University of Virginia Library

I refer not to a sister by birth, but by adoption, with whose name and history you are familiar.

“Les plus belles contrées du monde quand elles ne retracent aucun souvenir, quand elles ne portent l'empreinte d'aucun evénément remarquable sont depourvues d'interêt en comparaison des pays historiques.”—

Civilized men, the inhabitants of countries made classic by a thousand memories, tired of the eternal presence of their kind, and satiated with all common emotions, may long for the wilderness, and suppose savage Nature the true and only source of the sublime. But let them try to embody their feelings and ideas so as to impart pleasure to others; let them attempt to extract poetry from inanimate or irrational objects apart from man, and see how soon monotony produces weariness.

You may wonder why I begin with Florida rather than any other portion of the vast region, so much of which we saw together. The answer is easy, though the reason be of little weight. In so rambling and incoherent a narrative as mine, the place where it commenced could be of little consequence. Florida was first settled, for the town of St. Augustine dates back to 1565, whilst Virginia did not boast a European settlement till 1607, New York not till 1614, and Massachusetts not till six years later. There being, therefore, no good reason to disturb her right of seniority, I have allowed Florida to enjoy it.

The bay of Escambia by moonlight, clear, calm, and bright as the sky it reflected, with a solitary canoe gliding over its surface, whose oars kept time to some old Spanish Romance chanted by the boatmen, is a scene impressed upon my memory no less by its own beauty than by associations never to be forgotten.

One very dear to me was ill, and, after suffering much, sunk towards midnight into a gentle slumber. Relieved from my watch by the couch of the patient, I stole to the balcony for air, and saw the bay and sky as I describe them. Never were sounds sweeter than that Spanish ballad,—not even “Tasso's echoes” from the gondoliers of Venice, which you may have heard, though I did not; yet, let me confess to you, the strongest feeling of the moment was fear lest the song, soft and distant as it was, or the almost inaudible dip of the oars, should disturb the sleep of the invalid. .....

The meteors, do you remember how we used to watch them? .....

The numberless brilliant ones of a well-remembered night must have been those which Philosophy has since ascertained to be periodic about the 10th of August. But Philosophy had as little thought of them then as I had of Philosophy.

You are quite as familiar with Santa Rosa as myself, and can answer for the fidelity of the description. The personification of the island, and Fort St. Charles of the Barrancas, is a somewhat bold and hazardous license; but if ever fort and island would bear to be personified, St. Charles and Santa Rosa will endure that liberty.

The well-known vaunt of the Spanish ambassador.

You remember of course the ‘big spring’ of Chippola, supposed by the Indians to be the fountain of everlasting youth, to discover which Ponce de Leon is said to have undertaken his voyage.

Such legends I believe are common to almost every race and country. There is a fountain of this nature in the Greek romance of Ismene and Ismenias, in the German book of Heroes, and in the French “Fabliau” of Coquaigne:—

Nay, the Arabs have a tradition that Alexander the Great discovered it. If you are curious to know more of its site and properties, Dunlap's History of Fiction and the Commentaries on the Koran will inform you. It would now, of course, be impossible to determine whether the Indians lent this fiction to the Spaniards, or borrowed it from them; most probably the latter.

For an interesting account of Ortiz's adventures, see “Historia de la Florida, por el Inca Garcilaso de la Vega,” Madrid, 1803, Tom. I. cap. xvii. p. 119.

One of the most striking objects to a foreigner is an American forest. Even to ourselves, when a residence abroad has unfamiliarized us with it, the forest comes upon us with all its gloomy grandeur, its solitude and silence. The vast thicket of enormous trees, vines, canes, and undergrowth, which we call a swamp, with its variety of production and inhabitants,—here and there a lake, and everywhere the richest, rankest vegetation,—exists, I fancy, only in America and Africa. In Europe certainly, I saw nothing like it.

During our travels at the South, we remarked, as you may remember, that the sight of a mocking-bird indicated our approach to a plantation. This proves his sociability. As for the other little additions to his character, I should be sorry to calumniate him, because he was an especial favorite of yours. But the truth must be told. He is a great rogue even according to aboriginal testimony. The Indians have a legend that he stole the tongues of all the other birds while they slept, and hence the variety of his notes, which are an imitation of all. For this reason he was called, in one of their ancient dialects, Coonee latee, which literally translated signifies “Trick-tongue.” A clever thief has always been in favor with barbarians and semi-barbarians, from the time of Sparta to the present day. A brother bard who be-sonneted the feathered Momus, some years ago, in the London “New Monthly,” seems to have had a somewhat better opinion of his genius. At least he supposes the mimic to be a sentimental swindler,—a “minion of the moon,—melancholy and gentlemanlike.” Judge ye, for yourself.

At the time of writing these lines I was ignorant of the resemblance between the thoughts embodied in them, and the following ones of Goethe:—

“Da ist kein Augenblick, der nicht dich verzehrte, und die Deinigen um dich her, kein Augenblick, da du nicht ein Zerstörer bist, seyn musst; der harmloseste Spaziergang kostet tausend armen Würmchen das Leben, es zerrüttet ein Fusstritt die mühsehligen gebäude der Ameisen, und stampft eine kleine Welt in ein schmähliches Grab. Ha! nicht die grosse, seltne Noth der Welt, diese Fluthen, diese Erdbeben, die eure Städte verschlingen, rühren mich; mir untergräbt das Herz die verzehrende Kraft, die in dem All der Natur verborgen liegt; die nichts gebildet hat, das nicht seinen Nachbar, nicht sich selbst zerstörte. Und so taumle ich beängstigt, Himmel und Erde und ihre webenden Kräfte um mich her: ich sehe nichts, als ein ewig verschlingendes, ewig wiederkäuendes Ungeheuer.”

You must often have observed the ruins of old Spanish forts, which are found throughout Florida. Some doubtless mark only the chain which guarded the once flourishing settlements destroyed by the British and Indians under Governor Moore. Others are supposed to be more ancient, and vestiges of Pamfilo de Narvaez and Fernando de Soto's ill-fated expeditions. The modern Jasons sought here El Dorado, of which perhaps the golden fleece was the original version.

The following account of that visionary region, extracted from I know not where, may perhaps amuse you:—

“This is a Spanish phrase, that, being freely translated into our language, means ‘the golden or gilded.’ It is often used by writers, when describing regions supposed to yield an abundance of the precious metals, and is sometimes applied to countries or districts said to be rich in soil, and salubrious in climate, and abounding in commercial or agricultural advantages.

“During the war between the Crusaders and the Saracens, a sanguinary conflict, remarkable for the prowess displayed by the combatants, in which Richard Cœur de Lion and Melek Adhel were the commanders, terminated in favor of the English hero, who captured an immense caravan of nearly 2,000 camels and a vast drove of mules, laden with coin, ingots of gold and silver, superb armor, purple dye (such as was used by the Tyrians), rich robes, embossed cushions and spices. This vast booty, deemed sufficient to purchase a kingdom, was on its way from Babylon to the camp of Saladin. Richard distributed part of it among his followers, and despatched the remainder, in charge of a confidential escort, for England; but it was thought much of it never reached its destination. On the cessation of hostilities, and previous to the Crusaders' departure from the Holy Land, they visited the splendid encampment of the Saracenic army, and were entertained with all the gorgeous pageantry and sumptuous hospitality of the Oriental monarch, who exchanged tokens of esteem and amity with the chivalric Richard. Among the European host there were many adventurers, who joined the army more to improve their fortunes, by developing the commercial resources of Palestine, than for the purpose of wresting Jerusalem from the Saracen; and these, having seen the rich spoils taken by Richard and other leaders, on their return to England, France, Spain, Germany, and Rome, gave such enthusiastic accounts of the products and treasure of the Eastern Empire, that a spirit of enterprise was aroused, and an association formed of the opulent merchants of London, Hamburg, Lubec, Bruges, Antwerp, and other cities, for the extension of their mercantile relations.

“This grand copartnership, while it formed a bond of friendship, and was a source of great wealth, contributed to the acquisition and diffusion of scientific knowledge, and the expansion of European commerce with the nations of Asia and Africa. It was called the Hanseatic League. The confederates were endowed with unusual priveleges by several princes, to whom they loaned funds, shipping, and munitions of war. Their possessions and influence, obtained by wisdom and enterprise, at first elicited admiration, but ultimately their vast power alarmed the ruling potentates; and as the confederation prudently declined supporting some insolvent principalities, despotic mandates were issued, threatening the leaguers with severe penalties, including the forfeiture of their municipal charters, if the league continued after a certain date. And thus was this noble association dissolved, after flourishing nearly three centuries. But though the Hanse towns preferred allegiance to revolution, their enterprising spirit still pervaded the public mind, and a new impulse was given to commerce by the noble Florentine merchant, Cosmo de Medicis, who was gratefully called the ‘Father of his Country,’ because he expended the vast wealth acquired by trade in patronizing industry, fostering the arts, founding literary institutions, preserving the peace, and promoting the prosperity of Florence. He died in 1464, and was ably succeeded by his grandson, Lorenzo de Medicis, who bartered the fine linens, velvets, and woollens of Florentine manufacture for the rare and valuable commodities of Egypt, Persia, and other countries. He was a merchant prince in 1490. About this time, Christopher Colon, or Columbus, a Genoese navigator, determined to seek a new route to India, by sailing in a westerly direction; and having unsuccessfully applied to several kings and princes, who haughtily derided him as an infatuated visionary, he was consoled and patronized by the erudite and generous Isabella, consort of Ferdinand, who, although engaged in the expulsion of the Moors from Spain, enabled him to sail from Palos in 1492. As the fortunes and fate of Columbus are interwoven with the history of America, we will not pause to sketch them here; suffice it, therefore, that to the comprehensive views and munificent patronage of a noble-minded woman is justly to be ascribed the discovery of the new continent that is now the asylum of the oppressed of all nations, from the despotism of the Old World; and although the venal adventurer, Americus, clandestinely obtained copies of his nautical charts, and for a while deprived the scientific Genoese of his well-earned fame, it is to be hoped that the historian, the sculptor, and the bard, will yet do justice to the memory of Christopher Columbus. The discovery of the new continent, and the monetary facilities granted by the bankers of Lombardy, singularly identified with the fate of the powers who had crushed the Hanse towns, now divided public attention; and, for a season, the desire of obtaining loans of money to extend their territories, and the restless spirit of adventure that pervaded princes and people, gave rise to a series of extravagant speculations; soothsayers were consulted, estates mortgaged, and connections formed that proved, like the South Sea, Yazoo, Choctaw, and other bubbles, utterly disastrous to all concerned.

“At this extraordinary era, the fable of El Dorado was invented by a reckless impostor, who had visited Guiana and obtained specimens of rare birds, plants, minerals, &c.; among other curiosities, some of the shields, bracelets, and gilded weapons of the Peruvians and other Indians. The exaggerated representations of the boundless wealth and magnificence of the golden region spread contagiously from realm to realm, and so inflamed the imagination of navigators and statesmen, that in 1595 Sir Walter Raleigh obtained permission of Queen Elizabeth to equip an expedition to explore the dominions of the gilded king. Elizabeth shrewdly remarked that it looked very like romantic knight-errantry, and required a description of his fair land, and the history of its sovereigns, trade, products, &c. Sir Walter stated that travellers who had been there gave him the following narrative.

“After the fall of the Incas of Peru, a prince named Atabalipa collected all the treasures he could lay his hands on, and fled to an inland country, where he was kindly received and became king of Manoa, or El Dorado, with the title of the Great Moxo, or Great Paru; that his subjects gave him control of inexhaustible mines of gold, emerald, adamant, rubies, &c.; that his palace was built of porphyry, alabaster, ebony, and cedar, with massive cornices, pillars, &c. of brilliant marble cased with gold; that the country abounded in valuable perfumes, wonderful animals, delicious fruits, and spontaneously produced all the luxurious delicacies of every clime; that the king's robes, furniture, and palanquins were enriched with gold, silver, and precious gems; that the royal household and temples of the sun, the magi and vestals, were arrayed in the most gorgeous and most beautiful attire; and that gold and silver were so little valued, that their weapons, armor, and household vessels were mostly formed of those rich materials; that the Great Paru was desirous of forming an alliance with some of the nations of Europe, and that the treasury and commerce of England would be vastly enhanced by such an alliance; that the kingdom was situated in a delightful region near Guiana, and when his Majesty went to the temple of the sun, he was sprinkled all over with gold-dust, and his path strewed with delicate and fragrant flowers, &c.

“Elizabeth knew well the romantic nature of her favorite, and told him that he could not realize all the wonders he had heard of, but hoped he would make discoveries and form alliances favorable to the commerce of England, and that it was principally with that object in view, she sanctioned his adventure in search of the kingdom of El Dorado. History informs us, that after encountering perils and privations, wasting his health, and expending his resources, Raleigh returned to England, dejected, tempest-worn, and disheartened. But Elizabeth's object was accomplished, for the embryo trade of her reign was the basis of the stupendous commerce that exists at this day between Great Britain and the governments of Peru, Chili, Bolivia, Mexico, &c.

“The fate of Raleigh is an epitome of what befell other adventurers, and when we contemplate the evils of indulging in such chimerical projects, and compare the disastrous speculations of the sixteenth century with many splendid bubbles that we have seen burst within a few years past, we easily perceive that peace and competence await the patient and industrious, while those who reject the advice of prudent friends, and the dictates of wisdom, generally share the fate of those adventurers who sought the delusive region of El Dorado.”

This and the foregoing stanza are imitated from the Italian sonnet of Giulio Bussi,—“Che sei tu Gloria?”

There is a passage in Thierry (Lettres sur l'Histoire de France, p. 392,) which no doubt well describes the horror such edifices inspired in “the good old time.”

A fact literally related. Oliver O'Hara, well known in America, is the person here referred to. I think you must have seen him.

St. Aūgustine,—I have adopted the local pronunciation derived from the Spanish Aūgustino,—small and ruinous as it is, or was, interested me greatly, being the first specimen of a Spanish town I ever saw; Pensacola not having that peculiar appearance. There were also the Castle, and the Minorcan girls, and the Spanish dances,— the nine days' festival in May, and the Lord knows what beside.

How differently the same objects impress different beholders, according to their several associations! I was speaking of the Castle to an old inhabitant in terms of admiration “I never go near it,” said he, “if I can help it. I can't ride by without thinking of the time when I never went to bed at night without supposing I might find myself in the Calaboose before morning, nor ever rose in the morning without the thought that I might sleep there at night.”

The petty tyranny of provincial despots under absolute, and especially under decaying monarchies, is almost incredible. An inhabitant of St. Augustine, hated by the Governor, happened one day when his legs were encased in a new pair of silk hose, to meet his Excellency. “I should like, Señor, to see how those stockings would look in the stocks.” “I have not the least objection to gratify your Excellency, if you will only allow me to take my feet out of them.” The wit and readiness of the reply alone saved him.

The reference is to a sonnet I first saw in your possession.

The column of the Constitution, still standing [1826] in the public square of St. Augustine, is no stranger to you. 'T is said, I know not how truly, to be the only one remaining in any of the present or former dominions of the Spanish monarchy. It was saved by the transfer of the colony to the United States by treaty, before the royal order was issued for destroying these memorials of “the Cortes and the Constitution.”

General Oglethorpe was offered the command of the British army in America, but refused to accept it, unless on condition of being authorized to assure the Colonies that justice should be done them. He said “he knew the people of America well; that they would never be subdued by arms, but their obedience might be readily secured by Justice.”

The Earl of Effingham had the merit of setting him this noble example. With a frankness which his enemies styled folly, he assured his Majesty, “that, though he loved the profession of a soldier, and would be ever ready to sacrifice his life and fortune in his Majesty's service, he would never be instrumental in depriving any part of the people of their liberties, and therefore could not bear arms against the Americans.”

A county in Georgia has been called Oglethorpe, and another, Effingham.

I copy Bartram to save you the trouble of a reference.

“The river St. Mary has its source from a great lake, or marsh, called Ouaquophenogaw (Okefinokee), which lies between Flint and Ocmulgee rivers, and is near three hundred miles in circuit.

“This vast accumulation of waters in the wet season appears as a lake, and contains some large islands or knolls of rich, high land, one of which the present generation of Creeks represent as one of the most blissful spots on earth. They say it is inhabited by a peculiar race of Indians, whose women are lovely beyond description. They also tell you that this terrestrial paradise has been seen by some of their enterprising hunters, when in pursuit of game, who, being lost in inextricable swamps and bogs, were on the point of perishing, until unexpectedly relieved by a company of beautiful women called “daughters of the Sun,” who kindly gave them such provisions as they had, chiefly fruit, such as oranges, dates, &c., and some corn, and then told them to fly for safety to their own country; for that their husbands were fierce men, and cruel to strangers. They further say that their hunters had a view of the settlements, situated on the elevated banks of an island, or promontory, in a beautiful lake; but that in their endeavors to approach it, they were involved in perpetual labyrinths, and, like enchanted land, still as they imagined they had just gained it, it seemed to fly before them, alternately appearing and disappearing. They resolved at length to leave the idle pursuit, and to return; which after a number of inexpressible difficulties they effected.

“When they reported their adventures to their countrymen, their young warriors were inflamed with an irresistible desire to invade and conquer so charming a country; but all their attempts have hitherto proved abortive, never having been able to find that enchanting spot, nor even any road or pathway to it; yet they say that they frequently meet with certain signs of its being inhabited, as the building of canoes, footsteps of men, &c. They tell another story concerning the inhabitants of this fairy land, probable enough; which is, that they are the posterity of a fugitive remnant of the ancient Yamasees, who escaped massacre after being overthrown in a bloody and decisive battle with the Creek nation.”—

You will smile at the limits honest Bartram assigns to the Okefinokee. The unknown and the marvellous always go together.

“Solon in his youth was greatly addicted to poetry, and Plato in Timæus says, that if he had finished all his poems, and particularly the History of the Atlantic Island, which he brought out of Egypt, and had taken time to revise and correct them, as others did, neither Homer, Hesiod, nor any other ancient poet, would have been more famous.”—

There are few of the Southern and Southwestern States in which the destruction of the forest does not mark the path of a tornado. The course of some of these hurricanes extends upwards of a hundred miles in length, by one to three miles broad.

Such a conflagration of the forest you and I have seen half a dozen times at least.

If you wish to learn how it impresses others, read Beltrami, Basil Hall, or Stewart's descriptions.

[“Les arbres surannés de ces forêts immortelles avaient pris feu avec l'herbe, et les broussailles. Un vent violent du N. O., avait embrasé les plaines et les vallons. Les sommets des collines et des montagnes, où le vent dominait plus fortement, surmontés par les flammes ressemblaient à des volcans, au moment de leurs éruptions effrayantes; et le feu, qui dans les endroits herbeux descendait en serpentant, offrait précisément l'aspect des laves ondoyantes du Vesuve, et de l'Etna. ....

“Cet incendie nous accompagna plus ou moins varié, pendant plus de 15 milles. L'incendie, qui fut une des causes de la chute de l'homme des siècles, aurait été, peut-être, plus affreux mais il ne peut avoir offert, qu'une faible equisse des traits, à la fois sublimes, et epouvantable de celui-ci. Je crois, que le demon lui-même en était jaloux, et la Lune rougissait de luire inutilement sur ces endroits.”—

The scene however, is not peculiar to America; witness the following extract from Captain Owen's narrative:—

“The exploring party in the boats ascended the stream of the Mapoota very slowly, as the tides were not felt a few miles from the vessel, and the current, being at this season much increased by the freshets, became on the second day so strong that it was with great difficulty they made any progress; so that they were five days ascending forty miles, which occupied only one to return. Their progress was, in addition, materially obstructed by hippopotami and alligators, which were extremely numerous. One of the latter attacked Mr. Tudor's boat, and tore a piece out of her gunwale. Numerous wild geese were seen daily, and the evening mess was often much improved by their presence. On the fourth day a young alligator was shot, and the flesh was eaten with much satisfaction by the party, who pronounced it quite equal to turtle. They were so much annoyed by mosquitos, the howling of wild beasts, and the grunting, bellowing, and sporting of the hippopotami, that they got but little rest after their daily labors. Their camps were generally fixed on the right bank of the river, in the territories of Mapoota, where they were frequently visited by the natives. To make a place for their huts, they were in the habit of setting fire to the long grass, which, being dry, burnt readily to some distance; but the last evening of their ascent, they were surprised and rather alarmed at perceiving the flames extend to a neighboring forest. Mr Hood's description may convey an idea of the scene. He says:—

“‘The burning grass was rapidly consumed, and we were about pitching our tents as usual, when the flames suddenly spread in the direction of the forest; another moment, and it was on fire. First the underwood, then the branches, and lastly the ponderous trunks, were enveloped in one sheet of flame and smoke; the noise was terrific, as the crackling embers fell to the ground, while fiery sparks and brands were spreading the devouring element in all directions. The birds and numerous animals that had so long inhabited this impenetrable solitude undisturbed, were wildly screaming forth their terror, as, in their efforts to escape, they fell suffocated by the smoke into the consuming mass.

“‘We looked at one another in silent wonder, not unmixed with dread; the wild flame was let loose; it was spreading with uncontrollable fury, and we actually shuddered as we gazed upon the destruction we had made. The earth, the sky and water, all seemed kindled into flame. Our little power had produced this mighty work; but who could stop it? We felt our insignificance, and knew that One could arrest its burning course, and upon him we inwardly called with wonder and devotion. Such an event as this is of rare occurrence, and one that few men have seen, and none have been able to describe. It is almost too much for the eye to contemplate; the feelings become subdued by the terrific grandeur of the scene. It was like a universal conflagration; all around was fire,—red flames glowed from earth to heaven! I cannot describe what I suffered, for it was a painful sensation thus to gaze directly on the power of the Almighty. Both were his works; he had made the forest and the fire for the benefit of his creatures; used with the wisdom he has given them, they are their chief blessings; but thus thrown thoughtlessly and carelessly together by impious man, they become a consuming curse, devouring all in their burning wrath. We had no opportunity of learning the extent of this conflagration, as we were that night obliged to pitch our tents on the opposite side of the river.’”

Pulaski before coming to America had signalized his daring courage by seizing the person of the King during the unhappy civil wars of Poland.

Though he was accompanied by only two or three persons, whom he deemed trusty associates, one relented and betrayed him. The King was saved, and the Count obliged to fly. He fell in the fruitless attempt to storm the lines at Savannah, on the 11th of October, 1779. His remains were embarked in a coaster for Charleston, but the vessel foundered. The citizens of Savannah have erected, in one of the numerous squares which adorn their city, a monument to the memories of Greene and Pulaski.

This figure for the rainbow, it must be confessed, is rather violent, considering some of the scenes that have passed under the triple-hued, and more than thrice-stained flag. But you will pardon it, I know, for sake of the tricolor of our dear Italy. Red, white, and green, the types of Faith, Hope, and Charity,—the sacred hues formerly blended in the marbles of her churches,—the tints with which her Dante invested his Beatrice in heaven,—may surely be compared without offence to Iris.

After the fall of Charleston, Colonel Hayne, whose family were in a distant part of the country, and who was expecting to hear of the death of his wife, then ill of the small-pox, was refused a parole, and required to sign a declaration of allegiance, which he did under the express exception that he should never be required to take arms against his country. Notwithstanding this condition, he was afterwards required to serve in the British militia. Regarding this as a breach of compact, he joined the American forces, and, being captured by the enemy, was executed in the most summary and illegal manner. Not only all the inhabitants in Charleston in opposition to the British government, but even Lieutenant-Governor Ball, at the head of the Royalists, interceded for his life. The ladies of Charleston presented a pathetic petition in his behalf. His relations and children, who had just performed the funeral rites of a tender mother, implored his life upon their knees; but the heart of Lord Rawdon remained untouched. The condemnation of this cruel act by the voice of History drew from his Lordship, then Earl of Moira, a late and fruitless attempt to palliate it.

General Sumter went by this nickname among his soldiers.

De Kalb fell in the battle of Camden. He died rejoicing in the services he had rendered America in her struggle for liberty, and gloried to his last breath in the honor of dying for such a cause. These sentiments he expressed in a letter to a friend, dictated during his last moments.

A simple obelisk, with the name of De Kalb as its only inscription, does honor to him and to the town of Camden.

Macchiavelli.

“Sono questi modi crudellissimi e nemici d' ogni vivere, non solamente cristiano ma uomo, e debbegli qualunque uomo fuggire. Nondimeno colui che non vole pigliare quella prima via del bene, quando si voglio mantenere, conviene che entri in questo male. Ma gli uomini pigliano certe vie del mezzo che sono dannossissime; perchè non sanno essere nè tutti buoni, nè tutti cattivi.”—

With unfeigned regret we announce this melancholy event, which took place at a quarter to five o'clock, this morning. The improvement which was perceptible in the symptons of his fatal malady yesterday evening, and which inspired his friends with a hope that his valuable life might yet be spared to them, continued until about two o'clock this morning, when a change took place in his breathing, which announced the approach of dissolution. A blister was about to be applied to the chest, but he faintly expressed his dissent, and these were his last words. The venerable General was born on the 1st of September, 1757, and consequently wanted little more than three months to complete the age of seventy-seven. The wondrous scenes in both the New World and the Old, in which the name of Lafayette was prominently distinguished, are among the most remarkable in the annals of mankind; and we may safely aver (without entering into abstract opinions on political doctrines) that History does not in all her records possess a name which has passed through the searching ordeal of public opinion, even in the darkest and most tempestuous times, more pure and unsullied than his whose death his country is to-day called upon to deplore.

The death of General Lafayette has produced among all the friends of liberty a regret proportioned to their sense of his public and private virtues, rather than to any high estimate formed of the intellectual powers of that revolutionary patriarch. General Lafayette was a strictly honest man, a brave soldier, a disinterested patriot, an enthusiast in the cause of general liberty, of which there nevertheless appears no evidence that he understood the true nature or theory, which alone would account for his incapacity at the most favorable periods of his political existence to render its principles subservient to the wants and interests of France. The name of freedom, so early as the outset of the American contest, had no small charms for the ardent spirit of Lafayette; a war in defence of it dazzled a young soldier's imagination; and a war against England, in a much worse cause, would have inflamed the blood of any genuine Frenchman. As a volunteer for America, he had a large field for the display of those popular qualities, vivacity, courtesy, courage, and generosity,—by all of which Lafayette was distinguished, and which won for him the personal affection of thousands of individuals among a rude people, not very susceptible of deep impressions from either the showy or the amiable in human nature. The Transatlantie popularity of M. de Lafayette followed him to France.

When the revolutionary troubles broke out, he was at the top of everything,—he was foremost in everything but crime. Successive crises, however, soon arose, wherein it was impossible for any but criminals to be leaders, and Lafayette's speedy abdication of a post, which would have required the sacrifice of all his better principles and all his gentler virtues, was imputed to him as weakness of character. We know that he never made a dishonorable choice, when the question was “weak or wicked.” It is indeed certain that the deceased General had not those qualities which carry men in triumph through the wear and tear of civil conflicts,—where all the resources of sagacity, dexterity, and promptitude of decision under adverse and unlooked for circumstances, are hourly called into play. Lafayette could move confidently along a level road, terminated by a visible and definite object; but the depths and intricacies of a complex and continued revolutionary struggle bewildered him. He could not fathom nor emerge from them. Hence he was extinguished as an actor during the first scene of the tragedy; and the same upright and conscientious spirit which drove him into exile under the Jacobin democracy, condemned him to obscurity under the despotism of Napoleon.

A republican in word and deed, he never would crouch to Bonaparte, nor applaud that iron pageant which he miscalled a Government, nor acknowledge the blood and spoils of foreign nations as a sufficient atonement to France herself for the ruin of every institution and every power that could be appealed to by civilized people as their security against the caprices of a tyrant. Lafayette plunged, therefore, into deep retirement, and was apparently neglected, though watched with vigilant suspicion, during the whole reign of Bonaparte. From the Restoration to the Revolution of 1830, the old apostle of liberty was always at his post,—invariably on the side of liberal and national measures, but exemplary in his respect for the laws, and his discouragement of public disturbance. The popular victory which drove the incorrigible Bourbons of the elder branch from Paris, might have placed Lafayette at the head of a French republic; but good sense and high principle alike restrained him from yielding to a seduction which might have cost his country a civil war.

He gave with his own hand the crown of France to Louis Philippe, and, as in former instances, the movement, whose first impulse had been directed by him, speedily shaped another course, leaving Lafayette stranded. The fact is, that the worthy General had not ascendency over others to make them his instruments for any length of time, and was too honest to be theirs when he once disapproved their proceedings. He was ever the first man whom revolution, while it yet wore the aspect of reform, sought as its apologist with the world, and the first who was revolted by its degeneracy. His name will go down to after ages in company with the most portentous events of modern times. But to most of them he was an appendage,—they were not his creation. His position made him celebrated,—it even made him important; but it could not make him great.

The statue of Washington, by Canova, was destroyed by the fire which consumed the State-House at Raleigh, to the unspeakable regret of all who were fortunate enough to see, and had taste enough to prize, that exquisite specimen of art. It is said not to have been remarkable as a likeness, and the costume was objected to; nevertheless the general effect was admirable. I saw it only twice,—once by day, and once by torchlight,—but can never forget it. You had opportunities of seeing it in progress, and conversing with the great restorer of sculpture in our day. How I envy you!

Washington,—Jefferson,—Patrick Henry.

Virginia, as laid down on some old British maps, extended from the Hudson to the St. John's, E. F. On the other hand, those of Florida as claimed by Spain reached to, and even beyond, St. Helena. The boundaries of their respective colonies were a fruitful source of war between European states. In the division of my subject, I have taken with names the license this uncertainty permitted. You cannot expect Poetry even now to be more exact than her sister Geography once was.

I am indebted, for many of the thoughts in this and the following stanzas, to an eloquent historical fragment of Victor Hugo's.

Wilford and Sir Walter Raleigh favor the hypothesis that the nursery of mankind and seat of Eden was in Central Asia.

“To this day, An-dés still designates the Alpine regions of Thibet bordering on Chinese Tartary.”—

Sagacious conjectures fulfilled by Time assume the character of prophecy. In one of Horace Walpole's letters, written in 1770, he says:—

“You have seen the accounts from Boston. The tocsin seems to be sounded in America. I have many visions about that country, and fancy I see twenty empires and republics forming upon vast scales all over that continent, which is growing too mighty to be kept in subjection to half a dozen exhausted nations in Europe. As the latter sink, and the others rise, they who live between the eras will be a sort of Noah's witnesses to the period of the old world, and origin of the new. I entertain myself with the idea of a future Senate in Carolina and Virginia, where their patriots will harangue on the austere and incorruptible virtue of the ancient English; will tell their auditors of our disinterestedness and scorn of bribes and pensions, and make us blush in our graves at their ridiculous panegyrics!”

Hume, too, is said, from an antipathy to Whiggism, to have expunged a passage equally remarkable from the first edition of his History.

[America.] “The seeds of many a noble state have been sown in climates kept desolate by the wild manners of the ancient inhabitants; and an asylum secured in that solitary world for liberty and science, if ever the spreading of unlimited empire or the inroad of barbarous nations should again extinguish them in this turbulent and restless hemisphere!”

The eye of Montcalm also pierced somewhat into futurity, and foretold part of our fortunes; and your own Filangieri augured for us a brilliant destiny:—

“In un angola dell' America presso un popolo libero e commerciante, figlio dell' Europa, ma che l' oppressione ha reso inimico della sua madre; presso questo popolo, io dico, s' innalza una voce che ci dice: Europei, se per servirvi, noi siamo venuti nel nuovo mondo, sappiate che oggi le nostre ricchezze e la cognizioné di quelle che possiamo acquistare, non soffrono più una servitù oltraggiosa, che può essere permutata con una specie di libertà, che non tarderà molto a metterci nello stato di darvi la legge e che vi farà un giorno pentire d' essere stati gli artefici delle vostre catene. La nostra independenza frutto delle vostre ingiustizie e del nostro risentimento; i vantaggi della nostra posizione; la celerità che puo avere il nostro commercio; la facilità de richiamare a noi con uno solo atto di voluntà le richezze e gli agi de' due emisferi; i progresse della nostra popolazione accresciuta nel tempo stesso e della motiplicità de' matrimonj e che e' opulenza pubblica produce e dal concorso degli stranieri che la speranza di miglior fortuna richiamera sulle nostre rive ridenti per i raggi d' una nascente libertà, tutti questi vantaggi uniti alla superiorità che dà agli stati ed agli uomini il vigore della gioventù accopiato al sentimento della prosperità, ci renderà gli arbitri del destino dell' America e della sorte dell' Europa: noi potremo con facilità strapparvi dalle mani le sorgente delle vostre ricchezze: lo spazio immerso che ei separa da voi, ci permetterà di compire i preparativi delle nostre invasioni, prima che lo strepito ne sia pervenuto ne' vostri climi; noi potremo scegliere i nemici, il campo e 'l momento delle vittorie: i nostri tesori e la nostra situazione ci assicureranno sempre della felicità della nostre in traprese: i nostri navigli, vittoriosi compariranno sempre innanzi alle coste che non popono essere nè ben custoditi nè ben difese da potenze lontane: i vostri soccorsi guigneranno sempre tardi; le vostre colonie finalmente, o diverrano le nostre provincie, o spezzeranno le loro catene col soccorso della nostro alleanza che noi non negheremo mai allorchè ci sana richiesta dall voce della libertà contra la tirannia. Privi allora dell' America, e per conseguenza dell' Asia, che non va in cerca che del nostro argento, voi vitornerete nell' oscurita e nelle barbaria dalla quale siete usciti, e la vostra sola povertà potrà garantirvi dall nostra guiste ma non profittevoli vendette.”—

[“The annual foliage had already been changed by the frost. Of the effects of this change, it is, perhaps, impossible for an inhabitant of Great Britain, as I have been assured by several foreigners, to form an adequate conception without visiting an American forest. When I was a youth, I remarked that Thomson had entirely omitted, in his ‘Season,’ this fine part of autumnal scenery. Upon inquiring of an English gentleman the probable cause of the omission, he informed me, that no such scenery existed in Great Britain. In this country it is often among the most splendid beauties of Nature.

“The leaves of all trees which are not evergreens are changed by the first severe frost from their verdure towards the perfection of that color which they are capable of ultimately assuming, through yellow, orange, and red, to a pretty deep brown. As the frost affects different trees and different leaves of the same tree in different degrees, a vast multitude of tints are commonly found on those of a single tree, and always on those of a grove or forest. These colors also, in all their varieties, are generally full, and in many instances exquisite. Different sorts of trees are susceptible of different degrees of beauty. Among these the maple is distinguished, by the finished beauty, prodigious variety, and intense lustre of its hues, varying between a rich green and the most perfect crimson. ..... Numerous evergreens furnish the background of the picture.”—

You have seen the Natural Bridge, so celebrated by all travellers. There is a tradition there that the feat described in the succeeding lines was performed, and I think the name is shown.

Weyer's Cave, of which see any of the many florid descriptions, for I remember you did not enter it. Tudor's will answer the purpose as well as any.

“Weyer's Cave presents the most extraordinary, splendid, and beautiful subterranean exhibition that is perhaps to be seen in any part of the world. The countless myriads of stalactites and petrifactions, of every size, form, and color, from the purest white to the darkest green and brightest vermilion, and from the dimensions of an organ to those of an icicle, exceed all that can be imagined. Many of the numberless chambers contained in it, of which one or two appear nearly as spacious as Westminster Hall, are literally hung round with these glittering spars, presenting, in various places, the most picturesque and fanciful drapery of petrified and transparent substances, and reminding me, from their gorgeous appearance, and the situation in which they were beheld, of the magical halls of an Arabian enchanter.

“Having procured a guide, and a number of boys to carry torches, I entered this fairy palace just as the moon was softly brightening over the blue mountains, which might now have well changed their denomination from blue to silver, as the former was absorbed altogether in the flood of radiant light that was poured down upon them. The entrance to this laboratory of Nature, where she works in silence and secrecy, producing the most enchanting forms and devices, lies on the precipitous side of a hill. It is excavated by an unknown and inartificial process into a thousand chambers and galleries, extending to a length of upwards of half a mile, and of very considerable breadth. Indeed, many of its caverns and recesses have never yet been explored; and those which are known require a conducting thread to guide the adventurer, as much as did the celebrated Cretan labyrinth of ancient story.

“The chamber which is first entered is called the ‘Vestibule,’—being bound, as a faithful narrator, to attend to the classical nomenclature of the place,—and whence you proceed, through a rock of petrifaction, to the ‘Dragon's Room.’ Here are perceived numberless and varied formations of stalactites, and a huge, outlandish figure of the same material, emblematical of the poetical personage that gives to the apartment its designation. Winding along a narrow gallery, the exploring visitor descends, by a steep ladder at its extremity, into what is denominated ‘Solomon's Temple,’ where is beheld a sublime and extraordinary sight, worthy of the illustrious title by which it is named. On one side is exhibited an immense, wave-like incrustation of the most beautifully white and transparent petrifaction, extending from the ceiling to the floor, representing a cascade falling over a precipice, and appearing to have conglaciated in the very act of descent. This is fancifully termed the ‘Falls of Niagara;’ and, associated as it is with the hidden depths of the subterranean world, and lighted up alone by the flickering and lurid glare of torches, impresses the imagination with a sentiment of wonder and superstitious awe. The effect was truly magical and full of interest. Turning to another side of this marvellous cavern, is seen ‘Solomon's Throne,’ elevated to a height, and thrown into a shape, well becoming the imaginary chair of state of a sovereign prince, and forming one entire mass of glittering crystals. Near to it stands ‘Solomon's Pillar,’ while in an apartment adjoining are beheld ten thousand stalactites suspended from the roof, of various spiral forms, and of a perfectly white color, called by the anti-poetical name of the ‘Radish Room.’

“Proceeding onward, through a long and winding passage, you ascend by another ladder to what has received the name of the ‘Tambourine,’ or ‘Drum Room,’ decorated with a splendid drapery of crystal workmanship, and semipellucid curtains of different hues, spread over the walls like the embellishments of a lady's drawing-room. These were truly admirable, some of them forming, in the loveliest white spar, the appearance of canopies, and others falling in ample sweep from the ceiling to the floor, and exhibiting as graceful and softly-flowing shapes as so many folds of silk. Here are displayed immense sheets of congelations, called the ‘Drums,’ which, on being struck, emit a sound resembling that of a gong. On leaving these instruments of unearthly melody, threading other galleries, and surmounting ‘Jacob's Ladder,’ you pass through the ‘Senate-Chamber,’ and the ‘Music Gallery,’—each presenting a diversified array of gorgeous gems of superhuman fabric,—into ‘Washington's Hall,’ the most splendid and extensive chamber of the cave. The dimensions of it are very considerable, being ninety yards in length, twenty wide, and fifty in height. The spars and crystal formations of this room, if so it may be called, are particularly brilliant, the roof being apparently supported by musical columns ranged along its sides, and which, by passing a stick rapidly over their surface, produce a profusion of singular intonations like a ring of bells. ‘The Father of his Country’ is here mounted on a superb pedestal of the same transparent mineral, exceeding in brightness the lustre of Parian marble, and might be supposed a second Rhadamanthus, descended to the shades below to administer the impartial justice which he taught and executed in the world above. It struck me that these hints of popular feeling, addressed to the memory of the great hero of the Revolution, might act as a gentle reminiscence to the senators of a country that he formed, and over which he presided with such devoted patriotism, that the vote which was passed in Congress two years ago, to raise a monument at Washington in honor to its first and most illustrious President, remains to this day a dead letter on the journals of their proceedings.

“I should be told, perhaps, in answer, that the patriot is embalmed in the grateful recollections of his countrymen, and that he lives in the bright records of his nation's history. All this I grant; and yet I cannot but think that these recollections must be rather cold, and to a stranger appear somewhat doubtful, when they do not evidence the internal workings of the heart by something of an external and visible form; which, while it might ornament the capital of a rising empire, would arrest the eye and fix the attention of the young aspirant for future fame. Whatever may be said of the generation coeval with the exploits of a chief who has deserved so well of his country, still posterity demands, and the foreigner travelling through the land looks for, some durable and recording memorial of a hero who has at once ennobled and adorned human nature.

“If the conqueror in the Olympic Games was crowned with laurel, and had temples and statues erected to his honor, the veteran chief who has laid the foundations of his country's independence and glory merits at least an equal distinction with the contenders in a chariot-race, with boxers, wrestlers, poets, and orators.

“Out of respect to the late President's wife, I must not omit to mention what is called ‘Lady Washington's Drawing-room,’ in which is displayed a variety of the most fantastical and beautiful drapery, of a bright green color, edged with white, and hanging in the form of curtains. At a short distance from this, with very appropriate coincidence, lies the ‘Diamond Room,’ well deserving its title from the extreme brilliancy of its spars, and their close resemblance to these costly ornaments. Continuing my researches, I now pass successively the ‘Pyramids,’ ‘Pompey's Pillar,’ and the ‘Falls of the Ganges;’ and come at length to one of the most gorgeous specimens of petrifaction in the whole cave, standing in ‘Jefferson's Hall.’ It is formed of a massive body of spar, that would probably weigh many hundred tons, and is decorated with the most graceful and regular flutings, covering its entire surface. This is denominated the ‘Tower of Babel,’ and is, without the slightest exaggeration, a truly magnificent piece of natural crystal workmanship.

“Passing a very fine incrustation of a silvery brightness, resembling the new moon,—being elevated towards the ceiling, and producing an optical delusion highly interesting,—I now scaled the rugged and slippery rocks of the ‘Giant's Causeway.’ The object that I proposed to myself, as the reward of my toil, was to see the ‘Statue of Bonaparte,’ beheld by very few in consequence of its difficult access. This circumstance has operated greatly in its favor, since, by being seldom touched, or tarnished by the smoke of torches, it preserves all its original splendor of color, and presents a snowy whiteness and brilliancy of spar exceeding all the rest. In this respect it was a matchless specimen of the purest and most beautiful crystallization.

“But it is high time to pause in my description, though I have not given you more than a tithe of the wonders of this gorgeous cave, and which infinitely surpasses everything of a similar nature that I have ever seen elsewhere. In point of interest, though not similarity, it forcibly recalls to my remembrance the superb caves of Ellora, on the plains of Hindostan, in which India's ten thousand gods are enshrined in colossal stature. You may imagine the absorbing delight that I took in this subterranean research, when I inform you that I remained gazing and exploring for five hours, to the no small surprise of my guide, who told me that few remained so long, or penetrated so far. I entered the cave about seven in the evening, after riding twenty miles, just as the lovely moon was throwing her ‘silver mantle’ over the sombre screen of the blue mountains; and when I came out, her glittering orb had passed the zenith and was fast declining to the western hills. The only apprehension I entertained, during my visit to these darksome regions, was the fear of our lights going out; a circumstance that was nearly occurring two or three times, when it would have been, I think, physically impossible to have extricated ourselves from the endless galleries, traversing each other, in which we were involved,—more intricate, I should imagine, than even the celebrated labyrinth of Dædalus.”

This tradition is said to have been delivered by a Shawnee Indian:—

“Ten thousand moons ago, when naught but gloomy forests covered this land of the sleeping sun; long before the pale men, with thunder and fire at their command, rushed on the wings of the wind to win this garden of nature; when naught but the untamed wanderers of the woods, and men as unrestrained as they, were the masters of the soil, a race of animals were in being, huge as the frowning precipice, cruel as the bloody panther, swift as the descending eagle, and terrible as the angel of night. The pines crashed beneath their feet, and the lake shrunk when they quenched their thirst. The javelin in vain was hurled, and the barbed arrow fell harmless from their sides. Forests were laid waste at a meal; the groans of expiring animals were heard, and whole villages of men were destroyed in a moment. The cry of universal distress rose even from the peaceful regions of the West, and the Good Spirit interposed to save the unhappy. The forked lightning flashed, and the loud thunder shook the world. The bolts of heaven fell upon the cruel destroyers alone, and the mountains echoed with the bellowings of death. All were killed but one male, the fiercest of the race, and him even the fury of the skies assailed in vain. He climbed the highest blue summit which shades the source of many waters, and, roaring aloud, bade defiance to every vengeance. The red lightning scorched the lofty firs and rived the knotty oaks, but only glanced on the enraged monster. At length, maddened with disdain, he leaped over the waves of the west, and at this moment reigns uncontrolled monarch of the wilderness, in despite of Omnipotence himself.”

The Convention which framed the present Constitution of Virginia. I witnessed its session, and never saw a deliberative assembly that impressed me with greater reverence.

[Alluding, it is supposed, to the following sonnet:—

These thoughts were many of them suggested by a sonnet of Zappi's. The translation, however, is not literal. Some of your countryman's lines I might despair of imitating; others, I should deliberately reject.

is ultra-coxcombical Platonism, of which Plato himself would be ashamed.

sins on the other side. My own vein, though less rich, is different and deeper.

Science will disenchant the world. It seems that aerolites in descending make music like an Æolian harp. This doubtless is the true music of the spheres. If it is not, what is?

[M. Arago, at a recent meeting of the French Academy, communicated some particulars of the fall of an aerolite, which happened near Utrecht at about eight o'clock on the evening of June 2d. A heavy detonation was heard to a distance of twelve or fifteen miles, like that of three or four discharges of a cannon, followed by a noise which was compared by the greater part of the persons who heard it to military music on the Æolian harp. This terrible and extraordinary harmony seemed to proceed from east to west, and continued for two or three minutes, throwing the inhabitants of the neighboring country into great alarm. At the same moment a peasant saw a heavy body fall at a little distance in a meadow. On repairing to the spot, a hole was discovered of a conical form, at the bottom of which was found a black stone. This aerolite had penetrated the earth in a vertical direction to the depth of a metre, and its course was arrested by a bed of moist sand. In a quarter of an hour after its fall, it was cold. Its weight was about fifteen pounds. At a little distance were found several others of less size.]

“Invideo quia quiescunt,”—the words of Luther in the cemetery of Worms.

Before my years numbered thirteen, I was, or fancied myself, enamored of an innocent and lovely girl, about my own age. Her brother and myself were friends, and she was occasionally the companion of our amusements. At length I confessed my affection, and at the same time my fears that want of fortune, and the embarrassments of my father, of which I had some vague idea, would be insuperable obstacles to my hopes. She frankly avowed that the attachment was mutual, and, in answer to my doubts, replied, with inexpressible naïveté and sweetness: “I know nothing of such things, but they tell me my father is rich,—will there not be enough for us all?”

My destiny soon after threw me far from her, and in a year afterwards she, who was then a woman, while I remained a youth, was united to another.

More than three lustres elapsed, during which some change took place in my condition; I saw her, then a widow, and she had utterly forgotten me. But I shall never cease to remember the frank and amiable simplicity of her girlish confession.

To the Colony of Maryland belongs the glory of having first incorporated into her civil code the principle of religious toleration,—with but one exception, the Jews. Nothing is at first perfect.

Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, a man of eminent ability and undaunted civil courage, was the first to propose explicitly in Congress the Declaration of Independence. Silent astonishment pervaded the assembly for a few moments, when it was broken by the zealous and intrepid eloquence of John Adams.

The scene is thus described in a letter from John Adams, written at the time:—

“When the Congress met, Mr. Cushing made a motion that it should be opened with prayer. It was opposed by Mr. Jay of New York, and Mr. Rutledge of South Carolina, because we were so divided in religious sentiments—some Episcopalians, some Quakers, some Presbyterians, some Anabaptists, and some Congregationalists—that we could not join in the same act of worship. Mr. Samuel Adams arose and said that he was no bigot, and could hear a prayer from any gentleman of piety and virtue, who was at the same time a friend to his country. He was a stranger in Philadelphia, but had heard that Mr. Duché (Dushay they pronounced it) deserved that character, and therefore he moved that Mr. Duché, an Episcopal clergyman, might be desired to read prayers to the Congress to-morrow morning. The motion was seconded and passed in the affirmative. Mr. Randolph, our President, waited on Mr. Duché, and received for answer, that if his health permitted he certainly would.

“Accordingly, next morning he appeared with his clerk, and his pontificals, and read several prayers in the established form, and then read the Collect for the seventh day of September, which was the thirty-fifth Psalm. You must remember this was the morning after we had heard of the rumor of the horrible cannonade of Boston. It seemed as if Heaven had ordained that Psalm to be read that morning.

“After this, Mr. Duché, unexpectedly to everybody, struck out into an extemporary prayer, which filled the bosom of every man present. I must confess I never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced. Episcopalian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor, such ardor, such correctness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime, for America, for Congress, for the Province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially the town of Boston. It had an excellent effect upon everybody here. I must beg you to read the Psalm. If there is any faith in the Sortes Virgilianæ or Homericæ, or especially the Sortes Biblicæ, it would be thought providential!”

Here was a scene for a painter! The place of assemblage was Carpenter's Hall, in Philadelphia, which still survives in its original condition, though now desecrated into an auction mart.

Washington was kneeling there, and Henry, Randolph, and Rutledge, and Jay, and by their side there stood in reverence the Puritan patriots of New England, who had every reason to believe that an armed soldiery were at that moment wasting their homes, and dispersing their families. Who can describe the emotions with which they turned imploringly to Heaven for aid? “It was enough,” says Mr. Adams, “to melt the hardest heart. I saw tears gush into the eyes of the old, grave, pacific Quakers of Philadelphia.”

This and some of the succeeding stanzas were added since I stood upon the battle-grounds of Lodi, Marengo, Pavia, Waterloo, &c. They were suggested by a passage in Gibbon, but I have borrowed freely from Bulwer's “Devereux.”

That I have done no injustice to the new Huns and Scythians, by grouping them with the old, is attested by all history. I vouch Gibbon as one of the most elegant and sententious of many witnesses:—

“The experience of eleven centuries has enabled posterity to produce a much more singular parallel, and to affirm with confidence that the ravages of the Barbarians led by Alaric from the banks of the Danube were less destructive than the hostilities exercised by the troops of Charles the Fifth, a Catholic prince, who styled himself Emperor of the Romans. The Goths evacuated the city at the end of six days, but Rome remained above nine months in the possession of the Imperialists; and every hour was stained by some atrocious act of cruelty, lust, and rapine.”—

Gibbon, it is evident, had no great faith in our hereditary barbaric virtues. After describing some of the cruelties of the Huns under Attila, subsequent to the battle of Chalons, he says: “Such were those savage ancestors, whose imaginary virtues have sometimes exercised the praise and envy of civilized ages.” (Vol. VI. p. 122.)

On this subject, the struggle between Turner's national pride and historical impartiality is truly amusing. He describes the Pagan Saxons as savages, endowed with the most goodly stock of vices that Europe and Asia could furnish forth; yet he first claims for them, on doubtful authority, a superiority over the North American Indians (Vol. I. pp. 61, 120), and then insists that the Anglo-Saxon invasion of Britain must not be contemplated as a barbarization of the country! (Ibid. p. 149.) What a pity the Danish blood had not mixed more largely with the pure Anglo-Saxon! The Vikingr and Berserkir might have had ample justice done to their virtues by the learned and amiable historian; for if the invasion of the Saxons is not to be considered “a barbarization of the country,” why that of the Danes? or that of the Normans, descendants of these same Northmen and Vikingrs, and ascendants of all the noble blood of Britain that can claim them? And yet Thierry pretty clearly makes out the Norman Conquest to have been “a barbarization,” and Turner himself admits the Danish invasions to a like evil distinction.

I have scribbled this long note to gratify your Italian pride; but do not you add one word against us tramontane, or still worse transmarine barbarians, or I shall twit you with your national origin. “Grecia Mendax” holds good after two thousand years. Our old Greek and Trojan quarrels, you perceive, live in their ashes.

“The Gods of the Gentile are Demons.”—

“It is a great mistake to suppose that mankind in the aggregate have not a just and lively sense of their own merits,—they worship those that slaughter them.”

I remember to have seen somewhere the above very savage and truculent aphorism, which it might be dangerous to steal, and whereof I have no ambition to appear the inventor.

The worship of the Sword is one of the most ancient and widely diffused forms of idolatry.

“It was natural enough,” says Gibbon, “that the Scythians should adore with peculiar devotion the God of War; but as they were incapable of forming either an abstract idea, or a corporeal representation, they worshipped their tutelar deity under the symbol of an iron scymitar.

“One of the shepherds of the Huns perceived that a heifer, who was grazing, had wounded herself in the foot, and curiously followed the track of the blood, till he discovered among the long grass the point of an ancient sword, which he dug out of the ground and presented to Attila. That magnanimous, or rather that artful prince, accepted with pious gratitude this celestial favor, and, as the rightful possessor of the sword of Mars, asserted his divine and indefeasible claim to the dominion of the Earth.”—

Lucian tells us that the Scythians adored a sword (Jup. Trag.), which Herodotus also mentions as their emblem of Mars, to whom they sacrificed a portion of their prisoners.

Ammianus says: “Nec templum apud eos visitur aut delubrum, ne tugurium quidem culmo tectum cerni usquam potest: sed gladius Barbarico ritû humi figitur nudus, eumque ut Martem regionum quas circumcirant præsulem verecundius colunt.”—

Irmensul, the great Saxon idol, was the figure of an armed warrior. I spare you a minute account of him and Odin, as well as of Scythian customs, such as scalping their enemies, drinking their blood, and making cups out of their skulls. For these, as well as their moral virtues, I refer you to Turner and Gibbon, from whom I have copied the foregoing. You would not have me blaspheme the memories, as well as the gods, of my forefathers?

“The Scythic warrior of Central Asia,” says Tod, “the intrepid Gete, admitted no meaner representative of the God of Battle than his own scymitar. He worshipped it, he swore by it, it was buried with him. ..... If we look from this central land of the earliest civilization to Dacia, Thrace, Pannonia, the seats of the Thyssagetæ, or western Getes, we find the same form of adoration addressed to the emblem of Mars, as mentioned by Xenophon in his memorable retreat, and practised by Attila and his Goths, centuries afterwards, in the Acropolis of Athens. If we transport ourselves to the shores of Scandinavia, amongst the Cimbri and Getes of Jutland, to the Ultima Thule, wherever the name of Gete prevails we shall find the same adoration paid by the Getic warrior to his sword. .....

“Whether Charlemagne addressed his sword as Joyeuse, or the Scandinavian hero Argantyr as the enchanted blade (Hialmar's bane), each came from one common origin, the people which invented the custom of Karga Shapna, or adoration of the sword. But neither the falchion made by the dwarfs for Suafurlama, nor the redoubtable sword of Bayard, with which he dubbed the first Francis,—not even the enchanted brand of Ariosto's hero, can for a moment compare with the double-edged (khanda) scymitar annually worshipped by the chivalry of Méwar.”—

The author describes the ceremonies with true military enthusiasm, (pp. 584-588,) and says elsewhere:—

“The worship of the sword in the Acropolis of Athens by the Getic Attila, with all the accompaniments of pomp and place, forms an admirable episode in the history of the decline and fall of Rome; and had Gibbon witnessed the worship of the double-edged sword (khanda) by the Prince of Méwar, with all his chivalry, he might have embellished even his animated account of the adoration of the scymitar, the symbol of Mars.”—

If I seem with true Barbaric fondness to dwell on the praises of the Sword, and especially its interpretations of Justice and Religion, I am not without authority:—

according to Ovid, was true of my Gothic forefathers, and was certainly a most convenient system for those who, according to the same witness,

Devotion to weapons, and the habit of going always armed, seem to be natural Barbaric virtues. Plutarch, as a specimen of Athenian manners in the time of Solon, says all went armed to the theatre, and some of my Western countrymen are in that respect quite as far advanced in civilization as Goth, or Greek, or Turk.

While upon the chapter of Swords, I must not forget that celebrated in the old Saxon poem of Beowulf, in which were written the battles of ancient times, when, after the flood, the race of giants were destroyed. On the polished blade, in pure gold, the runæ letters were marked.

As to its theological authority, “In hoc signo vinces” of the Great Constantine will hardly be denied; and in another instance, “the sword of Charlemagne,” says Gibbon, “added weight to the argument.” (Chap. 37.)

Nor are these examples solitary. In the Arian controversy, “Theodosius was still inexorable; but as the angels who protected the Catholic cause were only visible to the eyes of faith, he prudently reenforced those heavenly legions with the more effectual aid of temporal and carnal weapons: and the Church of St. Sophia was occupied by a large body of the Imperial Guards.”—

After the conversion of steel to Christianity, the cross-handled sword of the Crusader was a special object of devotion: sticking its point in the earth, it became a crucifix, and he prayed before it; in his most solemn form of adjuration he swore upon it. Nay, it gave out oracles. Hear what is said by your own Giannone, not suspected of believing more than the Church ordains. I quote him to you in the French translation, not having the original at hand:—

“L'anonime de Salerne, que Baronius a injustement traité dans quelques circonstances d'auteur fabuleux, mais dont on ne sauroit à la verité defendre les puerilités et les petitesses, cet anonime rapporte qu'Arechis, étant encore simple particulier, il lui arriva une chose etonnante, et qu'à ce sujet on lui prédisit la nouvelle dignité de Prince à laquelle il devoit être élevé. Il pretend qu'Arechis encore dans sa jeunesse se trouva avec le Duc Luitprand et un grand nombre de Barons Lombards dans l'église de l'ancienne Capoue, tous armés de leur epée suivant leur coûtume; que chacun d'eux étant occupé a faire des prières, Arechis recitoit a voix basse le Miserere, et comme il pronçait ces mots, ‘Spiritu principali confirma me,’ il sentit que toute son epée remuait comme si quelqu'un l'eut agitée; l'oraison finie, Arechis encore saisi de peur informa ses amis de ce qui lui étoit arrivé; sur quoi l'un d'entr'eux considere comme le plus capable, lui dit: ‘Autant que je puis le prevoir, avant que tu quittes cette vie le seigneur l'élévera à une dignité eminente. L'événement justifia la vérité de cette prediction dit l'anonime, puis qu'après la mort de Luitprand tous les suffrages se reunirent pour proclamer Arechis Prince de Benevent et l'éléver à une si illustre dignité.’”

A worthy predecessor of Talleyrand!

The spontaneous clang of swords or armor is an old and well-known superstition. That of Körner stirs in its scabbard with impatience for the battle:—

The armor of Douglas rang to announce the approach of an enemy. But you will cry “Quarter!” and even the Sword sometimes grants it.

While correcting for the press a speech, which has since acquired some celebrity, the house I inhabited was struck by lightning. The fluid descended the chimney, scattered the fire-irons, and filled the room with soot and ashes, traces of which remain upon passages of the manuscript, since become a frequent theme of schoolboy declamation.

[The life of Kosciusko is one continued romance. A nobleman of good family, but poor, his talents recommended him to the king, by whom he was employed in the army. Early in life he became enamored of a beautiful girl, who returned his affection. Her relations opposed the match on account of his poverty, and the parties eloped to France; but being overtaken by her father, a fierce encounter ensued. When Kosciusko found he must either surrender his beloved, or take the life of her parent, humanity prevailed, and he relinquished the young lady in despair. This unfortunate adventure drove him to America. After the peace, he returned to his own country, where his bravery, his sufferings, and his struggles for Polish liberty are well known. Subsequently he revisited America, was hospitably received and rewarded, and lived and died at West Point. A column has been erected there to his memory by the Cadets of the Military Academy.]

[From a height of three thousand feet, we behold a part of the counties of Albany, Greene, Ulster, and Orange, on the west side of the Hudson; a part of the county of Putnam, and the whole of Duchess, Columbia, and Rensselaer on the east; together with a part of Berkshire in Massachusetts, and Litchfield in Connecticut, lying in full view beneath us.

The whole area of vision is more than one hundred miles in length, and not far from fifty in breadth. This vast field is formed by the great valley of the Hudson, north of the Highlands, and a more distinct and perfect view of an extensive and magnificent landscape can hardly be imagined. The western side is much of it in forest. The eastern, beautifully diversified with farms, groves, and villages.

The Hudson is seen for more than fifty miles, covered with a multitude of sloops and steamers, diminished to black or white specks on a silver thread of water, and the towns of Catskill and Hudson appear directly under us.”—

[See Warren's “History of American Revolution,” Vol. II. p. 30, and Lady Harriet Ackland's letters.]

[The scenery of Lake George is celebrated for its beauty, but all descriptions of scenery fail to convey distinct impressions of the landscape. Still the reader who has not visited it may desire to know something of its appearance, and I have therefore put together such scraps of information as may satisfy his curiosity.

Its length is thirty-four miles, its greatest breadth four. The access from the south is the finest, being formed of two mountain ranges, which commence south of Fort George, and extend beyond Plattsburg, a distance of about 100 miles.

The shores are bold, rugged, and covered with forest trees; the water so pure and transparent, that rocks and pebbles are distinctly seen at the depth of five or six fathoms, and the fish seem to float in air. Under the bright sun and clear sky of Autumn, the beauty and splendor of the scenery is enhanced by ceaseless variations of light and shade, the purple hue of the water, and the rich diversity of the forest foliage, in which all the shades of green, red, yellow, orange, and brown are felicitously blended.

“On the evening of Friday, the 1st of October,” says an American traveller, “while we were returning from Ticonderoga, we were presented with the most beautiful prospect that I ever beheld. An opening lay before us between the mountains on the west, and those on the east, gilded by the departing sunbeams. The lake, alternately glassy and gently rippled, of a light and exquisite sapphire, gay and brilliant with the tremulous lustre already mentioned floating on its surface, stretched in prospect to a vast distance, through a great variety of larger or smaller apertures. In the chasm formed by the mountains lay a multitude of islands, differing in size, shape, and foliage. Beyond them, and often partly hidden behind the tall and variously figured trees, with which they were tufted, rose in the west and southwest a long range of distant mountains, tinged with a deep, misty azure, and crowned with an immense succession of lofty pines. Above the mountains, and rising one over another, were extended, in great numbers, long, streaming clouds of the most exquisite forms, tinged with all the diversities of red and orange light. Between them the sky was illuminated with a vivid yellow lustre. The tall trees on the western mountains lifted their heads in the crimson glory, and on the background displayed their endless variety of outline with a distinctness never surpassed.”—

The reference in this and the foregoing stanzas is to Gerard Dow's portrait of himself, which is, or was, in the gallery at Brussels. Whether the poetic conception in question entered into Gerard's head or not, as he was painting the portrait, I cannot tell. It certainly did into mine as I was looking at it. What say you,—is the first thought mine, or his?

I need not ask you if you remember the first impression made by Niagara,—who ever forgets?

All descriptions of this overwhelming wonder differ.—and all fail. Yet in some things they agree. The awe-struck suspension, not only of utterance, but almost of thought, as if the intellect itself was lost in the abyss,—the frantic longing inspired by the roaring waters,—the one long, absorbing revery into which we sink when the violence of our emotions subsides,—these are acknowledged by all who see and feel.

The legends, both Indian and civilized, I piously believe are true. The latter, indeed, is the mere story of a fact which happened in our own day; and the memory of the former is preserved traditionally among old settlers.

[A correspondent of the “Rochester Observer” relates the following account of a wonderful escape:—

“I had just arrived at the Falls of Niagara, on Monday of last week, when a canal-boat was discovered floating down the centre of the rapids, about two miles above the cataract. It was soon observed that there were persons on board, who gave evidence of distress and alarm. The facts, as obtained by the writer from two of the persons on board, are nearly as follows.

“The boat belonged to the Welland Canal, and received freight from the Canada shore. The master of the boat, Captain Kheen, was sick on board, and entirely unable to take charge of her. The management was intrusted to a man, a boy of seventeen, and a girl about the same age. From some carelessness in attaching the tow-rope to the horse, it gave way when the boat was about three miles above the Falls. They soon perceived that they were not only floating fast from the shore, but drifting rapidly downwards. They lost an oar and could not reach the bottom with their setting-poles. Consternation seized the crew as they saw on one hand the American shore, two miles off, and on the other the Canadian, half that distance, and fast receding, while a mile and a half below rose the smoke of the Cataract.

“All was confusion,—the man, the only efficient hand, resolved to save himself, plunged overboard, and swam for the Canada shore, taking a diagonal course downwards, hoping to land above the falls. He was discovered from the shore, and, at great risk to the person who rescued him, taken from the river just at breaking of the water.

“After he left the boat, the boy and young woman determined on another effort, and raised a sail, hoping that the almost imperceptible breeze might drive them so far towards the American side as to land them on Goat Island. Their mast consisted of a setting-pole placed in the stove-pipe, to which they attached blankets for sails. They floated so far towards the American shore, that they were taken from the boat by six men who ventured in a skiff to their relief, although they were so near the Falls that the water had become very rough. The whole circumstances, as related by the young man, were deeply affecting.”]

[The bodies of a number of seamen, killed in the battle of Lake Erie, floated over the falls of Niagara, and were caught in the whirlpool which is some miles below.

There they continued for a long time to be whirled round, rising and sinking successively, and agitated in a shocking manner by the movement of the boiling waters.]

Seldom has so small a space given graves to so many heroes. Of these, Montcalm was probably the most accomplished soldier and statesman; Wolfe more fortunate, but less skilful; and Montgomery equally unskilful and unfortunate. He nevertheless criticised both his predecessors, and it is doubtless true, as he says, that Wolfe's success was owing to a series of lucky accidents. But in war, especially, the adage of the wise ancient is always applicable,—“Fortune and I against any other two.” His blame of Montcalm's sally, though adopted by historians down to the present moment, is far more questionable. We are accustomed to think of the French position as it has since been made, almost impregnable. Apparently it was then far otherwise. This, therefore, may have been one of the cases in which far-sighted and strong-nerved sagacity passed for rashness or prudence, according to the issue.

The reputation of Montcalm is stained by the excesses of his red allies, whose cruelty he could not check without losing his influence over them. He sacrificed humanity to advantage, on the Devil's plea of necessity.

Wolfe and Montgomery's names are, I believe, spotless. But this has little to do with military talent, which alone I am considering, and one of the gallant Marquess's own letters contains his best defence. It exhibits, also, a specimen of foresight singularly prophetic, and shows Montcalm to have been a profound politician, as well as an able general.

Dear Cousin:—

For more than three months Mr. Wolfe has been hanging on my hands. He bombards Quebec night and day, with a fury of which scarcely an example can be found in the siege of a place, which the enemy wishes to take and preserve. Their artillery has already destroyed almost all the lower town, and a great part of the upper has been demolished by their shells; but although not one stone should be left upon another, they can never carry their point while they are content to attack us from the opposite shore, which we have abandoned.

After three months they are no further advanced with the siege than they were the first day. They ruin us, but do not profit themselves. The campaign cannot last above a month longer, on account of the approach of Autumn, which is terrible to a fleet in these seas, as the winds blow constantly periodically, and with great fury. It would seem then, after such a happy prelude, that the Colony is not in much danger. Nothing, however, is less certain. The taking of Quebec depends on one masterly stroke. The English are masters of the river: they have only to effect a landing on that part of it where the city is unfortified and defenceless. They are in a condition to give us battle, which I must not refuse, and cannot hope to gain. General Wolfe, indeed, if he understands his business, has only to receive our first fire, and then, advancing briskly on my army, and giving one heavy and general discharge, my Canadians, undisciplined, deaf to the sound of the drum and other military instruments, and thrown into disorder by the slaughter, will no longer keep their ranks. Besides, they have no bayonets to make good their ground against those of the enemy. Nothing remains for them but to run, and thus I shall be totally defeated.

Such is my situation,—a situation most grievous to a general, and which indeed gives me many bitter moments. The confidence I have in these views has induced me always to act on the defensive, which has hitherto succeeded: but will it succeed in the end? The event must decide. But of one thing be certain, I shall not survive the loss of the Colony. There are situations in which it only remains to a general to fall with honor. Such this appears to me; and on this point posterity shall not reproach my memory, though Fortune may decide on my opinions. These are truly French, and shall be so even in the grave,—if in the grave we are anything. I shall at least console myself on my defeat and the loss of the Colony, by the full persuasion that this defeat will one day serve my country more than a victory, and that the conqueror in aggrandizing himself will find his tomb in the country he gains from us.

What I have here advanced, my dear cousin, will appear to you paradoxical; but a moment's political reflection, a single glance upon the situation of affairs in America, and the truth of my opinion must appear. No, my dear cousin, men obey only Force and Necessity: they submit when armies sufficient to control them are before their eyes, or when the chain of their destiny reminds them of the law. Beyond this they yield to no yoke; they act for themselves, because nothing external or internal compels them to give up that liberty which is the greatest ornament and privilege of human nature. Scrutinize mankind, and the English above all, who, whether from education or sentiment, are on this point more men than others. Constraint displeases them; they must breathe free and unconfined air, or they are out of their element. But if this is the genius of the English of Europe, it is still more so with those of America. A great part of these Colonists are the children of those men who emigrated from England when their rights and privileges were attacked in that country, then torn by dissensions. They went to America in search of a land where they could die free and almost independent, and their children have not degenerated from the republican principles of their fathers.

Others there are, enemies to all restraint and submission, whom the government has transported thither for their crimes. Lastly, there are others, a collection from the different nations of Europe, who in their hearts care very little for England. All in general have no great attachment to either King or Parliament.

I know them well: not from the report of strangers, but from confidential information, and secret correspondence, which I myself managed, and which, if God spare my life, I will one day turn to the advantage of my country. To add to their happiness, the planters have attained a very flourishing condition: they are numerous and rich; they enjoy in the bosom of their country all the necessaries of life.

England has been so weak and foolish as to suffer them to establish arts, trade, and manufactures, and thereby enabled them to break the chain of necessity, that bound them to and made them dependent on her. All the English Colonies would long since have shaken off the yoke, and each Province formed itself into a little independent republic, if the fear of seeing the French at their door had not been a check upon them. Master for master, they prefer their own countrymen; their favorite maxim, however, being to obey as little as possible. But when Canada shall be conquered, and the Canadians and these Colonies become one people, on the first occasion when England stikes a blow at their interest, do you believe, my dear cousin, that they will submit? And what would they have to fear from a revolt? Could England send an army of a hundred or two hundred thousand men to oppose them at such a distance? It is true she possesses a fleet, and the towns of North America, few in number, are all open, without citadels or fortifications, and a small naval force in their ports would suffice to keep them in their duty. But the interior of the country, an object of much greater importance,—who would attempt its conquest, over rocks, lakes, rivers, woods, and mountains, intersecting it in all directions, where a handful of men acquainted with the ground would suffice to destroy the greatest armies?

Besides, should the planters be able to bring the savages into their interests, the English, with all their fleets, might be masters of the sea, but I doubt whether they could ever make good a landing. Add to this, that, in case of a general revolt, all the powers of Europe, secret and jealous enemies of England, would assist them, first privately and then openly, to throw off the yoke.

I must confess, however, that England, with a little policy, might always keep a resource to assist in bringing her Colonies to reason. Canada considered in itself, its riches, forces, and population, is nothing compared to the English Colonies. But the valor, industry, and fidelity of its inhabitants so well supply the place of numbers, that for more than an age they have fought with advantage against the Colonies. Ten Canadians are a match for a hundred English Colonists. Daily experience shows this to be a fact. If England after conquering Canada knew how to attach it to her by policy and kindness, and to reserve it to herself alone,—if she left the inhabitants their religion, laws, and language, their customs and ancient form of government,—Canada, separated in every respect from the other Colonies, would never enter into their views or interests, were it from the difference of religion alone. But this is not the policy of Britain. If the English make a conquest, they are sure to change the constitution of the country, and introduce their own laws, customs, and religion, which they impose, at least, under the pain of disqualification for office. A persecution more intolerable than torments, because it attacks men's pride and ambition, while tortures affect only life, which these passions often make us despise. In a word, are you conquered by Englishmen, you must become Englishmen! But ought not the English to remember that the heads of men are not all alike, much less their minds? Ought they not to perceive that laws should be suitable to climates and the manners of the people, and prudently varied according to circumstances? Each country has its own trees, fruits, and riches. To transport the fruits of England thither would be an unpardonable folly. It is the same with their laws, which ought to be adapted to the climate, on which men themselves so much depend. This is a policy which the English do not understand. Or rather, they understand it well (for they have the reputation of a thinking people), but they cannot adopt it from the defects of their own constitution.

Upon this account Canada, once taken by the English, would in a few years suffer much from being forced to become English. Thus would the Canadians be transformed into politicians, merchants, and men infatuated with a pretended liberty, which among the populace of England often sinks into licentiousness and anarchy. Farewell then to their valor, simplicity, generosity, respect for authority; farewell to their frugality, obedience, fidelity; they would soon be of no use to England,—perhaps even oppose her.

I am so clear in what I assert, that I would not give more than ten years after the conquest of Canada to see it accomplished.

See then what now consoles me, as a Frenchman, for the imminent danger my country runs of losing this Colony; but as a general I will do my best to preserve it. The King my master orders me to do so; that is sufficient. You know we are of that blood which was always faithful to our kings, and it is not for me to degenerate from the virtues of my ancestors. I send you these reflections, that, if the fate of arms in Europe should ever oblige us to bend and receive the law, you may make such use of them as your love of country may direct.

Lake Champlain was celebrated in burlesque Sapphic, as early as 1761, by Captain Morris, a friend of Lieutenant (afterward General) Montgomery. How different the thoughts and images it then suggested!

“La lune est l'astre des ruines.”—

[“A family who lived in the White Mountains, in 1826, warned by the fall of one or two avalanches, caused as it was supposed by the drought of two seasons followed by drenching rains, had prepared a place of retreat a short distance off, and, alarmed by a tremendous sound one night, rushed from their beds, and were probably making their way to their supposed safe asylum, when they found a watery grave. The house they deserted escaped injury, but no one was left alive to tell the tale. The sun, as it rose upon the spot next day, was the only witness of the ravages of the storm.

“The Saco had risen within a few yards of the house, and on the other side two avalanches had come down. One, proceeding with a tremendous roar towards the dwelling, was turned to the south by a slight irregularity in the ground, but had rolled large rocks and trunks of trees within three feet of the walls, which, however, escaped injury. The other took the garden and the barn in its track, and left not a vestige of them behind. The hut the inhabitants had prepared as a retreat would have afforded no refuge; it was covered by a lake which arose in a few moments, while some of the domestic animals who retreated from the barn found safety in the house which had been deserted. The calculations of prudence were set at naught by the war of elements. Such a mass of ruin strews the valley, and so incredible has been the dilapidation of the mountains, that we are at a loss to conjecture what number of ages could ever restore the scene to its former appearance, and despair of communicating by description any idea of its present condition.

“Not this alone, but nearly a hundred other avalanches, have channelled these mountains, sweeping off every tree from their summits, and tearing away the soil, leaving exposed cheerless ridges of granite, destitute of shrub or grass.”—

“Dum fata fugimus, incurrimus.”—

“I think, indeed, that Destiny is nothing else but God, so called from his unchangeableness.”—

“Οιμαι δε και την Αναγκην ουκ αλλο τι λεγεσθαι, πλην τουτον οιονει ακινητον ουσιαν οντα.”—

He adds, that the “Three Fates meant the Past, the Present, and the Future.”

The cavern of Goffe and Whalley near New Haven. Their story is somewhat difficult to treat. No American can be expected to sympathize with Charles Stuart, and yet, whatever admiration we may argue ourselves into for the stern enthusiasm and obstinate zeal of the Regicides, “the heart refuses to acknowledge some of the conclusions of the understanding.” Do you recognize the expression?

[Goffe and Whalley afterwards resided during fifteen or sixteen years in the house of the Rev. Mr. Russell of Hadley. Whalley died there.

The following story is traditional among the inhabitants of that place:—

“During King Philip's War, which threatened the very existence of the Colony, the 1st of September, 1675, was observed as a day of fasting and prayer. While the people of Hadley were in church, and engaged in worship, they were surprised by a band of savages. The men instantly betook themselves to arms, which, according to the custom of the times, they had taken with them to church, and, rushing out, attacked their invaders. The panic under which they began the conflict was, however, so great, and their number so disproportioned to that of the enemy, that they fought doubtfully at first, and then began to give way. At this moment an aged man with hoary locks, of a most venerable and dignified aspect, and in a dress differing widely from that of the inhabitants, appeared suddenly at their head, and with a firm voice, and example of undaunted resolution, reanimated their spirits, led them again to the conflict, and totally routed the savages. When the battle was ended the stranger had disappeared. The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unexpected, and so providential; the appearance and the retreat of him who furnished it so unaccountable, his person so dignified and commanding, his resolution so heroic, and his interference so decisive, that the inhabitants, without any uncommon degree of credulity, readily believed him to be an angel sent by Heaven for their preservation. Nor was this opinion seriously controverted until it was discovered, several years afterwards, that Goffe and Whalley had been sheltered in the house of Mr. Russell. Then it was known their deliverer was Goffe. Whalley had become superannuated before the event took place.”—

[This incident has been interwoven by Cooper in his novel, “The Wept of the Wish-ton-wish.”

Do not think I would pry with uncharitable conjecture into the very souls of the unfortunate. What mortal escapes Remorse? “Their lives were miserable and constant burdens,” says Stiles, their ardent admirer, and laborious, but confused and heavy, biographer and vindicator.

It is greatly to be lamented that Goffe's journals and papers, which Stiles saw in the possession of Governor Hutchinson, were destroyed. His Diary would have added another chapter to the moral anatomy of the human heart. The soliloquies of an exile, a patriot, and a regicide could not be without instruction.

“Nec totam libertatem, nec totam servitutem pati possunt.”—

“Omne solum forti patria:” the inscription on General Ludlow's house at Lausanne, where he and Broughton (who read King Charles's sentence to him) died and were buried.

Cromwell, it is generally believed, at one time intended to embark for the Colonies. He was prevented, it is said, by the Royal Government. Another sport of Destiny. The 3d of September, the day of his birth, was that on which he fought his three great battles, Marston-Moor, Worcester, and Dunbar, and upon the 3d of September he died.

Welwood says his success in government depended in a great measure upon this maxim, that if he came to hear of a man fit for his purpose, though ever so obscure, he sent for him and employed him. Such was the practice of Chatham and Napoleon. The chief reason of the latter's success, according to Goethe, was, that under him men were sure of attaining their object. They were attracted to him as actors are to a manager who will certainly assign them good parts. In this respect all three were singularly fortunate or sagacious.

The character of Cromwell is an enigma of manifold solutions, which every one interprets as he likes.

I refer you to Barber's Hist. Collections, Connecticut, pages 527 and 528, for a full account of all these wonders.

“On dirait que le souffle pur du ciel et de la mer, agit sur les harpes Eoliennes, et que la Poesie comme les accords est l'echo de la nature.”—

I take the following account of Dighton Rock from Kendall.

“The rock is an insulated mass of fine-grained gray granite, or grunstein, lying northwest and southwest, on the sands of the river, a few feet above the present low-water mark, but covered at every tide. Its length is eleven feet, and its height four and a half. Towards the land its form is broken and irregular, but inclining gradually outward from the summit to the base; towards the water it presents a regular face and nearly smooth, forming an inclined plane of about sixty degrees' elevation. Of this face, which is of the length of the rock, and about five feet broad, the whole appears to have been originally filled with sculptures; but those immediately at the base, if such there were, are now entirely worn away. A little above, sculptures discover themselves but faintly, while those at the summit are very perfect. .....

“The whole is composed of outlines hollowed or cut in intaglio, and of which the breadth is generally less than an inch, and the depth where deepest does not exceed half an inch. From the appearance of the sculpture, and from the hardness of the stone, it is probable that the upper parts have suffered little injury; and yet the edges are here broken, and the whole execution appears barbarous. The different states of preservation observable in the lower figures and the upper may be attributed to the action of the water, and perhaps to the collision of floating bodies of ice, both of which agents must operate on the lower part of the stone in a greater degree than on the upper, the upper being covered, at every tide, for a much shorter space of time than the lower. The alternate action of salt and the atmosphere have produced an equal diversity of color on the surface of the stone; the upper part being of a deep red or purple color, and the lower gradually fading towards the base into a pinkish-gray. The interior substance is gray. After viewing the rock and its sculptures, which last are sufficiently conspicuous to attract notice from the deck of a vessel sailing in the channel of the river, we demand, if not the meaning of the sculptures, at least the history of their formation; but upon the second subject there is very little to be said, and upon the first absolutely nothing. The only solid history is that the rock, with its sculptures, was found in its present place, and apparently in its present condition, by the earliest colonists.”

These remains were found in the town of Fall River, in Bristol County, Massachusetts, about three years since. In digging down a hill near the village a large mass of earth slid off, leaving in the bank, and partially uncovered, a human skull, which on examination was found to belong to a body buried in a sitting posture; the head being about one foot below what had been for many years the surface of the ground. The surrounding earth was carefully removed, and the body found to be enveloped in a covering of coarse cloth of a dark color. Within this envelope were found the remains of another coarse cloth, made of fine bark, and about the texture of a Manilla coffee-bag. On the breast was a plate of brass thirteen inches long, six broad at the upper end, and five at the lower. This plate appears to have been cast, and is from one eighth to three thirty-seconds of an inch in thickness. It is so much corroded, that whether or not anything was engraved upon it has not yet been ascertained. It is oval in form, the edges being irregular, apparently made so by corrosion. Below the breastplate, and entirely encircling the body, was a belt composed of brass tubes, each four and a half inches in length and three sixteenths of an inch in diameter, arranged longitudinally and close together, the length of a tube being the width of the belt. The tubes are of thin brass, cast upon hollow reeds, and were fastened together by pieces of sinew. This belt was so placed as to protect the lower parts of the body below the breastplate. The arrows are of brass, thin, flat, and triangular in shape, with a round hole cut through near the base. The shaft was fastened to the head by inserting the latter in an opening at the end of the wood, and then tying it with a sinew through the round hole,—a mode of constructing the weapon never practised by the Indians, not even with their arrows of thin shell. Parts of the shaft still remain on some of them. When first discovered, the arrows were in a sort of quiver of bark, which fell in pieces when exposed to the air. ..... That the body was not one of the Indians, we think needs no argument. We have seen some of the drawings taken from the sculptures found at Palenque, and in those the figures are represented with breastplates, although smaller than the plate found at Fall River. On the figures at Palenque the bracelets and anklets appear to be of a manufacture precisely similar to the belt of tubes just described. These figures also have helmets precisely answering to the description of the helmet of Hector in Homer. If the body found at Fall River be one of the Asiatic race, who transiently settled in Central North America and afterwards went to Mexico and founded those cities in exploring the ruins of which such astonishing discoveries have recently been made, then we may well suppose also that it is one of the races whose exploits with “brazen spears” have, although without a date, and almost without a certain name, been immortalized by the Father of Poetry. .... Of this great race, who founded cities and empires in their eastward march, and are finally lost in South America, the Romans seem to have had a glimmering tradition in the story of Evander.

[See Mather's Magnalia.

A vessel from England, in which many of the friends and relations of the colonists had embarked, was long missing, and anxiety rose to agony. One Sabbath the assembled congregation prayed fervently, with one voice and heart, that the Lord would take pity on their grief-worn and troubled spirits, and vouchsafe to them a sign whether their brethren still lived, or had perished.” Suddenly they saw a ship standing into the bay with all sail set, but all at once she mysteriously disappeared. Then they knew that the ocean had swallowed all on board.

There is no necessity for taxing our Puritan forefathers either with falsehood or superstition. An optical illusion was no doubt the foundation of this, as well as many similar stories. Speaking of the mirage, Tod says:—

“I observed it on my voyage home, but more especially in the passage out. About six o'clock on a dark evening, while we were dancing on the waste of waters, I perceived a ship bearing down with full sail upon us, so distinctly that I gave the alarm, in expectation of a collision; so, as I recollect, the helm was instantly put up, and in a second no ship was to be seen. The laugh was against me; I had seen the Flying Dutchman, according to the opinion of the experienced officer on deck, and I really believed it was a vision of the mind; but I now feel convinced it was either the reflection of our own ship in a passing cloud of this vapor, or a more distant object therein refracted.”—

Two incidents have been here blended; the legend attached to the glen at Saugus River, and the wreck of the pirate Bellamy. “For many years after this shipwreck,” says Alden, Coll. Epitaphs, “a man, of a very singular and frightful aspect, used every spring and autumn to be seen travelling on the Cape, who was supposed to have been one of Bellamy's crew. .... Aged people relate that this man frequently spent the night in private houses, and that whenever the Bible or any religious book was read, or any family devotions performed, he invariably left the room. This is not improbable. It is also stated, that during the night it would seem as if he had in his chamber a legion from the lower world; for much conversation was often overheard which was boisterous, profane, blasphemous, and quarrelsome in the extreme. This is the representation. The probability is, that his sleep was disturbed by a recollection of the murderous scenes in which he had been engaged, and that he involuntarily vented such exclamations as, with an imagination awake to wonders from the invisible regions, gave rise in those days to the current opinion that his bedchamber was the resort of infernals.”

“Upon the southern shore of the same island of Nope (the Indian name for Martha's Vineyard), at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the residence of Moshop, lived at the same period of time Hiwassee, the proud and arbitrary Sachem of that portion of the island which lies most exposed to the fogs of spring. He was a very rich and mighty man, had abundance of grape-vines, and a vast many ponds well stocked with clams, oysters, perch, crabs, and wild-fowl; many swamps filled with terrapins and cranberries; and much land well adapted to the growing of maize and other good things. He was accounted the most powerful Sachem on the island. He was, besides, on excellent terms with Moshop, and so escaped all taxes, contributions, and tenths, merely now and then making him a present of a few baskets of grapes, or a few terrapins. This Sachem had a daughter, young and more beautiful than any maiden that had ever been seen in Nope. She was taller than Indian maidens generally are, her hair was long, and glossy as the raven's, and her step very light and graceful. Then she excelled very far the women of her tribe in the exercises which belong to the other sex. None drew the bow with equal strength, or tortured the prisoner with greater ingenuity, or danced the war-dance with such agility, or piped the war-song with lungs as efficient. I must tell my brother, that, according to the tradition of our nation, the Indian females were first taught by her to introduce the crab's claw into the cartilage of the nose, and to insert the shell of a clam into the under-lip, as ornaments. She was indeed a beautiful creature, and understood better than any one else the art of attracting all the brave and best of the land; the love and admiration of the other sex followed her whithersoever she went.

“Her father's wigwam was filled with suitors who came to solicit her love. There were the chiefs of the tribes which dwelt at Neshamoyes, Challaquiddick, Popannessit, Suckatasset, and many other places,—warriors famed and fearless,—who asked her of the Grand Sachem in marriage. But no, she was deaf to their entreaties, laughed at all their presents of conch-shells, terrapins, and eagles' feathers, and carefully and scrupulously barred the doors of her father's wigwam against all the suitors, who, according to the Indian forms of courtship, came when the lights were extinguished, and the parents were sleeping, to whisper soft tales at the side of her couch. The truth, which must be told my brother, is, that she had long before placed her affections upon a young warrior, stern to his enemies, but to her all gentleness, who dwelt at the western end of the island, and was reckoned the favorite, some said he was the son, of the Devil of Cape Higgin. They loved each other long, and with the truest affection, and all their hopes centred in a union. But my brother knows, if he does not I will tell him, that fathers and mothers will not always permit daughters to have their own way in marriage. The proud father objected to the lover, because he had slain but three foes, and was not descended from a line of chiefs distinguished by their wisdom or valor. What was to be done? The lovers talked the matter over and over again, and finally determined to apply to Moshop for his aid and advice.

“They forthwith repaired to the usual residence of the goblin. It was a most auspicious moment; they found him in a delirium of joy. A school of whales in a recent dark night, becoming bewildered, had foundered upon a neighboring ledge of rocks, and a great many fine calves had been deposited at the mouth of his den as his share. Withal, a brother goblin, residing somewhere upon the mainland, had sent him some excellent old tobacco; and these, with the occurrence at the moment of other enlivening circumstances, had wrought him up to such unusual good temper, that he quite forgot his very recent determination to annoy all lovers, and promised to befriend the hapless pair. He rose from his seat, put a few hundred pounds of tobacco in his pouch, took a half-roasted grampus from the coals to pick by the way, and set off for Sanchequintacket, the place of Hiwassee's residence, —the young warrior perched upon his shoulder, and the maiden, reposing on a litter formed by his arm, lay horizontally on his breast. Moshop was no devil with wings, but he had two legs, and could use them to much advantage. So he set off at a pretty smart trot, and was very soon at the end of his journey.

“He found the Grand Sachem busy at a feast; but this did not prevent him from telling his errand at once. With great calmness, and in perfect silence, for he was not in one of his talkative fits, he heard the maiden's father give his reasons for refusing his daughter to the lover. They were those which have been a thousand times urged before,— poverty,—low parentage,—not sufficiently known,—not sufficiently celebrated. “Is this all you have to say against the young man, you old fool?” asked Moshop. “What do you want? what must the young man have?—“He must have a great deal of land,—he must have an island,” answered Hiwassee. “Good,” said Moshop, drawing a huge quantity of smoke into his mouth, and blowing it out through his nose; “follow me!”

“At the time whereof I speak, the island of Nope extended to and comprehended the little island of Tuckernuck. The little was then a part of the larger island; but once upon a time there came a great storm, the wind raged and the thunder rolled, and the storms beat upon the island, and it was disjointed and became two islands. To a high cliff, upon the eastern side of this same Tuckernuck, Moshop conducted Hiwassee, his daughter, her lover, and a great crowd of other Indians, who followed to see what wonderful feat he would perform. Being arrived, he sat down upon the ground and commenced his charm. First he dug a great hole in the earth, into which he threw many heated stones, the while muttering many words, which no one but himself understood. Then he filled his pipe with tobacco. When this was done, he kindled it with the rays from a flash of lightning. Once he bowed to the rising sun, twice to the north star, blew thrice in a conch-shell, muttered some unintelligible words, and commenced smoking at a great rate. In a few minutes it was as dark as the darkest night, and a terrible tempest arose. The thunder rolled awfully, the lightnings flashed, the rains poured down, and abundance of voices were heard in the east puffing and blowing, as of men in great labor. Presently there was a hissing sound, like that of live embers dropped into water. Moshop had emptied his pipe. There now came up a strong wind from the west, which, gradually dispersing the smoke he had created, displayed to their view a low, dark something in the east,—the ashes from Moshop's pipe. The couple upon whom Moshop bestowed this island gave it the name of Nantucket, and such it bears to this day.”—

New Bedford, as you are aware, has “a very ancient, venerable, and fish-like smell,” being the principal seat of the whale-fishery after, or perhaps before, Nantucket, for the point is controverted; but its inhabitants, institutions, and social organization are all admirable. It approaches nearer to a pattern town than any I ever saw, and many beautiful cottages, not destitute of memorials of foreign travel, avouch the taste of its wealthier inhabitants, between whom and the less wealthy (for none are absolutely poor) there exists a kindness and sympathy of feeling rarely seen elsewhere.

“Jamais! jamais! Ah Corinne quelle parole de fer et de feu.”—

“Qu'ils vivent ceux qui peuvent soutenir ce mot irréparable! moi je le crois sorti des enfers, il n'est pas de la langue des hommes, leur imagination ne peut le supporter; c'est l'éternité des peines qu'il annonce; il exprime à lui seul ses tourmens les plus cruels.”—

[The obelisk on Breed's, usually, though erroneously, called Bunker's Hill.

Warren was the first officer of rank who fell in the Revolutionary war. This, no less than his amiable character, bravery, and abilities, secures him a place in our annals.]

You are not ignorant of the associations which endear Faneuil Hall to an American, especially a Bostonian.

The first six lines are an imitation of Dante's beautiful and well-known opening of Canto VIII. of the Purgatorio, “Era gia l' ora,” etc.

The last line is Byron's.

Writing for you only, I could not deny myself the pleasure of incorporating a translation of the only Italian rhymes I ever ventured to compose. Poetry they are not, and I would not venture to submit them to any eye but yours. True poetry is never written but in the tongue of our mother and our nurse. I call Milton's Italian sonnets to witness.

I could not pursue the imitation of Filicaja's noble sonnet further, without seeming to unite in reproaches which none but an Italian has a right to utter.

The very name of Italy is proscribed: its sound is hateful to the foreign despots who oppress her. The cry of Italy! therefore, is equivalent to Freedom! Union! Independence! That one word includes them all. What emotion it inspires in the modern Hun and Scythian, Horace will inform us:—

Should this catastrophe seem to you rather ultra-feline and ferocious, be pleased to consider, first, that I am not accountable for it, but the author of the original tale in the Arabian Nights, whence it is copied; next, that the whole figure is allegorical.

If the Lady of Beauty, who could turn apes to men, be taken as the type of Liberty, her services are much wanted, not in Italy only, but elsewhere, and then of course, the Genie, her antagonist, is Despotism.

But how are both to be destroyed? This is no difficulty to a thoroughbred allegory-monger. It would not detain Signor Rosetti a moment. When Liberty and Despotism fight with fire, the natural consequence is Revolution,—the extinction of both Tyranny and Anarchy, and the birth of Constitutional Monarchy, or a mixed government.

But you will thank me much more for transcribing enough of the tale to save you the trouble of looking for it, instead of explaining the transformations of the Genie into a lion, scorpion, cat, worm, and minnow; and those of the Lady into a sword, serpent, eagle, wolf, and so forth; all of which, no doubt, are clear types of Revolutionary progress.

“The Sultan had a daughter, who was justly called the Lady of Beauty, of whom he was exceedingly fond. Thinking the sight of so wonderful an ape would entertain her, he sent for her; on her entering the room she let fall her veil, though there were only the customary attendants present. The Sultan inquired the cause of this novelty. ‘Sir,’ replied the Princess, ‘the ape you have by you is a young Prince transformed by enchantment. I have learned the seventy rules of magic, whence I know at first sight all persons who are enchanted, and how they became so.’ ‘Have you power also,’ said the Sultan, ‘to dispel the charm?’ ‘I have,’ replied the Princess. ‘Do so then immediately, I entreat you,’ said the Sultan; ‘I interest myself exceedingly in this Prince's fortunes; if you can restore him, I will make him my Vizier, and he shall marry you.’ The Lady of Beauty retired, and, presently returning, brought a knife, which had some Hebrew words engraved on the blade. She conducted the Sultan and me, attended by the master of the eunuchs and a little slave, into a private court of the palace, and, placing us in the gallery, she drew a circle, within which she wrote several words in Arabian characters, some of them ancient, others of the character of Cleopatra. When she had finished the circle, she placed herself in the centre of it, where she began adjurations, and repeated several verses out of the Alcoran. The air insensibly grew dark, and all at once the Genie appeared in the shape of a lion of frightful size.

“‘Wretch!’ said the Princess to him, ‘darest thou present thyself in that shape thinking to frighten me?’ ‘And thou,’ replied the lion, ‘art thou not afraid to break the treaty which was so solemnly made between us? But thou shalt quickly have thy reward.’ At these words he opened his terrible jaws, and ran at her to devour her; but she leaped backward, pulled out one of her hairs, and, by pronouncing three or four words, changed herself into a sharp sword, and cut the lion in two.

“The lion vanished, and a scorpion appeared in his room. The Princess became a serpent, and fought the scorpion, who, finding himself worsted, took the shape of an eagle and flew away. The serpent also took the same shape, and pursued him, so that we lost sight of them both. Some time after, the ground opened, and there came forth a cat, with her hair standing upright, and making a fearful miaulling; a black wolf followed her close, and gave her no time to rest. The cat, thus hard beset, changed herself into a worm; and, a pomegranate lying by the side of the canal, the worm pierced it in an instant, and hid itself, but the pomegranate immediately swelled as big as a gourd, and presently burst into several pieces. The wolf became a cock, and picked up the seeds of the pomegranate: when he could find no more, he came toward us as if he would ask us whether he had left any. There was one lying on the brink of the canal, which we perceiving pointed it out to the cock, who ran speedily towards it; just as he was going to pick it up, the seed rolled into the river, and became a little fish. The cock jumped into the river and was turned into a pike, which pursued the small fish. They continued both under water about two hours, and we began to wonder what had become of them; when on a sudden we heard such terrible cries as made us tremble, and presently we saw the Princess and the Genie all in flames; they threw flashes of fire at each other so fiercely that we apprehended the palace would be consumed. But we soon had more reason to be alarmed; for the Genie, having got loose from the Princess, came to the gallery and blew flames at us. The Princess flew to our assistance, and beat off the Genie, but in that momentary attack, the Sultan's face was dreadfully scorched, the eunuch was stifled, and, a spark entering my right eye, it became blind. We expected nothing but death, when we heard a cry of ‘Victory! victory!’ the Princess appeared in her natural shape, but the Genie was reduced to a heap of ashes.

“The Princess hastily caught up some water in the hollow of her hand, and uttering certain words, she threw it over me, and I became a man as before, one eye only excepted. As I was about to return thanks to my deliverer, she prevented me by addressing her father thus: ‘Sir, I have got the victory over the Genie; but it is a victory that costs me dear, as I have but a few moments to live. This would not have been, had I perceived the last of the pomegranate seeds, and swallowed it, as I did the others; that oversight obliged me to have recourse to fire, and to fight with those mighty arms, as I did, between heaven and earth, in your presence; I have conquered, and reduced the Genie to ashes; but the fire pierced me also, during that terrible combat, and I find I cannot escape death.’

“We were thunderstruck at the declaration, and had scarce recovered the power of expressing our sorrow, when the Princess cried out, ‘O, I burn!’ She continued some time crying out, till at last the effect of the fire was so violent, that she also, as the Genie, was reduced to a heap of ashes.”