University of Virginia Library

Sir Bolus, or Sir Boriase Warren, whose exploits in the Chesapeake are, as they say of quack medicines, “too well known to need any praise from us.” Sir Bolus, like the American Eagle, carries in one hand a bundle of arrows, and in the other an olive branch, to indicate that he brings the choice of peace or war. As the sage Gargantua, according to Monsieur Rabelais, was once in a situation in which he did not know whether to laugh, or cry, and compromised matters by laughing with one side of his face, and crying with the other; so in like manner Sir Bolus, being divided as it were between peace and war, one day burns a town, and the next, professes a violent inclination to be friends with America.

This gallant chieftain was formerly we understand on a visit to the city of Gotham, where he partook of the hospitality for which that ancient city is so celebrated, particularly with reference to any of his Britannic Majesty's officers. He was at all the entertainments given by the rich merchants, and to use his own phrase, “punished” some of their claret pretty handsomely. In fact you could go no where without seeing him.

When he left that place he amused himself with cruising just without the harbour, bringing to every vessel going in or out, particularly if they happened to belong to the gentlemen whose claret he had “punished,” and practising all that train of petty tyrannical imposition, which America has been in the habit of receiving from the two “great Belligerents” for several years past.

Sir Beresford has lately distinguished himself by capturing the Wasp, an American “seventy-four in disguise,” for which we believe he received the honor of knighthood.

Sir Cockburn, or Childe Cockburn, as he is indifferently called, is a distinguished freehooter of the new order of knights of the post. I have entered so fully into his character in the poem, that it is quite unnecessary to resort to my usual method of illustrating by notes. One anecdote however will show how nearly he approaches the models of the purest order of chivalry, in uniting the most unheard of bravery with the most gallant devotion to the ladies.

After the burning of Havre de Grace, a party headed by Sir Cockburn, with his usual solicitude to be foremost in every gallant achievement, made an excursion to the house of a neighbouring gentleman, in which several ladies of the first respectability had taken refuge. After plundering the house, they were proceeding in the true spirit of border chivalry, to set it on fire, when a lady in an agony of terror, fell on her knees to the gallant knight, and begged him to spare the house, and “she would love him as long as she lived.”

He did spare the house, but nothing else, and the next day in answer to the application of the lady for the restitution of her clothes, jocosely reminded her “that he hoped she would remember her promise.” This was in the true spirit of a William of Deloraine, and plainly showed that Sir Cockburn was well versed in the ordinances of chivalry, where the most lofty daring is coupled with the most “generous loyalty to age and sex.”

I am told that America is a rare place for British officers, and that the ladies there, many of them, resemble a certain fish, which is easily taken with a bit of red rag. This circumstance probably induced sir Cockburn to play off his gallantry, not supposing that a lady of the least taste or refinement could hate one of his majesty's officers, even though he were a perfect Barrabbas.

The Lapland witches, or rather wizards, are one of the last ragged remnants of the ancient pagan mythology, and derive their origin from high antiquity. They are probably the descendants of the priests of Æolus, who, according to Homer, made Ulysses a present, which destroyed his whole fleet, and threw him high and dry on the island of Ciree, who was no other than an arrant Lapland witch. It is difficult to account for people in this remote situation, retaining among them almost the only remnant of ancient classical superstition, now remaining in Europe. But when we consider, that many of the ingenious writers on the subject of the diffusion of mankind, and the consequent diffusion of science and learning, have pointed out the hyperborean regions, as the most probable source of both, it will not appear altogether preposterous, to suppose that Lapland, being the very centre of that genial quarter, is the identical spot. This is rendered more probable, by the universal opinion of the natives who, one and all, agree in calling this seducing territory the terrestrial paradise. If so, it is a circumstance that may humble the pride of the arrogant natives of the east, to be told that they are not only descended, but derive all their pretensions to civilization and refinement, from a little diminutive set of Semi-Trogiodytes, who live half the time by the light of fish oil instead of the sun; who sell nothing but wind; who know no other physic, but moss, mushroons, and turpentine; live on dried fish, and bread made of pine trees; and are at present in such a confirmed state of ignorance, as to serve the father-in-law a whole year, only to get his daughter for a wife!

Castor and Pollux. In meteorology, are fiery balls which appear at the mast head, or sticking to the shrouds of vessels during a storm at sea. When only one of these balls is seen, it is called Helen, and indicates that the worst part of the storm is yet to come. These lights were sometimes called Tyndarides by the ancients; by the Spaniards, they are called San Elmo, by the French, St. Nicholas; by the Italians, Hermo; and by the Dutch, Vree vuuren. Experienced mariners have informed me, that they have often sent their sailors up the shrouds to catch one of these balls of fire, but without success; and if sir Cockburn really caught one, he did what no other navigator ever performed. It is said that a large jack-o-lantern of this kind, inhabits a high mountain in the island of Samos, which is situated at the mouth of the Gulf of Glaucus, a very dangerous place on account of fogs and sudden gusts, and that many vessels have been preserved by it's light.

Castor and Pollux, from whom these meteors derive their name, were two strange birds, hatched from two strange eggs of Leda. The story is extant in the ancient Grecian mythology, which is very properly put into the hands of children, to initiate them into the whole mystery of intrigue, terrestrial and celestial. The two brothers agreed very well together; so much so, that Castor dying, the surviving brother, who was gifted with immortality, for reasons set forth in the ancient scandalous chronicle, obtained permission to share his immortality with him. Accordingly, while one was on earth, the other sojourned in the regions below, resembling in this respect two well-buckets, one of which always descends, as the other rises. Castor being a great hunter of beavers, was the first to introduce into Greece that particular part of the animal, which has ever since been called by his name, which has likewise descended, or rather ascended, to the peculiar hat, which he formerly wore, and which to this day is called a Castor hat.

The two brothers, as the story says, were at length translated to the skies, as was not unusual in those days, when no other translations ever took place, and formed the constellation of Gemini, which may be seen in front of the almanac. The exclamation of “O Gemini!” which is very ancient, is derived from this constellation. The Castorian dance, still in use among the American Indians, and which consists in jumping up as high as possible, and crying Boh! was instituted in honour of Castor, who in hunting the beaver, got exceedingly intimate with the savages of the north-west. Whether he was the original founder of the north-west company, is an inquiry, which though deserving attention, would lead me into too extensive a discussion.

Castor and Pollux were very popular among the Romans, because they once appeared in a battle, and turned the scale of victory in their favour. There can be no doubt of the fact, because it is written in the famous Linen Books, that the constellation of Gemini was not visible for two nights; and where could it be gone, except to the battle? They were mounted on white horses; whence originated the custom among modern generals of riding on one of that colour.

[Mr. Scott having unaccountably neglected hanging a note to this passage, the Editor has attempted to supply the omission.]

Of the origin and history of this famous marine spectre, I have been able to learn but little. The general opinion among seamen is, that a certain Dutch skipper, as obstinate as a mule, beating up into Table Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope, with the wind in his teeth, and being frequently driven back, at length swore by “dunder and blixum,” his usual oath, that he would get into the bay in spite of God or man. No one knows what became of him; but the vessel is often seen by experienced mariners, ploughing the waves towards Table Bay, where as yet her has not arrived according to the latest information; neither have I seen any authentic account of her destiny, either in Lloyd's list, or the gazette of Solomon Lang, printed at Gotham.

According to the Lusiad of Camoens, Vasco de Gama in weathering the Cape of Good Hope, encountered a stormy and gigantic spirit, which disputed his passage several days, and raised a variety of tempests in order to drive him back, but without effect. Whether the flying Dutchman has any connection with this memorable sprite, or whether he belongs to the family of the Water-kings, of which King George, as sovereign of the seas is the undoubted head; or whether a branch of the water-wraithe, or mermaid, so plenty about the Orkneys, it is difficult, perhaps impossible for us to decide at this distance. I am rather inclined to suppose, that all these nautical superstitions may be traced to the common centre of the Gothic mythology, with the exception of Neptune, who has of late been so completely kept under by the British navy, that he only now and then pops up his head like a frog, to take breath. Like all other deposed monarchs, he is held in great contempt, except indeed by poets and sailors. The former find him useful in giving dignity to their naval songs; and the latter, in crossing the line, celebrate an exhibition in his honour, which baffles all the mummeries of antiquity.

Even gods have their day, and often in former times used to follow the fate of their worshippers. Thus, when the Goths and Vandals, the ancient Cossacks of the north, who delivered Europe into the bonds of ignorance and barbarity, overturned the western Empire of the Cæsars, the whole fraternity of Olympus lost their seats, and with them went the Dryades, the Hyades, the Nereides, the Naiads, the Potamides, the Oreades, and all the gentle beings, that rendered the woods, the fountains, the rivers, and the ocean of ancient times so delightful to the imagination. In their room came the upstart and ignoble herd of Gothic superstition, a set of mischievous, and diebolical goblins, the very engines of terror and dismay, as is thus set forth by honest Reginald Scott, great-grandfather to Michael Scott, the famous enchanter, whose shadow could not be seen in the dark. “Then came “says he,” the witches the urchins, elues, hags, imps, calcars, conieuers, changelings, incubus, Robin-Hood-fellow, the spoorne, the mare, the man in the oke, the Hell-waine, the fire drake, the puckle, hob-goblin. Kit with the canstick. Tom Thumbe, Tom tumble, boncles, and such other Bugs, that we are afeard of our own shadowes.”

The geographers make mention of a fish of this kind, that went on shore on the coast of Norway some years ago, which though not quite so large as the one seen by Sir Cockburn, was yet of a magnitude superior to any described in antiquity, and may almost compare with the famous turtle, who according to the highly curious and interesting mythology of the Brachmans, carries the earth on his back, and thus in reality prevents its sinking into the bottom of the sea. This knocks Sir Isaac Newton's theory of gravitation on the head, and I am surprised that Sir William Jones, and the Asiatic society, should inundate us thus with these puzzling notions, which militate against our established opinions, and set us again adrift on the ocean of conjecture. For my part, I had made up my mind in this respect, until the story of the great turtle drove me from my anchors, upon the shoals of doubt and uncertainty: to be shipwrecked, for aught I know to the contrary. Had Sir William Jones applied his great learning and unequalled talent for research, in the investigation of matters of more importance to mankind, such as the recovery and exposition of the memorials of border chivalry, or the discovery and collating of old ballads instead of poring over the remains of Sanscrit black-letter, he would have done much more towards enlightening and civilizing the human race than by all his multifarious eastern researches.

[Here Mr. Scott had inserted copious extracts from the romances of these renowned persons, noting all the editions of the Arabian Nights that ever have been published, and adding a copious biography of Daniel De Foe, the author of Robinson Crusoe, together with a full description of the island of Juan Fernandez. The editor supposing that though these matters may be novelties among the ignorant people of Great Britain, they are fully known in this country, has taken the liberty of omitting the whole note, which comprised nearly twenty-seven pages. The bookseller indeed stood out manfully for its insertion, as it would make the book larger, but it was at length agreed to omit it altogether, advertising the reader of the cicumstance. Ed.]

An expression of sailors to signify that a man has gone to sleep.

Mr. Quincy is I understand a famous prophet, the Richard Brothers of the Eastern States of America, and their oracle in the Congress of the United States. The speech to which Sir Bolus alludes is full of prophetic denunciations, uttered, as I am told, with all the fury of a sybil, but without her inspiration it would seem. Like the unhappy Cassandra, he appears to be for ever prophesying, without ever having the good fortune to be believed. Cassandra, however, was always revenged on the incredulity of mankind by the fulfillment of her predictions; whereas, it is I understand observed of this honourable gentleman, that he has neither the pleasure of being believed when he tells of futurity, nor the melancholy consolation of being justified by the event.

I remember he predicted the ruin of that country, if the bank of the United States was refused a renewal of its charter, and many of my friends on that event taking place, in great consternation wrote to America, to dispose of their public stock, supposing that an immediate dissolution of the confederacy would ensue. Indeed from a observation of his speeches for sometime past, it will appear that there was hardly any measure of a national nature, that did not loom before his prophetic vision, as the sad precursor of the ruin of the country. Yet it would seem that country, like an obstinante patient, whom some prophetic quack had foredoomed to death, still wickedly and indecorously survives, in spite of the Doctor's own potent endeavours to the contrary; a monument of his incapacity either to foretell, or to bring about his own predictions. For most assuredly it appears, from the view which we on this side the water are enabled to take of American affairs, that if the Union of the States is not speedily dissolved, it will not be owing to any want of exertion on the part of Mr. Quincy or his friends.

The proof here adduced by Sir Bolus of the existence of French influence is certainly one of the strongest that I have seen, and I really do not perceive how the American government can get over it. There can be no stronger proof of our regard for a friend, than that of naming our offspring after him, and certainly the naming of a town, is, if possible, a more striking proof of devotion. Being ignorant of the existence of these two places, Havre de Grace, and French town, I had hitherto supposed this charge of French influence against the American President, had no foundation. But I now without hesitation, coincide with Mr. Quincy, Lord Castlereagh, the Prince Regent, and other distinguished persons. So far should the President be from complaining, that I think he ought to be highly obliged to Sir Cockburn, for destroying such glaring proofs of his apostacy from the true interests of his country.

Sir Bolus is here jocular upon the letter of Sir Beresford, giving a pompous account of the walls of Lewistown, which at some future period will most likely be equally celebrated with these of ancient Troy, for having some Bully Hector, like the redoubted Knight, dragged by the heels round them. As the valour of the English seems altogether predicated of roast-beef, I think the Americans are in the right to keep them from procuring it, as much as possible; in which care they will in all probability be able to prevent their making any impression upon that country. The only satisfactory reason why an English sailor beats a Frenchman, is that the former eats roast-beef, when he can get it and the latter, soup, which is much more likely to make a man run away than fight.

There can be no greater proof of the truth of this theory, than the events which have taken place on the Ocean, since the commencement of the present contest with America. It is a singular fact, which has hitherto escaped the sages who have attempted to account for the unexpected results of our late Naval engagements, that they all took place on what is called Banyan Days; that is, those particular days of the week set apart for the special eating of soup. That this, and not any small superiority of force, or any physical superiority in the men, or any superior excitement on the part of the enemy, “nor any over anxiety on our part to come to close quarters,” was the true cause of our repeated disasters, on our “own element,” I think cannot be doubted. In order to avoid such repeated disgrace in future, it would be advisable, either to strike the Banyan days out of the nautical calendar, or else always to make a point of coming to action some other day in the week.

I cannot positively say that Childe Cockburn had a red nose, but there are several reasons to suppose so. Dugdale in his account of the illustrious families of the British peerage, affirms, that the Cockburns were anciently called Cock, from their being such fighting fellows; and that the burn was afterwards added on account of one of them having distinguished himself, by burning several cottages and haystacks in a border-foray. Others say, that this addition was expressly given in honour of the red nose, which was hereditary in this family, and that Bardolph himself was one of the Cockburns, who were, as Shakespeare says, celebrated for “carrying a lantern in the poop.” That Sir Cockburn, who inherits the hereditary taste for burning, should also have succeeded to the red nose, is extremely probable, and I have accordingly directed that he should hoist his lantern, without further ceremony.

In the dearth of Sirnames, which characterised those remote times, the colour of the nose often became of common use, to distinguish different individuals of the same name, different families, and different factious from each other. The most celebrated instance of this sort is the feud between the houses of York and Lancaster; and the most singular instance of historical blundering, I have ever known, is connected with this circumstance. All the historians I have met with, agree in saying that the badges of distinction between the two rival houses, were the red and the white rose; whereas, the late Lord Orford has, or at least could have demonstrated, that the true reading ought to be the red and the white nose. Under these two noses, all the people of England marshalled themselves; and the Cockburns, who were of course distinguished red-noseans, signalized themselves in various burning expeditions. Hence originated the different titles of Admiral of the red, and Admiral of the white, which were first need to distinguish the fleets of Lancaster and York from each other. The custom is still kept up, but the reasons, as usual, have been lost. Childe Cockburn, as may be inferred from his nose, is a distinguished admiral of the red.

Those who are in the least intimate with ancient history, must occasionally have been not a little amused with the origin of most of the sirnames of the distinguished personages of Grecian and Roman, as well as of the early European history. Passing over Pericles, the Ptolomies, and the host of Pharaohs, I will merely mention the kings of France and England. There was Philip the fair, Lewis the gross, and Charles the fat, of France; Edward the confessor, Edmund Ironside, and Edward Longshanks, of England, besides a thousand others.

It would be no unamusing speculation, to inquire what sirnames would suit some of the present notable race of monarchs, provided they were bestowed with a due regard to their distinguishing qualities of mind and body, or their peculiar habits and tastes—or lastly, their peculiar situations. Alexander might be called the Accoucheurer, or Deliverer—Napoleon, in addition to his sirname of Great, might have that of Sinner appended—Frederick might probably be called Lackland; Jerome, the Bigamist—Don Carlos, the Fiddler—Gustavus, the Double, because, as Joe Miller says, be is a man beside himself —and honest King George is fully entitled to the sirname of Well meaning. The rest, though they are such an obscure set of rogues, that I really dont recollect their names, yet doubtless have sufficient character to entitle them to a nickname at least. Having mentioned nicknames, it may not be amiss to observe that they probably had their origin in the waggery of mischievous boys; and because they were not sanctioned by any of the usual ceremonies of the church, were called Nick-names, in honour of Old-Nick, who was supposed to stand godfather on these occasions.

I have made an allusion to the phœnix, in order to introduce a little bit of secret history, which puts an end to all the race, past, present, and to come. I beg pardon of the poets, who like this bird better than any other, except perhaps a roasted turkey, for thus depriving them of one great source of their similies; but as my object is, if possible, to knock on the head all the thread-bare classical supersititions, I cannot let the phœnix live another hour, on any account.

According to the Abbe Mariti, who travelled into the Holy Land, the palm-tree is by way of eminence called, over all the east, the phœnix, because of its numerous uses, insomuch, that Palestine could hardly be inhabited without it. When the palm-tree grows old, it is cut down, and the stump burnt to ashes; from which ashes springs a young palm-tree; in other words, a young phœnix. Thus ends the history of that rare bird the phœnix, which though not admitted in the catalogue of ornithology, has made a great noise in the world, and given its name to a variety of institutions, such as the Phœnix Fire Office, the Phœnix Insurance Company, and others, who ought immediately to change the phœnix for the palm-tree.

The knight called out lustily for roast beef, at Lewistown; but to use a homely phrase, “got his belly full” of something else, and was fain to go eastward, where the pious puritans, who go beyond the scriptures in “loving their enemies” better than their friends, probably supplied him plentifully.

[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.

This is a favourite step, and considered the test of good dancing among the farmers' sons and daughters. It was undoubtedly introduced into America by the natives of Africa, in their first involuntary emigrations; and as one of the few customs borrowed from that unlucky quarter of the world, is entitled to particular notice. Dancing appears to be an amusement equally common to the savage and civilized state, and the wild Indian of the north-west coast of America, the ignorant negro of Whidah, the barbarous native of Madagascar, as well as the refined Parisian, are equally fond of this universal amusement. Even the Cozack, and the bear, are capable of imbibing a strong predilection for it.

The dancing step, called “double trouble,” from its being twice as much trouble to dance it, as to dance any other, bears not the least resemblance to any of the ancient dances that have been described by learned men, nor to any of those of Europe; being altogether unique in itself, and possessing a character entirely distinct from all others. It consists in moving both feet without lifting them from the floor, in such a manner as to keep time to the music, and requires not only great dexterity of foot, but a very correct ear. It may be classed under the general head of shuffling, and is in fact the perfection of that difficult style of dancing, which is undoubtedly of African origin. The great distinction between the African and European modes of dancing, seems to be this, that the one strives to keep himself on the ground, and the other off of it. Thus the Mandingo, or Congo beau prides himself on his shuffling, and the French dancing-master, and his pupils, upon maintaining a sort of medium between heaven and earth, like some of those wandering ghosts, whose peculiar fate it was neither to belong to the world above, or the world below; and which were assuredly the shades of dancing-masters, if any such existed in those simple days.

The family of Joline, anciently Josselin, or Joccelin, is of great antiquity, as we learn from the edifying chronicles of the crusades, where one Josselin of Montmorenci, distinguished himself on a variety of occasions, but particularly by killing a “beestely gigaunt” as we learn from the following curious fragment.

From this confounding of the genders, it is difficult to decide whether, Josselyne and the gigaunt were male or female, unless we solve the difficulty by supposing the poet to have been a Welshman, which is probably the fact, as many of the Welch bards accompanied king Richard to the Holy Land.

There is a curious distich quoted in the notes of Dr. Clarke's travels in Palestine, which is probably about the same date with that just recited, and which shews that the poets of those days had some other criterion of distinction betwixt man and woman, than the mere gender.

If this poet was not a true Milesian, I am mistaken.

The Scottish, or as they are generally denominated, the Scotch Plains, are situated in the State of New-Jersey, in the neighbourhood of Pompton Plains, of which more will be said. From the name, it was probably settled by a colony of Scots, at a very early period, perhaps anterior to the discovery of America by Columbus; who probably gained some obscure hints of this matter, from the pedlars, who travelled through Europe, and was thus led to his great undertaking.

If this hypothesis should be genuine, as there are strong reasons to believe, the honour of the first discovery and colonization of America, belongs neither to Americus Vespuccius, Christopher Columbus, Sebastian Cabot, nor Prince Madoc, but to some other obscure adventurer, who by an unaccountable negligence in history, has been thus cruelly defrauded of immortality.

It may not be amiss to observe, that the custom here alluded to of “tiring swains,” is well known among the Lassies of Scotland; and this coincidence furnishes another proof of a common origin.

He was a celebrated dancing master from Paris, who taught little babies to dance and look like women, but died of chagrin, because he could not jump up and cross his legs six times, before he touched the floor.

Notwithstanding all that has been written about gentlemen peasants and shepherds, from the time of Theocritus to Allan Ramsay, I do most verily believe, that they have been, are, and always will be, from the very nature of their situation and employments, a set of indifferent fellows, who are ignorant without being simple, and whose ideas of love are limited pretty much to the ordinary conceptions of their near neighbours, the sheep and cattle. I can safely say, I never saw one with a clean face, except at a church or a review; and how a man without that indispensable requisite, can be an object of affection to any woman, except one who has a smutted face herself, I can form no conception. Pastoral poetry will probably never be very popular, except among the class of people thus caricatured, who of course, will be mightily tickled with it, and strut about in their borrowed plumage, like the daw in the peacock's feathers, or more appropriately, the ass in the lion's skin. If I were to look for homely honesty, or for sober matter-of-fact virtues, among any class of people, I would go to the labourers of the field, and the tenders of sheep and cattle; but he who expects to find among these classes the refinements of sensibility, or the purity of love, may look for soft hands and clean faces too.

Plato maintains that there were two Cupids, one of whom was a god, and the other a dæmon; by which he clearly meant to distinguish between that polished and refined affection, which is the boast of cultivated minds, and that animal passion, which is, in general, the only bond of union among the low, the ignorant, and the corrupted.

The custom of occasionally “squeaking the fiddle” as it is called, is common at country wakes and dances, all over America; and the lass, who on this occasion, refuses the salute of her partner, is held to be sophisticated, by an intercourse with proud conceited people. The law in this case, is as strict as in cases of forfeit, where it is well known the damsel is obliged to fulfil certain conditions, before she can recover her pledge. It is pleasing to see the customs of our forefathers thus growing up in a far distant country, and pervading a new world. Perhaps the time will come, when America will be the sole depository of these endearing modes of early youth, when the aged countries of Europe will again relapse into second childhood, as in the dark ages, which succeeded the destruction of the western empire. Nations, like individuals, have their progress from infancy to maturity, from maturity to age, and, as inevitably, feel the effects of time, as the individuals themselves. The eastern world receives the first rays of the rising sun, but his last light beams in the west; and thus probably will it be with the sun of science. The time may come, when America, though the youngest sister, will, like Joseph, receive the obeisance of her elders, and behold them paying homage to her sheaf of wheat.

Pompton is a beautiful little pastoral stream, which after winding lazily through the plain of that name, joins the Passaic, at a place called the Three Bridges. The character of this river and its adjacent scenery is such as I have described; soft, silent, and gentle. The water hardly moves; on its banks are vast numbers of stately elms, whose extensive shade, allures the herds and flocks, and whose spreading branches shelter an infinite number of birds, whose song is the delight of the solitary rambler. The red-winged blackbird, the thrush, and the clover loving boblincon, whose notes may vie with the boasted songsters of Europe—and above all the mock-bird, the variety of whose minstrelsy imitates the melody of the whole forest. All these, sport undisturbed through the livelong summer day, in the rich meadows that skirt the stream; whose edges, at short intervals, are fringed with a rich border of dwarf willows, the little tendrils whereof touch the surface of the water.

Enamoured of this still landscape, so favourable for meditation and sleep, the ancient Hollanders at a very early period settled on these plains; where their descendants still flourish in easy competency, and grow in wealth as well as numbers. Whenever a son marries, an additional door is knocked into the house, which is commonly of one story, but makes up in length what it wants in height; and thus an additional house is made off hand. Some of these long buildings are thus divided into several tenements, and not unfrequently, three or four generations will be found flourishing under the same roof. As they all dress invariably alike, it is often difficult to tell the relation in which they stand to each other, for they appear nearly of the same age, and very often the old grand-father will be found vying with his grand-son, in the labours of the field.

There is a sort of homely, yet comfortable simplicity in the lives of these people, which when soberly contemplated is somewhat touching to the imagination, as well as gratifying to the feelings. It is so peaceful, so smooth, so unagitated so like their own little river. In short, it exhibits so many of the features of that little nestling place which every man in his prospective fancy creates to himself, as the refuge of his declining years. Perhaps after all, one of the most genuine pictures of sober happiness which it falls to the lot of man to contemplate, is that of one of these old patriarchs, sitting at the door of a comfortable house, and smoking his long pipe on a summer's evening.

It has been objected to me, that I have, in my former productions, dwelt too long and too minutely on names and places, that have no title to the attention of any body but a provincial antiquarian; and that I have in this manner frivolously wasted the time of my readers who might have been better employed. In short, that my works resemble a road-book, where every little paltry town, blacksmith's shop, and tavern is laid down, and minutely particularized for the gratification of the curious traveller.

In consequence of these cavils, and as a poor author must sometimes pull off his hat to the critic, the reader will perceive that I have turned my back upon several towns that occur in the part of the minstrel, many of which are ennobled. by tradition. This is most particularly the case with the ancient city of Brunswick in New Jersey, where several centuries ago Michael Scot studied necromancy under Mother Shoulders. Tradition says, that long before he “clove Eildon Hill” with a few sharp words, he had signalized his power by sneezing down the steeple of the old Episcopal church at Brunswick, out of pure spite; he being an obstinate sectarian, and a great enemy of orthodoxy.

Tradition, if it did not originate with, at least, owes its chief support to, the class of females here alluded to. If they did not give birth to it, they are its chief nurses. As all history must originate in oral tradition, it follows that the ancient matrons are the grand-mothers at least of historical narration, and that though Herodotus may be called the father of history, they have an equal title to the honour of its birth. In every town or village you will find a little knot of these industrious and curious antiquarians, pilfering from that same wallet, in which, as Shakespeare affirms, old time “putteth things for oblivion” a thousand precious little scraps of secret history, and a thousand invaluable memorials, which like a silver spoon in dish-water would be thrown away unless preserved by their pious care. Anon comes the antiquary, who gleans all these detached particles of gold-dust, by sifting old nurses, ancient matrons, and curious grey headed maids, and maketh a book highly interesting, and valuable. In it, is set forth with admirable particularity, all that has happened in the town or village for several generations: who erected the church steeple, who put up the weather cock, who built the old stone-house opposite, who was mayor in such a year, and whose tomb it is, the inscription of which is entirely obliterated.

Thus are the ancient matrons, the true chronicles of the times, and sorry as well as surprised am I, when I consider the base ingratitude of antiquarians and historians, who have thus maliciously, as well as wickedly, suppressed all mention of the sources from whence they, in all ages, have derived their most precious information.

In America, where the congregations are often dispersed over a large space of country, it is customary to preach two sermons, with a very short intermission, in order that the people may return home in time to their dinner. The interval between these “services,” as they are called, is devoted to rambling about the church-yard, reading epitaphs; or parading about the door, where are displayed all the new bonnets, and finery of the parish. Human nature is the same every where in respect to vanity, except that those who often get new bonnets, are not half so vain of them, as those who get them but seldom. The finest lady, dressed in all the gorgeous drapery of wealth, and fashion, and sparkling in jewels, displays not half the self-complacency exhibited by a rural damsel, appearing for the first time at church, in a new gown, or bonnet.

It has been hitherto supposed, that the people of America, like the birds of that country, are not naturally musical, because travellers have, I am told, drawn their conclusions, from what they observed in cities or along the public roads, without penetrating beyond the mere outside shell of the country. The real habits of any country, are not to be gathered in the streets or by the road side; but in lonely and remote situations, where the traveller never comes, and where with the exception of a wandering pedlar, a stranger is seldom seen. It is at the fire side of the farmer, where the ancient manners and customs, the natural tastes of a people make their last stand; and it is there and in his fields that I am assured, morning, noon, and evening, you may hear old ballads often sung by the workmen and maids, with whom it is altogether common and customary. With regard to the ballad of Rhino Die, I have been able to procure but two lines of it, which are the concluding ones of every verse, occupying the place of a sort of chorus. There is a simplicity in them which seems to indicate considerable antiquity.

This ballad is probably of American origin, as neither Mr. Ritson, Mr. Ellis, nor my friend Jacobus Porcus, have given any account of it. All I can gather from my correspondent, who like most other Americans, is barbarously indifferent to genuine minstrelsy, is, that it is twelve cows in length. That is, according to the ancient system of measuring ballads; which was by the number of cows milked by the maid, while she was singing them. Formerly the Hollanders measured time by the pipe, as the learned Diedrich Knickerbocker affirms in his history; and at present the natives of the East, have a custom, somewhat analogous, of measuring distances by time.

A famous border chief, principal of the three who captured major Andre, the particular friend of my late friend Miss Seward. There is extant a fragment of a ballad, which only wants age, to make it exceedingly curious and interesting. It relates to that celebrated event.

Nothing can afford a stronger proof of the high estimation in which this celebrated borderer is held in America, than his being thus put first in the chorus, than which circumstance, scarce any thing could more strongly indicate, that he was considered a greater man than even General Washington.

It is the custom in the country, thirty or forty miles from the cities, when the young men go sparkling as it is called, to judge of their reception by certain ceremonies which are well understood. If soon after his arrival, the damsel rises and takes a candle unto another room, it is understood as an acceptance of his devoirs, for that evening at least. If on the contrary, she remains in the room with her parents, he is said, I know not for what special reason, “to get the bag to hold.”

It has been objected to me, that in my attention to the lady and her spell, I have forgotten to inform the reader, whether Lord Joline was killed by the blow or not. The truth is, I left the matter in this kind of doubt, being aware, that uncertainty is one species of the sublime; and moreover, that the poet, by sometimes leaving the imagination of the reader to operate, often gives rise to a much better picture than his own fancy would have produced.

Were it not that the false pretences of monarchs produce such melancholy effects, their hypocrisy would be altogether ridiculous. The king of England, according to his minister's account, is most disinterestedly fighting to preserve Europe from the yoke of Bonaparte by land; and the little French emperor, no less disinterested than his brother king, is fighting to preserve the world from the domination of England by sea. Between them both, a good portion of the whole world, by land and by sea, is kept in a state, to which, plague, pestilence and famine are modes of comparative happiness. There is somewhere, or at any rate, there ought to be, a fable to the following effect.

The porcupine was once seized with an unaccountable fit of universal benevolence, so that he never could see any of the weaker sort of animals, but he must either carry them on his back, or cover them with his body, to keep them from harm. The consequence was, the poor little devils got so pricked and worried by the quills of their troublesome protector, that many of them, in a short time, had not a drop of blood left, and others were reduced to skin and bone. Upon this, the wretched survivors came to him in a body, and with great humility requested, that in future, when his majesty saw them in any difficulty, he would graciously suffer them to get out of it as well as they could, without his interference.

It was officially communicated to the American government, by Commodore Chauncey, commandant of the lakes, (who, by-the-bye, has called one of his vessels “The Lady of the Lake,”) that the mace of the Speaker of the parliament of Upper Canada, was surmounted by a scalp; which was taken down at the capture of York, and forwarded to the commander in chief.

I rejoice, and so will his pious excellency Governor Strong, to find by this, that such an intimate and brotherly union subsists between our country and the savage, on whom the example of Englishmen cannot fail of having a most beneficial effect. The humane General Procter, will, doubtless, take every pains to have them properly instructed in the principles of the Christian religion, so that by the time the war is over, they will probably, under the guidance of the great prophet Tecumseh, be marvellously improved in humanity and politeness.

The militia of America have, by the public accounts, distinguished themselves on various occacasions during the present war, but most especially by running away. Heretofore it was a popular theory with those who wrote against standing armies, that a militia was the best bulwark in case of an invasion. It was erroneously supposed that men would defend their property, their wives and children, and their “sacred homes,” with spirit, firmness, and vigour, whenever they were attacked. But experience has destroyed this, among many other popular and plausible theories; and it is now demonstrated, that the experiment is dangerous and destructive. It is found, even in America, where the mass of the people have more to defend than in any other country, that the militia, with the exception of those perhaps of Virginia, labour under a most extraordinary disinclination to defend even their own property; and, like the honest carter who, instead of helping himself, called upon Hercules, do nothing but clamour for the assistance of the general government, and grumble because it does not send a body of troops to every exposed point, on a frontier of more than fifteen hundred miles. Nay, such is the singular species of patriotism prevailing in America, that a distinguished member of Congress, did seriously utter the most extravagant praises of the people of Connecticut, because some of the militia turned out when they were ordered, to defend their own fire-sides!

It has been shrewdly suggested, that the real object of Sir Cockburn's expedition was to procure some of these ducks for Sir Bolus, who is remarkably fond of them. I think however the account of the minstrel is much more natural, for it is hardly to be supposed that Sir Bolus, however fond he might be of these celebrated ducks, would fit out a fleet on purpose to capture them.

Leland says, that before the invasion of Earl Strongbow, the rank of King of Ireland was disputed by the O'Conners, and the family of the Northern Hi-Niall, as it undoubtedly ought to be spelled. Of this family was the famous Brian Boirhoime, or Boromy, King of Munster, and King Twaddle, of whom I can discover nothing, except that he was a great friend of Tom Thumb.

From Brian descended the well known John O'Neal, and Hugh, Earl of Tirowlow, or Teyrone, as it was afterwards written, who disputed so manfully the usurpation of Queen Elizabeth, but at length fell victims to her policy, and were executed, at least the latter; the former having died before. The descendants of these princes as is usual with the children of great families that fall into misfortune, having no respectable calling dwindled into great insignificance, and became in a generation or two common peasantry. Such are the vicissitudes of life! And those who live an hundred years hence, may in all probability, see many of the descendents of the present race of upstart potentates, following some respectable handicraft trade, and getting an honest livelihood, without picking people's pockets, or robbing on the highway.

The philosopher in speculating on the curious figure exhibited by America, for the last ten or fifteen years, will be struck with the prodigious foreign influence of one kind or another which exists in that country; more especially in the places that border on the Atlantic Ocean. I have been told that a vast proportion of the people of the cities, whence public opinion generally emanates, are natives of other countries, who flock there, not from any disgust to their native land, but because they afford an easier opportunity to acquire a fortune. These people, as is natural and proper they should, ever retain a rooted affection for the scene of their youthful attachments, and the theatre of their earliest pleasures. Far be it from me to blame one of the most exalted affections of the heart, the affection for the land of our birth; I am merely stating circumstances which will in some measure explain the reason, why America, which possesses so many claims to the attachment of its citizens, contains more disaffected persons than any other country in existence, with the same number of inhabitants. I mean, not merely disaffected to any particular administration, but to the soil, to the nation itself, when ever its interests, come in competition with those of their native country. It is this which paralizes the proceedings of the government; for no sooner is there a disposition displayed, to resent any injury or insult of a foreign nation, than it is checked and repressed, or at least embarrassed, by the clamorous interference of a herd of interested foreigners, who swarm in their cities, and who being the principal supporters of newspapers, have always influence sufficient to direct the effusions of a patriotic editor into what channel they please. Men certainly ought never to forget the country that gave them birth; but they should recollect the fable of the lamb and its foster mother, and that the soil in which they thrive, and whence they draw their daily being and existence, is at least entitled to their gratitude, if not to their devotion.

But it has been represented to me by intelligent Americans, that many of these people abuse the protection which is given them, by an impertinent interference in those political concerns, which are peculiarly the business of the citizen; by clamours against the government, and by degrading comparisons betwixt the country which they left, because it did not hold out a prospect of competency, and the one, upon which they have bestowed the honour of their adoption.

Another charge brought against foreigners is, that they too often become citizens from mere motives of personal interest; thus sacrilegiously violating the most sacred of human obligations; and resembling the paltry and self-interested fortune-hunter, who proffers his hand to one mistress, while his heart is devoted to another.

While this state of society exists, there will never be seen in that country, the noble spectacle sometimes exhibited by other nations—that of one strong sentiment actuating and impelling and uniting the people, in one great irresistible impulse—a vital feeling running through, pervading, animating the whole mass, and quivering at the touch. The national energy will be wasted in the energy of civil dimensions; its spirit dissipated in domestic broils; and its resentment neutralized by the collision of conflicting interests and passions.

The following is the substance of a note of Mr. S. on this passage.

The people of New England have so often been assured by their orators and select men, of the superiority of their religious and moral habits, their patriotism, and their intelligence, that it appears from many of the newspapers of that quarter, that they are perfectly satisfied of its truth. Like the lawyer in the play, they have so often repeated, “I am an honest man,” that they have not only convinced themselves, but persuaded a great many other people to believe it. The latter, with good natured credulity mistook every repetition of the same tale, for a proof of its authenticity, without considering that it was but the authority of men praising themselves. No one in America has hitherto it seems, thought it worth while to repress, the hitherto harmless vanity of these poor people; and the claim has been tacitly allowed, not because it was believed to be true, but because it was looked upon as the innocent delusion of credulous men, who having been cured of their belief in witches and other imaginary beings, had made themselves amends by indulging a new set of preposterous fancies.

The silence hitherto preserved with respect to this diverting claim, is however no proof that any such superiority exists. Many things have been denied that were true; and many things that are false, remain uncontradicted. To escape being questioned is no demonstration of truth, and what remains for a long time undisputed, is not therefore indisputable.

Nevertheless, such is the influence of assertions often repeated, that the weakness of human nature is seldom able to resist it. Experience every day demonstrates that if men hear continually the same thing, they confound the repetition with evidence, and mistake every reiteration for an additional proof of its truth.

But after all the most general and universal delusion, is, that which men practise upon themselves. They weave their sophistries, till their own reason is entangled; and repeat their falsehoods till they are credited by themselves; by often contending, they grow sincere, and by long searching for proofs, come at last to believe they have found them. When arrived at this desperate stage of perverted reason, there remains scarce a hope of reasoning them from their delusion; but like the spider caught in the net woven by himself, they are destined to remain the monuments of their own self destruction.

Without entering any farther into these deep speculations, I will conclude the subject with remarking, that I cannot help looking upon this locating, and taking as it were, such quiet possession of an unauthorised and unacknowledged pre-eminence, over their honest unassuming neighbours, as altogether analogous to other parts of the conduct of the people of New England to the sister States. Finding nobody in possession, they seem to have squatted down upon the public reputation, as they did upon the land, without enquiring particularly whether it belonged to them or not. Remaining a long time unmolested in their occupation, they grew at last to consider themselves the lawful possessors of the soil, and to talk of their farms, and their estates, as if they had actually held them by legal possession.

[It cannot be sufficiently regretted that so many local prejudices, springing out of mere geographical distinctions, should have arisen in this country, to lay the foundation of national antipathies and national disunion. The pernicious distinctions of Eastern, Middle, and Southern States, seem to have laid the seeds of a precious harvest of ill blood, between the people of these sections, more especially since the claim made by the great representative of New England in the late Congress, to such a preeminence in “religion,” “moral sense” and “intelligence” over his neighbours. Such a claim, where it escapes ridicule and contempt, will excite emotions of jealousy and ill will, and lead perhaps to a lasting dislike. There is in human nature a principle which prompts us to repel any airs of superiority, that are considered ill founded, and men feel the same ill natured satisfaction in stripping away these borrowed feathers, that they do in unmasking the sly hypocrisy of a knave, or the blustering cowardice of a bully.

This prodigious hero is called the Washington of the Plymouth Colony, in the history of New-England, written by two celebrated literary characters of America, the Rev. Jedediah Morse, and the Rev. Elijah Parish.

“In 1636, at a very advanced age, died Capt. Standish, the military commander, the Washington of the Plymouth Colony. A man so conspicuous and celebrated in his life, ought not to be forgotten when dead.”

The following are the principal exploits of this “Washington of the Plymouth Colony.”

“When Corbitant, one of the petty sachems of Massasoit, meditated a revolt, Capt. Standish, with fourteen men, surrounded his house in Swansea; but he being absent, they informed his people they should destroy them, if he persisted in his rebellion. This so alarmed the chief, that he entreated the mediation of Massassoit, and accordingly, was admitted, with eight others, to subscribe his submission to the English!”

“Being on a trading voyage to Mutachiest, between Barnstable and Yarmouth, in February, 1623, a severe storm compelled him to leave his vessel, and sleep in a hut of the Indians. Being impressed with an idea of their design to kill him, he made his people keep guard all night, by which he escaped the snare they had laid for him.”

“Often was the providence of God conspicuous in his preservation. The next month at Manomet, a creek in Sandwich, where he went for corn, he was not received with his usual cordiality. Two Indians from Massachusetts, were there; one had an iron dagger, and derided the Europeans, because he had seen them when dying, “cry and make sour faces like children.” An Indian of the place, who had formerly been his friend, appearing now very friendly, invited the captain to sleep with him, because the weather was cold. Standish accepted his hospitality, and passed the night by his fire; but sleep had departed from his eyes; he was restless and in motion all night, though his host seemed solicitous for his comfort, and “earnestly pressed him to take rest.” It was afterwards discovered that this Indian intended to kill him, if he had fallen asleep.”

Another time he was sent to a place, called Nessaquassel, on suspicion that the Indians were plotting against the white people. The following exploit is recorded of him, by the Rev. gentlemen, who so aptly call him the Washington of the colony.

“Pecksuot being a man of great stature, said to Standish, “Though you are a great captain, yet you are but a little man; and though I be no sachem, yet I am a man of great strength and courage.” The captain had formed his plan, and was therefore silent. The next day seeing he could get no more of them together, Pecksuot, and Wittuwamat his brother, a young man of eighteen, and one Indian more being together, and having about as many of his own men in the room, he gave the word; the door was fast; he seized Pecksuot, snatched his knife from him, and killed him with it; the rest killed Wittuwamat, and the other Indians. The youth they took and hanged. Dreadful was the scene; incredible the number of wounds they bore, without any noise; catching at the weapons, and struggling till death.”

“In 1624, the people of Plymouth had erected fishing-stakes at Cape Ann. A company from the west of England, the next year took possession of them. Captain Standish was sent to obtain justice. His threats were serious; and the people of Cape Ann, assured the company they were dead, unless they satisfied the captain, for he was always punctual to his word. The company built another stage or stake in a more advantageous situation, which the Plymouth people accepted. Thus harmony was restored.”

After all these exploits, which certainly justify the captain's claim to a comparison with the father of American liberty, we learn from this stupendous history, which reminds us not a little of the interesting and truly important “Memoirs of P. P. Clerk of the Parish,” that the captain's great sword was burned, and those who fancy they have it in their possession, are mistaken.

“His name,” adds the writer, a great grandson of the captain's grandson Deacon Joseph Standish, “will long be venerated in New-England. He was one who chose to suffer affliction with the people of God; who subdued kingdoms, and put to flight the armies of the aliens.”

The following curious particulars, may be found in the History of New England; frequently alluded to in this work. Pages 309, 310, 311.

“The public mind was shocked and alarmed, and the most decisive proceedings followed. For a time, all, or most of the people was of one mind. March 2d there was a public examination at the village, and several were committed to prison. March 21st the magistrates met in Salem, and Mr. Noyes opened with prayer. On the 24th they met at the village, and Mr. Hale prayed. On the 26th they met again in Salem, and kept the day in fasting and prayer.”

Having thus duly prepared themselves they went to work.

“There was another examination at Salem April 22d, and a number imprisoned. June 2d an old woman was tried and condemned at Salem, and executed on the 10th; making no confession. Five more were tried June 30, and executed July 19; six more were tried August 6th, and all executed the 19th, except one woman. One of these was Mr. George Burroughs, sometime minister at Wells; he also preached at the village, but met with great opposition. A great number of witnesses appeared at his trial: a specimen of their testimonies may be seen by the following deposition.

“Elizur Keysar, aged about forty-five years, saith, that on Thursday last past, being the 5th of this instant month of May, I was at the house of Thomas Beadle in Salem, and Captain Daniel King being there also at the same time, and in the same room; said Captain Daniel King asked me, whether I would not go up and see Mr. Burroughs, and discourse with him; he being in one of the chambers of of the said house.” The witness did not go up at that time, but goes on to say; “The same afternoon I having occasion to be at said Beadle's house, in the chamber where Mr. Burroughs kept, I observed that the said Burroughs kept his eyes steadfastly fixed upon me. The same evening being at my own house, in a room without any light, I did see very strange things appear in the chimney, I suppose a dozen of them, which seemed to me to be something like jelly, that used to be in the water, and quivered with a strange motion, and then disappeared. Soon after which I did see a light up in the chimney about the bigness of my head, something above the bar, which quivered and shaked, and seemed to have motion upward; upon which I called the maid, and she looking up the chimney, saw the same; and my wife looking up could not see any thing. So I did and do conclude it was some diabolical operation!”

On grounds like these, not only Mr. Burroughs, but hundreds of others were executed in different parts of New England.

But the real ground on which Mr. Burroughs suffered, was probably, his intermeddling too much in political matters, for it seems that about this period, commenced that custom which has since so deeply stained the churches of New-England, and corrupted the Ministers of the Gospel there. I cannot sufficiently reprobate that canting spirit, which connects politics and religion inseparably with each other; nor refrain from bearing my testimony against those late attempts which have been made, not only in America, but Great Britain, to debase the pure spirit of christianity, by making it subservient to the views of interested ambition, or rancorous party spirit. Enough will be said on this subject if we merely revert to the days of the Barebones, and the canting Puritans of the Rump Parliament; to the example of those remorseless non-descripts, who half hypocrite and half devotee, united the practice of the most unrelenting persecution, with the theory of the mildest toleration; and who acting under the combined influence of fanaticism in religion, and enthusiasm in politics, equally outraged the divinity of the one, and the principles of the other. The perilous examples of the effects of this incestuous union, in stimulating party spirit into the most intolerant frenzy, are thick set in the pages of history, and float as buoys in an ocean of blood, to warn the interested politician against connecting any particular system of belief, with any particular party, or any particular modes of government, and above all, with any particular ruler. There is no being more dangerous to the repose of society, than a fanatical politician. He becomes the most choleric and revengeful animal; considers the deity as bound to assist him; that religion itself is wounded in his person; and that the bitterness of his intolerance originates in piety, and is sanctioned by Heaven.

One of the few kingly wishes on record, which deserve to be for ever honoured in our recollection, is that of Henry the fourth of France, whose favourite hope it was, that “He might live to see the day, when every peasant in his kingdom would have a fowl to put in his pot on Sunday.” This homely wish deserves to have, and indeed has, endeared the memory of that gallant and noble prince to the hearts of all, even those of the stoutest republicans. The only country in which this blessing is enjoyed in its fullest extent, is America, where the most common labourer can if he please, and without extravagance, have his fowl for dinner on Sabbath day. All impartial relaters agree in representing that country as holding out to the poor, and those with small means, a prospect, which could they but behold it, would quickly allure them from their native homes, which present, for the most part, a prospect of endless labour, and endless privation. The commonest day-labourer, without a trade, can earn six or seven dollars a-week; a sum that will afford him a dinner of fresh or salt meat, or both, every day, and enable him even to indulge in roast-beef; which though perhaps not so fine as that of “Old England,” has this special advantage, that it is much more accessible to the generality of the people. The Americans know and feel their superior national happiness; and if they took as much pains to circulate true accounts of their country, as disingenuous travellers have taken to disseminate false ones, nothing but the vast ocean would prevent the poor peasants of Europe from pouring themselves into the bosom of America.

But the truth is, the writers of that country are divided into three classes, one of which claims the exclusive honours of patriotism, and is industriously employed in depreciating it; another in exalting it preposterously over the heads of other nations, without being able to give any reason for it; and a third, which knowing that the country has already quite enough of foreign leaven, to assist its rising, refrains from indirectly inviting foreigners, by setting forth its advantages; and is content merely occasionally, to refute unfounded aspersions and libellous sneers.

One great cause of the contemptuous opinion expressed by various of the learned of Europe, towards America, is her youth. An antiquary, or a theorist, despises a young country, as heartily as the Prince Regent does a young woman. They become enamoured of it, as the bucks of Vienna do of a lady, on account of her wrinkles: or as a collector does of a coin, for the precious rust it exhibits. There is in fact nothing in the world which a genuine scholar, so much detests, as a country exhibiting all the redundant freshness, and buxom hilarity of youth, health, and vigour, and having neither moss grown castle, ruined town, or desolate village in it. The antiquarian looks in vain, in such a place for objects worthy of his attention; and is induced to wish that some earthquake, or other convulsion of nature, would produce a premature ruin; or like the tragic lover, to pray that the gods would annihilate both space and time, and make him happy in the contemplation of the dear object of his affections. To him, the ruins of Palmyra or of Rome, the one swarming with banditti, the other with beggars, are a thousand times more gratifying than the spectacle of a country, rising out of the forest, breaking from the embraces of rude nature, and advancing with steps more rapid than the world has ever yet seen; or of cities, exhibiting all the careless gaiety of youth, all the varieties of business and pleasure, and all the splendour of wealth, acquired by the successful exertion of enlightened industry, and expended with tasteful liberality.

In almost any other country now, but America, the name of Mount Ararat would be ominous of a dissertation. It's summit would be infested with an infinite number of learned men, who like ants about their sand-hill, would be running backwards and forwards, in search of a little crumb of conjecture, about the place where the ark rested, when the waters subsided after the deluge. In some parts of Asia, such a name would be invaluable; but here, alas! it is a mere worthless, every-day-mountain of vulgar strata, of no value, except to the plodding mineralogist; and its only claim to distinction is founded on the following tradition.

A long time ago, when that part of the country was a desart, Lord Talbot, one of the ancient proprietors of Virginia, took refuge from the consequences of some crime, in this mountain. He inhabited a cave; and his only companions were two trained falcons, who contributed essentially to his amusement as well as his subsistence. After residing in this place several years, he quitted it, it is believed in consequence of a pardon, but his falcons remained; and it is said they are still sometimes seen soaring around the summit of the mountains.

[Mr. Scott is supposed here to allude to the following resolution, which was put by Mr. Quincy in the Senate of Massachusetts, and agreed to.

“Resolved, as the sense of the Senate of Massachusetts, that in a war like the present, waged without justifiable cause, and prosecuted in a manner that indicates, that conquest and ambition are its real motives, it is not becoming a moral and religious people, to express their approbation of military or naval exploits, which are not immediately connected with the defence of our sea-coast and soil.”

It is somewhat remarkable, that the very same individuals, who thus thought it unbecoming “a moral and religious people” to rejoice in the victories of their country, feasted most lustily for the Russian victories.