This said, the chief of heroes, Hector, thence
Departing, soon his splendid palace reach'd
And courts commodious:--but he found not there
His white-arm'd princess, fair Andromache;--
For, with her child and maid of graceful garb,
She stood in Ilion's tower, moaning sad,
Weeping and sighing.--Finding not within
His blameless wife, he on his threshold stood,
And of his servants, thus inquiry made.
Be quick, and tell me truly; whither went
My lovely consort, fair Andromache?--
To any of my sisters, did she go;--
Or brother's wives;--or to Minerva's fane,
Where other Trojan dames with flowing hair,
The dreadful Goddess by their prayers appease?
His household's faithful governess replied;--
Oh Hector, (since thou bidst me tell thee true,)
To none of all thy sisters did she go,
Or brother's wives;--nor to Minerva's fane,
Where other Trojan dames with flowing hair,
The dreadful Goddess by their prayers appease:--
But she is gone to Ilion's lofty tower, {769}
Urg'd by the direful news, that in the field
The Trojans suffer much, and Greeks prevail.
Alarm'd and seeming frantic, to the wall
She hurried, and the nurse her infant bore.
So spake the prudent dame.--Impetuous, thence
Great Hector rush'd, retracing (through the streets
With beauteous buildings grac'd,) his former way.
But, through the spacious city, when he reach'd
The Scoean portals, whence into the field
He meant to hasten, there his faithful wife
Andromache, to meet her Hector ran;--
His wife with wealthy dowry, daughter fair
Of fam'd Eëtion,--chief magnanimous,
Who dwelt, in Hypoplacus' sylvan land,
At Hypoplacian Thebes,--Cilicia's king;--
His daughter wedded Hector great in arms,
And now to meet him sprang:--with her the nurse,
Who, in her bosom, bore the tender babe,
Their only son, and joy of Hector's heart,--
Who, bright in youthful beauty, like a star
Resplendent shone.--Scamandrius was the name
That Hector gave him;--others call'd the boy
Astyanax, in honor of his sire,
Sole guard and bulwark of the suff'ring town.
He smil'd in silence, gazing on his son!--
But sad Andromache beside him stood,
With anxious fondness shedding tender tears:
She, sorrowing, clasp'd his hand, and thus she spake:
Ah, rashly brave! thy courage will thyself
Destroy:--nor dost thou pity this thy son
In helpless infancy, and me thy wife,
Unhappy, doom'd a widow soon to be;
For soon the Greeks will slay thee,--all combined
Assailing:--but for me, of thee bereft,
Better it were to sink beneath the ground;--
For no relief or solace will be mine
When thou art dead; but unremitting grief.--
No more have I a father;--now no more
My honor'd mother lives.--Achilles slew
My father, and laid waste Cilician Thebes,
His town, well-peopled, grac'd with lofty gates.
He slew Eëtion;--yet, with rev'rence touch'd,
Despoil'd him not, but burn'd the breathless corse
With all it's splendid armor, and, above
It's ashes, heap'd a monument of earth.
The mountain nymphs, of Ægis-bearing Jove
Immortal daughters, planted round the tomb
A grove of elms, in honor of the dead.--
My brethren, too,--seven gallant heroes,--all
In one sad day, to Pluto's dark abode
Went down together; for the swift and strong
Achilles slew them all, among their herds
And fleecy flocks.--My mother, who had reigned
The queen of Hypoplacus' sylvan land,
Was hither brought, with other spoils of war,
And, for a ransom infinite, releas'd;--
But, home return'd, within her father's halls,
Diana's arrow pierc'd her mournful heart.--
Yet, Hector, thou alone, art all to me;--
Father, and honor'd mother, brother too;--
My husband dear, and partner of my youth.
Oh then, have pity now, and here remain
Upon this tower; lest thy hapless son
An orphan, and thy wife a widow be.--
The people, station at the fig-tree, where
The town is most accessible, and wall
May be ascended:--there, a fierce assault,
The bravest of our foes have thrice essayed;--
The two Ajaces, fam'd Idomeneus,
Th' Atridæ also, and the mighty son
Of Tydeus;--whether by some soothsay'r mov'd
In heavenly tokens skill'd, or their own minds
Impelling them with animating hope.
To her the mighty Hector made reply:--
All thou hast said, employs my thoughtful mind.
But, from the Trojans, much I dread reproach,
And Trojan dames whose garments sweep the ground,
If, like a coward, I should shun the war:--
Nor does my soul to such disgrace incline;
Since, to be always bravest, I have learn'd,
And with the first of Troy to lead the fight;--
Asserting so, my father's lofty claim
To glory, and my own renown in arms:--
For well I know, in heart and mind convinc'd,
A day will come, when sacred Troy must fall,
And Priam, and the people of renown'd
Spear-practis'd Priam!--Yet, for this to me
Not such concern arises;--not the woes
Of all the Trojans;--not my mother's griefs;--
Not royal Priam's, nor my brethren's death,
Many and brave, (who, slain by cruel foes,
Will be laid low in dust,)--so wring my heart,
As thy distress, when some one of the Greeks
In brazen armor clad, will drive thee hence,
Thy days of freedom gone, a weeping slave!--
Perhaps, at Argos, thou may'st ply the loom
For some proud mistress, or may'st water bring
From Messa's or Hyperia's fountain;--sad,
And much reluctant, stooping to the weight
Of hard necessity; and some one, then,
Seeing thee weep, will say--"behold the wife
Of Hector, who was first in martial might
Of all the warlike Trojans, when they fought
Around the walls of Ilion!"--So will speak
Some heedless passer by, and grief renew'd
Excite in thee, for such an husband lost,
Whose arm could slavery's evil day avert.
But me, may then an heap of earth conceal
Within the silent tomb, before I hear
Thy shrieks of terror and captivity.
This said, illustrious Hector stretched his arms
To take his child; but, to the nurse's breast
The babe clung crying, hiding in her robe
His little face;--affrighted to behold
His father's awful aspect;--fearing too,
The brazen helm, and crest with horse-hair crown'd,
Which, nodding dreadful from its lofty cone,
Alarm'd him!--Sweetly, then, the father smil'd,
And sweetly smil'd the mother!--Soon the chief
Remov'd the threat'ning helmet from his head,
And plac'd it on the ground, all-beaming bright.
Then, having fondly kiss'd his son belov'd,
And toss'd him playfully, he thus, to Jove
And all th' immortals, pray'd:--Oh grant me, Jove,
And other powers divine, that this my son
May be, (as I am,) of the Trojan race
In glory chief!--So let him be renown'd
For warlike prowess, and commanding sway,
With power and wisdom join'd; of Ilion king!
And may his people say, "This chief excels {770}
His father, greatly;" when, from fields of fame
Triumphant he returns, bearing aloft
The bloody spoils, (some hostile hero slain,)
And his fond mother's heart expands with joy.
He said, and plac'd his child within the arms
Of his beloved spouse:--she him receiv'd,
And softly on her fragrant bosom laid,
Smiling with tearful eyes.--To pity mov'd,
Her husband saw:--with kind consoling hand
He wip'd the tears away, and thus he spake.
My dearest love! grieve not thy mind for me
Excessively!--no man can send me hence
To Pluto's hall, before th' appointed time;--
And surely, none, of all the human race,
(Base, or e'en brave,) has ever shunn'd his fate;
His fate fore-doom'd when first he saw the light.
But now, (returning home,) thy works attend,
The loom and distaff, and command thy maids
To household duties;--while the war shall be
Of _men_ the care;--of all indeed,--but most
The care of _me_, of all in Ilion born.
So saying, Hector glorious chieftain took
His crested helm again.--His wife belov'd
Homeward return'd; but often turned her head,
With retrospective eye, and tears profuse.
At length she reach'd the palace of her lord,--
The stately palace with commodious rooms,
Of Hector terror of his foes, and found
Her numerous maids within; among them all,
Exciting sorrow!--They, with doleful cries,
Hector (tho' living still) as dead, bewailed,
In his own house;--expecting never more
To see the chief, returning from the war,
Escap'd the strength and valor of the Greeks.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE DOOR-LATCH.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A MARRIED MAN.
"Go back and shut that door!" roared I in a voice of thunder.
"How can you, my dear," said Julia, with a supplicating glance, "speak
so _very_ loud, when I have just told you that my head is bursting
with pain."
"Because," said I, "I can bear it no longer. It is now ten years since
we moved into this room, and ten times every day have I been compelled
to get up and shut that door after one and another. I have talked--and
talked--but it is all of no use: the door still stands wide open, and
I cannot bear it--No! and I _wont_ bear it any longer--I'll sell the
house sooner than endure it another week."
Her tiny white hand was pressed against her throbbing forehead, as I
finished the sentence with a glance at her of undissembled sternness,
and the mild look of patient suffering and imploring submission with
which she returned my angry frown--it cut me to the heart! I could
read my own death warrant at this very hour with less of pain than I
felt at that moment, as she raised her blue eyes glistening with
suppressed tears, and with all the innocence and affection of an
expiring saint, begged me in the silent eloquence of nature to spare
her whom I had promised to "cherish and to love."
"I have never seen you troubled," said she, (uncomplaining spirit!
there was no emphasis--no! not the _least_, on the word _troubled_!)
"I have never seen you troubled at any thing except that door--and
gladly would I remedy it, but you know that I cannot. Were a very
little filed from the inside of the catch it would shut without
difficulty--I should never think of it," added she after a pause, "on
my own account, but it causes you so much vexation."
It was true as she had said, that I had felt more anger in consequence
of that unfortunate door than all the other untoward events which I
had experienced from the time of my marriage. A _heavy_ loss--a _sore_
disappointment--a _great_ calamity, I could endure with composure. The
trial required philosophy for its support, and the exercise of
philosophy was a gratification to pride. But a door-latch! What
occasion could that give for philosophy? None, and therefore I let it
gall me _to the quick_!!! It was, as I observed, so easy to shut it,
with a little care--such a _little_ thing, if only attended to.
"True!" whispered Philosophy in my ear, "but such a 'little thing' to
get angry about! such a 'little thing' to make you miserable for an
hour every day! for shame, Mr. Plowman!" To tell the truth I did begin
to feel a little ashamed when I recollected how much unhappiness it
had caused not only myself--but _through_ me my dearer wife.
"I declare, my dear!" said I, "that if that door-latch had only been
filed ten years ago, it would have saved each of us one year of pain
before this time!"
Thomas had brought in a file before my speech was finished, and in a
few moments the door shut as easily and firmly as ever door did. I
swung it a few times on the hinges with an air of triumph, and I
verily believe that the work of that single moment conferred more
happiness on Julia as well as myself, than all his blood-bought
triumphs ever yielded to the conqueror.
"The root of bitterness," said I, "is removed at last, and I can only
wonder at my own stupidity in not thinking of the simple remedy
before--but Heaven forgive me! I had entirely forgotten your headache:
the sound of that file must have been _torture_ to you!"
She smiled sweetly as she leaned her head on my shoulder,
declaring--although her forehead burnt my hand, and the blood was
_raging_ through her veins, that it was "quite cured, _since the door
shut so easily_!!" Uncomplaining, devoted, self-sacrificing treasure
of my heart! How could I do less than clasp her to my bosom and swear
to cherish her with tenfold care, and pray--while I kissed away the
tear from her eye--that my own cruel thoughtlessness might never fill
its place with another.
Such pleasure was too rare and valuable to be interrupted at the
moment of its birth--so I look my arm chair from the corner, and
sitting down at the side of Julia, who, while she held my hand, looked
me in the face with very much of that expression of innocent delight,
which so rarely survives childhood. I pursued my cogitations somewhat
in the following order. "Life is made up of moments. Our happiness or
unhappiness during any one of these moments depends almost invariably
upon the merest _trifles_. If these momentary trifles are in the scale
of happiness, life is happy. Take care then of trifles, and _great_
events will take care of themselves. (Somewhere about here I began to
think _aloud_!) I lost a grandfather--an amiable, excellent, {771} and
most affectionate grandfather--and my grief was _great_. Nevertheless,
I do believe that if the _hard bottomed_ chair, [N. B. It was of white
oak.] in which I have sat for the last eight--yes! nine years--if this
chair had but been well covered with a good, soft sheepskin--that
sheepskin--purchased at the cost of ninepence,--would have saved me
from a greater grief than the death of my grandfather!"
"It is a mortifying reflection," said Julia, interrupting my
soliloquy, "and one which at first thought would seem to speak little
for your heart--yet a true one perhaps; and not more true with you
than with many others."
"And still," said I, "I am without the sheepskin. Why? Because the
pain endured in a single moment is so trifling that if we do not take
the trouble to add all the moments together and look at the pain _in
the aggregate_, one would hardly turn his hand upside down to be freed
from it."
"But why not purchase the sheepskin, now that you _have_ added the
moments together?" said she.
"After all my reflection I should never have thought of that but for
you. But a sheepskin! It will never do! A green velvet cushion may
answer instead; and as the old one in your rocking chair seems to be
somewhat worn I must even buy another for you."
"Oh! _green_ velvet by all means!" said she. "It will correspond so
well with the carpet and the new hearth rug which you promised me a
month since. That was to have _green_ for its border, you know."
I could not withstand the hint, and brought in the rug with the
cushions that evening--and, to one who has ever _seen_ my wife, I need
not say that the smile that lit up her face and beamed from her eye
was worth the price of a thousand.
G.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
DESART GRIEF.
BY LUCY T. JOHNSON.
There are no dews in desart lands--
No showers refresh their skies;
But oft the winds sweep o'er their sands,
And breathe their voiceless sighs
Thro' depths profound, where naught hath been
To glad the ever wearied scene.
So weeps the soul in ripened years,
Mid life's turmoil and grief;
When the last fount of balmy tears
Hath lent its last relief,--
And when the lips oft pour their sighs
O'er blighted hopes and broken ties.
O! in this world so full of tears,
There is not one for me--
The fountain of my early years,
Of heavenly drops so free,
Hath ceased to pour its natal tide
When cares oppress, or ills abide.
Where is the balm to Israel blest,
That Gilead gave of yore?
Can it not sooth the heart to rest
As it hath done before?
Methinks I hear a voice doth say--
Pray thou, in fervent meekness pray.
Tis done--that prayer was not in vain;
Its incense reached to heaven;
And sweet's the joy that springs again
In chaste emotion given.
Flow on, flow on, ye balmy tears,
As ye have flow'd in other years.
So falls the dew on desart sands,
And showers refresh their skies,
When from the founts of distant lands
Some grateful mist may rise,
And pour its fresh'ning breath at last
On all the melancholy waste.
_Elfin Moor, Va. September 1835_.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SONG OF THE PIRATE'S WIFE,
ON HER PASSAGE FROM CORUNNA TO NEW YORK.
Air--"Meeting of the Waters."
"The wife of the Spanish Pirate, Bernardo de Soto, hearing in Corunna,
in Spain, of the trial and condemnation of her husband in Boston,
immediately freighted a small schooner, and leaving her three
children, sailed for Boston. She visited Washington to intercede for
her husband, returned to New York, and hastened to Boston to afford
him the solace of her presence."
Adieu to the shores of my dear native clime,
The land of the olive and pale-tinted lime!
Your bright orange tree, and your clustering vine,
No pleasure can yield to this sad soul of mine.
I go from the land of my dear cottage-home--
My babes, they are there--from my babes I must roam;
A mother's fond heart, it hath bid them adieu,
And fatherless children left motherless too.
That cheek, from my own I have torn it away,
Unlock'd the dear arms that would force me to stay;
All eloquent, vainly, the big tears did flow,
The heart of the wife bade the mother to go.
Blow breezes! blow breezes! fill kindly the sail--
My panting heart leaps at the voice of the gale;
Swift onward! swift onward! his doom may be seal'd,
Unheard my petition, my love unreveal'd.
They're gone, the bright shores of my dear native clime,
The land of the olive and pale-tinted lime--
All tearless, bright shores, I can see you depart,
For stronger than death is the love of my heart.
The stain of his hands, though the crimson of blood,
That may not be blanch'd with the deep ocean-flood--
The sin of his soul against mercy and truth
Cannot wean from the pirate the wife of his youth.
For mercy! for mercy!--to offer my plea,
Nor ocean nor land can have terrors for me;
From country and home I can heedlessly part--
The cell of the pirate is home to my heart.
There's pardon! there's pardon! and long shall his life,
Unsullied by crime, be the bliss of his wife--
And blessed, thenceforward, most blessed shall be
The home of Senora, beneath the lime tree.
ELIZA.
_Maine_.
{772}
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
ANOTHER VISIT TO THE VIRGINIA SPRINGS
OR THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY HUMBUG, ESQ.
_A new version of an old story_.
Too much rest is rust,
There's ever cheer in changing;
We tyne by too much trust,
So we'll be up and ranging.
_Old Song_.
In order to recommend myself and the article, which, to use the
fashionable phraseology, is now being prepared for the Messenger, to
the favorable consideration of its readers, I beg leave to premise
that I am a gentleman of good education and respectable talents--that
I am in circumstances of ease and leisure, and what is a still
stronger recommendation at the present alarming crisis, I am both from
conviction and expediency, a decided anti-abolitionist. You must know,
Mr. Editor, that besides having been afflicted all my life with that
rabid propensity, which in classical dialect is called _cacoethes
scribendi_, I have been troubled with another inconvenient and rather
expensive malady, which I shall call the _cacoethes perigrinantis_, by
which I mean, that about the time of the dog-days I am generally beset
by an unconquerable desire for locomotion, an irresistible propensity
to change my place of abode and all its multiform incidents and
relations, and to launch forth as it were into a new creation--to look
abroad upon Nature and Nature's works, and to contemplate my
fellow-worms in some of their new antics and attitudes.
Accordingly, during the late summer, attracted by the fame of the
Virginia Springs and the salubrious region in which they lie, I
deposited my frame (none of the smallest) in one of those republican
vehicles called a mail coach, a true and happy invention by the way,
for bringing discordant spirits into close communion with one
another--an admirable machine for levelling all artificial
distinctions--a kind of itinerant temple where Patrician and Plebeian,
both masculine and feminine, where mountebank and statesman, puritan
and profligate, and all the moods and genders of character may nestle
together and worship at the same altar of democracy. But for certain
drawbacks and inconveniences which will readily suggest themselves to
the reader--such as the dangers of dislocation and fracture, and
sundry annoyances too tedious to mention--a man of observation like
myself would find it as agreeable to spend his summers in a stage
coach as any where else. It is a kind of moral Kaleidescope, where at
every turn some new combination or some curious variety in human
character is presented to the eye. It above all imparts a refreshing
hilarity to the spirits, which are too apt to stagnate when chained
down to one solitary spot on the earth's surface. But this is a
digression. Having deposited myself in the vehicle as before
mentioned, I shall not entertain the reader as is the custom with some
of the more learned fraternity of tourists, by long and elaborate
details of the several points of arrival and departure--by curious and
profound dissertations upon the philosophy of a coach wheel revolving
upon its axis--nor by beautiful and extatic bursts about the blue
skies and verdant meadows and lofty forests. Suffice it to say, that I
found myself on the evening of an August day, on the summit of the
Warm Spring Mountain which overlooks the first thermal fountain in the
Pilgrim's path to Hygeia. Here I commence my adventures. This is the
starting point of my story, and it is henceforth of course that I
shall expect my gentle reader to sharpen his attentive faculty--and as
Mark Anthony said to his countrymen at Cæsar's funeral, "lend me his
ears." Gently and by slow degrees had we surmounted the ascent of this
celebrated mountain, (celebrated at least in the Old Dominion and by
all travellers to the Springs,) and now we were about to pass down
into the valley of the warm waters. Kind reader, if your steps have
never led you thither, I must inform you that the descent on the
western side is most exceedingly and _unaccommodatingly_ abrupt. The
pilot, however, _alias_ driver, who in this instance at least
entertained some regard for his living freight, used the precaution of
_locking_, to speak technically, or rather of _shoeing_ one of his
hinder wheels--but no sooner had the yet untired steeds commenced
their downward course, (the coach with its ton weight at least of
flesh and bone rapidly following,) than spang went the lock chain
asunder! and away flew the mettlesome animals as fast as their heels
would carry them. _Now_, we plunged onward as if driving through the
mountain forest,--then, suddenly turning, rolled at some distance on
the margin of a frightful precipice, each moment expecting to be
dashed headlong down its angry side. Here gliding as swiftly as an
arrow over a tolerably smooth surface, and there jolting and rattling
over some rocky gutter, which communicated its jarring vibration to
each sensitive nerve--and then what confusion and consternation
within! There was my unlucky self, for example, tossed to and fro, in
a manner which reminded me of poor Sancho in the memorable blanket
scene. First thrown in one direction, I found one of my elbows
actually goring the side of a stout nullifier from the Palmetto
State--then hurled to the opposite point of the compass by another
pitch of the coach, I found myself in the act of suffocating a little
New Yorker, whom I took to be an abolitionist. Next, by another cross
movement, I detected myself almost in the lap of a fat middle aged
lady, who weighed at least thirty pounds more than myself, and
presently I came almost in contact with the lips of a rosy cheeked
damsel of seventeen, who was about to make her _debut_ at the White
Sulphur. And then what a crowding and jostling of knees, and what a
thumping and bruising of shins! The ladies screamed--the nullifier
roared and threatened, and the little Manhattaner protested that in
case of any serious accident to the party, the coroner's inquest would
be murder in the first degree against both the driver and proprietor.
As for me, I confess that my thoughts were multitudinous and not very
delightful. First I thought of Capt. John Gilpin, and wished most
heartily that I might come off as well as that renowned officer of the
London militia--then I thought of that silly old fellow Phoebus, who
from paternal weakness alone committed the reins of his golden chariot
to a foolish boy, and lastly I was harrowed in imagination at the
terrible idea of Ixion revolving forever on his infernal wheel.
Neither did I forget that classical sentence which flashed across my
memory, and which I fear is too true in more senses than that in which
the poet used it--
_Facilis descensus Averni_, &c.
Fortunately, however, the genius of terror passed over us without
exacting any of the usual sacrifices of broken bones and dislocated
limbs, and in a short time {773} our Palinurus (who to do him the
justice performed his part handsomely) landed us in front of the
spacious portico of the Warm Spring Hotel.
Every person in the world (I mean that portion of the world which goes
to the Virginia Springs,) who knows any thing of the great hotel at
which we stopped--knows that it is kept by Col. Fry--one of the most
polite, accommodating and facetious landlords that ever lived from the
time of "Mine Host of the Garter" down to the present day. He will not
only give you the best which his ample house affords, but he is always
ready to say a good thing with a good grace, in order, I suppose, to
put his guests in the most comfortable humor imaginable. The visitors
to the Springs however never remain long at the Colonel's Caravansera
at the commencement of the season. Those who come from the north and
east generally give "mine host" a passing salutation attended by a
stout promise to devour his substance as they return from their merry
circuit. He on the other hand is not backward in hastening their
return somewhat after the following manner. "After being well charged,
gentlemen, with Calwell's sulphur--well _salted_ by Erskine and
Caruthers--your pulsations equalized--and your expectations realized
by Burke--your palates feasted and _sweetened_ at the bubbling
fountain of friend Rogers--and your carcases _boiled_ and sweated by
Dr. Goode--you may then safely return and be _fried_ under my special
direction." All this terrible process it seems I was destined to
undergo, and accordingly I gave my valedictory blessing to the
Colonel, who take him for all in all is "a fellow of infinite jest and
most excellent humor." Being again reconciled to my mail coach,
notwithstanding recent alarms, I soon found myself alighted in the
spacious lawn of the far-famed _White Sulphur Springs_. All who visit
the mineral region are bound by a law more absolute than that of
gravitation to wend to this favorite spot. It is the great magnet
which alike attracts the way worn valetudinarian and the votary of
fashion. Imagination depicts it as the very elysium of hope and the
paradise of enjoyment! It is the _Almacks_ of watering places, where
all the dignitaries of the land--the learned and unlearned--the young,
the gay and the beautiful, submit to humiliation and sacrifice, in
order to gain admission. The multitudes who thronged the porches of
the pool of Bethseda, looked not with more anxiety for the coming of
the angel who troubled the waters, than do the hundreds who crowd
around King Calwell's throne, await the approving smile (the
_Introito_) of his principal Secretary of State. Woe be unto the
luckless wight who is found at a crisis of pressure, in a public
conveyance,--who does not bring along with him a flaming equipage and
attendants; he is laid on the shelf, or to use the customary phrase,
is _turned off_ with the same _sang froid_ with which a Netherlander
smokes his pipe, or a Westerner shoots his rifle. To me, however, the
stars were propitious, and when the little Grand Vizier tipt me the
nod of assent, I followed the guide to my dormitory with as light a
heart and elastic a step as if I had been appointed an ambassador with
full powers. What became of my stage companions I did not stop to
inquire. I was indeed so much elated with my own good fortune that for
once I forgot my usual benevolence, and it was not until the next
morning that I learned that a due proportion of them were sentenced to
perform quarantine in the neighborhood. Here then, said I to myself,
have I at last reached the goal of my desires! This is the spot where
so many thousands are sighing to come without being gratified--where
so many love sick city nymphs and whiskered beaux are panting to try
their luck in the wheel of life's lottery. What a lucky dog am I to
have gained admittance into this region of delight!
I continued to soliloquize in this rapturous strain, until Blackamore
(it was night fall on my arrival) conducted me to my chamber,--where,
being somewhat fatigued, I proposed to retire at an early hour and to
rise with the morning sun, renovated and refreshed for all the
countless enjoyments of the next day. The serene current of my
thoughts was, to be sure, somewhat ruffled, when on reaching my
apartment I found it to be a quadrangle of about eight feet
dimensions, with a cot and mattress on each side of the door arranged
for two lodgers. A couple of chairs, a wash stand, and a fractured
mirror about the size of the Jack of Spades, constituted the sum total
of the furniture. "My worthy descendant of Ethiop!" I exclaimed, "here
is some mistake! Do you take a gentleman of my size and respectability
into a room not larger than a closet? No fire either to warm my limbs
in the chilly night air of these mountains? I will forthwith complain
to the Prime Minister!"
"Lod masser," answered Syphax, or Juba or Jugurtha, (I forget his
name) "complaining will do no more good than saying nothing at all.
Take a nigger's advice and keep quiet--for you ought to remember, sir,
that mass Calwell _don't charge not a cent for board nor lodging_."
"Thou son of old Sycorax!" I replied fiercely, "do you take me for a
strolling mendicant? I will teach you and your master too, and his
Grand Vizier to boot, that I expect to pay for my accommodations, and
must therefore have them to my taste."
"You're a high larned gentleman," said old Cato, (I think Cato was the
name) "but nigger speaks the truth for all that. Mass Calwell not
charge a four pence ha'-penny for eating and sleeping, but he charge
_eight dollars a week for use of de water_."
Notwithstanding that I was upon the verge of permitting the organ of
my destructiveness to preponderate over that of my benevolence, I
could not forbear smiling at the old negro's logic. "Eight dollars a
week for water!" exclaimed I--"A fellow might drink his pint a day of
the very best London particular for one half of that sum--Well, sir,
we will try this precious elixir to-morrow morning. In the meantime,
thou worthy descendant of Ham, I shall be inexpressibly obliged to you
if you will lead me down to the drawing room, in order that I may warm
these wearied and rheumatic limbs before retiring to rest."
"Drawing room, sir," said old Cato, "I believe there is no such thing
in the whole establishment. If folks want _warming_ here they must go
to mass Plumb's bar room, which is way down in the cellar."
"Bar room, sir!--Bar room!" I retorted, "can it be possible that men,
rational men, can abandon the Spring--nature's own sweet medicinal
compound, for those deleterious mixtures--those pernicious products of
the corrupt art of distillation?" I forgot however that Cato had not
entered into all the elaborate views and {774} recondite reasonings of
the Temperance Society--and I forthwith checked the rein of my
imagination. I found that the best that I could do under all
circumstances, was to betake myself to rest, and although I must
confess that I had descended some few rounds on that golden ladder,
which like Jacob's of old, I verily believed had led to the seventh
heaven,--I consoled myself with the hope that _to-morrow_--delightful
to-morrow--would spread a new and brighter coloring over my prospects.
Cato being dismissed, I retired and slept soundly for the space of two
hours at least; at the expiration of which time, I was suddenly
startled by a noise immediately underneath me, which to my classical
fancy seemed to resemble the shrieks of the ancient Bacchæ, the
Priestesses of the Vine-loving God. Let that however pass! There was a
mixture of music in it, or of something intended for music, which kept
me in a tolerable humor and smoothed over those porcupine points which
began to shoot forth at the unpleasant disturbance to my repose. The
mystery was soon solved. Cato by direction of the Prime Minister, had
placed me directly over the ball room--a most confounded location to
be sure for a man fond of sleep--but still I thought that every one
was bound to make some sacrifice in order to promote the enjoyments of
others. "Tired nature's sweet restorer," lulled me once more into
oblivion as soon as the clamor and screeching (for music it was not)
had somewhat subsided. Again had the leaden God touched me with his
wand, and again were my slumbers invaded by the arrival of my fellow
lodger at midnight. _I began to descend a few more rounds on my golden
ladder._ I thought of Sancho's exclamation, "Blessed is the man who
first invented sleep!"--but what, thought I, is the invention worth if
a man cannot use it even in this free country.
Morning at last dawned--but oh! what a morning? The rain fell in
torrents--and the wind came whistling down the mountain hollows as if
old Æolus had resolved that his voice should be distinctly heard and
his strength clearly understood. What was I to do? To walk abroad was
impossible--so I even resolved to lay quietly ensconced in my cot,
_hard_ as it was, until my fellow lodger, who was one of the Saturnine
breed, should take his departure, and the merry bell should invite me
to breakfast. My naturally sweet temper had become a little soured at
my various discomforts--but my appetite was keen, and I thought with
the immortal dramatist, that "when the veins are unfilled, we are
neither apt to give nor forgive." When the hour arrived, I hastened
with the aid of umbrella and cloak to the banquetting hall. The crowd
had assembled in the long portico awaiting the signal of admission. A
few only of the fairer part of creation were interspersed, and
they--were any thing but fair. I presumed that the more delicate and
fragile of the sex would not encounter "the peltings of the pitiless
storm." The doors being opened, the multitude rushed in. What a
resistless force thought I, is caused by the concurrent movement of
400 human appetites about to engage at the breakfast table. It was a
new discovery in mechanical philosophy, and I felt confident that the
_momentum_ was at least equal to a hundred horse power. "Body of
Bacchus!" as the Italians say, what a furious set-on there was! I sat
at one end of the table in silent consternation! At length I ventured
to ask one waiter for a hot cup of coffee--of another I civilly
requested a chop--and a third I respectfully solicited to hand me a
roll. I might as well have addressed my language to the door post. The
menials rushed by me like a whirlwind. It seems, as I afterwards
learned, that every mother's son of them had been bribed to wait on
particular gentlemen; and if I had screamed at them loud enough to
rupture a blood vessel, the knaves would have been as deaf as adders.
At length I addressed myself to a juvenile looking man who was sitting
not far to my right, and who though young in years was evidently a
veteran in that sublime science called _Number One_; for I perceived
that by a good understanding with the members of the Kitchen Cabinet
and the black Alguazils of the breakfasting room, he had gathered
around him as many tit-bits as would have feasted a London Alderman.
"Pray sir," said I, "will you be so kind as to help me to one of those
extra dishes in your vicinity!" The youngster looked at me with
perfect amazement. I might as well have asked him for one of his
wisdom teeth! By the by, I am not certain that he had cut either of
them,--at all events I was confident of one thing, and that was, that
the youth had never graduated in good manners. So I let him pass. But
why relate my melancholy and fruitless efforts and my innumerable
rebuffs at the table. There I had to sit a full three quarters of an
hour at least, before my longing appetite was appeased. _Regaled_ it
was not,--unless a cold mutton chop which retained the flavor of the
wool, and a cup of decoction compounded by the rule of three grains of
coffee to a gallon of water--can be said to constitute the highest
felicity of eating.
I arose from the table and _descended a few more rounds on my gilded
ladder of hope_. What was I to do? The rain continued to fall in such
torrents that Neptune himself could not have surpassed them, had he
held his throne in the clouds. Cato had informed me the over night
that there was no drawing room--and I was cold--my limbs were
shivering. I resolved to visit the subterranean regions of the bar
room and post office. There, to my unutterable grief, I found groups
of individuals gathered together in such motley disorder, and withal
forming so complete a blockade to every avenue approaching the
fire--that I stood like a statue of despair. A cluster on my right
were discoursing in grandiloquent style on the recent discoveries in
the moon--another on my left were discussing the attempted
assassination of the King of the French--a third were denouncing the
whole army of abolitionists and lamenting that Tappan and Thompson did
not find it convenient to visit the White Sulphur Springs--a fourth
were denouncing the vengeance of Judge Lynch against the _Chevaliers
D'Industrie_--anglicè black legs,--a fifth were pouring a volley of
exterminating epithets upon the head of Amos Kendall and the Little
Magician; and a sixth, did not even spare his majesty King Calwell
himself and his minister of the home department, for putting them in
_Fly Row_ to be devoured by those _cantackerous_[1] vermin, the fleas.
I forgot that there was a seventh circle standing near Mr. Plumb's
cabinet--who were very intently engaged at the early hour of ten--not
in discussing domestic or foreign politics--lunar discoveries or
abolition--but with all the ardor which distinguished the disputants
on those several topics, {775} were trying experiments upon a quart
glass of genuine ice-crowned mint julep; and judging from the rapid
fall of the fluid in the vessel which contained it, I thought that
their experiments were likely to prove very successful. Unhappy me,
that I was unable to participate in any of these conversational or
bibaceous enjoyments! "I will not despair," thought I to myself, as
between the hours of eleven and twelve the elements had ceased their
strife, and a few spots of azure were already visible in the clouded
vault. Presently the monarch of day himself peeped out from behind the
black curtain which had hidden his shining countenance. I looked out
and saw multitudes hastening to the Spring. This, said I, is the grand
climacteric of my happiness!--now will I revel in the joys of that
ambrosial fount which will console me for the sorrows of
disappointment. The statue of the Nymph Hygeia[2] which surmounted the
dome of the Spring house, looked more white and beautiful, as
refreshed by the morning's shower bath she reflected the beams of her
venerable grandsire.[3] Down I went to the Spring--and whilst the
throng which preceded me were eagerly quaffing the delicious beverage,
I had leisure to survey their countenances and to gather materials for
reflection. It was evident that upon the pallid cheeks of some,
wasting consumption had fixed her fatal seal. Others bore the
jaundiced and cadaverous marks of obstructed bile. A few were the
hobbling victims of hereditary or acquired gout, and were either
suffering for the sour grapes which their fathers devoured, or paying
the penalties of their own luxurious indulgence. By far the greater
portion however had the ruddy complexions and smiling countenances of
health. "Wonderful elixir!" said I to myself--"incomparable panacea!
which not only cures all diseases, but is even beneficial to health
itself." I hastened to dip my glass in the flowing nectar, and realize
my fond anticipations. Alas! alas! the saying of the wise man of
Greece rushed upon my memory--"_Desire nothing too much!_" My dream of
bliss was suddenly dispelled! Instead of nectar, I smelt and tasted a
mixture of brimstone and eggs in a state of putrescency! What an
extinguisher to my air-built hopes and delusive fancies! And is it for
this, I exclaimed within myself, that hundreds and thousands toil up
craggy precipices and swelter under August suns? _Is it worth eight
dollars per week to partake of this "villainous compound?"_ Must we
sacrifice home and comfort, and real enjoyment, in order to
_sacrifice_ also to this heathen block[4] which sits upon the top of
the dome? Reason, prudence and common sense forbid it! I left the
Spring with a degree of disappointment bordering upon despair! In the
fulness of time the dinner bell tolled. It was indeed the knell of
sorrow rather than the merry peal which invites to innocent enjoyment.
Shall I describe that dinner?--no, not for a thousand dinners, "with
all their appliances and means to boot;"
"I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Whom you all know are _honorable_ men."
Neither will I describe what occurred "about the sixth hour when men
sit down to that nourishment they call supper." I went to my
apartment, all desolate and fireless as it was, to prepare for the
_Ball_.
[Footnote 1: See Mr. Forsyth's Speech in the United States Senate.]
[Footnote 2: The gift of Mr. Henderson, a wealthy gentleman of New
Orleans.]
[Footnote 3: Hygeia was the daughter of Æsculapius, and was
granddaughter of Apollo or the Sun.]
[Footnote 4: Mr. Henderson's White Lady was no doubt a liberal
donation; but alas! it is nothing but a block of painted wood.]
* * * * *
(_To be continued_.)
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
JOSEPHINE.
Suggested by a Scene in the Memoirs of the Empress Josephine.
In sorrow's stern and settled gloom,
The father sat--the silent tomb
Enclosed his earthly joy and pride;
His son, his only son had died.
His bosom heaved no natural sighs--
No tears relieved his burning eyes;
Alive to love's sweet voice no more,
The look of dark despair he wore:
Unmoved and hopeless, heeding not
Soft words of comfort, he forgot
That yet a source of joy remained--
That earth a blessing still contained.
Fair Buonaparte the mourner sought,
By pure maternal feelings taught--
Saw with an angel's pitying eye
His deep and hopeless agony.
She led, in all her beauty's pride,
His blooming daughter to his side;
To her kind heart his babe she press'd,
And kneeling thus before Decrest,
Seemed a bright spirit from above
Sent on some embassy of love.
Surprised and startled at the view,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
While tears, the balmy dew of grief,
Gave to his bursting heart relief--
And conscious, once again he blessed,
And clasped his children to his breast.
Yes, Josephine-'twas thine to feel
The joys of sympathy--to heal
The wounded heart,--while he whose fate
Heaven linked with thine, was _called_ the great,
Thine was true greatness of the soul,
Swayed by pure virtue's soft control:
Patient in sorrow--meek in power--
Beloved e'en to thy latest hour--
Thou hadst a bliss he could not know,--
Thou ne'er hadst caused a tear to flow.[1]
While victory's wreath his temples bound,
Thou wast with brighter honors crowned;
For by the poor thy name was blessed,
And thy sweet influence confessed
By him whose proud, ambitious mind,
Scarce earth's vast empire had confined.
Thou wast his solacer in care,
His triumphs thou didst fondly share--
And even when exiled from his throne,
Thy faithful heart was all his own.
A happier lot than his was thine!
Brighter thy name on Mem'ry's shrine!--
Whilst blood-stained laurels o'er him wave,
_Love_ placed the marble on thy grave![2]
E. A. S.
[Footnote 1: In her last hours she said, that "she had never caused a
single tear to flow."]
[Footnote 2: Her tomb was erected by her children.]
{776}
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO CLAUDIA.
Oh! dost thou remember that gladsome hour,
When I bowed the knee to thee,
And feigned the love of thy captive knight,
In playful mimicry?--
When the chiding word, on thy trembling lip,
Died, faintly murmuring, there,
And the ill-feigned smile, on thy blushing cheek,
Was drown'd in a bursting tear?
Ah! little thou think'st of the years of pain
I've paid for that giddy hour,
And the anxious thoughts that have ever lain
In its memory's magic power:
Yet, with all its sorrow, and all its care--
Its dreary and hopeless woe--
I'd not, its luxury of despair,
For the wide world's hopes forego.
'Tis my bosom's dearest and purest shrine,
And fountain of holiest thought,
Where all that is sacred or divine,
Is in deep devotion brought.
That smile and tear are the relics there--
Embalmed in tears of mine--
And the image that claims each fervent prayer,
Is that bright, fair form of thine.
Thou wast then just op'ning to life's gay bloom,
Like springtide's sweetest gleam;
And I played with thee, without thought of gloom,
Or of startling "Love's young dream."
'Twas the last glad hour of my mirthful youth--
My parting hour with thee--
And of thy sweet smile of light and truth,
'Twas the last I'll ever see.
Since, many a care-cloud of dark'ning blight
Hath shaded my youthful brow;
And many a sorrow of deadly weight,
Lies cold on my bosom now.
I've tested the falsehood of life's whole scope,
And heed not the clouds that lower;
But, mid all the wrecks of my early hope,
I cling to that parting hour.
Oft, from the dance, and its wild delight,
The world, and its hollow glee,
I've fled to the silence of moonlit night,
To live o'er that hour with thee.
'Tis the one bright spot in this wide, wide waste,
That blooms in its beauty yet;
And to that I'll turn, while life shall last,
From the world's whole love and hate.
_Augusta, Ga._
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
CANTILENA AMATORIA.
BY GILES McQUIGGIN.
Not love thee, Lelia! ask the rocks
That gird the mountain stream;
Whereon I've knelt and notch'd thy name,
By Cynthia's borrowed beam.
Not love thee! ask the moss that spreads
From Wye-head to the tide,
How oft I've roved at midnight's noon,
And thought of thee and sigh'd.
The ravine winding through the wood,
The terrace walk, the grove,
Are all the faithful witnesses
Of my enduring love.
Night's latest star can tell the times
I've watch'd it as it rose,
When none but it, lone wanderer,
Was watcher of my woes.
Pale Cynthia! how I've gaz'd on thee,
And thought of her whose frown
To sorrow's deepest ecstasy
Had borne my spirit down.
Her doubt is worse than death to one
Whose all of earthly bliss
Is in the smile that gives her love
In sweet return for his.
Not love thee, Lelia! witness Heaven,
How oft before thy throne,
I've bent in humble attitude,
To worship thee alone;
And her dear image intervened
Between my thoughts and thee:
Forgive the sin, her sacred form
Seemed dear as _thou_ to me.
Not love thee! when the life-blood chills
That warms my system now--
And to the monster's mandate all
My body's powers must bow,--
Then Lelia thou shalt just begin
A holier love to share;
And if there are blest homes on high,
We'll meet and feel it there.
CRITICAL NOTICES.
_Mephistopheles in England, or the Confessions of a Prime Minister, 2
vols. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard._ In a long poetical
dedication this book is inscribed "to the immortal spirit of the
illustrious Goethe"--and the design, title, and _machinery_ are
borrowed from the Faust of that writer. The author, whoever he may be,
is a man of talent, of fine poetical taste, and much general
erudition. But nothing less than the vitiated state of public feeling
in England could have induced him to lavish those great powers upon a
work of this nature. It abounds with the coarsest and most malignant
satire, at the same time evincing less of the power than of the _will_
for causticity--and being frequently most feeble when it attempts to
be the most severe. In this point it resembles the English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers. The most glaring defect, however, in the structure
of the book is its utter want of _keeping_. It appears, moreover, to
have no just object or end--unless indeed we choose to consider _that_
its object which is the object of the _hero proper_ himself--"the
hell-doomed son of Sin and Death Mephistopheles"--to cherish and
foster the malice, the heart-burnings, and all evil propensities of
our nature. The work must, therefore, as a whole be condemned,
notwithstanding the rare qualities which have been brought to its
composition. To prove that these qualities exist in a very high degree
in the writer {777} of Mephistopheles, it would only be necessary to
spread before our readers the scene of the Incantation in the Hartz.
It is replete with imagination of the most etherial kind--is written
with a glow and melody of language altogether inimitable--and bears
upon every sentence the impress of genius. It will be found a
seasonable relief from the mingled coxcombry, pedantry, and gall which
make up the body of the book. But we will confine ourselves at present
to an extract of a far different nature, as affording a better
exemplification of what we have previously said.
"Between the acts the curtain rose for a _divertisement_, in which the
incomparable Taglioni made her appearance. She was greeted with the
loudest demonstrations of popularity from her numerous patrons, which
she acknowledged by several graceful courtesies. 'Behold!' said
Mephistopheles, directing my attention to the evolutions of the
dancer, 'the progress of civilization. If all this were not so
graceful it would be indecent, and that such an exhibition has a moral
tendency is more than doubtful. Look at that young girl in the pit.
She has seen sufficient to crimson her face, neck, and shoulders with
a blush of shame, and she hides her head from a sight which has
shocked her sense of decency. There is no affectation there. She is an
innocent girl fresh from the country who never saw a ballet in her
life. Yet all the rest, man, woman and child, gaze on delighted. Every
glass is raised the more closely to watch the motions of the
figurante. Look!--she makes a succession of vaults, and her scanty
drapery flying above her hips discloses to her enraptured admirers the
beauty of her limbs. A thousand hands beat each other in approbation.
Now she pirouettes, and observe the tumult of applause which follows.
She stands on her left foot, on the point of her great toe nail,
extending her right leg until the top of her foot is in a parallel
line with the crown of her head. In this position she bends with an
appearance of the greatest ease, till her body nearly touches the
ground, and then gradually rises with the same infinite grace amid
enthusiastic bravos and ecstatic applause. Now on her tip-toe, her
right leg still extended, she moves slowly round, liberally extending
to all her patrons within sight the most favorable opportunity of
scrutinizing the graces of her figure, while the whole house testify
their infinite gratification at the sight by every species of
applause. Again she comes from the back of the stage, turning round
and round with the speed of a tetotum but with an indescribable and
fascinating grace that seems to turn the head of every young man in
the theatre. During the storm of approbation which ensues she stands
near the footlights, smiling, courtseying, and looking as modest as an
angel. Then comes Perrot, who is as much the idol of the ladies as
Taglioni is the goddess of the gentlemen. He leaps about as if his
feet were made of India rubber, and spins around as if he intended to
bore a hole with his toe in the floor of the stage. Then a little
pantomime love business takes place between the danseur and the
danseuse, and they twirl away, and glide along, and hold eloquent
discourse with their pliant limbs; and the affair ends by the
gentleman clasping the lady round the waist, while he, bending his
body in the most graceful attitude, so that his head shall come under
her left arm, looks up in apparent ecstacy into her smiling face as
the lady raised high above him on the extreme point of her left foot,
extends her right hand at right angles with her body, and looks down
admiringly upon her companion. Thus grouped the curtain drops, and
every one cries _bravo!_ thumps the floor with his stick, or beats his
palms together till such a din is raised as is absolutely deafening.'
"'She is a charming dancer,' I observed.
"'Yes'--replied he--'she understands the philosophy of her art better
than any of her contemporaries; it is to throw around sensuality such
a coloring of refinement as will divest it of its grossness. For this
she is paid a hundred pounds a night, and is allowed two benefits in
the season which generally average a thousand pounds each. While you
are thus liberal to a dancer, some of the worthiest of your ministers
of religion receive about fifty pounds per annum for wearing out their
lives for the good of your souls; and many of your most exalted men of
genius are left to starve. Such is the consistency of human nature.'"
* * * * *
_The District School, or National Education, by J. Orville Taylor.
Third Edition. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard._ This work has
met with universal approbation, and is worthy of it. The book was
first published only a short time ago, and the third impression will
speedily be exhausted, as parents have a direct personal concern in
the matter, and in the important truths, duties, and responsibilities,
herein pointed out. Mr. Taylor is entitled to the gratitude of his
countrymen for that beneficial impulse which his work has been, and
will be the means of giving to the great cause of General Education.
"If a parent," says Mr. Taylor, "does not educate his child--the world
will." We sincerely hope so. As the _District School_ now appears it
has been entirely re-written, and such alterations and additions made
as the experience of the author suggested. We heartily wish it all the
success it so eminently deserves.
* * * * *
_The New England Magazine for September_ is unusually rich. Among its
numerous and very excellent articles we would particularly notice a
paper called "My Journal"--and more especially Scraps of Philosophy
and Criticism from a recent work of Victor Hugo's. One of these Scraps
_on Style_, we are sure we shall be pardoned for extracting.
"If the name here inscribed were a name of note--if the voice which
speaks here were a voice of power--we would entreat the young and
brilliant talents on which depends the future lot of a literature for
three ages so magnificent to reflect how important is their mission,
and to preserve in their _manner_ of writing the most worthy and
severe habitudes. The Future--let them think well of it--belongs only
to the masters of _style_. Without referring to the admirable works of
antiquity, and confining ourselves to our National Literature, try to
take from the _thought_ of our great writers the expression which is
peculiar to it. Take from Moliere his lively, ardent, frank, and
amusing verse, so well made, so well turned, so well finished--take
from Lafontaine the simple and honest perfection of detail--take from
the phrase of Corneille the vigorous muscle, the strong cords, the
beautiful forms of exaggerated vigor, which would have made of the old
poet half Roman, half Spanish, the Michael Angelo of our tragedy if
the elements of genius had mingled as much fancy as thought--take from
Racine that touch in his style which resembles Raphael, a touch
chaste, harmonious, and repressed like that of Raphael, although of an
inferior power--quite as pure but less grand, as perfect though less
sublime--take from Fenelon, the man of his age who had the best
sentiment of antiquity, that prose as melodious and severe as the
verse of Racine of which it is the sister--take from Bossuet the
magnificent bearing of his periods--take from Boileau his grave and
sober manner at times so admirably colored--take from Pascal that
original and mathematical style with so much appropriateness in the
choice of words, and so much logic in every metaphor--take from
Voltaire that clear, solid, and indestructible prose, that crystal
prose of Candide, and the Philosophical Dictionary--take from all
these great writers that simple attraction--_style_: and of Voltaire,
of Pascal, of Boileau, of Bossuet, of Fenelon, of {778} Racine, of
Corneille, of Lafontaine, of Moliere--of all these masters what will
remain? It is _style_ which insures duration to the work, and fame to
the poet. Beauty of expression embellishes beauty of thought, and
preserves it. It is at the same time an ornament and an armor. _Style_
to the idea is like enamel to the tooth."
* * * * *
_The Western Journal of the Medical and Physical Sciences, edited by
Daniel Drake, M.D. Professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine in
Cincinnati College, and formerly Professor of the same in Transylvania
University, and the Jefferson Medical College. Doctors C. R. Cooper
and S. Reed, Assistant Editors and Proprietors. Vol. IX, No. 33._ We
have received this Journal with the greatest pleasure, and avail
ourselves of the present opportunity to express our opinion concerning
it. It is an invaluable addition to our Medical and Scientific
Literature, and at the same time one of the very cheapest publications
in the country, each number containing 168 pages of closely printed
matter, and the subscription price being only $3 per annum. The work
is issued on the first day of July, October, January, and April, and
has lately been incorporated with the Western Medical Gazette. We
sincerely wish the publication every possible success--for it is well
worthy of it. Its typographical and mechanical execution altogether
are highly creditable to Cincinnati, and the able and well known
collaborators, a list of whose names is upon the opening page of each
number, and whose editorial offices are engaged in the service of the
Journal, will not fail to impart a sterling character and value to the
Medical, as well as purely Literary portions of the work. We take the
liberty of extracting from page 79, of the present number, (that for
July) an interesting account of a cure of partial spontaneous
combustion, occurring in the person of Professor H. of the University
of Nashville. The portion extracted is contained in a Review of _An
Essay on Spontaneous Combustion, read before the Medical Society in
the State of Tennessee, at their annual meeting in May 1835. By James
Overton, M.D._
"Prof. H., of the University of Nashville, is a gentleman 35 years
old, of middle size, light hair, hazle eyes, and sanguinolymphatic
temperament; he has been extremely temperate as to alcoholic
stimulation of every kind; led a sedentary and studious life; and been
subject to a great variety of dyspeptic affections. On the 5th of
January, 1835, he left his recitation room at 11 o'clock, A. M., and
walked briskly, with his surtout buttoned round him, to his residence,
three quarters of a mile. The thermometer was at 8°, and the barometer
at 29.248--the sky clear and calm. On reaching home he engaged in
meteorological observations, and in 30 minutes, while in the open air
about to record the direction of the winds--
"'He felt a pain as if produced by the pulling of a hair, on the left
leg, and which amounted in degree to a strong sensation. Upon applying
his hand to the spot pained, the sensation suddenly increased, till it
amounted in intensity to a feeling resembling the continued sting of a
wasp or hornet. He then began to slap the part by repeated strokes
with the open hand, during which time the pain continued to increase
in intensity, so that he was forced to cry out from the severity of
his suffering. Directing his eyes at this moment to the suffering
part, he distinctly saw a light flame of the extent, at its base, of a
ten cent piece of coin, and having a complexion which nearest
resembles that of pure quicksilver. Of the accuracy in this latter
feature in the appearance of the flame, Mr. H. is very confident,
notwithstanding the unfavorable circumstances amidst which the
observation must have been made. As soon as he perceived the flame, he
applied over it both his hands open, united at their edges, and
closely impacted upon and around the burning surface. These means were
employed by Mr. H. for the purpose of extinguishing the flame by the
exclusion of the contact of the atmosphere, which he knew was
necessary to the continuance of every combustion. The result was in
conformity with the design, for the flame immediately went out. As
soon as the flame was extinguished, the pain began to abate in
intensity, but still continued, and gave the sensation usually the
effect of a slight application of heat or fire to the body, which
induced him to seize his pantaloons with one of his hands and to pinch
them up into a conical form over the injured part of the leg, thereby
to remove them from any contact with the skin below. This operation
was continued for a minute or two, with a design of extinguishing any
combustion which might be present in the substance of his apparel, but
which was not visible at the time. At the beginning of the accident,
the sensation of injury was confined to a spot of small diameter, and
in its progress the pain was still restricted to this spot, increasing
in intensity and depth to a considerable extent, but without much if
any enlargement of the surface which it occupied at the beginning. A
warmth was felt to a considerable distance around the spot primarily
affected, but the sensation did not by any means amount in degree to
the feeling of _pain_. This latter sensation was almost, if not
entirely confined to the narrow limits which bounded the seat of the
first attack, and this sensation was no otherwise modified during the
progress of the accident, than by its increasing intensity and deeper
penetration into the muscles of the limb, which at its greatest degree
seemed to sink an inch or more into the substance of the leg.
"'Believing the combustion to have been extinguished by the means just
noticed, and the pain having greatly subsided, leaving only the
feeling usually the effect of a slight burn, he untied and pulled up
his pantaloons and drawers, for the purpose of ascertaining the
condition of the part which had been the seat of his suffering. He
found a surface on the outer and upper part of the left leg, reaching
from the femoral end of the fibula in an oblique direction, towards
the upper portion of the grastrochnemi muscles, about three-fourths of
an inch in width, and three inches in length, denuded of the
scarfskin, and this membrane gathered into a roll at the lower edge of
the abraded surface. The injury resembled very exactly in appearance
an abrasion of the skin of like extent and depth, often the effect of
slight mechanical violence, except that the surface of it was
extremely _dry_, and had a complexion more livid than that of wounds
of a similar extent produced by the action of mechanical causes.' pp.
25-26.
"His drawers, composed of silk and wool, immediately over the abraded
skin, were burnt entirely through, but the scorching had not extended
in the slightest degree beyond. The pantaloons, made of broadcloth,
were uninjured; but over the affected spot, the extremities of the
wool were tinged with a kind of dark, yellowish matter, which could be
easily scraped off with a knife.
"'Considering the injury not to be of a serious character, Mr. H.
bestowed upon its treatment no particular care or attention, but
pursued his usual avocations within doors and in the open air, which
was very cold, until the evening of the succeeding day. At this time
the wound became inflamed and painful, and was dressed with a salve,
into the composition of which the rosin of turpentine entered in
considerable proportion. This treatment was continued for four or five
days, during which time the wound presented the usual aspect of a burn
from ordinary causes, except in its greater depth and more tardy
progress towards cicatrization, which did not take place till after
thirty-two days from the date of the infliction of the injury. The
part of the ulcer which healed last was the point of inception and
{779} intensity of the pain at the time of attack, and which point was
evidently the seat of deeper injury than any other portion of the
wounded surface. About the fifth day after the accident, a physician
was requested to take charge of the treatment, and the remedies
employed were such chiefly, as are usual in the treatment of burns
from other causes, except that twice a week the surface of the ulcer
was sprinkled over with calomel, and a dressing of simple cerate
applied above it. In the space between the wound and the groin there
was a considerable soreness of the integuments to the touch, which
continued during the greatest violence of the effects of the accident,
and then gradually subsided. The cicatrix is at this time, March 24th,
entire; but the surface is unusually scabrous, and has a much more
livid aspect than that of similar scars left after the infliction of
burns from common causes. The dermis seemed to have been less
perfectly regenerated than is usual from burns produced by ordinary
means, and the circulation through the part is manifestly impeded,
apparently in consequence of atony of its vessels, to an extent far
beyond any thing of a similar nature to be observed after common
burns.'" pp. 27-28.
* * * * *
_The Classical Family Library. Numbers XV, XVI, and XVII. Euripides
translated by the Reverend R. Potter, Prebendary of Norwich. Harper &
Brothers, New York._ These three volumes embrace the whole of
Euripides--Æschylus and Sophocles having already been published in the
Library. A hasty glance at the work will not enable us to speak
positively in regard to the value of these translations. The name of
Potter, however, is one of high authority, and we have no reason to
suspect that he has not executed his task as well as any man living
could have done it. But that these, or that any poetic versions can
convey to the mind of the merely general reader the most remote
conception of either the manner, the spirit, or the meaning of the
Greek dramatists, is what Mr. Potter does not intend us to believe,
and what we certainly should not believe if he did. At all events, it
must be a subject of general congratulation, that in the present day,
for a sum little exceeding three dollars, any lover of the classics
may possess himself of complete versions of the three greatest among
the ancient Greek writers of tragedy.
Ardent admirers of Hellenic Literature, we have still no passion for
Euripides. Truly great when compared with many of the moderns, he
falls immeasurably below his immediate predecessors. "He is
admirable," says a German critic, "where the object calls chiefly for
emotion, and requires the display of no higher qualities; and he is
still more so where pathos and moral beauty are united. Few of his
pieces are without particular passages of the most overpowering
beauty. It is by no means my intention to deny him the possession of
the most astonishing talents: I have only stated that these talents
were not united with a mind in which the austerity of moral principle,
and the sanctity of religious feelings were held in the highest
honor."
The life, essence, and characteristic qualities of the ancient Greek
drama may be found in three things. First, in the ruling idea of
Destiny or Fate. Secondly, in the Chorus. Thirdly, in Ideality. But in
Euripides we behold only the decline and fall of that drama, and the
three prevailing features we have mentioned are in him barely
distinguishable, or to be seen only in their perversion. What, for
example is, with Sophocles, and still more especially with Æschylus,
the obscure and terrible spirit of predestination, sometimes mellowed
down towards the catastrophe of their dramas into the unseen, yet not
unfelt hand of a kind Providence, or overruling God, becomes in the
handling of Euripides the mere blindness of accident, or the
capriciousness of chance. He thus loses innumerable
opportunities--opportunities which his great rivals have used to so
good an effect--of giving a preternatural and ideal elevation to moral
fortitude in the person of his heroes, by means of opposing them in a
perpetual warfare with the arbitrations and terrors of Destiny.
Again; the Chorus, which appears never to have been thoroughly
understood by the moderns--the Chorus of Euripides is not, alas! the
Chorus of his predecessors. That this singular, or at least apparently
singular feature, in the Greek drama, was intended for the mere
purpose of preventing the stage from being, at any moment entirely
empty, has been an opinion very generally, and very unaccountably
received. _The Chorus was not, at any time, upon the stage._ Its
general station was in the orchestra, in which it also performed the
solemn dances, and walked to and fro during the choral songs. And when
it did not sing, its proper station was upon the _thymele_, an
elevation somewhat like an altar, but with steps, in front of the
orchestra, raised as high as the stage, and opposite to the
scene--being also in the very centre of the entire theatre, and
serving as a point around which the semi-circle of the amphitheatre
was described. Most critics, however, have merely laughed at the
Chorus as something superfluous and absurd, urging the folly of
enacting passages supposed to be performed in secret in the presence
of an assembled crowd, and believing that as it originated in the
infancy of the art, it was continued merely through caprice or
accident. Sophocles, however, wrote a treatise on the Chorus, and
assigned his reasons for persisting in the practice. Aristotle says
little about it, and that little affords no clew to its actual meaning
or purpose. Horace considers it "a general expression of moral
participation, instruction, and admonition;" and this opinion, which
is evidently just, has been adopted and commented upon, at some
length, by Schlegel. Publicity among the Greeks, with their republican
habits and modes of thinking, was considered absolutely essential to
all actions of dignity or importance. Their dramatic poetry imbibed
the sentiment, and was thus made to display a spirit of conscious
independence. The Chorus served to give verisimilitude to the dramatic
action, and was, in a word, _the ideal spectator_. It stood in lieu of
the national spirit, and represented the general participation of the
human race, in the events going forward upon the stage. This was its
most extended, and most proper object; but it had others of a less
elevated nature, and more nearly in accordance with the spirit of our
own melo-drama.
But the Chorus of Euripides was not the true and unadulterated Chorus
of the purer Greek tragedy. It is even more than probable that he did
never rightly appreciate its full excellence and power, or give it any
portion of his serious attention. He made no scruple of admitting the
_parabasis_ into his tragedies[1]--a license which although well
suited to the spirit of comedy, was entirely out of place, and must
have had a ludicrous {780} effect in a serious drama. In some
instances also, among which we may mention the Danaidæ, a female
Chorus is permitted by him to make use of grammatical inflexions
proper only for males.
[Footnote 1: The _parabasis_ was the privilege granted the Chorus of
addressing the spectators in its own person.]
In respect to the Ideality of the Greek drama, a few words will be
sufficient. It was the Ideality of conception, and the Ideality of
representation. Character and manners were never the character and
manners of every day existence, but a certain, and very marked
elevation above them. Dignity and grandeur enveloped each personage of
the stage--but such dignity as comported with his particular station,
and such grandeur as was never at _outrance_ with his allotted part.
And this was the Ideality of conception. The cothurnus, the mask, the
mass of drapery, all so constructed and arranged as to give an
increase of bodily size, the scenic illusions of a nature very
different, and much more extensive than our own, inasmuch as actual
realities were called in to the aid of art, were on the other hand the
Ideality of representation. But although in Sophocles, and more
especially in Æschylus, character and expression were made subservient
and secondary to this ideal and lofty elevation--in Euripides the
reverse is always found to be the case. His heroes are introduced
familiarly to the spectators, and so far from raising his men to the
elevation of Divinities, his Divinities are very generally lowered to
the most degrading and filthy common-places of an earthly existence.
But we may sum up our opinion of Euripides far better in the words of
Augustus William Schlegel, than in any farther observations of our
own.
"This poet has at the same time destroyed the internal essence of
tragedy, and sinned against the laws of beauty and proportion in its
external structure. He generally sacrifices the whole to the effect of
particular parts, and in these he is also more ambitious of foreign
attractions, than of genuine poetical beauty."
* * * * *
_The Early Naval History of England. By Robert Southey, L.L.D. Poet
Laureate. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard._ The early naval
history of England, and by so fine a writer as Southey undoubtedly is,
either in poetry or prose, but more especially in the latter, cannot
fail of exciting a lively interest among readers of every class. In
the subject matter of this work we, as Americans, have moreover a
particular feeling, for it has been often remarked that in no national
characteristic do we bear a closer analogy to our progenitors in Great
Britain than in the magnificence and glory of our many triumphs both
over and upon the sea. To those who know Southey well, and we
sincerely hope there are not a few of our readers who _do_ know him
intimately, through the medium of his writings at least, we shall be
under no necessity of giving any assurance that the History of which
we are now speaking, is a work of no common merit, and worthy of all
their attention. Southey is a writer who has few equals any where,
either in purity of truly English prose, or in melody of immortal
verse. He is great in every department of Literature which he has
attempted. And even did we feel inclined at present, with his very
happily executed Naval History before us, to quarrel with some of his
too zealous friends for overrating his merely poetical abilities, we
could not find it in our hearts to place him second to any one--no,
not to our own noble Irving in--we will not use the term classical,
but prefer repeating our former expression--in _truly English_,
undefiled, vigorous, and masculine prose. Yet this the North American
Review has ventured to do, not having, we think, before its eyes the
fear of flat and positive contradiction from all authorities whose
opinions are entitled to consideration. Comparisons of this nature,
moreover, rarely fail of _appearing_, even although they really _be
not_, invidious; and in the present instance we are really aware of no
reason, or rather of no possibility for juxta-position. There are no
points of approximation between Irving and Southey, and they cannot be
compared. Why not say at once, for it could be said as wisely, and as
satisfactorily, that Dante's verse is superior to that of
Metastasio--that the Latin of Erasmus is better than the Latin of
Buchanan--that Bolingbroke is a finer prose writer than Horne Tooke,
or coming home to our own times, that Tom Moore is to be preferred to
Lord Brougham, and the style of N. P. Willis to the style of John
Neal? We mean to deal, therefore, in generalities, when we disagree
with Mr. Everett in what he has advanced. Irving is _not_ a better
prose writer than Southey. We know of no one who is. In saying thus
much we do not fear being accused of a deficiency in patriotic
feeling. No true--we mean no sensible American will like a bad book
the better for being American, and on the other hand no sensible man
of any country, who pretends to even common freedom from prejudice,
will esteem such a work as the Naval History of Great Britain the less
for being written by a denizen of any region under the sun.
* * * * *
_The Gift: A Christmas and New Year's Present for 1836. Edited by Miss
Leslie. Philadelphia: E. L. Carey and A. Hart_--We are really sorry
that we have no opportunity of noticing this beautiful little Annual
at length, and article by article, in our present number: and this the
more especially as the edition is even now nearly exhausted, and it
will be hardly worth while to say any thing concerning the work in our
next, by which time we are very sure there will not be a copy to be
obtained at any price. The Gift is highly creditable to the enterprise
of its publishers, and more so to the taste and talents of Miss
Leslie. This we say _positively_--the ill-mannered and worse-natured
opinion of the Boston Courier to the contrary notwithstanding. Never
had Annual a brighter galaxy of illustrious literary names in its
table of contents--and in no instance has any contributor fallen below
his or her general reputation. The embellishments are _not all_ of a
high order of excellence. The Orphans, for example, engraved by Thomas
B. Welch from a painting by J. Wood, is hard and scratchy in manner,
and altogether unworthy of the book--while the head of the child in
the Prawn Fishers, engraved by A. W. Graham from a painting by W.
Collins, R.A. has every appearance of a cabbage. But the portrait of
Fanny Kemble by Cheney, from Sully, is one of the finest things in the
world, notwithstanding a certain wiriness above the hair. The likeness
is admirable--the attitude exquisite--and the countenance is beaming
all over with intelligence. The gem of the book, however, is the
Smuggler's Repose, engraved by W. E. Tucker from a painting by J.
Tennant. We repeat it, this is absolutely a gem--such as any Souvenir
in any country might be proud to possess, and sufficient of itself to
stamp a high character upon the Gift.
{781}
INDEX
To Volume I of the Southern Literary Messenger.
PROSE.
A
Abolition of Southern Slavery--how regarded in New England 87
Adams' and Everett's Eulogies on La Fayette, reviewed 307
Address, Mr. Garnett's, on Associations to promote Education 282
Address, Mrs. Sigourney's, on Female Education 169
Address, President Olin's Inaugural, reviewed 15
Address, President Vethake's Inaugural, reviewed 585
Adventures of Harry Humbug, Esq. 772
Advice to Law Students 33, 34
Advice from a Father to his only Daughter 187
Affectation, Thoughts on 365
Alleghany Levels, described 97
Ambitious Lawyer, Memoir of an 645
American Churches, Visit to, by Doctors Reed and Matheson, notice of
714
American Literature, its impediments 220
American Novels, recent--The Insurgents 478
Anecdotes of Patrick Henry 332
Annals of Education, recommended 205
Athens, a few days in, by Fanny Wright, notice of 715
Aunts, my two 189
Autobiography of Pertinax Placid, extracts from 617, 706
B
Bancroft's History of the U. S. vol I. reviewed 587
Bashful Gentleman 429
Bathmendi, a Persian Tale, from the French of M. Florian 377
Beauties of the Court of Charles II. by Mrs. Jameson, reviewed 312
Belford Regis, by Miss Mitford, noticed 651
Berenice, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 333
Black Watch, the, noticed 714
Blackbeard, a Philadelphia Story, notice of 595
Blackstone, Judge, a Poet 315
Blackstone's Commentaries, a note to 227
Remarks on that note 266
Reply to the remarks 388
Bon-Bon, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 693
Browne, P. A.--Hints to Geological Students 162, 300
Essay on the Mineral Wealth of Virginia 91
Law Case, involving a question in Hydraulics and Hydrostatics 44
Bryant's Poems, notice of 250
Buffon, his theory of the Earth's origin 302
Bulwer, his Pilgrims of the Rhine reviewed 53
Last Days of Pompeii 241
Convicted of Plagiarism 246
Burnet, Thomas, his theory of the Earth 301
Butler, Mrs. (once Miss Kemble) notices of her Journal 459, 524
C
"Calavar, an American Novel," reviewed 315
"Cavaliers of Virginia," reviewed 385
Caucus System, its effects 218
Etymology of "_Caucus_" 455
"Celebrated Trials of all Countries," notice of 458
"Celebrated Women," Madame Junot's Memoirs of, noticed 458
"Chances and Changes," reviewed 649
Chotank, Recollections of 43
Christian Education, Essay on 432
Churches, American, Drs. Reed and Matheson's visit to, noticed 714
Circumstantial Evidence, its danger illustrated by a narrative 142
Classics, thoughts on the study of 213
Classmates, My, a Tale 106
Colonial Manners, a picture of the Maryland House of Burgesses in 1766
138
Common Schools of New England, their benefits 86, 87
Some particulars of their organization 275
"Confessions of a Poet," notice of 459
"Conquest of Florida," (Soto's) notice of 648
Contrast (the) or a Fashionable and Unfashionable New England Wife 290
Conversation Parties, Soirées, and Squeezes, by Oliver Oldschool 547
Cooper, James Fenimore, Letter to his Countrymen, reviewed 648
Cottage in the Glen, a Tale 78
"Court of Charles II," Beauties of, by Mrs. Jameson, reviewed 312
Courtship and Marriage 349
Crayon Miscellany, No. 1, reviewed 456
No. 2 646
Criticism--see "Literary Notices."
Crockett's Tour, notice of 459
Cupid's Sport, a Tale, No. 1 102
No. 2 741
Cyclopean Towers in Augusta County, Virginia--described 98
D
Dagger's Springs, an account of 518
Dancing, Waltzing, &c. by Anthony Absolute 512
Dandyism, ridiculed, by Oliver Oldschool 251
Dargle, the (in Ireland) described 203
Davidson, Miss, review of her Poems 51
Deaf and Dumb Asylum--Review of Gov. Tazewell's Report on 134
Remarks on that Review 201
Dew, Professor, his Dissertation on the Sexes, &c. 493, 621, 672
"Diary of an Ennuyée" by Mrs. Jameson, reviewed 18
Diary of a Revolutionary Officer, extract from 341
Dictionary, Worcester's, notice of 715
Discourse on the Progress and Influence of Philosophy, by Professor
George Tucker 405
Dissertation on the Characteristic Differences of the Sexes, and
Woman's Position and Influence in Society 493, 621, 672
District School, The, notice of 777
Doom, The, a Tale 235
Door-Latch, The 770
Dream and Prediction, remarkable, fulfilled 658
Duel, The 641
Dyspeptic Man 71
E
Early Adventures 761
Editorial Remarks 1, 63, 125, 190, 254, 321, 387, 531, 533, 652
Education, Christian, Essay on 432
Of Infancy 279
Address on, by Mrs. Sigourney 169
Address on Associations for promoting it, by Mr. Garnett 282
Lectures on the obstacles to, by the same 725
Edgeworth's Practical, noticed 459
Eloquence, Pinckney's, account of 94
Essay on 165
English Poetry, Essays on 397, 557
Ennuyée, Diary of, reviewed 18
Epicurus, his Geogony 301
Eulogy on Lafayette, by M. De Boinville 93
By Messrs. Adams and Everett, reviewed 307
Evidence, Circumstantial, its danger illustrated 142
"Example is better than Precept," an Essay 39
Extemporaneous Speaking, Essay on 7
Extracts from my Mexican Journal 276, 435, 700
from a Novel that never will be published 46
from a Journal of a Voyage to Europe 3
from the Autobiography of Pertinax Placid 617, 706
F
Family Library, Classical, notice of 779
Fashionable and Unfashionable N. England Wife 290
Fashionable Parties and late hours, by M. M. Noah 357
Father's Advice to his only Daughter 187
Female Education, Mrs. Sigourney's Address on 169
Few Days in Athens, by Fanny Wright 715
Fine Arts, Essays on the 376, 454, 477
Florian's _Bathmendi_, translated 377
Fourth of July, a rural celebration of it described 156
France, Letters from, by a Sister. See "Leontine's Letters from
France."
Free Governments, their influence on the Mind 389
G
Gallantry, comparative, in the Northern and Southern States 84, 218
Gallopade and Waltz, strictures on, by Oliver Oldschool 426
Garnett's Address, on Associations to promote Education 282
Lectures on the obstacles to Education, &c. 725
Gazetteer of Virginia, notice of 257
Geology, hints to Students of 162, 300
Gift, The, notice of 780
Glimpse at Basil Hall 206
Grave of Forgotten Genius, a Tale, by an Undergraduate 469
Grayson Griffith 605
Guy Rivers, extract from, illustrating the evils of maternal
indulgence and neglect in childhood 280
H
Hall, Captain Basil, a Glimpse at 206
Hamilton, _La Belle_, in Charles II's Court--her charms described 313
Hans Phaal, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 565
Heinroth on the Education of Infancy 279
Historical and Philosophical Society of Virginia--its collections 123
Anniversary Meeting 255, 257
Selections from its papers 353, 354, 356
Professor George Tucker's Discourse before 405
History of the U. S. by George Bancroft, reviewed 587
Halloway and Hopkins, eminent lawyers of Virginia when a Colony,
notices of them 353
Hook's Magpie Castle, reviewed 714
Hope and Memory, an Allegory, by Paulding 31
Hopkinson, Judge, his letter to the Editor 322
"Horse-Shoe Robinson," a Novel, by Mr. Kennedy, reviewed 522
Hospitality in New England 166
House Mountain in Virginia, described 472
Hutton, his theory of the Earth's Origin 304
Hydrostatics and Hydraulics, question of, in a Law Case 44
I
Illoray De Courcy, a Novel, notice of 459
Impediments to American Literature 220
Improvisation 7
Indian Feats of Legerdemain 657
Indian Lover, a Tale 393
Indian Mother, a Tale 223
Infancy, Heinroth on the Education of 279
Infancy, evils of neglecting it 280
"Infidel," (The) "or the Fall of Mexico," a Romance, reviewed 582
Influence of Free Governments on the Mind 389
"Insurgents," The, a Novel, reviewed 478
Interesting Ruins on the Rappahannock 9
Ireland, History of, by T. Moore, reviewed 478
Irving, Theodore, History of the Conquest of Florida, reviewed 648
Irving, Washington, Tribute to him, from the North American Review 650
Italian Sketch Book, notice of 594
J
Jameson, Mrs. her Diary of an Ennuyée, reviewed 18
"Visits and Sketches" 250
"Court of Charles II" 312
Jonathan Bull and Mary Bull, a political apologue 342
Journal, my Mexican, Extracts from 276, 435, 700
Journal of a Voyage to Europe, Extracts from 3
Journal of Medical Science, notice of 778
K
Kennedy, John P. his oration in memory of Wm. Wirt, reviewed 16
His Novel, Horse-Shoe Robinson, reviewed 522
King Pest the First, a Tale, containing an Allegory 757
Knowles, James Sheridan, notice of his Tales 18
Kosciusko, Life of, reviewed 596
L
Lacon, Extracts from 72, 124, 358
La Fayette, Eulogy on, by M. De Boinville 93
By Messrs. Adams and Everett, reviewed 307
"Last Days of Pompeii," reviewed 241
Proved to contain a Plagiarism from Fairfield's "Last Night of
Pompeii" 246
"Last NIGHT of Pompeii" _versus_ the "Last DAYS of Pompeii" 246
Latin and Greek Classics, thoughts on the study of 213
Law Case, involving a question of Hydrostatics 44
Law Students, Mr. Wirt's Letter to one 34
Lecture to, by Professor B. Tucker 145
Valedictory to, by the same 601
Lazarus Rust's lament for his name 170
Leaf from a Young American Tourist's Journal (in Italy) 83
Legerdemain, Extraordinary Indian Feats of 657
"Leisure Hours," notice of 189
Leontine's Letters from France 232, 304, 373, 487, 535, 663, 765
LETTERS--from Mr. Wirt, on Law Studies 34
from New England, by a Virginian 85, 166, 217, 273, 421
from France, see "Leontine."
on the U. States, by a Young Scotchman 482, 602
from Judge Hopkinson to the Editor 322
from a correspondent in Shepherdstown 324
from Larry Lyle to that correspondent 388
from the Reviewer of Messrs. Adams' and Everett's Orations 388
from R. H. Wilde, on being charged with Plagiarism 252
from Mr. Paulding to the Editor 1
Leucippus, his system of Cosmogony 301
Lionel Granby 516, 541, 632, 661
Lionizing, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 515
Literary Intelligence 715
LITERARY NOTICES.
A Winter in the West, by a New Yorker 459
Adams' and Everett's Orations on the Death of La Fayette 307
Address (Inaugural) of President Olin, at R. M. College, Va. 15
Address of President Vethake, at Washington College, Va. 585
American Quarterly Review 595
American Journal of Science, &c. (Silliman's) 714
American Republication of Foreign Reviews 651
Amir Khan, and other Poems, by Lucretia Maria Davidson 51
Bancroft's History of the United States, vol. i. 587
Beauties of the Court of Charles the 2d, by Mrs. Jamieson 312
Belford Regis, by Miss Mitford 651
Blackbeard 595
Bryant's Poems, new edition 250
Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii 241
Bulwer's Pilgrims of the Rhine 53
Butler, Mrs. Frances Anne's Journal 459, 524
Calavar, a new American Novel 315
Cavaliers of Virginia, an American Novel 385
Celebrated Trials of all Countries 458
Chances and Changes, a Domestic Story 649
Classical Family Library 779
Confessions of a Poet 459
Conquest of Florida (Hernando Soto's) by Theodore Irving 648
Cooper, James Fenimore's Letter to his Countrymen 18
Crayon Miscellany, No. 1 456
No. 2 (containing Abbottsford and Newstead Abbey) 646
Crockett's Tour to the North and Down East 459
Diary of an Ennuyée, by Mrs. Jameson 18
Dictionary, Worcester's 715
District School 777
Early Naval History of England 780
Edgeworth's Practical Education 459
Few days in Athens, by Fanny Wright 715
German work on America 596
Gift, The 780
Highland Smugglers 459
Horse-Shoe Robinson, by the Author of Swallow Barn 522
Illoray De Courcy, a Novel 459
Infidel, The, or the Fall of Mexico, a Romance 582
Influence, a Moral Tale 458
Italian Sketch Book 594
Knowles' "Magdalen" and other Tales 22
Kosciusko's Life 596
Language of Flowers 459
Last Days of Pompeii 241, 246
Leisure Hours, or the American Popular Library 189
Letters to Young Ladies, by Mrs. Sigourney 715
Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, by Henry Lee 458
Literary Journal 124
Lives of English Pirates, &c. 459
London Quarterly Review 458
Madame Junot's Memoirs of Celebrated Women 458
Magpie Castle, by Theodore Hook 714
Manual of Phrenology 714
Mephistopheles in England 776
Moore's History of Ireland 595
New England Magazine 777
No Fiction 458
North American Review 457, 650
Outre Mer, or a Pilgrimage beyond Sea, by Professor Longfellow 594
Pencil Sketches, 2d series 595
Phrenology, Manual of 714
Pilgrims of the Rhine 53
Poems, by a Collegian 117
Promessi Sposi, or the Betrothed Lovers, a Milanese Story 520
Recollections of an Excursion to the Monasteries of Alcobaca, &c. by
Beckford 714
Scraps, by John C. McCabe 386
Silliman's Journal of Science and the Arts 714
Sketches, by Mrs. Sigourney 22
"Stories about General Warren" 749
Speece's Poems 118
The Brothers, a Tale of the Fronde 715
Tocqueville's American Democracy 596
Valerius, a Novel, by Lockhart 459
Vathek, by Mr. Beckford 118, 270, 386
Visit to the American Churches, by Drs. Reed and Matheson 714
Visit to Texas 119
Visits and Sketches, by Mrs. Jameson 250
Voyage of the Potomac Frigate round the Globe, by J. N. Reynolds 594
Washington's Writings and Life, by J. Sparks, vol. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6
591
Western Journal of Medical Science 778
Wife and Woman's Record, by Mrs. Norton 714
Wirt's Life and Character, Oration on, by J. P. Kennedy 16
Wood, Mrs. Jean 209
LITERATURE, American, Impediments to it 220
Southern 1
Loss of Breath, a Tale, _a la_ Blackwood, by Edgar A. Poe 735
Love and Authorship, by Knowles 22
Luxury, Essay on 163
M
Magpie Castle, by Theodore Hook, reviewed 714
Mahomet, his Cosmogony 301
Maid of Malines, a Tale by Bulwer 54
Manual of Phrenology 714
Manufacturing Establishments, Nurseries of Vice 273
March of Mind 154
Married Man, Recollections of 770
Marrying Well, a Moral Tale 345
Martineau, Miss 319
Maryland House of Burgesses in 1766, picture of its manners 138
McCabe, J. C. notice of his "Scraps" 386
Mechanician and Uncle Simon, by Nugator 186
Memoirs of Celebrated Women, by Madame Junot--notice of 458
Memory, an Allegory 216
Memory and Hope, an Allegory, by Paulding 31
Mephistopheles in England, notice of 776
Mexican Journal, Extracts from 276, 435, 700
Mineral Possessions, and the Cultivation of Geological Inquiry--their
National Importance 484
Mineral Wealth of Virginia, by P. A. Browne 91
Misfortune and Genius, a Tale 36
Morella, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 448
Museum (Littell's) of Foreign Literature--noticed 251
My Classmates, a Tale 106
My First Night in the Watch-house--from the Autobiography of Pertinax
Placid 617, 706
"My Life"--notice of 651
My Name--a lament of Lazarus Rust 170
My Tongs--a dream 746
My Two Aunts 189
N
Napoleon, Lee's Life of--noticed 458
Naval History of England, notice of 780
New England--Remarks on 84
New England--Letters from, by a Virginian 85, 166, 217, 273, 421
New England Magazine, notice of 777
Norfolk--Proceedings at, of the Sons of Liberty in 1776 354
North American Review--Notices of 457, 650
Nose, Tale of a--by Pertinax Placid 445
Nose, Account of a Prodigious 468
Note to Blackstone's Commentaries 227
Remarks on it 266
Reply to the "Remarks" 388
Novel that never will be Published, Extract from a 46
Novel-Reading--its effects described 39
Nugator's several Contributions 9, 46, 181, 455, 580
O
Observations on the National Importance of Mineral Possessions, and
the Cultivation of Geological Inquiry 484
Olin, President's, Inaugural Address at Randolph Macon
College--review and extract 15
Oliver Oldschool, on Dandyism 251
On the Waltz and Gallopade 426
On Conversation Parties, &c. 547
Orations--review of J. P. Kennedy's, on Mr. Wirt 16
Of Messrs. Adams' and Everett's, on La Fayette 307
Ormond, the Second Great Duke of 313, 314
Orpheus, his Cosmogony 301
Ossory, Lord and Lady--characters of 313
"Outre Mer," reviewed 594
P
Paris, a Scene in (1827)--by a Virginian 381
Patriarch, The--a Tale, by Mrs. Sigourney 28
Patrick Henry, Anecdotes of 332
Paulding, James K.--Letter to the Publisher 1
Allegory of Memory and Hope 31
"Pencil Sketches," by Miss Leslie, notice of 595
Pertinax Placid's Autobiography, extracts from 617, 706
Peter's Mountain 641
Philosophy, its Progress and Influence on Morals and Intellect, by
Professor George Tucker 601
Phrenological Examinations of Dr. Powell 204
Pilgrims of the Rhine, notice of 53
Pinckney's Eloquence, characterized 94
Poems, by a Collegian, reviewed 117
Poetry, English, Essays on 397
Pompeii, Last DAYS of, reviewed 241
Its Author convicted of Plagiarism 246
Last NIGHT of 246
Popular Instruction, Associations for in N. England 273
Mr. Garnett's Address on 282
Potomac Frigate, its Voyage round the Globe 594
Powell, Dr. Wm. Byrd--Description of the Sweet Spring Valley 42
Phrenological Examinations 204
Prairie Dogs, Republic of, described by Irving 456
Prairies, a Storm on 534
"_Promessi Sposi_" or the Betrothed Lovers, a Milanese Story, reviewed
520
R
Reclaimed, the, a Tale 668
Recollections of Chotank 43
Recollections of an Excursion, &c. by Beckford--notice of 714
Recollections of a Married Man 770
Red Sulphur Springs 519, 544
Remarkable Dream and Prediction Fulfilled 658
Reminiscences of a Western Traveller 336
Reporter's Story, or the Importance of a Syllable 73
Reviews and Criticisms, see "LITERARY NOTICES."
Revolutionary Officer's Diary--surrender of Charleston 341
Richmond (City) account of, from the Virginia Gazetteer 258
Robinson, John (A.D. 1694,) his _Anatomical_ Description of the Earth
341
Romance of Real Life, a narrative 271
Root, Mrs., Female Seminary in Prince Edward 519
Ruins on the Rappahannock 9
S
Sale in Lower Virginia, description of one, by Nugator 580
Sally Singleton, a Story, by Nugator 46
Sandfords (the) a Tale 552
Sardanapalus 699
Scene in Paris, in 1827, by a Virginian 381
Scene in Real Life 430
Scenery, Virginia, Sketch of 348
"Scraps," by John C. McCabe, reviewed 386
Seasons (the) sketched 176
Servility, remarks on 6
Sexes, their Characteristic Differences 493, 621, 672
Shadow, a Fable 762
Shakspeare, some curious relics of 253
Shipwreck, Story of one 351
Sigourney, Mrs. her "Sketches" reviewed 22
Address on Female Education 169
Silliman's Journal of Science, &c. notice of 714
Sister, Letters from a--see "Leontine."
"Sketches," by Mrs. Sigourney, notice of 22
Sons of Liberty at Norfolk, their Proceedings in 1776 354
Soto's Conquest of Florida, by Theodore Irving, notice of 648
Southern Literature 1
Speaking, Extemporaneous, Essay on 7
Speece's Poems, notice of 118
"Stories about General Warren," reviewed 749
Storm on the Prairies--from the MSS. of D. D. Mitchell 534
Story from Voltaire, translated 10
Study of the Latin and Greek Classics, thoughts on 213
Surrender of Charleston, from the Diary of a Revolutionary Officer 341
Sweet Springs, the Valley of, described 42
Swimming, a Feat of 468
T
Tale of the West 437
Tam O'Shanter, &c. group of, in statuary, by Mr. Thorn 140
Tazewell, Governor--Review of his Report on a Proposed Deaf and Dumb
Asylum 134
Remarks on that Review 201
Texas, a visit to, reviewed 119
Thorn, the Sculptor, his group of Tam O'Shanter 140
Time, the Consoler, from Voltaire 11
Tocqueville's "American Democracy," noticed 596
Township System of the Northern States, its advantages 86
Tucker, Prof. Beverley, Lecture to his Law Class 145
"Note to Blackstone's Commentaries" 227
"Remarks" on that Note 266
His Reply to the "Remarks" 388
Valedictory to his Class 601
Tucker, Professor George, Discourse on the Progress of Philosophy, and
its Influence on Morals and Intellect 405
Tripoli Sketches of the History and Present Condition of 65, 129, 193,
261, 325, 461, 654, 717
Shaler, William, Consul General of the United States for the Barbary
Powers, concludes Treaty with Algiers 655
Spirited conduct in protecting his servants 724
Death of 724
Algiers. Turks under Barbarossa establish themselves in Algiers 70
Description of the City 719
Attacked by Charles the Fifth in 1541 71
War with Tunis 720
The Dey plunders American vessels on account of the delay in
paying tribute 653
Conduct of Great Britain and France towards Algiers 653
Dey compels the American Consul to pay arrears of tribute unjustly
demanded and declares war against the U. States 654
American squadron sent against Algiers under Decatur 655
Algerine ships of war taken by the American squadron 655
Treaty dictated by Decatur and Shaler 655
British fleet under Lord Exmouth visit Algiers and make treaties
for Sardinia and Naples 720
American squadron under Shaw visit Algiers 719
Dey rejects the treaty with the United States 718
Writes a letter to the President proposing renewal of former
treaty 718
Lord Exmouth's second visit to Algiers 718
Demands abolition of slavery 718
Reference made by the Dey to the Sultan 718
British and Dutch expedition against Algiers 719
Bombardment of the City, and submission made by the Dey to the
demands of the British 719
Reflections 720
American squadron under Chauncey arrive at Algiers 721
Receipt of answer from the President of the United States to the
Dey's letter 721
Dey accepts the treaty 722
British and French squadron sent to demand abolition of slavery
723
Refusal by the Dey to comply 723
Invasion of the British Consul's house 724
Fleet sent to demand apologies 724
Success of that expedition 724
Hamet Prince of Tripoli, account of 131
Deprived of the throne by his younger brother Yusuf 132
Discovered at Tunis by the American Consul Eaton 194
And persuaded to attempt the recovery of his dominions, goes to
Malta 195
And thence to Derne 196
Obliged to fly to Egypt 198
Found by Eaton among the Mamelukes in Egypt 262
Makes treaty with Eaton 262
Expedition of Hamet and Eaton to Derne 263
Carried from Derne by the American squadron to Syracuse; sum voted
for his support by the American Congress; returns as Bey to
Derne 331
Expelled by his brother; takes refuge in Egypt and dies there 389
His son 389
Tunis taken by Barbarossa 70
Taken by Charles the Fifth 71
Treaty with the United States; disagreement with the United States
389
Tunisian Ambassador sent to Washington 390
Difficulties between the United States and Tunis on account of
prizes taken by an American privateer 655
Hamouda Bey of Tunis, character of 193
death, 465
Morat Rais, high Admiral of Tripoli, a Scotch Renegade 133
Enmity to the United States 133
Banished at the demand of the American Consul 465
Fezzan, a desart country of Africa, description of 464
Conquered by the Pasha of Tripoli 464
Yusuf, Pasha of Tripoli, murders his eldest brother Hassan Bey 131
Rebels against his father 132
Seizes the throne of Tripoli and expels his brother Hamet 132
Makes a treaty with the United States 132
Declares war against the United States 133
Attempts to negotiate a peace on condition of tribute being paid
328
Makes peace 330
Energy in repairing his losses 463
Conquers Fezzan 464
His sons rebel against him 464
Eaton, William, Consul of the United States at Tunis 193
His plan to replace Hamet on the throne of Tripoli 194
Returns to America 197
Goes to Egypt 198
Finds Hamet and makes a treaty with him 262
Expedition from Alexandria 263
Reaches and takes Derne 265
Evacuates Derne 331
Death of 332
Melle-Melle, Tunisian Ambassador in the U. States, anecdote of 463
Tripoli, anciently called Oea 58
Taken by the Saracens 69
Taken by the Spaniards 70
Given to the Knights of St. John 71
Taken by Dragut 71
Hamet Caramalli the Great kills the Turkish garrison and makes
himself Pasha 130
Trade of 130
Treaties with foreign powers 131
Seized by the Turks and held for two years 132
Yusuf becomes Pasha and makes a treaty with the United States 132
War with the United States 133
Blockaded by the American squadron 133
Bombarded 198
Attack on by a Sardinian squadron 723
Attacked by a Sicilian squadron 723
Mohamed D'Ghies, Prime Minister of Tripoli, friendly to the
Americans 133
Kindness to the American prisoners in Tripoli and endeavors to
negotiate a peace with the United States 328
Lear, Tobias, sent as Consul General of the United States in Barbary
325
His influence over Commodore Barron 329
Concludes peace with Tripoli 330
Ordered to quit Algiers 654
Exmouth, Lord, visits Algiers with a fleet and negotiates treaties
of peace for Sardinia and Naples 723
Second visit to Algiers 723
Bombardment of Algiers 723
Sardinians attack Tripoli 722
Sicilians attack Tripoli 724
Abællino, American privateer, enters the Mediterranean and takes
several British vessels 655
Philadelphia frigate strikes on a rock at the entrance of the
harbor of Tripoli 197
Burnt by the Americans 197
Decatur, Stephen, burns the Philadelphia frigate in the harbor of
Tripoli 197
Commands a squadron sent against Algiers in 1815; takes two
Algerine ships and makes treaty with Algiers 655
Obtains indemnifications from Tunis and Tripoli 656
Hall, Captain Isaac, carries Gen. Eaton to Alexandria 198
Assists in the capture of Derne 265
U
United States, Bancroft's History of, Vol. I--reviewed 587
United States, Letters on, by a Young Scotchman 482, 602
Unities, the, in Aristotle 698
V
Valedictory to the Pupils of a Female School 172
Valedictory to the Law Class at William and Mary College 601
"Valerius," by Mr. Lockhart, notice of 459
Valley of the Sweet Springs described 42
Variety 252, 321
Vathek, notices of 188, 270, 386
Village Pastor's Wife 359
Virginia Historical and Philosophical Society--see "Historical," &c.
Visit to the Virginia Springs 474, 544, 613
Visit to the Virginia Springs, Another 772
"Visit to Texas," reviewed 119
"Visits and Sketches," notice of 250
Visionary, the, a Tale, by Edgar A. Poe 637
Voltaire, Story from, translated 11
Voyage to Europe, Extract from a Journal of 3
W
Waltz and Gallopade, ridiculed 426
Warren, General, Stories about 749
Washington's Birth Night--Celebration of, at Williamsburg, in 1779 3
His Life and Writings, by Jared Sparks, reviewed 591
Werner's System of Geogony 303
West, a Tale of the 437
Western Scenery 139
Western Traveller, Reminiscences of 336
Wheeling Fort, attacked on the Indians in 1777 356
Whiston, William, his account of the Earth's Origin 302
White Antelope, or the Indian Lover, a Tale 393
Wilde, Richard H.--His Letter on being charged with Plagiarism 252
Willis, Nathaniel P., vindicated 88
His Impressions of London 366
"Winter in the West," notice of 459
Wirt, William, Oration in memory of, reviewed 16
His Letter to a Law Student 34
Wolfe, Charles, his description of "The Dargle" 203
Woman, her Position and Influence in Society 493, 621, 673
Worcester's Dictionary, notice of 715
* * * * *
POETRY.
A
Age of Reptiles 612
A. L. B., Lines to him 492
Album, Lines in, 12, 177, 272, 369, 467, 611, 667, 748
Ann, Lines to 466
Answer to "My Life is like the Summer Rose" 452
Answer to Willis's, "They may talk of your Love in a Cottage" 612
Anticipation 161
Apostrophe of the Æolian Harp to the Wind 396
"Arnold and Andre," an unpublished Drama, scene from 555
Autumn 453
Autumn Woods 179
B
Ballad 705
Barlow's Monument, Lines on 369
Battle of Breed's Hill 185
Beauty of Time 161
Beauty without Loveliness 208
Bible, Lines to the 371
Blackstone's "Farewell to his Muse" 208
Broken Heart 404
Brown, Mrs. D. P., Lines to her Infant Daughter 13
To her Children, on the New Year 14
Byron's Last Words 177
C
Cantilena Amatoria 776
Cemetery, the, from the Russian 63
Changes of Nature 240
Christiana, Lines to 755
Claudia, To 776
Coldness of Character, Lines on being accused of 635
Coliseum, the, a Prize Poem, by Edgar A. Poe 706
Collegian, Poems by, Extracts from 117
Columbus before the University of Salamanca 12
Content's Mishap, by Pertinax Placid 450
Coquetry, Lines on, to Miss C. 369
Creation of the Antelope 216
Curse of the Betrayed One, a Fragment 763
D
D----, Lines to, by a Young Lady 160
Dandy Chastised 96
Davis, Warren R., Lines to his Memory 317
Death among the Trees, by Mrs. Sigourney 51
Death of the Motherless, by the same 372
Declaration, the 180
Desart Grief, by Lucy T. Johnson 771
Despair, Lines to 200
Diamond Chain 611
Dirge, by Mrs. Willard 539
E
Elegy, by Frederick Speece 636
Eolian Harp's Apostrophe to the Wind 396
Epigram Francaise, and Translation 186
Epigrams 317, 320, 612
Epitaph on a Young Lady 319
Estelle, Verses to 539
Eugene Aram, Paraphrase of a Figure in 604
Exile, The 317
Extempore, on hearing Mr. Wickham in the House of Delegates 208
F
F----, Lines to 691
Farewell to Rosa 540
Fated City 100
Friends of Man, by Mrs. Sigourney 755
From my Scrap Book 180
From my Mother's Note Book 318
G
Genius of Columbia to her Native Muse 50
Girl of Beauty 667
Grave Seekers 101
H
Happy Love 208
Heart, The 184
Hector and Andromache, parting of--_translated by William Munford_ 768
H. W. M. Lines to 634
Hope, Address to 370
Hopes and Sorrows 371
Hymn to the Stars 101
I
"I met Thee by Moonlight alone" 764
Ianthe, Lines to 186
Impromptus 183, 198
Infant Nephew in England, Address to 699
Intemperance, by Mrs. Sigourney 13
Invocation 453
Invocation to Religion 161
Irish Peasant Wife's Song, by Mrs. Norton 206
Italian Extravaganza, and Translation 452
J
James Gibbon Carter--lines on his death 660
_Jeu de Mots_--on a Name 319
Josephine 775
Julia Bruce, the blind, deaf mute--Lines on by Mrs. Sigourney 635
K
Kiss, The--_a la Moore_ 199
L
La Fayette, by Mrs. Willard 538
Last Gift 396
Last Indian, by Larry Lyle 402
Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse 316
"Let Ocean swell with angry spite," 452
Lines to ---- ---- of the United States Navy 49
on Finding a Billet from an early Friend 62
placed with a Rose on a Lady's Cheek 96
to ----, by L. 101
written in the Village of A---- in Virginia 706
to ----, by Powhatan 164
by the late Dr. Drake 177
by Alexander L. Beard 699
to a Lady 186
on Poesy and Religion 660
to Mrs. B. G. S. by E. A. S. 764
Love, Mutual, but Hopeless 199
M
Maniac's Address to the Moon 698
Marguerite, Lines to 465
Mary, Lines to 635, 692
Miniature, The--by George P. Morris 317
Miss Martineau, Lines on 319, 320
Moonlight 370
Musings, by the author of Vyvyan 14, 50, 99
My Child, Verses to--by Pertinax Placid 467
My Daughter's Lullaby 537
"My Life is Like the Summer Rose," by Wilde 13
Answer to it 452
My Native Home, by George Watterston 644
My Native Land, by Lucy T. Johnson 466
My own Opinion, _a la_ Shakspeare 272
My Sisters, Lines to 604
My Wife, Lines to 199
N
Napoleon 453
Napoleon's Grave, by R. H. Wilde 231
Nature and Art 437
Nugator, Verses by 82, 539
O
"O Give me that Oblivious Draught!" 320
Ocean, The 671
Ocean Hymn, by Mrs. Willard 538
Ode, on a Fine Night at Sea 179
Old Parish Church, by Nugator 539
"One who will understand me," Lines to 369
P
Parody on Bryant's Autumn 185
on Roy's Wife, by Warren R. Davis 207
on the Song in Marmion "Where shall the Lover rest," &c. 612
Parting 178
Passage of the Beresina 207
Peasant Women of the Canaries 184
Picture of Old Virginia, by Nugator 82
Pirate's Wife, Song of 771
Poems of Mrs. Jean Wood 209
Power of Faith 40
Prayer 272
R
"Remember me, Love!" 692
Richmond Theatre, the burning of 666
Rosalie Lee (Young Rosalie) 332
Ruins of Jamestown--Lines on Viewing 178
S
Sappho's Ode "To the Beloved Fair," a Stanza of it in Sarah--Lines to
692
Gaelic 454
Sea, a Sonnet on the--by A. L. Beard 260
Sea Bird's Revel, by Giles McQuiggin 764
Serenade 12
Sigourney, Mrs.--her Poems 12, 51, 371, 372, 635, 755
Sleep 77
"Sleep on, thou Dear Maiden!" 604
Song 254, 692
Song, by the author of Vyvyan 62
Song of the Pirate's Wife 771
Song of the Seasons, by Larry Lyle 232
Sonnets 49, 99, 116, 185, 260, 636
Speece's Poems 118
Spider, The 317
Spring, by Eliza 492
by "a Prisoner" 492
by "Roy" 492
Stanzas 49, 116, 119, 660
Stray Leaves 332
Susquehannah and Lackawanna, Lines on seeing their junction--by Mrs.
Sigourney 371
Sybil's Leaf 199
T
"The Dial marks the Sunny Hour" 604
The Declaration 180
"The Dove of my Bosom lies bleeding" 644
The True Foundation 320
"There's nae Laddie Coming," by Hogg 200
"There is a Thought that still obtrudes" 540
"Thou Arch Magician!" 467
Thoughts, by E. A. S. 756
Thoughts on Seeing the Evening Star 319
Translations from Horace 712
from Adrian 712
True Consolation 186
True Riches and Glory 372
"Trust Not," by A. L. B. 320
Truth and Falsehood 320
U
Unfinished Poem, extract from 370
Unreasonable Wishes--to Miss S. S. 494
V
Victim of Disappointment 724
Visit to an Ancestral Vault 200
W
Wanderer, The--by A. L. Beard 392
Washington and Napoleon, Contrasted 90
"We parted, not as Lovers part" 452
What I Love 452
"Where is my Heart" 453
White, Thomas H., Lines in Memory of 491, 698
Wilde, R. H.--Pieces by him 13, 99, 186, 187, 231, 318
Willard, Mrs.--her contributions to the Messenger 538, 539
Winter Scenes, at Williamsburg 403
Wood, Mrs. Jean--Poems by 209
Y
Young Rosalie Lee 332
Young Child, Lines to 101
Young Lady, Lines to 177