first of

these orations had wrought so powerfully upon the public mind, that

the British officers declared there should be no more of them: and

that whoever undertook to deliver another, should do so at the peril

of life. This menace daunted others, but only roused Warren. Not

wailing to be _invited_, he _solicited the task_ of addressing the

people; and prepared himself accordingly for the fifth anniversary of

the massacre--1775. Meanwhile, the givings out of the officers, and

the rumors among the populace, imported mortal hazard to him if he

should persist. He persisted but the more resolutely. Early in the

day, the Old South Meeting House--which, as the scene of these

orations, deserves, better than Faneuil Hall, to be termed the cradle

of liberty--was crowded to its very porch. Many a devoted friend {752}

of Warren's was there, determined to see him safely through, or to

fall in his defence. British officers and soldiers filled the aisles,

the pulpit steps, and even the pulpit. Thinking that if he pushed

through them to his place, a pretext might be seized for some

disturbance, which would take from him and his audience the desirable

degree of calmness, he procured a ladder to be placed outside, and by

it, climbed through the window into the pulpit, just as all were

expecting his entrance at the door. The officers quailed and receded,

at his sudden appearance and dauntless air: while he, far from sure

that his first word would not be answered by a bayonet-thrust or a

pistol-shot, addressed the silent, breathless multitude. His

countenance was lighted up with more than its usual glow of patriotic

enthusiasm: but every other face was pale; every auditor could

distinctly hear the throbbings of his own heart. The speech is given

at length in the appendix to the work under examination; from the

original, as we may conjecture, which, in the orator's own hand

writing, is now in the possession of his nephew, Dr. John C. Warren.

The opening was brief and simple: but in it we discern that curbed

energy, that impassioned moderation--_une force contenue, une rèserve

animée_--so characteristic of a great mind, concentrating its powers

for some gigantic effort: and as he passes on from the unaffected

humility of his exordium "to the height of his great argument," we

have bodily before our fancy's eye, a nobler personification of

wisdom, courage, eloquence and virtue, than Homer has displayed in the

form of Ulysses.

"MY EVER HONORED FELLOW CITIZENS,

"It is not without the most humiliating conviction of my want of

ability, that I now appear before you; but the sense I have, of the

obligation I am under to obey the calls of my country at all times,

together with the animating recollection of your indulgence, exhibited

upon so many occasions, has induced me once more, undeserving as I am,

to throw myself upon that candor, which looks with kindness upon the

feeblest efforts of an honest mind.

"You will not now expect the elegance, the learning, the fire, the

enrapturing strains of eloquence, which captivated you when a Lovell,

a Church, or a Hancock spake: but you will permit me to say, that with

a sincerity equal to theirs, I mourn over my bleeding country: with

them I weep at her distress, and with them, deeply resent the many

injuries she has received from the hands of cruel and unreasonable

men."

[Footnote 3: Mr. Adams was, at the time, 35 years old; Mr. Quincy only

26. They were both threatened with loss of friends, of popularity, and

of all prospect of political preferment. The "Memoirs of Quincy" (by

his son Josiah, once a prominent federal leader in Congress, now

President of Harvard University,) contain a letter from his venerable

father, earnestly expostulating upon the step. The young barrister's

reply is also given--a triumphant vindication of the motives, and even

of the prudence of his resolution, to undertake the defence. In the

success of that defence, in the universal approbation which soon

followed it, and in the professional and political advancement of the

generous advocates, they found ample rewards for having breasted the

storm of popular feeling, in obedience to the call of duty.]

[Footnote 4: The oration of 1771 was delivered by James Lovell; that

of 1772 by Joseph Warren; of 1773, by Dr. Benjamin Church; of 1774, by

John Hancock; of 1775, by Joseph Warren. These, and eight others of

succeeding years, down to 1783, we have in Mr. H. Niles' inestimable

collection of "Revolutionary Acts and Speeches."]

Having laid down as axioms, the natural right of every man to personal

freedom and to the control of his property, the orator sketched, with

a master's hand, the history of English America: and, deducing the

right of the colonists to the soil from their treaties with the

Indians, and not from the grants of King James or King Charles, (whose

pretended claims of right they undoubtedly despised--whose patents

they probably accepted only "to silence the cavils of their enemies,"

and who "might with equal justice have made them a grant of the planet

Jupiter,") he proved by unanswerable reasoning the rights of America,

and painted in deep and living colors the usurpations and injustice of

England. He traced the progress of these wrongs: he depicted the

halcyon peace, the mutual benefactions, and the common happiness of

the two countries, marred by successive and heightening

aggressions--reaching, at length, that last aggravation short of civil

war--the quartering of an insolent, hireling soldiery upon the people,

to enforce submission to unjust and unconstitutional laws. The danger

of standing armies, always, to liberty--the incompatibility of martial

law with the government of a well regulated city--the certainty of

disputes between the soldier and the citizen, especially when they are

in each other's eyes, respectively, a rebel, and an instrument of

tyranny--all made it but just to fear the most disagreeable

consequences. "Our fears, we have seen," continued the orator, "were

but too well grounded."

"The many injuries offered to the town, I pass over in silence. I

cannot now mark out the path which led to that unequalled scene of

horror, the sad remembrance of which takes full possession of my soul.

The sanguinary theatre again opens itself to view. The baleful images

of terror crowd around me, and discontented ghosts, with hollow

groans, appear to solemnize the anniversary of the FIFTH OF MARCH.

"Approach we then the melancholy walk of death. Hither let me call the

gay companion; here let him drop a farewell tear upon that body, which

so late he saw vigorous and warm with social mirth; hither let me lead

the tender mother, to weep over her beloved son: come, widowed

mourner, here satiate thy grief! behold thy murdered husband gasping

on the ground; and, to complete the pompous show of wretchedness,

bring in each hand thy infant children to bewail their father's fate:

take heed, ye orphan babes, lest, while your streaming eyes are fixed

upon the ghastly corpse, _your feet slide on the stones bespattered

with your father's brains!_ Enough! this tragedy need not be

heightened by an infant weltering in the blood of him that gave it

birth. Nature, reluctant, shrinks already from the view; and the

chilled blood rolls slowly backward to its fountain. We wildly stare

about, and with amazement, ask, _who spread this ruin round us?_ Has

haughty France or cruel Spain, sent forth her myrmidons? Has the grim

savage rushed again from the distant wilderness? Or does some fiend,

fierce from the depth of hell, with all the rancorous malice which the

apostate damned can feel, twang her destructive bow, and hurl her

deadly arrows at our breast? No, none of these. It is the hand of

_Britain_ that inflicts the wound! The arms of George, our rightful

king, have been employed to shed that blood, when justice, or the

honor of his crown, had called his subjects to the field!

"But pity, grief, astonishment, with all the softer movements of the

soul, must now give way to stronger passions. Say, fellow citizens,

what dreadful thought now swells your heaving bosoms? You fly to

arms--sharp indignation flashes from each eye--revenge gnashes her

iron teeth--death grins an hideous smile, secure to drench his jaws in

human gore--whilst hovering furies darken all the air! But stop, my

bold, adventurous countrymen; stain not your weapons with the blood of

Britons! Attend to reason's voice. Humanity puts in her claim, and

sues to be again admitted to her wonted seat, the bosom of the brave.

Revenge is far beneath the noble mind. Many, perhaps, compelled to

rank among the vile assassins, do, from their inmost souls, detest the

barbarous action. The winged death, shot from your arms, may chance to

pierce some breast, that bleeds already for your injured country.

"The storm subsides: a solemn pause ensues: you spare, upon condition

they depart. They go; they quit your city: they no more shall give

offence. Thus closes the important drama.

"And could it have been conceived that we again should see a British

army in our land, sent to enforce obedience to acts of Parliament

destructive to our liberty?... Our streets are again filled with armed

men; our harbor is crowded with ships of war: but these cannot

intimidate us: our liberty must be preserved: it is far dearer than

_life_--we hold {753} it even dear as our _allegiance_. We must defend

it against the attacks of _friends_, as well as _enemies_: we cannot

suffer even Britons to ravish it from us. No longer could we reflect,

with generous pride, on the heroic actions of our American

forefathers; no longer boast our origin from that far famed island,

whose warlike sons have so often drawn their well tried swords to save

her from the ravages of tyranny;--could we, but for a moment,

entertain the thought of giving up our liberty. The man who meanly

will submit to wear a shackle, contemns the noblest gift of Heaven;

and impiously affronts the God that made him free."

Highly wrought as these passages may appear, they accorded, perfectly,

with the minds to which they were addressed.

It may be doubted, if any scene of the kind ever possessed more of the

moral sublime, than that which our young countryman presented,--daring

thus, amidst armed and frowning enemies, to denounce them and their

masters, and to speak forth the startling truths of justice and

freedom, with the naked sword of tyranny suspended over his head. The

rising of Brutus, "refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate," shaking

his crimsoned steel, and hailing Tully aloud as the "father of his

country"--Tully's own denunciations of Catiline, Verres and

Anthony--or the more illustrious Philippics of Demosthenes--all remote

from personal danger--the objects of their enmity and invective being

absent, defenceless, or prostrate--cannot be compared, for moral

sublimity, with the splendid boldness of Warren. And, whatever

classical anathemas await us for it, we are heretical enough to

venture the opinion, that for true _eloquence_, blendedly pathetic and

argumentative, _his_ oration outstrips any that we have read of

Cicero's, and _equals_ aught that we have seen of Demosthenes. To the

most effective effusions of the latter, indeed, it bears the closest

resemblance--rapid, condensed, inornate, impassioned: similar, too, in

its result, if we consider the difference of their auditories--the one

a mercurial mob, ever liable to be swayed by whim or convulsed by

passion; the other a grave, reflecting people, who subjected every

thing--feeling, imagination, and even the love of liberty--to REASON.

The oratory of Demosthenes made the Athenians cry out, "Let us march

against Philip!" When Warren ended, a glow of admiration and respect

pervaded even the hostile bosoms around him; but the people of Boston

were ready at once to abjure allegiance to Great Britain. For this,

however, affairs were not yet ripe.

The celebrated Josiah Quincy, Jr. was at this time in England, on a

mission of remonstrance and observation. His interesting letters, and

more interesting journal, (for parts of which we are indebted to the

"Memoirs" before referred to,) shewed his conviction that the pending

disputes must come to the arbitrament of arms. His countrymen, he

said, "must seal their cause with their blood." This, he was assured

by Warren, (one of his warmest and dearest friends) they were ready to

do. "It is the united voice of America" (Warren wrote him) "to

preserve their freedom, or lose their lives in its defence." Warren

was President of the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts. He writes

thus to Quincy concerning it: "Congress met at Concord at the time

appointed. About 260 members were present. You would have thought

yourself in an assembly of Spartans, or ancient Romans, had you seen

the ardor of those who spoke on the important business they were

transacting." Quincy remained but six months in England, and then

embarked for his home in an advanced stage of consumption: having, as

he told the seaman who attended his sick bed, but one desire--that he

might live long enough to have one more interview with Samuel Adams

and Joseph Warren. His prayer was not granted. He died on ship board,

just entering Cape Anne Harbor, on the 26th of April, 1775,[5] eight

days after the battle of Lexington; where, unknown to him, his

countrymen had already "sealed their cause with their blood."

[Footnote 5: Love for his country and her liberties, may be safely

considered the ruling passion of this man's pure and splendid and too

short life. He displayed it also "strong in death." His last reported

words were in a letter to his family, dictated to his sailor nurse; in

which he breathes a dying wish for his country. And his Will contains

the following clause: "I give to my son, when he shall arrive to the

age of 15 years, Algernon Sidney's Works, John Locke's Works--Lord

Bacon's Works--Gordon's Tacitus, and Cato's Letters. May the spirit of

Liberty rest upon him."]

Warren (now a brigadier general of the Massachusetts militia) was not

unconcerned in that battle. Scouts of his had notified him on the 18th

of April, that a detachment of troops was to march that night towards

Concord: and then, remaining himself upon the watch, he saw Colonel

Smith and 8 or 900 men embark for Charlestown. Knowing the stores and

ammunition at Concord to be their object, he instantly sent messengers

over the surrounding country, to give the alarm; and himself rode all

night--passing so near the enemy, as to be more than once in great

danger of capture. His messenger to Lexington was Col. Revere; who, on

suddenly turning a corner as he passed through Charlestown, found

himself close to a party of the British. In a moment he put his horse

at full speed, dashed through them, and before they could well

ascertain him to be a foe, was beyond the reach of the balls which

they fired after him. It was his summons, that called forth the

company of Lexington militia, upon whom, about sunrise on the 19th,

was begun that bloody drama, of which the progress was to shake two

continents, and the catastrophe to dissever an empire. Warren,

sleepless and in motion throughout the night, hurried to the scene of

action: and, when the enemy were retreating from Concord, he was among

the foremost in hanging upon their rear, and assailing their flanks.

By pressing them too closely, he once narrowly escaped death. A musket

ball took off a lock of hair, which curled close to his head, in the

fashion of that time.

When his mother first saw him after the battle, and heard of this

escape, she entreated him with tears not again to risk a life so

precious. "Where danger is, dear mother," he answered, "there must

your son be. _Now_ is no time for any of America's children to shrink

from any hazard. I will see her free, or die."

An exchange of prisoners was soon afterwards agreed on, to be carried

into effect at Charlestown. Generals Warren and Putnam with two select

companies of Massachusetts troops, repaired thither for the purpose.

Here was a touching scene. The British and American officers, on

meeting once more as friends after the recent strife had so rudely

sundered their long subsisting ties of hospitality and mutual

kindness, melted with tenderness, and rushed into each other's arms.

The soldiers {754} caught the infection: and mingled tears, and hands

cordially shaken, softened for awhile the rugged front of war. Putnam

and Warren entertained the British as guests, as sumptuously as the

occasion allowed.

A few days afterwards, Warren was appointed Major General of the

Massachusetts forces: but still retained his post as President of the

Provincial Congress. He seems to have combined, with rare felicity,

the qualities of a civil and a military leader. Cool yet brave, gentle

yet decided and firm, he was precisely fitted to teach and enforce

order and discipline. Mingling in the ranks, and talking with

individual soldiers as with brothers, he gained their love, and

infused into them his own ardor and sanguine confidence. He acted with

equal talent in civil council. He spent a part of each day in sharing

the deliberations of the Congress, which sat now at Watertown, ten

miles northwest from Boston. His labors ended there, he would gallop

to the camp at Cambridge. When the American commanders deliberated

upon the seizure and fortification of Dorchester Heights and Bunker

Hill, with a view to strike at the enemy's shipping, or to anticipate

them in a similar movement,--Warren opposed it. Our raw troops, he

thought, were not yet ready to cope with the trained veterans of

England. Putnam, then commander-in-chief at Cambridge, thought

differently. Warren renewed his opposition before the committee of

safety and the council of war: but when these bodies successively

resolved upon the measure, he promptly gave his whole heart to promote

its success; repeating his determination, to be, himself, ever at the

post of greatest danger. On the 16th of June, when Col. Prescott

received his orders, and marched with his thousand men to fortify

Bunker's Hill, the session at Watertown was so protracted, that Warren

could not leave it until late at night. So soon as he could, he

prepared to join Prescott--despite the dissuasion of his friends. To

their assurances, that most of the detachment, and especially

he--daring and conspicuous as he was--would in all probability be cut

off; and that he could not be spared so soon from the cause; he

replied, "I cannot help it: I must share the fate of my countrymen. I

cannot hear the cannon and remain inactive." Among the most intimate

of these friends, was the afterwards distinguished Elbridge Gerry;

with whom he lodged regularly in the same room, and, on that last

night, in the same bed. To him;--when they parted after midnight,

Warren uttered the sentiment--so truly Roman, and in this instance so

prophetic--"_dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori_." By day-break, he

was at the camp in Cambridge; where, finding that the British had not

shewn themselves, and sick with an aching head, from mental and bodily

toil, he lay down, to snatch a little repose. But he was soon roused

by tidings, that the enemy were in motion: and instantly rising, he

exclaimed, "my headache is gone." Others doubted what the object of

the enemy's threatened movement was. He at once saw it to be, the

unfinished fortification upon Bunker Hill. The committee of safety

(which sat in the house where he was) having resolved immediately to

despatch a reinforcement thither, Warren mounted his horse, and with

sword and musket, hastened to the scene of strife. He arrived just as

the fight began, and seeking out General Putnam, (who was already

there) desired to be posted where the service was to be most arduous.

Putnam expressed his sorrow at seeing him, in a place so full of

peril: "but since you have come," added he, "I will obey your orders

with pleasure." Warren replied, that he came as a volunteer--to obey

and fight; not to command. Putnam then requested him to take his stand

in the redoubt, where Prescott commanded, and which was considerably

in advance of the slighter defence, behind which Putnam and his men

were stationed. On his entering the redoubt, he was greeted with loud

huzzas: and Prescott, like Putnam, offered him the command. He again

refused it; saying, that he was a mere volunteer, and should be happy

to learn service from so experienced a soldier. We cannot, thrilling

as they are to our recollections, undertake to narrate the well known

particulars of that great day. But we commend the story, as told by

the authoress before us, to the attention of our readers. Our business

is with General Warren. He was constantly active; going through the

ranks, cheering on his comrades, sharing their perils, and plying his

musket against the advancing enemy. When the British had twice been

driven from the height, with a thousand slain; when the exhaustion of

powder and ball, leaving the Americans no means of resistance but

clubbed guns, against fixed bayonets and fourfold numbers, necessarily

made the third onset successful--Warren was the last to leave his

station. The slowest in that slow and reluctant retreat, he struggled

for every foot of ground; disdaining to quicken his steps, though

bullets whizzed and blood streamed all around him. Major Small, of the

British army, recognized him; and eager to save his life, called upon

him for God's sake to stop, and be protected from destruction. Warren

turned and looked towards him: but sickening at the sight and the

thought of his slaughtered countrymen and of the lost battle, again

moved slowly off as before. Major Small then ordered his men not to

fire at the American General: but it was too late. Just as the order

was given, a ball passed through his head; he fell, and expired.

His body lay on the field all the next night. When one who knew his

person, told General Howe the next morning that Warren was among the

slain, he would not believe it; declaring it _impossible_ that the

President of the Congress should have been suffered to expose himself

so hazardously. An English surgeon, however, who had also known

Warren, identified his corpse; and, to prove the daring of which he

was capable, added, that but five days before, he had ventured alone

into Boston in a small canoe, to learn the plans of the British; and

had urged the surgeon to enter into the American service. General Howe

declared, that the death of one such adversary balanced the loss of

500 of his own men. Warren's body was buried with many others, English

and American, near the spot where he fell; whence, sometime

afterwards, it was removed to the Tremont burying ground, and finally

to the family vault under St. Paul's Church, in Boston. His brothers,

at the first disinterment, knew his remains by an artificial tooth, by

a nail wanting on one of his fingers, and by his clothes, in which he

was buried just as he fell. His youngest brother, Dr. John Warren, at

first sight of the body, fainted away, and lay for many minutes

insensible on the ground. We draw a veil over the grief of his mother,

when, after a torturing suspense {755} of three days, the dreadful

truth was disclosed to her. In General Warren's pocket, an English

soldier found a prayer book, with the owner's name written in it. The

soldier carried it to England, and sold it for a high price to a

kind-hearted clergyman, who benevolently transmitted it to a minister

in Roxbury, with a request that he would restore it to the general's

nearest relation. It was accordingly given to his youngest brother,

whose son, Dr. John C. Warren, still retains it. It was printed in

1559, in a character remarkably distinct, and is strongly and

handsomely bound.

If our due space had not already been exceeded, we would include in

this sketch several other interesting particulars, connected with its

illustrious subject: but we must forbear.

There were ample contemporaneous testimonials to the merits of General

Warren. Amongst others, was a vote of the general Congress, that a

monument should be erected to his memory, "as an acknowledgment of his

virtues and distinguished services;" and that his children should be

supported at the public charge. Like the prayers of Homer's heroes,

this vote was half dispersed in empty air: the other half took effect,

so far as the annual payment of a moderate sum went, towards the

maintenance and education of the children. It is not until she has

mentioned this fact, that our authoress bethinks her of saying, that

General Warren was married to an excellent and amiable woman, who died

three years before him; and that he left four orphan children. So

important an event in human life might surely have been earlier told,

and more regardfully dwelt upon. We would fain have had something said

of _his_ domestic life, who filled so large a space in his country's

eye; something to exemplify what we hold as an everlasting truth--that

a good son and a true patriot is sure to make a true husband and a

good father. Situated as she is, our authoress cannot fail, by

reasonable diligence of inquiry, to learn many things, worthy of the

improved edition which we hope to see, of her interesting and

valuable, though so faulty production.

We, as one of the posterity whose gratitude and admiration General

Warren so richly earned, can read in his destiny more than a

fulfilment of the augury contained in the official account of the

Battle of Bunker Hill, drawn up by the Provincial Congress. It speaks

of him as "a man, whose memory will be endeared to his countrymen, and

to the worthy in every part and age of the world, so long as VALOUR

shall be esteemed among mankind." To VALOUR, we would add the lovelier

and nobler names of COURTESY, GENEROSITY, and INTEGRITY.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO CHRISTIANA.

Sister, while life and joy are young,

While the sweet lyre of hope is strung,

Ere thou hast known a crowd of cares,

Earth's vain regrets and burning tears--

Ere the sick heart of grief is thine,

Or rapture's thrilling pulse decline--

Ere wounded pride and love shall tell

That thou hast served the world too well,

Turn thou to worship at the shrine

Of faith and holy love divine!

Bring all thy strength of feeling there;

Wait not to waste affection where

No harvest ever can repay

For all thou losest by delay.

Seek the bright path the saints have trod;

At his own altar worship God;

And find that peace whilst kneeling there

The world can neither give nor share.

Mourn thou with hope--with fear rejoice;

List to that small but awful voice,

Which tells us all things fade and die

To bloom no more beneath the sky.

Earth's brightest dreams soon melt away,

Her forms of loveliness decay--

And disappointment's chilling gloom

Blights all her flowers of fairest bloom;

But oh, remember, there is bliss

In a far better land than this:

Look thou beyond this world of care,

And hope a fadeless crown to wear.

Then may distress and sorrow come,

_Thy_ soul can ever find a home!

E. A. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE FRIENDS OF MAN.

The young babe sat on its mother's knee,

Shaking its coral and bells with glee,

When Hope drew near with a seraph smile,

And kiss'd the lips that had spoke no guile,

Nor breath'd the words of sorrow.

Its little sister brought a flower,

And Hope still lingering nigh,

With sunny tress and sparkling eye,

Whisper'd of buds in a brighter bower

It might cull for itself to-morrow.

The boy came in from the wintry snow,

And mus'd by the parlor fire,--

But ere the evening lamps did glow

A stranger came with a thoughtful brow;

"What is that in your hand?" she said;

"My new-year's gift, with its covers red."

"Bring hither the book, my boy, and see

The magic spell of Memory;--

That page hath gold, and a way I'll find

To lock it safe in your docile mind:

For books have honey, the sages say,

That is sweet to the taste, when the hair is grey."

The youth at midnight sought his bed,

But ere he closed his eyes

Two forms drew near with a gentle tread,

In meek and saintly guise;

One struck a lyre of wondrous power,

With thrilling music fraught,

That chain'd the flying summer hour,

And charm'd the listener's thought--

For still would its tuneful cadence be,

"Follow me! Follow me!

And every morn a smile shall bring

As sweet as the merry lay I sing."

But when she ceas'd, with serious air

The other made reply,

"Shall he not also be my care?

May not I his pleasures share? {756}

Sister! Sister! tell me why?

Need Memory e'er with Hope contend?

Doth not the virtuous soul still find in both a friend?"

The youth beheld the strife,

And earnestly replied,

"Come, each shall be my guide--

Both gild the path of life:"

So he gave to each a trusting kiss,

And laid him down, and his dream was bliss.

The man came forth to run his race,

And ever when the morning light

Rous'd him from the trance of night,

When singing from her nest

The lark went up with a dewy breast,

Hope by his pillow stood with angel grace--

And as a mother cheers her son,

She girded his daily harness on.

And when the star of eve from weary care

Bade him to his home repair;

When by the hearth-stone where his joys were born,

The cricket wound its tiny horn,

Sober Memory spread her board,

With knowledge richly stor'd,

And supp'd with _him_, and like a guardian blest

His nightly rest.

The old man sat in his elbow-chair,

His locks were thin and grey--

Memory, that faithful friend was there,

And he in a querulous tone did say,

"Hast thou not lost with careless key

Something that I have entrusted to thee?"

Her pausing answer was sad and low,

"It may be so! It may be so!

The lock of my casket is worn and weak,

And Time with a plunderer's eye doth seek:

Something I miss, but I cannot say

What it is he hath stolen away--

For it seems that tinsel and trifles spread

Over the alter'd path we tread:

But the gems thou didst give me when life was new,

Look! here they are, all told and true,

Diamonds and rubies of changeless hue."

Thus, while in grave debate,

Mournful and ill at ease they sate,

Finding treasures disarranged,

Blaming the fickle world, when they themselves were chang'd,

Hope, on a brilliant wing did soar,

Which folded neath her robe she long had wore,

And spread its rainbow plumes with new delight,

And hazarded its strength in a bold heavenward flight.

The dying lay on his couch of pain,

And his soul went forth to the angel train--

Yet when heaven's gate its golden bars undrew,

Memory walked that portal through,

And spread her tablet to the Judge's eye,

Heightening with clear response the welcome of the sky.

But at that threshold high,

Hope faltered with a drooping eye,

And as the expiring rose

Doth in its last adieu its sweetest breath disclose,

Laid down to die.

As a spent harp its symphony doth roll,

Faintly her parting sigh

Greeted a glorious form that stood serenely by:

"Earth's pilgrim I resign;

I cheered him to his grave--I lov'd him--he was mine;

Christ hath redeemed his soul--

Immortal Joy! 'tis thine."

L. H. S.

_Hartford, Con. Sept. 1835_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THOUGHTS.

Oh Britain! on thy far, far distant shores,

Mid scenes of grandeur, scenes with beauty fraught,

Oft do I wish to stray, when fancy pours

Her rainbow colors in the urn of thought.

Each crumbling tower, and each enchanted wood,

And every haunted glen by Poets sung--

Each mountain, forest, valley, field, or flood,

O'er which romance her magic veil has hung;

Thy "stately homes," the beautiful, the grand--

Each "breezy lawn," and each embowering tree,

In Albion clothed by nature's partial hand

In bloom and verdure--all I seem to see.

I picture to myself thy regal halls,

Where pomp and splendor hold an equal sway;

Thy palaces, within whose time-stained walls

Kings have been born, have lived, and passed away;

That ancient pile,[1] where gloom and silence keep

Their vigils o'er the great and honored dead--

Where princes proud, and gifted poets sleep,

Each laid forever in his narrow bed;

The spots that hallowed in thy history stand,

The graves of those whose mem'ries cannot die,

With living gems that still adorn thy land,

All, all appear to fancy's ardent eye.

Parent thou art of many a cherished son,

And many a daughter crowned with wreaths of fame,

Whose talents high, or virtues rare have won

An ever glorious, ever honored name.

A Milton's genius awfully sublime,

A Shakspeare's wit in nature's garments drest,

A Scott whose fame can only end with time,

Sprung from thy soil, and sleep within its breast.

A Campbell's pure and chastened flow of thought,

A Hemans' skill poetic flowers to twine,

A Bulwer's matchless page with interest fraught,

A Landon's love-tuned lyre, all--all are thine!

But oh, between my own blest land and thee

Old Ocean's wide and restless waters spread;

Thy gifted great I may not hope to see,

And on thy shores I know I ne'er shall tread.

Yet the free spirit roves where I would go,

To other climes, the beautiful and bright,

Through fields of air, o'er ocean's trackless flow,

Eager, unchecked and chainless in its flight!

E. A. S.

[Footnote 1: Westminster Abbey.]

{757}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

KING PEST THE FIRST.

A TALE CONTAINING AN ALLEGORY--BY ----.

The Gods do bear and well allow in kings

The things which they abhor in rascal routes.

_Buckhurst's Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex_.

About twelve o'clock, one sultry night, in the month of August, and

during the chivalrous reign of the third Edward, two seamen belonging

to the crew of the "Free and Easy," a trading schooner plying between

Sluys and the Thames, and then at anchor in that river, were much

astonished to find themselves seated in the tap-room of an ale-house

in the parish of St. Andrews, London--which ale-house bore for sign

the portraiture of a "Jolly Tar."

The room, it is needless to say, although ill-contrived,

smoke-blackened, low-pitched, and in every other respect agreeing with

the general character of such places at the period--was, nevertheless,

in the opinion of the grotesque groups scattered here and there within

it, sufficiently well adapted for its purpose.

Of these groups our two seamen formed, I think, the most interesting,

if not the most conspicuous.

The one who appeared to be the elder, and whom his companion addressed

by the characteristic appellation of "Legs," was also much the most

ill-favored, and, at the same time, much the taller of the two. He

might have measured six feet nine inches, and an habitual stoop in the

shoulders seemed to have been the necessary consequence of an altitude

so enormous.

Superfluities in height were, however, more than accounted for by

deficiencies in other respects. He was exceedingly, wofully, awfully

thin; and might, as his associates asserted, have answered, when

sober, for a pennant at the mast-head, or, when stiff with liquor,

have served for a jib-boom. But these jests, and others of a similar

nature, had evidently produced, at no time, any effect upon the leaden

muscles of the tar. With high cheek-bones, a large hawk-nose,

retreating chin, fallen under-jaw, and huge protruding white eyes, the

expression of his countenance, although tinged with a species of

dogged indifference to matters and things in general, was not the less

utterly solemn and serious beyond all attempts at imitation or

description.

The younger seaman was in all outward appearance, the antipodes of his

companion. His stature could not have exceeded four feet. A pair of

stumpy bow-legs supported his squat, unwieldy figure, while his

unusually short and thick arms, with no ordinary fists at their

extremities, swung off, dangling from his sides like the fins of a

sea-turtle. Small eyes, of no particular color, twinkled far back in

his head. His nose remained buried in the mass of flesh which

enveloped his round, full, and purple face; and his thick upper-lip

rested upon the still thicker one beneath with an air of complacent

self-satisfaction, much heightened by the owner's habit of licking

them at intervals. He evidently regarded his tall ship-mate with a

feeling half-wondrous, half-quizzical; and stared up occasionally in

his face as the red setting sun stares up at the crags of Ben Nevis.

Various and eventful, however, had been the peregrinations of the

worthy couple in and about the different tap-houses of the

neighborhood during the earlier hours of the night. Funds even the

most ample, are not always everlasting: and it was with empty pockets

our friends had ventured upon the present hostelrie.

At the precise period then, when this history properly commences,

Legs, and his fellow Hugh Tarpaulin, sat, each with both elbows

resting upon the large oaken table in the middle of the floor, and

with a hand upon either cheek. They were eyeing, from behind a huge

flagon of unpaid-for "humming-stuff," the portentous words "No Chalk,"

which to their indignation and astonishment were scored over the

door-way by means of that very identical mineral whose presence they

purported to deny. Not that the gift of decyphering written

characters--a gift among the commonalty of that day considered little

less cabalistical than the art of inditing--could, in strict justice,

have been laid to the charge of either disciple of the sea; but there

was, to say the truth, a certain twist in the formation of the

letters--an indescribable lee-lurch about the whole--which foreboded,

in the opinion of both seamen, a long run of dirty weather; and

determined them at once, in the pithy words of Legs himself, to "pump

ship, clew up all sail, and scud before the wind."

Having accordingly drank up what remained of the ale, and looped up

the points of their short doublets, they finally made a bolt for the

street. Although Tarpaulin rolled twice into the fire-place, mistaking

it for the door, yet their escape was at length happily effected--and

half after twelve o'clock found our heroes ripe for mischief, and

running for life down a dark alley in the direction of St. Andrew's

Stair, hotly pursued by the landlord and landlady of the "Jolly Tar."

* * * * *

At the epoch of this eventful tale, and periodically, for many years

before and after, all England, but more especially the metropolis,

resounded with the fearful cry of "Pest! Pest! Pest!" The city was in

a great measure depopulated--and in those horrible regions, in the

vicinity of the Thames, where amid the dark, narrow, and filthy lanes

and alleys, the Demon of Disease was supposed to have had his

nativity, awe, terror, and superstition were alone to be found

stalking abroad.

By authority of the king such districts were placed _under ban_, and

all persons forbidden, under pain of death, to intrude upon their

dismal solitude. Yet neither the mandate of the monarch, nor the huge

barriers erected at the entrances of the streets, nor the prospect of

that loathsome death which, with almost absolute certainty,

overwhelmed the wretch whom no peril could deter from the adventure,

prevented the unfurnished and untenanted dwellings from being

stripped, by the hand of nightly rapine, of every article such as

iron, brass, or lead-work, which could in any manner be turned to a

profitable account.

Above all, it was usually found, upon the annual winter opening of the

barriers, that locks, bolts, and secret cellars had proved but slender

protection to those rich stores of wines and liquors which, in

consideration of the risk and trouble of removal, many of the numerous

dealers having shops in the neighborhood had consented to trust,

during the period of exile, to so insufficient a security.

But there were very few of the terror-stricken people who attributed

these doings to the agency of human hands. Pest-Spirits,

Plague-Goblins, and Fever-Demons were the popular imps of mischief;

and tales so {758} blood-chilling were hourly told, that the whole

mass of forbidden buildings was, at length, enveloped in terror as in

a shroud, and the plunderer himself was often scared away by the

horrors his own depredations had created; leaving the entire vast

circuit of prohibited district to gloom, silence, pestilence, and

death.

* * * * *

It was by one of these terrific barriers already mentioned, and which

indicated the region beyond to be under the Pest-Ban, that, in

scrambling down an alley, Legs and the worthy Hugh Tarpaulin found

their progress suddenly impeded. To return was out of the question,

and no time was to be lost, as their pursuers were close upon their

heels. With thorough-bred seamen to clamber up the roughly fashioned

plank work was a trifle; and, maddened with the twofold excitement of

exercise and liquor, they leaped unhesitatingly down within the

enclosure, and holding on their drunken course with shouts and

yellings, were soon bewildered in its noisome and intricate recesses.

Had they not, indeed, been intoxicated beyond all sense of human

feelings, their reeling footsteps must have been palsied by the

horrors of their situation. The air was damp, cold and misty. The

paving stones loosened from their beds, lay in wild disorder amid the

tall, rank grass, which sprang up hideously around the feet and

ancles. Rubbish of fallen houses choked up the streets. The most fetid

and poisonous smells every where prevailed--and by the occasional aid

of that ghastly and uncertain light which, even at midnight, never

fails to emanate from a vapory and pestilential atmosphere, might be

discerned lying in the bypaths and alleys, or rotting in the

windowless habitations, the carcass of many a nocturnal plunderer

arrested by the hand of the plague in the very perpetration of his

robbery.

But it lay not in the power of images, or sensations, or impediments

like these, to stay the course of men who, naturally brave, and at

that time especially, brimful of courage and of "humming-stuff," would

have reeled, as straight as their condition might have permitted,

undauntedly into the very jaws of the Archangel Death. Onward--still

onward stalked the gigantic Legs, making the desolate solemnity echo

and re-echo with yells like the terrific warwhoop of the Indian: and

onward--still onward rolled the dumpy Tarpaulin, hanging on to the

doublet of his more active companion, and far surpassing the latter's

most strenuous exertions in the way of vocal music by bull-roarings

_in basso_, from the profundity of his Stentorian lungs.

They had now evidently reached the strong hold of the pestilence.

Their way at every step or plunge grew more noisome and more

horrible--the paths more narrow and more intricate. Huge stones and

beams falling momentarily from the decaying roofs above them, gave

evidence, by their sullen and heavy descent, of the vast height of the

surrounding buildings, while actual exertion became necessary to force

a passage through frequent heaps of putrid human corpses.

Suddenly, as the seamen stumbled against the entrance of a gigantic

and ghastly-looking building, a yell more than usually shrill from the

throat of the excited Legs, was replied to from within in a rapid

succession of wild, laughter-like, and fiendish shrieks.

Nothing daunted at sounds which, of such a nature, at such a time, and

in such a place, might have curdled the very blood in hearts less

irrecoverably on fire, the drunken couple burst open the pannels of

the door, and staggered into the midst of things with a volley of

curses. It is not to be supposed however, that the scene which here

presented itself to the eyes of the gallant Legs and worthy Tarpaulin,

produced at first sight any other effect upon their illuminated

faculties than an overwhelming sensation of stupid astonishment.

The room within which they found themselves, proved to be the shop of

an undertaker--but an open trap-door in a corner of the floor near the

entrance, looked down upon a long range of wine-cellars, whose depths

the occasional sounds of bursting bottles proclaimed to be well stored

with their appropriate contents. In the middle of the room stood a

table--in the centre of which again arose a huge tub of what appeared

to be punch. Bottles of various wines and cordials, together with

grotesque jugs, pitchers, and flagons of every shape and quality, were

scattered profusely upon the board. Around it, upon coffin-tressels,

was seated a company of six--this company I will endeavor to delineate

one by one.

Fronting the entrance, and elevated a little above his companions, sat

a personage who appeared to be the president of the table. His stature

was gaunt and tall, and Legs was confounded to behold in him a figure

more emaciated than himself. His face was yellower than the yellowest

saffron--but no feature of his visage, excepting one alone, was

sufficiently marked to merit a particular description. This one

consisted in a forehead so unusually and hideously lofty, as to have

the appearance of a bonnet or crown of flesh superseded upon the

natural head. His mouth was puckered and dimpled into a singular

expression of ghastly affability, and his eyes, as indeed the eyes of

all at table, were glazed over with the fumes of intoxication.

This gentleman was clothed from head to foot in a richly embroidered

black silk-velvet pall wrapped negligently around his form after the

fashion of a Spanish cloak. His head was stuck all full of tall, sable

hearse-plumes, which he nodded to and fro with a jaunty and knowing

air, and, in his right hand, he held a huge human thigh-bone, with

which he appeared to have been just knocking down some member of the

company for a song.

Opposite him, and with her back to the door, was a lady of no whit the

less extraordinary character. Although quite as tall as the person who

has just been described, she had no right to complain of his unnatural

emaciation. She was evidently in the last stage of a dropsy; and her

figure resembled nearly in outline the shapeless proportions of the

huge puncheon of October beer which stood, with the head driven in,

close by her side, in a corner of the chamber. Her face was

exceedingly round, red, and full--and the same peculiarity, or rather

want of peculiarity, attached itself to her countenance, which I

before mentioned in the case of the president--that is to say, only

one feature of her face was sufficiently distinguished to need a

separate characterization: indeed, the acute Tarpaulin immediately

observed that the same remark might have applied to each individual

person of the party; every one of whom seemed to possess a monopoly of

some particular {759} portion of physiognomy. With the lady in

question this portion proved to be the mouth. Commencing at the right

ear, it swept with a terrific chasm to the left--the short pendants

which she wore in either auricle continually bobbing into the

aperture. She made, however, every exertion to keep her jaws closed

and look dignified, in a dress consisting of a newly starched and

ironed shroud coming up close under her chin, with a crimped ruffle of

cambric muslin.

At her right hand sat a diminutive young lady whom she appeared to

patronize. This delicate little creature, in the trembling of her

wasted fingers, in the livid hue of her lips, and in the slight hectic

spot which tinged her otherwise leaden complexion, gave evident

indications of a galloping consumption.

An air of extreme _haut ton_, however, pervaded her whole

appearance--she wore in a graceful and _degagé_ manner, a large and

beautiful winding-sheet of the finest India lawn--her hair hung in

ringlets over her neck--a soft smile played about her mouth--but her

nose, extremely long, thin, sinuous, flexible, and pimpled, hung down

far below her under lip, and, in spite of the delicate manner in which

she now and then moved it to one side or the other with her tongue,

gave an expression rather doubtful to her countenance.

Over against her, and upon the left of the dropsical lady, was seated

a little puffy, wheezing, and gouty old man, whose cheeks hung down

upon the shoulders of their owner, like two huge bladders of Oporto

wine. With his arms folded, and with one bandaged leg cocked up

against the table, he seemed to think himself entitled to some

consideration.

He evidently prided himself much upon every inch of his personal

appearance, but took more especial delight in calling attention to his

gaudy colored surcoat. This, to say the truth, must have cost no

little money, and was made to fit him exceedingly well--being

fashioned from one of the curiously embroidered silken covers

appertaining to those glorious escutcheons which, in England and

elsewhere, are customarily hung up in some conspicuous place upon the

dwellings of departed aristocracy.

Next to him, and at the right hand of the president, was a gentleman

in long white hose and cotton drawers. His frame shook in a ludicrous

manner, with a fit of what Tarpaulin called "the horrors." His jaws,

which had been newly shaved, were tightly tied up by a bandage of

muslin; and his arms being fastened in a similar way at the wrists,

prevented him from helping himself too freely to the liquors upon the

table; a precaution rendered necessary, in the opinion of Legs, by the

peculiarly sottish and wine-bibbing cast of his visage. A pair of

prodigious ears, nevertheless, which it was no doubt found impossible

to confine, towered away into the atmosphere of the apartment, and

were occasionally pricked up, or depressed, as the sounds of bursting

bottles increased, or died away, in the cellars underneath.

Fronting him, sixthly and lastly, was situated a singularly

stiff-looking personage, who, being afflicted with paralysis, must, to

speak seriously, have felt very ill at ease in his unaccommodating

habiliments. He was habited, somewhat uniquely, in a new and handsome

mahogany coffin.

The top or head-piece of the coffin pressed upon the scull of the

wearer, and extended over it in the fashion of a hood, giving to the

entire face an air of indescribable interest. Arm-holes had been cut

in the sides, for the sake not more of elegance than of

convenience--but the dress, nevertheless, prevented its proprietor

from sitting as erect as his associates; and as he lay reclining

against his tressel, at an angle of forty-five degrees, a pair of huge

goggle eyes rolled up their awful whites towards the ceiling in

absolute amazement at their own enormity.

Before each of the party lay a portion of a scull which was used as a

drinking cup. Overhead was suspended an enormous human skeleton, by

means of a rope tied round one of the legs and fastened to a ring in

the ceiling. The other limb, confined by no such fetter, stuck off

from the body at right angles, causing the whole loose and rattling

frame to dangle and twirl about in a singular manner, at the caprice

of every occasional puff of wind which found its way into the

apartment. In the cranium of this hideous thing lay a quantity of

ignited and glowing charcoal, which threw a fitful but vivid light

over the entire scene; while coffins, and other wares appertaining to

the shop of an undertaker, were piled high up around the room, and

against the windows, preventing any straggling ray from escaping into

the street.

It has been before hinted that at sight of this extraordinary

assembly, and of their still more extraordinary paraphernalia, our two

seamen did not conduct themselves with that proper degree of decorum

which might have been expected. Legs, having leant himself back

against the wall, near which he happened to be standing, dropped his

lower jaw still lower than usual, and spread open his eyes to their

fullest extent: while Hugh Tarpaulin, stooping down so as to bring his

nose upon a level with the table, and spreading out a palm upon either

knee, burst into a long, loud, and obstreperous roar of very ill-timed

and immoderate laughter.

Without, however, taking offence at behavior so excessively rude, the

tall president smiled very graciously upon the intruders--nodded to

them in a dignified manner with his head of sable plumes--and,

arising, took each by an arm, and led him to a seat which some others

of the company had placed in the meantime for his accommodation. Legs

to all this offered not the slightest resistance, but sat down as he

was directed--while the gallant Hugh removing his coffin-tressel from

its station near the head of the table, to the vicinity of the little

consumptive lady in the winding-sheet, plumped down by her side in

high glee, and, pouring out a scull of red wine, drank it off to their

better acquaintance. But at this presumption the stiff gentleman in

the coffin seemed exceedingly nettled, and serious consequences might

have ensued, had not the president, rapping upon the table with his

truncheon, diverted the attention of all present to the following

speech:

"It becomes our duty upon the present happy occasion"----

"Avast there!"--interrupted Legs looking very serious--"avast there a

bit, I say, and tell us who the devil ye all are, and what business ye

have here rigged off like the foul fiends, and swilling the snug 'blue

ruin' stowed away for the winter by my honest shipmate Will Wimble the

undertaker!"

At this unpardonable piece of ill-breeding, all the {760} original

company half started to their feet, and uttered the same rapid

succession of wild fiendish shrieks which had before caught the

attention of the seamen. The president, however, was the first to

recover his composure, and at length, turning to Legs with great

dignity, recommenced.

"Most willingly will we gratify any reasonable curiosity on the part

of guests so illustrious, unbidden though they be. Know then that in

these dominions I am monarch, and here rule with undivided empire

under the title of 'King Pest the First.'

"This apartment which you no doubt profanely suppose to be the shop of

Will Wimble the undertaker--a man whom we know not, and whose plebeian

appellation has never before this night thwarted our royal ears--this

apartment, I say, is the Dais-Chamber of our Palace, devoted to the

councils of our kingdom, and to other sacred and lofty purposes.

"The noble lady who sits opposite is Queen Pest, and our Serene

Consort. The other exalted personages whom you behold are all of our

family, and wear the insignia of the blood royal under the respective

titles of 'His Grace the Arch Duke Pest-Iferous'--'His Grace the Duke

Pest-Ilential'--'His Grace the Duke Tem-Pest'--and 'Her Serene

Highness the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.'

"As regards"--continued he--"your demand of the business upon which we

sit here in council, we might be pardoned for replying that it

concerns and concerns _alone_ our own private and regal interest, and

is in no manner important to any other than ourself. But in

consideration of those rights to which as guests and strangers you may

feel yourselves entitled, we will furthermore explain that we are here

this night, prepared by deep research and accurate investigation, to

examine, analyze, and thoroughly determine the indefinable spirit--the

incomprehensible qualities and nare of those inestimable treasures of

the palate, the wines, ales, and liqueurs of this goodly Metropolis:

by so doing to advance not more our own designs than the true welfare

of that unearthly sovereign whose reign is over us all--whose

dominions are unlimited--and whose name is 'Death.'"

"Whose name is Davy Jones!"--ejaculated Tarpaulin, helping the lady by

his side to a scull of liqueur, and pouring out a second for himself.

"Profane varlet!"--said the president, now turning his attention to

the worthy Hugh--"profane and execrable wretch!--we have said, that in

consideration of those rights which, even in thy filthy person, we

feel no inclination to violate, we have condescended to make reply to

your rude and unseasonable inquiries. We, nevertheless, for your

unhallowed intrusion upon our councils, believe it our duty to mulct

you and your companion in each a gallon of Black Strap--having drank

which to the prosperity of our kingdom--at a single draught--and upon

your bended knees--you shall be forthwith free either to proceed upon

your way, or remain and be admitted to the privileges of our table

according to your respective and individual pleasures."

"It would be a matter of utter impossibility"--replied Legs, whom the

assumptions and dignity of King Pest the First had evidently inspired

with some feelings of respect, and who arose and studied himself by

the table as he spoke--"it would, please your majesty, be a matter of

utter impossibility to stow away in my hold even one-fourth of that

same liquor which your majesty has just mentioned. To say nothing of

the stuffs placed on board in the forenoon by way of ballast, and not

to mention the various ales and liqueurs shipped this evening at

different sea-ports, I am, at present, full up to the throat of

'humming-stuff' taken in and duly paid for at the sign of the 'Jolly

Tar.' You will, therefore, please your majesty, be so good as take the

will for the deed--for by no manner of means either can I or will I

swallow another drop--least of all a drop of that villainous

bilge-water that answers to the hail of 'Black Strap.'"

"Belay that!"--interrupted Tarpaulin, astonished not more at the

length of his companion's speech than at the nature of his

refusal--"Belay that you lubber!--and I say, Legs, none of your

palaver! _My_ hull is still light, although I confess you yourself

seem to be a little top-heavy; and as for the matter of your share of

the cargo, why rather than raise a squall I would find stowage-room

for it myself, but"----

"This proceeding"--interposed the president--"is by no means in

accordance with the terms of the mulct or sentence which is in its

nature Median, and not to be altered or recalled. The conditions we

have imposed must be fulfilled to the letter, and that without a

moment's hesitation--in failure of which fulfilment we decree that you

do here be tied neck and heels together, and duly drowned as rebels in

yon hogshead of October beer!"

"A sentence!--a sentence!--a righteous and just sentence!--a glorious

decree!--a most worthy and upright, and holy condemnation!"--shouted

the Pest Family altogether. The king elevated his forehead into

innumerable wrinkles--the gouty little old man puffed like a pair of

bellows--the lady of the winding sheet waved her nose to and fro--the

gentleman in the cotton drawers pricked up his ears--she of the shroud

gasped like a dying fish--and he of the coffin looked stiff and rolled

up his eyes.

"Ugh!--ugh!--ugh!"--chuckled Tarpaulin without heeding the general

excitation--"ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!--ugh!" "I

was saying," said he,--"I was saying when Mr. King Pest poked in his

marling-spike, that as for the matter of two or three gallons more or

less Black Strap, it was a trifle to a tight sea-boat like myself not

overstowed--but when it comes to drinking the health of the

Devil--whom God assoilzie--and going down upon my marrow bones to his

ill-favored majesty there, whom I know, as well as I know myself to be

a sinner, to be nobody in the whole world but Tim Hurlygurly, the

organ-grinder--why! its quite another guess sort of a thing, and

utterly and altogether past my comprehension."

He was not allowed to finish this speech in tranquillity. At the name

of Tim Hurlygurly the whole Junto leaped from their seats.

"Treason!"--shouted his Serenity King Pest the First.

"Treason!"--said the little man with the gout.

"Treason!"--screamed the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

"Treason!"--muttered the gentleman with his jaws tied up.

"Treason!"--growled he of the coffin.

"Treason! treason!"--shrieked her majesty of the {761} mouth; and,

seizing by the hinder part of his breeches the unfortunate Tarpaulin,

who had just commenced pouring out for himself a scull of liqueur, she

lifted him high up into the air, and dropped him without ceremony into

the huge open puncheon of his beloved ale. Bobbing up and down, for a

few seconds, like an apple in a bowl of toddy, he, at length, finally

disappeared amid the whirlpool of foam which, in the already

effervescent liquor, his struggles easily succeeded in creating.

Not tamely however did the tall seaman behold the discomfiture of his

companion. Jostling King Pest through the open trap, the valiant Legs

slammed the door down upon him with an oath, and strode towards the

centre of the room. Here tearing down the huge skeleton which swung

over the table, he laid it about him with so much energy and good

will, that, as the last glimpses of light died away within the

apartment, he succeeded in knocking out the brains of the little

gentleman with the gout. Rushing then with all his force against the

fatal hogshead full of October ale and Hugh Tarpaulin, he rolled it

over and over in an instant. Out burst a deluge of liquor so

fierce--so impetuous--so overwhelming--that the room was flooded from

wall to wall--the loaded table was overturned--the tressels were

thrown upon their backs--the tub of punch into the fire place--and the

ladies into hysterics. Jugs, pitchers, and carboys mingled

promiscuously in the _melée_, and wicker flagons encountered

desperately with bottles of junk. Piles of death-furniture floundered

about. Sculls floated _en masse_--hearse-plumes nodded to

escutcheons--the man with the horrors was drowned upon the spot--the

little stiff gentleman sailed off in his coffin--and the victorious

Legs, seizing by the waist the fat lady in the shroud, scudded out

into the street followed under easy sail, by the redoubted Hugh

Tarpaulin, who, having sneezed three or four times, panted and puffed

after him with the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EARLY ADVENTURES.

Dissolve frigus--lignum super focus large reponens.--_Horace_.

Towards the end of a raw and blustering day in October, I was

comfortably seated in my easy chair before a blazing fire, which

diffused a cheerful light and a genial warmth through the apartment.

My feet, cased in morocco slippers, rested on a footstool, whilst I

carelessly sipped a glass of Madeira, supplied from a decanter which

reared its rosy form on a table hard by. To an eye-witness I must have

seemed the picture of comfort and happiness. On turning to help myself

to another glass of the nectar-like fluid that glistened so temptingly

by the ruddy light, my eye caught the gold edge of a note which lay on

the table, half concealed by a book, and which, upon perusal, I

discovered to contain a polite invitation from a wealthy and

fashionable acquaintance to spend the next evening at her house. The

emphatic N. B. "_Mrs. M. would be glad to see her friends in fancy

dresses,_" soon brought to my experienced mind the nature of the

_fête_ to which I had the honor of an invitation. I arose to consult

my prints and books to discover the most appropriate costume wherein

to conceal my noble self. But not being able to suit exactly my

somewhat fastidious taste, I resolved to consult the accomplished,

beautiful, talented, and "last but not least," the wealthy Miss ----,

who performed on the piano like another Handel, and tripped it on the

light fantastic toe, with almost as much ease and grace as the fairy

Taglioni. I had long looked on Miss ---- with affection--or perhaps

love: and I had the vanity to suppose my feelings were reciprocated.

But of the latter surmise I could only judge by "circumstantial

evidence"--for the Cerberus-like vigilance of the matron under whose

protection she lived, (and who had married my father's brother,)

prevented me from forming any correct judgment of the extent of her

affection for me--or if she possessed any, from taking advantage of

it. The old lady (my aunt) who had found the yoke of Hymen not so

easily borne, and who knew by experience the hazard that was to be

encountered in forming matrimonial connexions, zealously opposed the

various attempts I made to win the heart of the mistress of my

adoration. Seeing all my designs frustrated, and my schemes overthrown

by the superior knowledge and oversight of my feminine antagonist, I

resolved, like a prudent general, to "beat a retreat," while it was in

my power to effect one without loss of force or reputation.

Nevertheless, I deemed it not imprudent to make one vigorous effort to

obtain the five thousand dollars a year, along with the person of Miss

----, before I retired from the contest. Fraught with this intention,

I resolved to visit Miss ---- immediately, to consult her about

_something_ beside the _fancy dress_. Having exchanged the gown in

which I had been so luxuriously enveloped, for a dress coat, cut by

the inimitable hands of Nugee, and attired the rest of my person in

the most approved style, I sallied forth to the residence of my

charmer.

The wind had gradually subsided during the last half hour, until it

had nearly died away. The fresh air, with the exercise of walking,

produced that racy and dancing stir of the blood, which all action,

whether evil or noble in its nature, raises in our veins. The full

moon now rose in all the splendor of its matchless beauty, and bathed

in silvery light the gorgeous piles of snow-white clouds that calmly

reposed on the surface of the dark blue sky. The walk was too pleasant

to be of long duration, and before it seemed a moment had elapsed, I

found myself on the marble steps of the house to which I had been

directing my course. At my aristocratic pull of the door-bell, a

servant immediately made his appearance, and to my inquiry if Mrs.

D---- was at home, he answered in the negative. "Did Miss ----

accompany her, or did she remain?" said I in a hesitating tone of

voice. "_She_ is within," said the servant, and he forthwith ushered

me in. In a few moments Miss ---- entered the room, looking as fresh

and beautiful as Aurora "when first she leaves her rosy bed." It is

useless to trespass upon the patience of the reader by giving a prolix

account of a scene he has read of in every novel, romance, or tale,

that has been written since the time of Clovis. Be it sufficient to

say, that with "accents sweet" I poured forth the impassioned tale of

my love--and with all that eloquence which love (and the hope of the

five thousand per annum only) could have inspired. My suit was

accepted; and to escape the vigilance of my aunt, it was agreed that

she should attend the fancy ball the next evening, habited in the

costume of a "Novice," at which place I should meet her as Young {762}

Norval. Soon as the clock should toll the hour of twelve we should

leave the "festive scene," while all would be too busy to notice our

departure. Immediately we were to repair to the residence of my aunt,

when, after changing our dresses for some more suitable, we should

hasten to a country seat about twenty miles distant, possessed by a

near relative of mine, where we should be united in the holy band of

matrimony.

This arrangement being made, with a heart buoyant with hope, and an

elastic tread, I soon regained my apartment. And

"Now the latter watch of wasting night

And setting stars to sweet repose invite;"

but the high excitement under which I had been, banished

"Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,"

from my pillow.

* * * * *

Conformably to the plan arranged between Miss ---- and myself, I drove

to Mrs. M ----'s at the usual hour, and halted some distance from the

house, in the rear of about a hundred carriages. The rooms were

already full when I entered--and after being announced in character

and introduced to the lady of the house, I mingled with the motley

crowd.

For the first hour the scene was grotesque in the extreme. The guests

paraded the rooms with all the gravity of well-bred persons of the

sixteenth century, looking stiff and very uncomfortable in their

ill-adjusted habiliments. At the announcement of supper the prospect

for pleasure brightened, and the guests felt themselves more at home.

The gaudy figures moving about in the full blaze of the numberless

chandeliers, produced a brilliant effect; and the various characters

mingling together, made a splendid show of the burlesque. Here a "Red

Man" from the "Far West," with his beautifully variegated moccasins,

and a glass of "golden Sherry" in his hand, was descanting on the

beauties of the latest tie with a superb "Spanish Cavalier," who

haughtily fingered his jet black moustache, and sipped his Sherbet.

Next him stood a "Knight of Malta," with his magnificent stars and

diamonds, in close converse with a "Peasant Girl." The "Arch Bishop"

set the whole table in a roar by his jokes; and "His Holiness" the

Pope, giggled with "Anne Boleyn" over an ice-cream. The Jew was

detected with ham-sandwich; while "King Lear" forgot the ingratitude

of his daughters over champagne.

I finding the assignated time approaching, detached myself from the

brilliant crowd around the supper table, and took a seat on a sofa in

the next _room_. I had not been seated many minutes before I perceived

"The Novice" approaching, and at that instant a clock near me tolled

the midnight hour. I dashed up to the object of my search, and

observing it was now time to go, she immediately took my arm, and we

marched out. At the door I handed her into a carriage, and ordered the

coachman to drive as rapidly as possible to ---- street. In a few

moments we arrived at the house, and seeing her rather slow, I

requested her to unveil, as we had no time to lose. Slowly she raised

her hand, and removing the dark veil from her face, disclosed the

features of--_my aunt_. Overwhelmed with rage and disappointment I

rushed from the house, and meeting one of the servants, learned that

Miss ---- had suddenly heard of the death of a relative to whom she

was much attached, and had been unable to attend the ball. It appears

she had written to me, but the note, by some unpardonable negligence

of the domestic to whom it was entrusted, had never been delivered.

Learning these particulars I hurried down the street, and seeing a

stage-coach standing before a hotel door, I leaped into it, and drove

off. The motion of the carriage produced a dull, heavy sensation on my

frame, and at length I fell asleep. I was aroused from my slumber by

the sounds of laughter, and soon discovered that it arose from my

fellow-passengers, who were diverting themselves at the oddity of my

appearance and dress. Some took me for a madman. But one old gentlemen

in pepper and salt dress, and with a red nose, assured the company

that I was some theatrical character who had eloped from his

creditors. Never was he of the "Grampian Hills" worse treated. At

length I arrived at an inn, where I procured a suit of clothes, and

resolved either to commit suicide, or drown my cares in a bottle of

_Champagne_.

J. C.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SHADOW. A FABLE--BY ----.

Ye who read are still among the living, but I who write shall have

long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed strange

things shall happen, and many secret things be known, and many

centuries shall pass away ere these memorials be seen of men. And when

seen there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a

few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven

with a stylus of iron.

The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings more intense than

terror for which there is no name upon the earth. For many prodigies

and signs had taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the

black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To those,

nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not unknown that the

Heavens wore an aspect of ill; and to me, the Greek Oinos, among

others it was evident, that now had arrived the alternation of that

seven hundred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of Aries,

the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring of the terrible

Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the skies, if I mistake not, greatly

made itself manifest, not only in the physical orb of the earth, but

in the souls, imaginations, and meditations of mankind.

Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the walls of a noble

hall, in a dim city by the melancholy sea, we sat, at night, a company

of seven. And to our chamber there was no entrance save by a lofty

door of brass: and the door was fashioned by the artizan Corinnos, and

being of rare workmanship was fastened from within. Black draperies,

likewise, in the gloomy room shut out from our view the moon, the

lurid stars, and the peopleless streets--but the boding and the memory

of Evil, they would not be so excluded. There were things around us

and about of which I can render no distinct account--things material

and spiritual. Heaviness in the atmosphere--a sense of

suffocation--anxiety--and above all, that terrible state of existence

which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and

awake, and meanwhile the powers of {763} thought lie dormant. A dead

weight hung upon us. It hung upon our limbs--upon the household

furniture--upon the goblets from which we drank; and all things were

depressed, and borne down thereby--all things save only the flames of

the seven iron lamps which illumined our revel. Uprearing themselves

in tall slender lines of light, they thus remained burning all pallid

and motionless; and in the mirror which their lustre formed upon the

round table of ebony at which we sat, each of us there assembled

beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the unquiet glare in the

downcast eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in our

proper way--which was hysterical; and sang the songs of

Anacreon--which are madness; and drank deeply--although the purple

wine reminded us of blood. For there was yet another tenant of our

chamber in the person of young Zoilus. Dead, and at full length he

lay, enshrouded--the genius and the demon of the scene. Alas! he bore

no portion in our mirth, save that his countenance distorted with the

plague, and his eyes in which Death had but half extinguished the fire

of the pestilence, seemed to take such interest in our merriment as

the dead may take in the merriment of those who are to die. But

although I, Oinos, felt that the eyes of the departed were upon me,

still I forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of their

expression, and, gazing down steadily into the depths of the ebony

mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous voice the songs of the son of

Teios. But gradually my songs they ceased, and their echoes rolling

afar off among the sable draperies of the chamber became weak, and

indistinguishable, and so fainted away. And lo! from among those sable

draperies where the sounds of the song departed, there came forth a

dark and undefined shadow--a shadow such as the moon when low in

Heaven might fashion from the figure of a man: but it was the shadow

neither of man, nor of God, nor of any familiar thing. And quivering

awhile among the draperies of the room, it at length rested in full

view upon the surface of the door of brass. But the shadow was vague,

and formless, and indefinitive, and was the shadow neither of man nor

God--neither God of Greece, nor God of Chaldæa, nor any Egyptian God.

And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of

the entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but

there became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the

shadow rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the

young Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having

seen the shadow as it came out from among the draperies, dared not

steadily behold it, but cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into

the depths of the mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking

some low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling and its

appellation. And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is

near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of

Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did we,

the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and

shuddering, and aghast: for the tones in the voice of the shadow were

not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and,

varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable, fell duskily upon

our ears in the well remembered and familiar accents of a thousand

departed friends.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

CURSE OF THE "BETRAYED ONE."

A FRAGMENT--BY HUGH BLAIR.

They moved her couch, that the whispering breath

Of evening might come with its balmy sigh,

And fan her brow, e'er the film of death

Spread over her dark and beautiful eye.

But she heeded not the whispering wind,

For her burning thoughts afar were roaming;

Madness had seized on her wretched mind,

And her high brow throb'd, and her lips were foaming!

And the beautiful curls of her sable hair

Streamed wildly over her fevered pillow--

And her bosom heaved in its whiteness there,

As the breeze heaves up the snowy billow--

And her teeth with convulsive grasp were set,

And her eye burned bright as a beam of day--

She twined her hand in her locks of jet,

And tore their glittering curls away!

And she screamed with a wild, convulsive shriek,

Then uttered a low protracted groan--

As ye've heard the wind thro' your lattice break,

And die away with a hollow moan.

But at length, through the evening's gathering gloom,

Her voice came forth from the riven chords

Of her broken heart, as from a tomb!

And she utter'd these wild and fearful words:

"I've loved thee, man, with an ardent love;

I've sworn it by each orb above--

By the glorious Sun when he sank to rest,

And lit with his beams the glowing west--

By the pallid Moon, when her silver beam

Danced gladly o'er yon murmuring stream,

Upon whose verdant banks with you

I've stood that holy orb to view--

And by every lamp which the dusk of even

Hung out in the glittering arch of heaven.

I cannot _now_ deny the flame

Which has wasted thus my wretched frame--

For I've told it thee by many a word

Which came from the core of my bleeding heart,

As you touched each thrilling, aching chord,

By that hellish power, thy fiendish art.

I've told it thee by many a sigh,

By many a tear in my weary eye,

By many a sob, and many a groan,

Which burst from the lips of thy '_lovely one_'--

And I've told it thee by the burning streak

Which so often lit my fevered cheek,

As you played with each glittering curl of jet

That waved on the neck of '_Thy Martinette!_'

Come hither thou fiend and gaze upon me;

Behold the wreck of thy hellish power--

Come hither, I have a _blessing_ for thee,

Which thou shalt hear in my dying hour.

"That maiden, she of the lovely face,

Who holds in thy heart _my_ wretched place,

Shall become thy bride, and her first born son

Be a monster, hideous to gaze upon!

And the sight of the thing shall drive her mad! {764}

And while she's screaming in accents wild,

She shall call upon thee in tones most sad,

Thyself to murder her hideous child!

Oh, she shall shriek in her wild despair,

And her phrensied eye, with a fearful glare,

Full on thy faithless face shall gleam--

And with lips of foam and teeth close set,

Her voice full in thy ear shall scream,

'Remember the curse of _thy Martinette!_'

And with fingers of blood she shall rend her cheek--

And those lips which now in their freshness part,

Shall utter as wild and terrific a shriek

As ever yet burst from my broken heart;

And her every shriek and her every groan

Shall wither thy heart, thou faithless one!

And thus she shall die, ere reason's dawn

The veil from her wildered soul hath drawn.

But her blasted babe, that hideous thing,

Shall live--and its frightful presence shall bring

Galling thoughts, which shall have the power

To blast thy every peaceful hour!

By its blasted form thou shalt never forget

The dying curse of _thy Martinette!_"

She spoke, and sunk back on her dying bed,

And the blood gushed forth from her lips of foam!

They raised her again--but the spirit had fled

Away, away to its secret home!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO MRS. B. G. S.

When Summer sheds her soft perfume

The bowers among--

When all the earth is rich in bloom,

The sky in song--

When evening's golden clouds like shadows flee,

Turn for an instant then your thoughts on me.

When Winter in her frozen zone

Robs earth of green--

When only Friendship can atone

For what has been--

When round the hearth your other friends you see,

It is the hour I love--think then of me.

In days of bliss when hope is nigh,

And life is dear,

Your heart with joy elate beats high,

And friends are near--

Forget not there is one will ever be

Glad of thy gladness; cast a thought on me.

And when the darksome days

Of age or ill

The bright and cheering rays

Of hope shall chill,

Think there is one whose love can never be

Changed with Time's changes--oh remember me.

E. A. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE SEA BIRD'S REVEL.

BY GILES McQUIGGIN.

Look out upon the ocean wave--

Look from the lonely shore;

See how the mountain billows rave,

Hark how the waters roar!

Darkly hangs the tempest cloud,

From windward to the lee;

The thunder mutters hoarse and loud

Above the foaming sea.

'Tis nature in her revel hour--

She sweeps a stormy wing;

Old Ocean trembles at her power,

As wild his surges fling.

The sea bird rides upon her wrath,

Rocks on the tempest's ire--

Surveys the lurid lightning's path,

And shouts amid its fire.

The proud bird breasts the storm alone,

Mounts through its misty height--

The summit is his lofty throne,

The thunder his delight.

While gazing on the horrors round,

His burning eye-balls glare;

King of the storm, with lightnings crown'd,

He fears no terrors there.

When he for very gladness shrieks,

It deafens ocean's roar--

O'er nature in her wildest freaks

The proud storm king may soar.

Ride on aerial charioteer,

The tempest hails thy form;

Thou lov'st a sky forever clear,

Go seek it through the storm.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

I MET THEE BY MOONLIGHT ALONE.

BY M. S. LOVETT.

_Air_--"Oh! meet me by moonlight alone."

I met thee by moonlight alone,

The blue sky was cloudless above;

And dew-gems around us were thrown,

To gladden our meeting of love.

I met thee by moonlight alone,

My heart trusting wholly to thee:

Was it prudent? Alas! I will own

That I asked not, for _thou_ wast with me.

How buoyant my heart, and how sweet

The zephyrs that waved through my hair!

Low murmured the stream at my feet,

Its tale to the summer-night air.

But ah! did the sky cease to smile?

The Moon--were her silver rays gone?

Did _each_ beauty but tarry the while

We met--love, by moonlight alone?

Oh no, for the sky is still bright,

The dew-drops still nightly have shone:

On _me_ fell the darkness and blight:

I met thee by moonlight alone!

And the pale Moon while wand'ring above,

Oft hears its sad votaries own,

That too often the Altar of Love

Is lighted by moonlight alone.

{765}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LETTERS FROM A SISTER.

LETTER TWENTY-FIRST.

Places of Protestant Worship in Paris--History of Mr. Lewis Way an

English Divine.

PARIS, ----.

_Dear Jane_:

Here is an interesting narrative to amuse you, which I have just heard

related. In the _Champs Elysées_, there stands a beautiful protestant

chapel, where we attend divine service almost every Sabbath; if we do

not go there, we repair to the oratorio, a protestant church in the

Rue St. Honoré, or to the English Ambassador's, where there is public

worship every Sunday, or to another temple consecrated to our form of

worship, (the Church of the Visitation,) in the Rue Saint Antoine.

Bishop Luscombe officiates at the oratorio, and Mr. Wilkes, a

Presbyterian clergyman, assembles his congregation in an upper

apartment adjoining the church. The history in question is that of the

Rev. Mr. Lewis Way, who owns the chapel in the Champs Elysées and

preaches there; he is extremely eloquent and energetic, and speaks

plain truths to his flock without hesitation, when necessary. It is

said that when a youth he had an ardent desire to be educated for the

church, but his parents being extremely poor, and not having any

relatives to assist him, he became a student of law at the temple, and

was one morning proceeding to his labors, when he observed his own

name inscribed on the door plate of a handsome dwelling. He

immediately ascended the steps and requested to speak with the master

of the house, and on his appearance, after apologizing for the liberty

he was taking, told his story, represented his forlorn situation, and

begged to be informed if there was any relationship between them. On

comparing notes he found there was _not_ and was taking leave, but the

gentleman, who was an odd old bachelor, insisted on his prolonging his

visit, and in the interim, sent a trusty servant to inquire his

character of the lawyer under whom he studied, and who happened to be

the one whom he (Mr. Way, _Senior_,) usually employed. The lawyer's

answer was highly creditable to his pupil, and from that moment the

old gentleman adopted him, enabled him to take orders, and dying soon

afterwards, bequeathed him a fortune of 300,000 pounds sterling. The

sudden accession of such wealth affected his brain, and he was crazy

for several years. Now, _I_ think he must have been so, when he

introduced himself so strangely to his benefactor; but be that as it

may, on regaining his senses, he resolved to make Paris his future

home, and to devote his time to the protestants in that city. He

accordingly came over here, purchased the hotel Marboeuf his present

abode, and converted a portion of it into the tasteful little chapel,

where he addresses and edifies a numerous congregation on all holy

days. The seats of the chapel are covered with cerulean velvet, the

windows ornamented with paintings, and there is a good organ, upon

which one of his daughters (for he has married and has several

children,) always performs. A shady and pleasant garden adds to the

beauty and comfort of the place. And thus ends my story, for the truth

of which remember I do not vouch. But as I have had it told to me,--so

I have detailed it unto thee; and with this flourishing rhyme

conclude.

Yours,

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER TWENTY-SECOND.

Excursion to Lagrange--Count de Tracy and Madame La Fayette--Theatre

of Monsieur Compte--Chinese Baths.

PARIS, ----.

I thank you beloved sister! for your affectionate letter of the ----

instant, and shall not delay answering it, for I am impatient to

inform you of our recent agreeable excursion to Lagrange. On Friday,

we availed ourselves of the kind General's invitation, and rising very

early, commenced our journey to his castle. We partook of coffee,

eggs, and bread and butter, at a village some leagues hence, and

having rested the horses, went on so rapidly as to reach Lagrange in

time for dinner; met with a cordial reception from all the family, and

were introduced to several distinguished guests. Among these, were the

venerable Count de Tracy and the celebrated Monsieur Constant. The

former is the father of Madame G. Lafayette, and a charming old

gentleman he is. The latter, the intimate friend of Madame de Stael

and the leader of the liberal party in the Chamber of Deputies, I have

described to you in a previous letter. Madame George Lafayette is the

presiding hostess of Lagrange, and has uncommonly affable and

affectionate manners; indeed the whole family (as I have already

remarked) are extremely amiable, and so charitable, that many poor

persons in their neighborhood are supported by their bounty. Madame

Lafayette Senior, you know, died of a malady contracted by her, in the

damp and noxious dungeon of Olmutz, while she shared her husband's

captivity. Her memory is deservedly venerated by him, and I am told

that he cannot speak of her, without shedding tears of sorrow and

gratitude, at the recollection of her sufferings and self-sacrifice

for his sake. He shewed us a miniature of their jailor, which was

taken by his eldest daughter, Madame de Maubourg, during their

imprisonment, in the following singular manner. She drew it first on

her thumb nail with a _pin_, not being allowed a pencil or paper;

however, having found means to obtain a piece of crayon and a blank

leaf from a book, she copied the head sketched on her nail, and as the

resemblance was striking, her father has since had it painted in oil

colors, by an artist, who has enlarged the design; by portraying the

old Cerberus with a huge bunch of keys, and in the act of unlocking

the prison door. It is quite an interesting little picture.

I will now describe the farm, for we examined all parts of it. Order

and neatness reign throughout the domain, and the General himself sees

that nothing is neglected. He has a numerous flock of merino sheep,

well guarded by a shepherd and two faithful dogs. Their sagacity and

vigilance are remarkable; if one of the flock separated itself from

the others only a few feet, these dogs would observe it in an instant,

and hasten to drive back the wanderer to its place, which they always

did with evident tenderness. The horses, cows and swine were in a

thriving condition, looking contented, fat and sleek. The poultry yard

contains foreign as well as domestic fowls; they are accommodated

according to their habits, and form an amusing spectacle. The

regulations of the kitchen, the dairy, the ice-house, stables and

pig-styes, are admirable, and you may tell Albert that I advise him to

come over and take a lesson in such useful {766} arrangements, though

I will answer for it, _you_ entertain so exalted an opinion of his

knowledge on all subjects, that you deem more acquirements or

improvements unnecessary. "Mais revenons au Chateau." It is a stone

building enclosing three sides of a square court. There are five

towers, one at each corner, and the fifth in the centre of the left

side of the castle, as you enter through a large arch which leads into

the square court; it is surrounded by a thickly spreading ivy, which

was planted by our great statesman, Charles James Fox, more than

twenty years ago, while on a visit to Lagrange. You approach the arch

by a bridge, thrown over a moat, bounding two sides of the castle, and

terminating in a small lake. Here may sometimes be seen floating an

American boat, that in 1824 beat an English one, in a race on the

water at New York, and was afterwards presented to the good General.

He is adored by the Americans and quite devoted to them and their

interests. His drawing room is decorated with the portraits of their

Presidents, and in an adjoining room may be seen in golden frames,

their declaration of independence and the farewell address of

Washington; also, the colors of the "Brandywine," the ship they sent

out with him when he returned from an excursion to their country four

years ago. These colors were presented to him by the officers of that

vessel, and the midshipmen gave him as a testimony of their respect, a

handsome silver urn, with an appropriate inscription. The library and

a cabinet of curiosities, are likewise supplied with American

productions. In the first, are beautiful engravings of various parts

of the United States, some American works and the cane of Washington;

and in the second, divers odd articles of Indian manufacture. On

Saturday we took leave of La Grange and its inmates; their kindness

and attention to us, and the pleasure we derived from our visit to

them, we can never forget; they will be associated with our most

agreeable reminiscences of France. Last night we went to the theatre

of Monsieur Compte, where all the performers are children; the little

creatures acted remarkably well and with great spirit, and we were

highly diverted. Monsieur Compte is considered the best ventriloquist

in Europe. Edgar and Sigismund have been taking lessons in swimming;

there are several excellent schools here for teaching the art, and one

for _ladies_; and Marcella, Leonora and myself had serious thoughts of

entering as pupils, but finally concluded we had enough of _water

works_ at the delightful "Chinese Baths," on Wednesdays and Saturdays,

our regular bathing days, when we usually rise extremely early, so as

to accomplish our purpose, and get back in time for breakfast. The

"Chinese Baths" are so called, because the building containing them,

is in the Chinese style; in front is a parterre of flowers, and beyond

this masses of artificial rocks, with a couple of Chinese figures

among them; the whole arrangement is singular and picturesque. The

H----'s have returned to town for a few weeks, and we are engaged to

pass this evening with them. I do not covet going however, for their

parties are said to be very stiff.

With our usual affectionate greetings to aunt Margaret, Albert, and

yourself, I conclude.

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER TWENTY-THIRD.

A sociable evening at the ex-Minister's of the Marine--Museum of

Artillery--Bay Market--Corn Market--St. Germain l'Auxerrois.

PARIS, ----.

_Dear Jane_:

Our stay here is drawing to a close and consequently during the last

ten days, we have been so occupied in shopping, visiting and

_sight-seeing_, that I have found it impossible to write; but here is

a rainy day and I take advantage of it to resume our correspondence.

We called yesterday to take leave of Monsieur and Madame de N----, and

they looked happier, I assure you, in their own residence in the

Faubourg du Roule, than they did when inhabiting the sumptuous edifice

of the "Admiralty," on the place "_Louis Quinze_." I suppose you have

learnt from the newspapers that Monsieur de N---- thought it prudent

to resign his office, and has been succeeded by Monsieur ----.

We found him and Madame de N---- surrounded by friends, who had

accidentally dropped in as well as ourselves, and the evening being

sultry, the company were regaled with delicious _sorbets_ and iced

creams. _Ecarté_ was soon introduced among the elder gentry, and

several of Mr. de Neuville's young nieces being there, our brothers

and two other youthful beaux, the girls and myself joined them in

playing "Tierce" and Blindman's-buff in the saloon. We enjoyed

ourselves thus, till quite a late hour. One of the most curious and

interesting places that has recently attracted our attention, is the

"Museum of Artillery," in the street of the University. It is the

depôt of a great variety of antique armor, ordnance and implements of

war, and among the first we beheld the coat of mail of many a famous

champion and that of Joan of Arc, which we thought uncommonly large to

fit a woman. Every article is kept beautifully neat and bright, and a

number of the things are labelled, which saves the trouble of a guide

to explain their names and use. Another most singular place we have

seen is the "_Marché du Vieux Linge_," or "rag fair." This is an

enormous building divided into four halls, containing 800 stalls or

petty shops. And oh! the queer articles that are in these

shops!--tawdry second hand hats and dresses--old shoes, old gloves,

old ribbons, old trunks, old carpets, bedding, chairs, and other

furniture. These castaways are vamped up for sale, and wo betide the

unfortunate wight whose path lies through or near the market; he is

sure to be assailed and deafened with loud importunities from every

quarter, to "come and buy," and may think himself lucky if he be not

seized and absolutely forced into some of the stalls, to behold their

wonders. _We_ went out of mere curiosity and were glad to hurry out as

quickly as our feet could carry us, the people were so rude and

presuming. The "Halle au Blé," or "corn market," well merits

examination. It is a large circular edifice of stone, enclosing one

immense hall with a vaulted roof of sheet iron supported on an immense

framing of cast iron; from a window in the centre of which the light

descends. The bags of corn are heaped in enormous masses at regular

distances, and through the myriad of narrow passages formed by these

you thread your way. To-day we visited the venerable church of St.

Germain l'Auxerrois, the bell of which tolled the signal for the

Catholics to commence their direful murders on the eve of St.

Bartholomew, in 1572. It was {767} once rich in pictures and statues;

at present, it is remarkable only for its antiquity and the curious

carving around its portal. Its founder was the cruel and superstitious

Childebert, and two statues of stone, near the entrance, are said to

represent him and his wife. On the _fête de_ Dieu, the royal family

walk there in procession from the palace of the Tuilleries, to hear

mass. They are magnificently arrayed and attended by a concourse of

priests and soldiers, and by a band of females clad in white, who

strew roses in their path. From St. Germain, we hastened to the palace

of the fine arts on the quay Conti. For an account of it, you must

wait till my next letter reaches you; this, you perceive, is almost

full, so while I have room, I had better insert the name of your

attached

LEONTINE.

* * * * *

LETTER TWENTY-FOURTH.

Packers--The Muette de Portici--The Whale--Place Louis

Quinze--Manufacture of Chocolate--Iced Creams--Champs de

Mars--Racing--Palace of the Fine Arts and Royal Academy or Institute.

PARIS, ----.

"What! again at your pen Leontine?" inquires Marcella, "assuredly you

are a most indefatigable scribe or an exceedingly devoted sister!"

"Leave out the _or_," I answer, "for I am _both_." You, dearest Jane,

can bear witness to the truth of my assertion, and I hope it will ever

be my pride to merit the second appellation. Indeed it would be

shameful if I did not endeavor to deserve it, as you continually set

me the example. This will be my last letter from Paris, for the

signals of our departure are resounding through the saloon, from the

hammers of the packers there busily engaged. Here, for five francs,

you may have your fine dresses and hats, &c. &c. safely and neatly

arranged for travelling, by men who thus gain their living, and it is

surprising with what adroitness and fitness they adjust each article,

depositing more in _one_ box or trunk than we could in _two_, and

fixing every thing so securely that it cannot get injured, no matter

how violent the motion of the carriage may be. On Wednesday, we shall

set out for the borders of the Rhine. Papa has determined to proceed

to Strasbourg and thence descend the river as far as Nimueguen, where

we shall abandon the steamboat for the stage and commence our tour

through Holland. How I shall regret to part with the Danvilles! Poor

Edgar, it will cost him a severe pang to bid farewell to Marcella,

though I verily believe she has refused him, judging from certain

indescribable, but very _expressive_ symptoms in their recent

behaviour towards each other. Alas! we shall probably never see her

again. Mr. Danville has promised to rejoin us at Morven Lodge, about

the period of your marriage. Papa without assigning the reason of his

request has urged him to be with us there by the 10th of April, but I

have been so loquacious as to explain all to Leonora, and we have

decided on acting as bride's maids, which you must own is extremely

kind. Pray don't scold me in your next, for tattling, and don't tell

Albert of my volubility; you know, he always insists that the stale

and foolish saying, "a woman cannot keep a secret," is correct, and he

would be sure to crow over my frailty. This evening we are going to

see the opera of the "_Muette de Portici_," in which there is a

representation of Mount Vesuvius in a state of eruption, and the

imitation is considered excellent and wonderful. Our party will be

large, but I suspect not gay, for the reflection, that in two days we

shall be far separated, will doubtless cast a gloom over the mind of

each. As for me, I cannot bear to dwell upon the subject in thought or

word, so will hasten to another. Who should drop in upon us yesterday

evening, while we were at tea, but Ernestus Blanford, and he rendered

himself doubly welcome by delivering your despatches. Thank you for my

share of them and for the beautiful embroidered reticule. Mamma is

much pleased with her's. Really, you are cunningly skilled in

producing, _Love in a Mist_, _Heart's Ease and Bachelor's Buttons_;

may you be as successful in creating the first and second in the

hymeneal state; for the third, there will then be no demand. Our

father and brothers desire their acknowledgments for the watch guards

you wove them, and Sigismund bids me say, that if the chains with

which you have encircled Albert are as soft and silken as those just

received, he is no longer amazed at his tame submission to thraldom.

We took a farewell drive through the city this morning, and visited

the whale now exhibiting on the place "Louis Quinze," in a neat

edifice erected for its reception; and what do you think of their

having converted the poor dead monster into a reading room. It is a

fact, that the interior of the carcass is decorated and furnished for

that purpose, and is the resort of the newsmonger as well as the

curious! It was on the place "Louis Quinze," (from the centre of

which, the view of palaces, avenues, colonnades and bridges, is

superb) that the royal martyrs and thousands of other victims of the

reign of terror, met their fate, at the foot of a statue of Liberty,

erected during that bloody period on the ruins of an equestrian statue

of Louis XV. This was overthrown by the remorseless revolutionists,

although it was universally regarded as an exquisite piece of

sculpture, (especially the horse) and was the chéf d'oeuvre of

Bouchardon. Issuing like Jonah from the whale, but probably with less

_velocity_, we went to the Bazaar to purchase some rolls of sweet

chocolate, which we are advised to carry with us, as being agreeable

and wholesome to eat early in the morning, when travelling a long

distance to breakfast. While the woman who sold it was tying up the

package, we questioned her about the conflagration of the old Bazaar,

that happened several years ago, and among other things she told us

that two Anacondas, confined in a room of the building, perished in

the flames, and during their torments shrieked like human creatures.

It is quite amusing to remark the variety of forms into which

chocolate is cast here. Tiny boots and shoes, pots and kettles, bugs

and nuts, little men and little women, and numerous other objects are

represented by the ingenious manufacturer of that luxury. As for the

bugs with their wire legs, and the divers sorts of nuts, you can

distinguish them from real ones, only by the touch or taste. While on

the subject of eatables, let me mention the peculiar manner in which

iced creams are served at balls and parties. Each kind is moulded into

the shape of the fruit with which it is flavored, and frequently a

peach or apple dexterously tinged with red, to render the semblance of

nature more complete. The plates containing them are usually in the

form of a golden grape leaf; the stem turned up constitutes a handle,

and golden spoons accord with the burnished leaf. When an

entertainment is given, it is {768} only necessary for the master or

mistress to send a mandate for the requisite number of ices, to

Tortoni, Hardi, or any other adept in the _freezing_ art, and at the

appointed hour they arrive, disposed in the tasteful order just

described.

We have lately witnessed a race on the "Field of Mars," the spot

appropriated to such sports and to military parades. It is a vast

plain, in front of the military school, and is capable of admitting

the evolutions of 10,000 soldiers within its boundaries. These consist

of rows of trees and a verdant bank, or a wide wall of turfed earth,

which affords a safe and convenient station for the spectators of the

scene below. The race road is immediately beneath the bank, and

separated from the area of the plain by stone pillars connected with

iron chains--beyond these the carriages and horsemen are ranged. We

observed several ladies dashing about on horseback at a fearless rate,

and among them the pretty Mrs. W. the Yankee wife of a rich banker. On

one side there was a pavillion wherein we procured seats, and the

royal family occupied another near it, which had been prepared for

them. The little duke of Bordeaux and his youthful sister, were in

extacies whenever the horses ran by. The chief contention was between

a courser of Monsieur Casimir Perier and one belonging to Lord

Seymour. The French steed gained the victory much to the delight of

the populace. But some Englishmen surmised that if Purdy had been

there, matters would have ended differently. I asked Mr. Danville who

they meant by Purdy, and he informed me that he is a countryman of

ours, who once distinguished himself in America, (at the city of New

York, I think he said,) by mounting a famous horse, _ycleped Eclipse_,

and wresting the palm from Henry, a celebrated racer of the South. At

present I must fulfil my promise of describing to you the "palace of

the arts," anciently termed the college of the four nations, because

it was designed by its founder Cardinal Mazarin, for the reception of

pupils from among the four nations subdued by Louis the great. It is a

handsome structure, extending for many yards along the borders of the

Seine. Its designation has been changed and it is now used by the

"Royal Academy or Institute," for their private meetings and general

assemblies. This corps of Savans was established in the reign of

Louis, and is composed of the élite of the philosophers, artists and

literary men of the kingdom. They correspond with the literati of all

countries, and have done much in the cause of literature and the arts

and sciences. They have ranged themselves into four classes; the first

is devoted to the improvement of natural philosophy, chemistry and

mathematics, and is denominated the "Academy of Sciences;" the second

makes the language and literature of France its care, and is called

the "French Academy;" the third applies itself to history and ancient

learning, and bears the title of the "Academy of Inscriptions and

Belles Lettres," and the fourth, the "Academy of the Fine Arts," is

employed on music, painting, sculpture and architecture. The classes

meet separately once a week, and hold each general annual association,

in the months of March, April, July and October; at which times prizes

are awarded by the Academy of the Fine Arts, to such as deserve them;

who are afterwards permitted to repair to Rome and remain there some

years to improve themselves in their vocations, the government paying

their expenses. The hall in which the general meetings are held, was

formerly a chapel; beneath it Cardinal Mazarin lies buried. The

members wear a costume of black and green, and the successful

candidates are sometimes crowned with wreaths of laurel. The hall and

several apartments leading to it, are decorated with statues of

various distinguished characters,--as Bossuet, Fenelon, Sully, Pascal,

Descartes, Rollin, Molière, and others, whose names are venerated by

the learned and good. The post hour has arrived, so farewell to my

"bonny Jean"--we shall soon be still farther from you, but any where

and every where I shall still be your devoted sister

LEONTINE.

The following specimen of a translation of Homer's Iliad, by the late

William Munford, is now ushered before the public for the first time.

We have been permitted to make this extract from the work, and will

continue to present our readers with other specimens in our succeeding

numbers. It is needless to say to our Virginia readers who the author

was, for he was known to the state at large, not only as one of the

best of men, but as a most laborious public servant, and as a scholar

of deep research and profound learning. His fame as a poet depends

upon the reception which this translation may meet with. Of the work,

the author himself has expressed the hope, that "the _lovers_ of HOMER

will not be unwilling to behold their favorite author arrayed in such

various suits of apparel, as may be furnished by artists of different

tastes. Pope has equipped him in the fashionable style of a modern

fine gentleman;--Cowper displays him (like his own Ulysses) 'in rags

unseemly,' or in the uncouth garb of a savage. Surely, then, there is

room for an effort to introduce him to the acquaintance of my

countrymen, in the simple, yet graceful and venerable costume of his

own heroic times. The design, at least, will be admitted to be good,

however imperfect the execution."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE SCENE BETWEEN HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.