University of Virginia Library

[Mr. Scott had under the head of York Town, given a long account of the siege of that place, the surrender of Cornwallis, and the subsequent acknowledgement of our independence. He then entered into an enquiry whether this separation was not more advantageous to Great Britain than to the colonies, and whether the latter would not have been much more prosperous and happy, if they had remained as they were. Conceiving this enquiry rather uninteresting to American readers, the editor has thought proper to omit it entirely.

The circumstance of a place on the shores of the Chesapeake, being called after St. Jerome, is not a little singular, and suggest a variety of interesting reflections. We learn from the legend of that eloquent saint, who was called the honey comb of doctors, “that he was a great traveller, and went about in divers distant countries preaching the gospel.” That he visited the shores of the Chesapeake, and abode there sometime is natural to suppose, from his giving name to that place; and his having preached the gospel there, is further corroborated by the extraordinary piety and strict habits of Religion, which I am told are observed among the people of that quarter.

Fairies are extremely scarce in America, though there is no inconsiderable number of witches, particularly in that part of the United States, aptly called New England, from its having, like Old England, a mighty propensity to boast of its superior “moral and religious habits.”

The only authentic account of the appearance or agency of a fairy which I have been able to procure from that country, was communicated to me by a very learned physician of one of the middle states. That gentleman writes me, on this interesting subject, as follows.

“Last summer as I was searching for flints, near the shores of the Musconaconck river, which runs at the foot of Schooley's mountain, a range stretching in a southwesterly direction through the state of New Jersey, and composed of alternate stratum of lime stone and granite, I was somewhat startled by the appearance of a little old woman, of very outré and singular appearance. She was crossing the river, mounted on the back of a tortoise. Her head was covered with a large bubble of azure colour; her spectacles were of the purest water, which by her art she had made to answer the purposes of glass; she had a coat of mail, made of the skin of a gold fish: her shield was a beautiful muscle shell; and her buskins were of sturgeon's nose, which bring incomparably elastic, must have exceedingly assisted her in walking, when inclined to that healthful, and too much neglected exercise.

“The appearance of her face was not a little outlandish, exhibiting a variety of incongruities, of the first order. Her hair was almost white, apparently with age, though her face was that of a beautiful girl of sixteen, except that her eyes were of a flint colour, and her teeth of the finest red coral. She guided the tortoise across the rippling wave, with graceful management; the little animal all the while singing most melodiously in praise of fairy land.

“As she reached the shore where I was standing, she dismounted from the tortoise, who making an elegant bow, slid back into the wave and disappeared, warbling the most delicious strains.

“Approaching this extraordinary lady, with all the deference due to her apparent rank, I enquired if she could direct me where I might find some flints. “Flints!” exclaimed she—in a great rage—“I'll flint you with a vengeance!” and thereupon, her eyes which I then discovered were of real flint-stone, struck out actual sparks of fire, exceedingly bright and luminous. Know, ignorant and presumptuous mortal,” continued she “that my name is Agathe Pyromaque, and that I am the guardian of this haunted stream, and yonder woody mountain, inhabited by millions of flinty hearted beings, who never forgive any rash mortal, who violates their sacred recesses. Prepare then to suffer the penalty of thy intrusion, which is to be turned into a flint, and inhabit a tinder-box for one hundred and eleven millions of moons, having for thy companion nothing but an old piece of steel, which whilom, figured as a learned professor, and with whom you may dispute and strike fire as much as you please.”

“So saying, she approached me, waving her wand, that looked like a little ivory ram rod, and already I felt the approaches of this terrible transformation. My teeth began to knock against each other, and at every blow, the sparks of fire came out of my mouth and nose, as if they had been actual chimneys, while my nails gradually assumed the appearance and consistency of gun-flints. At this awful moment I recollected that I had in my pocket a preparation for accomplishing an analysis of flint, by a most expeditious dissolution of its parts, and immediately sprinkled some of it over this diabolical damsel, who in less than five minutes, separated into her constituent parts, chalk and limestone, and disappeared.

“Immediately the whole space of ether was animated with millions of flints, meeting in the air with horrible rattling, as if a hundred thousand triggers had been drawn at the same instant, and nothing could be seen but innumerable sparks of fire, flashing and hissing about in a most extraordinary manner. This tremendous uproar was heightened by the general discharge of all the guns in the neighbourhood, that were furnished with flints from this mountain, which went off simultaneously of themselves, doing infinite damage, but killing no one, as no enchantment whatever has power over the life of man. When this uproar ceased, the air became calm and still, and again I beheld the serene sky, bending down upon the mountain top, upon which the last rays of the setting sun were playfully sporting, and saw the pure stream silently winding its way, like a serpent through the green grass, and reflecting in its transparent bosom, one of the loveliest scenes of nature.”

I am told there is a curious society in the United States, instituted in honour of the Aborigines of that country, the patron of which is St. Tammany, who though I have found no traces of him in the early history of that country, may for aught I know to the contrary, be as redoubtable a champion, as any one of the seven of Christendom; always excepting honest little St. Andrew.

Be this as it may, this society has, by a sort of retrograde movement in the path of civilization, adopted not only an Indian tutelary saint, but many of the emblems, customs, names, and manners of their Indian neighbours, who are at present signalizing their gratitude on the borders of Canada. The sons of Tammany, as they affectionately denominate themselves, have probably of late become not a little sick of their patron Saint, and his whole race, and it is to be hoped will never again insult their wounded country, by the exhibition of such barbarous mummery, or degrade themselves by affecting either the dress, decorations, or manners, of such detestable monsters, who though, to the shame of every honest Briton, associated with the sole remaining “bulwark of our faith,” are only distinguishable from the tyger, by their form.

The Susquehanna on whose south bank, and near whose mouth, the little town of Havre de Grace was situated, is a noble river. It rises in the State of New-York, where indeed, it will appear by an inspection of the map, many of the principal rivers of the United States find their source. This is the case of the Delaware; and if at any time the people of New-York should become jealous of the prosperity of Philadelphia, they have only to go to the head of that river, which is there a mere brook, and by giving it another direction, deprive that city of its water, and convert it at once into an inland place. I know not whether the citizens of Philadelphia are aware of the practicability of this plan, but at all events I advise them to treat the people of New-York with great attention and respect when they come there, and conciliate them as much as possible.

This bird was generally supposed to be the whip-per-will, until the ingenious Mr. Wilson, the excellent and indefatigable ornithologist of America, demonstrated the contrary. It is an evening bird, and is seen about sun-set and twilight in the country; sometimes solitary, but very frequently in great numbers. When alone, you may see it gradually rising in the air until almost out of sight, and then descending with prodigious velocity until very near the surface of the earth. When at the end of this rapid descent, it expands its wings to shoot again into the sky, it makes a rushing noise, which may be heard in the stillness of a summer evening at a great distance.

The whip-per will, like the owl, in America is connected with many tales of superstition; it is a rare poetical bird, and with the exception of the phœnix and the nightingale, neither of which are known in that quarter of the world, will stand the poets of that country more in stead than any other bird whatever. Independently of the ominous forebodings of speedy mortality, which his appearance under, or near a window, is sure to create, there is a lone and desolate obscurity in its character, that recommends it wonderfully to the imagination. In the summer twilight he is heard at intervals, and almost always singly, whistling his solitary notes, changing his position now and then, and often startling the peasant, as he is going home alone through the woods. It is very difficult to get sight of him, as he is rarely visible until the dusk of the evening; and his flight is so sudden and so swift, as to elude the attention, thus suddenly excited by the rustling of his wings. It is said that the appearance of his flight has something peculiar, resembling what is called “flitting;” a motion, which from time immemorial, has been appropriated to ghostly shadows.

It is related among the transformations of the heathen mythology, that Pandion, king of Athens, was changed into a whoop-o-e, at the same time that one of his daughters was metamorphosed into a nightingale. The whip-per-will, whose name is derived from the sound of his cry, is probably the same as the hoop-o-e; the latter of which names approaches in reality, much nearer the sounds uttered by this bird, than the former. This suggestion receives additional force, from the circumstance of the nightingale, and the whip-per-will, being both night birds, and both fond of solitude; which traits of coincidence, would seem to indicate their former intimate relationship.

This little insect is another treasure to the American poet, who living as it were in a new world, has a better opportunity of introducing new imagery, than those of the worn-out and exhausted countries of the other three quarters of the globe, which are drained to the very dregs. If instead of glow-worms and nightingales, who are as common as farthing candles and fiddlers, he will now and then give us a little of real American scenery and imagery, the advantage of novelty will at least be obtained. In all countries there are objects, or at least combinations of objects, peculiar to itself; and it should be the business of the poet to catch these peculiarities of feature, which constitute the individuality of a country, without slavishly treading in the steps of others of different nations. I myself have seen the glow-worm foisted into an American night-piece, and heard the nightingale piping at the same time, though well aware that the glow-worm is so rare as never to constitute any accustomed feature of an evening landscape, and the nightingale not known at all in that country, except in the barren fancy of some servile imitator, who believes that because the English poets sing of that interesting bird, he must set her piping in the American forest.

Students in all ages, have been noted for their love of frolicking and mischief. In Spain it has passed into a proverb; and to say that a man is “as mischievous as a collegian or a monkey,” conveys an idea of a superlative pickle. It has been supposed that this propensity might be traced to the strict rules of scholastic discipline that exist in colleges, under the restraints of which, the student being rather uneasy, will make himself ample amends, by plunging into all the excesses of liberty, whenever he is indulged with a temporary relaxation.

For my part, I cannot but attribute it to his becoming early familiar with the classic writers, particularly the poets, whose drinking odes, and animated descriptions of convivial parties, are enough to fire the imagination of youth with an irresistible desire of carousing it lustily. One of Horace's wet odes, or more especially one of Anacreon's, is a greater provocative to drinking than a salt herring, and it is little to be wondered at, if by the frequent perusal of these inflammatory productions, the unfortunate youths become notable frequenters of taverns. As mischief is generally a concomitant of drinking, that too is to be traced to the same “Pierian Spring.”

That such is the true source of these remarkable habits of collegians, is pretty clearly demonstrated by this, that as soon as they leave College, and forget their Greek and Latin, which they do for the most part in a year or two, they become sober personages, and are no longer distinguishable from the rest of their fellow creatures by their frolicsome and mischievous propensities.

The true way to remedy this crying evil would be to make a good fire in the College yards, and then institute an enquiry, similar to that held by the Curate and Barber over Don Quixote's library. Or perhaps it would be still more effectual to have all these combustible books, together with the whole scandalous chronicle of ancient classical mythology, burnt by the hands of the common hangman.

The odes of Horace and Anacreon, would be well replaced by the minstrelsy of the Border; the haunts of the nymphs, the fauns, and the dryades, might be very respectably occupied by the goblins, the witches, and water-wraithes; and if a mythology is absolutely necessary, Mr. Southey has introduced us to one much more novel, stupendous, and incomprehensible, than even that of Scandinavia.