University of Virginia Library

Different description of ringlets, so called.

This passage needs no comment save the insertion of the following notice, copied from the Columbian of March 11, 1811.

The assistance and charitable contributions of the humane and benevolent, are earnestly solicited to relieve the wants, alleviate the miseries, and soothe the anguish, of a poor and friendless widow, named Burger; who, with her three children, are now deprived of support, and destitute of sustenance, by her being confined in the debtors' prison of this city, for a paltry debt due for house rent, to a wealthy, but cruel, rapacious, vindictive, inexorable and unfeeling landlord, named ---, who brutally attempted to deprive her and her children of the shelter afforded of a desolate house during the late severe snow-storm; though the poor unhappy woman had previously paid her rent punctually to him; and though she offered to pay him a stated sum weekly out of the earnings of her manual labour until the amount due should have been paid.

“Man's inhumanity to man, makes countless thousands mourn.”

The essays of Howard are well known. He reprobated the system of imprisonment for debt, and says that he was sixteen years a prisoner for that crime in the jail of the city and county of New-York. “It is (says he) a horrid place—and many a time when, through the grates of my prison window, I have watched the last rays of the setting sun as they gilded some neighbouring spire, I have wondered that any man could find it in his heart to put a fellow being in jail for debt.”

“I have at last given up the hope of liberty—blessed liberty! I can hardly write the word without dropping a tear at the recollection of the joyous days of liberty which are gone for ever. I am sad when I think how they have fled away like a dream, and that neither I nor my creditors can ever recal them.

“Habit has so altered me from the gay being that I was, that I really suppose if I were offered my freedom to-day I could not enjoy it.’

“As the hoary-headed tenant of the bastile, whose locks, like mine, whitened in confinement for no crime, most probably I should say— “I have no money—no friends—my talents for business are lost—I have forgotten the ways of the world—send me back to prison, for the light is hateful.”

“ When I entered the walls of this terrible jail, in which, amid the rattling of chains, I am now writing this little impertinent story of myself, I was young, in good health, blest with a wife whom I adored, and as fine a boy as ever smiled in the face of a father. The boy is dead—and my wife is no more. She was indeed a most excellent woman, but she was wounded to the soul by the horrors of our situation— her spirit was broken down, and she, with the infant that caused her sickness, died in child-bed in jail, shortly after my imprisonment, in the year 1794.”

“Some years since, (says Howard) a young man by the name of Brown was cast into the prison of this city for debt. His manners were very interesting. His fine dark eyes beamed so much intelligence, his lively countenance expressed so much ingenuousness, that I was induced, contrary to my usual rule, to seek his acquaintance.— Companions in misery soon become attached to each other.”

“Brown was informed that one of his creditors would not consent to his discharge, that he had abused him very much, (as is usual in such cases) and made a solemn oath before his God to keep him in jail “till he rolled”!! I watched Brown's countenance when he received this information, and whether it was fancy or not, I cannot say, but I thought I saw the cheering spirit of hope, in that moment, desert him for ever.”

“Nothing gave Brown pleasure, but the daily visits of his amiable wife. By the help of a kind relation, she was able to give Brown, sometimes, soup, wine, and fruit, and every day, whether clear or stormy, she visited the prison to cheer the drooping spirits of her husband. She was uncommonly pretty. She seemed an angel, administering consolation to a man about to converse with angels. One day, passed the hour of one o'clock, and she came not. Brown was uneasy. Two—three, and four o'clock passed, and she did not appear. Brown was distracted. A messenger arrived. Mrs. Brown was very dangerously ill, and supposed to be dying in a convulsive fit. As soon as Brown received this information he darted to the door with the rapidity of lightning. The inner door was open—and the jailor, who had just let some one in, was closing it as Brown passed violently through it. The jailor knocked him down with a massy iron key which he held in his hand, and Brown was carried lifeless and covered with blood, to his cell.”

“Mrs. Brown died—and her husband was denied even the sad privilege of closing her eyes. He lingered for some time, till at last, he called me one day, and, gazing on me while a faint smile played upon his lips—he said, “he believed death was more kind than his creditors”—After a few convulsive struggles he expired.”

“Legislators and sages of America! permit me to ask you—how much benefit has that creditor derived from the imprisonment and consequent death of an amiable man, in the bloom of youth—who, without this cruelty, might have flourished, even now, an ornament and a glory to the nation?”

“In the year 1803, the yellow fever raged in this city with relentless fury. Every where the citizens fled from the destructive pestilence; the rich resorted to the seats of fashion and pleasure, the poor sought refuge in those shelters provided in the suburbs of the city by the benevolence of our active corporation. Humanity exerted herself in favour of every class of the community—except the debtors.”

“Among the prisoners who endured the indescribable horrors of this season, there was one named Smith. His wife and two daughters kept a boarding house in Water-street. They were too rich to be included in the class that was provided for by the corporation, and too poor to support the expenses of an exile in the country. They were, however, preparing to tax the friendship and charity of some of their neighbours for a little loan of money to enable them to move with their boarders to Greenwich, when Mr. Smith was arrested for a small debt, and thrown into prison.

“This misfortune disconcerted their plan—the neighbours fled, and to increase the miseries of Mrs. Smith, the boarders, who had hitherto contributed to her support, fled also; and shortly after, herself and both her daughters fell victims to the prevailing epidemic.”

“And, will you believe it? reader! no entreaty, no bribe, within the father's power, could prevail on any one to go to his house to bring him information of the state of his family.”

“The first and last information this unfortunate father ever received of his family, was in the newspaper. They were buried in Potter's Field.”

“The father starved awhile in jail, till, at length, goaded by his suffering, he forged a check on the Manhattan Bank, was transferred to Bridewell, and from thence, after trial and conviction, was condemned to the State Prison for seven years. Soured by misfortunes, and rendered misanthropic by unmerited sufferings, he exulted in his crime, and often was heard to advise people rather to be a criminal than a debtor in this country, for that society here furnished the criminal with the conveniences of life, while the debtor was suffered to starve. He at length died, the enemy of society, cursing men! And this is one among the millions of instances in which slavery for debt has destroyed families, and ruined the morals of a man, who, under a rational government, might have lived, the defender of liberty, and a disciple of religion.”

“Unfeeling, cruel, pitiless and remorseless creditors; and, legislators of New-York, careless heedless and criminal as they, whether ye sleep or wake, may the spirits of injured Smith and his suffering family, give ye no peace till your hearts shall be touched with pity, and your eyes be opened to the folly of your ways.”

Danvers was a fellow-prisoner with Howard. His little daughter was unfortunately burnt to death at home, while Mrs. Danvers was visiting her husband in prison.

“As soon as Danvers came here, (says Howard) destitute and sad as he was, he felt not for himself—but, as to his beloved wife and two charming children, the prospect was frightful. Thanks to the kindness of a stranger, they were not permitted to starve.”

“A bookseller in the neighbourhood of the prison humanely employed Danvers and his wife in folding, cutting and stitching books; and what with a rigid economy, the slender earning of this labour, together with the occasional aid of charity, Danvers and his wife were sometimes in the midst of misfortunes blest with contentment.

“It was in one of those halcyon hours that Danvers and myself were “making merry” over the last remains of a pitcher of ale, which he had purchased to aid us in celebrating the birth-day of his little darling daughter Eliza. Mrs. Danvers, who had hired a small house in the upper part of the city, had just left us, saying, as she departed, that “she would go home and make little Eliza drink our health, for the high honours paid her on her birth-day by the prisoners.”

“It was winter, and as Danvers, peeping through the grate of his prison, saw his cheerful and amiable wife trudging through the snow, to carry his blessing to the “darling Eliza”—“Now, Howard,” said he, “by the goddess of mercy! (and I think her the best goddess in the catalogue) I feel at this moment that I am gay in spite of oppression. My wife there is an angel, and the daughter, whose fourth birthday now makes me so happy, is worth more, in my estimation, than all the wealth in the world. Dearly as I love my liberty,” continued he, “I would sooner remain a slave than part with that little darling of my heart. Come, Howard! here's to many happy returns of Eliza's birth-day.” So saying, he took up the cup, and was just applying it to his lips, when suddenly the door of his room flew open, and in rushed his eldest child, covered with snow, her hands and face purple with cold, her eyes wild, and the tears frozen on her cheek. It was some moments before her excessive grief would permit her to speak. She asked for her mother—who had just departed. “God forbid,” said Danvers, “that any misfortune should happen to your mother.” At length the girl was able to speak: “Eliza is burnt to death!”

“I will not undertake to describe, but leave the reader to imagine the consternation of Danvers, when those horrid words fell upon his ear—“Eliza is burnt to death!”

“With tottering steps, he reached the outward gate of the prison, and faintly asked the keeper of the jail to send some one to his house. “What will you give me?” said he in a surly tone that struck to the heart of Danvers. At that instant a messenger arrived with a note from Mrs. Danvers. With a trembling hand Danvers opened the note and read:

“My husband, come instantly—Eliza is dying—come instantly.” The words were somewhat defaced, and, evidently, by the mother's tears. I looked at Danvers. With a faltering voice he begged the jailor to go with him that he might see his dying Eliza. There was so much of intreating wo in his countenance, that no human being could have denied his request. The jailor positively refused.

“Feeling that the barbarity of the law absolutely took away from him all hope of seeing his child again, Danvers indulged in the frenzy of grief, imprecated terrible curses on the heads of unfeeling creditors, and in this delirium of agony was dragged to his room. The scene was too affecting for me to endure it any longer, and I turned away almost overcome by a reflection upon the indescribable horrors of this miserable prison.

“The next morning I received from the afflicted Danvers the following note:

“Howard! my child, my dear Eliza is dead. Her mother, since I cannot go to my child, will bring her remains to me, I shall see her body—before she is entombed. Come to me at four—we will all weep over her?”

“At the time proposed, I went to my friend's cell. His surviving child was already there. The room would have been entirely dark but for a little lamp which stood near the window, “casting a dim religious light” upon the iron grates on the outside. He rose as I approached, and pressing my hand with fervour, pointed to a seat, wished me well in a low voice, and resumed his former place. We had not long been seated before the coffin was brought in, followed by the mourning mother and her old servant maid, Lucy. The mother and the daughter covered their faces, turned aside, and wept aloud. The father knelt beside the bier, fixed his eyes silently upon the child's face, contemplated it with great anxiety for some minutes, then suddenly bursting into a flood of tears, made some low, faltering, but indistinct exclamations, and waved his hand to the attendant, who caused the coffin to be taken away.”

This alludes to a Society of gentlemen, (of whom the benevolent Dewitt Clinton was one) called the “Good Samaritans;” formed for the purpose of visiting the poor in this city during the well remembered hard winter, and distributing relief to all who stood in need of it. In the most inclement weather they regularly took their charitable circuit, and always returned loaded with the widow's benedictions and the orphan's thanks. How god-like! How worthy of imitation!

The embarrassments under which American commerce laboured, for some time previous to the late war with Great Britain, are well remembered.—

This line alludes to the ancient custom of watching armour in church or chapel, which was a religious duty imposed upon knights, in the age of chivalry, when they used to consume the whole night in prayer to some saint whom they chose as their patron; and this exercise of devotion was performed on the night preceding the said Saint's Day. The same ceremony was observed by those who were sentenced to the combat proof.

This Society was instituted about the period at which this Poem was written, and has been attended with considerable success.

This idea is borrowed from a Cambridge Exercise.—“'Tis not the fool, but folly is our mark.”

It is a fact that the state of Connecticut has never yet been blessed with a constitution, unless the royal charter of king Charles can be so called.

The first settlers of Connecticut passed a resolution, in a general convention, that they would “be governed by the laws of God, until they had time to make better ones.”

Many enquiries have been made respecting the signification of the term “Blue Laws, ” which has been, for many years, attached to the political character of the State of Connecticut. The Puritans, (as they were termed) who fled from religious persecutions in Europe, after landing on this Continent, still retained a portion of the “old leaven,” and proceeded immediately to pass laws as singular as they were tyrannical, and as oppressive as they were superstitious. To this day have many of the progeny of the ‘Puritans, ’ in the Eastern States, particularly in Connecticut, retained a portion of the follies of their forefathers. For an example of the composition of what is now termed Blue Laws, the following collection of a few of the many curious punishments, inflicted for various offences, is copied from the old court records, between 1630 and 1650:

“Sir Richard Saltonstall, fined four bushels of malt for his absence from Court.

“Josias Plastove shall (for stealing four baskets of corn from the Indians) return them eight baskets again, be fined 5l. and hereafter to be called by the name of Josias, and not Mr. as formerly he used to be.

“Joyce Bradwick shall give unto Alexander Becks, 20s. for promising him marriage without her friends' consent, and now refusing to perform the same.

“William James, for incontinency, knowing his wife before marriage, was sentenced to be set in the bilboes, and bound in 20l.

“Thomas Peter, for suspicion of slander, idleness and stubborness, is to be severely whipt, and kept in hold.

“Richard Turner, for being notoriously drunk, was fined 2l.

“John Haggs, for swearing God's foot, cursing his servant, and wishing “a pox of God take you,” was fined 5l.

“Edward Palmer, for his extortion, taking 33s. 7d. for the plank and wood work of the stocks, is fined 5l. and censured to be set an hour in the stocks.

“John White is bound in 10l. to be of good behaviour, and not to come into the company of his neighbour Thomas Bull's wife, alone.

“Sarah Hales was censured for her miscarriage, to be carried to the gallows with a rope about her neck, and set upon the ladder, the rope's end flung over the gallows, and after to be banished.”

The punishment for female indiscretion was formerly cruelly severe in Connecticut. When an unfortunate fair one fell a victim to the arts and intrigues of the unfeeling votaries of seduction, the fatal consequences of her error were not deemed a sufficient punishment; a life embittered with tears and regret, not an adequate atonement! No.—To the loss of peace and reputation was added corporeal torture—a public scourging on a disgraceful scaffold! To the honour of the state, this law is now laid aside: but I blush for my country while I record its former existence.

The ironical muse perhaps here has an allusion to the finesse often practised by the dealers in horses, who generally find it politic to conceal the faults of the beasts which they wish to dispose of.

However strictly the laws are observed in Connecticut, but few states in the Union support such a numerous clan of attorneys as “the land of steady habits,” who all grow rich by speculating on human depravity.

The general court of New-Haven, in 1658, passed a severe law against the quakers, which was introduced with the following preamble:

Whereas there is a cursed sect of heretics, lately sprung up in the world, commonly called quakers, who take upon them, that they are immediately sent from God, and infallibly assisted by the spirit, who yet speak and write blasphemous opinions, despise government, and the order of God, in church and commonwealth, speaking evil of dignities, &c.

Ordered, That whosoever shall bring, or cause to be brought, any known quaker or quakers, into this colony, shall forfeit the sum of fifty pounds. Also, if a quaker come into this jurisdiction on civil business, the time of his stay shall be limited by the civil authority, and he shall not use any means to corrupt or seduce others. On his first arrival, he shall appear before a magistrate, and from him receive license to pass on his business, and (for the better prevention of hurt to the people) have one or more persons to attend upon him at his own charge, &c. The punishments, in case of disobedience, were whipping, imprisonment, labour, and a deprivation of all converse with any person.

For the second offence, the person was to be branded in the hand with the letter H, to suffer imprisonment, and be put to labour. For the third, to be branded in the other hand, imprisoned, &c. as before. For the fourth, the offender was to have his tongue bored through with a red hot iron, imprisoned, and kept to labour until sent away at his own charge. Any person who shall attempt to defend the sentiments of the quakers, shall, for the third offence, be sentenced to banishment. But these people, (continues the author from whose Geography the above is quoted) who have been so much censured and ridiculed, had perhaps as many virtues as their posterity; and it would be wise in the moderns, who stand elevated on the shoulders of their ancestors, with the book of their experience open before them, to improve from their virtues and to veil their faults.—

There is not a paved street in the whole city; and the soil being very sandy, the inhabitants are deluged with dust in dry weather, and with mud at all other times.

The first question asked a stranger who enters New-Haven by land, is “have you seen our Long-wharf?” and on being answered in the negative, the vast politeness of “mine host” induces him to conduct the gentleman all the way through Fleet-street, to visit this “stupendous fabric of human invention.” If the weather has recently been uncommonly fair, he may traverse its whole extent without sinking deeper than to his ancles in mud. Should the path fortunately be unobstructed by plaster, lumber, or carts, he may, as he leisurely proceeds, enjoy a distant prospect of the water—survey the gallant mudscows and oyster-boats on his left, and a tottering row of old wooden ware-houses on his right—inhale the fragrant odours arising from the docks, and, finally, arrive at the point which the New-York packets are enabled to approach at high water. After feasting his senses with all these beauties, the grateful stranger returns with his generous guide, consoling himself with the pleasing reflection that the same delightful excursion will be repeated on his embarkation for New-York.

Additional Note.—Since the establishment of the Steam-Boat, between New-York and New-Haven, “things have been managed better.”—

A reference is here had to one of those two rocky mountains which overlook the city from the north, called East and West Rocks, the former in particular supplying very good stones for building. The rugged brows of these wood-crowned heights are tinged with the beams of the rising and setting sun, while the city below is veiled in the soft shade of twilight. A delightful prospect can be enjoyed from their summits, of landscapes beautifully romantic.

This is the public square, situated nearly in the centre of the city, termed The Green.

The reverend gentleman who, at his own expense, began to ornament this handsome promenade with a fence, trees, &c. has, at various times, evinced such a spirit for public improvement, as to draw on him the imputation of being a madman

The New Burying place, to which many removals have been made from the Old, by such unprejudiced minds as think it not sacrilege to remove human dust.

An accident that actually happened to the unfortunate author, who must consequently be supposed to write feelingly on the subject.

This story is humourously told by Dr. Smollet, and is too familiar with every reader to need repeating here.

Sterne tells us of a man who entered Strasburg with such an enormous nose, that the whole town was thrown into confusion.

Should any individuals imagine themselves alluded to, or pointed at, in this picture of New-Haven tea-table chit-chat, they will surely have, the goodness not to blame the poet. For every person he professes a due respect, and for the fair sex, in particular, he entertains a most devout affection. But as he has, through mere politeness, invited Truth to accompany him on his present little excursion, (as he has frequently offered a play-ticket where he expected its non-acceptance) he cannot, without deviating from etiquette, reject her unfashionable precepts. The unpopularity of this goddess in New-Haven, is most certainly no fault of his.

The reverend M. S␣␣␣␣␣t, who like St. Paul, relinquished the study and practice of the law, to assist in the promulgation of the gospel; but who has unfortunately smothered great wit, sagacity and ability, in the melancholy consideration of the calvinistical dogmas of election, atonement, and predestined damnation.

Perhaps in no part of the civilized world is good breeding so much talked of, and so little seen, as in New-Haven. But this fault, if it is one, is more attributable to heads than to hearts.

The “blue-laws” of Connecticut (so called from the colour of the paper on which they were printed) have never been repealed, though they are not, at this day, strictly observed. While this ridiculous code was considered in full force, it was almost sacrilege to betray any marks of tenderness or affection between the sexes on the Sabbath. A gentleman happened to return from a long absence at sea on Sunday, and so unexpectedly, that he first met his family on their way to church. Overjoyed at the happy meeting, he imprudently embraced his wife on the spot, and imprinted on her lips a kiss of connubial affection. Good Heaven! What consternation filled the breasts of the gaping multitude at seeing this unprecedented enormity! The ladies—modest things! how they blushed! and the gentlemen—how they stared! Every eye was at once directed to the proper authority, and, in mute eloquence, implored redress. Suffice it, that so flagrant a violation of the law was quickly punished by the vigilant police, and the hapless husband condemned to pay a heavy fine.

In Connecticut, with the Presbyterians, Sunday commences at the setting of the sun on Saturday evening, after which moment, labour and sports are suspended till the same period on Sunday, when they are renewed with increased ardour. This custom has, however, varied a little in New-Haven since the laying of the embargo; as this evil was thought to be a judgment of Heaven, they have adopted the plan of attending divine worship on Sunday evening, thereby hoping to avert such a curse in future.

This beautiful spot deserves a particular description; and travellers who may pass through this city are invited to visit it, with the assurance that they will never regret an hour so employed. The New Burying-place is situated at the northern extremity of the city, just far enough removed from its noise and bustle, for retirement and calm reflection it is perfectly level, carpetted with the richest verdure, and is divided into lots, of suitable dimensions for large families, by a slight railing. At the head and foot of each lot grows a tall and flourishing poplar; so that the whole has the appearance of a beautiful shady grove, with spacious alleys, intersecting each other at right angles, happily calculated for ambulatory recreation. Every lot is distinguished by the name of its proprietor painted on the railing that marks its boundaries, and the progress of the art of sculpture shines conspicuous in the elegant marble monuments that adorn it. The stones, tables, and urns, are all white, and in a moon-light evening produce a very interesting effect. The lengthened shades of the poplars, the chequered gloom, the aspiring monuments, the waving grass, and the sighing breeze, all conspire to fill the mind with sensations of awe mingled with an indescribable pleasure.

The Hon. James Hillhouse, Esq. who appropriated this spot for interring the dead.

Francis Kidder, printer, who died in the autumn of 1807. His typographical brethren, as a testimony of their affection and respect, erected a handsome stone to his memory, the first one in this place lettered in gilt: it has since, however, been copied by many others.

Yale College was founded in 1700, and remained at Killingsworth until 1707, then at Saybrook until 1716, when it was removed and fixed at New-Haven. It has its name from its principal benefactor, Gov. Yale. There are at present eight college domiciles, three of which, each one hundred feet long, are inhabited by the students, containing thirty-two chambers each, sufficient for lodging two hundred students; a chapel forty by fifty feet, with a steeple one hundred feet high; another edifice for the library, &c. of the same dimensions; a dining hall sixty by forty feet; a house for the president, and another for the professor of divinity; the whole pleasantly situated west of the Greenwhich is spread before it.

Dr. Dwight, president of Yale College, and professor of divinity; a great scholar, profound divine, and celebrated poet.

John Trumbull, Esq. the author of a poem, in copious wit, second only to the cantos of Butler; and in vigour, dignity, and sweetness, superiour to the “passing worth of Sir Hudibras.”—When the politics of “M'Fingal” are forgotten, the poem will be read, repeated, and admired by every lover of the jocund muse. This poem, comprising four cantos, was published in 1734, and has since passed through several editions. “The Progress of Dullness,” “Elegy on the Times,” and several other fruits of his genius, adorn the annals of American poetry.

Joel Barlow, Esq. commenced the career of life by pursuing the more flowery paths of literature. His “Vision of Columbus,” his local and satirical poems, and above all, his admirable “Hasty Pudding,” have conferred on him a degree of celebrity to which few American bards have attained. While in Europe, he published, among other pieces, “The Conspiracy of Kings,” which has been repeatedly published in the United States.

Colonel David Humphreys, the friend of Dwight, Hopkins, Trumbull, Wolcott, Strong, and Barlow, was a distinguished star in this constellation of geniuses. The “Anarchiad” is said to be the joint production of these poets, whose primary design was to chastise the promoters of measures hostile to good faith and sound policy, which were, at that time, every where pursued—the American Republic being then united but in name. What first drew public attention to colonel Humphreys as a poet, was his “Address to the Armies.” His next publication of any note was his poem “On the Happiness of America.” This was followed by his “Essay on the Life of General Putnam,” and by his tragedy, entitled “The Widow of Malabar,” translated from the French, first played in May, and published in August, 1790. A poem entitled “Industry,” published in Philadelphia, in 1794, was his last production of note, and the author has now retired to his seat at Humphreysville, where he has established an extensive cloth manufactory.

Dr. Dwight's first poetical publication was the “Conquest of Canaan,” an epic poem, in eleven books, printed in Hartford, in 1785, and reprinted in London the next year. In this work the lover of poetry will discover many passages highly poetical, and will probably read the eleventh book with pleasure, more than once. The versification, for uniform correctness, has seldom been surpassed. In 1794, he published, in New-York, his “Greenfield-Hill,” a poem in seven parts, which, three years afterwards, was also reprinted in London. Besides these, he is the reputed author of many smaller poems, and several exquisite pieces of unrivalled merit.

The Columbian Gardens, kept by Mr. Mix, proprietor of the Museum, may be considered the only resort for rational recreation. Here, on a summer's evening, is sometimes convened a brilliant assemblage of beauty, taste, and fashion.

The Columbian Museum, the rapid progress of which, towards perfection, reflects great honour on the taste and industry of Mr. Mix, is justly styled “The Temple of Taste.”

The Genius of Columbia is represented, in wax, weeping at the tomb of Washington.