BOOK THIRD.
THE
SOUTHERN
READER AND SPEAKER;
CONTAINING
SELECTIONS IN PROSE Ap POETRY,
FOR
EXERCISES IN READING AND SPEAKING,
IN THE
ACADEMIES AND SCHOOLS OF THE SOUTHERN STATES.
STEREOTYPE EDTTH
CHARLESTO-N
PUBLISHED BY ¥M. R. BABCOCK, AND Al'UAKTBR & UOv
AND SOLD BY ALL THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS IN THE
SOUTHERN AND SOUTH-WESTERN STATES.
1858
Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1848,
BY WILLIAM R. BABCOCK,
In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of South Carolina.
THOMAS B. SMITH, STEREOTYPER,
216 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y.
CONTENTS.
LESSONS IN PROSE.
[The names of American Authors are in Italic.]
Rules for Reading and Speaking, .
Directions for Expressing certain Passions, or Sentiment
The Best Applause—A Parable,
Industry and Perseverance Rewarded,
Peace Essential to Human Improvement,
A Pleasant Surprise, . . .
Words—Their Importance, .
The Sea and the Christian's Life,
Vindication of South Carolina,
Peace the True Policy of America, .
Eloquence of Patrick Henry,.
Reputation, ....
The Surprise, . . ...
A Beautiful Meteor, . . .
Andrew Jackson, . . .
A Mother's Love,
First Convention in Tennessee,
The Blind Preacher's Restoration to Sight,
Monotony of Life, ...
Early Knowledge,
The Advantages of Enterprise to the South,
Visit to Mount Vernon, .
The Same—Continued, . .
Patriotism of South Carolina,
Obligations of the Pioneer and the Laborer to Jackson,
Style, .....
Dangers of a Spirit of War and Conquest,
Rich and Poor, ....
Ruins of an Ancient Church at Jamestown,
The Mississippi,
Woman's Mission and Influence,
The Hawk's Nest, or Marshall's Pillar,
Female Intrepidity, .
Mountain Scenery in South Carolina,
Horrors of Famine,
Kanawha Falls,
The Blind Preacher, .
Appeal in Behalf of the Poor of Ireland,
Sacred Literature,
Increase of Territory not Desirable, .
Perils of the Early Settlers of Carolina,
Character of Washington,
Earthly Contrasts and Changes,
Fashions, ....
The Federal Constitution,
An Allegory, ....
PAGE
Dr. JV. Webster, 9
Art of Speaking, 12
Rev. S. Oilman, 14
Pittsburg Ariel, 15
J. C. Calhoun, 17
Anonymous, 18
Rev. S. Oilman, 20
Rev. J. M. Lowrie, 23
Oeo. McDujjie, 24
J. C. Calhoun, 26
William Wirt, 28
Anonymous, 30
Winchester Repub. 32
Rev. H. Melville, 33
Oeorge Bancroft, 35
Philad. Bulletin, 38
Oeorge Bancroft, 41
Southern Lit. Mes. 44
Anonymous, 45
Winslow, 47
49
51
53
55
57
58
62
63
66
67
68
71
R. T. Wayne,
Oeorge Bancroft.
J. K. Paulding,
Henry Clay,
Robert Dodsley,
William Wirt,
Anonymous,
R. M. Charlton,
Anonymous,
O. S. M. Kiernan, 72
Anonymous, 75
O. D. Prentice,
Anonymous,
William Wirt,
G. D. Prentice,
Thos. S. Orimke'.
Henry Clay,
W. O. Simms,
Lord Brougham,
J. T. Headley,
J. K. Paulding,
Patrick Henry,
Anonymous,
78
79
81
96
89
90
92
94
96
97
99
100
vi
CONTENTS.
The Last of the Signers,
The Mysteries of Nature,
Anecdotes of Chief Justice Marshall,
Ancient Church in South Carolina,
Value of Time, . .
Character of Moultrie,
Destruction of Jerusalem, .
Rights of Discovery, .
Two Beautiful Sisters, .
Emulation,
A Sketch,
Battle of Mount Tabor,
Adams and Jefferson,.
Character of Marion, . .
Perpetuity of the Union, .
Wisdom,
Prevalence of War, . .
The Spirit of Liberty,.
Defence before King Agrippa,
True Eloquence,
" So was Franklin," . .,
The Power of God, .
American History,
Marion and his Men, .
Against the Invasion of Canada,
Comal and Galbina, .
Visit to Blannerhassett's Island,
Progress of America, .
The Bible Legend of the Wissahikon,
The Union,
Growth ana Destiny of the West,
The Last Parting,
Few Nations Capable of Self-Government,,
Gambling in Mexico, ....
Reflections on the Surrender of the City of Mexico,
Appeal in Behalf of Suffering Ireland,
Character of the Gentleman, .
The Southern Partisan,
Retribution, .
Death of Pizarro, . .
Disunion and Civil War, .
A Choctaw Execution,
The Constitution,
Perilous Adventure with Two Indians,
Fingal's Battle with the Spirit of Loda,
Characteristics of the Revolution, .
Character of Washington,
Burial Ground in a Northern City, .
Executive Patronage,. . .
English Taxes,....
Siege and Storm of Savannah,
The Same—Continued, . .
The Wife, ....
The Same—Continued,
England not an Example for America,
Address to Coacooche, . ,
Reply to Colonel Worth,
Appeal to his Warriors, .
Impossibility of Controlling the Tide of Emigration,
Stoiy and Speech of Logan, .
Mount Ararat, ....
In Favor of Ratifying the Constitution,
Influence of Knowledge,
The French Revolution,
Stupendous Scenery in Virginia,
Appeal for State Rights,
Conduct of Great Britain towards America,
PAGE
George Lippard, 101
R. M. Charlton, 104
Southern Lit. Jifes.106
109
113
115
Anonymous,
H. Alexander,
J. T. Headley,
119
120
125
162
165
166
170
. W. Irving,
. Dr. Carpenter,
. Robert Dodsley, 127
. New Yorker, 129
. J. T. Headley, 130
. Joseph Story, 133
. J. T. Headley, 136
. George Bancroft, 140
. King Solomon, 142
. Thos. S. Grimke', 145
. R. Y. Hayne, 147
, St. Paul, 150
. Daniel Webster, 151
. Anonymous, 153
. King David, 150
. G. C. Verplanck, 157
. J. T. Headley, 159
. Gaston,
. Ossian,
. Ashe,
. H. S. Legare',
. George Lippard, 171
. TVm. Pinkney, 175
. Edward Everett, 178
. J. R. Chandler, 179
• J. C. Calhoun, 183
. W. Thompson, 186
. E. D. Mansfield, 189
. Henry Clay, 191
. Prof. F. Lieber, 194
. W. H. B. 196
. John Bell, 193
. Wm. H. Prescott, 201
« E. A. Hannegan, 206
. W. G. Simms, 207
. Lewis Cass, 211
. Doddridge,
. Ossian,
. H. S. Legare',
• J, T. Headley,
. Anonymous,
. John Bell,
. Edin. Review,
• J. T. Headley.
212
216
219
221
223
227
230
232
233
237
241
245
247
248
249
Broekenbrough, 252
Thos. Jefferson, 254
J. T. Headley, 257
E. Randolph, 259
Wheaton, 261
E. A. Hannegan, 263
Thos. Jefferson, 265
Thos. F. Foster, 266
Patrick Henry, 268
W. Irving,
A. P. Bagby,
Colonel Worth,
Coacooche,
CONTENTS.
vii
The Influence of English Institutions and Literature,
A Frontier Farm-house, .....
Valedictory Address,......
National Charity, ......
Temperance, .......
Resistance the only Alternative, ....
The Deluge, .......
Speech of Rob Roy MaeGregor, ....
Fortitude of the Indian Character, ....
Against Extension of Territory, ....
Osceola, or Powell, ......
Influence of the Late French Revolution upon Europe, .
Hamlet's Advice to the Players, ....
LESSONS IN POETRY.
My Country, .......
Chief Justice Marshall, .....
Mother, What is Death ?.....
Washington and Franklin, .....
Our Country, .......
Youthful Aspirations, .....
The Mouse and the Oyster—A Fable, . .
We are growing Old, ......
Washington, .......
Pulaski's Banner, ......
The Tomb of Washington, .....
Storming of Monterey, .....
To the River Ogeechee, .....
The Saviour and the Ruler, .....
The Fourth of July, ......
To the Memory of the Americans who fell at Eutaw,
A Mother's Anger, ......
Consolations of Religion to the Poor, . .
The Seminole's Defiance, .....
Brevity of Life, ......
Death of Richard H. Wilde, .....
The Sabbath, .......
America to Great Britain, .....
Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize, .....
The Country Clergyman, . . . ...
The Mothers of the West, . ...
The Modest Retort, ......
The Sailor Boy's Dream, .....
The American Flag, ......
Nourmahal, .......
Rienzi's Address to the Romans, ....
Spirit of Freedom, ......
Clarence's Dream, ......
The Bumpkin and the Razor Seller,....
The Mother of Washington, . ....
Belshazzar's Feast, ......
The Fall of Poland, ......
Thermopylae, .......
Burial of Sir John Moore, .....
The Sabbath Bells, ......
National Ode, .......
The Blind Boy, ......
A Southern Scene, . ...
The Voice of Nature, ..»••»
The Battle Field, . ...
A Scene in Florida, ......
The Captain—A Fragment, .....
Jairus's Daughter, . . . • • •
The Mysteries of Life, .....
The Music Grinders, ......
PAOK
. J. Randolph, 270
. W. Irving, 272
. Putnam, 275
. J. M. Clayton, 276
. Robert Dodsley, 278
. Patrick Henry, 280
. J. T. Headley, 282
. Walter Scott, 285
. Adair, 286
. Daniel Webster, 289
. J. T. Sprague, 290
. E. A. Hannegan, 293
. Shakspeare, 295
. Anonymous, 15
. Park Benjamin, 16
. Mrs. C. Oilman, 19
. Louisville Joum., 25
. Wm. J. Pabodie, 27
. J. Montgomery, 31
. Anonymous, 34
. Miss F. Browne, 37
. Miss E. Cooke, 40
. H. W. Longfellow,A3
. Mrs. Sigourney, 46
. C. F. Hoffman, 50
. R. M. Charlton, 56
. JV. P. Willis, 61
. Rev, Dr. Bethune, 64
. Philip Frenau, 70
. Mrs. C. Oilman, 74
. J. O. Percival, 77
. Lt. O. W. Patten, 80
. R. H. Wilde, 84
. A. B. Meek, 85
. Rev. C. Wilcox, 88
. W. Allston, 93
. Oliver Goldsmith, 98
« " 103
. W. D. Gallagher, 108
. Anonymous, 112
. Dimon, 117
. J. R. Drake, 124
. Thomas Moore, 128
. Miss Mitford, 132
. J. O. Percival, 135
. Shakspeare, 138
. Wolcoty 343
. Mrs. Sigourney, 146
. Proctor, 149
. Thos. Campbell, 152
. O. W. Doane, 155
. Wolfe, 158
. Miss M. A. Lee, 161
. Rev. S. Oilman, 164
. Miss M. A. Lee, 168
. Anonymous, 174
. Mrs. C. Oilman, 177
. Anonymous, 182
. W. H.C. Hosmer, 185
. J. O. C, Brainard 188
. Mrs. C. Oilman, 193
. R. M. Charlton, 195
. O. W. Holmes, 200
viii
CONTENTS.
The Blind Boy, . . •
To the Eagle, ....
The Eutaw Maid,
The Wife,
Old Ironsides, ....
Taming the Wild Horse,
Legend of the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Song of Marion's Men,
Marco Bozzaris,
Lines to a Hen,
The Warriors, ....
Battle of Waterloo,
The Ballad of the Oysterman,
The Death of President Harrison, .
A Psalm of Life,
The Devoted, ....
The Rejected, ....
Soliloquy of Cardinal Wolsey,
Preaching versus Practice, .
The Contrast, ——-—: —:
The Flight of Xerxes,.
The Hours,
Hotspur's Description of a Fop,
Scenes and Actors of the Revolution,
A Grecian Fable,
The Removal, ....
Water! Bright Water!
Destruction of Sennacherib, .
" France is Free,"
DIALOGUES.
The Children's Choice, ....
The Lottery, ......
Two Voices from the Grave,.
A Wonderful Instrument—(altered), . .
The Land of the Blest, ....
Sentiment and Simplicity—(altered),
The Hero and the Robber, ....
The Battles of the Rio Grande—(altered), .
The Seven Ages, .....
The Two Homes, .....
Lochiel's Warning, .....
The Dead Mother, .....
From Rienzi, ......
The Rights of Discovery, ....
Bring Flowers,......
A School Eclogue, .....
From Rienzi, ......
The Fountain of Oblivion, ....
The Lawyer turned Midshipman—(altered), .
From Charles the First, ....
The Old Mansion House, ....
The Physiognomist, .....
From Foscari, ......
From the Weathercock, ....
The Alderman's Funeral, ....
From the Rivals, .....
Our Daily Paths, .....
Misanthropy and Benevolence,
The Challenge, .....
PAGK
Rev.Dr. Hawkes, 204
J. O. Percival, 209
W. G. Simms, 215
Mrs. Dinnies, 218
O. fV. Holmes, 222
W. G. Simms, 225
Thos. Moore, 229
— _ Cole, 231
F. G. Halleck, 236
Anonymous, 244
" 246
Lord Byron, 250
O. W. Holmes, 253
JV. P. Willis, 255
H. W. LongfellowU'di
E. M. Chandler, 260
T. H. Bailey, 262
Shakspeare, 264
Wm. Cowper, 267
J. G. Percival, 269
Miss Jewsbury, 271
C. P. Cranch, 274
Shakspeare, 277
R. M. Charlton, 279
Samuel Foote, 281
Anonymous, 284
Johnson, 238
Lord Bvron, 292
T. B. Reed, 294
Mrs. C. Gilman, 297
Thomas Teller, 295
Karamsin, 300
Miss J. Taylor, 301
Mrs. Abdy, 304
Anonymous, 305
Dr. Aikin, 306
T. B. Thayer, 307
Shakspeare, 309
Mrs. Hemans, 311
Thos. Campbell, 312
Anonymous, 314
Miss Mitford, 316
Anonymous, 318
Mrs. Hemans, 320
Mrs. Barbauld, 321
Miss Mitford, 324
Mrs. Hemans, 327
Anonymous, 329
Miss Mitford, 333
Robert Southey, 336
Anonymous, 339
Miss Mitford, 341
Allingham, 345
Robert Southey, 348
R. B. Sheridan, 351
Mrs. Hemans, 354
Geo. Coleman, 356
R. B. Sheridan, 358
THE
SOUTHERN
READER AID SPEAKER.
BOOK THIRD.
RULES FOR READING AND SPEAKING.—N. Websteb.
I.—Let your articulation be clear and distinct.
A good articulation consists in giving every letter and sylla¬
ble its proper pronunciation of sound.
Let each syllable, and the letters which compose it, be pro¬
nounced with a clear voice, without whining, drawling, lisping,
stammering, mumbling in the throat, or speaking through the
nose. Avoid equally a dull, drawling habit, and too much ra¬
pidity of pronunciation: for each of these faults destroys a
distinct articulation.
II.—Observe the stops, and mark the proper Pauses; but
make no pause where the sense requires none.
The characters we use as stops are extremely arbitrary, and
do not always mark a suspension of the voice. On the con¬
trary, they are often employed to separate the several members
of a period, and show the grammatical construction. Nor
when they are designed to mark pauses, do they always deter¬
mine the length of those pauses, for this depends much on the
sense and the nature of the subject. A semicolon, for exam¬
ple, requires a longer pause in a grave discourse, than in lively
and spirited declamation.
10 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BooK
III.—Pay strict attention to Accent, Emphasis, and Ca¬
dence.
Let the accented syllables be pronounced with a proper
stress of voice; the unaccented, with little stress of voice, but
distinctly.
The important words of a sentence, which I call naturally
emphatical, have a claim to considerable force of voice; but
particles, such as of, to, as, and, &c., require no force of utter¬
ance, unless they happen to be emphatical, which is rarely the
case. No person can read or speak well, unless he under¬
stands what he reads; and the sense will always determine
what words are emphatical. It is a matter of the highest con¬
sequence, therefore, that a speaker should clearly comprehend
the meaning of what he delivers, that he may know where to
lay the emphasis. This may be illustrated by a single example.
This short question, will you ride to town to-day 1 is capable
of four different meanings, and consequently of four different
answers, according to the placing of the emphasis. If the
emphasis is laid on you, the question is, whether you will ride
to town, or another person. If the emphasis is laid on ride,
the question is, whether you will ride, or go on foot. If the
emphasis is laid on town, the question is, whether you will ride
to town} or to another place. If the emphasis is laid on to-day,
the question is, whether you will ride to-day, or some other day.
Thus the true meaning of a phrase often depends on the em¬
phasis ; and it is absolutely necessary, that it should be laid
on the proper words.
Cadence is a falling of the voice, in pronouncing the closing
syllable of a period. This ought not to be uniform, but dif¬
ferent at the close of different sentences.*
But in interrogative sentences, the sense often requires the
closing word or syllable to be pronounced with an elevated
voice. This, however, is only when the last word is emphati¬
cal ; as in this question, " Betrayest thou the Son of Man with
a kiss ?" Here the subject of inquiry is, whether the common
token of love and benevolence is prostituted to the purpose of
treachery; the force of the question depends on the last word,
* We may observo, that good speakers always pronounee upon a certain key; for
although they modulate the voice, according to the various ideas they express, yet
they retain the same pitch of voice. Accent and emphasis require no elevation of the
voice, but a more forcible expression on the same key: Cadence respects the last syl¬
lable only of the sentence, which syllable is actually pronounced with a lower tone 'of
voice ; but, when words of several syllables close a period, all the syllables but the
last are pronounced on the same key as the rest of the sentence.
Third.]
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
11
which is therefore pronounced with an elevation of voice. But
in this question, " Where is boasting, then ?" The emphatical
word is boasting, which, -of course, requires an elevation of
voice.
The most natural pitch of voice, is that in which we speak
in common conversation. Whenever the voice is raised above
this key, pronunciation is difficult and fatiguing. There is a
difference between a loud and a high voice. A person may
speak much louder than he does in ordinary discourse, without
any elevation of voice; and he may be heard distinctly, upon
the same key, either in a private room, or in a large assembly.
IV.—Let the sentiments' you express, be accompanied with
proper Tones, Looks, and Gestures.
By tones, are meant the various modulations of voice by
which we naturally express the emotions and passions. By
looks, we mean the expression of the emotions and passions in
the countenance.
Gestures are the various motions of the hands or body which
correspond to the several sentiments and passions which the
speaker designs to express.
All these should be perfectly natural. They should be the
same which we use in common conversation. A speaker
should endeavor to feel what he speaks; for the perfection of
reading and speaking, is, to pronounce the words as if the
sentiments were our own.
If a person is rehearsing the words of an angry man, he
should assume the same furious looks; his eyes should flash
with rage, his gestures should be violent, and the tone of his
voice threatening. If kindness is to be expressed, the counte¬
nance should be calm and placid, and wear a smile; the tone
should be mild, and the motion of the hand inviting. An ex¬
ample of the first, we have in these words: " Depart from me,
ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his
angels." An example of the last, in these words: " Come,
ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for
you, from the foundation of the world."
A man who should repeat these different passages with the
swie looks, tones, and gestures, would pass, with his hearers,
for a very injudicious speaker.
The whole art of reading and speaking,—all the rules of
eloquence, may be comprised in this concise direction: Let a
reader or speaker express every word, as if the sentiments were
his own.
12 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BooK
DIRECTIONS FOR EXPRESSING CERTAIN PASSIONS OR SEN¬
TIMENTS—Art of Speaking.
Mirth or laughter opens the mouth, crisps the nose, lessens
the aperture of the eyes, and shakes the whole frame.
Perplexity draws down the eye-brows, hangs the head, casts
down the eyes, closes the eye-lids, shuts the mouth, and
pinches the lips; then suddenly the whole body is agitated,
the person walks about busily, stops abruptly, talks to him¬
self, &c.
Vexation adds to the foregoing complaint, fretting, and la¬
menting.
Pity draws down the eye-brows, opens the mouth, and draws
together the features.
Grief is expressed by weeping, stamping with the feet,
lifting up the eyes to heaven, &c.
Melancholy is glbomy and motionless, the lower jaw falls,
the eyes are cast down and half shut, words few and inter¬
rupted with sighs.
Fear opens the eyes and mouth, shortens the nose, draws
down the eye-brows, gives the countenance an air of wildness;
the face becomes pale, the elbows are drawn back parallel
with the sides, one foot is drawn back, the heart beats vio¬
lently, the breath is quick, the voice weak and trembling.
Sometimes it produces shrieks and fainting.
Shame turns away the face from the beholders, covers it
with blushes, casts down the head and eyes, draws down the
eye-brows, makes the tongue to falter, or strikes the person
dumb.
Remorse casts down the countenance, and clouds it with
anxiety. Sometimes the teeth gnash, and the right hand beats
the breast.
Courage, steady and cool,-opens the countenance, gives the
whole form an erect and graceful air. The voice is firm, and
the accent strong and articulate.
Boasting is loud and blustering. The eyes stare, the face
is red and bloated, the mouth pouts, the voice is hollow, the
arms akimbo, the head nods in a threatening manner, the right
fist sometimes clinched and brandished.
Pride assumes a lofty look, the eyes open, the mouth pout¬
ing, the lips pinched, the words slow and stiff, with an air of
importance, the arms akimbo, and the legs at a distance or
taking large strides. '
Third.] SOUTHERN- READER AND SPEAKER. 13
Authority opens the countenance, but draws down the eye¬
brows a little, so as to give the person an air of gravity.
Commanding requires a peremptory tone of voice, and a
severe look.
Inviting is expressed with a smile of complacency, the
hand, with the palm upwards, drawn gently towards the body.
Hope brightens the countenance, arches the eye-brows,
gives the eyes an eager, wishful look, opens the mouth to half
a smile, bends the body a little forward.
Love lights up a smile upon the countenance; the forehead
is smoothed, the eye-brows arched, the mouth a little open
and smiling, the eyes languishing, the countenance assumes
an eager, wishful look, mixed with an air of satisfaction.
The accents are soft and winning, the tone of the voice flat¬
tering, &c. .
Wonder opens the eyes, and makes them appear prominent.
The body is fixed in a contracted, stooping posture, the mouth
is open, the hand often raised. Wonder at first strikes a per¬
son dumb; then breaks forth into exclamations.
Curiosity opens the eyes and mouth, lengthens the neck,
bends the body forward, and fixes it in one posture, &c.
Anger is expressed by rapidity, interruption, noise and
trepidation; the neck is stretched out, the head nodding in a
threatening manner. The eyes red, staring, rolling; spark¬
ling; the eye-brows drawn down over them, the forehead
wrinkled, the nostrils stretched, every vein swelled, every
muscle strained. When anger is violent, the mouth is opened
and drawn towards the ears, showing the teeth in a gnashing
posture; the feet stamping; the right hand thrown out, threat¬
ening with a clinched fist, and the whole frame agitated.
Peevishness is expressed in nearly the same manner, but
with more moderation; the eyes asquint upon the object of
displeasure, the upper lip drawn up disdainfully.
Malice sets the jaws, or gnashes with the teeth, sends
flashes from the eyes, draws the mouth down towards the ears,
clinches the fist, and bends the elbows.
Envy is expressed in the same manner, but more mode¬
rately.
Aversion turns the face from the object, the hands spread
out to keep it off
Jealousy shows itself by restlessness, peevishness, thought-
fulness, anxiety, absence of mind. It is a mixture of a variety
of passions, and assumes a variety of appearances.
14 southern reader and speaker. tBoOK
Contempt assumes a haughty air; the lips closed, and
pouting. ,
Modesty, or humility, bends the body forward, casts down
the eyes. The voice is low, the words few, and tone of utter¬
ance submissive.
the best applause—a parable,—gii-man.
Adolphus accompanied his elder brother to listen to one of
the most renowned orators of the land.
They were charmed beyond their expectations by the wis¬
dom of his sentiments, the fire of his imagination, the beauty
of his style, and the grace of his outward manner.
The attending multitude were held in suspense, and meas¬
ured not the hasty lapse of time.
At length the orator sat down, after closing with a solemn,
searching, instructive appeal to the minds and hearts of his
hearers.
Thousands burst out into peals of applause; but a few who
were scattered among the crowd continued silent and thought¬
ful.
Young Adolphus was carried away by the multitude; with
his voice and his hands he expressed his sympathy and his
delight.
" Brother," he exclaimed, as they retired, " why did you not
applaud with the rest of us?"
" Perhaps," replied his brother, " I can explain to you some
other time."
The next morning they walked together in the fields, and
ascended an eminence at the moment of the rising of the sun.
A wide and varied and beautiful country lay at their feet;
the ocean rolled at a distance, and from its bosom arose the
glorious orb of day.
Adolphus paused, looked, held his breath, was silent and
thoughtful.
His elder brother began to shout aloud and to clap his
hands.
'* And are those your feelings at this scene ?" exclaimed
Adolphus, with astonishment.
" They are not," replied his brother; " but I have now an¬
swered your question of yesterday."
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 15
From that day Adolphus understood what was the best and
most acceptable applause.
MY COUNTRY.—Anonymous.
I love my country's pine-clad hills,
Her thousand bright and gushing rills,
Her sunshine and her storms;
Her rough and rugged rocks that rear
Their hoary heads high in the air,
In wild fantastic forms.
I love her rivers deep and wide,
Those clear bright streams that seaward glide
To seek the ocean breast;
Her smiling fields, her fruitful vales,
Her shady dells, her pleasant dales,
The haunts of peaceful rest.
I love the forest dark and lone,
For there the wild bird's merry tone
Is heard from morn till night j
And there are lovelier flowers I ween
Than e'er in eastern lands were seen,
In varied colors bright.
Her forests and her valleys fair,
Her flowers that scent the morning air,
All have their charms for me;
But more, I love my country's name,
Those words that echo deathless fame,—
" The land of Liberty."
INDUSTRY AND PERSEVERANCE REWARDED.—Pittsb. Ariel.
Some thirty years ago, a bare-footed boy floated down the
Susquehanna river on a humble raft, and arrived at Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania. He came from the North, and belonged to a
large family. With all his worldly goods tied in a little hand-
k j-chief, he sought and obtained employment in a printing-
16
SOUTHERN- READER AND SPEAKER. lBooK
office. ■ From a humble but industrious apprentice, to a J?ur"
neyman,—from a journeyman to a reporter,—then an editor,
the former bare-footed boy worked his way against obstacles
which the struggling poor only know.
The persevering follower in the footsteps of Franklin be¬
came printer to the state, and by frugal management was soon
enabled to accomplish the dearest wish of his heart—the es¬
tablishment of his mother in a home above want. His broth¬
ers next were his care, and like Napoleon, he had a strong
arm with which to aid them, an indomitable spirit of perse¬
verance, which nothing could long successfully obstruct. In
a few years, they, too, as well as his sisters, were independ¬
ent of the world. The once bare-footed printer-boy was in
the possession of affluence, surrounded by a young and affec¬
tionate family.
He did not stop here. He was the friend of the friendless,
the patron of merit, the encourager of industry. He rose in
honor and office, until the poor bare-footed boy, who entered
a printing-office in Harrisburg, hungry and weary, laying
down his little bundle on a pile of wet paper, and asking to
become a printer's apprentice, was elected a Senator in Con¬
gress from the state of Pennsylvania.
CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL.—Pake Benjamin.
O'er mountain height, through lowly vale,
Still floats to heaven a nation's wail;
From forest aisle and builded fane
Still soars a people's strain.
Well may our Israel deeply mourn
The priesthood from her altars borne—■
Her holy prophets veiled in gloom,
Her patriarchs gathered to- the tomb.
He sleeps—a father of our land,
One of the old and reverend band;
He sleeps—the upright, wise, and just—
High guardian of his country's trust!
He sleeps—and o'er his peaceful grave
No banners, soiled with conquest, wave—
,TninD.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
17
Yet he was freedom's cherished son;
He sleeps—the friend of Washington !
Sound, music, sound! our eyes are dim,
For sorrow drowns the funeral hymn ;
Sound ! and the sacred voice of Fame
Will echo Marshall's honored name!
PEACE ESSENTIAL TO HUMAN IMPROVEMENT.—Calhoun*
I am opposed to war as a friend to human improvement, to
human civilization, to human progress and advancement.
Never, in the history of the world, has there occurred a
period so remarkable as the peace which followed the battle
of Waterloo, for the great advances made in the condition of
human society, and that in various forms. The chemical and
mechanical powers have been investigated, and applied to
advance the comforts of human life in a degree far beyond
what was ever known or hoped before. Civilization has
been spreading its influence far and wide, and the general
progress of human society has outstripped all that had been
previously witnessed.
The invention of man has seized upon and subjugated two
great agencies of the natural world, which were never before
made the servants of man; I refer to steam and to electricity,
under which, of course, I include magnetism in all its phe¬
nomena. Steam has been controlled and availed of, for all
the purposes of human intercourse, and by its resistless ener¬
gies has brought nations together whom nature seemed to sep¬
arate by insurmountable barriers. It has shortened the pas¬
sage across the Atlantic more than one half, while the rapidity
of travelling on land has been three times greater than was
ever known before.
Within the same time, man has chained the very lightning
of heaven, and brought it down and made it administer to the
transmission of human thought, insomuch that it may in truth
be said that our ideas are not only transmitted with the rapid¬
ity of lightning, but by lightning itself. Magic wires are
stretching themselves in all directions over the globe, and
when their mystic meshes shall at length have been perfected,
our globe itself will be endowed with a sensitiveness which
will render it impossible to touch it on any one point, and the
» Extract from a Speech in Congress on the Oregon Question.
2*
18
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
touch not be felt from one end of the world to the other. All
•this progress, all this growth of human happiness, all this
spread of human light and knowledge, will be arrested by
war. And shall we incur a result like that, for Oregon ? _ And
this work is as yet but commenced; it is but the breaking of
the dawn of the world's great jubilee. It promises a day of
more refinement, more intellectual brightness, more moral
elevation, and consequently more human felicity, than the
world has ever seen from its creation.
■A PLEASANT SURPRISE.—Anonymous.
A young man, eighteen or twenty years of age, a student
in a university, took a walk one day with a professor, who
was called "the student's friend," from his kindness to the
young men whom it was his office to instruct.
While they were walking together, and the professor was
seeking to lead the conversation to grave subjects, they saw a
pair of old shoes lying in their path, which they supposed to
belong to a poor man who was at work in the field close by,
and who had nearly finished his day's work.
The young student turned to the professor, saying—
" Let us play the man a trick; we will hide his shoes, and
conceal ourselves behind those bushes, and watch to see his
perplexity when he cannot find them."
" My dear friend," answered the professor, " we must never
amuse ourselves at the expense of the poor. But you are
rich, and you may give yourself a much greater pleasure by
means of this poor man. Put a dollar into each shoe, and
then we will hide ourselves."
The student did so, and then placed himself with the pro¬
fessor behind the bushes close by, through which they could
easily watch the laborer, and see whatever wonder or joy he
might express.
The poor man soon finished his work and came across the
field to the path, where he had left his coat and shoes. While
he put on the coat, he slipped one foot into one of his shoes;
but feeling something hard, he stooped down and found the
dollar. Astonishment and wonder were seen upon his coun¬
tenance ; he gazed upon the dollar, turned it around, and
looked again and again; then he looked around him on all
sides, but could see no one. Now he put the money in his
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
19
pocket, and proceeded to put on the other- shoe; hut how great
was his astonishment when he found the other dollar! His
feelings overcame him, he fell upon his knees, looked up to
Heaven and uttered aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he
spoke of his wife, sick and helpless, and his children without
bread, whom this timely bounty from an unknown hand would
save from perishing.
The young man stood there deeply affected, and tears filled
his eyes.
"Now," said the professor, "are you not much better
pleased than if you had played your intended trick ?"
." Oh, dearest sir," answered the youth, " you have taught
me a lesson now that I will never forget. I feel now the
truth of the words which I never before understood, 'It is
better to give than to receive.'"
We should never approach the poor but with the wish to
do them good.
"MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH?"—Mrs. Gilman.
" Mother, how still the baby lies!
I cannot hear his breath;
I cannot see his laughing eyes—
They tell me this is death.
My little work I thought to bring,
And sat down by his bed,
And pleasantly I tried to sing—
They hushed me—he is dead.
They say that he again will rise,
More beautiful than now;
That G-od will bless him in the skies—
0, mother, tell me how !"
" Daughter, do you remember, dear,
The cold dark thing you brought,
And laid upon the casement here,—
A withered worm, you thought?
I told you that Almighty Power
Could break that withered shell,
20 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. CBook
And show you, in a future hour,
Something would please you well.
Look at the chrysalis, my love,—
An empty shell it lies;
Now raise your wandering glance above,
To where yon insect flies !"
" 0, yes, mamma ! how very gay
Its wings of starry gold !
And, see ! it lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.
0, mother, now I know full well,
If God that worm can change,
And draw it from its broken cell,
On golden wings to range,—
How beautiful will brother be,
When God shall give him wings,
Above this dying world to flee,
And live with heavenly things!"
WORDS—THEIR IMPORTANCE.—Gilman.
There is a prevailing error, that language, conversation, dis¬
course, whether spoken or written, deserve not our serious re¬
gard and attention, as moral and religious beings. There are
those who would scorn to commit a base action, but who hesi¬
tate not to falsify their word. There are those who scrupu¬
lously cultivate all the exterior courtesies of society, and yet
deliberately permit the language of profaneness to stain their
lips. Now this is wrong, radically and fatally wrong. It is
like tying a living and a dead body together. What is moral
principle worth, if it extends not over the ichole of our rela¬
tions in life? Why keep one part of the character in the
light, and the other in a hateful shade ? Why pretend to be
bound by the nice and delicate laws of honor, while the tongue
is indulged at will in everything dishonorable, perverse, tri¬
fling, and often worse ?
The first and most vital recommendation of every word is
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 21
truth. Let that be the only mould in which every expression
is formed. Whoever speaks at all, should speak as if he were
under oath. For he is under oath. An infinite moral obliga¬
tion binds him. An Almighty and ever present Deity and
Judge is witness to each breath he utters. The welfare of
mankind is more or less involved in the truth or falsehood of
our words. The integrity or corruption of our own immortal
souls is connected with the same causes. How, therefore, is
your obligation increased by going before a human judge, and
taking a legal oath 1 Do you thereby alter the nature of truth ?
Impossible. Falsehood, under all circumstances, is base,
dangerous, and wicked. In the ordinary transactions of life,
in your most sportive moments of relaxation, in your common
conversation with friends, equals or dependants, utter nothing
but the sacred truth. Let not the persuasions of sordid interest
divert you from this rigid line. Adopt not the loose maxims
which represent that as pardonable in trade and commerce,
which would be sinful in the other affairs of life. Indulge
not the habit of painting- and exaggeration, though you
should not, in consequence, be quite so entertaining a com¬
panion.
Closely allied to this topic, is the manner in which we are
to treat the characters of our fellow-men. And here there are
two opposite extremes to be considered and condemned. The
first consists in the tendency to depreciate and deny the mer¬
its of others. How often will a single word, dropped in care¬
lessness or malice, blast a fair reputation, which has for years
been laboriously forming, and obscure those merits which
might otherwise shine forth and benefit the world! How
readily will the idle tongue snatch up and communicate the
circulating tale ! How eagerly will prejudice and party spirit
exaggerate or create defects in those to whom they are op¬
posed ! Will not this complicated cruelty, injustice, and mis¬
chief, be one day attended by condign retribution 1 It will, so
surely as He was true, who declared, " By fhy words shalt thou
be condemned." And on the other hand, there is equal folly,
if not equal wickedness, in excessive and injudicious praise.
Take care how you cause the world to expect too much from
your friends. Take care how you commit injustice against
others, by exaggerating the merits of those to whom you are
partial. And particularly, remember that the weighty admo¬
nition of the Saviour bears an emphatic application to the in¬
sidious and serpent-like spirit of flattery—that insult to true
22 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
•merit—that fountain of corruption, both on the side of those
who bestow and those who receive it.
It would be doing- great injustice to the subject, were we to
omit, in the current enumeration, the vice of profaneness. ■ Is
it not still too prevalent, both among the old and the young?
On the floor of common conversation, in the resorts of public
intercourse, in the haunts of festive recreation, this crying sin
of the day is heard. It is one of the foul stains of a Chris¬
tian people. The enginery of societies, and every other meth¬
od, are as much needed for its extermination, as they ever were
for the promotion of temperance. Men and youth both know
that it is improper and sinful—for you will never hear it in
the pleas of a court of justice, never in a hall of legislature,
never at a public meeting, never at a respectable mixed party
of the sexes. "Would that it were banished from other scenes,
as effectually as from these. Would that I might induce at
least one transgressor on this point to pause, consider, and re¬
frain—or even one mother to warn her son with more earnest¬
ness than ever against violating the third commandment, for
it is in youth, mostly, that these habits are formed, and become
almost as fixed and rooted as a limb of the body.
If we shall be justified or condemned by our words, then
let the law of kindness, as the scripture beautifully expresses it,
dwell ever on our lips. Oh, it is a very easy thing to utter what
is called a cutting expression—to harrow another's temper—
to put him in a ridiculous light—and to send him or her into
solitude, with no revenge, but silence, and no redress but tears.
But it is still more easy to say something which shall touch a
happy chord of sympathy—something which shall express
respect and regard—something which shall correct and im¬
prove, if necessary, without lacerating, and shall spread, like
a soothing oil, over the mind already, perhaps, distracted with
conscious infirmities, and with multiplied cares and perplex¬
ities.
" I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with
my tongue; I will keep my mouth with a bridle."
" If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth
not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, that man's reli¬
gion is vain."
" The tongue of the just is as choice silver."
" A soft answer turneth away wrath j but grievous words
stir up anger."
I " Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 23
hasty to utter anything before God; for God is in Heaven,
and thou upon earth."
" The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things.
Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth."
THE SEA AND THE CHRISTIAN'S LIFE.—Lowuie.
Most persons dislike the sea, and it is common to speak of
the monotony and tedium of long voyages. There is little to
be seen that is new after the first few days, and without cau¬
tion and watchfulness, one is apt to become impatient and fret¬
ful. Yet with care it need not be so. The best of all expe¬
dients to make the time pass pleasantly, is to have something
to do, and to do it. It requires some resolution to keep one's
self constantly employed, but the exertion is amply repaid.
And there is much, even amidst the sameness cf sea ftfe, that
is deeply instructive. God has so ordered all things in na¬
ture, that they form a constant commentary and illustration of
invisible and eternal things. That more of such analogies
can be traced in the sailor's life than in any other, I will not
presume to say ; but I have often been surprised, and oftener
still instructed, as well as gratified, with the illustrations of
the Christian's course which the voyage of a ship affords.
The various changes of the weather, now calm and sunshiny,
now stormy.and dark, now rapidly speeding on with prosper¬
ous breezes, and anon, painfully laboring against the wind ;
who has not felt such changes as these in his Christian course?
The unceasing diligence of all concerned, especially the cap¬
tain and officers—their constant study of the charts and books
of directions, and their anxiety to secure observations of the
sun and stars, that they may know their daily progress and
position ; who does not recognize in this the duty of the
Christian to study carefully the great chart and book which
God has given to direct us on our way, and by earnest look-
ing upward to gain wisdom from on high to lead our steps!
The constant lookout for danger, and the dnxiety to avoid hid¬
den shoals, to mark the progress and direction of the currents,
and to take advantage of every wind that blows ; how often
have they reproved us for being so careless of danger, and so
negligent where Christ said " Watch !" and so indifferent to
24 SOiiiee,l?« i.TMrri AND [Boor
the Spirit's influences, which, " like the wind," must waft the
soul to heaven. When the ship has dropped her anchor in
port, universal joy possesses every heart The dangers and
watchings and fatigues of the voyage are over, the rewards of
labor are now enjoyed, and the quietness and peace of home
repay the toils and perils that are past. " They are glad
because they are quiet, and because they are brought to their
desired havenbut how much more real and satisfying is the
Christian's joy, when he enters the haven of rest, his home
in the skies. There, "there is no more sea"
VINDICATION OF SOUTH CAROLINA.—McDoffie.
I feel that I am called upon to vindicate the motives and
the character of the people of South Carolina, from imputa¬
tions which have been unjustly cast upon them. There is no
State iif this Union distinguished by a more lofty and disinter¬
ested patriotism, than that which I have the honor, in part, to
represent. I can proudly and confidently appeal to history
for proof of this assertion. No State has made greater sac¬
rifices to vindicate the common rights of the Union, and pre¬
serve its integrity. No State is more willing to make those
sacrifices now, whether of blood or treasure.
But it does not belong to this lofty spirit of patriotism, to
submit to unjust and unconstitutional oppression; nor is South
Carolina to be taunted with the charge of treason and rebellion,
because she has the intelligence to understand her rights, and
the spirit to maintain them. God has not planted in the breast
of man a higher and a holier principle, than that by which
he is prompted to resist oppression. Absolute submission and
passive obedience to every extreme of tyranny, are the char¬
acteristics of slaves only. |
The oppression of the people of South Carolina has been
carried to an extremity, which the most slavish population on
earth would not endure without a struggle. Is it *to be ex¬
pected, then, that freemen will patiently bow down and kiss
the rod of the oppressor ? Freemen, did I say ? Why, any
one who has the form and bears the name of a man-—nay, " A
beast that wants discourse of reason," a dog, a sheep, a rep¬
tile—the vilest reptile that crawls upon the earth, without the
gift of reason to comprehend the injustice of its injuries,
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
25
would bite, or bruise, or sting- the hand, by which they were-
inflicted.
Is it then, for a sovereign State to fold her arms and stand
still, in submissive apathy, when the loud clamors of the peo¬
ple. whom Providence has committed to her charge, are ascend¬
ing to Heaven for justice 1 Hug not this delusion to your
breast, I pray you.
It is not for me to say, in this place, what course South
Carolina may deem it her duty to pursue in this great emer¬
gency. It is enough to say, that she perfectly understands
the ground which she occupies ; and be assured, that whatev¬
er attitude she may assume, in her highest sovereign capacity,
she will firmly and fearlessly maintain it. be the consequences
what they may. The responsibility will not rest upon her,
but upon her oppressors.
WASHINGTON AND FRANKLIN.—Louisville Journal.
I love to ponder on the mighty names
That have the various storms of State controll'd,
And added lustre to a nation's name.
I love to contemplate the noble deeds
Of those who 'mid the battle-shock have rul'd
The storm, have dimm'd the gleaming falchion's beam,
In the dark horrid blood of tyranny.
And I have mark'd the chief, the favor'd one
Of mighty Heaven, him whose fearless mind
Unmoved, unshaken, braved the opposing tide
Of conqu'ring foes, and on to freedom led.
Fate's dark Archangel in his swift career,
With right red arm uprais'd, that shook on high
The brandish'd bolt, beheld the chief afar,
Then at his feet the beaming lightnings laid,
And bade him fearless launch their terrors forth
Upon his country's foes.
Again I've mark'd
When that embattled squadron shook the field,
Bold patriots caught his spirit as his glance
Would rest upon them ; then to victory sped,
Or nobly prest the ensanguined dust in death.
The world unfolds to view no greater name
3
26
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. LBooK
Upon its bright and many-colored page,
Nobler or brighter than our Washington.
He cannot be forgotten ! When the earth
Has passed away, and the blue sky no more
Expansive o'er us spreads, then shall the tongues
Of seraphim resound the eternal name.
0 thou ! whose genius grasped the thunder's bolt,
Obedient to thy will, and with its flame
In Time's vast space a name undying trac'd—
Here let me bend to thee, for thou wast first
Of all Columbia's sages to explore
The mystic paths of science ; first to draw
The veil from Nature's wonders.
When from Heaven
The fiat of the Deity went forth,
Let Franklin be! then to our land there came
Humanity, philosophy, and light.
He was Columbia's Socrates ; from him
The voice of wisdom and of truth divine
In sweetest accents fell. No fortune smiled
Propitious radiance on his humble birth ;
Alone, unaided, through the storms of life,
He grasp'd the prize, and wreath'd his brow with fame.
PEACE THE TRUE POLICY OF AMERICA.—Calhoun.*
I am against war, because peace—peace is pre-eminently
our policy. There are nations in the world who may resort
to war for the settlement of their differences, and still grow
great; but that nation is not ours. Providence has cast our
happy inheritance where its frontier extends for twenty-three
degrees of latitude along the Atlantic coast. It has given us
a land which, in natural advantages, is perhaps unequalled by
any other. Abundant in all resources, excellent in climate,
fertile and exuberant in soil, capable of sustaining in the plen¬
tiful enjoyment of all the necessaries of life, a population of
two hundred millions of souls. Our great mission, as a peo¬
ple, is to occupy this vast domain—here to fulfil the primeval
• Extract frorp a speech in Coujiraaa mi the Oregon question.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 27
command, to increase and multiply, and replenish the land
with an industrious and virtuous population ; to level the for¬
ests, and let in upon them the light of day; to clear the
swamps and morasses, and redeem them to the plough and the
sickle; to spread over hill and dale the echoes of human la¬
bor and human happiness and contentment; to fill the land
with cities, and towns, and villages; to unite its opposite ex¬
tremities by turnpikes and railroads; to scoop out canals for
the transmission of its products, and open rivers for its inter¬
nal trade. War can only impede the fulfilment of this high
mission of Heaven; it absorbs the wealth and diverts the en¬
ergy which might be so much better employed for the im¬
provement of our country. All we want is peace—established
peace: and then time, under the guidance of a wise and cau¬
tious policy, will soon effect for us all the rest. I say time
will do it under the influence of a wise and masterly inactivity.
Where we find that natural causes will, of themselves, work
out our good, our wisdom is to let them work, and all our task
is to remove impediments. In the present case, one of the
greatest of these impediments is to be found in our impatience.
Now the United States and England are two nations to be
pre-eminently instrumental in bringing this happy change, be¬
cause I consider them as being the most advanced in the scale
of human improvement, and most in circumstance to further
this amelioration ; because they have the control of the great¬
est and most extensive commerce at present in existence. We
have been thus distinguished by Providence for a great and
noble purpose, and I trust we shall fulfil our high destiny.
OUR COUNTRY.—Pabodie.
Our country !—'tis a glorious land !
With bfoad arms, stretch'd from shore to shore;
The proud Pacific chafes her strand,
She hears the dark Atlantic roar:
And nurtured on her ample breast,
How many a goodly prospect lies,
In Nature's wildest grandeur drest,
Enamell'd with her loveliest dyes.
Rich prairies, deck'd with flowers of gold,
Like sunlit oceans roll afar;
28 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. JBooK
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,
Reflecting clear each trembling star ;
And mighty rivers, mountain-born,
Go sweeping onward, dark and deep,
Through forests where the bounding fawn
Beneath their sheltering branches leap.
And, cradled 'mid her clustering hills,
Sweet vales in dream-like beauty hide,
Where love the air with music fills,
And calm content and peace abide ;
For plenty here her fulness pours
In rich profusion o'er the land.
And sent to seize her generous store,
There prowls no tyrant's hireling band.
Great God ! we thank thee for this home—
This bounteous birth-land of the free;
Where wanderers from afar may come,
And breathe the air of liberty !—
Still may her flowers untrampled spring,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise;
And yet, till time shall fold his wing,
Remain Earth's loveliest Paradise !
ELOQUENCE OF PATRICK HENRY.—Wirt.
And now came on the first trial of Patrick Henry's strength.
No one had ever heard him speak, and curiosity was on tip¬
toe. He rose very awkwardly, and faltered much in his exor¬
dium. The people hung their heads at so unpromising a
commencement; the clergy were observed to exchange sly
looks with each other; and his father is described as having
almost sunk with confusion from his seat. But these feelings
were of short duration, and soon gave place to others of a
very different character. For now were those wonderful fac¬
ulties which he possessed for the first time developed; and
now was first witnessed that mysterious and almost super¬
natural transformation of appearance, which the fire of his
own eloquence never failed to work in him. For as his mind
rolled along and began to glow from its own action, all the man¬
ners of the clown seemed to shed themselves spontaneously.
His attitude by degrees became erect and lofty. The spirit
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
29
of his genius awakened all his features. His countenance
shone with a nobleness and grandeur which it had never be¬
fore exhibited. There was a lightning in his eyes which
seemed to rivet the spectator. His action became graceful,
bold, and commanding; and in the tones of his voice, but
more especially in his emphasis, there was a peculiar charm,
a magic, of which any one who ever heard him will speak as
soon as he is named, but of which no one can give any ade¬
quate description. They can only say that it struck upon the
ear, and upon the heart, in a manner which language cannot tell.
Add to all these his wonder-working fancy, and the peculiar
phraseology in which he clothed its images; for he painted
to the heart with a force that almost petrified it. In the lan¬
guage of those who heard him on this occasion, " He made
their blood run cold, and their hair to rise on end."
It will not be difficult for any one who ever heard this most
extraordinary, man, to believe the whole account of this transac¬
tion which is given by his surviving hearers; and from their
account, the court-house of Hanover county must have exhib¬
ited, on this occasion, a scene as picturesque as has been
ever witnessed in real life. They say that the people, whose
countenances had fallen as he arose, had heard but a very
few sentences before they began to look up; then to look at
each other with surprise, as if doubting the evidence of their
own senses; then, attracted by some strong gesture, struck
by some majestic attitude, fascinated by the spell of his eye,
the charm of his emphasis, and the varied and commanding
expression of his countenance, they could look away no more.
In less than twenty minutes they might be seen, in every part
of the house, on every bench, in every window, stooping for¬
ward from their stands, in death-like silence; their features
fixed in amazement and awe, all their senses listening and
riveted upon the speaker, as if to catch the last strain of some
heavenly visitant. The mockery of the clergy was soon turn¬
ed into alarm, their triumph into confusion and despair, and
at one burst of his rapid and overwhelming invective, they
fled from the bench in precipitation and terror. As for th
father, such was his surprise, such his amazement, such his
rapture, that, forgetting where he was, and the character
which he was filling, tears of ecstacy streamed down his
cheeks, without the power orinclination to repress them.
The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered, that
they lost sight not only of the act of 1748, but that of 1758
3*
30
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. I300*
also; for. thoughtless even of the admitted right of the plain¬
tiff they had scarcely left the bar when they returned with a
verdict of one penny damages. A motion was made for a new
trial; but the court, too had now lost the equipoise of their
judgment, and overruled the motion by a unanimous vote.
The verdict, and judgment overruling the motion, were fol¬
lowed by redoubled acclamation, from within and without the
house. The people, who had with difficulty kept their hands
off their champion from the moment of closing his harangue,
no sooner saw the fate of the cause finally sealed than they
seized him at the bar, and in spite of his own exertions, and
the continued cry of "order," from the sheriffs and the court,
they bore him out of the court-house, and raising him on their
shoulders, carried him about the yard in a kind of electioneer¬
ing triumph.
REPUTATION.—Anonymous.
If you have earned a good reputation by virtuous acts and
honest deeds, let that reputation be kept bright. If you lie
still upon the strength of one or two glorious achievements,
you will lose the honor you have gained, and at last rust out.
Poor and wretched is he who can look back only on one
"bright spot in his career, while darkness and indifference have
settled like a thick cloud upon his life. Let one achievement
over passion, pride, and error, lead to other glorious accom¬
plishments. A really good man is never stationary. The
past is but an incentive to the future. He yet hopes to win
more laurels, and perform more glorious deeds. How true is
the language of—we forget who—but one who spoke the words
of truth—
"■The reputation
Of virtuous actions passed—tf not kept up,
By an access and fresh supply of new ones,
For want of habitation and repair,
Dissolves to heaps of ruins."
There are thousands who, if they had died in early life,
would have left behind them an unsullied reputation and a
glorious name. They built their hopes of renown upon a too
feeble foundation, or they were carried away by ambition and
ruined. Had Arnold died before the surrender of Cornwallis,
his name would have shone brightly on the pages of historv
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 31
Had Aaron Burr been cut down while he fell short of the
Presidency by one vote, who would not have cherished his
memory 1 Had Cromwell fallen by the side of John Hamp¬
den, would not the bare mention of his name send a thrill of
pleasure through the bosom % Though Cromwell erred through
ambition and power, he was not the worst tyrant who sat
upon England's throne.
Let your reputation be kept bright. Lose not what you
have gained by a single misdeed; but persevere in the path
of virtue and honor. Determine to accomplish yet more for
the good of man and the glory of God.
YOUTHFUL ASPIRATIONS.—Montgomery.
Higher, higher will we climb
Up the mount of glory,
That our names may live through time
In our country's story.
Happy, when her welfare calls,
He who conquers—he who falls.
Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge—
Nature's wealth and learning's spoil
Win from school and college ;
Delve we there for richer gems
Than the stars of diadems.
Onward, onward will we press,
In the path of duty,
Virtue is true happiness,
Excellence, true beauty;
Minds are of celestial birth, •
Let us make a heaven of earth.
Closer, closer let us knit
Hearts and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit
In the wildest weather:
Oh, they wander wide, who roam
For the joys of life, from home.
32 SbUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boot
Nearer, dearer, bands of love
Draw our souls in union,
To our Father's house above,—
To the saints' communion ;
Thither every hope ascend,
There may all our labors end.
THE SURPRISE.—Winchester Republican.
It is not long since a gentleman was travelling in one of the
counties of Virginia and about the close of the day stopped
at a public house to obtain refreshment, and spend the night.
He had been there but a short time, before an old man alighted
from his gig with the apparent intention of becoming his fel¬
low-guest at the same house. As the old man drove up he
observed that both the shafts of his gig were broken and that
they were held together by withes formed from the bark of a
hickory sapling. Our traveller observed further, that he was
plainly clad, that his knee-buckles were loosened, and that
something like negligence pervaded his dress. Conceiving
him to be one of the honest yeomanry of our land, the courte¬
sies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the
tavern. It was about the same time that an addition of three
or four young gentlemen was made to their number—most, if
not all of them, of the legal profession. As soon as they be¬
came conveniently accommodated, the conversation was turned
by the latter upon an eloquent harangue which had that
day been displayed at the bar. It was replied by the other,
that he had witnessed, the same day, a degree of eloquence
no doubt equal but that it was from the pulpit. Something
like a sarcastic rejoinder was made to the eloquence of the
pulpit; and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the
merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discus¬
sion. From six o'clock until eleven, the young champions
wielded the s&ord of argument, adducing with ingenuity and
ability, everything that could be said pro or con. During
this protracted period the old gentleman listened with all the
meekness and modesty of a child: as if he was adding new
information to the stores of his own mind; or perhaps he was
observing, with philosophic eye, the faculties of the youthful
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
33
mind, and how new energies are evolved by repeated action;
or, perhaps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon
the future destinies of his country, and on the rising genera¬
tion upon whom these future destinies must devolve; or, most
probably, with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling,
he was collecting an argument which—characteristic of him¬
self—no art would be ''able to elude, and no force resist."
Our traveller remained a spectator, and took no part in what
was said.
At last one of the young men, remarking that it was impos¬
sible to combat with long-established prejudices, wheeled
around, and with some familiarity exclaimed, "Well, my old
gentleman, what think you of these things?" If, said the
traveller, a streak of vivid lightning had at that moment
crossed the room, their amazement could not have been greater
than it was with what followed. The most eloquent and
unanswerable appeal was made for nearly an hour, by the old
gentleman, that he ever heard or read. So perfect was his
recollection, that every argument urged against the Christian
religion was met in the order in which it was advanced.
Hume's sophistry on the subject of miracles was, if possible,
more perfectly answered than it had already been done by
Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much
simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not another
word was uttered. An attempt to describe it, said the traveller,
would be like an attempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now
a matter of curiosity and inquiry who the old gentleman was.
The traveller concluded it was the preacher from whom the
pulpit eloquence was heard—but no—it was the Chief Jus¬
tice of the United States.
A BEAUTIFUL METEOR.—Mblvilu
Hope is a beautiful meteor; like the rainbow, it is not only
lovely because of its seven rich and radiant stripes—it is the
memorial of a covenant entered into between man and his
Maker, telling us we were born for immortality; destined,
unless we sepulchre our greatness, to the highest honor and
noblest happiness. Hope proves man deathless; it is the
struggle of the soul breaking loose from what is perishable, and
attesting her eternity; and when the eye of the mind is turned
34 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
upon Christ delivered for our offences, and raised again for
our justification, the unsubstantial and deceitful character is
taken away from hope. Hope is one of the prime pieces of
that armor of proof in which the believer is arrayed; for Paul
tells us to take for an helmet the hope of salvation. It is not
good that a man hope for wealth, since '-riches profit not in
the day of wrathand it is not good that he hope for human
honors, since the mean and mighty go down to the same burial.
But it is good that he hope for salvation. The meteor then
gathers like a golden halo around his head, and as he presses
forward -in the battle-time, no weapon of the evil one can pierce
through that helmet. It is good. then, that he hope; it is
good, also, that he quietly wait. There is much promised in
Scripture to the waiting upon God. Men wish an immediate
answer to prayer, and think themselves forgotten unless the
reply be instantaneous. It is a great mistake. The delay is
often ^art, and a great part, of the answer. It exercises faith,
and hope, and patience; and what better thing can be done
for us than strengthening those graces, to whose growth shall
be proportioned the splendors of immortality? It is good,
then, that ye wait. " They that wait on the Lord shall renew
their strength: they shall mount up with wings as eagles;
they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and
not faint."
THE MOUSE AND OYSTER—A FABLE.—Anoxymocs.
'Twas when the veil of night o'erspread the plain,
When bats and fairies, mice and Morpheus reign.
While the hushed winds in peaceful slumbers dwell,
And boding crickets sound their midnight knell;
'Twas then a daring Mouse, that long defied
The various stratagems which Kate had tried,
His destined doom received; for, soon or late,
Both mice and monarchs must submit to fate.
Soon as his foe, the sun, had tak'n its flight,
Tripp'd forth the little champion of the night,
With cautious tread, secure from fell mishap,
Of puss, or poison, or tremendous trap ;
With nose sagacious smelt the baited gin,
Wary and conscious of the snare within;
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 35
Now feasts on rich variety of meats,
And oft in cheese his own apartments eats:
Yet long- unharm'd the epicure patrolled,
And fearless o'er his silent suburbs strolled:
Luxurious night in pleasing plunder pass'd,
Nor dream'd that this was doom'd to be his last.
For now the time, the destin'd time was sent—
(So fate ordain'd—and who can fate prevent ?)
Lighting in evil hour, in quest of prey,
Where in a group the avenging oyster lay,
The fish commissioned from the watery throng,
With tegument of scaly armor strong,
Lay with expanded jaws and scaly shell—>
(But who the sad catastrophe can tell?)
Thus lies the dreadful monster of Nile's flood,
With open mouth, extended on the mud.
The dainty mouse, still craving some new dish,
Enters the gloomy mansion of the fish :
With beard exploring, and with luscious lip,
He longs the pickle of the seas to sip:
Roused by his tusks, the elastic oyster fell,
And caught the caitiff's head in watery cell;
In vain the victim labors to get free
From durance vile and dread captivity;
Lock'd in the close embrace ensnared he lies,
In pillory safe, pants, struggles, squeaks, and dies.
Thus the just fate of his own crimes he meets,
Like rakes expiring in destructive sweets;
Hence let voluptuous minds the tale who hear
Be told that death oft lurks in dainty cheer.
ANDREW JACKSON.*—Bancroft.
In life, his career had been like the blaze of the sun, in the
fierceness of its noon-day glory; his death was lovely as the
mildest sunset of a summer's evening, when the sun goes
down in tranquil beauty, without a cloud. To the majestic
energy of an indomitable will, he joined a heart capable of the
purest and most devoted love, rich in the tenderest affections.
On the bloody battle-field of Tohopeca, he saved an infant
that clung to the breast of its dying mother; in the stormiest
• Extract from a Funeral Oration delivered at Washington, June 27,1845.
35
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BooB
moment of his presidency, at the imminent moment of his
decision, he paused in his way, to give good counsel to a poor
suppliant that had come up to him for succor. Of the
strifes in which he was engaged in his earlier life, not one
sprung from himself, but in every case he became involved by
standing forth as the champion of the weak, the poor and the
defenceless, to shelter the gentle against oppression, to protect
the emigrant against the avarice of the speculator. His
generous soul revolted at the barbarous practice of duels, and
by no man in the land have so many been prevented.
The sorrows of those that were near to him went deeply into
his soul; and at the anguish of the wife whom he loved the
orphans whom he adopted, he would melt into tears and weep
and sob like a child. No man in private life so possessed the
hearts of all around him—no public man of this country ever
returned to public life with such an abiding mastery over the
affections of the people. No man with truer instinct received
American ideas—no man expressed them so completely, or so
boldly, or so sincerely. He was as sincere a man as ever
lived. He was wholly, always and altogether sincere and
true. Up to the last, he dared do anything that it was right to
do. He united personal courage and moral courage beyond
any man of whom history keeps record. Before the nation,
before the world, before coming ages, he stands forth the
representative, for his generation of the American mind. And
the secret of his greatness is this. By intuitive conception, he
shared and possessed all the creative ideas of his country and
his time. He expressed them with dauntless intrepidity; he
enforced them with an immovable will; he executed them
with qn electric power that attracted and swayed the American
people. The nation, in his time, had not one great thought of
which he was not the boldest and clearest expositor.
History does not describe the man that equalled him in
firmness of nerve. Not danger, not an army in battle array,
not wounds, not wide-spread clamor, not age, not the anguish
of disease, could impair in the least degree, the vigor of his
Steadfast mind. The heroes of antiquity would have contem¬
plated with awe, the unmatched hardihood of his character,
and Napoleon, had he possessed his disinterested will, could
never have been vanquished. Jackson never was vanquished.
He was always fortunate. He conquered the wilderness; he
conquered the savage; he conquered the bravest veterans
trained in the battle fields of Europe; he conquered every-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 37
where in statesmanship; and, when death came to get the
mastery over him he turned that last enemy aside as tran¬
quilly as he had done the feeblest of his adversaries, and
escaped from earth in the triumphant consciousness of immor¬
tality.
His body has its fit resting place in the great central valley
of the Mississippi—his spirit rests upon our whole territory ; it
hovers over the vales of Oregon, and guards, in advance, the
frontier of the Del Norte. The fires of party spirit are quench¬
ed at his grave. His faults and frailties have perished.
Whatever of good he has done, lives, and will live forever.
WE ARE GROWING OLD.—Miss F. Browne.
We are growing old—how the thought will rise,
When a glance is backward cast
On some long remembered spot that lies
In the silence of the past;
It may be the shrine of early vows,
Or the tomb of early years ;
But it seems like a far-off isle to us,
In the stormy sea of years.
Oh, wide and wild are the waves that part
Our steps from its greenness now,
And we miss the joy of many a heart,
And the light of many a brow ;
For deep o'er many a stately bark
Have the whelming billows rolled,
That steered with us from that earthly mark—
Oh friends, we are growing old.
Old in the dimness and the dust
Of our daily toils and cares,
Old in the wrecks of love and trust
Which our burdened memory bears.
Each form may wear to the passing gaze
The bloom of life's freshness yet,
And beams may brighten our latter days,
Which the morning never met.
38
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. CB°°K
But oh, the changes we have seen,
In the far and winding way ;
The graves in our path that have grown so green,
And the locks that have grown so gray !
The winters still in our own may spare
The sable or the gold,
But we see their snows upon brighter hair—
And, friends, we are growing old.
We have gained the world's cold wisdom now,
We have learned to pause and fear ;
But where are the living founts whose flow
It was a joy to hear %
We have won the wealth of many a clime,
And the lore of many a page ;
But where is the hOj>e that saw in time
But its boundless heritige?
Will it come again when the violet wakes,
And the woods their youth renew 1
We have stood in the light of sunny brakes,
Where the bloom is deep and blue !
And our souls might joy in the spring-time then,
But the joy was faint and cold,
For it ne'er could give us the youth again
Of hearts that are growing old.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.—Philadelphia Bulletin.
Who is there that does not acknowledge and bow in reve¬
rence to a mother's love ? What is it that causes the eye to
fill—that refuses utterance to speech, and overwhelms with
utter loneliness in the midst of life ? Deny it not, truant
heart; it is the sacredness of a mother's love—felt through
long years it may be, yet always pure, ever sacred, blessing
and refreshing 1 Gentle mother ! tenderest, truest, best of
friends! constant in love, in weal or woe—in deformity or
health, in honor or shame—through evil and good report—thy
affection knows no change nor the shadow of turning? Bless¬
ings on thee ! Earliest memories link together and throw
holiness on thy name. Sacred to the heart is the memory of a
mother s love !
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
39
Such were the reflections suggested by an accident in the
great drama of life. A poor victim to intemperance was stag¬
gering homewards—no. he knew not whither 1—when he fell
heavily to the earth. Stunned and bruised by the fall, he lay
for a moment insensible, but assistance soon restored him to
consciousness, and to a sense of high degradation.
"I thank you, gentlemen," said he falteringly, "it was a
hard fall, but I am better now. I have had many such. It is
nothing when you get used to it!" and he laughed as he pre¬
pared to start again on his way.
" What a pity," remarked a spectator, " that you should
thus debase your manhood by selfish indulgence in strong
drink."
" You're a temperance lecturer, I suppose," sneered the in¬
ebriate.
"No, friend," replied the gentleman, "I am not a temper¬
ance lecturer—at least, not one professedly. Nevertheless,
I neglect no opportunity to speak a word in aid of that honest
cause."
" You're a preacher, then, maybe ?"
"No."
"Well, whatever you are, I want none of your advice."
"I merely meant it for your good," mildly answered the
gentleman. " Are you married ?"
"No."
"You have sisters and brothers?"
" Yes, but they don't know me now."
" Have you a father?"
"No. He died many years since."
" A mother ?"
There was a deep silence.
" You do not answer. Have you a mother?"
The silence that ensued was broken by the sobs of the
wretched man. " Oh, God—oh, God !" he exclaimed—" she
too is dead! I broke her poor heart many years since by
misconduct. My poor, poor mother ! So good and so kind—
So gentle and forgiving !" and he smote his breast in the bit¬
terness of his anguish.
Unhappy man—oh, how unhappy at that moment! Through
all the vicissitudes of life, a mother's love had followed him—
entreating, urging, imploring him to forsake evil, and cling
only unto that which is right. In vain had she striven—he
had gone on blindly, perversely, recklessly, until now he was
40 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. LBoOK
broken down in health, fortune and reputation, an outcast from
society, disowned by his own flesh and blood. Yet in the
midst of this accumulation of wretchedness, there came re¬
proachfully, yet full of love, across the weary waste of years,
a mother's voice, sweet and sad, and the heart bowed in grief
to its mute appeal.
HonoT to woman! Without her smiles, the world would
lose its brightness—society's charm would exist no longer—
Christianity would languish without her aid and approval.
" In whose principles," said the dying daughter of Ethan
Allen, to her skeptical father, " in whose principles shall I
die—yours, or those of my Christian mother?" The stern
old hero of Ticonderoga brushed a tear from his eye as he
turned away, and with the same rough voice which summoned
the British to surrender, now tremulous with deep emotion,
said—" In your mother's, child—in your mother's !"
WASHINGTON.—Miss E. Cook.*
Land of the West! though passing brief the record of thine
age,
Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page !
Let all the blasts of fame ring out—thine shall be loudest far,
Let others boast their satellites—thou hast the central star.
Thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er depart,
'Tis stamped upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest
heart;
A war cry fit for any land where freedom's to be won.
Land of the West! it stands alone—it is thy Washington !
Borne had its Caesar, great and brave, but stain was on his
wreath:
He lived a heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's death.
France had its eagle ; but his Avings, though lofty they might
soar,
Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in murder's
gore.
Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chained
the waves—
Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world of
slaves—
* Of England.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
4.1
Who, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely
waded on—
Oh, where shall be their " glory" by the side of "Washington !
He fought, but not with love of strife; he struck but to defend ;
And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be a friend.
He strove to keep his country's right by reason's gentle Word,
And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge-—sword to
sword.
He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and the sage;
He showed no deep, avenging hate—no burst of despot rage.
He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on,
Till shouts of victory gave forth the natne of Washington,
No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief;
No groaning captives at the wheels proclaim'd him victor chief;
He broke the gyves of slavery with strong and high disdain,
And cast no sceptre from the links when he had crushed the
chain.
He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings down
To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly crown.
Tame was too earnest in her joy—too proud of such a son—■
To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington.
FIRST CONVENTION IN TENNESSEE.*—Bancroft.
The lovers of adventure began to pour themselves into the
territory, whose delicious climate and fertile soil, invited the
presence of social man. The hunter, with his rifle and his
axe attended by his wife and children ; the herdsman driving
the few cattle that were to multiply as they browsed ; the cul¬
tivator of the soil—all came to the inviting region. Wherever
the bending mountains opened a pass—wherever the buffa¬
loes and beasts of the forest had made a trace, these sons of
nature children of humanity, in the highest sentiment of per¬
sonal freedom, came to occupy the beautiful wilderness, whose
prairies blossomed everywhere profusely with wild flowers—
whose woods, in spring, put to shame, by their magnifi¬
cence. the cultivated gardens of man.
And now that these unlettered fugitives, educated only by
* Extract from a Funeral Oration on the death of General Jackson, delivered al
Washington, June 27,1S15.
42 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
the spirit of freedom, destitute of dead letter erudition, but
sharing- the living ideas of the age. had made their homes in
the West—what would follow? Would they degrade them¬
selves to ignorance and infidelity?—Would they make the
solitudes of the desert excuses for licentiousness?—Would
the doctrine of freedom lead them to live in unorganized so¬
ciety destitute of laws and fixed institutions?
At a time when European society was becoming brqjten in
pieces, scattered, disunited and resolved into its elements, a
scene ensued in Tennessee, than which, nothing more beauti¬
fully grand is recorded in the annals of the race. These ad¬
venturers in the wilderness longed to come together in organ¬
ized society. The overshadowing genius of their time in¬
spired them with good designs, and filled them with counsels of
wisdom. Dwellers in the forest, freest of the free, bound in
the spirit, they came up by their representatives, on foot, on
horseback, through the forest, along the streams, by the buf¬
falo traces, by the Indian paths, by the blazed forest avenues,
to meet in convention among the mountains of Knoxville, and
frame for themselves a constitution.
The convention came together on the 11th day of January,
1796, and finished its work on the 6th of February. Ho\?
had the wisdom of the Old World vainly tasked itself to frame
constitutions, that could, at least, be the subject of experiment;
the men of Tennessee, in less than twenty-five days, perfected
a fabric, which, in its essential forms, was to last forever.
They came together, full of faith and reverence, of love to
humanity, of confidence in truth. In the simplicity of wisdom,
they framed their constitution, acting under higher influences
than they were conscious of—
" They wrought in sad sincerity.
Themselves from God they could not free;
They budded better than they knew;
The conscious stones to beauty grew."
In the instrument which they framed, they embodied their
faith in God, and in the immortal nature of man. They gave
the right of suffrage to every freeman; they vindicated the
sanctity of reason, by giving freedom of speech and of the
press; they reverenced the voice of God. as it speaks in the
soul of man, by asserting the indefeasible right of man to wor¬
ship the Infinite according to his conscience ; they established
the freedom and equality of elections and they demanded from
«very. future legislator, a solemn oath, " never to consent to
Thied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 43
any act or thing whatever, that shall have even a tendency to
lessen the rights of the people."
These majestic lawgivers, wiser than the Solons, and Ly-
curguses, and Numas of the Old World—these prophetic
founders of a State, who embodied in their constitution the
sublimest truths of humanity, acted without reference to hu¬
man praises. They kept no special record of their doings;
they took no pains to vaunt their deeds; and when their work
was done, knew not that they had finished one of the sublim¬
est acts ever performed among men. They left no record, as
to whose agency was conspicuous, whose eloquence swayed,
whose generous will predominated; nor should we know,
but for tradition, confirmed by what followed among them¬
selves.
PULASKI'S BANNER.*—Longfellow.
When the dying flame of day,
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head,
And the censer burning swung.
Where before the altar hung
That proud banner, which, with prayer,
Had been consecrated there ;
And the nuns' swelft hymn was heard the while
Sung low, in the deep mysterious aisle.
Take thy banner. May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave,
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
Take thy banner; and beneath
The war-cloud's encircling wreath
* The standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole, who fell in the attack on Savannah,
during the American revolution, was of crimson silk, embroidered by the Moravian
nuns at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.
44 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Guard it till our homes are free,
Guard it—God will prosper thee !
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
Take thy banner. But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight, -•
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him; by our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him—he our love hath shared—
Spare him as thou wouldst be spared.
Take thy banner;—and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
'Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.
And the warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud.
THE BLIND PREACHER'S RESTORATION TO SIGHT.-Anon.
For eight years he had been blind, a stranger equally to the
cheerful light of day, and the cheering faces of kindred and
friends. In the lapse of time, great changes had taken place.
The infant had left the knee to rove among the fields—the
youth had started into manhood, and gone forth in the busy
scenes of life, without a hope that the eyes of his venerable
father would ever rest upon him. Like the evening cloud of
summer, a calm and holy resignation settled over the mind of
this man of God; but the dark curtain which hung over the
organs of sight seemed destined to rise no more.
After an operation for cataract, which, in the progress of
some years had rendered light sensible, and then objects faintly
visible—a well constructed convex lens, sent by a distant
friend, enabled him in a moment to see with considerable dis-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
45
tinctness. The scene which followed in his family around
was most moving. The father could again see his children,
who riveted his attention and absorbed his soul. Among these,
emotions of intense interest and varied suggestion were visible
in the eye, countenance, and hurried movements. The bursts
of laughter—the running to and fro—the clapping of hands—
the sending for absent friends—and then the silent tear be¬
dewing the cheek in touching interlude—the eager gaze of old
servants, and the unmeaning wonder of young ones—in short,
the happy confusion and joy was such a scene as a master's
pencil might have been proud to sketch. The paroxysm pro¬
duced by the first application of the glasses having passed
away; behold ! the patriarch in his large arm chair, with his
children around him, scanning with affectionate curiosity the
bashful group. There was a visible shyness among the lesser
members of the family while undergoing this fatherly scrutiny,
not unlike that produced by a long absence. The fondness
of a father, in contemplating those most dear to him, was nev¬
er more rationally exemplified, or exquisitely enjoyed. And
now the venerable old man arose from his seat, and grasped a
long staff, which seemed powerfully but momentarily to engage
his attention—it had been the companion of his darkest days,
the pioneer of his domestic travels, and the supporter of a
weak and tottering frame—he then proceeded to the front door
to take a view of the mountains, the beautiful south-west range,
stretching out in lovely prospect at the distance of about three
miles. All followed ; and the mountain-scene, though viewed
a thousand times before, was now gazed upon with deeper in¬
terest, and presented a greater variety of beauties than ever.
MONOTONY OF LIFE.—Anonymous.
Those of you, familiar with the shore, may have seen at¬
tached to the inundated reef a creature—whether a plant or
animal you could scarcely tell—rooted to the rock as a plant
might be, and twirling its long tentacula as an animal would
do. This plant animal's life is somewhat monotonous, for it
has nothing to do but grow and twirl its feelers float in the
tide, or fold itself upon its foot stalk when that tide has reced¬
ed, for months together. Now, would it not be very dismal
to be transformed into a zoophyte? "Would it not be an aw-
46 SOUTHERN READER SHEARER [Boos
fill "punishment, with yourl human soul still in you, to be an¬
chored to a rock, able to do nothing but spin about your arms
and Fold them up again, and[ knowing no variety, except when
the receding ocean left you'tnThfe"daylight, or the returning
waters plunged you into the green/depths again, or the sweep¬
ing tide brought you the prize/of a young periwinkle or an in¬
visible star-fish? / But what better is the life you are spontane¬
ously leading J What greater variety marks your existence,
than, chequers'the life of the sea-anemone?^ Does- not one
day float over you after ^another, just as the tide floats over it,
and find you much the same, and leave you vegetating still ?
Are you more useful ? What real service to others did you
render yesterday? What tangible amount of occupation did
you overtake in the 168 hours of which last week-consisted?
And what 'higher end in living have you than that polypus?
You go through certain mechanical routines of rising and
dressing, and visiting and dining, and going to sleep again;
and are a little roused from your usual lethargy by the arrival
of a friend, or the effort needed to write' some note Of cere¬
mony. But as it courtesys in the waves, and vibrates its ex¬
ploring arms, and gorges some dainty medusa, the sea-anemone
goes through nearly the same round of pursuits and enjoy¬
ments with your intelligent and important self Is this a life
for a rational and responsible creature to lead ?
THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON".—Mas. Sigouhney.
Tomb of the mighty dead!
Sacred be every tree-
That waves above thy head,
Oftsheds its bloom on thee.
While full Potomac flows
Bright 'neath Mount Vernon's sun,
Honored by friends and foes,
Rest here in ble£t repose,—-
Washington 1 Washington!
Sons of our pilgrim sires, *
Sons of our boundless west,
Ye, whom the tropic fires,
Or the cold lakes, lull to rest—
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
47
Meet here, as brothers meet
Round a loved hearth-stone;
Meet in communion sweet,
Here, at your father's feet,
Washington ! Washington !
Others on glory's rock
Have an enduring name,
Echoed in battle-shock,
Sculptured with blood and flame;
But when the mother, at her knee,
Teacheth her cradled son
Lessons of Liberty,
Shall he not lisp of thee ?
Washington ! Washington !
Should baleful discord steal
Our patriot strength away,
Or fierce invasion's reckless zeal
Restore oM Bunker's day,—
Or mad disunion smite the tree
That grew 'neath glory's sun,
What shall the watchword be,
Rousing the true and free ?
Washington! ashington!
EARLY KNOWLEDGE.—Winslow.
There is, among the young, a most lamentable waste of in¬
tellect. How few do justice to their native powers ! How few
so improve their means and talents as to rise to that eminence
which a kind Providence has placed within their reach!
It is desirable to acquire as much knowledge as possible,
while young, because it is then acquired most easily. All the
powers of mind are then active and elastic—the feelings are
fresh and vigorous—imagination is lively—the spirit exults in
buoyant hope, which nerves it to severe effort—obstacles are
soon surmounted—and the yielding mind is readily moulded
to patterns of exalted worth and greatness. As you advance
from youth, thp mind becomes less inclined and less able to
expand, so that if you pass on to mature years with your
48
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Booj
mind narrowed by ignorance, it will probably always revolve
in the same little circle.
Early knowledge is not only the easiest acquired, but the
longest retained. The memory becomes treacherous as age
advances. With most persons it begins to fail by thirty-five
or forty, and they then find, by experience, that their early
knowledge has the firmest hold of their minds. One thorough
reading of a history, while young, is worth more for the pur¬
pose of impressing its facts upon the memory, than half a
dozen readings at the age of forty or fifty. Hence, the lessons
of the nursery, the primary school, and the Sabbath school,
impart the knowledge wjhich most faithfully attends us through
all our life.
Early knowledge is very valuable capital, with which to set
out in life. It gives one an advantageous start. If the pos¬
session of knowledge has a given value at fifty, it has a much
greater value at twenty-five, for there is the use of it for twen¬
ty-five of the most important years of your life, and it is worth
more than one hundred per cent interest. Indeed, who can
estimate the interest of knowledge? Its price is above rubies.
How often do we hear men advanced in life say. - If I had
only possessed the knowledge,, when young, that I now have,
I might have become rich, learned, great, and influential."
The essential elements of knowledge, you may acquire while
young. The laws of nature, the laws and movements of the
human mind, and the relations of cause and effect, are the
same in all times and places. If favored with opportunities,
therefore, it is your own fault if you do not secure the needful
knowledge.
Early knowledge is important to enable one in season to
feel his own strength. Thousands mistake their calling for
want of it. Men who might have acted a brilliant part in the
pursuits for which they are adapted, are often doomed through
life to a repelling and pitiless employment, because they did
not possess sufficient knowledge, while young, to direct their
energies into the right course.
Most of all is early knowledge important to dispose and
enable you to escape the perils and temptations of sin—to in¬
vite your rising energies away from the solicitations of youth¬
ful passion—to lay before you the vast motives to rise to the
proper dignity of your intellectual and moral being ; that you
may thus secure the great end for which yon were made,
which is to p-lorifv (lor) ^nrl priiAv Vnm forovor
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
49
In a very important sense, youth are saved by knowledge,
and destroyed for lack of it. "My people are destroyed," said
God, " for lack of knowledge ; because thou hast rejected
knowledge, I also will reject thee." Therefore, let every
young person, to whom the acquiring of knowledge-is yet"pos¬
sible, be admonished to seek it rather than fine gold, to prize
it above rubies, assured that all the things to be desired are
not to be compared to it.
THE ADVANTAGES OF ENTERPRISE TO THE SOUTH.—An¬
onymous.
It has been remarked by one of the best authors, that he
who makes two blades of grass grow where but one grew be¬
fore, confers more real benefit upon mankind than the most
distinguished Avarrior. The truth of this sentiment is so ob¬
vious, that it has gained a station among those invaluable tru¬
isms which have been perpetuated from age to age as the liv¬
ing evidences of man's capability of judging between good
and evil;—of his preferring the beneficial results of humble
utility, to the hollow glitterings of ambitious misrule—or to
all the glory of the crimson-dyed flag, waving in triumph over
a thousand fields. If but the more successful tillage of the
soil is entitled to such encomiums—what credit ought to be
awarded to those who should, in the southern states, create
lucrative and respectable employment for its citizens.
Where there is industry and enterprise, there will agricul¬
ture and the learned professions thrive; they are as insepara¬
bly connected as light and heat, as mutually dependent upon
each other as causes and effects. Happiness, prosperity, vir¬
tue, and religion, all follow in their train, all rise up, and bless
and animate the diligent man. Sorrow, and the earth's inev¬
itable disappointments will visit him too, but he meets them
with a fortified mind, and an iron arm. As the steam-propel¬
led keel cuts through the bosom of the placid lake, disturbing
its gentle slumbers, Avhile separating its kindred drops, yet is
it immediately healed by its own natural attractions, mirroring
forth a serener aspect—a purer depth. So is it with the in¬
dustrious, sorrow-stricken man of integrity; he returns to his
honest pursuits, with a chastened spirit—but an unbroken
heart.
5
50 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
To return—those who will give our citizens good employ¬
ment, are our best friends. Useful employment, and that
which is liberally rewarded, is the brightest charity of life,—■
blessing both the receiver and dispenser; making both hap¬
py, by making both useful—establishing a reciprocal sympa¬
thy and fellow-interest among all classes of society ; in short,
making all dependent on all—which is the only true secret of
happiness and prosperity for man to acquire—whether in the
abstract, or in the mass ; whether individually or nationally;
it is the very germ and life of our republican existence—the
more it flourishes with us, the more will the admiring gaze of
the world be riveted upon the only oases that ever gladdened
the desert of man's imperfect government. We have, by our
invaluable staples, immense advantages over the northern
states ; we have the same, if not superior, for cultivating the
fine and useful arts. By making more of the necessaries of
life among ourselves, a vast amount of wealth could be retained
here—which is now taken from us. By determining that we
will arouse the manhood of the South—that we will call forth
our latent energies, we could in a few years arrive at such a
position as would cause it to be pointed out among the most
flourishing portions of the earth, as a living memento of our
wisdom and our patriotism.
STORMING OF MONTEREY.—Hoffman.
We were not many—we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day—
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if then he could
Have been with us at Monterey.
Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed
In deadly drifts of fiery spray,
Yet not a single soldier quailed,
While wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on—still on—our column kept
Through walls of flame, its withering way •
Where fell the dead, the living stept, '
Still charging on the guns which swept
The slippery streets of Monterey.
Thi&d.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
51
The foe himself recoiled aghast
When, striking where he strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
Our banners on those turrets wave,
And there our evenirfg bugles play;
While orange boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many—we who press'd
Beside the brave who fell that day;
But who of us has not confess'd
He'd rather share their warrior rest,
Than not have been at Monterey!
VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON.—Anonymous.
After a few miles of riding through the forest, with occa¬
sional openings and cultivated spots, in one of which a negro
was following his plough through the furrows, my friend
pointed out a stone sunk in the ground by the road-side which,
he said, marked the beginning of the Mount Vernon estate.
Still, we rode on for a couple of miles of beautiful country,
left much in its natural condition, without even a fence to line
the road-side, with a delightful variety of surface, before the
gate and porter's lodge came in sight.
Instead of an iron gate upon stone posts, there was a sim¬
ple wooden gate, swinging from posts of wood, without paint,
turned to a gray color, and shutting with a wooden latch. An
aged negro came out from the porter's house, courtesied as
we passed, and answered civilly the questions as to her health,
and whether her mistress was at home. All was characteris¬
tic of the domestic institutions of Virginia, even to the wo¬
man's standing still, and letting the gate swing to and latch
itself. "We had still half a mile before us, and the simple
carriage-path led us over hills and down dales, with a surface
as diversified as that of Mount Auburn, while the trees were
more grand and forest-like, though thinly scattered, and with
52 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
less variety and richness. We crossed a brook, passed through a
ravine, and feJt ourselves so completely in the midst of aboriginal,
untouched nature, that the sight of the house and its*cluster of
surrounding buildings, came like a surprise upon me. The
approach to the house is towards the west front The high
piazza, reaching from the roof to the ground, and the outline
of the building, are familiar to us from the engravings; but its
gray and time-worn aspect must be mentioned to those whose
eyes are accustomed to the freshness 6f white walls, green
blinds, and painted bricks. We rode up to the piazza, but an
unbroken silence reigned, and there was no sign of life, or of
any one stirring. Turning away, we passed among the ad¬
joining houses,-occupied by the blacks from one of which a
servant, attracted by the sound of our horses' hoofs, came out,
and being recognized by my friend, took our horses from us,
and we walked towards the house. The door from the piazza
opened directly into a large room, which we entered. It was
no mere habit that lifted the hat from my head, and I stepped
lightly, as though upon hallowed ground. Finding that no
one had seen us, my friend went in search of the family, and
left me to walk through the halls. From the first room, I
passed into another, from which a door led me out upon the
eastern piazza. A warm afternoon breeze shook the branches
of the forest which closes in upon the house on two sides,
and breathed across the lawn and rising knolls with a deli¬
cious softness. Under this piazza upon its pavement of flat
stones, Washington used to walk to and fro, with military reg¬
ularity, every morning; the noble Potomac in full view, spread¬
ing out into the width'of a bay at the foot of the mount, and
the shore of Maryland lining the eastern horizon. By the
side of the door hung the spy-glass, through which he watched
the passing objects upon the water. Little effort was neces¬
sary to call up the commanding figure of the hero, as he paced
to and fro, while those pure and noble thoughts, which made
his actions great, moved with almost an equal order through
his simple and majestic understanding.
Mv friend approached, and told me he had learned that the
family were at dinner, and we left the house privately and
walked towards the tomb. At a short distance from the house,
in a retired spot, stands the new family tomb, a plain struc¬
ture of brick, with a barred iron gate, through which are seen
two sarcophagi of white marble, side by side, containino- the
remains of Washington and his consort This had been re-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
53
cently finished, as appeared from the freshness of the bricks
and mortar, and the bare spots of earth about it, upon which
the grass had not yet grown. It is painful to see change and
novelty in such connections; but all has been done by the
direction of Washington's will, in which he designated the spot
where he wished the tomb to be. The old family tomb, in
which he was first placed, is in a more picturesque situation,
upon a knoll, in full view of the river; but the present one is
more retired, which was reason enough to determine the
wishes of a modest man. While we were talking together
here, a person approached us, dressed in the plain manner of
a Virginia gentleman upon his estate.- This was the young
proprietor. After his greeting with my friend, and my intro¬
duction, he conducted us to the old tomb, which is the one
represented in the prints scattered through the country. It is
now going to decay, being unoccupied, &nd is filling up and
partly overgrown with vines and shrubs. The change was
made with regret, but a sacred duty seemed to require it. It
is with this tomb that our associations are connected, and
to this the British fleet is said to have lowered its flags
while passing up the Potomac to make the attack upon the
capitol.
THE SAME.—Continued.
To one accustomed to the plantation system and habits of
Virginia, this estate may have much that is common with oth¬
ers ; but to persons unused to this economy, the whole is new
and striking. Of things peculiar to the place, are a low ram¬
part of brick, now partly overgrown, which Washington
had built around the front of the house, and an underground
passage leading from the bottom of a dry well, and coming
out by the river side at the foot of the mount. On the west
side of the house are two gardehs, a green-house, and—the
usual accompaniments of a plantation—seed-houses, tool-
houses, and cottages for the negroes—things possessing no
particular interest, except because they were standing during
Washington's life, and were objects of his frequent attention.
I would not be one to countenance the making public of any-
thin<r pertaining to those who have received a visitor in confi¬
dence and good faith. And I hope' not to transgress when I
'54
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo°*
say, that if he can judge from what may be seen among those
who bear the name and inherit the estate of the hero, no Mas¬
sachusetts man need fear that the bond which united the two
ancient historical commonwealths, is at all weakened ; or that
those memory-charged, cabalistic words, Massachusetts and
Virginia, have lost any of their force with the true sons of
either. Among the things of note shown us in the house, was
the key of the Bastile, sent to Washington from France, at
the time of the destruction of the prison. Along the walls of
the room hung engravings, which were mostly battle or hunt¬
ing pieces. Among them I noticed a print of Bunker Hill,
but none of any battle in which Washington himself was en¬
gaged. The north room was built by Washington for a di¬
ning-room, and for the meeting of his friends and political
visitors. The furniture of the room is just as when he left it,
and leads us back to the days when there were met within
these walls the great men of that generation who carried the
states through the revolution, laid the foundations of the gov¬
ernment, and administered it in its purer days. The rooms of
the house are spacious, and there is something of elegance
in their arrangement; yet the whole is marked by great sim¬
plicity. All the regard one could wish seems to have been
shown to the sacredness of these public relics, and all things
have been kept very nearly as Washington left them. Money
made in the stocks can purchase the bedizenry of our citv
drawing-rooms; but these elevating associations, which no
gold can buy. no popular favor win, which can only be inher¬
ited, these are the heir-looms, the traditionary titles and pen¬
sions, inalienable, not conferred, which a republic allows to
the descendants of her great servants.
Let every American, and especially every young American,
visit this place, and catch, if he can, something of its spirit.
It will make an impression upon him which he may keep
through life. It will teach him the story and lessons of the
past so as no printed page can teach them. From amid the
small machinery of day and week politics, he may learn what
was once the tone of public life. It will enlarge his patriot¬
ism, elevate his notions of the public service, and call out
some sense of veneration and loyalty towards the institutions
of his country and the memory of her mighty dead ; so that
Young America may, as there is some hope she may, bring
back the elements which dignified the first eight years of our
constitutional history.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
55
As the afternoon drew to a close, and we were obliged to
take our leave, regret at parting from our courteous enter¬
tainers was lost in the grand arid solemn impression made by
all around us. Nothing was real. Everything acted through
the imagination. Each object was dim with associations, and
seemed but the exponent of some thought or emotion ; the
shadow of something great and past. The whole was en¬
chanted ground; and the occupants seemed privileged per¬
sons, whom the guardian spirits of the place allowed to re¬
main its tenants and keepers. When the young proprietor
took leave of us'at the piazza, he stood where Washington had
stood to welcome and to part from the immortal men of France
and America. He stood there, his representative to a third
generation. It may well be supposed that as we rode slowly
home, our thoughts were in no ordinary course. We repassed
the gate, the rivulet, and the open field, but still we were on
enchanted ground. So impressed was I with this feeling, that
had I met a procession of the great men of the past, riding
slowly towards the mansion of their companion in arms and
in the cabinet, it would have seemed only a natural consum¬
mation. It was not until we had reached the town, and our
horses' hoofs struck upon the pavement, that the' illusion was
fairly broken.
PATRIOTISM OF SOUTH CAROLINA.—Hayne.
If there be one state in the Union, Mr. President, (and I say
it not in a boastful spirit.) that may challenge comparison
with any other for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalcula
ting devotion to the Union, that state is South Carolina. Sir,
from the very commencement of the revolution up to this hour,
there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully
made; no service she has ever hesitated to perform. She has
adhered to you in your prosperity, but in your adversity she
has clung to you with more than filial affection. No matter
what was the condition of her domestic affairs—though de¬
prived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by
difficulties—the call of the country has been to her as the voice
of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound—every man
became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Car¬
olina were all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing
56
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. CBook
their gifts to the altar of their common country. What,
sir, was the conduct of the south during the revolution?
Sir I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious
struggle; but great as is the praise which belongs to her, I
think at least equal honor is due to the south. They espoused
the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal which did
not suffer them to stop to calculate their interest in the dispute.
Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships
nor seamen to create commercial rivalship, they might have
found in their situation a guaranty that their trade would be
forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But tram¬
pling on all considerations, either of interest or of safety, they
rushed into the conflict, and fighting for principle, periled all
in the sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited
in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring,
dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of
Carolina during that revolution. The whole state, from the
mountain to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of
the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where
they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The
plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious blood of her
citizens—hlack and smoking ruins marked the places which
had been the habitations of her children ! Driven from their
homes into the gloomy and almost inpenetrable swamps, even
there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sus¬
tained by the example of her Sumpters and her Marions,
proved by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun,
the spirit of her people was invincible.
TO THE RIVER OGEECHEE.—Charlton.
0, wave that glidest swiftly
On thy bright and happy way,
From the morning until evening,
And from twilight until day,—
Why leapest thou so joyously,
While coldly on thy shore
Sleeps the noble and the gallant Tieart
For aye and evermore !
Thxed.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
57
O.r dost thou weep, 0 river!
And is thy bounding wave
But the tear thy bosom sheddeth
As a tribute o'er his grave ?
And when, in midnight's darkness,
The winds above thee moan,
Are they moaning for our sorrows,—
Do they sigh for him that's gone ?
Keep back thy tears, then, river;
Or, if they must be shed,
Let them flow but for the living,
They're useless for the dead.
His soul shall dwell in glory,
Where bounds a brighter wave,
But bur pleasures, with his troubles,
Are buried in the grave.
OBLIGATION OF THE PIONEER AND THE LABORER TO
JACKSON.*—Bancroft.
A pupil of the wilderness, his heart was with the pioneers
of American life, towards the setting sun. No American
statesman has ever embraced within his affections a scheme
so liberal for the emigrants, as that of Jackson. He longed
to secure to them, not pre-emption rights only, but more
than pre-emption rights. He longed to invite labor to take
possession of the unoccupied fields, without money and
without price; with no obligation except the perpetual de¬
votion of itself, by allegiance, to its country. Under the
beneficent influence of his opinions, the sons of misfortune,
the children of adventure, find their way to the uncultivated
West. There, in some wilderness glade, or in the thick forest
of the fertile plain, or where the prairies most sparkle with
flowers, they, like the wild bee which sets them the example
of industry, may choose their home, mark the extent of their
possessions, by driving stakes or blazing trees, shelter their
log cabin with boughs and turf, and teach the virgin soil to
yield itself to the ploughshare. Theirs shall be the soil, theirs
the beautiful farms which they teach to be productive. Come,
children of sorrow! you on whom the Old World frowns;
* Extract from a Funeral Oration, on the death of Gen. Jackson, delivered at Wash¬
ington, June 27,1845.
58
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Booa
crowd fearlessly to the forests: plant your homes in confi¬
dence, for the country watches over you; your children grow
around you as hostages, and the wilderness, at your bidding,
surrenders its grandeur of useless luxuriance to the beauty
and loveliness of culture. Yet beautiful and lovely as is this
scene, it still by far falls short of the ideal which lived in the
affections of Jackson. His heart was ever rvith the pioneer;
his policy ever favored the diffusion of independent freeholds
throughout the laboring classes of our land.
It would be a sin against the occasion, were I to omit to
commemorate the deep devotedness of Jackson to the cause
and to the rights of labor. It was for the welfare of the la¬
boring classes that he defied all the storms of political hos¬
tility. He longed to secure to labor the fruits of his own
industry; and he unceasingly opposed every system which
tended to lessen their reward, or which exposed them to be
defrauded of their dues. The laborers may bend over his
grave with affectionate sorrow; for never in the tide of time
did a statesman exist, more heartily resolved to protect them
in their rights, and to advance their happiness. For their
benefit he opposed partial legislation ; for their benefit he re¬
sisted all artificial methods of controlling labor and subjecting
it to capital. It was for their benefit that he loved freedom
in all its forms—freedom of the individual in personal inde¬
pendence, freedom of the States as separate sovereignties.
He never would listen to counsels which tended to the cen¬
tralization of power. The true American system presupposes
the diffusion of freedom—organized life in all the parts of the
American body politic, as there is organized life in every part
of the human system. Jackson was deaf to eArery counsel
which sought to subject general labor to a central will. His
vindication* of the just principles of the constitution, derived
its sublimity from his deep conviction that this strict construc¬
tion is required by the lasting welfare of the great laboring
classes of the United States.
STYLE.—Paulding.
I recollect old Giblet when I was a boy, and he Avas the
•most surly curmudgeon I ever knew. He \\Tas a perfect scare¬
crow to the small fry of the day, and inherited the hatred of
all these unlucky little urchins; for never could we assemble
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
59
about his door of an evening to play, and make a little hub¬
bub. but out he sallied from his nest, like a spider, flourished
his formidable horsewhip, and dispersed the whole crew in the
twinkling of a lamp. I perfectly remember a bill he sent in
to my father for a pane of glass I had accidentally broken, which
came well nigh getting me a sound flogging; and I remember
as perfectly, that the next night I revenged myself by break¬
ing half a dozen.
Giblet was as arrant a grubworin as ever crawled; and the
only rules of right and wrong he cared a button for, were the
rules of multiplication and addition, which he practised much
more successfully than he did any of the rules of religion or
morality. He used to declare they were the true golden rules ;
and he took special care to put Crocker's arithmetic in the
hands of his children, before they had read ten pages in the
bible or the prayer-book.
The practice of these favorite maxims was at length
crowned with the harvest of success; and after enduring all
the pounds, shillings, and pence miseries of a miser, he had
the satisfaction of seeing himself worth a plum, and of dying
just as he had determined to enjoy the remainder of his
days in contemplating his great wealth and accumulating
mortgages.
His children inherited his money; but they buried the dis¬
position, and every other memorial of their father, in his
grave. Fired with a noble thirst for style, they instantly
emerged from the retired lane in which themselves and their
accomplishments had hitherto been buried; and they blazed,
and they whizzed, and they cracked about town, like a nest of
squibs and devils in a firework. Their sudden eclat may be
likened to that of the locust, which is hatched in the dust,
where it increases and swells up to maturity, and after feeling
for a moment the vivifying rays of the sun, bursts forth a
mighty insect, and flutters, and rattles, and buzzes from every
tree. The little warblers, who have long cheered the wood¬
lands with their dulcet notes, are stunned by the discordant
racket of this upstart intruder, and contemplate, in contemptu¬
ous silence, its bustle and its noise.
Having once started, the Giblets were determined that noth¬
ing should stop them in their career, until they had.run their
fufl course, and arrived at the very tip-top of style. Every
tailor, every shoemaker, every coachmaker, every milliner,
every mantuamaker, every paper-hanger, every piano-teacher,
60 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boob
and every dancing-master in the city, were enlisted in their
services ; and the willing wights most courteously answered
their call, and fell to the work of building up the fame of the
Giblets, as they had done that of many an aspiring family be¬
fore them. In a little time, the young ladies could dance the
waltz, thunder Lodoiska. murder French, kill time, and com-
nit violence on the face of nature in a landscape in water-
colors, equal to the best lady in the land; and the young gen¬
tleman were seen lounging at corners of streets, and driving
tandem; heard talking loud at the theatre, and laughing in
church, with as much ease, and grace, and modesty, as if they
had been gentlemen all the days of their lives.
And the Giblets arrayed themselves in scarlet and in fine
linen, and seated themselves in high places; but nobody no¬
ticed them, except to honor them with a little contempt. The
Giblets made a prodigious splash in their own opinion; but
nobody extolled them, except the tailors and the milliners who
had been employed in manufacturing their paraphernalia.
The Giblets thereupon being, like Caleb Quotem, determined
to have "a place at the review," fell to work more fiercely
than ever; they gave dinners, and they gave balls ; they hired
confectioners, and they would have kept a newspaper in pay,
had they not been all bought up at that time for the election.
They invited the dancing men, and the dancing women, and
the gormandizers, and the epicures of the city, to come and
make merry at their expense; and the dancing men, and the
dancing women, and the epicures, and the gormandizers did
come; and they did make merry at their expense; and they
ate, and they drank, and they capered, and they danced, and
they—laughed at their entertainers.
Then commenced the hurry and the bustle, and the mighty
nothingness of fashionable life; such rattling in coaches;
such flaunting in the streets ! such slamming of box doors at
the theatre! such a tempest of bustle and unmeaning noise
wherever they appeared! The Giblets were seen here and
there and everywhere; they visited everybody they knew,
and everybody they did not know; and there was no getting
along for the Giblets. Their plan at length succeeded. By
dint of dinners, of feeding and frolicking the town, the Giblet
family worked themselves into notice, and enjoyed the ineffa¬
ble pleasure of being forever pestered by visitors who cared
nothing about them; of being squeezed, and smothered, and
parboiled at nightly balls and evening tea-parties; they were
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
61
allowed the privilege of forgetting the very few old friends
they once possessed; they turned up their noses at everything
that was not genteel; and their superb manners and sublime
affectation at length left it no longer a matter of doubt that
the Giblets were perfectly in the style.
THE SAVIOUR AND THE RULER.—Willis.
It was night—
And softly o'er the sea of Galilee
Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore,
Tipped with the silver sparkles of the moon.
The breaking waves played low upon the beach
Their constant music; but the air beside
Was still as starlight, and the Saviour's voice,
In its rich cadences unearthly sweet,
Seemed like some just born harmony in the air,
Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock,
With the broad moonlight falling on his brow,
He stood and taught the people. At his feet
Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim's scallop-shell,
And staff; for they had waited by the sea
Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and prayed
For his wont teachings as he came to land.
His hair was parted meekly on his brow,
And the long curls from off his shoulders fell
As he leaned forward earnestly, and still
The same calm cadence, passionless and deep,
And in his looks the same mild majesty,
And in his mien the sadness mixed with power,
Filled them with love and wonder.
Suddenly,
As on his words entrancedly they hung,
The crowd divided, and among them stood
Jairus, the ruler. With his flowing robe
Gathered in haste about his loins, he came
And fixed his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew
The twelve disciples to their Master's side,
And silently the people shrunk away,
And left the haughty Ruler in the midst,
Alone. A moment longer on the face
Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze,
6
62 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo°*
And as the twelve looked on him, by the light
Of the clear moon, they saw a glistening tear
Steal to his silver beard.—and drawing nigh
Unto the Saviour's feet, he took the hem
Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling hands
Pressed it upon his lips, and murmured low,
" Master I my daughter !"—
DANGERS OF A SPIRIT OF WAR AND CONQUEST.*—Clay.
Of all the dangers and misfortunes which could befall this
nation, I should regard that of its becoming a warlike and
conquering power, the most direful and fatal. History tells
the mournful tale of conquering nations and conquerors. The
three most celebrated conquerors in the civilized world, were
Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon. The first, after overrun¬
ning a large portion of Asia and sighing and lamenting that
there were no more worlds to subdue met a premature.and
ignoble death. His lieutenants quarreled and warred with each
other, as to the spoils of his victories, and finally lost them alL
Caesar, after conquering Gaul, returned with 'his triumphant
legions to Rome, passed the Rubicon, won the battle of Phar-
salia. trampled upon the liberties of his country, and expired
by the patriot hand of Brutus. But Rome ceased to be free.
War and conquest had enervated and corrupted the masses.
The spirit (of true liberty was extinguished, and a long line of
emperors succeeded, some of whom were the most execrable
monsters that ever existed in human form.
And that most extraordinary man, perhaps in all history,
after subjugating all continental Europe, occupying almost all
its capitals, seriously threatening—according to M. Thiers—
proud Albion itself and decking the brows of various members
of his family with crowns torn from the heads of other mon-
archs lived to behold his own dear France itself in the posses¬
sion of its enemies, and was made himself a wretched captive;
and, far removed from country, family, and friends, breathed
his last on the distant and inhospitable rock of St. Helena.
The Alps 'and the Rhine had been claimed as the natural
boundaries of France, but even these could not be retained in
the treaties to which she was reduced to submit.
* Extract from a Speech on the Mexican War, delivered at Lexington, Ky., Novein-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
63
Do you believe that the people of Macedon or G-reece, of
Rome, or of France, were benefited, individually or collec¬
tively, by the triumphs of their great captains 1 Their sad lot
was immense sacrifice of life, heavy and intolerable burthens,
and the ultimate loss of liberty itself
RICH AND POOR.—Dodsley.
The man to whom God hath given riches, and blessed with
a mind to employ them right, is peculiarly favored and dis¬
tinguished.
He looketh on his wealth with pleasure, because it affordeth
him the means to do good.
He protecteth the poor that are injured ; he suffereth not the
mighty to oppress the weak.
He seeketh out objects of compassion; he inquireth into
their wants; he relieveth them with judgment, and without
ostentation.
He assisteth and rewardeth merit; he encourageth inge¬
nuity, and liberally promoteth every useful design.
He carrieth on great works, his country is enriched and the
laborer employed; he formeth new schemes, and the arts
receive improvement.
He considereth the superfluities of his table as belonging to
the poor of his neighborhood, and he defraudeth them not.
The benevolence of his mind is not checked by his fortune ;
he rejoiceth therefore in riches, and his joy is blameless.
But woe unto him that heapeth up wealth in abundance, and
rejoiceth alone in the possession thereof.
That grindeth the face of the poor, and considereth not the
sweat of their brows.
He thriveth on oppression without feeling; the ruin of his
brother disturbeth him not.
The tears of the orphan he drinketh as milk, the cries of the
widow are music to his ears.
His ear is hardened with the love of wealth; no grief or
distress can make impression upon it.
But the curse of iniquity pursueth him: He liveth in con¬
tinual fear ; the anxiety of his mind, and the rapacious desires
of his own soul, take vengeance upon him for the calamities he
hath brought upon others.
64 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Oh, what are the miseries of poverty, compared with the
gnawings of this man's heart!
Let the poor man comfort himself, yea, rejoice ; for he hath
many reasons.
He sitteth down to his morsel in peace; his table is not
crowded with flatterers and devourers.
He is not embarrassed with a train of dependants, nor teased
with the clamors of solicitation.
Debarred from the dainties of the rich, he escapeth also their
diseases.
The bread that he eateth, is not sweet to his taste; the
water that he drinketh, is it not pleasant to his thirst? yea, far
more delicious than the richest draughts of the luxurious.
His labor preeerveth his health, and produceth him a repose
to which the downy bed of sloth is a stranger.
He limiteth his desires with humility, and the calm of con¬
tentment is sweeter to his soul than the acquirements of wealth
and grandeur.
Let not the rich, therefore, presume on his riches, nor the
poor on his poverty; for the providence of God dispenseth
happiness to both, and the distribution thereof is more equally
made than the soul can believe.
THE FOURTH OF JULY.—Bethuke.
Maine, from her farthest border, gives the first exulting shout,
And from New Hampshire's granite heights, the echoing peal
rings out ;
The mountain farms of staunch Vermont prolong the thun¬
dering call;
Massachusetts answers : " Bunker Hill" a watchword for us
all.
Rhode Island shakes her sea-wet locks, acclaiming with the
free,
And staid Connecticut breaks forth in sacred harmony.
The giant joy of proud -New York, loud as an earthquake's
roar,
Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks to Erie's crowded shore.
New Jersey, hallowed by their blood, who erst in battle fell,
At Monmouth's, Princeton's, Trenton's fight, joins in the rap¬
turous swell.
Timed.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
65
Wide Pennsylvania, strong as wide, and true as she is strong,
From every hill to valley, pours the torrent tide along.
Stand up, stout little Delaware, and bid thy volley roll,
Though least among the " old Thirteen," we judge thee by thy
soul!
Hark to the voice of Maryland, over the broad Chesapeake,
Her sons, as valiant as their sires, in cannonadings speak.
Virginia, nurse of Washington, and guardian of his grave,
Now to thine ancient glories turn the faithful and the brave ;
We need not hear the bursting cheer this holy day inspires,
To know that, in Columbia's cause, "Virginia never tires."
Fresh as the evergreen that waves above her sunny soil,
North Carolina shares the bliss, as oft the patriot's toil;
And the land of Sumpter, Marion, of Moultrie, Pinckney, must
Respond the cry, or it will rise, e'en from their sleeping dust.
And Georgia, by the dead who lie along Savannah's bluff,
Full well we love thee, but we ne'er can love thee well enough.
From thy wild northern boundary, to thy green isles of the sea,
Where beat on earth more gallant hearts than now throb high
in thee ?
On, on, 'cross Alabama's plains, the ever-flowery glades,
To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid gulf invades;
There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her mightier tide,
Come d<?Wn the swelling long huzzas from all that valley wide,
As wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her summits high,
Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset sky.
While on the shores and through the swales, 'round the vast
inland seas,
The stars and stripes, 'mid freemen's songs, are flashing to the
breeze.
The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon his knee,
To tell him how their fathers fought and bled for liberty ;
The lonely hunter sits him down, the forest spring beside,
To think upon his country's worth, and feel his country's pride;
While many a foreign accent, which our God can understand,
Is blessing him for home and bread in this free, fertile land.
Yes ! when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy rest,
The day of Independence rolls still onward to the west,
Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee,
That woke the morning with its voice along the Atlantic sea.
—0 God ! look down upon the land which thou hast loved so
well,
And grant that in unbroken truth her children still may dwell;
66 southern reader and speaker.
Nor, while the grass grows on the hill and streams flow
through the vale,
May they forget their fathers' faith, or in their covenant fail!
God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath the sun;
" Our country, our whole country, and our country ever one!"
ruins of an ancient church at jamestown—"wert.
It is difficult to look at this venerable steeple, surrounded as
it is with those awful proofs of the mortality of man, without
exclaiming, in the pathetic solemnity of Shakspeare :
" The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Vea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve ;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind."
Whence arises the irrepressible reverence and tender affec¬
tion with which I look at this broken steeple ? Is it that my
soul, by a secret, subtle process, invests the mouldering ruin
with her own powers; imagines it a fellow-being ; a venerable
old man, a Nestor, or an Ossian, who has witnessed and sur¬
vived the ravages of successive generations, the companions of
his youth, and of his maturity, and now mourns his own
solitary and desolate condition,, and hails their spirits in every
passing cloud 1 Whatever may be the cause, as I look at it,I
feel my soul drawn forward as by the cords of gentlest sym¬
pathy, and involuntarily open my lips to offer consolation to
the drooping pile.
Where is the busy, bustling crowd which landed here two
hundred years ago ? Where is Smith, that pink of gallantry,
that flower of chivalry ? I fancy that I can see their first
slow and cautious approach to the shore; their keen and vigi¬
lant eyes piercing the forest in every direction, to detect the
lurking Indian, with his tomahawk, bow and arrow. Good
heavens! what an enterprise! how full of the most fearful
perils ! and yet how entirely profitless to the daring men who
personally undertook and achieved it! Through what a series
of the most spirit-chilling hardships had they to toil!—How
often did they cast their eyes to England in vain ! and with
what delusive hopes, day after day, did the little famished
crew strain their sight to catch the white sail of comfort and
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
67
relief! But day after day the sun set, and darkness covered
the earth ; but no sail of comfort or relief came. How often
in the pangs of hunger, sickness, solitude, and disconsolation,
did they think of London; her shops, her markets groaning
under the weight of plenty ; her streets swarming with gilded
coaches, bustling hacks, with crowds of lords, dukes, and com¬
mons, with healthy, busy, contented faces of every descrip¬
tion; and, among them, none more healthy, or more contented,
than those of their ungrateful and improvident directors!
But now—where are they all? the little famished colony
which landed here, and the many-colored crowd of London
—where are they ? Gone, where there is no distinction;
consigned to the common earth. Another generation suc¬
ceeded them ; which, just as busy and as bustling as that
which fell before it, has sunk down into the same nothingness.
Another, and yet another billow, has rolled on, each emulat¬
ing its predecessor in height; towering for its moment, and
curling its foaming honors to the clouds ; then roaring, break¬
ing, and perishing on the same shore.
THE MISSISSIPPI.—Anonymous.
The Mississippi!—The Father of Waters !—The Nile of
the New World!—The vein of a great nation!—The pulse
of America ! From the rocky hills of the west come the wa¬
ters that roll thousands of miles through the mighty valley, to
be swallowed by the mighty ocean. Long centuries ago the
valley was the same; the stream rolled on then as now—as
deep, as broad, as impetuous and resistless ; but silence reigned
in a wilderness which was unknown to the white inhabitants
of the earth. Long centuries ago the sharp scream of the red
man alone called upon the echoes of the valley; now they
start shrieking from their long slumbers to answer the harsh
roaring stream, and seldom can they seek the cells of silence
in the deep forest or among the lime-stone bluffs, ere again
they are angrily awakened by the rude invader.
Away, among the far western windings of the eternal river,
long centuries ago, the voice of the mastodon was heard by
the red man, and he looked in the sky, expecting the lightning
flash and the storm to come with the rumbling thun¬
der. And the huge monarch of the wilderness has passed
away. The earth trembled beneath his ponderous tread, and
68 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo0*
his own foot opened the grave where his bones are sleeping-.
Once, in herds numerous as the unnumbered buffalo, the lordly
mastodon roamed the far prairies and drank the blue water
of the upper Mississippi. ' But he has passed away, and only
enough of his bones remain to tell the people of the earth that
such a thing once lived. The massive bones of a prowling
monster have crumbled grain by grain, through winters, sum¬
mers, centuries, until all is dust, and the green grass now
springs from that which once it fed!
Still the majestic river is the same; and, like its swift
waves, generations are speeding along the tide of time,—hur¬
rying onward to the eternal ocean. Men have changed, for¬
ests have fallen, cities have risen, and the red man has followed
the buffalo to the far mountains, where he may look upon the
setting sun and muse upon his fate ; but still the Mississippi
is the same. Streams rising in the far off and unknown lakes,
sweep through trackless forests and interminable prairies, still
swelling as they advance, until they launch at last into this
great highway to the ocean. The old trees that we see pros¬
trate and rotting on the banks or floating upon the stream-
where grew they ? How many miles has that old log travelled
from the spot where its sprig first peeped out upon the woo¬
ing sunbeam ? How many years since the midnight blast
tore it from the mountain side ? and at how many islands and
banks has it rested till lifted again by the swelling flood to
speed once more upon its journey? There is an old tree
buried deep in the earth, and the bank has caved away, leav¬
ing the rotten trunk projecting horizontally over the water.
That old tree fell somewhere, floated perhaps for years upon
the tide, rested here, and the earth has made above it for sev¬
eral feet. Now this same earth has fallen away, and the dead
tree will soon be on the wave again to seek another resting
place.
WOMAN'S MISSION AND INFLUENCE*—R. M. Charlton.
And you, my gentle hearers ! you, who have been sent by
an unerring wisdom to be at once the ruler and the governed;
whose duty it is to obey and to yield, and whose privilege it
Mac^GwrguT Addrcs8 to tho Sra<luatinS clas» the Wesleyan Female College,
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 69
is to command and to sway, even by obeying- and in yield¬
ing, keep well the charge committed to you. Oh, mother!
train well the infant heart that Providence hath placed within
your care. Stamp upon it, whilst the soil is yet soft, the
moral image of its Creator; whisper to it the kind lessons of
humanity and self-sacrifice; tell it of the temptations of the
world; and let your own life be the guide to its steps, the
lantern to its path to lead it to Heaven ! Oh, sister i love well
the playmate, the brother of your youth ! One form hath
given you life, one bosom hath nourished you ; let one heart
and one affection be yours forever ! so shall you be beautiful
in life; so shall not death divide you! And oh, wife ! what
shall I say to you? you who can exercise so potent an influ¬
ence upon the manly form that hath promised to be thine for¬
ever, in sickness and in health, in riches and in poverty, in*
glory and in shame. 'Tis thus, too, that your own oath has
been registered. "Oh, be mindful of the solemn pledge. Be
not too hasty to reprove or condemn.
" Be to his faults a little blind,
Be to his virtues ever kind !u
Remember the fierce strife which his spirit must endure to
win sustenance for you and for your loved ones. Remember
the fretting of the mind, the weariness of the body, which the
primeval curse has entailed upon him ! and remember how that
curse came. Be it thine to calm life's troubled waves ; be it
thine, by thy gentle words, thy cheering smile, to make the
drooping heart rejoice ; and, as the dove, when it found no
spot to rest upon, came back with joy and speed to the Ark,
where it knew it would have a kind welcome and a generous
protection, when thy companion has found in his troublous,
stormy life, no spot upon which his saddened heart, his weary
form can stay, and flies back to thee, the ark of his joy and of
his hope, drive not the bird with the broken wing from thy
bosom by coldness or by reproach, but be in thy turn the pro¬
tector and sustainer of him that has protected and sustained
thee; and so shall he take new comfort and new strength to
buckle on his armor again for life's conflicts, secure in the
reflection, that though the whole earth forsake him, one heart
clings to his with undying affection; one form watches over
him with unceasing sympathy ; one life is linked with his
life ; one joy with his joy ; one sorrow with his sorrow ; and
that if borne down in the fierce encounter he shall sleep the
70 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
sleep of death, one memory shall cherish his memory, one
soul shall watch his spirit's flight, and long for the time when,
in a brighter land, and a happier home, the hearts that had
been linked together in time will be bound together in
eternity.
TO THE MEMORY OF THE AMERICANS WHO FELL AT
EUTAW.*—Fuenau.
At Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er—
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin, they
Can yet be thought to claim theUear,
0 smite your gentle breast, and say,
The friends of freedom perished here.
Thou who Shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign ;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall and ask a tear .
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear.
They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field ;
They rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear—but left the shield.
Led by the conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain;
None grieved, in such a cause to die.
But like the Parthians, famed of old,
Who, flying, still their arrows threw;
* The battle of ftutaw, S. C., was fought Sept. 8, J781.
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 71
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace our patriot band;
Though far from Nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,
A brighter sunshine of their own.
THE HAWK'S NEST, OR MARSHALL'S PILLAR.—Anonymous.
About seven o'clock, we approached a spot which is of great
reputed beauty, and we pledged the coachman to stop, that we
might have a fair sight of it. You leave the road by a little
by-path, and after pursuing it for a short distance, the whole
scene suddenly breaks upon you. But how shall I describe
it? The great charm of the whole is greatly connected with
the point of sight, which is the finest imaginable. You come
suddenly to a spot which is called the Hawk's Nest. It pro¬
jects on the scene, and is so small as to give standing to only
some half dozen persons. It has on its head an old picturesque
pine; and it breaks away at your feet abruptly and in perpen¬
dicular lines, to a depth of more than one thousand feet. On this
standing, which, by its elevated and detached character, af¬
fects you like the Monument, the forest rises above and around
you. Beneath and before you is spread a lovely valley. A
peaceful river glides down it, reflecting, like a mirror, all the
lights of heaven—washes the foot of the rocks on which you
are standing—and then winds away into another valley at
your right. The trees of the wood, in all their variety, stand
out on the verdant bottoms, with their heads in the sun, and
casting their shadows at their feet; but so diminished, as to
look more like the pictures of the things than the things them¬
selves. The green hills rise on either hand and all around,
and give completeness and beauty to the scene; and beyond
these appears the gray outline of the more distant mountains,
bestowing grandeur to what was "supremely beautiful. It is
exquisite. It conveys to you the idea of perfect solitude.
The hand of man, the foot of man, seem never to have touch¬
ed that valley. To you, though placed in the midst of it, it
seems altogether inaccessible. You long to" stroll along the
margin of those sweet waters, and repose under the shadows
"*2 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo0*
of those beautiful trees; but it looks impossible. It is soli¬
tude, but of a most soothing, not of an appalling character-—
where sorrow might learn to forget her griefs, and folly begin
to be wise and happy.
FEMALE INTREPIDITY.*—Kiernan.
It was yet quite early in the morning, the sun not having
appeared above the summit of Wheeling hill, and the day is
represented to have been one of surpassing beauty. The Indi¬
ans, not entirely concealed from the view of the garrison, kept
up a brisk fire for the space of six hours, without much inter¬
mission. The little garrison, in spite of its heterogeneous
character, was, with scarcely an exception, composed of sharp¬
shooters. Several of them, whose experience in Indian
warfare gave them a remarkable degree of coolness and self-
possession in the face of danger, infused confidence into the
young; and, as they never fired at random, their bullets, in
most cases, took effect The Indians, on the contrary, gloated
with their previous success, their tomahawks reeking with
the blood of Mason's and Ogle's men, and all of them burning
with impatience to rush into the fort and complete their work
of butchery, discharged their guns against the pickets, the gate,
the logs of the block-houses, and every other object that seem¬
ed to shelter a white man. Their fire was thus thrown away.
At length some of their most daring warriors rushed up close
to the block-houses, and attempted to make more sure work
by firing through the logs; but these reckless savages receiv¬
ed, from the well-directed rifles of the garrison, the fear¬
ful reward of their temerity. About one o'clock, the Indians
discontinued their fire, and fell back against the base of the
hill.
The stock of gunpowder in the fort having been nearly ex¬
hausted, it was determined to seize the favorable opportunity
offered by the suspension of hostilities, to send for a keg of
powder which was known to be in the house of Ebenezer
Zane, about sixty yards from the gate of the fort. The person
* Fort Henry, at the mouth of Wheeling Creek, was besieged by four or five hundred
Indians, while the garrison was defended by only forty-two fighting men. It was during
the Staff?, that this instance of heroism and self-devotion was displayed.
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
73
executing this service would necessarily expose himself to the
danger of being shot down by the Indians, who were yet suf¬
ficiently near to observe everything that transpired about the
works. The colonel explained the matter to his men, and
unwilling to order one of them to undertake such a desperate
enterprise, inquired whether any man would volunteer for the
service. Three or four young men promptly stepped forward
in obedience to the call. The colonel informed them that the
weak state of the garrison would not justify the absence of
more than one man, and that it was for themselves to decide
who that person should be. The eagerness felt by each vol¬
unteer to undertake the honorable mission, prevented them
from making the arrangement proposed by the commandant;
and so much time was consumed in the contention between
them, that fears began to arise! that the Indians would renew
the attack before the powder could be procured. At this cri¬
sis, a young lady, the sister of Ebenezer and Silas Zane, came
forward and desired that she might be permitted to execute
the service. This proposition seemed so extravagant that it
met with a peremptory refusal; but she instantly renewed her
petition in terms of redoubled earnestness, and all the re¬
monstrances of the colonel and her relatives failed to dissuade
her from her heroic purpose. It was finally represented to her
that either of the young men, on account of his superior fleet-
ness and familiarity with scenes of danger, would be more
likely than herself to do the work successfully. She replied,
that the danger that would attend the enterprise was the iden¬
tical reason that induced her to offer her services, for as the
garrison was very weak, no soldier's life should be placed in
needless jeopardy, and if she were to fall her loss would not
be felt. Her petition was ultimately granted, and the gate
opened for her to pass out. The opening of the gate arrested
the attention of several Indians who were straggling through
the village. It was noticed that their eyes were upon her as
she crossed the open space to reach her brother's house; but
seized, perhaps, with a sudden freak of clemency, or believing
that a woman's life was not worth a load of gunpowder, or in¬
fluenced by some other unexplained motive, they permitted her
to pass without molestation. When she reappeared with the
powder in her arms, the Indians, suspecting, no doubt, the
character of her burden, elevated their firelocks and discharg¬
ed a volley at her as she swiftly glided towards the gate ; but
the balls all flew wide of the mark, and the fearless girl reach-
74 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
ed the fort in safety with her prize. The pages of history
may furnish a parallel to the noble exploit of Elizabeth Zane,
but an instance of greater self-devotion and moral intrepidity
is not to be found anywhere.
A MOTHER'S ANGER.—Mas. Gilhaii.
'Tis the first time—the only time
That e'er she turned away,
And left me with the brand of crime,
To curse this fatal day I
For sixteen years her evening kiss
Has dwelt upon my brow,
Or lip, or cheek, in gentleness,—
Alas ! where is it now ?
Would that I were again the child,
Who lay upon her breast,
And looked into her eyes and smiled,
Caressing and caressed!
Would that I now could bend my head
Upon her knee in prayer,
And hear the holy words she said
When once I nestled there!
Oh ! had I dashed the cup away
That lured me to my shame !—
I cannot weep,—I cannot pray ;
My heart, my thoughts are flame !
Mother, dear mother, turn once more
And bless thy sorrowing son !
Look on me as thou didst before,
Ere sin's dark work was done.
Oh! Heaven ! she comes—I feel her breath,
Cool, on my fevered eyes !
She speaks,—the burning torch of death
At her soft accents flies
Trtiap.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
75
Oh, mother, on my knees I swear
To spurn the tempting bowl,
Nor risk again, where revellers are,
My life,—thy love,—my soul
MOUNTAIN SCENERY IN SOUTH CAROLINA.—Anonymous.
Few of our citizens who reside in the lower part of the state,
are conversant with, or even aware of the many sublime and
most romantic scenes which nature displays in the upper parts
of it. Here all that constitutes the romantic, is stretched forth
in the wild luxuriance of poetical tracery. While many of
them have visited the Falls of Niagara, the Catskill. Mountain,
or Mount Holyoke, how seldom can they be found seeking
among our own striking landscapes, those that will vie with
any of the northern ones.
Our Table Mountain, whose weather-beaten front stands
out in bold relief, presenting an altitude which for its pre¬
cipitous rise is seldom surpassed, is well worthy of the atten¬
tion of travellers. If the views which are observed from its
summit were in, some more favored country, they would at¬
tract the notice of thousands. Imagine for a moment, that
you are at the ' Cedar Tree,' which stands within a few feet
of the very brink of this tremendous precipice, at an elevation
of some five or six thousand feet above the level of the Atlan¬
tic—that your eye at one sweep discerns four different States,
commanding an extent of vision of near eighty miles—that the
whole earth appears to be unrolled at your feet; then perhaps
your first impression may be similar to his who pens these
lines, that this was the identical spot for the grand tempter to
have chosen as a fit place to have displayed the attractions of
his power.
How insignificant and utterly contemptible will the proud¬
est works of man appear to your view, while your soul is ab¬
sorbed in contemplating the works of God,
" Grandeur, strength, and grace,
Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak,
By whose immovable stem 1 stand, and seem
Almost annihilated—not a Prince
In all the proud old world beyond the deep,
E'er wore his crown as lofty as he
Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which
Thy hand has graced him."
76 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. LBo°x
It is seldom that those who have cast one glance at the
almost illimitable abyss beneath, can again rally sufficient reso¬
lution to take another; for such is the effect which it produces,
that almost every one is so sensibly affected as to involuntarily
shrink back, almost nerveless and helpless. We all form in
our minds some -idea of objects of which we have heard, and
we give them an imaginary shape and size ; but here the re¬
ality is such, as to dissipate all those reminiscences at once—
as in an instant, as it were, eternity itself is presented to your
astonished gaze—and you survey a scene, which for some lit¬
tle time you feel incompetent to define, either by limitation or
description.
The little Slicking river, as it comes bounding down the
almost precipitous sides of an adjacent mountain, .appears
beautiful, very beautiful: the distance is such, that it looks
scarcely larger than the ribbons of our modern belles, while
it appears buoyant with life itself as it dances and springs on¬
ward in its merry course, until lost among the surrounding
cliffs.
The mountain eagle, as he sails some thousand feet beneath
you, has dwindled away to a mere speck in his azure ocean;
and the tenements of the hardy yeomanry of the soil, as they
are occasionally caught sight of in the distance, occupy so
small a space, as to lose almost all trace of identity from the
forest in which they are imbedded. Even the clearings of the
largest farms, of which near one hundred can be discerned,
from this lofty point, look scarcely larger than the palm of
one's hand.
Such is a faint outline of the Table Mountain—those who
have toiled and once gained its loftiest eminence, will never
regret the labor or the time that has been devoted to such an
object; they will retain to the last moments of their existence
the most vivid recollections of it, their remembrances having
been imprinted by nature's self in her own unsophisticated
and wildest domains.
An intelligent gentleman, whose travels led him to view the
most admired and wonderful works of nature in Europe and
America, has remarked, that he thought it richly worth a
voyage across the Atlantic, to gain the views from the moun¬
tains of Pendleton. Greenville, Spartanburg, and many other
parts of flur interior, possess all that is picturesque, all that
can give a charm to romantic and sylvan scenery.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
77
It is to be hoped that the time is not far distant, when our
mountain heights, with.their dells and lovely prairie bottoms,
will be brought more into notice; when at least a large part
of that money which is spent abroad, will be circulated among
our frank-hearted mountaineers. Then we shall have better
houses of accommodation and better roads ; then will the lights
of education be more generally disseminated in the country.
In a word, art will then hasten to facilitate an acquaintance
with nature.
CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION TO THE POOR.—Percival.
There is a mourner, and her heart is broken;
She is a widow; she is nld and poor;
Her only hope is in that sacred token
Of peaceful happiness when life is o'er;
She asks nor wealth nor pleasure; begs no more
Than Heaven's delightful volume, and the sight
Of her Redeemer. Sceptics, would you pour
Your blasting vials on her head, and blight
Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her being's night 1
She lives in her affections ; for the grave
Has closed upon her husband, children ; all
Her hopes are with the arm she trusts will save
Her treasured jewels; though her views are small,
Though she has never mounted high, to fall
And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring
Of her meek, tender feelings, cannot pall
Her unperverted palate, but will bring
A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting.
Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave
Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er
\V ith silent waters, kissing as they lave,
The pebbles with light rippling, and the shore
Of matted grass and flowers,—so softly pour
The breathings of her bosom, when she prays,
Low-bowed, before her Maker; then no more
She muses on the griefs of former days;
Her full heart melts, and flows in Heaven's dissolving rays.
And faith can see a new world, and the eyes
Of saints look pity on her: Death will come—
78
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER* [Book
A few short moments over, and the prize
Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb
Becomes her fondest pillow; all its gloom
Is scattered. What a meeting there will be
To her and all she loves here ! and the bloom
Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee:
Theirs is the health which lasts through all eternity.
HORRORS OF FAMINE*—Prentiss.
Oh! it is terrible, that in this beautiful world, which the
good God has given us, and in which there is plenty for us all,
that men should die of starvation ! In these days, when im¬
provement in agriculture and the mechanical arts have quad¬
rupled the productiveness of labor; when it is manifest that
the earth produces every year more than sufficient to clothe
and feed all her thronging millions; it is a shame and a dis¬
grace, that the word starvation has not long since become ob¬
solete, or only retained to explain the dim legends of a bar¬
barous age. You who have never been beyond the precincts
of our own favored country ; you. more especially, who have
always lived in this great valley of the Mississippi—the cor¬
nucopia of the world—who see each day poured into the lap
of your city, food sufficient to assuage the hunger of a nation,
can form but an imperfect idea of the horrors of famine; of
the terror which strikes men's souls when they cry in vain
for bread." When a man dies of disease, he alone endures
the pain. Around his pillow are gathered sympathizing
friends, who, if they cannot keep back the deadly messenger,
cover his face and conceal the horrors of his visage, as he
delivers his stern mandate.
In battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little
recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sing his sudden
requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel.
But he who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day,
with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to
cheer him in the terrible conflict; for if he had friends, how
could he die of hunger? He has not the hot blood of the
* Extract from a speech delivered at New Orleans, Feb. 4th, 1847, at a meetim held
for the Relief of the boor of Ireland.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 79
soldier to maintain him; for his foe. vampire-like, has exhaust¬
ed his veins. Famine comes not up like a brave enemy,
storming, by a sudden onset, the fortress that resists. Fam¬
ine besieges; he draws his lines around the doomed garri¬
son ; he cuts off all supplies ; he never summons to surren¬
der, for he gives no quarters. Alas ! for poor human nature,
how can it sustain this fearful warfare 'i Day by day the
blood recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles relax, and the
sinews grow powerless. At last the mind,which at first had
bravely nerved itself for the contest, gives way under the mys¬
terious influences which govern its union with the body.
Then he begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Provi¬
dence ; he hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with
the longings of a cannibal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming!
KANAWHA FALLS.—Anonymous.
We reached the hotel at which we were to pause, about
midnight. It is near to the Kanawha Falls; and from the
beauty of the neighborhood has many visitors. I took a
hasty cup of coffee, and weary as I was, went with another
gentleman to see the Falls. We could hear them in the dis¬
tance ; but we had to go round in order to reach them. The
most of our way was over shattered rock, offering a good ac¬
cess by day, but requiring care at night, from the sharp pitches
of some parts, and from the numerous circular holes bored in
them by the eddies of the water. They are not to be spoken
of with Niagara, or even with Shauffausen, but the whole
scene was striking and interesting, the more so, undoubtedly,
in the still hour of night. I seated myself on a shelf of rock
whence the waters made their principal leap. Darkness had
spread its curtain on the sleeping objects in the distance.
The pale moon had run her race, and was just falling behind
the hills ; her last lights fell faintly on my face and the head
of waters, but left the precipices and pools before me in heavy
shadows. At my feet the river was dashing, and lifting up its
voice from the depths beneath, to Him who holds the waters in
the hollow of his hand. It has done so for ages past; it
would do so for ages to come. Here the poor Indian had
stood, but will never stand again, thinking he heard in those
waters the voice of Deity, and gazing on the face of that orb
80 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
with wonder, till the spirit of worship was stirred within him.
Here also I stood, and shall never stand again, wistfully look¬
ing through the visible and audiblo to the unseen but present
object of adoration and praise.
THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE.—Lieut. Patten.
Blaze ! with your serried columns,—
I will not bend the knee;
The shackle ne'er again shall bind
The arm which now is free:
I have mailed it with the thunder
When the tempest muttered low ;
And. where it falls, ye well may dread
•The lightning of its blow.
I've scared ye in the city,
I've scalped ye on the plain:
Go, count your chosen where they fell
Beneath my leaden rain.—
I scorn your proffered treaty,
The pale face I defy;
Revenge is stamped upon my spear,
And '•Blood' my battle cry.
Some strike for hope of booty,
Some to defend their all—
I battle for the joy I have
To see the white man fall:
I love, among the wounded,
To hear his dying moan,
And catch, while chanting at his side,
The music of his groan.
Ye've trailed me through the forest,
Ye've tracked me o'er the stream,
And, struggling through the everglade,
Your bristling bayonets gleam :
But, I stand as should the warrior,
With his rifle and his spear;
The scalp of vengeance still is red,
And warns ye—Come not here I
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
81
Think ye to find my homestead ?
I gave it to the fire !
My tawny household do ye seek ?
I am a childless sire.
But should ye crave life's nourishment,
Enough I have and good:—
I live on hate—'tis all my bread,
Yet light is not my food.
I loathe you with my bosom,
I scorn you with mine eye—
And I'll taunt you with my latest breath,
And fight you till I die 1
I ne'er will ask you quarter,
And I ne'er will be your slave:
But I'll swim the sea of slaughter,
Till I sink beneath its wave.
THE BLIND PREACHER—Wirt.
It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county of
Orange, that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied
near a ruinous old wooden house in the forest, not far from the
road-side. Having frequently seen such objects before, in trav¬
elling through these states, I had no difficulty in understand¬
ing that this was a place of religious worship.
Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the du¬
ties of the congregation; but I must confess that curiosity to
hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of
my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural
appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man. His
head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shrivelled
hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a
palsy ; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was per¬
fectly blind.
The first emotions which touched my breast were those of
mingled pity and veneration. But, ah! sacred God! how
soon were all my feelings changed ! The lips of Plato were
never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than were
the lips of this holy man ! It was a day of the administra¬
tion of the sacrament; and his subject, of course, was the-
82 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BooK
passion of our Saviour. I had heard the subject handled a
thousand times. I had thought it exhausted long ago. .Little
did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America, I was to
meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic a
new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before wit¬
nessed.
As he descended from the pulpit to distribute the mystic
symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity
in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and
my whole frame shiver.
He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour ;
his trial before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his crucifix¬
ion, and his death. I knew the whole history, but never,
until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so ar¬
ranged, so colored ! It was all new, and I seemed to have
heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so
deliberate that his voice trembled on every syllable, and every
heart in the assembly trembled in unison. His peculiar
phrases had that force of description that the original scene
appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We
saw the very faces of the Jews * the staring, frightful distor¬
tions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet; my soul kin¬
dled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involun¬
tarily and convulsively clenched.
But when he came to touch on the patience, the forgiving
meekness of our Saviour; when he drew, to the life, his
blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven ; his voice breath¬
ing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies,
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do"—the
voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter
and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstructed by
the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his
eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief.
The effect is inconceivable. The whole house resounded with
the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congrega¬
tion.
It was some time before the tumult had subsided so far as
to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but
fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very
uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not
conceive how he would be able to let his audience down from
the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the
solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
83
them by the abruptness of the fall. But—no; the descent
was as beautiful and sublime as the elevation had been rapid
and enthusiastic.
The first sentence, with which he broke the awful silence,
was a quotation from Bousseau: Socrates died like a philos¬
opher, but Jesus Christ like a God !"
I despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced by
this short sentence, unless you could perfectly conceive the
whole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in
the discourse. Never before did I completely understand
what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery.
You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preach¬
er ; his blindness constantly recalling to your recollection old
Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and associating with his perform¬
ance the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses. You are
to imagine that you hear his • slow, solemn, well-accented
enunciation, and his voice of affecting, trembling melody ; you
are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to which
the congregation were raised; and then the few minutes of
portentous, death-like silence which reigned throughout the
house; the preacher, removing his white handkerchief from
his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his
tears.) and slowly stretching forth the palsied hand which holds
it, begins the sentence, " Socrates died like a philosopher"—■
then pausing, raising his other hand, pressing them both
clasped together with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting
his " sightless balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul
into his tremendous voice—u but Jesus Christ—like a God !"
If he had been indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect
could scarcely have been more divine.
Whatever I had been able to conceive of the sublimity of
Massillon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of
the power which I felt from the delivery of this simple sen¬
tence. The blood, which just before had rushed in a hurri¬
cane upon my brain, and, in the violence and agony of my
feelings, had held my whole system in suspense, now ran
back into my heart with a sensation which I cannot describe
—a kind of shuddering, delicious horror ! The paroxysm of
blended pity and indignation to which I had been transported,
subsided into the deepest self-abasement, humility, and adora¬
tion. I had just been lacerated and dissolved "by sympathy
for our Saviour as a fellow-creature; but now, with fear and
trembling, I adored him as—" a God I"
84 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BooK
If this description give you the impression that this incom¬
parable minister had anything of shallow, theatrical trick in
his manner, it does him great injustice. I have never seen,
in any other orator, such a union of simplicity and majesty.
He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he
does not seem forced by the sentiment which he is expressing.
His mind is too serious, too earnest, too solicitous, and, at the
same time, too dignified, to stoop to artifice. Although as far
removed from ostentation as a man can be, yet it is clear from
the train, the style, and substance of his thoughts, that he is
not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and pro¬
found erudition.
This man has been before my imagination almost ever
since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped the reins
of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and tried to imitate his
quotation from Rousseau; a thousand times I abandoned the
attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner
and power arose from an energy of soul which nature could
give, but which no human being could justly copy. In short,
he seems to be altogether a being of a former age, or of a to¬
tally different nature from the rest of men. As I recall, at
this moment, several of his awfully striking attitudes, the
chilling tide, with which my blood begins to pour along my
arteries,_ reminds me of the emotions produced by the first
sight of Gray's introductory picture of his bard:
" On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the poet stood;
(Loose his beard and hoary hair
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air:)
And with a poet's hand and prophet's fire,
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre."
Guess my surprise, when, on my arrival at Richmond, and
mentioning the name of this man, I found not one person who
• had ever before heard of James Waddel!!
BREVITY OF LIFE.—Wilde.
My life is like the summer ros£
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scatter'd on the ground—to die!
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
85
Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see—
But none shall weep a tear for me !
My life is like the autumn leaf
That trembles in the moon's pale ray,
Its hold is frail—its date is brief,
Restless—and soon to pass away !
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree will mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless, tree,
But none shall breathe a sigh for me !
My life is like the prints, which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand ;
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
All trace will vanish from the sand;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race,
On that lone shore loud moans the sea,
But none, alas f shall mourn for me !
DEATH OF RICHARD HENRY "WILDE.—Meek.
The harp that sang " the Summer Rose,"
In strains so sweetly and so well,
That, soft as dews at evening's close,
The pure and liquid numbers fell,
Is hush'd and shattered f now no more
Its silvery chords their music pour ;
But, crushed by an untimely blow,
Both harp and flower in dust lie low !
The bard !—alas, I knew him well!
A noble, generous, gentle heart,
Which as his brave hand struck the shell,
Poured feeliqg through the veins of art:
What radiant beauty 'round his lyre !—
Pure as the loved Italian fire!
He caught the sweetest beams of rhyme,—
The Tasso of our Western clime!
8
86
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
[Book
Nor this alone : a loftier power,
That shone in halls of high decree,
And swayed the feelings of the hour,
As summer winds, the rippled sea,—-
Bright eloquence i to him was given,
The spark, the prophet drew from Heaven !
It touched his lips with patriot flame,
And shed a halo 'round his name 1
As late I saw, I see him now 1
His stalwart Form, his graceful mien,
His long, white locks, his smiling brow,
His eyes, benignant and serene !
How pleasant 'round the social hearth,
When listening to his tones of mirth !
What lessons of the good and true,
The brave, the beautiful, he drew !
Drop down thy willows, southern land 1
Thy bard, thine orator is dead.
He sleeps where broad magnolias stand,
With " Summer Roses" o'er his head !
The lordly river, sweeping by,
Curves 'round his grave, with solemn sigh,
And, from yon twinkling orange stem,
The " Mock-Bird" pours his requiem !
Bard of the south!—the '• Summer Rose"
May perish with the '• Autumn leaf,"
The " footprints left on Tampa's" shores
May vanish with a date as brief:
But thine shall be the life" of fame,
No winter winds can wreck thy name;
And future minstrels shall rehearse
Thy virtues, in memorial verse !
APPEAL IN BEHALF OF THE POOR OF IRELAND.—Peentiss.
There lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a
beautiful island, famous in story and in song. Its area is not
so great as that-of the state of Louisiana, while its population
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
87
is almost half that of the Union. It has given to the world
more than its share of genius and of greatness. It has been
prolific in statesmen, warriors and poets. Its ^rave and
generous sons have fought successfully all battles but their
own. In wit and humor it has no equal; while its harp, like
its history, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos.
Into this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible
of all those fearful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees.
The earth has failed to give her increase; the common mother
has forgotten her offspring, and her breast no longer affords
them their accustomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and
ghastly famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp,
and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets
for a moment the gloomy history of the past. We have as¬
sembled, to express our sincere sympathy for the sufferings of
our brethren, and to unite in efforts for their alleviation. This
is one of those cases in which we may, without impiety, as¬
sume, as it were, the function of Providence. Who knows
but what one of the very objects of this great calamity is
to test the benevolence and worthiness of us upon whom
unlimited abundance has been showered. In the name, then,
of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of starving
Ireland. He who is able and will not give for such a sacred
purpose, is not a man, and has no right to wear the form. He
should be sent back to nature's mint, and be reissued as a
counterfeit on humanity of nature's baser metal.
Who will hesitate to give his mite, to avert this awful
calamity? Surely not you, citizens of New Orleans, ever
famed for your deeds of benevolence and charity. Freely have
your hearts and purses opened, heretofore, to the call of suf¬
fering humanity. Nobly did you respond to oppressed Greece
and struggling Poland. Within Erin's borders is an enemy
more cruel than the Turk; more tyrannical than the Russian.
Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him. Let us then
load ships with this glorious munition, and in the name of
our common humanity, wage war against this despot, Famine.
Let us, in God's name, " cast our bread upon the waters," and
if we are selfish enough to desire it, we may recollect the
promise, that " it shall return to us after many days."
If benevolence be not a sufficient incentive to action, we
should be generous from common decency ; for out of this
famine we are adding millions to our fortunes. Every article
of food, of which we have a superabundance, has been doubled
88 SOUTHERN" READER AHD "SPEAKER. f600*
in value, by the very distress we are now called upon to
alleviate. We cannot do less in common honesty, than to di¬
vide among the starving poor of Ireland, a portion of the gains
we are making out of their misfortunes. Give, then, gener¬
ously and freely. Recollect that in so doing you are exercis¬
ing one of the most god-like qualities of your nature, and at
the same time enjoying one of the greatest luxuries of life.
We ought to thank our Maker that he has permitted us to ex¬
ercise equally with himself that noblest of even the Divine
attributes, benevolence. Go home and look at your family,
smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, famine-
pinched cheeks of the poor children of Ireland j and I know
you will give, according to your store, even as a bountiful
Providence has given to you—not grudgingly, but with an
open hand ; for the quality of benevolence, like that of mercy,
"Is not strained,
It droppeth like the gentle rain from Heaven^
Upon the place beneath: It is twice blessed,
It blesses him that gives and him that takes."
THE SABBATH.—Wilcox.
Who scorn the hallowed day, set heaven at naught.
Heaven would wear out whom one short sabbath tires.
Emblem and earnest of eternal rest,
A festival with fruits celestial crowned,
A jubilee releasing him from earth,
The day delights and animates the saint.
It gives new vigor to the languid pulse
Of life divine, restores the wandering feet,
Strengthens the weak, upholds the prone to slip,
Quickens the lingering, and the sinking lifts,
Establishing them all upon a rock.
Sabbaths, like way-marks, cheer the pilgrim's path,
His progress mark, and keep his rest in view.
In life's bleak winter, they are pleasant days,
Short foretastes of the long, long spring to come.
To every new-born soul, each hallowed morn
Seems like the first, when everything was new.
Time seems an angel come afresh from heaven,
His pinions shedding fragrance as he flies.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
89
And his bright hour-glass running sands of gold.
In everything a smiling God is seen.
On earth, his beauty blooms, and in the sun
His glory shines. In objects overlooked
On other days, he now arrests the eye.
Not in the deep recesses of his works,
But on their face, he now appears to dwell.
"While silence reigns among the works of man,
The works of God have leave to speak his praise
With louder voice, in earth, and air, and sea.
His vital Spirit, like the light, pervades
All nature, breathing round the air of heaven,
And spreading o'er the troubled sea of life
A halcyon calm. Sight were not needed now
To bring him near ; for faith performs tfie work;
In solemn thought surrounds herself with God,
With such transparent vividness, she feels
Struck with admiring awe, as if transform'd
To sudden vision. Such is oft her power
In God's own house, which, in the absorbing act
Of ad oration,-or inspiring praise,
She with his glory fills, as once a cloud
Of radiance filled the temple's inner court.
SACRED LITERATURE.—Grimke'.
The traveller who stands at the well-spring of some mighty
river, illustrious alike in the verse of the poet, and the roll of
the historian, looks in imagination, down its "monarchy of
waters," to contemplate all the variety of its fortunes, amid the
wilderness of nature, and the habitations of man. He beholds
in its course the humble cottage of the peasant, and the splendid*
palace of opulence and rank ; the rural scenery of field, and
orchard, and meadow, or the garden of fashion, glitterjpg with
its " wilderness of lamps the hamlet or the village, " when
unadorned adorned the mostand the ancient city, enriched
by the treasures of every clime, embellished with the crea¬
tions of every art, and glorious in its power, magnificence,
and wealth. The astronomer lifts his eye from the narrow
boundary of the visible horizon, and the diminutive forms
which decorate the surface of the earth, to the heavens above,
8*
90 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
and gazes with the intelligence of philosophy, and the en¬
thusiasm of poetry, on the serenity of its azure depths, on its
wandering orbs, on the bickering flame of its comets, or the
pure light of its host of stars. His soul expands and rises in
its conceptions of the grandeur, wisdom, benevolence of God,
and worships, in aspirations of praise and gratitude, at the
mercy-seat of the invisible Creator. As he contemplates the
miracles of worlds innumerable, and of a boundless universe,
his thoughts are exalted and purified, and he is filled with
amazement, at the marvellous system of the visible universe,
and with joy and gratitude at the eternal destiny, and still
more glorious attributes of the human soul.
The traveller, when he looks on the river, arrayed in the
sublime, the wonderful, the fair, in the works of nature and of
-art, beholds the linage of classic literature. The astronomer
who views the heavens with the science which comprehends,
and the taste which admires, contemplates in that glorious
personification of the unseen God, the sublimity, beauty, and
variety of sacred literature. Classic literature stands, like
the statue of Prometheus, graceful in its beauty, majestic in
its power. But sacred literature is the ever-living fire, that
descends from heaven, instinct with life, immortal, universal.
That is the mausoleum of departed nations,-splendid yet deso¬
late ; and bearing an inscription written indeed, uin the kingly
language of the mighty dead." u This is none other than tha
house of God ; this is the gate of heavenits record is the
book of life, spotless and eternal; its penmen are prophets,
apostles, and martyrs ; its ministering servants are cherubim
and seraphim, the angel and the archangel.
INCREASE OF TERRITORY NOT DESIRABLE>—Clay.
-Of the possessions which appertain to Man, in his collec¬
tive or individual condition, none should be preserved and cher¬
ished with more sedulous and unremitting care than that of an
unsullied character. It is impossible to estimate it too highly
in society when attached to an individual, nor can it be ex¬
aggerated or too greatly magnified in a nation. Those whc
ber M* MW7 fr°m 0 Speech oa the Mejfioani War» delivered at Lexington, Ky., Novem-
Third.] SOUTHERN- READER AND SPEAKER.
91
lose, or are indifferent to it, become just objects of scorn and
contempt. Of ajl the abominable transactions which sully
the pages of history, none exceed in enormity that of the dis¬
memberment and partition of Poland by the three great con¬
tinental powers—Russia, Austria and Prussia. Ages may
pass away, and centuries roll around, but so long as human
records endure, all mankind will unite in execrating the
rapacious and detestable deed,- That was accomplished by
overwhelming force, and the unfortunate existence of fatal
dissensions and divisions in the bosom of Poland. Let us
avoid affixing to our name and national character a similar, if
not worse, stigma. I am afraid that we do not now stand well
in the opinion of other parts of Christendom. Repudiation
has brought upon us much reproach. All the nations, I
apprehend, look upon us, in the prosecution of the present
war, as being actuated by a spirit of rapacity, and an inordi¬
nate desire for territorial aggrandizement Let us not forfeit
altogether their good opinions. Let us command their applause
by a noble exercise of forbearance and justice. In the
elevated station which we hold, we can safely afford to prac¬
tise the god-like virtues of moderation and magnanimity.
The long series of glorious triumphs, achieved by our gallant
commanders and their brave armies, unattended by a single
reverse, justify us, without the least danger of tarnishing the
national honor, in disinterestedly holding out the olive branch
of peace. We do not want the mines, the mountains, the
morasses and the sterile,lands of Mexico. To her the loss of
them would be humiliating, and be a perpetual source of regret
and mortification. To us they might prove a fatal acquisition,
producing distraction, dissension, division,—possibly disunion.
If our population were too dense for our territory and there
was a difficulty in obtaining honorably the means of subsist¬
ence, there might be some excuse for an attempt to enlarge
our dominions. But we have no such apology. We "have,
in our glorious country, a vast and almost boundless territory.
Beginning at the north, in the frozen regions of the British
provinces, it stretches thousands of miles along the coast of the
Atlantic ocean and the Mexican gulf until it almost reaches the
tropics. It extends to the Pacific ocean, borders on those
great inland seas, the lakes, which separate us from the pos¬
sessions of Great Britain, and it embraces the great father
of rivers, from its uppermost source to the Belize, and the
still longer Missouri, from its mouth to the gorges of the
92 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo°*
Rocky mountains. It comprehends the greatest variety of
the richest soils, capable of almost all the productions of the
earth, except tea - and coffee and the spices; and it includes
every variety of climate which the heart could wish or desire.
We have more than ten thousand millions of acres of waste
and unsettled lands—enough for the subsistence of ten or
twenty times our present population. Ought we not to be
satisfied with such a country % Ought we not to be profoundly
thankful to the Giver of all good things, for such a vast and
bountiful land ?
PERILS OF THE EARLY SETTLERS OF CAROLINA.—Sums.
New settlers, in all countries, are subjected to many hard¬
ships ; but those of Carolina seem to have equalled, if they
did not surpass, everything of the kind to which men in any
age have ever been subjected. To subdue the forest to the
necessities of civilized man ; to build habitations, and clear the
ground for raising provisions, while it is always the first, would
seem also to be the sufficient employment of the emigrant.
In a low, flat country, and under a climate so sultry as that of
Carolina, the burden of such labors must have been greatly
increased. The Europeans soon sank under the fatigues of
laboring in the open air: and those diseases which are pecu¬
liar to level countries, overflowed-with water, and subject to
the action of a constant burning sun, soon made their appearance
among them, to diminish their strength, enfeeble their spirits,
and lessen their numbers. To enhance the evils of such a
condition, they were surrounded by Indian enemies, who
were eminently irritable and warlike, and daily became more
jealous of the encroachments of their white neighbors.
Carolina is said to have been occupied, at its first settlement,
by no less than twenty^eight Indian nations. Their settle¬
ments extended from the ocean to the mountains.
To the infant colony of Carolina, these nations, or the tribu¬
tary tribes which owned their sway, suggested constant alarm
and danger. The Westo and Stono tribes, as they were most
contiguous, seem to have been the most troublesome. Their
assaults were doubly dangerous and annoying, as it was found
so difficult to provide against them. The superiority of the
musket over the bow and arrow was very small. Concealed
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
93
in the thicket in which he has almost grown a part and is a
native, the Indian launches his shaft ere the European has
dreamed of the presence of an enemy. Its leaves hide him
from the aim, and its mighty trees effectually shield him from
the bullet which the angry stranger sends in reply. He
ranges the woods* in safety while the invader sleeps • and the
swamps, in the atmosphere of which European life stagnates
and perishes, yield a congenial element to him. Thus cir¬
cumstanced, in connection with their Indian neighbors, the
Carolinians were compelled to stand in a continual posture of
defence. While one party slept, an equal number watched.
He who felled the tree of the forest, was protected by another
who stood ready with his musket in the shade; and so per¬
severing were these stealthy enemies, that the settler dared not
discard his weapon, even while gathering the oysters on the
shores of the sea. From the woods they were almost wholly
exiled, by reason of the swarms of foes which infested them ;
and, but for the fish from the rivers, they must have perished
of famine. Their scanty crops were raised, not only by the
sweat of their brows, but at the peril of their lives; and when
raised, were exposed to the plundering assaults of the foe. A
single night frequently lost to the planter the dearly bought
products of a year of toil.
AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.—Aliston.
All hail! thou noble land,
Our fathers' native soil!
0 stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore:
Fof thou, with magic might.
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright
The world o'er!
The Genius of our clime,
From his pine-embattled steep,
Shall hail the great sublime ;
While the Tritons of the deep
94 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. L^ook
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim:
Then let the world combine—
O'er the main our naval line,
Like the milky way shall shine
Bright in fame !
Though ages long have passed
Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,
O'er untravelled seas to roam,—
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins I
And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame,
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains I
While the language, free and bold,
Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told
How the vault of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host;
While this, 'with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast;
While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,
Between let Ocean roll,
Our joint communion breaking with the Sun:
Yet, still, from either beach,
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,
" We are One !"
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.—Lord Brougham.
This eminent person is presented to our observation clothed
with attributes as modest, as unpretending, as little calculated
to strike or astonish, as if he had passed through some se¬
cluded region of private life. But he had a judgment sure
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
95
and sound; a steadiness of mind which never suffered any
passion or even any feeling to ruffle its calm; a strength of un¬
derstanding worked, rather than forced its way through all ob¬
stacles, removing or avoiding, rather than overleaping them.
His courage, whether in battle or in council, was as perfect
as might be expected from this pure and steady temper of
soul. A perfectly just man, with a thoroughly firm resolution
never to be misled by others, any more than by others to be
overawed ; never to be seduced of betrayed, or hurried away
by his own weakness, or self-delusions, any more than by
other men's arts; nor even to be disheartened by the most
complicated difficulties, any more than be spoiled on the giddy
heights of fortune. Such was this great man—whether we
regard him alone sustaining the whole weight of campaigns,
all but desperate, or gloriously terminating a just warfare by
his resources and his courage; presiding over the jarring ele¬
ments of his political council, alike deaf to the storms of all
extremes, or directing the formation of a new government
for a great people, the first time so vast an experiment had
been tried by man ; or finally retiring from the supreme pow¬
er, to which his virtue had raised him, over the nation he had
created, and whose destinies he had guided as long as his aid
was required—retiring with the veneration of all parties, of all
nations, of all mankind, in order that the rights of men might
be preserved, and that his example might never be appealed
to by vulgar tyrants.
This is the consummate glory of the great American; a
triumphant warrior, where the most sanguine had a right to
despair; a successful ruler in all the difficulties of a course
wholly untried ; but a warrior whose sword only left its sheath
when the first law of our nature commanded it to be drawn; and
a ruler who, having tasted of supreme power, gently and unos¬
tentatiously desired that the cup might pass from him, nor
would suffer more to wet his lips than the most solemn and
sacred duty to his country and his God required !
To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the no¬
ble character of a captain, the patron of peace; and a states¬
man, the friend of justice. Dying, he bequeathed to his heirs
the sword he had worn in the war for liberty, charging them
"never to take it from the scabbard but in self-defence, or in
defence of their country and her freedomand commanding
them that when it should thus be drawn, they should never
sheathe it, nor ever give it up, but prefer falling with it in their
96 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
hands to the relinquishment thereof—words, the majesty and
simple eloquence of which are not surpassed in the oratory of
Athens and Rome. It will be the duty of the historian and
the sago, in all ages, to omit no occasion of commemorating
this illustrious man; and until time shall be no more, will be
a test of the progress which our race has made in wisdom
nd in virtue, to be derived from the veneration paid to the
immortal name of Washington!
EARTHLY CONTRASTS AND CHANGES.—Headlev.
What strange contrasts this earth of ours presents. It
seems to be the middle spot between heaven and hell, and to
partake of the character of both. Beings from both are found
moving over its surface, and scenes from both are constantly
occurring upon it. The glory from one and the midnight
shades from the other meet along its bosom, and the song of
angels and the shriek of fiends go up from the same spot.
Noonday and midnight are not more opposite than the scenes
that are constantly passing before our eyes. The temple of
God stands beside a brothel, and the place of prayer is sepa¬
rated only by a single dwelling from the uhell" of the gambler.
Truth and falsehood walk side by side through our streets,
and vice and virtue meet and pass every hour of the day.
The hut of the starving stands in the shadow of the palace of
the wealthy, and the carriage of Dives every day throws the
dust of its glittering wheels over the tattered garments of
Lazarus. Health and sickness lie down in the same apart¬
ment ; joy and agony look out of the same window ; and hope
and despair dwell under the same roof. The cry of the new¬
born infant and the groan of the dying rise together from the
same dwelling ; the funeral procession treads close on the heels
of the bridal party, and the tones of the lute and viol have
scarcely died away before the' requiem for the dead comes
swelling after. Oh! the beautiful and deformed, the pure and
corrupt, joy and sorrow, ecstacies and agonies, life and death,
are strangely blent on this restless planet of ours.
But the past and future present as strange contrasts as the
present. What different events have transpired on the same
spot. Where the smoke of the Indian's wigwam arose, and
the stealthy tread of the wolf and panther was heard over tin-
autumn leaves at twilight, the population of New York now
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
97
surges along. Where once Tyre, the queen of the sea, stood,
fishermen are spreading their nets on the desolate rocks, and
the bright waves are rolling over its marble columns. In the
empty apartments of Edom the fox makes his den, and the
dust of the desert is sifting over the forsaken ruins of Pal¬
myra. The owl hoots in the ancient haUs of kings, and the
wind of the summer night makes sad music through the rents
of once gorgeous palaces'. The Arab spurs his steed along the
streets of ancient Jerusalem, or scornfully stands and curls his
lips at the pilgrim pressing wearily to the sepulchre of the Sav¬
iour. The Muezzin's voice rings over the bones of the proph¬
ets, and the desert wind heaps the dust above the foundations
of the seven churches of Asia. Oh, how good and evil, light
and darkness, chase each other over the world.
FASHIONS.—Paulding.
Mrs. Toole has for some time reigned unrivalled in the
fashionable world, and had the supreme direction of caps, bon¬
nets, feathers, flowers, and tinsel. She has dressed and un¬
dressed our ladies just as she pleased; now loading them
with velvet and wadding, now turning them adrift on the world,
to run shivering through the streets with scarcely a covering
to their—backs ; and now obliging them to drag a*long train
at their heels, like the tail of a paper kite. Her despotic
sway, however, threatens to be limited. A dangerous rival
has sprung up in the person of Madame Bouchard, an intrepid
little woman, fresh from the head-quarters of fashion and folly,
and who has burst like a second Buonaparte upon the fashion¬
able world. Mrs. Toole, notwithstanding, seems determined
to dispute her ground bravely for the honor of old England.
The ladies have begun to arrange themselves under the ban¬
ner of one or the other of these heroines of the needle, and
everything portends open war. Madame Bouchard marches
gallantly to the field, flourishing a flaming red robe for a
standard, " flouting to the skiesand Mrs. Toole, no ways
dismayed, sallies out under cover of artificial flowers, like
Malcolm's host. Both parties possess great merit, and both
deserve the victory. Mrs. Toole charges the highest, but
Madame Bouchard makes the lowest courtesy. Madame
Bouchard is a little short lady—nor is there any hope of her
9
98 SOUTHERN READER AND . SPEAKER. [Book
growing larger; but then she is perfectly genteel, and so is
Mrs. Toole. Mrs. Toole lives in Broadway, and Madame
Bouchard in Courtland street; but Madame atones for the
inferiority of her stand, by making two courtesies to Mrs.
Toole's one, and talking French like an angel. Mrs. Toole
is the best looking but Madame Bouchard wears a most be¬
witching little scrubby wig. Mrs. Toole is the tallest, but
Madame Bouchard has the longest nose. Mrs. Toole is fond
of roast beef, but Madame is loyal in her adherence to onions;
in short, so equally are the merits of the two ladies balanced,
that there is no judging which will "kick the beam." It,
however, seems to be the prevailing opinion, that Madame
Bouchard will carry the day, because she wears a wig, has a
long nose, talks French, loves onions, and does not charge
above ten times as much for a thing as it is worth.
ELEGY ON MRS. MARY BLAIZE.—Goldsmith.
Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize;
Who never wanted a good word—
-From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door, .
And always found her kind;
- She freely lent to all the poor—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighborhood to please
With manner wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew—
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux, and more;
The king himself has followed her—
When she has walked before.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
99
But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all,
Her doctors found, when she was dead—
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament, in sorrow sore;
For Kent-Street well may say,
That, had she lived a twelvemonth more—
She had not died to-day.
THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION.—Patrick Henry.
This constitution is said to have beautiful features; but
when I come to examine these features, sir, they appear to me
horridly frightful. Among other deformities, it has an awful
squinting; it squints towards monarchy: and does not this
raise indignation in the breast of every true American ! Your
president may easily become king. Your senate is so imper¬
fectly constructed, that your dearest rights may be sacrificed
by what may be a small minority: ^and a very small minority
may continue forever unchangeably this government, although
horribly defective. Where are your checks in this govern¬
ment? Your strongholds will be in the hands of.your
enemies. It is on supposition that your American governors
shall be honest, that ail the good qualities of this government
are founded; but its defective and imperfect construction puts
it in their power to perpetrate the worst of mischiefs, should
they be bad men. And, sir, would not all the world, from the
eastern to the western hemisphere, blame our distracted folly
in resting our rights upon the contingency of our rulers being
good or bad? Show me that age and country where the
rights and liberties of the people were placed on the sole chance
of their rulers being good men without a consequent loss of
liberty. I say that the loss of that dearest privilege has ever
followed, with absolute certainty, every such mad attempt. If
your American chief be a man of ambition and abilities, how
easy will it be for him to render himself absolute ! The army
is in his haiftls, and if he be a man of address, it will be at¬
tached to him; and it will be the subject of long meditation
with him to seize the first auspicious moment to accomplish his
design. And, sir, will the American spirit solely relieve you
^iffHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
when this happens ? I would rather infinitely—and I am sure
most of this convention are of the same opinion—have a king,
lords and commons, than a government so replete with insup¬
portable evils. If we make a king, we may prescribe the
rules by which he shall govern his people, and interpose such
checks as shall prevent him from infringing them: but the
president, in the field, at the head of his army, can prescribe
the terms on which he shall reign master, so far that it will
puzzle any American ever to get his neck from under the gall¬
ing yoke. I cannot, with patience, think of this idea. If ever
he violates the laws, one of two things will happen: he will
come at the head of his army to carry everything before him:
or he will give bail, or do what Mr. Chief Justice will order
him. If he be guilty, will not the recollection of his crimes
teach him to make one bold push for the American throne?
Will not the immense difference between being master of
everything, and being ignominiously tried and punished,
powerfully excite him to make this bold push ? But. sir. where
is the existing force to punish him ? Can he not. at the head
of his army, beat down every opposition? Away with your
president, we shall have a king: the army will salute him
monarch; your militia will leave you and assist in making
him king, and fight against you: and what have you to op¬
pose this force? What will then become of your rights?
Will not absolute despotism ensue?
AN ALLEGORY.—Anonymous.
Night kissed the young rose, and it bent softly to sleep.
And stars shined, and pure drops hung upon its blushing bosom
and watched its pure slumbers.
Morning came with her dancing breezes, and they whispered
to the young rose, and it awoke, joyous and smiling. Lightly
it danced to and fro, in all the loveliness of health and youth¬
ful innocence.
Then came the ardent sun-god, sweeping from the east, and
smiting the young rose with his golden shaft, it fainted. De¬
serted and almost heart-broken, it drooped tolhe dust in its
loveliness and despair.
Now the gentle breeze, which had been gamboling over the
sea, ppshing on the light bark, sweeping over hill a*nd dale—
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 101
by the neat cottage and the» still brook, fanning the fevered
brow of disease, and tossing the curl of innocent childhood—
came tripping along on errands of mercy and love ; and when
she hastened to kiss it, and jondly bathed its forehead in cool
refreshing showers, the young rose revived, looked up and
smiled, flung its ruddy arms as if in gratitude to embrace the
kind breeze, but she hurried quickly away when her generous
task was performed ; yet not without reward, for she soon per¬
ceived that a delicious fragrance had been poured on her wings
by the grateful rose, and the kind breeze was glad in her heart,
and went away singing through the trees.
Thus true charity, like the breeze which gathers a fragrance
from the humble flowers it refreshes, unconsciously reaps a
reward in the performances of. its offices of kindness and love,
which steals through the heart like a rich perfume, blessing
and cheering not only the recipient, but the giver. "
THE LAST OF THE SIGNERS.—Lippard.
Come to the window, old man !
Come, and look your last upon this beautiful earth ! The
day is dying—the year is dying—you are dying ; so light, and
leaf, and life, mingle in one common death, as they shall
mingle in one resurrection.
Clad in a dark morning gown, that revealed the outline- of
his tall form, now bent with age—once so beautiful in its
erect manhood, rises a man from his chair, which is covered
with pillows, and totters to the window, spreading forth his
thin white hands.
Did you ever see an old man's face, that combines alb the
sweetness of childhood, with the vigor of mature intellect?
Snow white hair, in waving flakes, around a high and open
brow; eyes that gleam with clear light, a mouth moulded in
an expression of benignity almost divine !
It is the fourteenth of November, 1832 ; the hour is sunset,
and the man, Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, the last op the
signers.
Ninety-five years of age, a weak and trembling old man, he
has summoned all his strength, and gone along the carpeted
chambet, to the window, his dark gown contrasted with the
purple curtains.
9*
102 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER- [Boor
He is the last •
Of the noble fifty-six, who, in the Revolution, stood forth,
undismayed by the axe or gibbet; their mission, the freedom
of an age. the salvation of a country ; he alone remains !
One by one, the pillars have crumbled from the roof of the
temple, and now the last—a trembling column—glows in the
sun-light, as it is about to fall.
But for the pillar that crumbles, there is no hope that it
shall ever tower aloft in its pride again, while for this old man,
about to sink into the night of the grave, there is a glorious
hope. His memory will live. His soul will live, not only
in the presence of its God, but on the tongues, and in the
hearts of millions. The band in which he counts one, can
never be forgotten.
The last!
As the venerable man stands before us. the declining day
imparts a warm flush to his face, and surrounds his brow with
a halo of light. His lips move without a sound : he is recalling
the scenes of the Declaration—he is murmuring the names
of his brothers in the good work.
All gone but him !
Upon the woods—dyed with the rainbow of the closing
y.ep,r—upon the stream, darkened by masses of shadow—upon
the home peeping out from among the leaves, falls mellowing
the last light of the declining day.
He will never see the sun rise again !
He feels that the silver cord is slowly, gently loosening; he
knows the golden bowl is crumbling at the fountain's brink.
But death comes on him as a sleep, as a pleasant dream, as a
kiss from beloved lips !
He feels that the land of his birth has become a mighty
people, and thanks God that he was permitted to behold its
blossoms of hope ripen into full life.
In the recesses near the window, you behold an altar of
prayer; above it. glowing in the fading light, the image of
Jesus seems smiling, even in agony, around that death-
chamber.
The old man turns aside from the window. Tottering on,
he kneels beside the altar, his long dark robe drooping over
the floor. He reaches forth his white hands—he raises his
eyes to the face of the Crucified.
There, in the sanctity of an old man's last prayer, we will
leave him. There, where amid the deepening shadows, glows
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 10$
the image of the Saviour; there, where the light falls over the
mild face, the wavy hair and tranquil eyes of the aged patri¬
arch.
The smile of the Saviour was upon that perilous day, the
fourth of July, 1776 ; and now that its promise has brightened-
into fruition, He seems to—he does smile on it again—even
as His sculptured image meets the dying gaze of Charles Car¬
roll of Carrollton, the last of the signers.
THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN.—Goldsmith. .
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich, with forty pounds a year ;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place :
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour :
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,—
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train ;
He chic^their wanderings, but relieved their pain.
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast:
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed:
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire and talked the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings leaned to virtue's side:
But, in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all:
K)4 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo°x
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last, faltering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran :
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile;
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed:
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.—
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
THE MYSTERIES OF NATURE.—Charlton.
The earth teems with mysteries—the sky shines with them
—they float in the air—they swim in the deep—they flash
from the dark-robed clouds—they whisper in the gentle tones
of the summer wind—they speak in trumpet tongues in the
voice of the tempest and the thunder. Cease thy longings for
the ancient days, oh, dreamer! Close thy book and look about
thee, upon the volume of nature.
See there, before thee, is a tiny insect that thou canst
scarce distinguish from the grains of sand that surround it—
watch it—it moves on with an energy and an instinct that
enables it to overcome or avoid all obstacles. See—it has
seized some object larger than itself, and still it goes bravely
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
105
on—nothing daunts it—nothing stops it—tread it under foot,
(if thou canst have the heart to attempt such murder,) and it
will rise up again beneath the ocean of sand, and turn once
more to its labor. Dost thou know it? It is the ant, that
lion-heartad atom, toiling amid the heat of summer; and
though the season's brightness and its warmth are bringing up
and producing ten thousand enjoyments for the little travel¬
ler, he is busy gathering together .his provender for the long
winter time, when frosts and snow, and cold shall have locked
up the granaries of nature.
Thou wilt tell me, that I am mocking thee; that thou canst
see this daily and hourly; and is it less a mystery therefor ?
If thou hadst read in those ancient legends before thee, of an
insect so-courageous, that it would attack an animal of ten
thousand times its magnitude ; of industry so indefatigable,
that it would climb house-tops and mountains to pursue its
course; of perseverance so unflagging, that though repulsed a
thousand times, it would still return and overcome the obstacle
that impeded it—thy eyes would have sparkled with interest
and amazement; it is because it is constantly before thee—
because it belongs to the present time—that thou lookest so
disdainfully upon it. When did the knight-errants of thy heart
do half as much ? When did their bosoms beat as high with
valor and determination as this poor insect's? "But it has no
loves—no burning jealousies—no blood-stained victories !"
How knowest thou that? I warrant thee, even that tiny
breast has grown gentler for some fond one that lived within
its little world; that its blood has flowed quicker when some
. Adonis-ant has flirted around the little coquette ; that its path
has been stained by the trophies of its mimic battles.
But thou wilt say, why dost thou lure me from my glowing
page, to point me to this moving atom ? Why not show me
the majestic mysteries of nature ? Why waste my time with
a topic so insignificant? I answer, because it is insignificant.
I point thee there to one of the smallest of earth's creatures,
to ask thee if the atoms contain such wonders, how much
more, the noble and lofty works of nature ?
Follow me, if thou wilt Let us dive into the caverns of
the earth, and mark the sculptured halls—the rocky avenues
stretching miles and miles below the busy haunts of men. Let
us plunge into the deep, and view the huge leviathan sporting
amid the waters; or the rainbow-hued dolphin, as she flings
back bright rays of the glorious sun. Let us climb into the
106
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
Book
air, and behold the eagle, with his untiring wing, and his
unflinching eye, the noble image of indomitable perseverance
and brilliant genius, soaring proudly and gazing fixedly towards
Heaven's brightest luminary ! Oh, dreamer ! if the moments
of thy life were multiplied by the sands of the desert, they
would be all too short to help thee to unravel the mysteries
that are around thee and above thee.
ANECDOTES OF CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL.—So. Lit. Mess.
Mr. John Marshall, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
of the United States, was noted for extreme plainness of per¬
son and address, and a child-like simplicity of character. His
carelessness of his personal attire, in early life particularly, is
well known, and on one occasion, while, travelling, occasioned
his being refused admittance into a public house. On the
occasion which we are now to relate, it caused him the loss
of a generous fee. Marshall, when just rising on the profes¬
sional ladder, was one morning strolling through the streets of
Richmond, attired in a plain linen roundabout and shorts, with
his hat under his arm, from which he was eating cherries,
when he stopped in the Porch of the Eagle hotel, indulged in
some little pleasantry with the landlord, and then passed on.
Mr. P., an elderly gentleman from the country, then present,
who had a case coming pn before the court of appeals, was
referred by the landlord to Marshall, as the best advocate for
him to employ; but the careless, languid air of the young
lawyer had so prejudiced Mr. P. that he refused to engage
him. On entering court, Mr. P. was a second time referred
by the clerk of the court, and a second time he declined. At
this moment entered Mr. V., a venerable-looking legal gentle¬
man, in a powdered wig and black coat, whose dignified
appearance produced such an impression on Mr. P. that he at
once engaged him. In the first case which came on, Marshall
and Mr. Y. each addressed the court. The vast inferiority
of his advocate was so apparent, that at the close of the case,
Mr. P. introduced himself to young Marshall, frankly stated
the prejudice which had caused him, in opposition to advice,
to employ Mr. Y.; that he extremely regretted his error, but
knew not how to remedy it. He had come into the city with
one hundred dollars, as his lawyer's fee, which he had paid,
Tiiied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
107
and had but five left, which, if Marshall chose, he-would
cheerfully give him, for assisting in the case. Marshall,
pleased with the incident, accepted the offer, not, however,
without passing a sly joke at the omnipotence of a powdered
<wig and black coat. *
Marshall was accustomed to go to market, and frequently
unattended. "Nothing was more usual than to see him
returning art sunrise, with poultry in one hand, and vegetables
in the other." On one of these occasions, a would-be fashion¬
able young man from the north, who had recently removed to
Richmond, was swearing violently because he could hire no
one to take home his turkey. Marshall stepped up, and
ascertaining of him where he. lived, replied, " That is my way.
and I will take it for you." When arrived at his dwelling,
the young man inquired, " What shall I pay you ?" " Oh,
nothing," was the rejoinder, " you are welcome; it was on
my way, and no trouble." " Who is that polite old gentleman
who brought home my turkey for me?" inquired the other of
a by-stander, as Marshall stepped away. " That," replied he,
"is John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States." 'The
young man, astonished, exclaimed, " Why did he bring home
my turkey ?" " To give_ you a severe reprimand, and learn
you to attend to your own business,"' was the answer.
For sterling honesty, no man ever exceeded Marshall. He
never would, knowingly, argue in defence of injustice, or take
a legal advantage at the expense of moral honesty. A case
of the latter is in point. He became an endorser on a bond
amounting to several thousand dollars. The drawer failed,
and Marshall paid it, although he knew it could be avoided,
inasmuch as the holder had advanced the amount at more than
legal interest.
He possessed a noble generosity. In passing through Cul¬
pepper, on his way to Fauquier, he fell in company with Mr.
S., an old fellow-officer in the army of the revolution. In the
course of conversation, Marshall learned that there was a
lien upon the estate of his friend to the amount of three
thousand dollars, about due, and he was greatly distressed at
the prospect of impending ruin. On bidding farewell, Mar¬
shall privately left a check for the amount, which being
presented to Mr. S. after his departure, he, impelled by a
chivalrous independence, mounted, and spurred on his horse
until he overtook his friend. He thanked him for his gene¬
rosity, but refused to accept it. ' Marshall strenuously persisted
108 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
in its acceptance, and the other persisted in not accepting.
Finally it resulted in a compromise, by which Marshall took
security on the lien, but never called for pay.
THE MOTHERS OF THE "WEST.—Gallagher.
The mothers of our forest-land !
Stout-hearted dames were they;
With nerve to wield the battle-brand,
And join the border-fray.
Our rough land had no braver,
In its days of blood and strife—
Aye ready for severest toil,
Aye free to peril life.
The mothers of our forest-land !
On old Kentucky's soil,
How shared they, with each dauntless band,
War's tempest and life's toil!
They shrank not from the foemarr—
They quail'd not in the fight—
But cheered their husbands through the day,
And soothed them through the night.
The mothers of our forest-land !
Their bosoms pillow'd men !
And proud were they by such to stand,
In haqimock, fort, or glen.
To load the sure, old rifle—
To run the leaden ball—
To watch a battling husband's place,
And fill it should he fall.
The mothers of our forest-lanfi.!
Such were their daily deeds.
Their monument!—where does it stand 1
Their epitaph !—who reads ?
No braver dames had Sparta,
No nobler matrons Home—
Yet who or lauds or honors them,
E'en in their own green home 1
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
109
The mothers of our forest-land !
They sleep in unknown graves;
And had they borne and nursed a band
Of ingrates, or -of slaves,
They had not more neglected been !
But their graves shall yet be found,
And their monuments dot here and there
" The Bark and Bloody Ground."
ANCIENT CHURCH IN SOUTH CAROLINA.—Anonymous.
Some few months since, on my return from the country,
curiosity prompted me to diverge a short distance from the
road, in order to view the little church at Goose creek, the
congregation of which was formerly much more numerous
than at present. Of this romantically situated edifice I had
heard much—much respecting its antiquated appearance, the
death-like silence that pervaded its immediate vicinage, and
the time-worn, moss-covered tablets of those who there sleep
the quiet sleep of death ; of those who shall never be awa¬
kened from their leaden slumbers, until that awful day arrives,
on which the great Jehovah will command the wide earth and
the deep sea to yield up their inmates. And such scenes are
well adapted to elicit the deepest emotions of our hearts; to
withdraw our thoughts for a while from this world and all its
grovelling pursuits ; to chasten our feelings as it humbles our
pride; in a word, to elevate our souls to the contemplation of
the true and living God.
Hoping that sensations like these would visit and tranquillize
my mind, I determined to gratify my long wished-for desire to
see this hallowed and sequestered spot. As I traversed the
deep and solitary vista that led to the portals of the church, my
mind involuntarily turned to a retrospect of the past,—to the
long number of years that had passed away forever, since this
beautiful carpet-clad avenue, in nature's own livery, had been
first used as a pathway to the house of prayer. How many
noble sires and virtuous matrons—how many youths of lofty
bearing, their hearts buoyant with the hopes of future man¬
hood—how many lovely maidens, with hearts as gay and
steps as light as the merry red-bird carolling at their sides—
yes, I thought of how many, during those by-gone years,
110
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. LBOOK
possessing- all that renders existence fascinating, who had
the same feelings, were influenced .by the same hopes and
fears, actuated by the same invisible agency that controls my
own destiny—how many of these fellow-beings of mine have
gotie, forever gone, as if they had never been; this place that
once knew theta, knows them now no more Yes, this very
spot, this very path, where their footsteps fell as they approach¬
ed the 'temple of the living Gfod, is now trod by many who
scarcely knew that such ever were; and in a few brief years,
or months, aye, perhaps even days, the same common fate
awaits me too. Such is the tenor of man's life, a mere bubble,
often bursting ere it is formed. With such reflections, I found
myself in front of a most chaste but veneTable-looking
little structure, embosomed in all the wild luxuriance of nature's
bowers—
" Still here thou art, filling
This solitude, aye, the gentle south winds
Do speak of thee, stealing along the tree-tops
In melody—thou art in the cooler air,
That, from the inmost depths of this sweet spot.
Comes, scarcely felt—the ancient oaks, the sward,—
The green, moist sward, the jassamine, yes, all the
Wild flowers—with the mock-bird, flitting from
Spray to spray, are all instinctive proofs of thee,
And breathe their incense up to Heaven."
The moss-grown stones covering the remains of those who
once held sweet communion in this sanctuary of the Lord,
who has, in his own inimitable language, promised thatLl where
two or three are gathered together in his name, there he will
be in the midst of them"—yes, these testimonials to departed
worth, even these, were fast crumbling into dust, beneath the
insatiate ravages of time; and in a few years they will also
have passed away forever, as being one among the many
unerring proofs of the utter instability of human records,
though they were traced with points of steel upon plates of
adamant.
Here, said I, at this porch, how many happy, joyful greet¬
ings have been given, how many fond and anxious inquiries
have been made, by those met here on that hallowed day,
the best of the seven." On that sacred day of sweet influ¬
ences, they were here drawn as to one common centre, for here
they were sure to meet one day in the week, and interchange
all the kind courtesies of life ; here they united their voices
in singing praises to the Most High, the incense of which,
ascending to Heaven from this little rural tabernacle of the
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. Ill
wilderness, were, perhaps, more acceptable than those issuing
from the gilded domes of the most magnificent temples.
The interior accords Avith its exterior, being very neat and
chaste, without any attempts at elegance; but the walls are
adorned with several very fine marble monuments, exhibiting
some of the choicest specimens of the sculptor's art, and
commemorating the memory of the " illustrious dead," of those
who were enshrined at the commencement of the last century.
At the east end is a large window; near this is the pulpit,
from which, for almost a century and a half, have the everlast¬
ing words of life and hope been conveyed to those who seek
the Lord with clean hands and a pure heart. The sides of the
altar are adorned with four Corinthian pilasters, upholding
a cornice; between these pilasters are the marble tablets of the
Decalogue and Lord's Prayer, &c. Over the west door, which
appears the principal entrance, is the representation of a
pelican feeding her young, while over the pulpit is this sen¬
tence—" Glory to God on High, on Earth, Peace, Good will
towards men." There were some other inscriptions of a similar
character, which I do not now recollect. Over the east window,
which is immediately in the rear of the pulpit, are the royal
arms of England. It was this ' insignia' that saved this
church from sharing the fate of nearly all the other country
churches in Carolina, during the revolutionary war, as they
were either burnt, pillaged, or converted into barracks ; and
not the sternest republican would now wish to see these sym¬
bols of regality removed, when it is known that they saved
the temple of his God from the violence of a mercenary and
ruthless soldiery. Even this little church once had its ' chapel
of ease,' some five or six miles beyond ; this is now a mass of
ruins; it is said the time in which it was built is not known ;
the figures of 1721 have been traced upon one of the bricks.
It was built in the form of a cross, and many tomb-stones are
now lying about it, requiring the chisel of ' Old Mortality' to
enable one to decipher their inscriptions. This parish was
once the wealthiest and thickest settled of any around, the
clergy of Avhich, for many years, were supplied by the society
in England for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts.
There are but few, if any, more antiquated churches than this
at Goose creek, in the whole Union.
After satisfying my curiosity as far as practicable, I reluc¬
tantly withdrew from this deeply engaging place, with the
resolve of never again passing it by on the other side.
112 southern reader and speaker. {Book
Similar to this, are most of the parish churches in the lower
parts of Carolina From their secluded location and primitive
appearance, as they stand embowered among the stately oaks
and brilliant foliage of our forests, they are indeed well
calculated to awaken feelings of deep and vivid interest—
requiring only the pen of an Irving to clothe them with as
many attractions as he has so beautifully imparted to" the
abbeys and churches of other climes.
the modest retort.—anonymous.
A supercilious nabob of the east,
Haught, being great, and purse-proud, being rich,
A governor, or general, at the least,—
I have forgotten which,—
Had in his family an humble youth,
Who went from England in his patron's suite,
An unassuming boy, and in truth
A lad of decent parts, and good repute.
This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.
One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His honor, proudly free, severely merry,
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
" Young man," he said, " by what art, craft, or trade
Did your good father gain a livelihood ?"
" He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
1'• And in his time was reckoned good."
" A saddler, eh ! and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew :
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler, sir, of you V
Each parasite, as in duty bound,
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
113
At length Modestus, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon, if too free he made)
" Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father's trade ?"
" My father's trade I by Heaven, that's too bad !
My father's trade ? Why, blockhead, are you mad ?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low—
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."
" Excuse the liberty I take,"
Modestus said, with archness on his brow,
" Pray, why did not your father make
A gentleman of you ?"
YALUE OF TIME.—Alexander.
Set a high value upon your time. Time is short; and
its flight is rapid. The swiftness of the lapse of time is pro¬
verbial in all languages. In scripture*the life of man is
compared to a multitude of things which quickly pass away,
after making their appearance; as to a post, a weaver's shuttle,
a vapor, a shadow, &c. All the works of man must be per¬
formed in time ; and whatever acquisition is made of any good,
it must be obtained in time. Time, therefore, is not only
short, but precious. Everything is suspended on its improve¬
ment, and it can only be improved when present; and it is
no sooner present, than it is gone: so that whatever we do
must be done quickly. This precious gift is sparingly par¬
celled out, by moments, but the succession of these is rapid
and uninterrupted. Nothing can impede or retard the current
of this stream. Whether we are awake or asleep, whether
occupied or idle, whether we attend to the fact or not, we are
borne along by a silent, but irresistible force. Our progres¬
sive motion in time, may be compared to the motion of the
planet on which we dwell, of which we are entirely insensi¬
ble ; or, to that of a swift-sailing ship, which produces the
illusion that all other objects are in motion, while we seem to
be stationary. So in the journey of life, we pass from stage
to stage,—from infancy to childhood, fron childhood to youth,
from youth to mature age, and finally, ei tve are aware of it,
10*
114 SOUTHERN"'READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
we find ourselves declining- towards the last stage of earthly-
existence. The freshness and buoyancy of youth soon pass
away ; the autumn of life, with its " seared leaf," soon arrives;
and next, and last, if disease or accident do not cut short our
days, old age with its gray hairs, its wrinkles, its debility and
pains, comes on apace. This period is well described by the
wise man, as one in which men are commonly disposed to be
querulous, and to acknowledge that the days draw nigh in
which they have no pleasure. " The keepers of the house
tremble, and the strong men bow themselves, and the grinders
cease because they are few, and those that look out of the
windows are darkened. When men rise up at the noise of the
bird—when all the daughters of music are brought low, and
there shall be fears.—And the almond tree shall flourish, and
the grasshopper be a burden."
Time wasted can never be recovered. No man ever pos¬
sessed the same moment twice. We are, indeed, exhorted
" to redeem our time," but this relates to a right improvement
of that which is to come; for this is the only possible way by
which we can redeem what is irrevocably past. The coun¬
sels which I would offer to the young on this subject are:
Think frequently and seriously on the inestimable value of
time. Never forget that all that is dear and worthy of pursuit
must be accomplished in the short span of time allotted to us
here. Meditate, also, profoundly, and often, on the celerity of
the flight of time. Now you are in the midst of youthful
bloom, but soon this season will only exist in the dim shades
of recollection, and unless it has been well improved, of bitter
regret.
If you will make a wise improvement of your time, you
must be prompt. Seize the fugitive moments as they fly; for",
otherwise, they will pass away before you have commenced
the work which is appropriated to them.
Diligence and constancy are essential to the right improve¬
ment of time.—" Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it
with thy might." " Work while it is called to-day." "Walk
while you have the light;" for the dark night rapidly approaches,
when no work can be done.
Let everything be done in its season. There is a time for
all things; and let all things be done in order. The true
order of things may be determined by their relative impor¬
tance, and by the urgency of the case, or the loss which would
probably be sustained by neglect.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
115
If you would make the most of your time, learn to do one
thing- at once, and endeavor so to perform every work, as to
accomplish it in the best possible manner. As you receive
but one moment at once, it is a vain thing to think of doing
more than one thing at one time • and if any work deserves
your attention at all, it deserves to be well done. Confusion,
hurry, and heedlessness, often so mar a business, that it would
have bfcen better to omit it altogether.
Beware of devolving the duty of to-day on to morrow.
This is called procrastination, which is said, justly, to be the
thief of time." Remember, that every day, and every hour,
has its own appropriate work; but if that which should be
done this day, is deferred until a future time, to say the least,
there must be an inconvenient accumulation of duties in
future. But as to-morrow is to everybody uncertain, suspend¬
ing the acquisition of an important object on such a contin¬
gency, may be the occasion of losing forever the opportunity
of receiving it. The rule of sound discretion is, never to put
off till to-morrow, what ought to be done to day.
CHARACTER OP MOULTRIE.—Headley.
Moultrie was unlike most of the southern officers, whose
bravery is usually of the fiery, chivalric kind, and accompa¬
nied with intense excitement: he was brave as man can be;
but his courage was of that easy, nonchalant character, which
always infuses a little of the comic into the heroic. Stubborn
as a rock, decided, and watchful, he was nevertheless quiet
and unexcited, and went into battle with the sang-froid he
would go to bed. When the governor and privy council pro¬
posed he should surrender up both them and the city of Charles¬
ton to the enemy, he did not dash off into enthusiastic appeals,
but quietly said, UI will do no .i?/ch thing—we will jight it'
out:" and went to work with the cool and dogged resolution
of one whose arm is better than his tongue. In his little pal¬
metto fort, enveloped in the blaze of nearly two hundred can¬
non, he quietly lighted his pipe, to while away the time whose
minutes were measured by. peals of thunder. Yet there was
no carelessness in all this—his calm eye surveyed everything—
took in the whole field of danger, while his blow fell with the
suddenness of thought.
116 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
He was lax in his discipline, and easy with his men, who
loved him with devotion. This trait in his character distressed
Lee exceedingly, when he took command* of the southern
army, and he feared the worst results from it in the attack on
Fort Moultrie; but the hero knew his men, and knew himself,
and had not the least concern about the way they would fight.
A fiery-hearted, enthusiastic leader will carry soldiers in a
storm, or sudden onset, farther and fiercer than a cqol and
steady one; but for deliberate courage, self-confidence and
strength, the latter is by far the best. In that unbroken com¬
posure, and invincible will, soldiers behold not only courage,
but hidden resources and strength on which they can safely
rely. They are not roused by his appeals, but they are filled
with trust in his ability. This quality of a great commander,
Moultrie possessed to a remarkable degree. What he would
have done with a large army, and during a long campaign, it
is impossible to tell; but the British officers had a high
opinion of his skill.
But his noblest quality was his pure and exalted patriotism.
His country and liberty he loved above his life; and no selfish
ambition or sordid feelings sullied his honorable career.
While a prisoner of war, a British officer, the former gover¬
nor of South Carolina, and once his intimate friend, endeav¬
ored, by every argument, to persuade him to enter the
English service. He did not ask him to turn traitor, like
Arnold, for that he knew him incapable of doing, but to leave
the country and serve in Jamaica. He was a prisoner; and
probably would remain so till the close of the war, and hence
could be of no service to America; while as an English
officer abroad, he could run a career of glory. But his ear
was deaf to every offer that would divide him from the land
of his birth, and from the interests of freedom; and he wrote
the following noble reply to the friend who sought to corrupt
him: "When I entered into this contest, I did it with the
most mature deliberation, and with a determined resolution to
risk my life and fortune in the cause. The hardships I have
gone through I look back upon with the greatest pleasure. I
shall continue to go on as I have begun, that my example
may encourage the youths of America to stand forth in defence
of their rights and liberties. You call upon me now, and
teU me I have a fair opening of quitting that service with
honor and reputation to myself, by going to Jamaica. Good
God ! Is it possible that such an idea could arise in the
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
117
breast of a man of honor? I am sorry you should imagine I
nave so little regard for my own reputation, as to listen to such
dishonorable proposals. Would you wish to have that man
whom you have honored with your friendship play the traitor ?
Surely not. You say, by quitting this country for a short
time, I might avoid disagreeable conversations, and might
return, at my own leisure, and take possession of my estates
for myself and family. But you have forgot to tell me how I
am to get rid of the feelings of an injured, honest heart, and
where to hide myself from myself:—could I be guilty of so
much baseness I should hate myself, and shun mankind.
This would be a fatal exchange from my present situation,
with an easy and approved conscience, of having done my
duty, and conducted myself as a man of honor.
Such were the men who planted the tree of . liberty in this
soil, and watered it with their blood
THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM.—Dimond.
In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay ;
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.
lie dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While memory stood sideways, half covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn.
Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise—
Now far, far behind him the grfeen waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch,
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; .
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
118
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
And the lips of the boy in a love kiss unite
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulse—all hardships seem o'er,
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest—
" Q God, thou hast blessed me—I ask for no more
Ah ! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye 1
Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ?
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!
'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere!
He springs from his hammock—he flies to the deck,
Amazement confronts him with images dire—
Wild winds and wild waves drive the vessel a wreck—
The masts fly in splinters—the shrouds are on fire !
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell—
In vain the lost wretch calls on Heaven to save ;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,
And the death angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!
Oh ! sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss—
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?
Oh ! sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main,
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge.
On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
119
Days, months, years and ages, shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll—
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye—
Oh ! sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul.
-DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM.—Headley.
The last drop in the cup of crime, the crowning guilt at
length came,—Zion crucified her Saviour. Then the long-
delayed curse fell, aiid the Roman legions girdled the city.
Mount Zion became the scene of the severest strife that had
ever wasted it, and of the keenest sufferings its crimes had
ever brought upon it. Although a troop of flaming seraphs
had stooped on the temple, and with the words " let us de¬
part," wheeled away to heaven again, and the chariots of fire
had been seen jostling against each other in the evening
heavens, and a flaming sword been suspended over the city,
and the woe of the denouncing prophet heard along its walls,
still the doomed inhabitants believed them not as omens of
evil. Under their ancient banner they once more rallied for
the conflict, and for a long time Mount Zion stood like a tower
of strength amid her foes. Beating back the tide of battle
from her sides, she proved worthy of her olden renown.
Standing shoulder to shoulder on that glorious hill-top, tens of
thousands of Israel's warriors presented an unbroken front to
the foe^and their shout went up as strong and terrible as
when Joshua led them on to victory. " Zion shall be ploughed
as a field, and Jerusalem -shall become heaps!" Impossible !
" Walk about Zion and go round about her," "mark her bul¬
warks, tell the towers thereof, consider her palaces," number
if ye can her warriors, proud of their strength and confident
in their resources. But the decree has gone forth, " Zion
shall be ploughed as a field." Famine is stronger than the
arm of the warrior, and inward dissensions more wasting than
the sword of the enemy. The banner of Israel still floats in
the breeze, but it waves over the blood of her children.
Pestilence has entered the gates, and the groans of the dying
rise from every house. Bloated forms are seen staggering
round the empty market-places, chewing wisps of straw and
leather for food, and- falling dead in their footsteps. Despair¬
ing eyes, and wan and haggard faces stare from every win-
120 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER- [Book
(low, and corpses are hurried in crowds over the walls, till
even the enemy turn away from the fetid air. The strong
fall on the weak and tear them asunder, to get the morsel
they have swallowed, and mothers devour even their own
offspring. The thunder of engines is heard against the
walls without, and the clash of steel mingles in the wild con
fusion. Yet even amid this terror and woe, Zion fights
against herself and strives to swell the slaughter of her
own children. At length the last day and last hour came—
the temple is on fire and blazes balefully up from Mount
Moriah—the eagles of Caesar flash along the crowded streets,
and the shrieks of the flying and the shouts of the struggling,
mingling with the crackling of the flames, rise over the city.
Zion at length yields, the last strong-hold is taken, and the
spoiler roams unchecked through the streets. " Jerusalem is
in heaps destruction has done her worst, and silence reigns
amid the desolation.
RIGHTS OF DISCOVERY.—Irving.
Let us suppose, that the inhabitants of the moon, by aston¬
ishing advancement in science," and by profound insight into
that lunar philosophy, the mere flickerings of which have of
late years dazzled the feeble optics, and addled the shallow
brains of the good people of our globe—let us suppose, I say,
that the inhabitants of the moon, by these means. haA arrived
at such a command of their oiergie,s, such an enviable state of
perfectibility, as to control the elements, and navigate the
boundless regions of space. Let us suppose a roving crew
of these soaring philosophers, in the course of an aerial voyage
of discovery among the stars, should chance to alight upon
this outlandish planet.
And here, I beg my reader will not have the uncharitable-
ness to smile, as is too freqently the fault of volatile readers,
when pursuing the grave speculations of philosophers. I am
far from indulging in any sportive vein at present; nor is the
supposition I have been making so wild as many may deem
it. It has long been a very serious and anxious question with
me, and many a time and oft, in the course of my overwhelm¬
ing cares and contrivances for the welfare and protection of
this my native planet, have I lain awake whole nights debating
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
121
in my mind, whether it were most probable we should first
discover and civilize the moon, or the moon discover and civ¬
ilize our globe. Neither would the prodigy of sailing in the
air and cruising among the stars, be a whit more astonishing
and incomprehensible to us, than was the European mystery
of navigating floating castles through the world of waters, to
the simple savages. We have already discovered the art of
coasting along the aerial shores of our planet, by means of
balloons, as the savages had of venturing along their sea-coasts
in canoes; and the disparity between the former, and the aerial
vehicles of the philosophers from the moon, might not be
greater than that between the bark canoes of the savages^and
the mighty ships of their discoverers. I might here pursue
an endless chain of similar speculations; but as they would
be unimportant to my subject, I abandon them to my reader,
particularly if he be a philosopher, as matters well worthy of
his attentive consideration.
To return then to my supposition—let us suppose that the
aerial visitants I have mentioned, possessed of vastly superior
knowledge to ourselves; that is to say, possessed of superior
knowledge in the art of extermination—riding on hippogriffs—
defended with impenetrable armor—armed with concentrated
sunbeams, and provided with vast engines, to hurl enormous
moon-stones: in short, let us suppose them, if our vanity will
permit the supposition, as superior to us in knowledge, and
consequently in power, as the Europeans were to the Indians,
when they first discovered them.. All this is very possible ;
it is only our self-sufficiency that makes us think otherwise;
and I warrant the poor savages, before they had any knowl¬
edge of the white men, armed in all the terrors of glittering
steel and tremendous gunpowder, were as perfectly convinced
that they themselves were the wisest, the most virtuous, pow¬
erful, and perfect of created beings, as are at this present
moment, the lordly inhabitants of old England, the volatile
populace of France, or even the self-satisfied citizens of this
most enlightened republic.
Let us suppose, moreover, that the aerial voyagers, finding
this planet to be nothing but a howling wilderness, inhabited
by us poor savages and wild beasts, shall take formal posses¬
sion of it in the name of his most gracious and philosophic
excellency, the man in the moon. Finding, however, that
their numbers are incompetent to hold it in complete subjec¬
tion, on account of the ferocious barbarity of its inhabitants,
122
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
they shall take our worthy President, the King of England,
the Emperor of Hayti, the mighty Bonaparte, and the great
King of Bantam, and returning to their native planet, shall
carry them to court, as were the Indian chiefs led about as
spectacles in the courts of Europe.
Then making such obeisance as the etiquette of the court
requires, they shall address the puissant man in the moon, in,
as near as I can conjecture, the following terms:
" Most serene and mighty Potentate, whose dominions ex¬
tend as far as eye can reach, who rideth on the Great Bear,
useth the sun as a looking-glass, and maintaineth unrivalled
contrpl over tides, madmen, and sea-crabs: we, thy liege sub¬
jects, have just returned from a voyage of discovery, in the
course of which we have landed and taken possession of that
obscure, little, dirty planet, which thou beholdest rolling at a
distance. The five uncouth monsters which we have brought
into this august presence, were once very important chiefs
among their fellow-savages, who are a race of beings totally
destitute of the common attributes of humanity; and differing
in everything from the inhabitants of the moon, inasmuch as
they carry their heads upon their shoulders, instead of under
their arms—have two eyes instead of one—are utterly desti¬
tute of tails, and of a variety of unseemly complexions, par¬
ticularly of a horrible whiteness—instead, of pea-green.
"We have moreover, found these miserable savages sunk
into a state of the utmost ignorance and depravity. In a word,
they have scarcely a gleam, of true philosophy among them,
but are, in fact, utter heretics, ignoramuses, and barbarians.
Taking compassion, therefore, on the sad condition of these
sublunary wretches, we have endeavored, while we remained
on their planet, to introduce among them the light of reason—
and the comforts of the moon. We have treated them to
mouthfuls of moonshine, and draughts of nitrous oxyde, which
they swallowed with incredible voracity, particularly the
females; and we have likewise endeavored to instil into them
the precepts of lunar philosophy. We have insisted upon
their renouncing the contemptible shackles of religion and
common sense and adoring the profound, omnipotent, and all-
perfect energy, and the ecstatic, immutable, immovable per¬
fection. But such was the unparalleled obstinacy of these
Wretched savages, that they persisted in cleaving to their
wives, and adhering to their religion, and absolutely set at
naught the sublime doctrines f>f the moon,—nay, among other
Thied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
123
abominable heresies, they even went so far as blasphemously
to declare, that this ineffable planet was made of nothing
more nor less than green cheese!"
At these words the great man in the moon (being a very
profound philosopher) shall fall into a terrible passion, and
possessing equal authority over things that do not belong to
him, as did whilom his hotiness the Pope, shall forthwith
issue a formidable bull, specifying " That, whereas a certain
crew of lunatics have lately discovered and taken possession
of a newly discovered planet called the earth—and that where¬
as it is inhabited by none but a race of two-legged animals,
that carry their heads on their shoulders instead of under
their arms; cannot talk the lunatic language; have two
eyes instead of one; are destitute of tails, and of a horrible
whiteness, instead of a pea-green—therefore, and for a variety
of other excellent reasons, they are considered incapable of
possessing any property in the planet they infest, and the right
and title to it are confirmed to its original discoverers.—And
furthermore, the colonists who are now about to depart to the
aforesaid planet, are authorized and commanded to use every
means to convert these infidel savages from the darkness of
Christianity, and make them thorough and absolute lunatics."
In consequence of this benevolent bull, our philosophic ben¬
efactors go to work with hearty zeal. They seize upon our
fertile territories, scourge us from our rightful possessions, re¬
lieve us from our wives, and when we are unreasonable
enough to complain, they will turn upon us and say, Miserable
barbarians! ungrateful wretches ! have we not come thou¬
sands of miles to improve your worthless planet? have we
not fed you with moonshine ? have we not intoxicated you
with nitrous oxyde? does not our moon give you light every
night, and have you the baseness to murmur, when we claim
a pitiful return for all these benefits ? But finding that we
not only persist in absolute contempt of their reasoning, and
disbelief in their philosophy, but even go so far as daringly to
defend our property, their patience shall be exhausted, and
they shall resort to their superior powers of argument; hunt
us with hippogriffs, transfix us with concentrated sunbeams,
demolish our cities with moon-stones; until having, by main
force, converted us to the true faith, they shall graciously
permit us to exist in the torrid deserts of Arabia or the frozen
regions of Lapland, there to enjoy the blessings of civilization,
and the charms of lunar philosophy, in much the same manner
124 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
as the reformed and enlightened savages of this country are
kindly suffered to inhabit the inhospitable forests of the north,
or the impenetrable wilderness of South America.
THE AMERICAN FLAG.—Drake.
When Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there ;
She mingled with the gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies.
And striped its pure celestial white,
With streaking3 of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumping loud.
And see the lightning-lances driven.
When strive the warriors of the storm
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,—
Child of the Sun. to thee 'tis given.
To guard the banner of the free.
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbinger of victory.
Flag of the brave, thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high.
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone.
And the long line comes gleaming on,
(Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,)
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy meteor glories burn.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
125
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And, when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall!
There shall thy victor-glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas, on ocean's wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave,
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frightened waves rush wildly back,
Before the broadside's reeling rack;
The dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly,
In triumph, o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free hearts' only home,
By angel-hands to valor given,
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe, but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ?
TWO BEAUTIFUL SISTERS.—Dr. Carpenter.
There are many beautiful and lovely sisters among earth's
families. But among them all, there are no sisters so beauti¬
ful and lovely, and whose friendship and acquaintance are so
desirable as those whose characters are here described. We
most earnestly commend to all, to cultivate an intimate ac¬
quaintance with these two lovely sisters.
One morning, as the sun arose, two spirits went forth upon
the earth. And they were sisters ; but Faith was of mature
age, while "Hope was yet a child.
126 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
They were both beautiful. Some loved to graze upon the
countenance of Faith, for her eye was serene, and her beauty
changed not; but Hope was the delight of every eye.
And the child sported in the freshness of the morning; and
as she hung over the gardens and dewy lawns, her wings
glittered in the sunbeams like a rainbow.
" Come, my sister," she cried, - and chase with me the but¬
terfly from flower to flower."
But her sister was gazing at the lark, as it rose from its low
nest and warbled among the clouds.
And when it was noon, the child said again: '"Come,'my
sister, and pluck with me the flowers of the garden, for they
are beautiful, and their fragrance is sweet."
But Faith replied: -Nay. my sister, let the flowers be
there, for thou art young and delightest thyself in their beauty
I will meditate in the shade until the heat of the day is past.
Thou wilt find me by the fountain in the forest. When thou
art weary, come an£ repose on my bosom." And she smiled
and departed. After a time Hope sought her sister. The
tear was in hffr eve. and her countenance was mournful.
Then Faith said: u My sister, wherefore dost thou weep
and why is thy countenance so sad
And the child answered: •• Because a cloud is in the sky
and the sunshine is overcast—see. the rain begins to fall."
"It is but a shower." Faith replied, - and when it is over
the fields will be greener than before."
Now the place where they sat was sheltered from the rain,
as it had been from the noon-tide heat. And Faith comforted
the child, and showed how the water flojved with a fuller and
clearer stream as the showers fell. And presently the sun
broke out again, and the woods resounded with song.
Then Hope was glad, and went forth to her sports once
more.
After a while the sky was again darkened, and the young
spirit looked up, and behold there was no cloud in the whole
circle of the heavens. Therefore Hope marvelled, for it was
not yet night. And she fled to her sister, and cast herself
down at her feet, trembling exceedingly.
Then Faith raised the child, and led her forth from the
shade of the trees, and pointed to the sun, and said—'A
shadow is passing over the lace thereof, but no ray of his glory
is extinguished. He still walketh in brightness, and thou
shalt again delight thyself in his beams. See, even yet his
Thied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
127
face is not wholly hidden from us" But the child dared not
look up for the gloom struck upon her heart. And when all
was bright again, she feared less than before.'
When the eventide was come Faith went forth from the
forest shades and sought the lawn, where she might watch
the setting of the sun. Then said she to her young sister,
" Come, and behold how far the glories of the sunset trans¬
cend the beauties of the morning. See how softly they melt
away, and give place to the shadows of night."
But Hope was now weary; her eye was very heavy, and
her voice languid. She folded her radiant wings, and drop¬
ped on her sister's bosom and fell asleep.
But Faith watched through the night; she was never weary,
nor did her eyelids need repose. She laid the child on a
bed of flowers, and kissed her cheek. She also drew her
mantle round the head of the young sleeper that she might
sleep in peace.
Then Faith looked upward, and beheld how the stars came
forth. She traced them in their harmonies, which mortal ear
hath not heard. And as she listened, their music entranced
the soul. At length, a light appeared in the east, and the sun
burst forth from the portals of the heavens. Then the spirit
hastened to arouse the young sleeper.
" Awake ! 0 my sister ! awake !" she cried, " a new day
hath dawned, and no cloud shall overshadow it. Awake, for
the sun hath arisen which shall set no more."
EMULATION.—Dodsley.
If thy soul thirsteth for honor ; if thy ear hath any pleasure
in the voice of praise; raise thyself from'the dust, whereof
thou art made—and exalt thy aim to something that is praise¬
worthy.
The oak that now spreadeth its branches towards the
Heavens, was once but an acorn in the bowels of the earth.
Endeavor to be first in thy calling, whatever it be; neither
let any one go before thee in well-doing; nevertheless do not
envy the merits of another, but improve thine own talents.
Scorn also to depress thy competitor, by any dishonest or
unworthy method; strive to raise thyself above him. only by
excelling him; so shall they that contest for superiority L e
crowned with honor, if not with success.
128 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Boor
By a virtuous emulation* the spirit of a man is exalted
within him ; he panteth after fame, and rejoiceth as a racer to
run his course.
He riseth like the palm-tree, in spite of oppression ; and, as
an eagle in the firmament of Heaven, he soareth aloft, and
fixeth his eye upon the glories of the sun.
The examples of eminent men are in his visions by night;
and his delight is to follow them all the day long.
He formeth great designs, he rejoiceth in the execution
thereof and his name goeth forth to the ends of the world.
But the heart of the envious man is gall and bitterness; his
tongue spitteth venom; the success ot his neighbor breaketh
his rest.
He sitteth in his cell repining; and the good that happen-
eth to another, to him is an evil.
Hatred and malice feed upon his heart, and there is no rest
in him.
He feeleth in his own breast no love of goodness, and there¬
fore believeth his neighbor like unto himself.
He endeavors to depreciate those that excel him, and put-
teth an evil interpretation on all their doings.
He lieth on the watch, and meditates mischief: but the
detestation of man pursueth him: he is crushed as a spider in
his own web.
NOURMAHAL.—Moore.
There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright,
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day's light,
Shining on—shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor.
This was not the beauty—oh ! nothing like this,
That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss:
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here, and now there, giving warmth as itflies
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes;
Now melting in mist, and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint hath of heaven in dreams,
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face;
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 129
And when angry,—for e'en in the tranquilest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes—
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings!
Then her mirth—oh ! 'twas playful as ever took wing
From the heart, with a burst, like the wild bird in spring;
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.
While her laugh, full of life, without any control
But the sweet one of gentleness, rung from her soul;
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover.
In lip, cheek or eyes, for she brighten'd all over,—
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon,
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun.
Such, such were the peerless enchantments, that gave
Nourmahal the proud lord of the east for her slave.
A SKETCH.—New Yorker.
A man stands upon the floor of the House of Delegates of
Virginia. He turns an eye of fire around him—he trembles
with some mighty emotion. That emotion, reader, was the
first breath of new-born Liberty ! She started into life at his
inspiration, and the days of Tyranny were numbered !
The grandeur of that scene cannot be compassed in one
glance. He stood amid a grave and prudent body of men,
conscious indeed of the wroiigs of their country, but relying
upon modest petition for redress. They had never let their
imaginations ramble into visions of upright and chainless
Independence. A thousand things forbade the idea. Their
habits of thought and action, their pitiable weakness as a
country, their disgust for war on account of recent and ex¬
hausting conflicts, all tended to indispose them for freedom.
They were, besides, legislating beneath the zealous eyes of
royal deputies, who would not fail to call treason by its right
name. They sat, as it were, under the glimmerings of the
diadem.
130
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Who would dare, if so inclined, to stalk forth from their
midst and throw down the gauntlet to the mightiest empire of
the world—nay, to all the empires of the world—to principles
as old as the great globe itself, interwoven with every page of
past history, sanctioned by venerable ages, and proud and
awful as the heavens 1 Who would dare to leap on the moss-
grown and frowning ramparts of monarchy, and pluck down
its blood-red flag ? Who would rush out from the security of
submission, and, Samson-like, grasp the lion by his mane?
It was the grandest moment of time—but God had reared up
one to fill it. That man was Patrick Henry.
He opened his lips. His heart, big with the destinies of
the world, struggled for a moment with doubt—but no longer.
The electric appeal shot forth—darted on—flashing fiercer
Yind brighter, and growing and growing in overwhelming maj¬
esty, until the last words—'• Give me Liberty, or give me
Heath !"—filled up its measure of terrible might; and the
last link of the chain that had eternally bound the form of
freedom was riven. He had finished his sublime task, the
Revolution was afoot!
BATTLE OF MOUNT TABOR—Headley.
Forty-seven years ago, a form was seen standing on Mount
Tabor with which the world has since become familiar. It
was a bright spring morning, and as he sat on his steed in the
clear sunlight, his eye rested on a scene in the vale below,
which was sublime and appalling enough to quicken the
pulsations of the calmest heart. That form was Napoleon
Bonaparte, and the scene before him the fierce and terrible
" Battle of Mount Tabor." From Nazareth, where the
Saviour once trod. Kleber had marched with three thousand
French soldiers forth into the plain, when lo, at the foot of
Mount Tabor he saw the whole Turkish army drawn up
in order of battle. Fifteen thousand infantry and twelve
thousand splendid cavalry moved down in majestic strength
on this band of three thousand French. Kleber had scarcely
time to throw his handful of men into squares, with the can¬
non at the angles, before those twelve thousand horse, making
the earth smoke and thunder as they came, burst in a head¬
long gallop upon them. But round those steady squares
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
131
rolled a fierce devouring fire, emptying the saddles of those
wild horsemen with frightful rapidity, and strewing the earth
with the bodies of riders and steeds together. Again and
again did those splendid squadrons wheel, re-form and charge
with deafening shouts, while their uplifted and flashing
scimetars gleamed like a forest of steel through the smoke of
battle: but that same wasting fire received them, till those
squares seemed bound by a girdle of flame, so rapid and
constant were the discharges. Before their certain and deadly
aim, as they stood fighting for existence, the charging squad¬
rons fell so fast that a rampart of dead bodies was soon
formed around them. Behind this embankment of dead men
and horses, this band of warriors stood and fought for six
dreadful hours, and was still steadily thinning the ranks of the
enemy, when Napoleon debouched with a single division on
Mount Tabor, and turned his eye below. What a scene met
his gaze. The whole plain was filled with marching columns
and charging squadrons of wildly galloping steeds, while the
thunder of cannon and fierce rattle of musketry, amid which
now and then was heard the blast of thousands of trumpets,
and strains of martial music filled all the air. The smoke of
battle was rolling furiously over the hosts, and all was con¬
fusion and chaos in his sight. Amid the twenty-seven thou¬
sand Turks that crowded the plain and enveloped their enemy
like a cloud, and amid the incessant discharge of artillery
and musketry, Napoleon could tell where his own brave
troops were struggling, only by the steady simultaneous volleys,
which showed how discipline was contending with the wild
valor of overpowering numbers. The constant flashes from
behind that rampart of dead bodies, were like spots of flame
on the tumultuous and chaotic field. Napoleon descended
from Mount Tabor with his little band, while a single twelve-
pounder, fired from the heights, told the wearied Kleber that
he was rushing to the rescue. Then for the first time he took
the offensive, and pouring his enthusiastic followers on the foe,
carried death and terror over the field. Thrown into confu¬
sion, and trampled under foot, that mighty army rolled turbu-
lently back towards the Jordan, where Murat was anxiously
waiting to in ingle in the fight. Dashing with his cavalry
among the disordered ranks, he sabred them down without
mercy, and raged like a lion amid the prey. This chivalric
and romantic warrior declared that the remembrance of the
scenes that once transpired on Mount Tabor, and on these
132 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boor
thrice consecrated spots, came to him in the hottest of the
fight, and nerved him with ten-fold courage.
As the sun went down over the plains of Palestine, and
twilight shed its dim ray over the rent and trodden and dead-
covered field, a sulphurous cloud hung around the summit of
Mount Tabor. The smoke of battle had settled there where
once the cloud of glory rested, while groans and shrieks and
cries rent the air. Nazareth, Jordan, and Mount Tabor! what
spots for battle-fields !
RIENZTS ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS—Miss Mitford.
Friends,
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom :—we are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave;—not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame ;
But base, ignoble slaves-—slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages,
Strong in some hundred spearmen—only great
In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder,
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor—there he stands—
Was struck—struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini; because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? men. and wash not
The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
Tb the beloved disciple. How I loved
Thirp.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
133
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son ! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour;
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw
The corse, the mangled Corse, and then I cried
For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans: rouse, ye slaves !
Have ye brave sons 1 Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die. Have ye daughters fair 1 Look
To see them torn from your arms ; * * *
* * * And, if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash. Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans I
"Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! And once, again,—
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !—once again, I swear,
The eternal city shall be free ! her sons
Shall walk with princes !
ADAMS AND JEFFERSON.—Story.
They have lived, not for themselves, but for their country;
not for their country alone, but for the world. They belong
to history, as furnishing some of the best examples of disin¬
terested and successful patriotism. They belong to posterity,
as the instructors of all future ages in the principles of rational
liberty and the rights of the people. They belong to us of
the present age, by their glory, by their virtues, and by their
achievements. These are memorials which can never perish.
They will brighten with the lapse of time, and, as they loom
on the ocean of eternity, will seem present to the most distant
generations of men. That voice of more than Roman elo¬
quence, which urged and sustained the Declaration of Inde¬
pendence—that voice, whose first and whose last accents
were for his country, is indeed mute. It will never again rise
in defence of the weak against popular excitement, and vindi¬
cate the majesty of law and justice. It will never again
awaken a nation to arms to assert its liberties. It will never
again instruct the public councils by its wisdom. It will
12
134 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
never again utter its almost oracular thoughts in philosophical
retirement. It will never again pour out its strains of parental
affection, and, in the domestic circle, give new force and fervor
to the consolations of religion.
The hand, too, which inscribed the Declaration of Inde¬
pendence is indeed laid low. The weary head reposes on its
mother earth. The mountain winds sweep by the narrow-
tomb, and all around has the loneliness of desolation. The
stranger guest may no longer visit that hospitable home, and
find him there, whose classical taste and various conversation
lent a charm to every leisure hour ; whose bland manners and
social simplicity made every welcome doubly dear ; whose ex¬
pansive mind commanded the range of almost every art and
science; whose political sagacity, like that of his illustrious
coadjutor, read the fate and interests of nations, as with a
second sight, and scented the first breath of tyranny in the
passing gale; whose love of liberty, like his. was inflexible,
universal, supreme; whose devotion to their common country,
like his, never faltered in the worst and never wearied in the
best of times ; whose public services ended but with life, car¬
rying the long line of their illumination over sixty years;
whose last thoughts exhibited the ruling passion of his heart.—
enthusiasm in the cause of education; whose last breathing
committed his soul to God, and his offspring to his country.
Yes, Adams and Jefferson are gone from us forever—gone,
as a sunbeam to revisit its native skies—gone, as this mortal
to put on immortality. Of them, of each of them, every
American may exclaim—
" Ne'er to the chambers where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation, came a nobler guest.
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.''
We may not mourn over the departure of such men. We
should rather hail it as a kind dispensation of Providence, to
affect our hearts with new and livelier gratitude. They were
not cut off in the blossom of their days, while yet the vigor of
manhood flushed their cheeks, and the harvest of glory was
ungathered. They fell not as martyrs fall, seeing only in
dim perspective the salvation of their country-. They lived to
enjoy the blessings earned by their labors, and to realize all
which their fondest hopes had desired. The infirmities of
life stole slowly and silently upon them, leaving still behind a
Tamo.] SOUTHERN READER. AND SPEAKER. 135
cheerful serenity of mind. In peace, in the bosom of domes¬
tic affection, in the hallowed reverence of their countrymen, in
the full'possession of their faculties, they wore out the last
remains of life, without a fear to cloud, with scarcely a sorrow
to disturb its close. The joyful day of our jubilee came over
them with its refreshing influence. To them, indeed, it was
" a great and good day." The morning sun shone with soft¬
ened lustre on their closing eyes. Its evening beams played
lightly on their brows, calm in all the dignity of death. Their
spirits escaped from these frail tenements without a struggle
or a groan. Their death was gentle as an infant's sleep. It
was a long, lingering twilight, melting into the softest shade.
SPIRIT OF FREEDOM.—Pekcival.
Spirit of Freedom ! who thy home hast made
In wilds and wastes, where wealth has never trod,
Nor bowed her coward head before her god,
The sordid deity of fraudful trade;
Where power has never reared his iron brow,
And glared his glance of terror, nor has blown
The maddening trump of battle, nor has flown
His blood-thirst eagles; where no flatterers bow,
And kiss the foot that spurns them; where no throne,
Bright with the spoils from nations wrested, towers,
The idol of a slavish mob, who herd
Where largess feeds their sloth with golden showers,
And thousands hang upon one tyrant's word—
Spirit of Freedom ! thou, who dwell'st alone,
Unblenched, unyielding, on the storm-beat shore,
And findest a stirring music in its roar,
And lookest abroad on earth and sea thy own—
Far from the city's noxious hold, thy foot
Fleet as the wild deer bounds, as if its breath
Were but the rankest, foulest stream of death ;
Its soil were but the dunghill, where the root
Of every poisonous weed and baleful tree
drew vigorously and deeply, till their shade
Had choked and killed each wholesome plant, and laid
In rottenness the flower of Liberty—
Thou fliest to the desert, and its sands
136 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. . [Book
Become thy welcome shelter, where the pure
Wind gives its freshness to thy roving bands,
And languid weakness finds its only cure;
Where few their wants, and bounded their desires,
And life all spring and action, they display
Man's boldest flights, and highest, warmest fires,
And beauty wears her loveliest array—
Spirit of Freedom ! I would with thee dwell,
Whether on Afric's sand, or Norway's crags,
Or Kansa's prairies, for thou lovest them well,
And there thy boldest daring never flags;
Or I would launch with thee upon the deep,
And, like the petrel, make the wave my home,
And careless as the sportive sea-bird roam ;
Or with the chamois on the Alp would leap,
And feel myself upon the snow-clad height,
A portion of that undimmed flow of light,
No mist nor cloud can darken—0 ! with thee,
Spirit of Freedom ! deserts", mountains, storms,
Would wear a glow of beauty, and their forms
Would soften into loveliness, and be
Dearest of earth,—for there my soul is free
CHARACTER OF MARION.—Headlet.
In personal appearance, Marion presented a striking con¬
trast to most of the officers in our army. It is a curious fact,
that the generals of the highest grade, in both armies, during
the Revolutionary war, averaged nearly two hundred pounds
in weight. But Marion was a very small man, and of diminu¬
tive proportions every way. He was not only short, but re¬
markably thin. His countenance was swarthy, and grave in
its expression, and his eye dark, solemn, and poetic. Ex¬
tremely plain in his dress, and with still plainer manners, he
did not strike a stranger very favorably. Reserved and silent,
he seldom spoke, except when necessary, and then expressed
his thoughts in the most direct and simple language he could
command. These peculiarities increased the mystery which
his actions threw around him, and doubtless added much to
the influence he held over his band. Cool and quiet, he went
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
137
on the most desperate missions without excitement—as calmly
stormed through the fight, and then, in the same composed
manner, drew off his men to their dark and lonely encamp¬
ment. He seemed utterly destitute of passions. He pos¬
sessed neither revenge, nor thirst for glory, nor love of excite¬
ment, nor desire of money or power. He showed no fondness
for the table, but was abstemious as a hermit. Even the
women had no influence over him; and he moved amid the
turbulent scenes around him, like one whose mind is wholly
absorbed on one great object, yet to be accomplished. Drink¬
ing his vinegar and water—enough to keep any man thin—
eating his coarse hommony, or rice—with the trees for his shel¬
ter, and the swamps for his retreat, he fastens himself upon our
affections and interest, with a firmness nothing can shake.
Living in lawless times, and among rough and boisterous-
men, he retained all his delicacy of feeling, refined tastes, and
scrupulous virtue. Moving in an orbit of his own, he, like
Washington, was beyond the influence of others, and seemed
free from the common frailties of men.
Without pay—without even'the hope of victory—hunted
from swamp to swamp, and chased the length and breadth of
his state, he still struggled on t8 keep alive the waning flame
of patriotism in the hearts of the inhabitants. Binding his
men to him by love, rather than by commands, he would let
them disband to their homes, with no security but their single
promise to return. Yet that promise was never broken ; and
the love those stern hearts bore him, is one of the most touch¬
ing incidents in his career.
As a partisan leader, Marion had no equal. One cannot
point out a defect in him, nor suggest a single good quality
which he did not possess. To sleepless, tireless vigilance,
he added an energy and perseverance that nothing could
shake; and to bravery, which never deserted him, a prudence
unmarred by a single rash act. Provoked into no haste, be¬
guiled into no procrastination, unelated by success, undis-
couraged by defeat, he baffled every plan of his pursuers to
take him, and kept the field in the very midst of his foes.
For a long time the only patriot who dared to lift the standard
of freedom in his native state, he became the object against
which the British directed all their efforts. Yet they never
disbanded his corps, or broke his power. The name of
Marion became a spell-word with which to conjure up the
republicans, and frignten the tories. Seeking the recesses
12*
138 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
of the swamps by day, and stealing on his foes, like the pan¬
ther, by night, his swift horsemen came and. went like the
invisible stroke of fate. No precaution could escape his
penetrating glance, and no concealment furnish security against
his deadly rifles. He seemed omnipresent to the enraged,
terror-stricken loyalists; and when they deemed themselves
safest, he was often nearest. And yet, not a vice sullied
"his ermine character." No ferocity was mingled with his
courage, and no cruelty accompanied his fierce onsets. Neither
the barbarity of his enemies, nor the treason of his friends
could provoke him to injustice—even the clamors of his own
followers were Unable to swerve his just soul from the path of
integrity. Given to no excess, he asked no share of the
plunder, and never used the power he possessed to gratify a
single selfish passion.
His patriotism was pure and lofty as his character; and
for his sufferings and losses he neither asked nor expected
remuneration. His country he loved better than his life, and
liberty was dearer to him than all things else on earth beside.
Wealth, rank, ease, safety, all sunk before his country's claims,
and he seemed to aim at nothing but its interests.' His like is
seldom seen.
His followers were worthy of him. Bold, fearless—true
as steel in the hour of danger, they closed round him with
a faith and devotion that excite our admiration, and claim our
love.
CLARENCE'S DREAM.—Shaksfeake.
"O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That, as I am a Christian, faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ;
So full of dismal terror was the time.
Methought that I had broken from the tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,
And in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times, °
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
During1 the wars of York and Lancaster,
That had befallen us. As we passed along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling
Struck me (that thought to stay him) overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
0, then, methought. what pain it was to drown !
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears !
What sights of ugly death within mine#eyes !
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels ;
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's sculls ; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were, crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To find the empty, vast, and wandering air;
But smothered it within my panting bulk,
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
My dream was lengthened after life ;
0, then began the tempest of my soul;
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
TTnto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger-soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud " What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?"
And so he vanished.
Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud
" Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury :
Seize on him, furies ! take him to your torments !"
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled into mine ears
140 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I trembling waked ; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream.
PERPETUITY OF THE UNION*—Bancroft
In proceeding to discharge the debt of the United States—
a measure thoroughly American—Jackson followed the exam¬
ple of his predecessors; but he followed it with the foil con¬
sciousness that he was rescuing the country from the artificial
system of finance which had prevailed throughout the world;
and with him it formed a part of a system by which American
legislation was to separate itself more aud more effectually
from European "precedents, and develop itself more and more,
according to the vital principles of our political existence.
The discharge of the debt brought with it, of necessity, a
great reduction of the public burdens, and brought, of neces¬
sity, into view, the question, how far America should follow, of
choice, the old restrictive system of high duties, under which
Europe had oppressed America ; or how far she should rely on
her own freedom and enterprise and power, defying the compe¬
tition, and seeking the markets, and receiving the products of
the world.
The mind of Jackson on this subject reasoned clearly, and
without passion. In the abuses of the system of revenue by
excessive imposts, he saw evils which the public mind would
remedy : and, inclining with the whole might of his energetic
nature to the side of revenue duties, he made his earnest but
tranquil appeal to the judgment of the people.
The portions of country that suffered most severely from a
system of legislation, which, in its extreme character, as it then
existed, is now universally acknowledged to have been unequal
and unjust, were less tranquil: and rallying on the doctrines
of freedom, which made our government a limited one, they
saw, in the oppressive acts, an assumption of power which was
nugatory, because it was exercised, as they held, without
authority from the people.
wLhiSonXnea27^i84kal °D ^ ^ °f General Ackson, delivered at
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 141
The contest that ensued was the most momentous in our
annals. The greatest minds of America engaged in the dis¬
cussion. Eloquence never achieved sublimer triumphs in the
American Senate, than on those occasions. The country
became deeply divided; and the antagonist elements were
arrayed against each other under forms of Clashing authority,
menacing civil war. The freedom of the several states was
invoked against the power of the United States; and under
the organization of a state in convention, the reserved rights
of the people were summoned to display their energy, and
balance the authority and neutralize the legislation of the
central government. The states were agitated with prolonged
excitement; the friends of freedom .throughout the world
looked on with divided sympathies, praying that the union of
the states might be perpetual, and also that the commerce of
the world might be free.
Fortunately for the country, and fortunately for mankind,
Andrew Jackson was at the helm of state, the representative
of the principles that were to allay excitement and to restore
the hopes of peace and freedom. By nature, by impulse, by
education, by conviction, a friend to personal freedom—by
education, political sympathies, and the fixed habit of his
mind, a friend to the rights of the states—unwilling that the
liberty of the states should be trampled under foot—unwilling
that the constitution should lose its vigor or be impaired, he
rallied for the constitution, and in its name he published to the
world, " The Union: it must be preserved." The words
were a spell to hush evil passion, and to remove oppression.
Under his guiding influence the favored interests, which had
struggled to perpetuate unjust legislation, yielded to the voice
of moderation and reform; and every mind that had for a
moment contemplated a rupture of the states, discarded it for¬
ever. The whole influence of the past was invoked in favor
of the constitution—from the council chambers of the fathers
who moulded our institutions—from the hall where American
Independence was declared, the clear, loud cry was uttered—
"The Union: it must be preserved." From every battle¬
field of the revolution—from Lexington and Bunker Hill—
from Saratoga and Yorktown—from the fields of Eutaw—
from the cane-brakes that sheltered the men of Marion—the
repeated, long-prolonged echoes came up—" The Union: it
must be preserved." From every valley in our land—from
every cabin on the pleasant mountain sides—from the ships at
142 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
our wharves—from the tents of the hunter in our westernmost
prairies—from the living minds of the living millions of Amer¬
ican freemen—from the thickly coming glories of futurity—
the shout went up, like the sound of many waters, " The
Union: it must be preserved." The friends of the protective
system, and they who had denounced the protective system-
statesmen of the north, who had wounded the constitution in
their love of centralism—the statesmen of the south, whose
minds had carried to its extreme, the theory of state rights-
all conspired together; all breathed prayers for the perpetuity
of the Union. Under the prudent firmness of Jackson—under
the mixture of justice and general regard for all interests, the
greatest danger to our institutions was turned aside, and man¬
kind was encouraged to believe that our Union, like our free¬
dom, is imperishable.
WISDOM.—Solomon.
Doth not wisdom cry? and understanding put forth her
voice ? She standeth in the top of high places, by the way in
the places of the paths; she crieth at the gates, at the entry
of the city, at the coming in at the doors; unto you. 0 men,
I call; and my voice is to the sons of man. 0 ye simple,
understand wisdom; and ye fools, be ye of an understanding
heart.
Hear; for I will speak of excellent things ; and the opening
of my lips shall be right things. "For my mouth shall speak
truth; and wickedness is an abomination "to my lips. All the
words of my mouth are in righteousness : there is nothing fro-
ward or perverse in them. They are all plain to him that
understandeth, and right to them "that find knowledge.
Receive my instruction, and not silver; and knowledge
rather than choice gold. For wisdom is better than rubies;
and all the things that may be desired are not to be compared
to it. I, wisdom, dwell with prudence, and find out knowledge
of witty inventions. The fear of the Lord is to hate evil;
pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth,
do I hate. Counsel is mine, and sound wisdom ; I am under¬
standing ; I have strength.
By me kings reign, and princes decree justice. By me
princes rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth. I
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
143
love them that love me ; and those that seek me early shall
find me. Riches and honor are with me ; yea, durable riches
and righteousness. My fruit is better than gold, yea, than fine
gold; and my revenue than choice silver. I lead in the way
of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment; that
I may cause those that love me to inherit substance; and I
will fill their treasures.
The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, before
his works of old. I was set up from everlasting, from the be¬
ginning, or ever the earth was. When there were no depths,
I was brought forth; when there were no fountains abounding
with water. Before the mountain^ were settled; before the
hills was I brought forth: while as yet he had not made the
earth, nor the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the
world. When he prepared the heavens, I was there: when
he set a compass upon the face of the depth: when he estab¬
lished the clouds above: when he strengthened the fountains
of the deep: when he gave to the sea his decree, that the
waters should not pass his commandment: when he appointed
the foundations of the earth: then I was by him, as one
brought up with him; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing
always before him ; rejoicing in the habitable part of his earth,
and my delights were with the sons of men.
Now therefore hearken unto me, 0 ye children: for blessed
are they that keep my ways. Hear instruction, and be wise,
and refuse it not. Blessed is the man that heareth me, watch¬
ing daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors. For
whoso findeth me findeth life, and shall obtain favor of the
Lord. But he that sinneth against me wrongeth his own
i soul: all they that hate me love death.
THE BUMPKIN AND THE RAZOR SELLER.—WoLcorr.
A fellow, in a market town,
Most musical, cried razors up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen-pence;
Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,
That every man would buy, with cash and sense.
A country bumpkin the great offer heard :
Poor Hodge,—who suffered by a broad, black beard,
144 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose.
With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
And, proudly, to himself, in whispers said—
" This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.
"No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave;
It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went
Smiling,—in heart and soul conlent,
And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.
Being well lathered, from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub—
Just like a hedger cutting furze:
'Twas a vile razor !—then the rest he tried;—
All were impostors. " Ah !" Hodge sighed,
" I wish my eighteen-pence was in my purse."
In vain, to chase his beard, and bring the graces,
He cut, and dug, and whined, and stamped, and swore;
Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and made
faces,
And cursed each razor's body, o'er and o'er.
His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff.
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;
So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds.
Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws,
Yowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.
" Razors ! a vile, confounded dog!
Not fit to scrape a hog!"
Hodge sought the fellow—found him—and begun—
" P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue ! to you 'tis fun
That people flay themselves out of their lives.
You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster-knives.
Sirrah ! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave!
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 145
"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave.
As for the razors you have bought,—
Upon my soul, I never thought
That they would shave.11
" Not think they'd shave /" quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell,
8 What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries.
" Made!" quoth-the fellow, with a smile,—" to sell.11
PREVALENCE OF WAR.—Geimke'.
War is the law of violence. Peace the law of love. That
law of violence prevailed without mitigation, from the murder
of Abel to the advent of the Prince of Peace.
We might have imagined, if history had not attested the re¬
verse, that an experiment of four thousand years would have
sufficed to prove, that the rational and valuable ends of society
can never be attained, by constructing its institutions in con¬
formity with the standard of war. But the sword and the
torch had been eloquent in vain. A thousand battle-fields,
white with the bones of brothers, were counted as idle advo¬
cates in the cause of justice aud humanity. Ten thousand
cities, abandoned to the cruelty and licentiousness of the
soldiery; and burnt, or dismantled, or razed to the ground,
pleaded in vain against the law of violence. The river, the
lake, the sea, crimsoned with the blood of fellow-citizens, and
neighbors, and strangers, had lifted up their voices in vain to
denounce the folly and wickedness of war. The shrieks and
agonies, the rage and hatred, the wounds and curses of the
battle-field, and the storm and the sack, had scattered in vain
their terrible warnings throughout all lands. In vain had the
insolent Lysander destroyed the walls and burnt the fleets of
Athens, to the music of her own female flute-players. In
vain had Scipio, amid the ruins of Carthage, in the spirit of a
gloomy seer, applied to Rome herself the prophecy of Aga¬
memnon,
" The day shall oome, the great avenging day,
Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay;
When Priain's power, and Priam's self shall fall,
And one prodigious ruin swallow all."
146 SOUTHERN READER, AND SPEAKER. [Boos
In vain had Pyrrhus exclaimed, as for all the warrior gamblers
of antiquity, " One such victory more, and I am undone." In
vain had the disgrace and the sufferings of Miltiades and Ni-
cias, of Themistocles, Pausanias, and Alcibiades; of Marius
and Sylla, of Hannibal, Pompey, and Caesar, filled the nations
with pity and dismay. The lamentations of the widow and
the tears of the orphan, the broken hearts of age and the
blasted hopes of youth, and beauty, and love, had pleaded in
vain against the law of violence. The earfh had drunk in the
life-blood of the slain, and hidden their mangled bodies in her
bosom: and there the garden, the orchard, and the harvest,
flourished once more, beautiful in the tints of nature, and rich
in the melody of fount, and leaf, and breeze. The waters
had swallowed into their depths the dying and the dead, and
the ruined fleets both of victor and vanquished; and again the
waves danced in their sportiveness, or rushed in their fury,
over the battle-plain of hostile navies. The innocence of
childhood had forgotten the parent's violent death, the widow
had recovered the lost smile of former years, the miserable old
man had been gathered to his fathers, and affection had found
new objects for its attachments.
THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON.*—Has. Sigoubxey.
Long hast thou slept unnoted. INature stole
In her soft ministry around thy bed,
Spreading her vernal tissue, violet gemm'd,
And pearl'd with dews. She bade bright Summer bring
Gifts of frankincense, with sweet song of birds,
And Auturan cast his reaper's coronet
Down at thy feet, and stormy Winter speak
Sternly of man's neglect. But now we come
To do thee homage—mother of our chief!
Fit homage—such as honoreth him who pays.
Methinks we see thee—as in olden time—
Simple in garb—majestic and serene,
Unmoved by pomp or circumstance—in truth
•Inflexible, and with a Spartan zeal
Depressing vice and making folly grave.
• On laying the cornerstone of her monument at Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
147
Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste
Life in inglorious sloth—to sport awhile
Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave,
Then fleet, like the ephemeron, away,
Building no temple in her children's hearts,
Save to the vanity and pride of life
Which she had worshipped.
For the might that clothed
The " Pater Patriae,"—for the glorious deeds
That make Mount Vernon's tomb a Mecca shrine—
For all the earth, what thanks to thee are due,
Who mid his elements of being wrought,
We know not—Heaven can tell.
Bise, sculptured pile!
And show a race unborn who rest below,
And say to mothers what a holy charge
Is theirs—with what a kingly power their love
Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind.
Warn them to wake at early dawn—and sow
Good seed before the world hath sown her tares ;
Nor in their toil decline—that angel bands
May put the sickle in, and reap for God,
And. gather to his garner. Ye, who stand,
With thrilling breast, to view her trophied praise,
Who nobly rear'd Virginia's godlike chief—
Ye, whose last thought upon your nightly couch,
Whose first at waking, is your cradled, son,—
What though no high ambition prompts to rear
A second Washington; or leave your name
Wrought out in marble with a nation's tears
Of deathless gratitude—yet may you raise
A monument above the stars—a soul
Led. by your teachings and your prayers to God.
THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY.—Hayne.
It has been usual, on occasions like the present, to give a
history of the wrongs endured by our fathers. But, my friends,
we have prouder, and more ennobling recollections, connected
with our revolution. They are to be found in the spirit
displayed by our fathers, when all their petitions had been
148 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
slighted, their remonstrances despised, and their appeals to
the generous sympathies of their brethren utterly disregarded.
Yes, my friends, there was that pure and lofty spirit of de¬
voted patriotism, which never quailed beneath oppression,
which braved all dangers, and trampled upon difficulties, and
in " the times which tried men's souls," taught them to be
faithful to their principles, and to their country—true; and
which induced them (in the very spirit of that Brutus whose
mantle has fallen, in our own day, upon the shoulders of one
so worthy to wear it) to swear on the altar of liberty—to give
themselves up wholly to their country. There is one char¬
acteristic, however, of the American revolution, which, con¬
stituting, as it does, its living principle, its proud distinction,
and its crowning glory—cannot be passed over in silence. It
is this—that our revolution had its origin, not so much in the
weight of actual oppression, as in the great principle—the
sacred duty, of resistance to the exercise of unauthorized
power.
Other nations have been driven to rebellion by the iron
hand of despotism, the insupportable weight of oppression,
which, leaving men nothing worth living for, has taken away
the fear of death itself, and caused them to rush upon the
spears of their enemies, or to break their chains upon the
heads of their oppressors. But it was a tax of three-pence a
pound upon tea, imposed without right, which was considered
by our ancestors as a burden too grievous to be borne. And
why ? Because they were men " who felt oppression's lightest
finger as a mountain weight," and. in the fine language of that
just and beautiful tribute paid to their character by one
"whose praises will wear well"—"they judged of the griev¬
ance, by the badness of the principle, they augured misgov-
ernment at a distance, and snuffed the approach of tyranny in
every tainted breeze"—because they were men, who, fin the
darkest hour, could say to their oppressors, " We have counted
the cost, and find nothing so deplorable as voluntary slavery,"
and who were ready to exclaim with the orator of Virginia,
"Give me liberty, or give me death." Theirs was the same
spirit which inspired the immortal Hampden to resist, at the
peril of his life, the imposition of ship-money; not because.as
remarked by Burke, " the payment of twenty shillings would
have ruined his fortune, but because the payment of half
twenty shillings, on the principle on which it was demanded,
would have made him a slave." It was the spirit of liberty
THIED.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
149
which still abides on the earth, and whose home is in the
bosoms of the brave—which but yesterday, in " beautiful
France," restored their violated charter—which even now
burns brightly on the towers of Belgium, and has rescued
Poland from the tyrant's grasp—making their sons, aye, and
their daughters too, the wonder and the admiration of the
world, the pride and glory of the human race!
BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.—Pboctob.
Over Babylon's sandy plains,
Belshazzar, the Assyrian, reigns.
A thousand lords at his kingly call
Have met to feast in a spacious hall,
And all the imperial boards are spread
With dainties whereon the monarch fed.—
Rich cates and floods of the purple grape :
And many a dancer's serpent shape
Steals slowly upon their amorous sights,
Or glances beneath the flaunting lights :
And fountains throw up their silver spray,—
And cymbals clash,—and the trumpets bray
Till the sounds in the arched roof are hung;
And words from the winding horn are flung:
And still the carved cups go round,
And revel and mirth and wine abound.
But night has o'ertaken the fading day ;
And music has raged her soul away:
The light in the bacchanal's eye is dim;
And faint is the Georgian's wild-love hymn.
" Bring forth"—(on a sudden spoke the king,
And hush'd were the lords' loud rioting,)—
" Bring forth the vessels of silver and gold,
Which Nebuchadnezzar, my sire of old,
Ravished from proud Jerusalem;
And we and our queens will drink from them."
And the vessels are brought, of silver and gold,
Of stone, and of brass, and of iron old,
And of wood, whose sides like a bright gem shine,
And their mouths are ail fill'd with the sparkling wine.
13*
150 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Hark !—the king has proclaim'd with a stately nod,
" Let a health be drunk out unto Baal, the god."
They shout and they drink:—but the music moans,
And hush'd are the revellers' loudest tones :
For a hand comes forth, and 'tis seen by all
To write strange words on the plaster'd wall!
—The mirth is over;—the soft Greek flute
And the voices of women are low—are mute;
The bacchanals' eyes are all .staring wide;
And, where's the Assyrian's pomp of pride 7—
—That night the monarch was stung to pain:
That night Belshazzar, the king, was slain !—
DEFENCE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA—St. Paul.
I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall answer
for myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof
I am accused of the Jews; especially because I know thee
to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the
Jews: wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently.
My manner of life from my youth, which was'at the first
among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews;
which knew me from the beginning, (if they would testify.)
that after the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a
Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of
the promise made of God unto our fathers: unto which
promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night,
hope to come: for which hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am
accused of the Jews. Why should it be thought a thing in¬
credible with you, that God should raise the dead ? I verily
thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary
to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which things I also did
in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison,
having received authority from the chief priests ; and when
they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And
I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them
to blaspheme: and being exceedingly mad against them, I
persecuted them even unto strange cities.
Whereupon, as I went to Damascus .with authority and
commission from the chief priests, at mid day, 0 king, I saw
in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the
sun, shining rouad about me, and them which journeyed with
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 151
me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice
6peaking unto me. and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, Saul,
Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is hard for thee to kick
against the pricks. And I said, Who art thou, Lord 1 And
he said, I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest. But rise, and
stand upon thy feet, for I have appeared unto thee for this
purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these
things which thou hast seen, and of those things in the
which I will appear unto thee, delivering thee from the
people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee,
to open'their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and
from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive
forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are
sanctified by the faith that is in me.
Whereupon, 0 king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the
heavenly vision: but showed first unto them of Damascus and
at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, and then
to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and
do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews
caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having
therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this-day, wit¬
nessing both to small and great, saying none other things than
those which the prophets and Moses did say should come ;
that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first that
should rise from the dead, and should show light unto the
people, and to the Gentiles.
TRUE ELOQUENCE.—Webster.
When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous oc¬
casions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions
excited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than it is con¬
nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clear¬
ness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce
conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in
speqch. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning
may toil for it; but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases
may be marshalled in every way; but they cannot compass
it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occa¬
sion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of decla¬
mation, all may aspire after it—they cannot reach it. It
comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from
152 SOUTHERN' READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
the earth, or the bursting- forth of volcanic fires, with spon¬
taneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the
schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of
speech, shock and disgust men. when their own lives, and the
fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang
on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their
power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible.
Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the
presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent*;
then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out¬
running the deductions of logic,—the high purpose.—the firm
resolve,^-the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beam¬
ing from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the
whole man onward, right onward, to his object,—this, this
is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher*
than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike
action.
THE FALL OF POLAND.—Campbell.
Oh ! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars,
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man!
Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,—
Oh, Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save!—
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains !
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high !
And swear for her to live !—with her to die !
He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 153
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or death,—the watch-word and reply;
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm !—
In vain, alas ! in' vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew;—
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe !
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career,
Hope for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd—as Kosciusko fell!
"SO WAS FRANKLIN."—Anonymous.
" 0, you're a 'prentice !" said a little boy, the other day,
tauntingly, to his companion. The addressed turned proudly
round, and while the fire of injured pride and the look of pity
were strangely blended in his countenance, coolly answered—
" So was Franklin!"
This dignified reply struck me forcibly, and I turned to
mark the disputants more closely. The former, I perceived
by his dress, was of a higher class in society than his hum¬
ble yet more dignified companion. The latter was a sprightly,
active lad, scarce twelve years old, and coarsely but cleverly
attired. But young as he was, there was visible in his coun¬
tenance much of genius, manly dignity, and determinate reso¬
lution ; while that of the former showed only fostered pride,
and the imagined superiority of riches.
That little fellow, thought we, gazing at our young hero,
displays already much of the man, though his calling be an
humble one ; and though povery extends to him her dreary
cheerless reality, still he looks on the brightest side of the
scene, and already rises in anticipation from poverty, woe
and wretchedness 1 Once, " so was Franklin," and the world
may one day witness in our little "'"prentice"' as great a phi¬
losopher as they have already seen in his noble pattern 1 And
we passed on, buried in meditation.
154 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
The motto of our infantile philosopher contains much—too
much to be forgotten, and should be engraven on the minds
of all. What can better cheer man in an humble calling, than
the reflection that the greatest and the best of earth—the
greatest statesmen—the brightest philosophers—and the proud¬
est warriors—have once graced the same profession ?
Look at Cincinnatus ! At the call of his country he laid
aside the plough and seized the sword. But, wielding it with
entire success, when his country was no longer endangered,
and public affairs needed not his longer stay, lie " beat his
sword into a ploughshare," and returned with honest delight
to his little farm.
Look at Washington ! What was his course of life? He
"was first a farmer ; next a commander in chief of the hosts of
•freedom, fighting- for the liberation of his country from the
thralls of despotic oppression; next, called to the highest seat
of government, by his ransomed brethren, a president of the
largest republic on earth—and lastly, a farmer again.
Look at Franklin! He who
" * * with the thunder talked, as friend to friend.
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist."
What was he ! A pi-inter ! once a subordinate in a printing
office ! Poverty stared him in the face—but her blank, hol¬
low look, could nothing daunt him. He struggled against a
harder current than most are called to encounter, but he did
not yield. He pressed manfully onward—bravely buffeted
misfortune's billows—and gained the desired haven !
What was the famous Ben Jonson? He was first a brick-
layer, or mason I What was he in after years ? 'Tis needless
to answer.
What was Burns? An Ayrshire ploughman ! What was
he in after life, in the estimation of his countrymen, and the
world ? Your library gives the answer !
But shall we go on, and call up in proud array, all the
eighty host of worthies that have lived and died, who were
cradled in the lap of penury, and received their first lessons in
the school of affliction ? Nay; we have cited instances enough
already—yea, more than enough, to prove the point in ques¬
tion—namely, that there is no profession, however low in the
opinion of the world, but has been honored with earth's great¬
est and worthiest.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 155
Young man ! Does the iron hand of misfortune press hard
upon you, and disappointments well nigh sink your despairing
soul? Have courage ! Mighty ones have been your prede¬
cessors, and have withstood the current of opposition that
threatened to overwhelm their fragile bark.
Do you despise your humble station, and repine that Provi¬
dence has not placed you in some nobler sphere ? Murmur
not against the dispensations of an all-wise Creator! Re¬
member that wealth is no criterion of moral rectitude, or in¬
tellectual worth—that riches, dishonestly gained, are a lasting
curse—that virtue and uprightness work out a rich reward—•
and that
" An honest man's the noblest work of God."
And when dark Disappointment comes, don't wither at her
stare, but press forward, and the prize is yours ! It was thus
with Franklin—it can be thus with you. He strove for the
prize, and he won it! So may you ! 'Tis well worth con¬
tending for; and success may attend you 1 and the " stars''
will be brighter, as the " stripes" wear deeper.
THERMOPYLAE.—Doanb.
'Twas an hour of fearful issues,
When the bold three hundred stood,
For their love of holy freedom,
By that old Thessalian flood;
When lifting high each sword of flame,
They cajl'd on every sacred name,
And swore, beside those dashing waves,
They never, never would be slaves !
And, 0! that oath was nobly kept:
From morn to setting sun
Did desperation urge the fight
Which valor had begun ;
Till, torrent-like, the stream of blood
Ran down and mingled with the flood,
And all, from mountain-cliff to wave,
Was Freedom's, Valor's, Glory's grave.
156
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Boo*
O, yes, that oath was nobly kept,
Which nobly had been sworn,
And proudly did each gallant heart
The foernan's fetters spurn ;
And firmly was the fight maintained,
And amply was the triumph gained ;
They fought, fair Liberty, for thee:
They fell—to die is to be free.
THE POWER OF GOD.—David.
Bless the Loud, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art
very great; thou art clothed with honor and majesty: who
coverest thyself with light, as with a garment; who stretchest
out the heavens like a curtain ; who layeth the beams of his
chambers in the waters; who maketh the clouds his chariot;
who walketh upon the wings of the wind; who maketh his
angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire; who laid the
foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for¬
ever.
Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment: the
waters stood above the mountains. At thy rebuke they fied;
at the voice of thy thunder they hasted away. They go up
by the mountains; they go down by the valleys unto the place
which thou hast founded for them. Thou hast set a bound
that they may not pass over; that they turn not again to cover
the earth.
He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among
the hills. They give drink to every beast of the field; the
wild asses quench their thirst. By them shall the fowls of
the heaven have their habitation, which sing among the
branches. He watereth the hills from his chambers: the
earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works.
He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for
the service of man; that he may bring forth food out of the
earth; and wine that maketh glad the heart of man. and oil
to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's
heart.
The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Leba¬
non, which he hath planted; where the birds make their
nests: as for the stprk, the fir-trees are her house. The high
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
157
hills are a refuge for the wild goats, and the rocks for the
conies.
He appointeth the moon for seasons ; the sun knoweth his
going down. Thou makest darkness, and it is night where¬
in all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. The young lions
roar after their prey, and seek their meat from God. The sun
ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down
in their dens. Man goeth forth unto his work, and to his
labor, until the evening.
0 Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou
made them all; the earth is'full of thy riches; so is this great
and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both
small and great beasts. There go the ships; there is that
leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein. These wait
all upon thee, that thou mayest give them their meat in due
season. That thou givest them they gather: thou openest
thy hand, they are filled with good:
Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled; thou takest away
their breath, they die, and return to their dust. Thou sendest
forth thy spirit, they are created; and thou renewest the
face of the earth.
The glory of the Lord shall endure forever: the Lord
shall rejoice in his works. He looketh on the earth, and it
trembleth; he tducheth the hills, and they smoke.
1 will sing unto the Lord as long as I live: I will sing
praise unto my God while I have my being. My meditation
of him shall.be sweet; I will be glad in the Lord. Let the
sinners be consumed out of the earth, and let the wicked be no
more. Bless thou the Lord, 0 my soul. Praise ye the
Lord.
AMERICAN HISTORY.—Verplanck.
The study of the history of most other nations, fills the
mind with sentiments not unlike those which the American
traveller feels on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of
some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its vast-
ness, its obscurity, strikes awe to his heart. From the richly
painted windows, filled with sacred emblems and strange
antique forms, a dim religious light falls around. A thousand
recollections of romance and poetry, and legendary story,
come thronging in upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs
158 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
of the mighty dead, rich with the labors of ancient art and
emblazoned with the pomp of heraldry.
What names does he read upon them? Those of princes
and nobles who are now remembered only for their vices; and
of sovereigns, at whose death no tears were shed, and whose
memories live not an hour in the affections of their people.
There, too, he sees other names long familiar to him for their
guilty or ambiguous fame. There rest, the blood-stained
soldier of fortune—the orator, who was ever the ready apolo¬
gist of tyranny—great scholars, who were the pensioned flat¬
terers of power—and poets, who profaned the high gift of
genius, to pamper the vices of a corrupted court.
Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple
of fame reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated
by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated to the
memory of the truly great Or rather, like the Pantheon of
Rome, it stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of
ancient magnificence and the "toys of modern state." Within,
no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure
light of heaven enters from above, and sheds an equal and
serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent,
it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men
who have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on
votive tablets inscribed with the names of the best benefactors
of mankind.
" Patriots are here, in Freedom's battles slain,
Priests, whose long lives were closed without a stain,
Bards worthy him who breathed the poet's mind,
Founders of arts that dignify mankind,
And lovers of our race, whose labors gave
Their names a memory that defies the grave."
BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.—"Wolfs.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
Tamo.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 159
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him;
But he lay—like a warrior taking- his rest—
With his martial cloak around him!
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought—as yve hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow—
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock tolled the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun,
That the foe was suddenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone,
But left him—alone with his glory!
MARION AND HIS MEN—Headley.
Marion's career embodies more of romance, personal ad¬
venture, hairbreadth escapes, wild daring, and heroic courage
than usually falls to the lot of any man. During all that dis¬
tressful period, when our country was bleeding at every pore,
his patriotism burned with a pure flame, and his hand was
ever ready to strike. Whether we behold him in his solitary
island encampment, amid the dark pine-trees, on whose
branches his sentinels sit—eating his rude meal by the light
of the blazing fire, or stealing with his chosen band of horse-
160 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
men, by midnight, through the forest, to the unsuspecting
enemy; or bursting, with his fierce war-cry, on the British
drag<x>ns ; or, with sword waving above his head, 'leading his
brave militia to the shock of the bayonet; he is the same
cautious, daring, prompt, and resolute man. From the shades
of the gloomy swamp—by the light of his lonely watch-fires
—in the midst of battle—that same swarthy, calm, thoughtful
face, looks steadily upon us, and that piercing black eye holds
our earnest gaze. Through all the changes that eame and
went like shadows over the distracted south, the shout of
" Marion's men" rings cheerily out, and their rifle-shot is
heard, sending hope and courage through thousands of brave,
but desponding hearts.
A more picturesque scene cannot be imagined than his camp
at Snow Island presented on a bright, warm day. There, in
the tall, cool forest, those hardy warriors, in their uncouth
garments, lay stretched on the ground, or sat scattered around,
preparing their repast of potatoes, while the smoke of the fires
curling slowly up through the tree-tops, struggled almost in
vain to reach the open space of heaven. On every side, half
hid by the trunks and foliage, horses were browsing with their
saddles on and the bit dangling about their necks, ready at a
moment's warning to be mounted ; and from the branches of
the trees swords hung idly suspended. Here and there, through
the trees, blue wreaths of smoke were seen rising where me
outposts were engaged at their frugal meal, while down that
dark and silent avenue, which led to the shore, the rifles of
sentinels gleamed amid the shrubbery.
But as one gazes into that camp, the object of deepest inter¬
est there is a single sleeper. His slight form is thrown upon
the ground, and though the piercing black eye is veiled, that
calmj' swarthy face reveals the partisan leader. He sleeps
soundly, securely, and well he may, amid that circle of iron-
hearted men ; for at his slightest cry a hundred swords would
leap from their scabbards ; and bold must be the foeman who
then and there would dare press upon him. He sleeps well;
but a slight touch has awakened him, and he rises to hear the
message brought by one of his scouts. A band of tories is
near, laying waste the country. In a moment that quiet camp
is alive with the bustle of preparation; and lo! that column
of horsemen is winding its way to the river.
Before morning their war-shout will be heard, and the
strokes of their sabres felt by the spoilers of the land.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 161
Those night marches and night battles added inconceivably
to the mystery and romance of his character. They remind
us of olden stories of outlaws and robber bands, and present
a series of pictures worthy the pencil of Salvator Rosa. The
marshalling of those uncouth-looking, coarse-clad men, at sun¬
set—the winding of the silent column through the gloomy
swamp, where even the moonlight seemed darkened—the
array of stern knit brows which pressed close after that
solemn, swarthy face, when danger was near—the watch-fires
of the unsuspecting enemy in the distance—the sudden blast
of bugles—the clatter of galloping steeds, and the shouts of
fierce riders as they burst in one wild torrent on the foe, com¬
bine to throw an air of mystery and poetry around Marion that
make us fascinated with his character. Slightly made, re¬
served—almost solemn—given to no excess, very abstemious
in all his habits—kind and gentle even to his foes, but stern
as death when aroused—seeking no emolument, and receiving
no reward, sustained alone by a lofty patriotism, he is just
the man around which to weave romances, and gather all that
is picturesque and thrilling in human life.
THE SABBATH BELLS.—Miss Lee.
Sweet Sabbath bells ! sweet Sabbath bells 1
How clear and deep your music swells;
Oh ! though ye speak in solemn voices,
Yet still the inmost heart rejoices.
The city's crowd delight to hear
Your hallow'd summons, far and near;
And childhood's noisy greeting tells
How much it loves you, Sabbath bells!
The aged and the sick rest still
Beneath your calm and soothing thrill!
On sorrow's ear your echo swells
Like tones from Heaven, Sabbath bells.
The sailor, on the dark sea's foam,
Cheers his lone heart with thoughts of home,
Yet, 'mid its countless spring-tide spells,
Yours are the strongest, Sabbath bells 1
162 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Oh ! yes, in every favored clime.
Where'er is heard your silver chime;
'Mid palace roofs or lowly cells,
You find a welcome, Sabbath bells !
AGAINST THE INVASION OF CANADA.*—Gaston.
There is something in the character of a war made upon the
people of a country, to force them to abandon a goyernment
which they cherish, and to become the subjects or associates
of their invaders, which necessarily involves calamities be¬
yond those incident to ordinary wars. Among us some re¬
main who remember the horrors of the invasion of the revolu¬
tion ; and " others of us have hung with reverence 011 the lips
of narrative old age, as it related the interesting tale." Such
a war is not a contest between those only who seek for re¬
nown in military achievements, or the more humble mercena¬
ries " whose business 'tis to die." It breaks in upon all the
charities of domestic life, and interrupts all the pursuits of
industry. The peasant quits his plough, and the mechanic is
hurried from his shop, to commence, without apprenticeship,
the exercise of the trade of death. The irregularity of the
resistance which is opposed to the invader, its occasional ob¬
stinacy and occasional intermission, provoking every bad pas¬
sion of his soldiery, is the excuse for plunder, lust, and cru¬
elty. These atrocities exasperate the sufferers to revenge;
and every weapon which anger can supply, and every device
which ingenious- hatred can conceive, is used to inflict ven¬
geance on the detested foe.
There is yet a more horrible war than this. As there is
no anger so deadly as the anger of a friend, there is no war
so ferocious as that which is waged between men of the same
blood, and formerly connected by the closest ties of affection.
The pen of the historian confesses its inability to describe,
the fervid fancy of the poet cannot realize, the horrors of a
civil war. This invasion of Canada involves the miseries of
both these species of war. You carry fire and sword amongst
a people who are "united against you," say your generals,
" to a man"—amongst a people who are happy in themselves,
and satisfied with their condition, view you not as coming to
* Extract from a speech on the Loan Bill, delivered in Congress, Feb. 17,1615.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 163
emancipate them from thraldom, but to reduce them to a for¬
eign yoke—a people long and intimately connected with the
bordering inhabitants of our country by commercial inter¬
course, by the ties of hospitality, by the bonds of affinity and
of blood—a people, as to every social and individual purpose,
long identified with your own. It must be that such a war
will rouse spirit of sanguinary ferocity, that will overleap
every holy barrier of nature and venerable usage of civiliza¬
tion. Where will you find an authenticated instance of this
ferocity, that more instantaneously compels the shuddering
abhorrence of the heart, than the fact that '• the bayonet of the
brother has been actually opposed to the breast of the broth¬
er." Merciful Heaven ! that those who have been rocked in
the same cradle by the same maternal hand—who have im¬
bibed the first genial nourishment of infant existence from the
same blessed source, should be forced to contend in impious
strife for the destruction of that being derived from their com¬
mon parents! It should not be so! Every feeling of our
nature cries aloud againsf it!
Think, for a moment, sir, on the consequences, and deem
it not unworthy of you to regard them. True courage shuts
not its eyes upon danger, or its result. It views steadily, and
calmly resolves whether they ought to be encountered. Al¬
ready has the Canadian war a character sufficiently cruel, as
Newark, Buffalo, and Niagara can testify. But when the spirit
of ferocity shall have been maddened by the vapor steaming
from the innocent blood that shall stagnate around every de-
p6t of prisoners, then will it become a war, not of savage, but
of demoniac character. Your part of it may, perhaps, be ably
sustained. Your way through the Canadas may be traced
afar off, by the smoke of their burning villages. Your path
may be marked by the blood of their furious peasantry.1 You
may render your course audible by the frantic shrieks of
their women and children. But your own sacred soil will
also be the scene of this drama of fiends: Your exposed and
defenceless seaboard, the seaboard of the south, will invite a
terrible vengeance. That seaboard which has been shame¬
fully neglected, and is at this moment without protection, has
been already invaded. But an invasion, after the war shall
have assumed its unmitigated form of carnage, and woe, and
wickedness, must be followed with horrors which imagination
can but faintly conceive. I will not ti'ust myself to tell you
all I feel, all my constituents feel, upon this subject; but I
164 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
will say to the gentleman from Pennsylvania, that when he
alludes to the probability that an intestine, foe may be roused
to assassination and brutality, he touches a chord that vibrates
to the very heart.
Yes, sir, I live in a state whose misfortune it is to contain
the materials out of which may be made such a foe—a foe
that will be found everywhere—in our fields, our kitchens,
and our chambers; a foe, ignorant, degraded by habits of ser¬
vitude, uncurbed by moral restraints, whom no recollections
of former kindness will soften, and whom the remembrance
of severity will goad to frenzy; from whom nor age, nor in¬
fancy, nor beauty, will find reverence or pity; and whose
subjugation will be but another word for extermination. Such
a foe, sir, may be added to fill up the measure of our calami¬
ties. Reflect well, then, I conjure you, before reflection is
too late. Let not passion or prejudice dictate the decision.
If erroneous, its reversal may be decreed by a nation's mise¬
ries, and by the world's abhorrence.
NATIONAL ODE.—Gilmax.
Hail, our country's natal morn,
Hail, our spreading kindred-born!
Hail, thou banner, not yet torn,
Waving o'er the free I
While, this day, in festal throng,
Millions swell the patriot song,
Shall not we thy notes prolong,
Hallow'd Jubilee!
Who would sever Freedom's shrine %
Who would draw th' invidious line ?
Though by birth one spot is mine,
Dear is all the rest:
Dear to me the South's fair land,
Dear the central mountain-band,
Dear New England's rocky strand,
Dear the prairied West.
By our altars, pure and free,
By our Law's deep-rooted tree,
By the past's dread memory,
By our Washington;
Thibd.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 165
By our common parent tongue,
By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young,
By the tie of country strong,
We will still be one.
Fathers! have ye bled in vain ?
Ages! must ye droop again"?
Maker! shall we rashly stain,
Blessings sent by thee ?
No! receive our solemn vow,
While before thy throne we' bow,
Ever to maintain, as now,
Union, Liberty!
COMAL AND GALBINi Ossian.
Comal was the son of Albion, the chief of a hundred hills !
His deer drunk of a thousand streams. A thousand rocks
replied to the voice of his dogs. His face was the mildness of
youth; his hand the death of heroes. One was his love,
and fair was she, the daughter of the mighty Conloch. She
appeared like a sunbeam among women. Her hair was the
wing of the raven. Her dogs were taught to the chase.
Her bowstring sounded to the winds. Her soul was fixed on
Comal. Often met their eyes of love. Their course in the
chase was one. Happy were_,their words in secret. But
Grumal loved the maid, the dark chief of the gloomy Arvend.
He watched her lone steps in the heath, the foe of unhappy
Comal.
One day, tired of the chase, when the mist had concealed
their friends, Comal and the daughter of Conloch met in
the cave of Ronan. It was the wonted haunt of Comal. Its
sides were hung with his arms. A hundred shields of thongs
were there; a hundred helms of sounding steel. " Rest
here," he said, "my love, Galbina: thou light of the cave of
Ronan ! A deer appears on Mora's brow. I go; but I will
soon return." "I fear," she said, "dark Grumal, my foe; he
haunts the cave of Ronan ! I will rest among the arms ; but
soon return, my love !"
He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Con¬
loch would try his love. She clothed her fair sides with his
Hrmor: she strode from the cave of Ronan ! He thought it
166 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
was his foe. His heart beat high. His color changed and
darkness dimmed his eyes. He drew the bow. The arrow
flew. Galbina fell in blood! He run with wildness in his
steps : he called the daughter of Oonloch. No answer in the
lonely rock. Where art thou, O my love 1 He saw at length
her heaving heart, beating around the arrow he threw. " 0
Conloch's daughter! is it thou?" He sunk upon her breast!
The hunters found the hapless ■ pair! He afterward walked
the hill. But many and silent were his steps round the dark
dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came. He
fought; the strangers fled. He searched for death along the
field. But who could slay the mighty Comal ? He threw
away his dark-brown shield. An arrow found his manly
breast. He sleeps with his loved Galbina at the noise of the
sounding surge ! Their green tombs ere seen by the mariner,
when he bounds on the waves of the north.
VISIT TO BLANNERHASSETTS ISLAND.—Ashe.
The island hove in sight to great advantage from the middle
of the river, from which point of view little more appeared than
the simple decorations of nature ; trees, shrubs, flowers, of
every perfume and kind. The next point of view on running
with the current, on the right-hand side, varied to a scene
of enchantment. A lawn, in the form of a fan inverted, pre¬
sented itself, the nut forming the centre and summit of the
island, and the broad segment the borders of the water. The
lawn contained one hundred acres of the best pasture, inter¬
spersed with flowering shrubs and clumps of trees, in a
manner that conveyed a strong conviction of the taste and
judgment of the proprietor. The house came into view at the
instant I was signifying a wish that such a lawn had a man¬
sion. It stands on the immediate summit of the island, whose
ascent is very gradual, is snow white, three stories high,
and furnished with wings which interlock the adjoining trees,
confine the prospect, and intercept the sight of barns, stables,
and out-offices, which are so often suffered to destroy the effect
of the noblest views in England.
The full front of the house being the signal for pulling in
for the island, we did so immediately, and fell below a small
wharf that covered an eddy and made the landing both easy
and secure. There was no resisting the fiiendly importunity
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 167
of my fellow-passengers: no e^use would be taken ; to stop
the night at least, was insisted upon, and with a convincing
expression that showed the desire flowed from hearts desirous
not to be refused. There is something so irresistible in invita¬
tions of such a nature, that they cannot be denied. I gave
instructions respecting the boat, and giving the lady my arm,
we walked up the beautiful lawn, through which a winding
path led to the house. It was tea-time. That refreshment
was served and conducted with a propriety and elegance I
never witnessed out of Britain. The conversation was chaste
and general, and the manners of the lady and gentleman were
refined without being frigid; distinguished, without being
ostentatious; and familiar, without being vulgar, importunate
or absurd.
Before the decline of day we walked into the gardens,
which were elegantly laid out in your country's style; pro¬
duced remarkably fine vegetables, and had a very favorable
show of standard peaches, and other fruit. The island
abounds with vines, which grow to great height and strength,
but never produce to any perfection. The path we had taken
led to the water, the border of which brought us to the boat,
where it seems all the servants of the family had assembled
to hear what news my people might have brought into their
little world. We found them seated oh the green around
Mindreth, who, proud to be their historian, related tales of
such peril and affright, that they gazed on him with sensations
of wonder and astonishment. The poor Mandanean, excluded
by his color and his aspect from participating in the social
pleasures of the whites, had built himself a good fire, made
himself the section of a tent, and was preparing his rod and
line to catch some fish for supper. I saw the lady so pleased
with this scene, and so delighted with Cuff's truly rural es¬
tablishment, that I proposed supping on the shore, and by
displaying a specimen of my evenings on the river, give some
idea of former times, and the innocent enjoyments of primitive
life. The night being perfectly fine, and the moon out, and
some light clouds hindering the dew from falling, my propo¬
sition was joyfully acceded to, and instructions were given
accordingly.
This determination gave life and interest to a scene that
before was calm and pleasing. All was action and bustle.
The historian no more attended. Every one assumed an
occupation, and Cuff saw his tent surrounded by twenty wil-
168 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER, [Book
ling assistants. The lady beipg busy instructing the servants,
and .sending them to the house for a few necessary articles,
I proposed to the gentlemen to take the canoe across the
current, and under the shade of the trees of the bank, with a
lighted torch, attract the fish to the surface, and spear them
while gazing at the blaze. We crossed over, and met with the
success of striking seven large cat and sun fishes, in less than
half an hour. We returned with the torch still burning, and
the hands singing " The Beauteous Month of May," in cadence
to the paddles, which rose and struck with a preconcerted
regularity. This mode of nocturnal fishing was quite novel to
the inhabitants of the little insulated world. The lady was
charmed with it, and declared that the view of the canoe by
torchlight, across the water; the conversation, obscurely heard;
the sudden bursts of exultation announcing every success;
and the cheerful return, with mirth and song, was an improve¬
ment of the finest sort to a scene she before deemed incapable
of augmentation. After chatting some time on subjects
immediately arising out of occurring incidents, and admiring
the versatility of mind which one time finds felicity in towns
and midnight masquerades, and at another acknowledges
happiness on the contrasted theatre of the rivers and wilder¬
ness, we sat down to our repast, and in a short time paid the
encomium of a satiated appetite; after which we returned
to the house, where one hour longer we conversed on the
pleasures of our rural sports, and retired to rest with that
heartfelt ease which follows an innocent and well-spent day.
Next morning, after breakfast, I with difficulty tore myself
from this interesting family.
THE BLIND BOY.—Mrss Lee.
Thou art blind, poor boy! the sun is shedding
A golden glow upon thy hidden way,
And all things, full of loveliness, are spreading
Their gayest charms to meet the eye of day,
Yet there is naught but shadow in thy mind,
Alas ! I grieve for thee, that thou art blind.
Fresh breezes blow around; the clouds are waking
The sleeping ether with their foot-tread light;
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 169
And insect tribes, on filmy wings, are taking
Towards its depth of blue, their airy flight,
And bird and butterfly and blooming flower,
In every garden seem to greet the hour.
'Tis holiday abroad ! Bright, childish faces
Form fair and lovely groups at" every door,
And many a tiny foot the pathway traces,
That leads to social pleasures yet in store;
Yet on, thou movest, with a measur'd glide,
Nor turn'st thy sightless eye on either side.
Art thou quite lone 1 Oh f no, for thou art leaning
With touching confidence on a slight arm ;
A child's soft glance doth look with earnest meaning
Up to thy face, and bids thee fear no harm;
Is she thy sister, that she shares thy lot,
So full of loneliness, yet murmurs not 1
The careless prattler ! how her lip is telling
Of every pretty thing that meets her sight;
Each passing show, and toy, "and well-known dwelling,
All stir her little breast with new delight;
And reckless that this world to thee is naught, ■
She fills, with yearnings vain, thy cell of thought.
Would I were thy companion! 'Twere such pleasure
To learn the unknown language of thy heart,
And grow familiar with each secret treasure
Of thought, that in thy spirit must have part:
I would not read thee nature's sealed book,
Since on its open page thou canst not look.
And yet I err, that guide so young and simple,
Quite unaware, has touch'd a pleasant theme,
For on thy cheek there rests a playful dimple,
As sports on some rich cloud, a gay sunbeam;
And by that happy smile, I know full well,
There is no solitude where love doth dwell.
Farewell to thee ! blind boy ! Mysterious heaven
Has closed the outer door; yet to the shrine
15
170 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
Of thought within, in mercy, it hath given
A stronger light; oh! guard the lamp divine ;
And though deep darkness veils this earthly sod,
No change can come 'tween thee and nature's God !
PROGRESS OF AMERICA*—Legare'.
I dare not trust myself to speak of my country with the
rapture which I habitually feel when I contemplate her mar¬
vellous history. But this I will say, that on my return to it,
after an absence of only four years, I was filled with wonder
at all I saw and all I heard. What upon earth is to be com¬
pared with it? I found New York grown up to almost
double its former-size, with the air of a great capital, instead
of a mere flourishing commercial town, as I had known it.
I listened to accounts of voyages of a thousand miles in
magnificent steamboats, on the waters of those great lakes,
which, but the other day, I left sleeping in the primeval
silence of nature, in the recesses of a vast wilderness ; and I
felt that there is a grandeur and a majesty in this irresistible,
onward march of a race, created, as I believe, and elected to
possess and people a continent, which belong to few other ob¬
jects, either of the moral or material world. We may become
so much accustomed to such things that they shall make as lit¬
tle impression upon our minds as the glories of the heavens
above us; but, looking on them, lately, as with the eye of the
stranger, I felt what a recent English traveller is said to have
remarked, that, far from being without poetry, as some have
vainly alleged, our whole country is one great poem. Sir,
it is so; and if there be a man that can think of what is doing
in all parts of this most blessed of all lands, to embellish and
advance it; who can contemplate the living mass of intelli¬
gence, activity and improvement as it rolls on, in its sure and
steady progress, to the uttermost extremities of the west;
who can see scenes of savage desolation transformed, almost
with the suddenness of enchantment, into those of fruitfulness
and beauty; crowned with flourishing cities, filled with the
noblest of all populations ; if there be a man, I say, who can
witness all this passing under his very eyes, without feeling
his heart beat high, and his imagination warmed and trans-
* Extract from a Speech on the Sub-Treasury, delivered In Oongrew, Oct. 1837.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
171
ported by it, be sure, sir, that the raptures of song- exist not
for him ; he would listen in vain to Tasso or Camoens, telling
a tale of the wars of knights and crusaders, or of the discovery
and conquest of another hemisphere.
Sir, thinking as I do of these things—not doubting, for a
moment, the infinite superiority of our race in everything that
relates to a refined and well-ordered public economy, and in
all the means and instruments of a high social improvement,
it strikes me as of all paradoxes the most singular, to hear
foreign examples seriously proposed for our imitation in the
very matters wherein that superiority has ever appeared to me
to be most unquestionable. The reflection has occurred to
me a thousand times in travelling over the continent of
Europe, as I passed through filthy, ill-paved villages, through
towns in which there is no appearance of an improvement
having been made since the Reformation, as I have looked
at the wretched hovel of the poor peasant or artisan, or seen
him at his labor with his clumsy implements and coarse
gear—what a change would take place in the whole aspect
of the country, if it were to fall into the hands of the Americans
for a single generation !
THE BIBLE LEGEND OF THE WISSAHIKON.—Lippard.
It was here in the wilds of the Wissahikon, on the day of
battle, as the noonday sun came shining through the thickly
clustered leaves, that two men met in deadly combat. They
grappled in deadly conflict near a rock that rose, like the huge
wreck of some primeval world, at least one hundred feet above
the dark waters of the Wissahikon.
That man with the dark brow and the darker gray eye,
flashing with deadly light—with the muscular form, clad in
the* blue hunting frock of the revolution—is a continental,
named Warner. His brother was murdered the other night
at the massacre of Paoli. That other man, with long black
hair drooping along his cadaverous face, is clad in the half-
military costume of a tory refugee. That is the murderer of
Paoli, named Dabney. They had met there in the woods by
accident; and now they fought, not with sword or rifle, but
with long and deadly hunting knives, that flash in the light as
they go turning and twining and twisting over the green¬
sward. At last the tory is down !—down on the greensward,
172 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
with the knee of the continental upon his breast—that upraised
knife quivering in the light—that dark gray eye flashing death
into his face!
" Quarter—I yield !" gasped the tory, as the knee was
pressed upon his breast—" Spare me—I yield !"
" My brother," said the patriot soldier, in that low tone of
deadly hate—" My brother cried for quarter on the night of
Paoli, and, even as he clung to your knees, you struck that
knife into his heart. Oh, I will give you the quarter of
Paoli 1" And his hand was raised for the blow, and his teeth
were clenched in deadly hate. He paused for a moment, and
then pinioned the tory's arms, and with one rapid stride drag¬
ged him to the verge of the rock, and held him quivering over
the abyss.
" Mercy !" gasped the tory, turning black and ashy by turns,
as that awful gulf yawned below. '• Mercy! I have a wife—a
child ! spare me !"
Then the continental, with his muscular strength, gathered
for the effort! shook the murderer once more over the abyss,
and then hissed this bitter sneer between his teeth—£: My
brother had a wife and two children. The morning after the
night of Paoli, that wife was a widow—those children were
orphans !—Wouldn't you like to go and beg your life of that
widow and her children ?"
The proposal make by the continental in the mere mockery
of hate, was taken in serious earnest by the horror-stricken
tory. He begged to be taken to the widow and her children,
to have the pitiful privilege of begging his life. After a mo¬
ment's serious thought, the patriot soldier consented. He
bound the tory's arms yet tighter, placed him on the rock
again, and then led him up the woods. A quiet cottage, em¬
bosomed among trees, broke on their eyes.
They entered that cottage. There, beside the desolate
hearth-stone, sat the widow and her children. She sat there,
a matronly woman of about thirty years, with a face faded by
care, a deep dark eye, and long dishevelled flakes about her
shoulder. On one side was a dark-haired boy, of some six
years; on the other, a little girl, one year younger, with light
hair and blue eyes. The Bible—an old venerable volume—
lay open on that mother's knee.
And then that pale-faced tory flung himself on his knees,
confessed that he had butchered her husband on the night of
Paoli, but begged his life at her hands ! " Spare me, for the
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
173
sake of my wife—my child !" He had expected that his pitiful
moan would touch the widow's heart j but not one relenting*
gleam softened her pale face.
" The Lord shall judge between us !" she said in a cold, icy
tone, that froze the murderer's heart. " Look! The Bible lies
open on my knees. I will close that volume, and then this
boy shall open it, and place his finger at random upon a line,
and by that line you shall live or die !"
This was a strange proposal, made in full faith of a wild
and dark superstition of the olden time. For a moment the
tory kneeling there, livid as ashes, was wrapt in thought.
Then, in a faltering voice, he signified his consent.
Raising her dark eyes to heaven, the mother prayed the
Great Father to direct the finger of her son. She closed the
book—she handed it to that boy, whose young cheek red¬
dened with loathing as he gazed upon his father's murderer.
He took the Bible—opened its holy pages at random, and
placed his fingers upon a verse.
Then there was a silence.
Then that continental soldier, who had sworn to avenge his
brother's death, stood there with dilating eyes and parted lips.
Then the culprit, kneeling on the floor, with a face like dis¬
colored clay, felt his heart leap to his throat.
Then, in a clear, bold voice, the widow read this line from
the Old Testament. It was short, yet terrible:
" That man shall die /"
Look ! The brother springs forward to plunge a knife into
the murderer's heart; but the tory, pinioned as he is, clings
to the widow's knees. He begs that one more trial may be
made by the little girl—that child of five years, with golden
hair and laughing eyes.
The widow consents. There is an awful pause. With a
smile in her eye, without knowing what she does, the little girl
opens the Bible as it lies on her mother's knee—she turns her
laughing face away—she places her fingers upon the page.
That awful silence grows deeper ! The deep-drawn breath
of the brother, and the broken gasps of the murderer, alone
disturb the stillness. The widow and dark-eyed boy are
breathless. That little girl, unconscious as she was, caught
a feeling of awe from the countenances around her, and stood
breathless, her face turned aside, and her tiny fingers resting
on that line of life or death.
15*
174 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
At last gathering' courage, the widow bent her eyes on the
page, and read. It was a line from the New Testament:
" Love your enemies."
Ah ! that moment was sublime !
Oh! awful Book of God! in whose dread pages we see
Job talking face to face with Jehovah, or Jesus waiting by
Samaria's well, or wandering by the waves of dark Galilee!
Oh, awful Book! shining to-night, as I speak, the light of
that widow's home—the glory of the mechanic's shop—shining
where the world comes not, to look on the last night of the
convict in his cell, lightening the way to God, even over that
dread gibbet! Oh, Book of terrible majesty and childlike
love—for sublimity that crushes the soul into avve:—of beauty
that melts the heart with rapture! you never shone more
strangely beautiful than there in the lonely cot of the Wissahi-
kon when you saved the murderer's life.
For—need I tell you 1—that murderer's life was saved.
That widow recognized the finger of God, and even the stern
brother was awed into silence.
The murderer went his way.
Now look ye, how wonderful are the ways of Heaven!
That very night, as the widow sat by her lonely hearth, her
orphans by her side—sat there with a crushed heart and hot
eyeballs, thinking of her husband, who now lay mouldering
on the blood-drenched soil of Paoli—there was a tap at the door.
She opened it, and—that husband, living, though covered with
wounds, was in her arms! He had fallen at Paoli, but not in
death. He was alive—his wife lay panting on his breast.
That night there was a prayer in that wood-embowered cot
of the Wissahikon.
A SOUTHERN SCENE.—Anonymous.
The scene which most delighted me in youth
Was round me still—a broad and winding lane,
Its natural carpeting of emerald
'Broidered with flowers of a thousand hues—
The wild rose clustering with the jessamine,
In beautiful confusion, quite shut out
The world and its entanglements—above,
The loveliest of the southern forest formed
Meet roof for such a temple. From the oak,
Rejoicing in its never-fading green
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 175
And huge fantastic limbs, to the slight myrtle
Studded with bright blossoms ; here and there
A lofty sycamore would raise its head,
Most fearful of the woodland, last to trust
To the soft wooings of the smiling spring,
And first to cast its foliage to the ground
Before the breath of winter; but when high
The sun rides in his summer majesty,
Proudly the laggard sycamore puts on
Its garniture of silvery green, and waves
Its crisp leaves to the zephyrs, with a sound
Like murmurs of far waters. It was summer—
A Carolinian summer,—when the eye
Shrinks dazzled from the blue of the clear heavens,
Unless, as now, it falls upon the sight,
Plickering the waving verdure. Nor did lack
Sweet music to the magic of the scene.
The little crimson-breasted nonpareil
Was there, its tiny feet scarce bending down
The silken tendril that he lighted on
To pour his love-notes; and in russet coat
Most homely, like true genius bursting forth
In spite of adverse fortune, a full choir
Within himself, the merry mock-bird sate,
Filling the air with melody—and at times
In the rapt fervor of his sweetest song
His quivering form would spring into the sky
In spiral circles, as if he would catch
New powers from kindred warblers in the clouds.
THE UNION.*—Pinkney.
Notwithstanding occasional appearances of rather an unfa¬
vorable description, I have long since persuaded myself that
the Missouri Question, as it is called, might be lard to rest,
with innocence and safety, by some conciliatory compromise
at least, by which, as is our duty, we might reconcile the ex¬
tremes of conflicting views and feelings, without any sacrifice of
constitutional principle; and in any event, that the Union would
easily and triumphantly emerge from those portentous clouds
with which this controversy is supposed to have environed it.
* Extract from a Speech on the Missouri Question, delivered in the Senate, February
15, lesw.
176 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
I confess to you, nevertheless, that some of the principles
announced here, did, when they were first presented, startle
me not a little. They were not, perhaps, entirely new. Per¬
haps I had seen them before in some shadowy and doubtful
shape,
" If shape it miq:ht be called, that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb."
But in one honorable gentleman's speech they were shadowy
and doubtful no longer. He exhibited them in forms so boldly
and accurately defined—with contours so distinctly traced—•
with features so pronounced and striking, that I was uncon¬
scious for a moment that they might be old acquaintances. I
received them as novi hospites within these walls, and gazed
upon them with astonishment and alarm. I have recovered,
however, from this paroxysm of terror, although not from that
of astonishment I have sought and found tranquillity and
courage in my former consolatory faith. My reliance is, that
these principles will obtain no general currency: for. if they
should, it requires no gloomy imagination to sadden the per¬
spective of the future My reliance is upon the unsophis¬
ticated good sense and noble spirit of the American people.
I have what I may be allowed to call a proud and patri¬
otic trust, that they will give countenance to no principles,
which, if followed out to their obvious consequences, will not
only shake the goodly fabric of the Union to its foundations,
but reduce it to a melancholy ruin. The people of this coun¬
try, if I do not wholly mistake their character, are wise as
well as virtuous. They know the value of that federal asso¬
ciation which is to them the single pledge and guarantee of
power and peace. Their warm and pious affections will cling
to it as to their only hope of prosperity and happiness, in de¬
fiance of pernicious abstractions by whomsoever inculcated,
or howsoever seductive and alluring in their aspect.
Sir. it is not an occasion like this, although connected, as
contrary to all reasonable expectation it has been, with fearful
and disorganizing theories, which would make our estimates,
whether fanciful or sound, of natural law, the measure of civil
rights and political sovereignty in the social state, that can
harm the Union. It must, indeed, be a mighty storm that can
push from its moorings this sacred ark of the common safety.
i\a0t evei7 trifling- breeze, however it may be made to sob
and howl in imitation of the tempest, by the auxiliary breath
Third.]
SOUTHERN" READER. AND SPEAKER.
177
of the ambitious, the timid, or the discontented, that can drive
this gallant vessel, freighted with everything that is dear to
an American bosom, upon the rocks, or lay it a sheer hulk
upon the ocean. I may perhaps mistake the flattering sug¬
gestions of hope (the greatest of all flatterers, as we are told)
for the conclusions of sober reason. Yet it is a pleasing er¬
ror, if it be an error, and no man shall take it from me. I
will continue to cherish the belief, that the union of these
states is formed to bear up against far greater shocks than,
through all vicissitudes, it is ever likely to encounter. I will
continue to cherish the belief, that, although, like all other
human institutions, it may for a season be disturbed, or suffer
momentary eclipse by the transit across its disc of some ma¬
lignant planet, it possesses a recuperative force, a redeeming
energy in the hearts of the people, that will soon restore it to
its wonted calm, and give it back its accustomed splendor.
On such a subject I will discard all hysterical apprehensions—
I will deal in no sinister auguries—I will indulge in no hy¬
pochondriacal forebodings. I will look forward to the future
with gay and cheerful hope, and will make the prospect smile,
in fancy at least, until overwhelming reality shall render it
no longer possible.
THE VOICE OF NATURE.—Mrs. Gilman.
" Many things answered me."—Manfred,
It was the holy evening hour,
And all alone I stood,
To watch the star-light in its power
Upon the ocean flood.
No cloud disturbed the sleeping sky,
No sail was on the sea;
Until my spirits sought to fly
On pinions wide and free.
And as I roamed o'er every spot
Upon the earth's fair breast,—
Amid the lowly valley's sheen,
Upon the mountain's crest,—
Methought from every hill and vale,
Where my quick fancy trod,
There breathed a voice that told their tale
In one deep whisper,—G-od !
178 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
And then the mighty streams that sped
Through earth's remotest bound,—
And every slight and silver thread,
Of rills, that haunt the ground,—
All seemed to curb their currents strong,
And hush their playful mood,
Until there stole with echo long,
The low, deep whisper,—Goo !
And ere the cadence had passed by,
From valley, mount, and main,
The countless fire-lights of the sky,
Caught up the pleasant strain,
And bending o'er their golden lyres,
As if at monarch's nod,
There came, as from a million choirs,
The same deep whisper,—God !
GROWTH AND DESTINY OF THE WEST.—EvEHErr.
Population advances westward with a rapidity which num¬
bers may describe, indeed, but cannot represent, with any
vivacity, to the mind. The wilderness, which one year is
impassable, is traversed the next by the caravans of the indus¬
trious emigrants, who go to follow the setting sun, with the
lang-uagfe, the institutions, and the arts of civilized life. It is
not the irruption of wild barbarians, come to visit the wrath of
God on a degenerate empire; it is not the inroad of disci¬
plined banditti, marshalled by the intrigues of ministers and
kings. It is the human family led out to possess its broad
patrimony. The states and nations, which are springing up
in the valley of the Missouri, are bound to us by the dearest
ties of a common language, a common government, and a com¬
mon descent. Before the East can look with coldness on
their rising myriads, she must forget that some of the best of
her own blood is beating in their veins; that her hardy chil¬
dren, with their axes on their shoulders, have been literally
among the pioneers in this march of humanity; that young
as she is, she has become the mother of populous states.
What generous mind would sacrifice to a selfish preservation
of local preponderance, the delight of beholding civilized na-
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 179
tions, rising up in the desert; and the language, the manners,
the institutions, to which he has been reared, carried with his
household gods to the foot of the Rocky Mountains? Who
can forget that this extension of our territorial limits is the
extension of the empire of all we hold dear; of our laws, of
our character, of the memory of our ancestors, of the great
achievements in our history ? Whithersoever the sons of the
thirteen states shall wander, to southern or western climes
they will send back their hearts to the rocky shores, the battle
fields, and the intrepid councils of the Atlantic coast. These
are placed beyond the reach of vicissitude. They have be¬
come, already, matter of history, of poetry, of eloquence:
"The love, where death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow."
Divisions may spring up, ill blood arise, parties be formed,
and interests may seem to clash; but the great bonds of the
nation are linked to what is past. The deeds of the great
men, to whom this country owes its origin and growth, are a
patrimony, I know, of which its children will never deprive
thgpiselves. As long as the Mississippi and the Missouri
shall flow, those men and those deeds will be remembered on
their banks. The sceptre of government may go where it
will; but that of patriotic feeling can never depart from Judah.
In all that mighty region, which is drained by the Missouri
and its tributary streams, (the valley co-extensive with the
temperate zone,) will there be, as long as the name of America
shall last, a father, that will not take his children on his knee,
and recount to them the events of the twentieth of December,
the nineteenth of April, the seventeenth of June, and the
fourth of July?
THE LAST PARTING.—Chandler.
On the little cross-cut, called Pear street,- running down
from Third to Dock street, (Philadelphia,) there is a large,
lugubrious building, which in the course of the last twenty
years has been used for almost every conceivable purpose,
from a turner's shop to a meeting-house, and even a Jewish
synacoo-ue. The character of the building is not inaptly set
forth" by a scriptural quotation, which our Hebrew brethren
180 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
placed on the outer wall, while they were tenants and wor¬
shippers within:
" How dreadful is the place!"
The rear of this ancient building extends toward our estab¬
lishment, and its back windows are within a few feet of the
windows of our sanctum.
Last autumn, the directors of the public schools hired the
lower part of the building for a primary school, and placed
within its walls a host of little children. With their windows
and ours closed, we could hear their noise, the tumult of a
hundred tiny voices; and we thought there was weight in the
monition of a friend, that " next spring we should be finely
annoyed with their clatter, when the windows of both build¬
ings. and the throats of the youngsters, should be wide open."
Late in the spring the windows were opened, and, occasion¬
ally, the multitudinous voice of the host reached us across the
short distance. They were singing their morning hymn, or
closing the day with their evening song. But neither matins
nor vespers disturbed us; our pen slid easily over the paper,
and our thoughts moved on regularly in the small noise of
these songsters. ~ Occasionally we would pause in our b®i-
ness. as the anthem rose, and feel our hearts rise with gratitude
to Him who had perfected praise from such mouths.
It was rare, indeed, that we could understand a word of the
hymn which the little choristers gave forth. Their low. deli¬
cate utterance was breathed out so gently, that we could only
guess at the character of the words by the movement of the
music.
A short time since we were struck with sounds from the
room at an unusual hour for music. We listened, and the
school was apparently in full song. We could catch a few
words. Apparently, the burthen of the hymn was, " Shall meet
to part no more." And as the singers reached the "refrain."
there was a peculiar distinctness in their utterance. Ascend¬
ing to the upper room of the office, we cast our eye out of the
window on the stairway, and saw a single scholar leaning from
the back window of the school room, listening to, but not join¬
ing in, the music of her mates.
She was a thin, pale girl, with cleanly, plain habili¬
ments. She could scarcely be more than ten years of age,
and her eyes were wonderfully expressive; and as the scholars
reached the chorus of their song, we thought her upturned
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
181
eye denoted a peculiar depth of thought; its black contrasted
strongly with the paleness of her cheek, and its activity seemed
scarcely in harmony with her frail, bony form. When "the
little band had concluded their anthem by a double repeat of
the words, " We meet to part no more," one of*them came to
the window, and calling the child by name, intimated that she
was needed at the other end of the room. Elizabeth—that
was her name—turned away with a severe coiighing spell,
and we prosecuted our errand upwards. The next morning we
missed our musical neighbors. There was no hum of studies,
no loud utterance of lessons by classes; no uplifting of voices,
that took with them our heart; all was still, all was quiet.
The song which we had listened to with so much delight,
was the little ones' valedictory for the season. The holidays
had commenced, so pleasant to them, so necessary to their
faithful teachers, and we felt a loss—felt that a part of our
incitement to devotion, if not to composition, had ceased. We
felt for a moment as if we had parted from those whom we
should not meet again—and it may be so. Their little throats
niay swell with the sound of thanksgiving and devotion in
their wonted place, while the ear that was -delighted at their
performance, shall be closed and dull. The event is one in
the order of nature. The old die, and the young come to fill
up their places.
It was only on Monday afternoon, that, driving down towards
the Neck, we met a funeral. It was of little ceremony—a
small cortege, and no carriages. They were conveying to the
grave a child, and judging from the number of young females,
the deceased was a girl. The procession turned into the
burying-ground. and as the occasion might be made one of
profit to our little ones, we stopped the carriage, and followed
the train to the resting-place, designated by a heap of fresh
earth.
When the company had gathered into a circle around the
coffin, we placed our charge upon a newly sodded hillock, and
leaning for rest over a head-stone, awaited the simple ceremo¬
nies. When the narrow coffin had been lowered into the
grave, the attending clergyman addressed the audience upon
the mutability of human affairs, and the uncertainty of that life
so precious in our eyes. And he closed by a solemn appeal to
the little ones, to lay these things to heart, that they might
number their uncertain days, and apply their hearts to wis¬
dom j that they should cherish grief at the loss of a friend,
182 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
that it may wean them away from earthly affections; for it
was. the order of a just Providence, that "lover and friend
should be put from us, and acquaintance into .darkness."
He paused—and the circle of little ones, that stood on the
edge of the ^ave, broke forth into a hymn. It sounded
sweetly amid the evidence of mortality around us, and new
as the whole scenery was to us, there was something not un¬
familiar in the harmony. The delicate tones of the young
voices lost their wiry sound by multiplication and union, and
the song seemed to ascend upwards from the open grave.
They ceased for a moment, and then, with united voices,
strengthened as if by newness of hope, they closed-the ser¬
vice and the hymn with the emphatic assertion of the chorus,
that they and their little friend below would soon
"Meet to part no more."
And so, we suppose, for we could not learn the name, that
death, ivho had set his mark upon Elizabeth, had gathered her
to his garner. And a place is vacant in the author's heart,
and one voice has ceased from the school choir, and been
added to that company who " meet to part no more."
THE BATTLE FIELD.—Anonymous.
It is upon the battle field
That I would wish to die;
There I would yield my latest breath,
And heave my latest sigh.
■Yes, fighting in my Master's cause;
No bloody strife, no loud applause;
Our Captain is the Lord above;
His banner over us is love.
Oh ! 'tis upon the battle field
That I would wish to die,
Bearing the banner of the Cross,
Uplifted to the sky.
Before this conquering banner, all
The kingdoms of the world shall fall:
His Word the weapon we employ,
Satan's dark empire to destroy.
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 183
The Captain of Salvation leads
His followers to the strife;
His still small voice, the sword they wield,
To save, not peril, life.
'Tis not for glory or applause
We battle in our Maste/'s cause ;
Though all our duties we fulfil,
Our watch-word is—Unworthy still!
How calmly, on this battle field
The Christian yields his breath ;
The grave may gain a victory,
But he has conquered death.
How trusting is his quiet prayer,
Who feels his Glod is everywhere.
And bears in mind the battle cry:
He dies to live who lives to die I
FEW NATIONS CAPABLE OF SELF-GOVERNMENT.*—Calhoun.
We make a great mistake in supposing all people are capa¬
ble of self-government. Acting under that impression, many
are anxious to force free governments on all the people of
this continent, and over the world, if they had the power. It
has been lately urged in a very respectable quarter, that it is
the mission of this country to spread civil and religious liberty
over all the globe, and especially over this continent—even by
force, if necessary. It is a sad delusion. None but a people
advanced to a high state of moral and intellectual excellence
are capable, in a civilized condition, of forming and maintain¬
ing free governments; and among those who'are so far ad?
vanced, very few indeed have had the good fortune to form
constitutions capable of endurance. It is a remarkable fact
in the political history of man, that there is scarcely an in¬
stance of a free constitutional government, which has been
the work exclusively of foresight and wisdom. They have
all been the result of a fortunate combination of circum¬
stances. It is a very difficult task to make a constitution
worthy of being called so. This admirable federal constitu-
* Extract from a Speech on the Conquest of Mexico, delivered in the Senate, Janu¬
ary 4, 1848.
184 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
tion of ours, is the result of such a combination. It is supe¬
rior to the wisdom of any or all of the men by whose agency
it was made. The force of circumstances, and not foresight
«r wisdom, induced them to adopt many of its wisest pro¬
visions.
But of the few nations who have been so fortunate as to adopt
a wise Constitution, still fewer have had the wisdom long to
preserve it. It is harder to preserve than to obtain liberty.
After years of prosperity, the tenure by which it is held,
is but too often forgotten; and I fear, that such is the case
with us. There is no solicitude now about liberty. It
was not so in the early days of the Kepublic. Then it was
the first object of our solicitude. The maxim then was, that
" power is always stealing from the many to the few" the
price of liberty is perpetual vigilance." Then no question of
any magnitude came up, in which the first inquiry was not,
" Is it constitutional ?"—"is it consistent with our free, popular
institutions?"—"how is it to affect our liberty?" It is not so
now. Questions of the greatest magnitude are now discussed
without reference or allusion to these vital considerations. I
have been often struck with the fact, that in the discussions
of the great questions in which we are now engaged, relating
to the origin and the conduct of this war, their effect on the
free institutions and the liberty of the people have scarcely
been alluded to, although their bearing in that respect is so
direct and disastrous. They would, in former days, have been
the great and leading topics of discussion; and would, above
all others, have had the most powerful effect in arousing the
attention of the country. But now other topics occupy the
attention of congress and of the country—military glory, ex¬
tension of the empire, and the aggrandizement of the country.
To what is this great change to be attributed ? Is it because
there has been a decay of the spirit of liberty among the peo¬
ple ? I think not I believe that it was never more ardent.
The true cause is, that we have ceased to remember the tenure
by which liberty alone can be preserved. "We have had so
many years of prosperity—passed through so many difficul¬
ties and dangers without the loss of liberty—that we begin to
think that we hold it by right divine from heaven itself. Un¬
der this impression, without thinking or reflecting, we plunge
into war, contract heavy debts, increase vastly the patronage
of the Executive, and indulge in every species of extrava¬
gance, without thinking that we expose our liberty to hazard.
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 185
It is a great and fatal mistake. The day of retribution will
come; and when it does, awful will be the reckoning, and
heavy the responsibility somewhere.
A SCENE IN FLORIDA.—Hosmeb.
Where Pablo to the broad St. John
His dark and briny tribute pays,
The wild deer leads his dappled lawn,
Of graceful limb and timid gaze ;
Rich sunshine falls on wave and land,
The gull is screaming overhead,
And on a beach of whitened sand,
Lie wreathy shells with lips of red.
The jessamine hangs golden flowers
On ancient oaks, in moss arrayed,
And proudly the palmetto-towers,
While mock-birds warble in the shade ;
Mounds, built by mortal hand, are near.
Green from the summit to the base,
Where, buried with the bow and spear,
Rest tribes, forgetful of the chase.
Cassada,* nigh the ocean shore,
Is now a ruin, wild and lone,
And on her battlements no more
Is banner waved or trumpet blown ;
Those doughty cavaliers are gone,
Who hurled defiance there to France,
While the bright waters of St. John
Reflected flash of sword and lance.
But when the light of dying day
Falls on the crumbling wrecks of time,
And the wan features of decay
Wear softened beauty like the clime,
My fancy summons from the shroud
The knights of old Castile again,
And charging thousands shout aloud,
" St. Jago strikes to-day for Spain !"
* An old Spanish fort.
16*
186
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
[Book
When mystic voices on the breeze
That fans the rolling deep sweep by,
The spirit of the Yemassees,
Who ruled the land of yore, seem nigh;
For mournful marks, around where stood
Their pairn-leaf lodges, yet are seen,
And in the shadows of the wood,
Their tall funereal mounds are green.
GAMBLING IN MEXICO.—Thompson.
Shortly after my arrival in Mexico, the great gambling
feast of St. Augustin took place. The village of San Augustin is
about twelve miles from Mexico, and there this festival is
celebrated. Every human creature in Mexico, high and low,
old and young, who can get there, is certain to go. Rooms
are engaged, and preparations made for weeks beforehand.
Doubloons, which are generally worth only fifteen dollars
and a quarter, as the festival approaches rise in value to six¬
teen and seventeen dollars. It is not genteel to bet anything
but gold. The scene opens with cock-fighting, about twelve
o'clock. It is attended by everybody. When I entered the
cock-pit, Santa Anna and General Bravo, with a large num¬
ber of the most distinguished men in Mexico, and quite a
large number of ladies of the highest circles, were al¬
ready there. The master of ceremonies on the occasion,
walked into the pit and gave the signal, whereupon a cock is
brought in covered, and a challenge is proclaimed to all
comers, which is very soon accepted. The fowls are then
uncovered, and allowed to walk about the pit, that the
spectators may see them, and select the one on which they
choose to risk their money. Those in the seats call some of
the numerous brokers, who are always in attendance, and give
them whatever sum of money they desire to bet, and desig¬
nate their favorite cock. Before the fight commences, the
broker returns and informs the person whose money he has
received, whether his bet has been taken. If he loses, he
sees no more of the broker; but if he wins, he is perfectly
sure to get his money. A small gratification is expected by
the broker, but never asked for, if it is not voluntarily given.
I" have been surprised to see these fellows, who are often en-
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 187
trusted with the money of a dozen different persons, never
•make a mistake as to the person for whom the bet was made,
nor the amount of it. And it is another evidence of what I
have before remarked as to the honesty hf that class of Mexi¬
cans, that they never attempt to go off with the money, which
they could so easily do, for it would be as impossible for a
stranger to identify one of these Indians, as it would be to
select a particular crow out of a flock of a hundred.
I saw, on these occasions, a sign which I thought omi¬
nous—there was always the most vociferous shouting when¬
ever Santa Anna's fowl lost his fight.
As soon as the cock-fighting is over, the gambling at monte
commences. There are a great many public tables, and some
private ones. It is at the latter only that Santa Anna plays.
There are many tables where nothing but gold is bet, others
where nothing but silver, and other tables again for copper.
The game is a perfectly fair one, and one at which cheating
is, I should think, impossible.
There is some very small advantage in the game in favor
of the bank. I think it is only this: if the bet is decided in
favor of the better on the first turn, there is a very small de¬
duction from the amount paid; an eighth, or perhaps a fourth.
But there is another, and a much more important advantage to
the bank, in this, as in all of these public games ; men always
double and bet high when they have won, and, generally
speaking, if the bank wins one bet in three, the better has
lost in the end. I had not seen one of these public games
played for very many yea^s until I went to Mexico, and only
saw it twice there; but my own observation has fully satisfied
me of the truth of what I have said, and I should be rejoiced
to know that this suggestion had prevented any one person
from indulging in those most pernicious of games, pernicious
as all games of chance are. I was very much struck with
one thing which I noticed. I have seen, I am sure, fifty
thousand dollars on the tables at once, probably in fifty differ¬
ent piles, and belonging to as many different betters, and yet
I never witnessed a dispute of any sort as to the ownership
of any one of these piles. I have seen a sum which the per¬
son who bet had omitted to take up when he had won; no one
claimed it until it had increased to quite a large sum by win¬
ning double every time; and when, even, it would be asked
whose bet it was, and thus announced that it was forgotten,
no one would claim it.
188 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
The gravity and propriety of Spanish manners are never
wanting, even at the gaming-table. I have seen men in the
humbler walks of life lose several thousand dollars, and per¬
haps the last which they possessed, without a frown, or the
slightest sign of emotion of any sort. Greatly pernicious as
is the practice of gaming everywhere, and in all its forms, I
do not think that it is anywhere so much so as in Mexico.
The people of all mining countries are characteristically
thriftless and improvident; and I believe, nowhere more than
in Mexico. There are very few instances in Mexico of men
who have any idea of that certain competency which is the
reward of industry in any employment, and the savings of
even small Earnings, whereby the small gains of one year
swell those of the next, which is so well expressed in the
maxim of Dr. Franklin, a that the second hundred dollars is
much easier made than the first, the first assisting to make the
second." While they habitually postpone everything until
to-morrow, they never think of making any provision for
that to-morrow. If they ever do lay up money, it is for the
purpose of attending the feast of San Augustin and with the
hope of winning a fortune with it. They hear of some one,
perhaps, who has done so, but they do not think of the thou¬
sands who have lost.
THE CAPTAIN—A FRAGMENT.*—Beainaed.
Solemn he paced upon that sch'ooner's deck,
And muttered of his hardships:—" I have been
Where the wild will of Mississippi's tide
Has dashed me on the sawyer; I have sailed
In the thick night, along the wave-washed edge
Of ice, in acres, by the pitiless coast
Of Labrador ; and I have scraped my keel
O'er coral rocks in Madagascar seas ;
And often, in my cold and midnight watch,
Have heard the warning voice of the lee shore
Speaking in breakers ! Aye, and I have seen
The whale and sword-fish fight beneath my bows;
* The Bridgeport paper of March, J803, said, " Arrived, schooner Fame, from
Charleston, via New London. While at anchor in that harbor, during the rain storm
on Thursday evening last, the Fame was run foul of by the wreck of the meeting-house
from Norwich, which was carried away in the late freshet."
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 189
And when they made the deep boil like a pot,
Have swung into its vortex; and I know
To cord my vessel with a sailor's skill,
And brave such dangers with a sailor's heart;—
But never yet, upon the stormy wave,
Or where the river mixes with the main,
Or in the chafing anchorage of the bay,—
In all my rough experience of harm,
Met I—a floating meeting-house !
###### #
Cat-head, or beam, or davit has it none,
Starboard nor larboard, gunwale, stem nor stern !
It comes in such a " questionable shape,"
I cannot even speak it 1 Up jib, Josey,
And make for Bridgeport! There, where Stratford Point,
Long Beach, Pairweather Island, and the buoy,
Are safe from such encounters, we'll protest I
And Yankee legends long shall tell the tale,
That once a Charleston schooner was beset,
Riding at anchor, by a meeting-house !"
REFLECTIONS ON THE SURRENDER OF THE CITY OF
MEXICO.—Mansfield.
On the morning of the ISth of September all was quiet.
Mexico, the capital of the ancient Aztecs—the seat of the
Spanish-American empire in America—had passed from Aztec
and from Spaniard, to the Anglo-American—the Northman
of the Goths, the Saxon of Germany, the Englishman of
America—the same bold, hardy, energetic, ingenious, invinci¬
ble, ambitious, and adventurous being, whose genius the forms
of civilization cannot confine, and to whose dominion conti¬
nents are inadequate ! In what hour of time, or limit of
space, shall this man of the moderns—this conqueror over
land and seas, nations and governments, find rest in the com¬
pletion of his mighty progress. Commencing his march in
the cold regions of Scandinavia, no ice chilled his blood—
no wilderness delayed his steps—no labor wearied his indus¬
try—no arms arrested his march—no empire subdued his
power. Over armies and over empires—over lands and over
seas—in heat and cold, and wilderness and flood—amidst the
desolations of death and the decays of disease—this North-
190 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
man has moved on in might and majesty, steady as the foot¬
steps of Time, and fixed as the decrees of Fate !
How singular—how romantically strange is this—his wild
adventure and marvellous conquest in the valley of valleys!
How came the Northman and the Moorish Celt here to meet,
and here to battle in this North-American valley? Look at
it! Inquire! Ask yourself how they came here ? Are
they the citizens, by nature, of this continent? Are they the
aborigines of these wild and wonderful forests? Never!
How came they then to be contending for the lands and
groves of those whose children they are not!
In the beginning of the 16th century, Hernando Cortez
landed on the coast of Mexico, and, at the head of Spanish
troops, marched on to the conquest of Mexico, over whose
effeminate inhabitants the Spaniard has, for three hundred
years, held undivided dominion. Not many years after, the
Anglo-Saxon landed on the coasts of the northern Atlantic.
He, too, marched on to conquest. The native citizens of the
forest disappeared before him. Forests, mountains, and Indi¬
ans, were ineffectual to oppose him. From the banks of the
St. Lawrence to the Sabine of Texas, he is a conqueror over
nature. In the south, the natives die, or become slaves to
the Spaniard. In the north, they fade and perish before
the Anglo-American. The one spreads his empire from the
Gulf of Mexico to the far shores of California; the other,
from the hills of St. Francis to the mountains of Oregon.
Both extended over breadths of land, and power of resources,
unknown to the widest empire of antiquity. Egypt, and hef
millions, with the famed valley of the Nile, fade before the
broad magnificence, the mighty growth, of these American
empires ! Even the terrible and far-seeing eagles of Borne
grow dizzy and dim in their sight, as they look down from the
summits of history upon these continental nations—these
colossal giants of the modern world! And now, the Span¬
iard and this Northman meet, in battle-panoply, in this valley
of volcanoes, by the ancient graves of unknown nations, on
the lava-covered soil where nature once poured forth her awe-
inspiring flames, and the brave Tlascalan once sung of glory
and of greatness I Three centuries since, these warrior na¬
tions had left their homes beyond the wide Atlantic. Two
thousand miles from each other, they had planted the seats of
their empire; and now, as if time in the moral world
had completed another of its grand revolutions, they have
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
191
Met in mortal conflict. Like the eagle and the vulture, who
had long pursued different circles in the heavens, and long
made prey of the weak tenants of the air, their circles have
been enlarged till they cross each other. They shriek!
They fight! the victorious eagle bears the vulture to the
earth, and screams forth through the clouds the triumphant
song! Has the bold bird received no wound ? Has no blood
tinged the feathers of his wing? Is there'no secret flow of
life from the portals of his heart? Will he continue to look,
with unblenched eye, on the blazing glories of the sun ? Hid
in the eternal decrees of God, is the life of nations; and not
till He has drawn away the curtains of time, will mortals
know the secrets of His will in the government of nations.
APPEAL IN BEHALF OF SUFFERING IRELAND.*—Clay.
If we were to hear that large numbers of the inhabitants
of Asia, or Africa, or Australia, or the remotest part of the
globe, were daily dying with hunger and famine—no matter
what their color, what their religion, or what their civiliza¬
tion—we should deeply lament their condition, and be irre¬
sistibly prompted, if possible, to mitigate their sufferings.
But it is not the distresses of any such distant regions that
have summoned us together on this occasion. The appal¬
ling, heart-rending distresses of Ireland and Irishmen form the
object of our present consultation. That Ireland, which has
been, in all the vicissitudes of our national existence, our
friend, and has ever extended to us her warmest sympathy; those
Irishmen, who, in every war in which we have been engaged,
on every battle-field, from Quebec to Monterey, have stood by
us, shoulder to shoulder, and shared in all the perils and for¬
tunes of the conflict. The imploring appeal comes to us from
the Irish nation, which is so identified with our own as to be
almost part and parcel of ours—bone of our bone and flesh of
our flesh. Nor is it any ordinary case of human misery, or a,
few isolated cases of death by starvation, that we are called
upon to consider. Famine is stalking abroad throughout
Ireland ; whole towns, counties—countless human beings, of
* Extract from a speech delivered at New Orleans, Feb. 4, 1847, at a meeting held
for the relief of the poor of Ireland.
192 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
every age and of both sexes—at this very moment are starv¬
ing, or in danger of starving to death for bread! Of all the
forms of dissolution of human life, the pangs and agony of that
which proceeds from famine are the most dreadful. If one
dies fighting gloriously for his country, he is cheered, in his
expiring moments, by the patriotic nature of his sacrifice. He
knows that his surviving relations and friends, while lament¬
ing his loss, will be gratified and honored by his devotion to
his country. Poets, painters, sculptors, historians—will re¬
cord his deeds of valor and perpetuate his renown. If he
dies by the sudden explosion of the boilers of a steamboat, or
by a storm at sea, death is quiet and easy, and soon performs
its mission. A few piercing shrieks are uttered, he sinks be¬
neath the surface, and all is still and silent. But a death by
starvation comes slow, lingering and excruciating. From
day to day the wretched victim feels his flesh dwindling, his
speech sinking, his friends falling around him, and he finally
expires in horrible agony. Behold the wretched Irish moth¬
er—with haggard looks and streaming eyes—her famished
children clinging to her tattered garments, and gazing pite-
ously in her face, begging for food! And see the distracted
husband and father, with pallid cheeks, standing by, horror
and despair depicted in his countenance—tortured with the
reflection that he can afford no succor or relief to the dearest
objects of his heart, about to be snatched forever from him
by the most cruel of all deaths! This is no fancy picture;
but, if we are to credit the terrible accounts which reach us
from that theatre of misery and wretchedness, is one of daily
occurrence. Indeed, no imagination can conceive—no tongue
express—no pencil paint—the horrors of the scenes which
are there daily exhibited.
Shall starving Ireland—the young and the old—dying wo¬
men and children, stretch out their hands to us for bread, and
find no relief? Will not this great city, the world's storehouse
of an exhaustless supply of all kinds of food, borne to its over¬
flowing warehouses by the father of waters, act on this oc¬
casion in a manner worthy of its high destiny, and obey the
noble impulses of the generous hearts of its blessed inhabit¬
ants ?
We are commanded by the common Saviour of Ireland and
of us, to love one another as ourselves; and on this, together
with one higher obligation, hang all the law and prophets of
our holy religion. We know, that of all the forms of humanity
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 193
and benevolence, none is more acceptable in the sight of God,
than the practice of charity. Let us demonstrate our love, our
duty, and our gratitude to Him, by a liberal contribution to the
relief of His suffering Irish children.
JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER.—Mrs. Gilman.
They have watched her last and quivering breath,
And the maiden's soul has flown;
They have wrapped her in the robes of death,
And laid her, dark and lone.
But the mother casts a look behind,
And weeps for that fallen flower;
Nay, start not—'twas the passing wind—
Those limbs have lost their power.
And tremble not at the cheek of snow,
Over which the faint light plays ;
'Tis only the curtain's crimson glow,
Which thus deceives thy gaze.
Didst thou not close that expiring eye,
And feel the soft pulse decay ?
And did not thy lips receive the sigh,
That bore her soul away?
She lies on her couch, all pale and hush'd,
And heeds not thy gentle tread,
And is still as the spring-flower by traveller crush'd,
Which dies on its snowy bed.
Her mother has passed from.that lonely room,
And the maid is still and pale,
Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb,
And blue is the stiffen'd nail.
Her mother retires with folded arms,
And her head is bent in woe;—
Her heart is shut to joys or harms,—
No tear attempts to flow.
194
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
But listen! what name salutes her ear ?
It comes to a heart of stone—"
" Jesus," she cries, " has no power here,
My daughter's spirit has flown."
He leads the way to that cold white couch,
And bends o'er that senseless form ;
She breathes ! she breathes ! at his hallow'd touch
The maiden's hand is warm. •
And the fresh blood comes with its roseate hue,
And life spreads quick through her frame;
Her head is raised, and her step is true,
And she murmurs her mother's name.
CHARACTER OF THE GENTLEMAN.—Liebeb.
The kindness of his feeling prevents him from vaunting;
moroseness and asperity are foreign to him, and his forbear¬
ance as well as generosity make him the safe keeper of se¬
crets, even without the special exaction of secrecy. * He is
not meddlesome; and it is a principle with him, not only to
keep positive secrets, but to abstain from talking about the per¬
sonal affairs of others, as a general rule, to be suspended only
when there is a positive and specific reason for so doing. The
discourse of the gentleman turns upon facts, not persons. He
keeps a secret, even though it give him power over an an¬
tagonist, because a secret of this kind is power, and a gene¬
rous use of all power is one of the essential attributes of the
true gentleman. Nor does he indicate that he possesses
a secret; for doing so is vanity, and conceit and vanity are
undignified, and lower the person that harbors them. His
polish makes him the civil attendant upon the weaker sex, but
his essential refinement does, not allow him to carry this ne¬
cessary element of all civilization to a degree of caricature,
in treating women as if they were incapable of argument, and
must forego the privilege of being dissented from, or of arriv¬
ing at truth by their own reasoning. He shows instinctive
deference to old age, and respect to superior authority. In
discussions he shows his true character, not only by his calm¬
ness, and by abstaining from offensive positiveness, but also
by the fairness of his arguments. He does not recur to those
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
195
many fallacies which, though they belong to vulgar minds, or
whose employment shows that we consider our adversaries
as such, are, nevertheless, not without effect in brisk disputes.
The well-bred gentleman gladly seizes upon those minor yet
delicate attentions, which, though apparently trifling, are cheer¬
ing tokens of a friendly heart, and may be compared to graceful
flowerets growing by the roadside of the rugged and toilsome
path of life. His habitual candor will- make him, to use a
familiar term," off-hand" in his intercourse with friends; he
delights in serving others, and in turn, feels the luxury of
being grateful. Above all, it pains him to give pain ; and he
does and feels all that we have mentioned without affectation,
selfishness., dryness or pedantry.
We have in our country a noble example of calmness, truth¬
fulness, dignity, fairness and urbanity—constituents of the
character which we are considering—in the father of our
country ; for Washington, the wise and steadfast patriot, was
also the high-minded gentleman. When the malcontent officers
of his army informed him that they would lend him their
support, if he were willing to build himself a throne, he knew
how to blend the dictates of his oath to the commonwealth, and
of his patriotic heart, with those of a gentlemanly feeling
toward the deluded and irritated. In the sense in which we
take the term here, it is not the least of his honors that, through
all the trying periods and s.cenes of his remarkable life, the
historian and moralist can write him down, not only as Wash¬
ington, the wise ; not only as Washington, the pure and sin¬
gle-minded; but also as Washington, the gentleman.
THE MYSTERIES OF LIFE.—-Charlton.
Life ! oh what thoughts within our troubled brain
That word can conjure up, for joy or pain !
Behold the dew-drop glittering on the leaf,
Bright with the kisses of a thousand rays,
Nature's sweet tear ; (and even in her grief
Some joys she scatters o'er earth's checkered ways >
No painter's canvass can that drop portray;
Art strives in vain such colors to infuse,
As Nature pictures with her own bright ray
Upon the freshness of her morning dews.
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
A summer cloud hath passed across the sun—-
Zephyr hath breathed above the flow'ry plain,
And when we turn to gaze once more upon
That beauteous dew-drop, all our search is vain !
See, stretched in slumber on the verdant lawn,
The graceful figure of the gentle fawn,
A pure and guileless being; one whose life
Hath never known of bloodshed or of strife;
Surely no fear could make this fond one stray
From this clear stream and verdant lawn away !
A pebble's weight hath dropped upon the tide,
A leaf hath fallen rustling by its side :
See, they hafe scared the slumbers of that fawn :
That sound—that leaf have roused it—it has gone!
Alas ! alas ! Man is that verdant lawn.
And Life that dew-drop—Life that timid fawn !
THE SOUTHERN PARTISAN.—W. H. B.
Among those patriots who sacrificed so freely upon the altar
of their country's freedom, their lives and fortunes in the glo¬
rious struggle of the revolution, we enumerate with pride the
southern partisan. History has scarcely yielded them the praise
which is so justly their due. Weak in numbers, and ill provi¬
ded with the munitions of war, they could offer but a feeble
resistance to the well-armed and well-disciplined veterans of
the English army. But, aside from this, they had to contend
against still another enemy, and one, too, as unexpected as un¬
natural. The mind recoils with abhorrence from the thoughts
of those wretches who, influenced by the basest passions, di¬
rected their arms against their own country. The disparity
between the parties was too great to allow the Americans any
hope of success in the open field. Their ports were taken, and
the whole country encompassed with a chain of strong and
well-garrisoned fortifications.
Then, left to their own resources, commenced that peculiar
system of warfare so well calculated to cope with the superior¬
ity of European force and tactics. Yes, even in the swamps,
those dark and gloomy portions of the southern country, the
genius of Liberty had found a resting-place.
Gathering here those trusty and daring spirits who had not
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 197
yet crouched to the 1 ash of oppression, she pledged them never
to abandon her cause, but with their dying breath. And nobly
was that pledge redeemed. Amid the most unpropitious
events of the war, when despair and ruin stared them in the
face on every side, and no ray of hope cheered their hearts,—
not for a single instant did they falter or hesitate.
Bold and skilful riders, deadly shots with the rifle, they be¬
set the enemy from every cover, contracted his operations, and
gaining numbers by success, became most formidable opponents.
Like the guerilla bands of Spain, sleepless and vigilant, never
was an opportunity suffered to pass unnoticed. As the contin¬
ual dropping of water will wear away the solid rock, so their
ceaseless and unremitting efforts slowly but surely undermined
the British power.
Bound together by the closest ties Which can unite men, not
a single instance of desertion or treachery dims the bright cat¬
alogue of their heroic deeds. Their individual exploits would
fill a volume, and have been the theme of many an old tradi¬
tion and story. Deeds of heroism were performed in that pe¬
riod of devastation and bloodshed, which would not have dis¬
honored the most glowing age of chivalry. Many of their
achievements would hardly appear credible, were not their
truth clearly proved by history.
But the brightest trait in their characters was their forbear¬
ance. Although " Tarleton's quarter" had become a proverb
expressive of his sanguinary nature, never was retaliation in¬
flicted by them upon a vanquished foe. Even when heated
by the fray, and in the flush of victory, the upraised arm was
always arrested by the supplication for mercy.
And fortunate was it for them, and for their country, that
they had for leaders such men as Marion and Sumpter-—men
as prudent and noble as brave—endeared to their soldiers by
their generous dispositions, and by a mutual participation in
their perils and hardships. These men, like Washington, seem
sent by Providence only at some great crisis in the affairs of
mankind. To minds naturally active and vigilant, they united
extreme caution and perseverance. Never disheartened by the
reverses of fortune, always sanguine and hopeful for the better,
their names were the great rallying-points of the partisans, and
caused the recreant tory to pause in his career of crime and
bloodshed.
" While Sumpter stands conspicuous for bold, daring, fearless
intrepidity, and always resolute behavior, Marion is proverbi-
198 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
ally the great master of strategy—the wily fox of the swamps
never to be caught, never to be followed, yet always at hand
with unaonjectured promptness, at the moment when he is least
feared, and least to be expected." Beloved alike by their offi¬
cers and men, that mutual confidence was created, so necessary
for success in all military operations. Shrinking from no toil,
calm and collected in the hour of danger, they afforded to the
partisans examples well worthy of imitation.
We know not which to admire most, the lustre of their pri¬
vate characters, or the indomitable spirit they displayed.
Hemmed in on all sides by a furious enemy thirsting for their
lives, they still managed,—we hardly know how,—to annoy and
dispirit him in a thousand modes, and to encourage and ani¬
mate the drooping hearts of their friends. Their names are
mentioned with a feeling akin to that of reverence, and are
held up as bright and glowing models of all that men regard
with admiration. Poesy and eloquence have breathed their
names in words that will never die. Tradition has thrown
her rich coloring around them in stories as attractive as won¬
derful. With how much interest do we read of them—of their
bold and sudden onsets, of the keen pursuit and rapid retreat,
of their wild adventures by day and night, and all the vicissi¬
tudes and perils of their hazardous existence.
They are gone! but the wave of oblivion can never obliter¬
ate from our memory the hallowed remembrance of them and
their virtues. No ! their reward is the gratitude and love with
which posterity will, through all ages, greet their memory.
The American Revolution will always be regarded as the
brightest page in the world's history. And is there not a gran¬
deur, a moral grandeur, in a conte-t where men, forgetful of
themselves, careless of individual interests, bring to the cause
of their country the sacrifice of willing hearts and strong
hands? But the contest was no more than became men like
those who were engaged in it; men u stern to inflict and stub¬
born to endure sustained by a holy cause, and confident in a
holy God. Tne result has been glorious as the design was
great. A powerful nation has sprung into existence, and self-
government has been proved to be the best, the only sure
means of permanent success. America is great, and her pros¬
pects bright. Should we not, then, continue to cherish the
wh^K^ those who have bequeathed to us an independence
wnvlrl t/i sure' a. constitution which is matchless, and to the
world a lesson winch it will never forget ?
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 199
RETRIBUTION*—Beli*
There is something in our present relations with Mexico-
something so unusual, not to say wonderful, in all the incidents
of this war, that I should say a higher power than ours holds
the issues of it, and for purposes we may not comprehend.
The instances of individual self-sacrifice,"of reckless yet suc¬
cessful adventure, of such frequent occurrence in this war,
carry us back in search of parallel examples, to the heroic
ages of antiquity, and seem fitter subjects for fabulous and
romantic narrative, than the sober pages of truthful history.
There is no record in the history of modern warfare, nor
ancient either, of a more brilliant and uninterrupted series of
well-fought battles and victorious results against such odds, as
that which now forms part of the imperishable annals of the
republic. And when we contemplate the intrepidity and skill
of our officers, the impetuous valor which has distinguished
every corps of our army, whether of regular soldiers or of vol¬
unteers—a valor which neither natural obstructions, nor mili¬
tary defences, nor a force often five times more numerous, could
arrest in their rapid and victorious career—we are involuntarily
reminded of the similar and thrilling exploits of Cortez on the
same fields of military fame—in the land which, by this double
act of conquest, seems devoted.
It is now about three hundred years since that extraordinary
man, with a band of adventurers less than seven hundred in
number, urged on by two of the strongest passions of our na¬
ture—cupidity and religious fanaticism—landed upon an un¬
known shore, burnt his ships, attacked, and-»-after enacting
scenes so mixed of craft, cruelty, and blood, yet so gilded over
with feats of high chivalry and dauntless courage that the
muse of history pauses in her task, and hesitates to praise or
blame—overthrew a populous and powerful empire. These
victorious adventurers were the ancestors and countrymen of
that race which ever since has held sway over the conquered
country, whatever form the government has assumed, whether
vice-regal or free. It was an Indian race that peopled the
empire which Cortez overturned; and they were the ancestors
and countrymen of the same race which now inhabit the land
of their fathers. They were made serfs—the hewers of wood
and drawers of water—to their new masters three centuries
♦ Extract from a speech on the Mexican War, delivered in the Senate, February 3,1818.
200 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
With some amelioration, they continue to be so to this
^ Though free in name, they still wear the badges of a
biect people—still remain the victims of conquest and of
their primeval caste and complexion. Whatever faction rules
for the hour, they are still the sufferers. What religion fails
to exact from them, their proud and insolent conquerors ex¬
tort, under the pretext of government support, or to maintain
an army which oppresses them in peace, and gives them no
protection in war. Wonderful retribution !—that at the dis¬
tance of three centuries, the descendants of the original
spoiler should be made to suffer the penalty of the wrongs
committed by their forefathers; that they in turn should be
trodden under the iron heel of war—be made to pass under
the yoke of the conqueror.
THE MUSIC GRINDERS.—Holmes.
There are three ways in which men take one's money from
his purse,
And very hard it is to tell which of the three is worse;
But all of them are bad enough to make a body curse.
You're riding out some pleasant day, and counting up your
gains;
A fellow jumps from out a bush and takes your horse's reins,
^.nother hints some words about a bullet in your brains.
It's hard to meej such pressing friends in such a lonely spot;
It's very hard to lose your cash,—but harder to be shot;
And so you take your wallet out, though you would rather not
Perhaps you're going out to dine,—some filthy creature begs
You'll hear about the cannon-ball that carried off his pegs,
And says it is a dreadful thing for men to lose their legs.
He tells you of his starving wife,—his children to be fed,
Poor little, lovely innocents, all clamorous for bread,—
And so you kindly help to put a bachelor to bed.
You're sitting on your window-seat beneath a cloudless moon;
As if aWrfj S°U£r ?eems.to wear the semblance of a tune,
ren fife should strive to drown a crack'd bassoon.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
201
And nearer, nearer still, the tide of music seems to come ;
There's something like a human voice, and something like a
drum ;
You sit in speechless agony, until your ear is numb.
Poor " Home, sweet home," should seem to be a very dismal
place;
Your " Auld acquaintance," all at once, is altered in the face;
Their discords sting through Burns and Moore, like hedgehogs
dressed in lace.
You think they are crusaders, sent from some infernal clime
To pluck the eyes of sentiment, and dock the tail of rhyme;
To crack the voice of melody, and break the legs of time.
But, hark ! the air again is still, the music all is ground,
And silence, like a poultice, comes to heal the blow of sound ;
It cannot be,—it is! it is!—-a hat is going round !
No! pay the dentist when he leaves a fracture in your jaw;
And pay the owner of the bear that stunned you with his paw;
And buy the lobster that has had your knuckles in his claw;
But if you are a portly man, put on your fiercest frown,
And talk about a constable to turn them out of town,
Then close your sentence with a scowl, and shut the window
down!
And if you are a slender man, not big enough for that,
Or if you cannot make a speech, because you are a flat,
Go very quietly and drop a button in the hat!
DEATH OF PIZARRO.—Prescott.
On the day appointed, Rada and his companions met in
Almagro's house, and waited with anxiety for the hour when
the governor should issue from the church. But great was
their consternation, when they learned that he was not there,
but was detained at home, as currently reported, by illness.
Little doubting that their design was discovered, they felt
their own ruin to be the inevitable consequence, and that, too,
without enjoying the melancholy consolation of having struck
202 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
. ,, for which they had incurred it. Greatly perplexed,
were for disbanding, in the hope that Pizarro might, after
alf^be ignorant of their design. But most were for carrying
it into execution at once, by assaulting him in his own house.
The question was summarily decided by one of the party,
who felt that in this latter course lay their only chance of
safety. Throwing open the doors, he rushed out, calling on
his comrades " to follow him, or he would proclaim the pur¬
pose for which they had met." There was no longer hesita¬
tion, and the cavaliers issued forth, with B-ada at their head,
shouting, as they went, " Long live the king! Death to the
tyrant!"
The governor's palace stood on the opposite side of the
square. It was approached by two court-yards. The en¬
trance to the outer one was protected by a massive gate,
capable of being made good against a hundred men or more.
But it Was left open, and the assailants, hurrying through to
the inner court, still shouting their fearful battle-cry, were met
by two domestics loitering in the yard. One of these they
struck down. The other, flying in all haste towards the house,
called out, 'k Help, help! the men of Chili are all coming to
murder the marquess!"
Pizarro at this time was at dinner, or, more probably, had
just dined. He was surrounded by a party of friends, who
had dropped in, it seems, after mass, to inquire after the state
of his health, some of whom had remained to partake of his
repast. Among these was Don Martinez de Alcantara, Pizar-
ro's half-brother by the mother's side, the judge Velasquez, the
bishop elect of Quito, and several of the principal cavaliers in
the place, to the number of fifteen or twenty. Some of them,
alarmed by the uproar in the court-yard, left the saloon, and,
running down to the first landing on the stairway, inquired
into the cause of the disturbance. No sooner were they in¬
formed of it by the cries of the servant, than they retreated
with precipitation into the house ; and, as they had no mind to
abide the storm unarmed, or at the best imperfectly armed, as
most of them were, they made their way to a corridor that
overlooked the gardens, into which they easily let themselves
down without injury.
Meanwhile, the marquess, learning the nature of the tumult,
called out to Francisco de Chaves, an officer high in his confi-
WaS, in the outer opening on the
staircase, to secure the door, while he and his brother Alcan-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 203
tara buckled on their armor. Bad this order, coolly given
been as coolly obeyed, it would have saved them all, since the
entrance could easily have been maintained against a much
larger force, till the report of the cavaliers who had fled, had
brought support to Pizarro. But unfortunately, Chaves,'diso¬
beying his commander, half opened the door, and attempted
to enter into a parley with the conspirators. The latter had
now reached the head of the stairs, and cut short the debate
by running Chaves through the body, and tumbling his corpse
down into the area below. For a moment they were kept at
bay by the attendants of the slaughtered cavalier, but these,
too, were quickly despatched; and Rada and his companions',
entering the apartment, hurried across it, shouting out, " Where
is the marquess? Death to the tyrant!"
Martinez de Alcantara, who in the adjoining room was as¬
sisting his brother to buckle on his mail, no sooner saw that
the entrande to the antechamber had been gained, than he
sprang to the door-way of the apartment, and, assisted by two
young men, pages of Pizarro, and by one or two cavaliers in
attendance, endeavored to resist the approach of the assailants.
A desperate struggle now ensued. Blows were given on both
sides, some of which proved fatal, and two of the conspirators
were slain, while Alcantara and his brave companions were
repeatedly wounded.
At length, Pizarro, unable in the hurry of the moment to
adjust the fastenings of his cuirass, threw it away, and en¬
veloping one arm in his cloak, with the other seized his
sword, and sprang to his brother's assistance. It was too
late; for Alcantara was already staggering under the loss of
blood, and soon fell to the ground. Pizarro threw himself on
his invaders, like a lion roused in his lair, and dealt his blows
with as much rapidity and force, as if age had no power to
stiffen his limbs. " What ho !" he cried, " traitors ! have you
come to kill me in my own house?" The conspirators drew
back for a moment, as two of their body fell under JPizarro's
sword; but they quickly rallied, and, from their superior
numbers, fought at great advantage by relieving one another
in the assault. Still the. passage was narrow, and the strug¬
gle lasted for some minutes, till both of Pizarro's pages were
stretched by his side, when Rada, impatient of the delay,
called out, "Why are we so long about it? Down with the
tyrant!" and taking one of his companions, Narvaez, in his
arms, he thrust him against the marquess. Pizarro, instantly
204 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Bo°*
r with his opponent, Tan him through with his sword,
grapph g moment he received a wound in the throat, and
Selimr he sank on the floor, while the swords of Bada and
several' of the conspirators were plunged into his body.
« Jesu !" exclaimed the dying man, and, tracing a cross with
his finger on the bloody floor, he bent down his head to kiss it,
when a stroke, more friendly than the rest, put an end to his
existence.
The mangled bodies of Pizarro and his faithful adherents
were for a while left weltering in their blood.' Some were
for dragging forth the governor's corpse to the market-place,
and fixing his head upon a gibbet. But Almagro was secretly
prevailed on to grant the entreaties of PizarroTs friends, and
allow his interment This was stealthily and hastily per¬
formed, in the fear of momentary interruption. A faithful
attendant and his wife, with a few black domestics,-wrapped
the body in a cotton cloth, and removed it to the cathedral. A
grave was hastily dug in an obscure corner, the services were
hurried through, and, in secrecy, and in darkness, dispelled
only by the feeble glimmering of a few tapers, furnished by
these humble menials, the remains of Pizarro, rolled in their
bloody shroud, were consigned to their kindred dust. Such
was the miserable end of the Conqueror of Peru,—of the man
who but a few hours before had lorded it over the land with as
absolute as way as was possessed by its hereditary Incas. Cut
off in the broad light of day, in the heart of his own capital,
in the very midst of those- who had been his companions in
arms and shared with him his triumphs and his spoils, he per¬
ished like a wretched outcast. " There was none, even," in
the expressive language of the chronicler, u to say, God forgive
him!"
" THE BLIND BOY."—REV. DR. Hawkes.
It was a blessed summer day,
J^he flowers bloomed—the air was mild,
The little birds poured forth their lay,
And everything in nature smiled.
In pleasant thoughts I wandered on
Tin sX fheTdeeP w°od's ample shade,
ill ^71 came up°«
chddren who had* hither strayed.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
205
Just at an aged birch tree's foot
A little boy and girl reclined :
His hands in her's she kindly put,
And then I saw the boy was blind.
The children knew not I was near—
A tree concealed me from their view;
But all they said I well could hear,
And I could see all they might do.
" Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy,
" That little bird sings very long;
Say, do you see him in his joy,
And is he pretty as his song?"
"Yes, Edward, yes," replied the maid,
" I see that bird on yonder tree;"
The poor boy sighed and gently said,
" Sister, I wish that I could see.
" The flowers, you say, are very fair,
And bright green leaves are on the trees,
And pretty birds are singing there—
How beautiful for one who sees !
" Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell,
And I can feel the green leafs shade,
And I can hear the notes that swell
From those dear birds that God has made.
" So, sister, God to me is kind,
Though sight, alas, He has not given ;
But tell me, are there any blind
Among the children up in heaven ?"
"No, dearest Edward, there all see,—
But why ask me a thing so odd ?"
" Oh, Mary, He's so good to me,
I thought I'd like to look at God."
Ere long, disease his hand had laid
On that dear boy, so meek and mild ;
His widowed mother wept, and prayed
That God would spare that sightless child..
18
206 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
He felt her warm tears on her face,
And said,—" Oh never weep for me,—
I'm going to a bright, bright place
Where, Mary says, I God shall see.
" And you'll be there, dear Mary, too—
But, mother, when you get up there,
Tell Edward, mother, that 'tis you—
You know I never saw you here."
He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled,
Until the final blow was given—
When God took up that poor blind child,
And opened first his eyes in heaven.
DISUNION AND CIVIL WAR.*—Hannegan.
It will be time enough to talk of dismembering the Union,
when the North shall violate the rights of the South; time
enough to talk of force of arms, disunion, bloodshed, and civil
war, when reason and wisdom, public virtue and patriotism
have no more a home among us. There can be no disunion
while these last; and woe betide the man whose foot is first
advanced in the unholy cause—who gives his native land to
the fierce, unutterable horrors of civil war. It were better
for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and
that he were drowned in the sea." There can be no peaceable
dissolution of this Union? No. Go to the great basin of the
West, and among her busy, teeming millions, find, if you can,
one man who will not die to maintain it; one mother who will
not say to her son, " Go quick to this battle, and come back
in triumph, or come back no more." Come what will with
others, there, fast anchored to the rock of ages, is the imper¬
ishable ark of the Union. My mind inclines not to the gloomy
picture of our country's destiny, which is conveyed so often
and so carelessly in these detested words—disunion and civil
war: words which bring me at once the image of a land all
desolate ; the idle and rusted plough; a solitary ocean; dis¬
mantled ships, rotting at the sea-side; sacked and burning
* Extract from a Speech on the Three Million Bill, delivered in Congress, Maich
1, 1847.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
cities; desecrated churches; the fallen column and broke.*-
shaft; all the consecrated labors of industry, patriotism, and
genius in ruins ,* the midnight fight by the blazing village,
where father strikes at son, and brother aims the accursed steel
true to the heart of brother, yet stops his shout of triumph as
the red stream gurgles out, and calls the lightning of aveng¬
ing heaven~ to rive him, fratricide, where he' stands. This is
a faint sketch of civil war } and when we talk so freely of it,
to familiarize the public with it, to prepare the way for its
coming, let us not forget its deformity.
But I read no such dark leaf$ rather I love to look down
the dark vista of ages, through all coming time, and see our
country free and happy, and peaceful millions still doubling.
Her ports on the Atlantic and the Pacific sending "forth their
thousand ships a day, bearing her commerce all over the
world; her broad standard still advancing, unsullied and un¬
changed, save where new and bright stars shall be shining out
upon her azure field ; her constitution ever bright and vigor¬
ous ; her council fires yet blazing here where we stand; and
to think, as I read the far distant future, that there shall be no
last defender of the American Republic, no " lion of our tribe,"
till the " Son of man cometh in the clouds."
A CHOCTAW EXECUTION.—Simms.
Never did man carry with himself more simple nobleness.
He was at once surrounded by his friends and relatives. The
hostile party, from whom the executioners were to be drawn,
stood looking on at some little distance, the very pictures of
patience. There was no sort of disposition manifested among
them, to hurry the proceeding. Though exulting in the pros¬
pect of soon shedding the blood of one whom they esteemed
an enemy, yet all was dignified composure and forbearance.
The signs of exultation were nowhere to be seen. Mean¬
while, a conversation was carried on in low soft accents, un¬
marked by physical action, of any kind, between the condemn¬
ed and. two other Indian's. One of these was the unhappy
mother of the criminal—the other was his uncle. They
rather listened to his remarks, than made any of their own.
The dialogue was conducted in their own language. After a
while this ceased, and he made a signal which seemed to be
208 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
felt rather than understood, by all the Indians, friends and
enemies. All of them started into instant intelligence. It
was a sign that he was ready for the final proceedings. He
rose to his feet and they surrounded him. The groans of the
old woman, his mother, were now distinctly audible, and she
was led away by the uncle, who, placing her among the other
women, returned to the condemned, beside whom he took his
place.
A procession was now formed, which was headed by three
sturdy fellows, carrying their rifles conspicuously upon their
shoulders. These were the appointed executioners, and were
all near relatives of the man who had been slain. -There was
no mercy in their looks. Oakatibbe followed immediately
after these."
Never, on any occasion, did I behold a man with a step
more firm—a head so unbent—a countenance so sweetly calm,
though grave, and of such quiet unconcern at the obvious
fate in view. Yet there was nothing in his deportment of
that effort which would be the case with most white men on a
similar occasion, who seek to wear the aspect of heroism.
He walked as to a victory, but he walked with a staid, even
dignity, calmly, and without the flush of any excitement on
his cheek. In his eye there was none of that feverish curi¬
osity, which seeks for the presence of his executioner, and
cannot be averted from the contemplation of the mournful
paraphernalia of death. His look was like that of the strong
man, conscious of his inevitable doom, and prepared, as it is
inevitable, to meet it with corresponding indifference.
The grave was now before us. It must have been prepared
at the first dawn of the morning. The executioners paused,
when they had reached a spot within thirty steps of it. But
the condemned passed on, and stopped only on the edge of its
open jaws. The last trial was at hand with all its terrors.
The curtain was about to drop, and the scene of life, with all
its hopes, and promises, and golden joys—even to an Indian,
golden—was to be shut forever. I felt a painful and numbing
chill pass,through my frame, but I could behold no sign of
change in him. He now beckoned his friends around him.
His enemies drew nigh also, but in a remoter circle. He
was about to commence his song of death—the narrative of
his performances, his purposes, all his living experience. He
began a low chant, slow, measured and composed, the words
seeming to consist of monosyllables only. As he proceeded,
THIRD.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 209
his eyes kindled, and his arms were extended. His action
became impassioned', his utterance more rapid, and the tones
were distinguished by increasing warmth. I could not under¬
stand a single word which he uttered, but the cadences were
true and full of significance. The rise and fail of his voice,
truly proportioned to- the links of sound by which they were
connected, would have yielded a fine lesson to the European
teacher of school eloquence. His action was as graceful as
that of a mighty tree yielding to and gradually rising from the
pressure of a sudden gust. I felt the eloquence which I
could not understand. . I fancied, from his tones and gestures,
the play oL^he muscles of his mouth, and the dilation of his
eyes, that T could detect the instances of daring valor, or
good conduct, which his narrative comprised. One portion of
it, as he approached the close, I certainly could not fail to
comprehend. He evidently spoke of his last unhappy affray
with the man whom he had slain. His head was bowed—
the light passed from his eyes, his hands were folded upon his
heart, and his voice grew thick and husky. He paused.
The catastrophe was at hand. I saw him step back, so as to
place himself at the very verge of the grave—he then threw
open his breast—a broaa manly, muscular bosom, that would
have sufficed for a Hercules—one hand he struck upon the spot
above his heart, where it remained—the other was raised
above his head. This was the signal. I turned away with
a strange sickness. I could look no longer. In the next
instant I heard the simultaneous report, as one, of the three
rifles, and when I again looked, they were shovelling in the
fresh mould, upon the noble form of one, who, under other more
favoring circumstances, might have been a father to his nation.
TO THE EAGLE.—Peuoival.
Bird ot the broad and sweeping wing!
Thy home is high in heaven,
Where wide the storms their banners fling*
And the tempest clouds are driven.
Thy throne is on the mountain top ;
Thv fields the boundless air ;
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop
The skies, thy dwellings are.
18*
210 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Thou sittest like a thing1 of light,
Amid the noontide blaze ;
The midway sun is clear and bright—
It cannot dim thy gaze.
Thy pinions, to the rushing blast
O'er the bursting billow spread,
Where the vessel plunges, hurry past,
Like an angel of the dead.
Thou art perched aloft on the beetling crag,
And the waves are white below,
And on with a haste that cannot lag,
They rush in an endless flow.
Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight
To lands beyond the sea,
And away like a spirit wreathed in light,
Thou hurriest wild and free.
■Thou hurriest over the myriad waves,
And thou leavest them all behind ;
Thou sweepest that place of unknown graves,
Fleet as the tempest wind.
When the night-storm gathers "dim and dark,
With a shrill and a boding^scream,
Thou rushest by the foundering bark,
Quick as a passing dream.
Lord of the boundless realm of air!
In thy imperial name
The hearts of the bold and ardent dare
The dangerous path of fame.
Beneath the shade of thy golden wings,
The Roman legions bore,
From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs,
Their pride, to the polar shore.
For thee they fought, for thee they fell,
And their oath was on thee "laid:
To thee the clarions raised their swell,
And the dying warrior prayed.
Thou wert, through an age of death and fears,
The image of pride and power,
Till the gathered rage of a thousand years
Burst forth in one awful hour.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
211
And then, a deluge of wrath it came,
And the nations shook with dread;
And it swept the earth, till its fields were flame,
And piled with the mingled dead.
Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood,
With the low and crouching slave;
And together lay, in a shroud of blood,
The coward and the brave.
And where was then thy fearless flight 1
" O'er the dark mysterious sea,
To the lands that caught the setting light,
The cradle ofliberty.
There, on the silent and lonely shore,
For ages I watched alone,
And the world, in its darkness, asked no more,
Where the glorious bird had flown.
But there came a bold and hardy few,
And they breasted the unknown wave;
I caught afar the wandering crew,
And I knew they were high and brave.
I wheeled around the welcome bark,
As it sought the desolate shore,
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark,
My quivering pinions bore.
And now that bold and hardy few
Are a nation wide and strong,
And danger and doubt I have led them through,
And they worship me in song ;
And over their bright and glancing arms,
On field and lake and sea,
With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms,
I guide them to victory."
THE CONSTITUTION.*—Cass. ,
It gives me pain to hear any allusions to the dissolution
of this confederacy,' and of all places in this republic, this
high place is the last, in which they should be expressed.
The constitution is in no danger. It has survived many a
* Extract from a Speech on the Three Million Bill, delivered in the Senate. Feh.
10, W47.
212 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
shock, and it will survive many more. There are those now
in the Senate—and I am among1 them—who were born before
it came into being. We have grown with our growth and
strengthened with our strength, till the approach of physical
infirmities, the kindly warnings of nature, bid us prepare for
another and an untried world. And the constitution, too, has
grown with its growth and strengthened with its strength, till
from three millions it governs twenty millions of people, and
makes them the happiest community upon the face of the globe.
But it is yet fresh in its strength. No infirmity has come to
tell us, that its dissolution is near. It is no longer an experi¬
ment ; no longer a promise, but performance. It has fulfilled
all, and more than all, its most sanguine advocates dared pre¬
dict. It is at this moment stronger in the affections of the
American people, than at any other period of its existence.
Like the cliff of eternal granite, which overlooks the ocean,
and drives back the ceaseless waves that assail its base, so
will this constitution resist the assaults that may be made upon
it, come how or whence they may. In the providence of God,
no such lot as ours was ever conferred upon a people. What
we have been, and are, the past and the present have told, and
are telling us. What we are to be, the future will tell to those
who are to come after us, to their joy or sorrow, as we cherish
or reject the blessings we enjoy. If we are not struck with
judicial blindness, as were God's chosen people of old, and
punished for national offences by national punishments, we
shall cling to this constitution as the mariner clings to the
last plank, when night and the tempest close around him; and
we shall cling to it the stronger, as the danger is greater.
PERILOUS ADVENTURE WITH TWO INDIANS.—Kiebnan.
In the summer of 1782, a party of seven Wyandots made
an incursion into a settlement some distance below fort Pitt,
and several miles from the Ohio river. Here finding an old
man alone in a cabin, they killed him, packed up what plunder
they could find, and commenced their retreat Amongst their
party was a celebrated Wyandot chief, who, in addition to his
fame as a warrior and counsellor, was, as to his size and
strength, a real giant.
The news of the visit of the Indians soon spread through
the neighborhood, and a party of eight good riflemen was
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
213
collected in a few hours for the purpose of pursuing the Indi¬
ans. In this party were two brothers of the names of Adam
and Andrew Poe. They were both famous for courage, size,
and activity. This little partjr commenced the pursuit of the
Indians with a determination, if possible, not to suffer them to
escape, as they usually did on such occasions, by making a
speedy flight to the river, crossing it, and then dividing into
small parties, to meet at a distant point in a given time. The
pursuit was continued the greater part of the night, after the
Indians had done the mischief. In the morning, the party
found themselves on the trail of the Indians, which, led to the
river. When arrived within a little distance of the river,
Adam Poe, fearing an ambuscade, left the party, who follow¬
ed directly on the trail, to creep along the brink of the river
bank, under cover of the weeds and bushes, to fall on the "rear
of the Indians, should he find them in ambuscade. He had
not gone far before he saw the Indian rafts at the water's edge.
Not seeing any Indians, he stepped softly down the bank, with
his rifle cocked. When about half way down, he discovered
the large Wyandot chief and a small Indian, within a few
steps of him. They were standing with their guns cocked,
and looking in the direction of our party, who by this time
had gone some distance lower down the bottom. Poe took
aim at the large chief, but his rifle missed fire. The Indians
hearing the snap of the gun-lock, instantly turned round and
discovered Poe, who being too near them to retreat, dropped his
gun, sprang from the bank upon them, and seizing the large
Indian by the clothes on his breast, and at the same time em¬
bracing the neck of the small one, threw them both down on
the ground, himself being uppermost. The small Indian soon
extricated himself, ran to the raft, got his tomahawk, and
attempted to dispatch Poe, the large Indian holding him fast
in his arms with all his might, the better to enable his fellow
to effect his purpose. Poe, however, so well watched the
motions of the assailant, that, when in the act of aiming his
blow at his head, by a vigorous and well-directed kick with
one of his feet, he staggered the savage, and knocked the
tomahawk out of his hand. This failure, on the part of the
small Indian, was reproved by an exclamation of contempt
from the large one.
In a moment the Indian caught up his tomahawk again,
approached more cautiously, brandishing his tomahawk, and
making a number of feigned blows in defiance and derision.
214. SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Poe, however, still on his guard, averted the real blow from
his head, by throwing up his arm and receiving it on his
wrist, in which he was severely wounded; but not so as to
lose entirely the use of his hand. In this perilous moment,
Poe, by a violent effort, broke loose from the Indian, snatched
up one of the Indians' guns, and shot the small Indian
through the breast, as he ran up a third time to tomahawk
him. The large Indian was now on his feet, and grasping
Poe by a shoulder and leg, threw him down on the bank.
Poe instantly disengaged himself, and got on his feet. The
Indian then seized him again, and a new struggle ensued,
which, owing to the slippery state of the bank, ended in the
fall of both combatants into the water. In this situation, it
was the object of each to drown the other. Their efforts to
effect their purpose were continued for some time, with alter¬
nate success; sometimes one being under the water and some¬
times the other. Poe at length seized the tuft of hair on the
scalp of the Indian, with which he held his head under water,
until he supposed him drowned. Relaxing his hold too soon,
Poe instantly found his gigantic antagonist on his feet again,
and ready for another combat. But they were carried into
the water beyond their depth. In this situation they were
compelled to loose their hold on each other, and swim for
mutual safety. Both sought the shore, to seize a gun and end
the contest with bullets. The Indian, being the best swim¬
mer, reached the land first. Poe seeing this, immediately
turned back into the water, to escape being shot, if possible,
by diving. Fortunately, th« Indian caught up the rifle with
which Poe had killed the other warrior. At this juncture,
Andrew Poe, missing his brother from the party, and suppos¬
ing from the report of the gun which he fired, that he was
either killed or engaged in conflict with the Indians, hastened
to the spot. On seeing him, Adam called out to him 10 " kill
the big Indian on the shore." But Andrew's gun, like that of
the Indian's, was empty. The contest was now between the
white and the Indian, who should load and fire first. Very
fortunately for Poe, the Indian, in loading, drew the ramrod
from the thimbles of the stock of the gun with so much vio¬
lence, that it slipped out of his hand and fell a little distance
from him. He quickly caught it up, and rammed down his
bullet. 'This little delay gave Poe the advantage. He shot
the Indian as he was raising his gun to take aim at him.
As soon as Andrew had shot the Indian, he jumped into the
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 2X5
river to assist his wounded brother to the shore j but Adam,
thinking- more of the honor of carrying the scalp of the big
Indian home as a trophy of victory than of his own safety,
urged Andrew to go back, and prevent the struggling savage
from rolling himself into the river and escaping. Andrew's
solicitude for the life of his brother prevented him from com¬
plying with this request. In the mean time, the Indian, jeal¬
ous of the honor of his scalp even in the agonies of death, suc¬
ceeded in reaching the river and getting into the current, so that
his body was never obtained. An unfortunate occurrence took
place during this conflict. Just as Andrew arrived at the top
of the bank for the relief of his brother, one of the party who
had followed close behind him, seeing Adam in the river, and
mistaking him for a wounded Indian, shot at him, and wound¬
ed him in the shoulder. He however recovered from his
wounds. During the contest between Adam Poe and the
Indians, the party had overtaken the remaining five of them.
A desperate conflict ensued, in which four of the Indians
were killed. Our loss was three men killed, and Adam Poe
severely wounded. Thus ended the Spartan conflict, with
the loss of three valiant men on our part, and with that of the
whole Indian party excepting one warrior. Never on any
occasion was there a greater display of desperate bravery,
and seldom did a conflict take place, which, -in the issue,
proved fatal to so great a proportion of those engaged in it.
The fatal result of this little campaign, on the side of the
Indians, occasioned a universal mourning among the Wyandot
nation. The big Indian and his /our brothers, all of whom
were killed at the same place, were among , the most distin¬
guished chiefs and warriors of their nation.
The big Indian was magnanimous as well as brave. He,
more than any other individual, contributed, by his example
and influence, to the good character of the Wyandots for
lenity towards their prisoners. He would not suffer them to
be killed or ill-treated. This mercy to captives was an honor¬
able distinction in the character of the Wyandots, and was
well understood by our first settlers, who, in case of captivity,
thought it a fortunate circumstance to fall into their hands.
THE EUTAAV MAID.—Simms.
It was in Eutaw's covert shade, and on a hill-side stood
A young and gentle Santee maid, who watch'd the distant wood,
216 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
"Where he, the lov'd one of her heart, in fearful battle then,
Had gone to flesh his maiden sword with Albion's martial
men,
Untaught in fight, and all unused to join the strife of blows,—
Oh! can there be a doubt with her how the deadly battle goes!
And wild the din ascends from far, and high in eddying
whirls,
Above the forest trees and wide, the sulphur storm-cloud curls,
And fast and thick upon her ear, the dreadful cries of pain—
The groan, the shriek, the hoarse alarm, run piercing to her
brain;
She may not hope that he is safe, when thousands fall around,
But looks to see his bloody form outstretched upon the ground.
There's a cry of conquest on the breeze, the cannon's roar is
still,
She dares not look, she dares not weep, her trembling heart is
chill;
The tramplings of the victors come in triumph through the
glade,
She hears the loud note of the drum, the clattering of the blade;
Perchance that very blade is red with the blood of him. her
love; *
The thought is death, and down she sinks within the wood¬
land grove.
A gentle arm entwines her form—a voice is in her ear,
Which, e'en in death's cold grasp itself, 'twould win her back
to hear;
Her lips unclose, her eyes unfold once more upon the light,
And he is there, that gallant love, unharm'd before her sight;
Now happy is that San tee maid, and proudly blest is he,
And, in her face, the tear and smile are strangely sweet to
see.
FINGAL'S BATTLE WITH THE SPIRIT OF LODA.—Ossian.
Morning rose in the east; the blue waters rolled in light.
Fingal bade his sails to rise, and the winds came rustling from
their hills. Inistore rose to sight, and Carric-thura's mossy
towers. But the sign of distress was on their top: the gieen
Third.]
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
217
flame edged with smoke. The king of Morven struck his
breast: he assumed at once his spear. Iiis darkened brow
bends forward to the coast: he looks back to the lagging
winds. His hair is disordered on his back. The silence of
the king is terrible.
Night came down on the sea: Rotha's bay received the
ship. A rock bends along the coast with all its echoing
wood. On the top is the circle of Loda, and the mossy stone
of power. A narrow plain spreads beneath, covered with
grass and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their
wrath, had torn from the shaggy rock. The blue course of a
stream is there ; and the lonely blast of ocean pursues the
thistle's beard. The flame of three oaks arose: the feast is
spread around : but the soul of the king is sad for Carric-thura's
battling chief.
The wan cold moon rose in the east. Sleep descended
on the youths. Their blue helmets glitter to the beam: the
fading fire decays. But sleep did not rest on the king: he
rose in the midst of his arms, and slowly ascended the hill to
behold the flame of Sarno's tower.
The flame was dim and distant; the moon hid her red face
in the east. A blast came from the mountain, and bore on its
wing the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors,
and he shook his dusky spear. His eyes appear like flames in
his dark face ; and his voice is like distant thunder. Fingal
advanced with the spear of his strength, and raised his voice on
high.
" Son of night, retire: call thy wings and fly : Why dost
thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms ? Bo
I fear thy gloomy form, dismal spirit of Loda? Weak is thy
shield of clouds : feeble is that meteor, thy sword. The blast
rolls them together, and thou thyself dost vanish. Fly from
my presence, son of night! call thy wings and fly !"
" Dost thou force me from my place," replied the hollow
voice: " the people bend before me. I turn the battle in
the field of the valiant. I look on the nations and they van¬
ish : my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on
the winds: the tempests are before my face. But my dwel¬
ling is calm, above the clouds j the fields of my rest are
" Dwell then in thy calm field," said Fingal, " and let Com-
hal's son be forgot. Do my steps ascend from my hills, into
thy peaceful plains ? Do X meet thee, with a spear, on thy
218 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
cloud, spirit of dismal Loda? Why, then, dost thou frown
on Fingal, or shake thine airy spear? But thou frownesl
in vain : I never fled from mighty jnen. And shall the sons
of the wind frighten the king of Morven ! No: he knows the
weakness of their arms."
" Fly to thy land," replied the form: " receive the wind and
fly. The blasts are in the hollow of my hand : the course of
the storm is mine. The king of Sora is my son, he bends
at the stone of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura ;
and he will prevail. Fly to thy land,"son of Comhal, or feel
my flaming wrath."
He lifted high his shadowy spear; and bent forward his
terrible height. But the king, advancing, drew his sword;
the blade of dark-brown Luno. The gleaming path of the
steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shape-,
less into air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of .
the boy disturbs, as it rises from the half-extinguished fur¬
nace.
The spirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself he rose
on the wind. Inistore shook at the sound. The waves heard
it on the deep: they stopped in their course, with fear: the
companions of Fingal started at once, and took their heavy
spears. They missed the king; they rose with rage: all their
arms resound.
The moon came forth in the east. The king returned in the
gleam of his arms. The joy of his youths was great; their
souls settled, as a sea from a storm. Ullin raised the song of
gladness. The hills of Inistore rejoiced. The flame of the oak
arose ; and the tales of heroes are told.
THE "WIFE.—Mas. Dinnies.
I could have stemm'd misfortune's tide,
And borne the rich one's sneer,
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,
Nor shed a single tear.
I could have smiled on every blow
From life's full quiver thrown,
While I might gaze on thee, and know
I should not be " alone."
I could—I think I could have brook'd,
E'en for a time, that thou
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 219
Upon my fading- face hadst look'd,
With less of love than now;
For then I should at least have felt
The sweet hope still my own
To win thee back, and whilst I dwelt
On earth, not been " alone."
But thus to see, from day to day,
Thy brightening eye and cheek,
And watch thy life-sands Avaste away,
Unnumber'd, slowly, meek ;
To meet thy smiles of tenderness,
And catch the feeble tone
Of kindness, ever breathed to bless,
And feel, I'll be '■ alone
To mark thy strength each hour decay,
And yet thy hopes grow stronger,
As, filled with heavenward trust, they say
" Earth may not claim thee longer
Nay, dearest, 'tis too much—this heart
Must break when thou art gone;
It must not be; we may not part;
I could not live " alone !"
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE REVOLUTION.—Legare'.
Whoever is anywise conversant with political history, knows
that such has always been the blind infatuation, the supine
carelessness, or the abject servility of mankind, that not
only have they submitted with patience to the grossest abuses
and misrule, but that they have seldom been roused up to
resistance, except by a long course of positive suffering—or by
events that powerfully affect the senses and fill the bosom,
even of the most indifferent spectator, with indignation and
horror.
But in accounting for our declaration of independence, it is
quite hyperbolical to speak—as it has been too common to
do of the tyranny of the mother country, and the evils under
which the colonies labored, as too grievous to be endured.
Thijy were, indeed, intolerable—but only to such men as our
220 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
fathers. There was, it must be confessed, good cause for re¬
sistance; but it may be affirmed with confidence, that no other
people upon earth would have rebelled for such a cause.
There was nothing in their situation to excite the passions of
vulgar men. There were none of the atrocities by which
other nations have been goaded into the fury of civil war—no
royal outrages—no patrician insolence—no religious persecu¬
tion—no bloody proscription of the wise and the brave. Even
the right of taxation against which they, were contending, was
a prospective and contingent evil, rather than an actual griev¬
ance, and nothing can be more just than the quaint metaphor
of Burke, that " they augured misgovernment at a distance,
and snuffed tyranny in every tainted gale." The first intelli¬
gence of the stamp apt threw the whole country, at the same
instant, into a flame: it was even then in a state of open
rebellion. The encroachments of the ministry were resisted
at the very threshold, and the moment the colonies became
conscious of the yoke, they shook it off One spirit, one mind,
pervaded and animated the whole mass. They argued—
refined—distinguished—explained, with all the learned inge¬
nuity of the schools. But if they reasoned about their rights
with the subtlety of doctors, they were prepared to maintain
them with the constancy of martyrs, and for the first time in
the history of civil society, a' metaphysical dispute resulted in
the creation of a great empire.
Now let us imagine a spectator of the battle of Bunker's
Hill—or let us rather suppose an actor, in that greatest and
proudest of days, to have turned his thoughts upon the future,
which we see present and realized. Would he not, think ye,
have trembled at the awful responsibility of his situation ?
Would he not have been overwhelmed with the unbounded
anticipation? It depends upon his courage and conduct, and
upon the strength of his right arm, whether, not his descend¬
ants only—not some small tract of country about his own
fireside—not Massachusetts alone—No ! nor all that shall
inherit it in the ages that are to come—shall be governed by
satraps and viceroys, or as reason and nature dictate that they
should be—but whether a republic, embracing upwards of
twenty distinct and great empires, shall exist or not—
whether a host, worthy to combat and to conquer with Jack¬
son, shall issue from the yet unviolated forests of Kentucky
and Tennessee, to spurn from New Orleans the very foe
whose vengeance he now dares, for the first time, to encounter
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 221
in the field, when that foe shall be crowned with yet prouder
laurels, and shall come in more terrible might—whether the
banks of the great lakes shall echo to the accents of liberty,
and the Missouri and the Mississippi roll through the inher¬
itance of freemen!
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.—Headley.
It is not to any one striking quality we are to look for a true
exponent of Washington—it is to the harmonious whole his
character presented. As a warrior, he may be surpassed, but
as a complete man, he is without a parallel. Equal to any
crisis, successful in all he undertakes, superior to temptation,
faithful in every trial, and without a spot on his name, the his¬
tory of the race cannot match him. All military men become
more or less- corrupted by a life in the camp, and many of our
best officers were demoralized; but not a stain clung to Wash¬
ington. Committing his cause to God before battle, and refer¬
ring the victory to Divine goodness, he remained a religious
man through a life on the tented field.
.In moral elevation, no warrior of ancient or modern times
approaches him. Given to no excess himself, he sternly re¬
buked it in others. The principles of religion were deeply
engrafted on his heart, and as there was no stain on his blade,
he could go from the fierce-fought field to the sacramental ta¬
ble. That brow which would have awed a Roman Senate in
its proudest days, bent in the dust before his Maker. In
the darkest night of adversity he leaned in solemn faith on
Him who is " mightier than the mightiest." As I see him
moving through the wretched hovels of Yalley Forge, his
heart wrung at the destitution and suffering that meet his eye
at every step, slowly making his way to the silent forest, and
there kneel in prayer in behalf of his bleeding country—that
voice which was never known to falter in the wildest of the
conflict, choked with emotion—I seem to behold one on whom
God has laid his consecrating hand, and all doubts and fears
of ultimate success vanish like morning mist before the up¬
risen sun. There is no slavish fear of the Deity—which
formed so large a part of Cromwell's religion—mingled in that
devotion, but an unshaken belief in truth, and a firm reliance
on heaven.
19*
222 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
A Brutus in justice, he did not allow personal friendship to
sway his decision, or influence him in the bestowment of fa¬
vors. Fearing neither the carnage of battle nor the hatred of
men, threats moved him no more than flatteries: and what is
stranger still, the strong aversion to giving pain to his friends
never swerved him from the path of duty. Sincere in all his
declarations, his word was never doubted and his promise never
broken. Intrusted, finally, with almost supreme power, he
never abused it, and laid it down at last more cheerfully than
he had taken it up. Buonaparte vaulting to supreme com¬
mand, seized it with avidity, and wielded it without restraint.
The Directory obstructing his plans, he broke it up with the
bayonet. Cromwell did the same with the Bump Parliament,
and installed himself Protector of England, and even hesitated
long about the title of king. Washington, fettered worse than
both, submitted to disgrace and defeat without using even a
disrespectful word to Congress, and rejected the offered crown
with a sternness and indignation that forever crushed the hopes
of those who presented it. Calm and strong in council, un¬
tiring in effort, wise in policy, terrible as a storm in battle,
unconquered in defeat, and incorruptible in virtue, he rises in
moral grandeur so far above the Alexanders, and Caesars, and
Napoleons of the world, that even comparison seems injus¬
tice.
OLD IRONSIDES.*—Holmes.
Aye, tear her tattered ensign down !
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle's shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood
Where knelt the vanquish'd foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
* Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitution, as unfit for
tnn/w * 1
Thibd.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
223
No more shall feel the victor's tread".
Or know the conquer'd knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
0, better that her shatter'd hulk
Should sink beneath the wave ;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave.
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,—
The lightning and the gale!
BURIAL GROUND IN A NORTHERN CITY.—Anonymous.
Towards evening I visited the burial ground; this is situa¬
ted in the northern precincts of the city, sufficiently removed
from its noise and bustle, for retirement and calm reflection.
It is perfectly level, and carpeted with the delightful livery of
nature; my curiosity to view this deeply engaging spot had
been strongly excited, as I had often heard it spoken of as an
object well worthy the attention of strangers. When I en¬
tered this immense cemetery for the dead, I was struck with
awe at the deep solemnity of this sepulchral scene. Its long'
broad avenues of lofty and solemn looking poplars, their
tapering points sighing in the passing breeze, the many weep¬
ing willows bowing their graceful but dejected heads, as it
were, in grief over the shrines of those that lay interred at
their feet, and the death-like stillness that pervades the whole
of this interesting repository of tombs, are well calculated to
awaken our most serious feelings. The beauty and almost
illimitable number and variety of memorials, that are here
erected to perpetuate the fond recollections of those " who
were beloved in life, and sainted in the grave," exceeded any¬
thing of the kind I had ever seen before. This city of silent
inmates, is arranged in the most appropriate and convenient
order; the broad avenues are intersected by others in such a
manner as will permit a procession, even in carriages, to ap¬
proach within a few feet of every grave. The squares tha
are thus made, are subdivided into family burial lots; these
224 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
are distinguished by the name of each proprietor, painted on
the neat railing that surrounds its boundaries, with its appro¬
priate number. There are several hundreds of these private
lots belonging to individuals ; and many hundreds more, as I
understand, that are not yet sold. By this pleasing and judi¬
cious arrangement, the remains of those united in life by the
dearest ties, of those who held sweet communion together, are
now wrapped in the leaden slumbers of death, by each other's
side. Here may be seen the simple enclosure that encir¬
cles the mortality of the hoary sire, while at his feet, the little
turfed hillock denotes that there peacefully sleeps his descend¬
ant. even unto the third and fourth generation, who was so
early called by his divine Saviour to enjoy a life that shall
never die.
At the head of ma'iy of these places of family interment,
is planted a weeping villow. shedding its melancholy yet
pleasing influence arote V There is an indescribable some¬
thing connected with th.s sensitive tree, which renders it
peculiarly suitable as an appendage to the sanctuaries of the
dead—its bending form rustling with the slightest agitation,
conveying to the imaginative mind the consoling reflection,
that it is constantly whispering soft requiems over the tenants
of the graves which it sentinels. And when the living mourn¬
ers assemble beneath its waving canopy, may they not con¬
ceive that the harmonious breathings of the light zephyrs, as
they are struggling through its luxuriant foliage, are sympa¬
thizing with the bereaved feelings which lacerate their own
breasts? That the quiet retreats of nature are admirably
adapted to tranquillize the mind, none will doubt, who have
turned from the heartlessness of man to commune with her,—
for her's is the voice of truth; and it is the voice whose
peaceful insinuations are such that they seldom fail to soothe
the wounded spirit—and when that voice is heard among the
tenements of those that are gone forever, it will soon dry the
mourner's tears, while it offers all the still calm of the " luxury
of grief" I also observed a few of the u solemn yews,"—that
sorrow-stricken tree which pines in the night breeze over the
solitary dead. While wandering among these grass-clad ave¬
nues, I often passed little groups collected around the grave of
some dear friend. Here could be seen a mother arrayed in the
deep weeds of her widowhood, pointing the eyes of her little
son to the simple stone that bore his father's name, and as the
big drops stole down her pale cheeks, she would involuntarily
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 225
clasp her darling boy to her heaving breast, as if death itself
should not take him from her, clearly evincing that all her
earthly hopes and joys were centered in the passive little being
that encircled her neck with its tiny snow-white arm, while
her streaming eyes were directed to Heaven, to that merci¬
ful Creator who has said in his own ever-living words, that he
will lie a comforter to the widow, and a father to the father¬
less. And there, too, could be seen the solitary man, he who
had lost the lovely being that rejoiced his very soul, leading
his orphan girls to the humble mound beneath which lay the
remains of that dear mother, who would never again watch
over their entrance into this world of sin and care, while his
manly head was bent with that deep, silent grief that well
becomes a manly heart. Many such scenes were around me,
(as it is a practice here on Sunday evenings, just before the
soft twilight begins to reign, for little parties to visit this spot,
which forever conceals from their sight so many of their
friends,) and as much as the faithlessness of the world had
chilled the youthful feelings of my heart, I could not repress
the natural sympathy of my breast, and I found a tear gather¬
ing in my eye as I hastened on.
TAMING THE "WILD HORSE.—Simms.
Last night he trampled with a thousand steeds
The trembling desert. Now, he stands alone;
His speed hath baffled theirs. His fellows lurk
Behind, on heavy sands, with weary limbs
That cannot reach him. Prom the highest hill,
He gazes o'er the wild whose plains he spurned,
And his eye kindles, and his breast expands"
With an upheaving consciousness of might.
He stands an instant, then hasrbreaks away,
As revelling in his freedom. What if art,
That strikes soul into marble, could but seize
That agony of action—could impress
Its muscular fulness, with its winged haste,
Upon the resisting rock, while wonder stares,
And admiration worships 1 There—away
As glorying in that mighty wilderness,
And conscious of the gazing skies o'erhead,
Quiver for flight, his sleek and slender limbs,
226 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Elastic, springing into headlong force—
While his smooth neck, curved loftily to arch,
Dignifies flight, and to his speed imparts
The majesty, not else its attribute.
And, circling, now, he sweeps the flow'ry plain,
As if 'twere his—imperious, gathering up
His limbs, unwearied by their sportive play,
Until he stands, an idol of the sight.
He stands and trembles ! The warm life is gone
That gave him action. Wherefore is it thus ?
His eye hath lost its lustre, though it still
Sends forth a glance of consciousness and care,
To a deep agony of acuteness wrought,
And straining at a" point—a narrow point—
That rises, but a speck upon the verge
Of the horizon. Sure, the humblest life
Hath, in God's providence, some gracious guides,
That warn it of its foe. The danger there,
His instinct teaches, and with growing dread,
No more solicitous of graceful flight,
He bounds across the plain—he speeds away,
Into the tameless wilderness afar;
To 'scape his bondage. Yet in vain his flight—
Yain his fleet limbs, his desperate aim, his leap
Through the close thicket, through the festering swamp,
And rushing waters. His proud neck must bend
Beneath a halter, and the iron parts
And tears his delicate mouth. The brave steed,
Late bounding in-his freedom's consciousness,
The leader of the wild, unreach'd of all,
Wears gaudy trappings, and becomes a slave.
He bears a master on his shrinking back,
He feels a rowel in his bleeding flanks,
And his arched neck, beneath the biting thong,
Burns, while he bounds away, all desperate,
Across the desert, mad with the vain hope
To shake his burden off! He writhes—he turns
On his oppressor. He would rend the foe,
Who subtle, with less strength, hath taken him thus,
At foul advantage—but he strives in vain.
A sudden pang—a newer form of pain
Baffles and bears him on—he feels his fate,
And with a shriek of agony, which tells,
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
227
Loudly, the terrors of his new estate,
He makes the desert—his own desert—ring
With the wild clamors of his new-born grief.
One fruitless effort more—one desperate bound.
For the old freedom of his natural life,
And then he humbles to his cruel lot,
Submits, and finds his conqueror in man !
EXECUTIVE* PATRONAGE.*—Bell.
Let us inquire for a moment what will be the amount of
patronage which will accrue to the Executive, when Mexico
shall be added to our domain, and laid off into separate terri¬
tories, or provinces.
We shall have not less than twenty-four new and distant
territorial or provincial governments, each of which must have
a governor—twenty-four'governors—and as many secretaries
to their excellencies ; then the judicial corps in each province,
of two or three judges, an attorney-general, and a marshal;
then will follow collectors of customs, at numerous ports on the
Pacific and on the Gulf of Mexico ; the directors of nine pub¬
lic mints ; then, for a period at least, we must have a military
chief of a grade not lower than a general commanding the
forces in each province; and last, though not least, a governor-
general for all Mexico. Why, John Bull need not swell him¬
self out, and vaunt himself so lustily any longer. We, too,
shall have our Indies; our subject millions; our rich provin¬
cial governments; our large standing army; and though we
may not boast an empire on which the sun never sets, yet it
will soon extend from the line to the frozen seas of the north.
With such prospects of external dominion, what visions of
national grandeur and magnificence may we not indulge!
Then such magnificent scenes as we shall behold at this seat
of our great republican empire, and all over the country;—
generals returning from the distant provinces, laden with
wealth and honors, making their triumphal progress through
the country, and suing for the consulship 5 troops of applicants
for offices of an inferior grade. What gorgeous spectacles
* Extract from a speech on the MexicanWar, delivered in the Senate, February 3,184S.
228 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
shall we behold on levee occasions at the White House,—or
rather the imperial palace; what a glitter of epaulets; what
a clatter of dangling swords; what a waving and doffing of
red and white plumes ! But all this will be eclipsed on pres¬
entation-day, when the twenty-four new governors shall attend
to kiss hands and take their departure for their distant prov¬
inces. The imagination fires at the thought! I already see
the grand usher, or master of ceremonies, leading in the suc¬
cessful applicants, and hear him saying to the President,
" This, sir, is the gentleman whom your Excellency has had
the goodness to nominate as governor of the Californias-; this
of Sonora, this of Sinaloa, this of Gruanaxuato, this of Jalisco,
this of Oaxaca, this of Michoacan, Chiapas, Yucatan, Queretaro,
Tamaulipas, New Leon," and so of the rest. " And I have the
proud satisfaction to announce to your Excellency, that the
august Senate confirmed the nomination of all these gentle¬
men without the slightest inquiry into their fitness, having the
most unbounded confidence in the unerring judgment and long
tried patriotism of your Excellency, in all that pertains to your
illustrious station !"
Well, this will be a proud occasion. And then, what limit3
can be set to our growing greatness? We shall have a rail¬
way uniting the city of Washington to the city of Montezuma
—I insist that the name of Mexico be changed to that of Mon¬
tezuma—the two capitals of the United Empire! This shall
be our Rome, and if the lake Tezcuco can be converted into a
strait, Montezuma shall be our Constantinople !
Well, do honorable senators think we can stand all this
more than imperial splendor, without danger to the constitution
and the liberties of the country? Why, the prize of the presi¬
dency is already so great, that every succeeding election
threatens to convulse our system. But when we shall have a
standing army of fifty thousand men; when our empire shall
be enlarged to the contemplated limits; when the whole coun¬
try shall have been intoxicated by this passion for distinction and
glory, personal and national; when the presidential purple, with
its present power and patronage, presenting a temptation almost
too great for virtue, shall receive this vast accession of strength
and influence ; when, instead of twenty or thirty, the presi¬
dent can annually dispense a hundred millions among his par¬
tisans and followers, who shall say that our institutions will
be in no danger? Public liberty will then be extinct! But
we may console ourselves with the reflection, that the forms
Third.] SOUTHERN' READER AND SPEAKER. 229
of the republic will still be preserved. The republic in ruin
will still flourish in name,—will still be denominated the Great
Republic ! But what are forms, and what is a name 1 The
Roman republic long survived the crushed liberties of Rome.
Augustus and his immediate successors carefully observed all
the forms of the ancient constitution; consuls were elected, and
the senate continued to debate and register decrees, fancying
itself still a constituent element of the government, long after
every Vestige of real power had departed from it forever.
LEGEND OF THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP.—Moore.
They made her a grave too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
She has gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.
And the white canoe I soon shall see,
And the paddle I soon shall hear,
And long and loving our lives shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of death is near.
Off to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,
His path was rugged and sore ;
Through tangled juniper, beds of weeds,
And many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.
And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake,
The copper-snake breathed in his ear ;
Till he, starting, cried, from his dream awake,
" Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake,
And the white canoe of my dear ?"
20
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
He saw the lake, and a meteor bright
Quick o'er its surface played. >f
« Welcome !" he cried, " my dear one's light;
And the dim shore echoed for many a night
The name of the death-cold maid,
Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the shore;
Far he followed the meteor spark,
The wind was high and the night was dark,
And the boat returned no more.
But oft in the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true,
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp,
To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe.
ENGLISH TAXES.—Edinburgh Review.
Permit me to inform you. my friends, what are the inevitable
consequences of being too fond of gloryTaxes—upon every
article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is
placed under the foot—taxes upon everything which it is
pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste—taxes upon warmth,
light, and locomotion—taxes on everything on earth, and the
waters under the earth—on everything that comes from abroad,
or is grown at home—taxes on the raw material—taxes on
every fresh value that is added to it by the industry of man-
taxes on the sauce which pampers man's appetite, and the
drug that restores him to health—on the ermine which dec¬
orates the judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal—on
the poor man's salt and the rich man's spice—on the brass
nails of the coffin, and the ribands of the bride—at bed or
oard, couchant or levant, we must pay.
lie school-boy whips his taxed top—the beardless youth
j taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road;
has paid sevpn EllS"hkhman, pouring his medicine, which
cent—flinn.s ' 1.nt° a Sp°°n that has paid fifteen Per
g mself back upon his chintz bed, which has
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
231
paid twenty-two per cent.—makes his will on an eight pound
stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, who has paid
a license of an hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him
to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from
two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are de¬
manded for burying him in the chancel; his virtues are hand¬
ed down to posterity on taxed marble; and he is then gathered
to his fathers, to be taxed no more.
SONG OF MARION'S MEN.—Cole.
From the sandy pine barren, the mountain and moor,
From the halls of the wealthy, the huts of the poor,
We are gathered, a resolute partisan band,
To strive for the cause of a suffering land.
Our home is the forest, the swamp and the glade,
Our dwelling, the pines, and the palmetto shade,
Till the note of the bugle, through morass and fen,
Brings the summons of battle to Marion's men.
Our best blood shall crimson the waves of Santee,
Ere we for a moment will cease to be free;
And though our sand barrens grow fertile with gore,
We tread them as freemen, or tread them no" more.
Cornwallis and Eawdon, we laugh them to scorn ;
But when the wild music of Marion's horn
Is heard—at the signal, hill, valley and glen
Echo out with the answer of Marion's men.
A hundred bold spirits, a hundred bright blades,
A hundred proud chargers drawn up in the shades,
Are waiting the signal that bids them away,
All ready and eager to dash in the fray.
Let the legions of Tarleton beware, as they ride
On their merciless errand, inflated with pride,
For the weapons of vengeance gleam terribly when
Peals out the dread war-note of Marion's men.
Yet there once was a time when our foe-dreaded band
Were but artisans, tradesmen, tillers of land,
»2 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Were peaceful and harmless, aye ! that was before
The ruthless marauder had pounced on our store.
Hurrah! for the onset! no peace must we know
'Till our own Carolina is rid of her foe;
Still red be our weapons, and fiercely, till then,
Be shouted the war-cry of Marion's men.
SIEGE AND STORM OF SAVANNAH.—HEADLEY.
THE SIEGE.
At length the batteries were completed, and on the night of
the fourth of October, the*tragedy commenced. The autumn
landscape was lighted up by the constant blaze, and it was
one peal of thunder till morning. The uproar then became
still more terrific—thirty-seven cannon and nine mortars were
opened at once upon the devoted town, while sixteen heavy
guns from the fleet—making in all more than sixty pieces-
kept up their stern accompaniment. To this deluge of iron,
the garrison replied with nearly a hundred cannon. The
earth shook under the tremendous explosions, and a vast field
of billowy smoke trembled and hovered above the tumult.
Carcasses were hurled into the town, which set the houses on
fire ; and crackling timbers mingled in with the crash of can¬
non-balls. Shells smoked and burst along the streets, or
hanging a moment like fiery messengers in the air, dropped
with an explosion on the dwellings. Amid the uproar and
thunder without, and the shrieks of women and children with¬
in, Savannah presented a strange and fearful appearance.
And when night came on, and darkness shut in the landscape,
the scene was still more appalling. The smoke refused to lift
in the damp air, and settled like a fog over the armies, adding
a deeper gloom to the midnight. Through this the artillery
kept playing, making the spot on which it rested appear like
a volcano ; while in the distance a mass of flame would sud¬
denly flash up, revealing the tall masts and rigging of ships,
and I'16 ^eeP eck° foil heavily by. Through this thick
burei;U1 i • atmosphere. shells were constantly hissing and
teor-lik5'CvfiaV!in° tracks of light in their passage, or me-
in the dorafnt'-'," their "P^io" And when the°s'ur> rose
cloud, and at evenin?T0 stl'uf §"linS" UP through a sulphurous
evening- lts golden rays strove in Vftjn £ pierce
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 233
the sullen folds. Thus, day and night, for five days, did it
thunder, and clatter, and flame there on the shores of the Sa¬
vannah ; but still the besieged nobly maintained their post.
At length D'Estaing began to be concerned for his fleet.
The stormy season was coming on, and it would not be safe to
ride at anchor on the open coast, and he therefore proposed to
Lincoln, to carry the works- by storm. This was considered
hazardous; for, that five days' cannonade had opened no
breach, and battered down scarcely a defence which had not
been fully repaired. Besides, if the siege were pressed a little
longer, the town must surrender. The sufferings of the in¬
habitants had become intolerable, and the resistance could not
be protracted, in their confined and straitened condition. But
twenty days had now elapsed since operations first commenced,
and no one could tell how long the place might hold out. The
season, moreover, was rapidly advancing, and dangers of every
kind were thickening around the fleet, and therefore a crisis of
some sort must be hastened.
D'Estaing being resolved on an assault, it only remained to
determine the manner which it should be conducted. He and
Lincoln, after a short consultation, concluded to make the at¬
tack on the right side of the town; where there was a deep
hollow, along which the assailants could march perfectly cov¬
ered till within a few rods of the walls.
THE SAME.—Continued.
the storm.
The ninth of October was fixed upon for the attempt; and
at one o'clock in the morning the Americans stood in order of
battle, though the French did not take their station till
three hours after. At length the flower of both armies, in one
long column, stretched forward till they reached the open
space in front of the works, when they broke off into their
several divisions, as arranged beforehand, and advanced on the
respective points to which they were destined. The French
advanced in three columns—the Americans in one—-D'Estaing
and Lincoln gallantly leading them on. In the darkness, they
got confused in the swampy hollows, but as the gray lig
began to dawn in the east, they formed anew, and pressed
forward. D'Estaing, wishing to take the garrison by surprise,
immediately spurred to the head of the first column, and wit
234
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
out waiting for the others to come up, waved his sword over
his head, and shouted, " advance." Straight on the abatis, and
through it—up to the very walls, and up their sides, streamed
the excited troops, while those hundred cannon opened in the
twilight, like a peal of thunder, and one fierce fire of musketry
rolled down on their heads. Still, " advance ! advance!" rung
along the shattered column, and still D'Estaing cheered them
on, till struck to the earth, he was borne wounded from the
field. But nothing could withstand that deluge of grape-shot
and balls; and the first column, riddled into fragments, swerv¬
ed from the horrible storm, and wheeled away into the cover
of the woods. The second, however, coming up, passed rap¬
idly over their dead companions, and with shouts that were
heard above the deafening uproar, gallantly mounted the
walls. Around a redoubt on the Ebenezer road, the struggle
and the carnage were awful. Again and again did this firm-
set wall of living men move on that wall of stone and earth,
and taking the loads of grape-shot in their bosoms, rush shout¬
ing on the guns. Mowed down as they advanced, and stretch¬
ed in ghastly rows along the ditch, they dissolved like mist in
the path of the whirlwind.
In the midst of the gloom and tumult, two hundred horse¬
men were seen, with a fearless rider at their head, galloping
straight for the entrance to the town, in order to gain the
enemy's rear. That was Pulaski, the noble, the chivalric
Pole, and his strong cavalry. With their sabres shaking and
flashing amid the smoke, they rode all steadily forward through
the fiery sleet, shouting as they went, until their gallant lead¬
er, struck by a swivel-shot, was hurled mangled and bleeding,
to the earth—and then broke and fled.
This second column, too, at length recoiled, and then the
third, and last, closed in over a pavement of dead bodies; but
still the same deluge of fire rolled over them, and the ranks
shook, and reeled, and disappeared in the covering smoke, as
if they had been mere visions, which the first breath could
dissipate. The uproar was terrific; and the heavy peals of
artillery shaking the earth—the incessant roar of musketry,
mingled with the maddened shouts of near ten thousand war¬
riors, and all in the morning twilight, conspired to render it a
scene of appalling grandeur. But death and carnage are
nothing to the excited passions of men; and that last broken
column stormed on, until, at last, it, too, turned discomfited
back. In the midst of this deadly conflict, the American
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 235
column, with the chivalrous Laurens at its head, pressed
straight on the Spring-Hill redoubt, and crowding into the
ditch, in the face of a tremendous fire, endeavored to scale
the ramparts. But the parapets were too high; and hurled
back, rank after rank, and mowed down with merciless slaugh¬
ter, they recoiled on each other in inextricable confusion.
The brave South Carolina regiment, regardless of the fate of
their companions and of the iron storm that smote them down,
pressed fiercely forward, and soon the two standards presented
to it at Fort Moultrie, were seen waving on the ramparts.
Vain valor !—the besieged, seeing that the fury of the attack
had slackened, sallied forth, with loud huzzas, and swept the
walls and ditches. Then the ill-fated Laurens, seeing his
troops routed, flung away his sword, and with his noble soul
wrung with the bitterest anguish, stretched forth his arms,
and prayed for death, and refused to stir, till forced away by
his companions. Close beside him, in the ditch, lay that
model of a soldier—the tender, the. lion-hearted Jasper, hug¬
ging his standard in death, and burying his bloody face in its
folds. He had declared he would never surrender it but with
his life; and there with his heart's blood ebbing slowly away,
he stretched himself upon it.
The strife was over, and that bleeding army rolled slowly
back from the ruddy and blackened ramparts. But what a
scene that October morning presented! The conflict had
lasted only a little over an hour, and yet there lay over a
thousand French and Americans, bleeding, or stark and stiff
in death. Here was a solitary limb—there a disembowelled
body and headless corpse, while the ditch looked as if a flood
had suddenly wafted a dead multitude into it Around the
Ebenezer redoubts the blood was seen flowing in rills from out
the wrecks of the fight, an,d gathering in deep pools amid the
heaps of the slain, while the most pitiful groans loaded the
air. And over all this, like a pall, hung a cloud of smoke,
which had settled down upon the field, and was slowly twining
itself into fantastic shapes above the dead. Dark, and som¬
bre, and awful spread the field under this sulphurous canopy.
At last the bright sun rose over the sea. and the morning wind
breaking from its sleep, stirred the slumberous folds of that
murky curtain, till they slowly lifted and rolled upward, leav¬
ing the blue sky to look down on the ghastly spectacle. The
dew glistened in the early light, but the red drops of the hu¬
man heart outnumbered them a thousand to one.
236 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
Wide pits were dug, and the dead crowded hastily into
them—and when that October sun went to his evening repose,
nothing but the trampled and still ruddy earth, and broken
muskets, and dead steeds, remained to tell of the direful
struggle.
MARCO BOZZARIS.*—Haixeck.
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power ;
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams, his song of-triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring,—
Then pressed that monarch's throne,—a king ;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.
An hour passed on—the Turk awoke
That bright dream waS his last;
He woke—to hear his sentry's shriek,
'• To a~ms ! they come: the Greek! the Greek
lie woRt—to die midst flame and smoke,
And shout and groan, and sabre stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
llozzaris cheer his band ;—
"Strike—till the last armed foe expires,
Strike—for your altars and your fires,
Strike—for the green graves of your sires,
God—and your native land !''
They fought, like brave men, long and well,
2hey piled that ground with Moslem slain,
-liioy conquered—but Eozzaris fell,
-. -breeding- at every vein.»
forMwtyiaT3Dia'"*in7l,emon,'!, TY L"SpU the site of ,he ancient P,ata*'
"aa P'wusure, a,id n'"t victor>- His Jast words were-" To die
Thied/I SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 237
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah 1
And the red field was won ;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death !
Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;—
Come when the blessed seals
Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;—
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;—
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine—
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee—there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh ;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's—
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
THE WIFE.—Irving.
I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with
which women sustain the most ovsrwhelming reverses of for¬
tune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a
man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the
energies of the softer sex. and give such intrepidity and ele-
238 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
vation to their character, that, at times, it approaches to sub¬
limity. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft
and tender female, who had been all weakness and depend¬
ence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the
prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force, to be
the comforter and supporter of her husband under misfortune,
and abiding, with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of
adversity.
As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage
about the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when
the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling around it
with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs;
so it is beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, who
is the mere dependant and ornament of man in his happier
hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sud¬
den calamity; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his
nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up
the bihken heart.
I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a
blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. " I
can wish you no better lot," said he, with enthusiasm, i; than
to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there
they are to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there they are
to comfort you." And, indeed, I have observed that a mar¬
ried man, falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve his
situation in the world than a single one; partly, because he is
more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless
and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence;
but chiefly, because his spirits are soothed and relieved by
domestic endearments, and his self-respect is kept alive by
finding, that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation,
there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the
monarch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and
self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned ; and his
heart to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of
an inhabitant.
These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of
which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had
married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been
brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is
true, no fortune ; but that of my friend was ample, and he de¬
lighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant
pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies,
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 239
that spread a kind of witchery about the sex. " Her life,"
said he, " shall be like a fairy tale."
The very difference in their characters produced an harmo¬
nious combination: he. was of a romantic, and somewhat
serious cast; she was all life and gladness. I have often no¬
ticed the mute rapture, with which he would gaze upon her
in company, of which her sprightly powers made her the de¬
light ; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still
turn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance.
When leaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely
with his tall, manly person. The fond, confiding air, with
which she looked up to him, seemed to call forth a flush of
triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he doated
on his lovely burthen for its very helplessness. Never did a
couple set forward, on the flowery path of early and well-
suited marriage, with a fairer prospect of felicity.
It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have em¬
barked his property in large speculations; and he had not
been married many months, when, by a succession of sudden
disasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself re¬
duced to almost penury. For a time, he kept his situation to
himself, and went about with a haggard countenance, and a
breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony; and
what rendered it more insupportable was, the necessity of
keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife; for he could
not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news.
She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affection, that
all was not well with him. She marked his altered looks and
stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and
vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She tasked "all her sprightly
powers and tender blandishments to win him back to happi¬
ness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul.
The more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was
the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. A little
while, thought he, and the smile will vanish from that cheek;
the song will die away from those lips ; the lustre of those
eyes will be quenched with sorrow ; and the happy heart,
which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be weighed down,
like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world.
At length he came to me, one day, and related his whole
situation in a tone of the deepest despair. When I had heard
him through, I inquired, " Does your wife know all this ?"
At the question, he burst into an agony of tears. " For God's
240 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [lW
sake !" cried he, " if you have any pity on me, don't mention
my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost to
madness !"
"And why not?" said I. " She must know it, sooner or
later : you cannot keep it long from her, and the intelligence
may break upon her in a more startling manner than if im¬
parted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften
the harshest tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself of
the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but also
endangering the only bond that can keep hearts together—an
unreserved community of thought and feeling She will soon
perceive, that something is secretly preying upon your mind;
and true love will not brook reserve: it feels undervalued and
outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are con¬
cealed from it."
" Oh! but, my friend, to think what a blow I am to give to
all her future prospects 1 how I am to strike her very soul to
the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beggar! that
she is to forego all the elegances of life, all the pleasures of
society, to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity! To
tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in
which she might have continued to move in constant bright¬
ness—the light of every eye—the admiration of every heart!
How can she bear poverty ? She has been brought up in all
the refinements of opulence. How can she bear neglect ?
She has been the idol of society. Oh! it will break her
heart—it will break her heart!"
I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow ; for
sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had
subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed
the subject gently, and urged him to break his situation, at
once, to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but posi¬
tively.
"But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary
she should know it, that you may take the steps proper to the
alteration of your circumstances. You must change your
style of living—nay," observing a pang to pass across his
countenance, " don't let that afflict you. I am sure you have
never placed your happiness in outward show ; you have yet
friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you
for being less splei didly lodged: and surely it does not re¬
quire a palace to be happy with Mary—" " I could be happy
with her," cried he, convulsively, " in a hovel !—I could go
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 241
down with her into poverty and the dust!—I could—I could—
God bless her!—God bless her!" cried he, bursting into a
transport of grief and tenderness.
"And believe me, my friend." said I,stepping up and grasp¬
ing him warmly by the hand, " believe me, she can be the
same with you. Aye, more: it will be a source of pride and
triumph to her; it will call forth all the latent energies and
fervent sympathies of her nature ; for she will rejoice to prove
that she loves you for yourself. There is, in every true wo¬
man's heart, a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the
broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and
beams and blazes, in the dark hour of adversity. No man
knows what the wife of his bosom is—no man knows what a
ministering angel she is—until he has gone with her through
the fiery trials of this world."
There was something in the earnestness of my manner, and
the figurative style of my language, that caught the excited
imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal
with ; and, following up the impression I had made, I finished
by persuading him to go home, and unburthen his sad heart to
his wife.
THE SAME.—Continued.
I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some
little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the forti¬
tude of 'one, whose whole life has been a round of pleasures 1
Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark, downward path
of low humility, suddenly pointed out before her, and might
cling to the sunny regions in which they had hitherto revelled.
Besides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so many
galling mortifications, to which, in other ranks, it is a stranger.
In short, I could not meet Leslie, the next morning, without
trepidation. He had made the disclosure.
" And how did she bear it ?"
" Like an angel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her
mind; for she threw her arms round my neck, and asked if
this was all that had lately made me unhappy.—But, poor
girl," added he, " she cannot realize the change we must
undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the abstract: she
has only read of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She
feels, as yet, no privation: she suffers no loss of accustomed
242 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
conveniences or elegances. When we come practically to
experience its sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humilia¬
tions—then will be the real trial."
" But," said I, " now that you have got over the severest
task,—that of breaking it to her,—the sooner you let the world
into the secret the better. The disclosure may be mortify¬
ing ; but then it is a single misery, and soon over; whereas
you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation, every hour in the day.
It is not poverty, so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined
man—the struggle between a proud mind and an empty purse;
the keeping up a hollow show, that must soon come to an
end. Have the courage to appear poor, and you disarm pov¬
erty of its sharpest sting." On this point I found Leslie per¬
fectly prepared. He had no false pride himself, and, as to his
wife, she was only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes.
Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the evening.
He had disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken a small
Cottage in the country, a few miles from town. He had been
busied all day in sending out furniture. The new establish¬
ment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind.
Ail the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold,
excepting his wife's harp. That, he said, was too closely as¬
sociated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little
story of their loves ; for some of the sweetest moments of their
courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument,
and listened to the melting- tones of her voice. I could
not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in a
doating husband.
He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had
been all day, superintending its arrangement. My feelings
had bceome strongly interested in the progress of this family
story, and, as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany
him.
He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as we
walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing.
" Poor Mary !" at length broke with a heavy sigh from his
lips.
"And what of her?" asked I: "has anything happened to
her?"
" What!" said he, darting an impatient glance; " is it noth¬
ing to be reduced to this paltry situation ? to be caged in
a miserable cottage ? to be obliged to toil almost in the menial
concerns of her wretched habitation ?"
Third.]. SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 243
" Has she, then, repined at the change ?"
" Repined ! she has been nothing but sweetness and good
humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever
known her; she has been to me all love, and tenderness, and
comfort!"
"Admirable girl!" exclaimed I. "You call yourself poor,
my friend; you never were so rich: you never knew the
boundless treasures of excellence you possessed in that wo¬
man."
" Oh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage
were over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this
is her first day of real experience: she has been introduced
into an humble dwelling; she has been employed all day in ar¬
ranging its miserable equipments; she has, for the first time,
known the fatigues of domestic employment; she has, for the
first time, looked around her on a home destitute of everything
elegant; almost of everything convenient; and may now
be sitting down, exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a pros¬
pect of future poverty." •
There was a degree of probability in this picture, that I
could not gainsay; so we walked on in silence.
After turning from the main road, up a narrow lane, so
thickly shaded by forest trees, as to give it a complete air
of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humble
enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; and yet
it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vine had overrun one
end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees threw their
branches gracefully over it; and I observed several pots of
flowers, tastefully disposed about the door, and on the grassplot
in front. A small wicket-gate opened upon a footpath, that
wound through some shrubbery to the door. Just as we
approached, we heard the sound of music. Leslie grasped my
arm ; we paused and listened. It was Mary's voice, singing,
in a style of the most touching simplicity, a little air, of which
her husband was peculiarly fond.
I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped for¬
ward, to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the
gravel-walk. A bright, beautiful face glanced out at the
window, and vanished ; a light footstep was heard, and Mary
came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty rural
dress of white; a few wild flowers were twisted in her fine
flair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek ; her whole countenance
beamed with smiles. I had never seen her look so lovely.
244 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
" My dear George," cried she, " I am so glad you are
come ! I have been watching and watching for yon ; and run¬
ning down the lane, and looking out for you. I've set out
a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage; and I've
been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for
I know you are fond of them; and we have such excellent
cream, and everything is so sweet and still here. Oh !" said
she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his
face, " oh ! we shall be so happy!"
Poor Leslie was overcome, He caught her to his bosom;
he folded his arms round her; he kissed her again and again;
—he could not speak; but the tears gushed into his eyes;
and he has often assured me, that though the world has since
gone prosperously with him, and his life has indeed been a
happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more
exquisite felicity.
LINES TO A HEN.—Anonymous.
Thou art a " bird," a pretty bird, thou amiable hen,
And a •'spirit," too, thou hoverest about the barns of men;
A meek and quiet spirit, thou art rather seen than heard !
And I love thee for thy gentleness, thou sweet domestic bird!
A child of industry and peace thou dost appear to be,
And scratching on the world for food, is world enough for thee:
There's judgment in thy countenance, there's shrewdness in
thine air,
And the innocence of chickenhood is ever lurking there.
Thy voice is somewhat clamorous, but while most other birds
Pipe out their soft and dove-like notes to sentimental words,
I like the plain, statistical remark by thee that's made,
To indicate to all around that thou an egg hast laid.
Thy gentle voice, too, oft is heard, entreating from the mud
For thy chickens, some of them to come and light upon a bug;
And at eve, thy private curfew bell, thy tongue, is oft unloos'd,
To bid thy chicks blow out the lights, and come with thee to
roost.
Thiiid.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 245
And now, as thou to roost dost go, with all thy chicks so brave,
Calm as the glorious sun doth set, beneath the ocean wave,
My song I cease, my harp I hang, like Jews by Babel's stream,
No more thy praise to echo forth, bird of my sweetest dream !
ENGLAND NOT AN EXAMPLE FOR AMERICA.*—Bagby.
" A decent regard for the opinions of mankind," is a lesson
taught us by that immortal instrument, which I trust will pass
unhurt through the desolating mutations of time, and the strife
and turmoil of party politics, and be transmitted, in all its ex¬
cellence, and all its purity, to the latest generation. But how
is that public sentiment to be collected and erected into a stand¬
ard by which to measure the justice and morality of our course
in regard to the Mexican war 1 Turn your eyes to Europe.
Do you find it in the conduct of Russia, in her policy towards
Circassia? Do you find it in the conduct of France towards
Algiers ? Do you find it in the conduct of several other of the
most Christian nations of Europe, in the course they have
recently pursued, and by which the last nail has been driven
into the lid of the coffin of undone, miserable, ruined, parti¬
tioned, murdered Poland? Let Cracow answer !
But I put England, with all her faults, at the head of the
governments of Europe. Her power, which almost encircles
the globe,—her energy, her enterprise, her civilization and
intelligence, her progress in all the arts of life, the wisdom of
her.statesmen, and the great part she has acted, and is still
acting, and is destined to act hereafter, in the great drama of
nations—all, all entitle her to this pre-eminence. But when
you come to look to her authority, and to ascertain her public
sentiment in regard to the righteous prosecution of wars, and
the rightful acquisition of territory, where will you find them ?
Will you find them amid the bloodshed and desolation of India,
by which her fields have been blighted, and a vast portion of
a distant empire has been torn from its rightful owners, a dis¬
tant, unoffending people, and the rivers which irrigate their
native land choked up with the bodies, and made to run red
with the blood of her children ? Is this the authority invoked,
and this the evidence of that public sentiment to which we
* Extract from a Speech on the Three Minion Bill, delivered in the Senate, Febru-
246 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [B®°*
nr.frvrm our action in the prosecution of this war with
£^0% Let the ghosts of the murdered millions that walk
unavenged by moonlight upon the banks of the Indus and the
Ganges answer 1 No; let us rather consult and conform to
those great, eternal principles of morality, justice, and equity,
which lie at the foundation of the moral universe.
THE "WARRIORS.—Anonymous.
Brave Maldred was chief of the sons of the "West,
Three hundred his hatchet had slain,
Six scaTS from the foe had sunk deep in his breast,
Still victory's banner waved high o'er his crest,
And he shouted, to battle again !
An army of heroes, in savage array,
At Maldreds loud war-whoop appear;
The chief of the forest remembers the day,
For Bolder, their foe. was advancing that way,
And the horrors of battle drew near.
This Bolder was son of Menalcas the brave,
"Whom Maldred in battle had slain;
He swore in revenge to make Maldred his slave,
Or find on the fields an illustrious grave,
Where his father for ages had lain,
An arrow from Bolder s infrangible bow,
Peath-barbed, to his heart was conveyed—
The chief of the forest was prostrated low,
And falling, he cried—u Go conquer the loe!"
The mandate his warriors obeyed.
Then rushed out of ambush, fierce, frantic and dire,
Three hundred wild warriors, or more,—
The shades of their fathers with courage inspire,
A spark from the ashes of Maldred takes fire,—
Such carnage was never before.
^oop resour|ded, the arrows are sped,
Three°hUn,?lflj;ed'S ^ncible band,-
And Bolderrjh;,»?r f?ore f°emen lie dead,
Wi'» P»« captive is led,
bow m his hand.
Tiled.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER,
247
The war-song is sung, the fagots are bound,
Young Holder is lashed to a tree,
The frolicsome conquerors rally around,—
The woods and the forests with triumph resound,—
The savage exults in his glee.
Around him they dance, while the fagots burn wide,
' When lo ! from the thicket appears
A damsel, distracted—'tis Rolder's young bride;—
" 0, save him ! 0, save him !" the angel form cried,
And sunk in an ocean of tears.
A savage, who ever exults over woe,
And triumphs when pity could save,
Rejoicing that now he could torture his foe,
Uplifting his hatchet, directed a blow
Which sent the fair bride to her grave.
Young Rolder, indignant, in frantic despair,
Swore revenge for his innocent bride;
The bow which his father before him did wear,
To torture his fancy they had forced him to bear,
And caused to be placed by his side.
This bow the young hero instinctively drew,
Seized an arrow of fire from the flame;
To the heart of the savage like lightning it flew,—
Farewell, luckless savage, young Rolder, adieu,
And adieu to the heroine's name.
ADDRESS TO COACOOCHE.*—Worth.
Coacooche—I take you by the hand as a warrior, a brave
man; you have fought long, and with a true and strong heart,
for your country. I take your hand with feelings of pride;
you love, your country as we do; it is sacred to you; the ashes
of your kindred are dear to you and to the Seminoles; these
feelings have caused much bloodshed, distress, horrid murders;
it is time now the Indian felt the power and strength of the
* During the Florida War, Coacooche, <or Wild Cat,) a Seminole Chief, and fourteen
of hia warriors, being mode prisoners, were securely ironed and confined on board a
transport, at Tampa Bay, whore they were visited by Colonel Worth. The " Talk" in
this and 'the two succeeding lessons will sufficiently explain the object and the result
of the interview.
248 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
white man-. Like the oak, you may bear up for many years
against strong winds ; the time must come when it will fall;
this time has arrived. You have withstood the blasts of five
winters, and the storms of thunder, lightning, and wind, five
summers; the branches have fallen, and the tree, burnt at the
roots, is prostrated. Coacooche. I am your friend ; so is your
great father at Washington. What I say to you is true—my
tongue is not forked like a snake—my word is for the happi
ness of the red man. You are a great warrior—the Indians
throughout the country look to you as a leader; by your coun¬
cils they have been governed. This war has lasted five years;
much blood has been shed, much innocent blood; you have
made your hands and the ground red with the blood of women
and children. This war must now end. You are the man
to do it; you must and shall accomplish it. I sent for you,
that through the exertions of yourself and men, you might
induce your entire band to emigrate. I wish you to state how-
many days it will require to effect an interview with the Indi¬
ans in the woods. You can select three or five of these men
to carry your talk ; name the time, it shall be granted; but I
tell you, as I wish your relatives and friends told, that unless
they fulfil your demands, yourself, and these warriors now
seated before us, shall be hung to the yards of this vessel,
when the sun sets on the day appointed, with the irons upon
your hands and feet. I tell you this, that we may well un¬
derstand each other. I do not wish to frighten you; you are
too brave a man for that; but I say what I mean, and I will
do it. It is for the benefit of the white and red man. This
war must end, and you must end it
REPLY TO COLONEL WORTH.—Coacooche.
I was once a boy; then I saw the white man afar off. I
hunted in these woods, first with a bow and arrow; then with
a rifle. I saw the white man, and was told he was my enemy.
I could not shoot him as would I a wolf or a bear; yet like
these he came upon me; horses, cattle, and fields, he took
from me. He said he was my friend; he abused our women
and children, and told us to go from the land. Still he gave
me his hand in friendship ; we took it; whilst taking it, he
had a snake in the other; his tongue was forked; he lied,
THIBD.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 249
and stung us. I asked but for a small piece of these lands,
enough to plant and to live upon, far south ; a spot where I
could place the ashes of my kindred; a spot only sufficient
upon which I could lay my wife and child. This was not
granted me. I was put in prison ; I escaped. I have been
again taken ; you have brought me back; I am here; I feel
the irons in my heart. I have listened to your talk; you and
your officers have taken us by the hand in friendship. I thank
you for bringing me back; I can now see my warriors, my
women and children ; the Great Spirit thanks you : the heart
of the poor Indian thanks you. We know but little; we have
no books which tell all things : but we have the Great Spirit,
moon, and stars; these told me last night, you would be our
friend. I give you my word; it is the word of a warrior,
a chief, a brave,—it is the word of Coacooche. It is
true I have fought like a man, so have my warriors; but the
whites are too strong for us. I wish now to have my band
around me and go to Arkansas. You say I must end the war!
Look at these irons ! can I go to my warriors ? Coacooche
chained ! No ; do not ask me to see them. I never wish to
tread upon my land unless I am free. If I can go to them
unchained, they will follow me in; but I fear they will not
obey me when I talk to them in irons. They will say my
heart is weak, I am afraid. Could I go free, they will sur¬
render and emigrate.
APPEAL TO HIS WARRIORS.*—Coacooche.
Has not Coacooche sat with you by your council-fire at
midnight, when the wolf and the white man were around us ?
Have I not led the war-dance, and sung the song of the Semi¬
nole ? Did not the spirits of our mothers, our wives, and our
children stand around us ? Has not my scalping-knife been
red with blood, and the scalps of our enemy been drying in
our camps ? Have I not made the war-path red with blood,
and has not the Seminole always found a home in my camp 1
Then, will the warriors of Coacooche desert him ? No! If
your hearts are bad, let me see them now; take them in your
hands, and let me know they are dark with bad blood , but do
♦ Colonel Worth having refused the proposition of the Chief in the preceding
lesson and assured him that his irons would not be taken off till his whole band sur¬
rendered, Coacooche finally selected five of his companions to carry his « talk" to his
band.
250 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boo*
not, liice a dog-, bite me so soon as you turn your backs. If
Coacooche is to die, he can die like a man. It is not my
heart that shakes ; no, it never trembles ; but I feel for those
now in the woods, pursued night and day by the soldiers; for
those who fought with us, until we were weak. The sun shines
bright to-day, the day is clear; so let your hearts be: the
Great Spirit will guide you. At night, when you camp, take
these pipes and tobacco, build a fire when the moon is up and
bright, dance around it, then let the fire go out, and just before
the break of day, when the deer sleeps, and the moon whis¬
pers to the dead, you will hear the voices of those who have
gone to the Great Spirit; they will give you strong hearts and
heads to carry the talk of Coacooche. Say to my band that
my feet are chained. I cannot walk, yet I send them my
word as true from the heart, as if I was on the war-path or in
the deer-hunt I am not a boy; Coacooche can die, not with
a shivering hand, but as when grasping the rifle with my war¬
riors around me.
My feet are chained, but the head and heart of Coa- .
cooche reaches you. The great white chief (Po-car-ger) will
be kind to us. He says, when my band comes in I shall
again walk my land free, with my band around me. He has
given you forty days to do this business in; if you want more,
say so; I will ask for more ; if not, be true to the time.
Take these sticks; here are thirty-nine, one for each day;
this, much larger than the rest, with blood upon it, is the
fortieth. When the others are thrown away, and this only
remains, say to my people, that with the setting sun Coacooche
hangs like a dog, with none but white men to hear his last
words. Come then; come by the stars, as I have led you to
battle ! Come, for the voice of Coacooche speaks to you!
BATTLE OF WATERLOO—Byron,
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell:
But hush ! hark!—a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 251
Did ye not hear it?—No ; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet,—
But hark !—that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat,
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!
Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness:
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated,—who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ?
And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar ;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ;
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering with white lips.—" The foe ! they come !
they come!"
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving—if aught inanimate e'er grieves—
Over the unreturning brave,—alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shah grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valor rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
East noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay;
252 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover,—heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!
IMPOSSIBILITY OF CONTROLLING THE TIDE OF EMIGRA¬
TION.*—Brockenbkough.
From the foundation of the republic, the North and South
have been marching with giant strides and equal footsteps to¬
wards the West. Every step, a state ! Of these two mighty
floods of population, you propose to stay the one with a paper
barrier, and invite the other to overflow and swell, till it fills,
"not only its own, but the natural channel of the population
wh®se career you would abruptly terminate. Upon that long
line of wilderness, from Missouri to the Rio Grande, you
would, like Canute, vainly order the tide to roll back.
No one acquainted with the history or character of our
people, can believe this to be a physical or political possibility.
When and where have they recoiled at the bidding of a mas¬
ter? Does the Saxon ever go back? Your law would be
as unnatural, and therefore as vain, as were the laws of Texas
and Coahuila, which abolished negro slavery and systematized
the worst pconism of the white and red roan. Our people
carried with them a milder slavery.
In this mighty march of parallel republics, you could never
have enforced an arbitrary line, had you not placed it on or
near the natural limit, beyond which, to the north, slave labor
would never seek to extend itself. Had it been for the inter¬
ests of the American people, either of the North or the South,
that slavery should exist north of thirty-six degrees thirty
minutes, your Missouri compromise line would, have been
idle. Paper barriers will be impotent to stay the avalanche of
the American people from Missouri to the Rio Grande. They
will go over with their institutions and their rifles, and you
can never disarm them. That question was raised at Concord
* Extract from a Speech on the Three Million Bill, delivered in Congress, February
13,1847.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 253
and Lexington, and finally decided at San Jacinto. What
then; what will you do? Will you refuse to legislate for
tfyein, and withdraw your parental care and countenance ?
Will you declare them outlaws ? The American pioneer will
laugh at your indignation, and establish an independent repub¬
lic. He can work without apprenticeship^ and Texas and
Oregon, and the states of this Union before they had a revo¬
lution, and before they had a federal government, all teach us
that the American can govern himself
One half of the Union cannot prevent the growth of the
other half. If every man you have was a soldier inured to
arms, with more prowess than the proudest Roman legion in
their brightest days of glory—you could not keep back upon
that long line, the heaving, swelling, resistless mass of Ameri¬
can population.
THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN.—Holmes.
It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide ;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
It was the pensive oysterman thajj saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade ;
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
" I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."
Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,—
" I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should
see ;
I read it in a story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont,—and I will swim this here."
And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining
stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
0, there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain ;
But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again !
Out spoke the ancient fisherman,—" O what was that, my
daughter ?"
" 'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water j"
22
254 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
u And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast ?"
" It's nothing but a porpoise, sir. that's been a swimming past."
Out spoke the ancient fisherman,—"Now bring me my har¬
poon !
I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls the snow-white lamb,
Her hair dropped round her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a
clam.
Alas for these twb loving ones, she waked not from her swound,
And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was
drowned;
But fate has metamorphosed them in pity of their woe,
And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.
STORY AND SPEECH OF LOGAN.—Jefferson.
The principles of society, among the American Indians,
forbidding all compulsion, they are to be led to duty, and to
enterprise, by personal influence and persuasion. Hence,
eloquence in council, bravery and address in war, become the
foundations of all consequence, with them. To these acquire¬
ments all their faculties are* directed. Of their bravery and
address in war, we have multiplied proofs, because we have
been the subjects on which they were exercised.
Of their eminence in oratory, we have fewer examples, be¬
cause it is displayed, chiefly, in their own councils. Some,
however, we have of very superior lustre. I may challenge
the whole orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any
more eminent orator,—if Europe has furnished more eminent,
—to produce a single passage, superior to the speech of Lo¬
gan, a Mingo chief, to Lord Dunmore, when governor of Vir¬
ginia. And, as a testimony of their talents in this line, I beg
leave to introduce it; first stating the incidents necessary for
understanding it.
In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery was committed
by some Indians on certain land adventurers on the river Ohio.
The whites, in that quarter, according to their custom, under¬
took to punish this outrage in a summary way. Captain
Michael Cresap, and a certain Daniel Greathouse, leading on
these parties, surprised, at different times, travelling and hunt-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 255
ing parties of the Indians, having their women and children
with them, and murdered many. Among these were, unfor¬
tunately, the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace and
war, and long distinguished as the friend of the whites.
This unworthy return provoked his vengeance. He ac¬
cordingly signalized himself in the war which ensued. In
the autumn of the same year, a decisive battle was fought at
the mouth of the Great Kenhaway, between the collected
forces of the Shawanese, Mingoes, and Delawares, and a de¬
tachment of the Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated,
and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen
among the suppliants. But, lest the sincerity of the treaty
should be distrusted, from which so distinguished a chief ab¬
sented himself, he sent by a messenger the following speech,
to be delivered to lord Dunmore.
I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's
cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came
cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course
of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his
cabin, an advocate for peace.
Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen point¬
ed as they passed, and said, " Logan is the friend of ivhite
men /" I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the
injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold
blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan,
not sparing even my women and children. There run.s not a
drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This
called on me for revenge. I have sought it: I have killed
many: I have fully glutted my vengeance.
For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace: but do
not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan
never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life.
Who is there to mourn for Logan ?—Not one.
THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT HARRISON.—Wiixis.
What! soared the old Eagle to die at the sun !
Lies he stiff, with spread wings, at the goal he had won 1
Are there spirits more bless'd than the planet of even,
Who mount to their zenith, then melt into heaven !—
256 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
No waning of fire, no quenching of ray,
But rising, still rising, when passing away ?
Farewell! gallant Eagle! thou'rt buried in light!
God speed unto heaven, lost star of our night!
Death! Death in the White House1 Ah, never before
Trod his skeleton foot on the President's floor !
He is looked for in hovel, and dreaded in hall—
The king in his closet keeps hatchment and pall—
The. youth in his birth-place, the old man at home,
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb :
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not there ;
In a church-yard far off stands his beckoning bier!
He is here as the wave-crest heaves flashing on high—■
As the arrow is stopped, by its prize, in the sky—
The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore—■
Death finds them when swiftness and sparkle are o'er.
But Harrison's death fills the climax of story,—
He went, with his old stride—from glory to glory 1
Lay his sword on his breast! There's no spot on its blade
In whose cankering breath its bright laurels will fade !
'Twas the first to lead on at humanity's call—
It was stayed with sweet'mercy when "glory" was all!
As calm in the council as gallant in war,
He fought for his country, and not its " hurrah 1"
In the path of the hero, with pity he trod—
Let him pass, with his sword, to the presence of God !
What more ! shall we on with his ashes ? Yet stay,
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king, in his day f
At his word, like a monarch's, went treasure and land—
The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand—
Is there nothing to show of his glittering hoard ?
No jewel to deck the rude hilt of his sword ?
No trappings—no houses—what had he but now?
On ! on with his ashes ! he left but his plough!
Brave old Cincinnatus ! unwind ye his sheet!
Let him sleep as he lived—with his purse at his feet!
Follow now, as ye list! The first mourner to-day
Is the nation—whose father is taken away !
Wife, children, and neighbor, may moan at his knell—
He was " lover and friend" to his country, as well.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
257
For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim,
Let us weep, in our darkness—but weep not for him !
Not for him—who, departing, leaves millions in tears!
Not for him—who has died full of honor and years!
Not for him—who ascended Fame's ladder so high,
From the round at the top he has stepped to the sky!
It is blessed to go, when so ready to die!
MOUNT ARARAT.—-Headley.
The first in the list of sacred mountains is Mount Ararat.
The first named summit in human history, it emerges from
the flood and lifts its head over the water to look down on all
coming generations to the end of time. Whether it was
changed in that mighty convulsion which drowned the world,
or whether its lofty peak, which saw the swelling waters and
marked their steady rise, remained the same, we know not.
At all events, the mountain looked down on the swaying world
at its feet, as cities floated from their foundations and came
dashing against its sides, and beheld a wilder scene than ever
covered a battle-field, as it heard and saw six generations
shriek and sink together. But whatever may have been its
former history, it now stands as the only memorial of the
flood. Rising like a sugar-loaf from a chaos of peaks, which
gleam and glitter in the sunbeams that are reflected from
their snowy sides—overlooking a sea on one side and a des¬
ert on the other, it is a grand and striking object in itself,
but made still more so by the associations that cluster around
its sacred top. It has seldom been profaned by human feet,
but there was a time when the sea rolled over it, and mightier
waves than ever yet swept the sea, thundered high above its
crown.
But these waves retired, leaving the Ark resting on the
summit of the solitary mountain, and Noah and his family
alone in the world. And Noah built an altar there, and lifted
his voice in prayer, and the Almighty talked with him as
" friend talketh with friend," bidding him go forth and occupy
the earth. And as the flame of the sacrifice rose from the
mountain top, bearing the patriarch's prayer heavenward, the
promise was given, that the earth should never again be swept
22*
258
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
by a deluge; and lo, God's signet ring appeared in the clouds,
arching the man of God, and shown as a warrant that the cov¬
enant should never be broken.
Baptized by the flood—consecrated' by the altar—illumined
by the first fresh rainbow, Mount Ararat stood a sacred moun¬
tain on the earth.
A PSALM OF LIFE.—Longfellow.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream;
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real—life is earnest,
And the grave is not its goal;
" Bust thou art—to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle—
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle;
Be a hero in the strife! t
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant;
Let the dead Past bury its dead;
Act—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime;
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time!—
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 259
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
IN FAVOR OF RATIFYING THE CONSTITUTION.*—E. Randolph,
After having heretofore attempted to show, by a course of
argument, the excellency of the proposed constitution—how
its adoption is intimately connected with the continuance of the
Union ; and how important will be the vote of our own state
to this end—I will now conclude with "a few observations,
which come from my heart. I have labored foir the continu¬
ance of the Union—the rock of our salvation. I believe that, as
sure as there is a God in heaven, our safety, our political hap¬
piness and existence depend on the union of the states; and that
without this union, the people of this and the other states will
undergo the unspeakable calamities, which discord, faction,
turbulence, war, and bloodshed, have^produced in other coun¬
tries. The American spirit ought to be mixed with American
pride—pride to see the Union magnificently triumph. Let that
glorious pride, which once defied- the Pritish thunder, reani-^
mate you again. Let it not be recorded of Americans, that
after having performed the most gallant exploits, after having
overcome most astonishing difficulties, and after having gained
the admiration of the world by their incomparable valor and
policy, they lost their acquired reputation, their national con¬
sequence and happiness, by their own indiscretion. Let no
future historian inform posterity, that they wan ted .wisdom and
virtue to concur in any regular, efficient government. Should
any writer, doomed to so disagreeable a task, feel the indig¬
nation of an honest historian, he would reprehend and recrim¬
inate our folly, with equal severity and justice^ Catch the
present moment; seize it with avidity and eagerness, for it may
• Extract from a Speech, delivered in the Convention of Virginia, June 6,1788.
260 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
be lost, never to be regained. If the Union be now lost, I
fear it will remain so forever. I believe gentlemen are sin¬
cere in their opposition, and actuated by pure motives: but
when I maturely weigh the advantages of the Union, and the
dreadful consequences of its dissolution; when I see safety
on my right, and destruction on my left; when I behold re¬
spectability and happiness acquired by the one, but annihi¬
lated by the other, I cannot hesitate to decide in favor of the
former.
THE DEVOTED.*—Miss Chandler.
Stern faces were around her bent, and eyes of vengeful ire,
And fearful were the words they spake, of torture, stake, and
fire;
Yet calmly in the midst she stood, with eye undimm'd and
clear,
And, though her lip and heek were white, she wore no sign
of fear.
"Where is thy traitor spouse ?" they said: a half-form'd smile
of scorn,
That curl'd upon her haughty lip, was back for- answer borne.
" Where is thy traitor spouse ?" again, in fiercer tones they said,
And sternly pointed to the rack all rusted o'er with red!
Her heart and pulse beat firm and ree, but in a crimson flood,
.O'er pallid lip, and cheek, and brow, rushed up the burning
blood;
She spake, but proudly rose her tones, as when in hall or bower,
The haughtiest chief that round her stood, ad meekly own'd
their power.
" My noble lord is placed within a safe and sure retreat"—
"Now tell us where, thou lady bright, as thou wouldst mercy
meet,
* It was a beautiful turn given by a great lady, who, being asked where her husband
was, when he lay concealed for having been deeply concerned in a conspiracy, reso¬
lutely answered that she had hidden him. This confession caused her to be carried
before the governor, who told her that naught but confessing where she had hidden
him, could save her from the torture. " And will that do ?" said she. " Yes," replied
the governor, " I will pass my word for your safety, on that condition." " Then," re¬
plied she, " I have hidden him in my heart, where you may find him."
Third.]
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
261
Nor deem thy life can pur hase his; he cannot 'scape our wrath,
For many a warrior's watchful eye is plac'd o'er every path.
But thou mayst win his broad estates, to grace thine infant heir,
And life and honor to thyself, so thou his haunts declare."
She laid her hand upon her heart; her eye flash'd proud and
clear,
And firmer grew her haughty tread, " My lord is hidden here !
And if ye seek to view his form, ye first must tear away,
From round his secret dwelling-place, these walls of livinsr
clay!"
They quail'd beneath her haughty glance, they silent turn'd
aside,
And left her, all unharm'd, amidst her loveliness and pride !
INFLUENCE OF KNOWLEDGE.—"Wheaton.
"We inhabit a land of vast extent, possessing every variety
of soil and climate, and abounding with natural scenery, the
most picturesque, romantic, and grand. The increase of our
population has, as yet, found little or no resistance in the want
of the means of subsistence. Its tide is now swelling and
overflowing in every direction; and perhaps before some of
those who are now present shall see death, it will equal, if not
surpass, that of the greatest empires of the old world. But
this rapid increase of numbers will not be attended with s
correspondent increase of happiness, unless the region of in¬
tellect is cultivated, as well as that which yields a supply to
our physical wants. Man has higher wants and capacities.
His soul is filled with aspirations after knowledge and fame;
with an insatiable thirst of happiness, which seeks for its
gratification, not in the enjoyments of sense, but in the culti¬
vation of the powers of his intellectual and moral nature.
The sentiment of patriotism is not merely associated with the
clods of the valley which gave us birth. It is.complicated of
the recollections of the great men our country has produced;
of their heroic and beneficent actions; of affection for its in¬
stitutions, its manners, its fame in arts and in arms. This
sentiment must be cherished and invigorated by associating
with it an enlightened love of liberty, a taste for knowledge,
and an ardent enthusiasm for those arts which lend to human
262 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
existence its most refined enjoyments. Could the genius of
our country reveal to. our astonished view the future glories
which await the progress of confederated America; could he
show us the countless millions who will swarm in the wide¬
spread valleys of the west, tasting of happiness, and sharing
the blessings of equal laws; could he unroll the pages of her
history, and permit us to see the fierce struggles of her fac¬
tions—the rapid mutations of her empire—the bloody fields of
her triumphs and her disasters: could he crowd these awful
visions upon our souls, we should then see that all the prosper¬
ity that awaits us depends on the supremacy of mind—on the
cultivation of the intellect—on the diffusion of knowledge and
the arts; not merely to the chosen few, but to that immense
multitude who are at once invested with the privileges of
freedom and the prerogatives of power.
THE REJECTED.—Baylet.
Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I said?
Sure never was lover so strangely misled.
Rejected ! and just when I hoped to be blessed!
You can't be in earnest! It must be a jest
Remember—remember how often I've knelt,
Explicitly telling you all that I felt,
And talked about poison in accents so wild,
So very like torture, you started—and smiled.
Not have me ! Not love me ! Oh, what have I done !
All natural nourishment did I not shun ?
My figure is wasted ; my spirits are lost ;
And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a ghost.
Remember—remember, aye, madam, you must—
I once was exceedingly stout and robust;
I rode by your palfrey, I came at your call,
And nightly went with you to banquet and ball.
Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused!
Sure never was lover so strangely ill used I
Consider my presents—I don't mean to boast—
But, madam, consider the money they cost!
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
263
Remember you've worn them; and just can it be
To take all my trinkets, and not to take me ?
Nay, don't throw them at me!—You'll break—do not start—
I don't mean my gifts—but you will break my heart!
Not have me! Not love me! Not go to the church!
Sure never was lover so left in the lurch !
My brain is distracted, my feelings are hurt;
Oh, madam, don't tempt me to call you a flirt.
Remember my letters; my passion they told;
Yes, all sorts of letters, save letters of gold;
The amount of my notes, too—the notes that I penn'd,
Not bank notes—no, truly, I had none to send!
Not have me! Not love me ! And is it, then, true,
That opulent Age is the lover for you %
'Gainst rivalry's bloom I would strive—'tis too much
To yield to the terrors of rivalry's crutch.
Remember—remember I might call him out;
But, madam, you are not worth fighting about ;
My sword shall be stainless in blade and in hilt ;
I thought you a jewel—I find you a jilt.
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.*—Hannegan.
Fellow Citizens:—Over and over again it has rung in my
ears to-day, " Be not too hasty—go not to the meeting to-night
—hold back—let us see the end—we are yet but in the begin¬
ning." But I could not hearken to these warnings. If my
life had depended upon it, I could not have held back to-night!
In vain would I have struggled, had I been disposed to strug¬
gle against the irresistible impulse to come hither and exclaim
with you, " All hail, republican France !"
Startling, indeed, is the news which has burst upon us
within the last ten days, like a clap of thunder in the cloudless
sky ! France has arisen,—she has burst her bonds, she has
* Extract from a speech delivered at a public meeting in Philadelphia, Mareh 28,
1848 to congratulate the people of France oq,the success of their recent revolution, and
the establishment of a republfc&n foVro of government.
264 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
proclaimed herself a republic, and for her model she has taken
the United States of America! Yes, France has selected as
her model the land of Washington and La Fayette. We now
see how dearly cherished, in the great heart of France, has
been the memory* of the fact, that French blood was poured
out like water on the plains of Brandywine and Monmouth,
and in the crossing pf the Delaware to the glorious field of
Trenton. Degenerated France has issued her proclamation
to the nations of the world, that she will no longer bend be¬
neath the sceptre of a monarch: and enlightened France en¬
dorses it! 'Tis no emmte—no sudden outbreak. 'Tis the
result of long study of the great principles of liberty. It is
the result of deliberate calculation. The seeds were sown in
blood in 1791, and 1792, and 1793, and spite of the blasts of
many a "raw and gusty day," they have germinated and
flourished, till they now wave in a golden harvest over the
tombs of the Girondists, never, no! never, again to perish be¬
neath the scythe of tyranny!
Will we act, then ? " Beware 1 you may encourage blood¬
shed !" I encourage bloodshed! God forbid ! But if blood
must flow, rather let it flow in the cause of freedom than at
the tyrant's bidding! For how many long ages has human
blood flowed beneath the tyrannical throne of France ? How
many groans and sighs are treasured up against that ancient
despotism ? If, then, blood must flow, let it flow over rather
than under the throne—rather Jet it trickle from the tyrant's
throne, than froni the neck of oppressed humanity! But this
has been a bloodless revolution, and effected by the descend¬
ants of the men who went to the guillotine together, chanting
the Marseillaise hymn of liberty !
SOLILOQUY OF CARDINAL WOLSEY.—Shakspeajre.
Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness !
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,—nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
265
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory ; '
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'.d : 0, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to rise again.—
STUPENDOUS SCENERY IN VIRGINIA.—Jefferson.
The passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge, is,
perhaps, one of the most stupendous scenes in nature. You
stand on a very high point of land. On your right comes up
the Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain
a hundred miles, to seek a vent. On your left approaches the
Potomac, in quest of a passage also. In the moment of their
junction they rush together against the mountain, rend it asun¬
der. and pass off to the sea.
The first glance of this scene hurries our senses into the
opinion, that this earth has been created in time; that the
mountains were formed first; that the rivers began to flow
afterwards; that, in this place particularly, they have been
dammed up by the Blue Ridge of mountains, and have formed
an ocean, which filled the whole valley; that, continuing to
rise, they have, at length, broken over at this spot, and have
torn the mountain down, from its summit to its base. The piles
of rock on each hand, but particularly on the Shenandoah, the
evident marks of their disrupture and avulsion from their
beds, by the most powerful agents of nature, corroborate this
impression. . .
But the distant finishing, which nature lias given to the pic¬
ture is of a very different character. It is a true contrast to
the fore-ground. That is as placid and delightful, as this is
wild and tremendous. For the mountain, being cloven asun-
23
266
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
der, presents to your eye, through the cleft, a small c-atch of
smooth blue horizon, at an infinite distance in the plain coun¬
try, inviting you, as it were, from the riot and tumult roaring
around, to pass through the breach and participate of the calm
below.
Here the eye ultimately composes itself; and that Avay,
too, the road happens actually to lead. You cross the Poto¬
mac above the junction, pass along its side through the base
of the mountain, for three miles; its terrible precipices hang¬
ing in fragments over you. This scene is worth a voyage
across the Atlantic. Yet, here, as in the neighborhood of the
Natural Bridge, ara people who have passed their lives within
half a dozen miles, and have never been to survey these
monuments of a war between rivers and mountains, which
must have shaken the earth itself to its centre.
APPEAL FOR STATE RIGHTS.*—Foster.
Permit me now to ask, if you refuse to pass this bill, what
course this government will adopt? Will they attempt to in¬
terfere with the jurisdiction of the state of Georgia, and ar¬
rest the operation of her laws over the Indians ? This is a
most momentous question. We are indeed brought to a
crisis—we are upon the very banks of the Rubicon—a very
narrow boundary divides you from State jurisdiction—cross it,
and we may not be able to calculate the consequences—there
may then, indeed, be scenes and subjects abundantly sufficient
for the exercise of all the feelings of philanthropy. I tell
you, Georgia has taken her course, and she will not retire
from it. Nor has she acted hastily: eighteen months ago she
gave notice of her intentions, and at the last session of her
legislature she resolved to carry those intentions into execu¬
tion. Her laws will be enforced: of this an earnest has al¬
ready been given—it has been recently determined by one of
our courts, that the State's right of jurisdiction does extend
over the whole of the territory within her chartered limits;
and the courts will be sustained by the people. I hope I am
not misunderstood in these remarks; they are not made in
the spirit either of threatening or defiance—far from it. On
* Extract from a Speech upon the Bill for the removal of (he Indians, delivered in
the House of Representatives, May 17, J830.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 267
the contrary, our people implore you, by all the ties which
bind us together—by the common sufferings, and dangers, and
triumphs of our ancestors—by the principles of that constitu¬
tion by which our rights are secured and protected—not to
violate the rights of Georgia as a sovereign member of this
Union, nor interfere with the exercise of her legitimate pow¬
ers. But do not mistake this appeal—it is not the entreaty
of suppliants; it is the sincere and affectionate remonstrance
of brothers—of a generous and high-minded people. And
will you disregard them? Will you turn a deaf ear to our ap¬
peals, and resolve, at all hazards, to prevent the exercise of
those rights which the state of Georgia brought with her into
this Union—which she has never yielded—which most of her
sisters have long exerted without interruption—and which have
been, but now, recognized by the President of the Senate ?
And if you should, is it reasonable to suppose that Georgia
will submit to be restrained from the exercise of these rights
by the arm of the general government? No. I assure you
she will not—her course is determined on, and she will pur¬
sue it, with a resolution which no threats can intimidate, but
with a justice and moderation which will leave no cause for
reproach.
PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE.—Cowper.
A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job.
He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd—" Oh, no!
What! rob our good neighbor ! I pray you don't go !
Besides, the man's poor—his orchard's his bread ;
Then think of his children, for they must be fed."
" You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
5ut apples we want, and apples we '11 have;
If you will go with us, you shall have a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."
They spoke, and Tom ponder'd—" I see they will go :
Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so !
268 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Poor man ! I would save him his fruit, if I could,
But staying- behind will do him fio good.
If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang till they dropp'd from the tree;
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too;
He will lose none by me, though I get a few."
His scruples thus silenc'd, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades, the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan ;
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man!
CONDUCT OF GREAT BRITAIN TOWARDS AMERICA.*—Henry.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that
is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of
the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish
to know what there has been in the conduct of the British
ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with
which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and
the House ? Is it that insidious smile with which our pe¬
tition has been lately received ? Trust it not; it will prove
a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed
with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception
of our petition comports with those warlike preparations
which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and
armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ? Have
we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force
must be called in to win back our love ? Let us not deceive
ourselves. These are the implements of war and subjuga¬
tion—the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gen¬
tlemen, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not
to force us to submission ? Can gentlemen assign any other,
possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this
quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navjes
and armies? No, she has none. They are meant for us;
they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind
and rivet upon us those chains, which the British ministry
* Extract from a Speech op a resolution for organizing the militia, delivered in the
Convention of Delegates of Virginia, March, 1775.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 269
have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to
them? Shall we try argument? We have been trying that
for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon
the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in
every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain.
Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? What
terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted ?
Let us not, I beseech you, deceive ourselves longer. We
have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm
which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have re¬
monstrated ; we have supplicated; we have prostrated our¬
selves before the throne, and have implored its interposition
to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament.
Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have
produced additional violence and insult; our supplications
have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with con¬
tempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these
things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconcili¬
ation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish
to be free—if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable
privileges for which we have been so long contending—if we
mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we
have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged our¬
selves never to abandon, until the glorious object of our con¬
test shall be obtained—we must fight! I repeat it, we must
fight! An appeal to arms and to the Grod of hosts is all that
is left us!
THE CONTRAST.—Percival.
To his gallant horse the warrior sprung—
They called, but he would not stay";
And the hoof of his hurrying charger rung,
As to battle he rushed away.
She stood aloft on the warder's tower,
And she follow'd him over the plain,
And she watched through many a silent hour,
But she heard not his tramp again.
They came, when the morning was cold and pale,
With a warrior on his bier,
23*
270 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
And his banner, rent like a tatter'd sail,
Show'd he died not the death of fear.
They brought him in pride and sorrow "back
To the home he had left so gay,
When he gallantly flew on glory's track,
And to battle rushed away.
THE INFLUENCE OF ENGLISH INSTITUTIONS AND LITERA¬
TURE.*—J. Randolph.
We have no fellow-feeling for the suffering and oppressed
Spaniards ! Yet even them we do not reprobate ! Strange !
that we should have no objection to any other people or gov¬
ernment, civilized or savage, in the whole world ! The great
autocrat of all the Russias receives the homage of our high
consideration. The Dey of Algiers and his divan of pirates
are very civil, good sort of people, with whom we find no
difficulty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity.
Turks, Jews, and infidels, barbarians and savages of every
clime and color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of
banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and can trade. Name,
however, but England, and all our antipathies are up in arms
against her. Against whom? Against those whose blood
runs in our veins: in common with whom, we "claim
Shakspeare, and Newton, and Chatham for our countrymen;
whose form of government is the freest on earth, qjjr own
only excepted; from whom every valuable principle of our
own institutions has been borrowed: representation—jury
trial—voting the supplies—writ of habeas corpus—our whole
civil and criminal jurisprudence—against our own fellow-prot-
estants, identified is blood, in language, in religion with our¬
selves. In what school did the worthies of our land, the
Washingtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges of
America, learn those principles of civil liberty, which were
so nobly asserted by their wisdom and valor ? American re¬
sistance to British usurpation has not been more warmly cher¬
ished by these great men and their compatriots—not more by
Washington, Hancock, and Henry, than by Chatham and his
illustrious associates in the British parliament. It ought to
* Extract from a speech on the Army Bill, delivered in Congress, December 10, lil 1.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 271
be remembered, too, that the heart of the English people was
with us. It was a selfish and corrupt ministry, and their ser¬
vile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than they were.
I acknowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton
upon my imagination, of a Locke upon my understanding, of
a Sidney upon my political principles, of a Chatham upon
qualities which, would to God, I possessed in common with
that illustrious man! of a Tillotson, a Sherlock, and a Por-
teus, upon my religion. This is a British influence which I
can never shake off. If it were allowable to entertain par¬
tialities, every consideration of blood, language, religion, and
interest, would incline us towards England.
THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.—Miss Jewsbury.
I saw him on the battle-eve,
When like a king he bore him;
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave,
And prouder chiefs before him :
The warrior, and the warrior's deeds—
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,—
No daunting thoughts came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky.
He looked on ocean; its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;—
On earth; and saw from east to west,
His banner'd millions meet;—
While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!
He heard the imperial echoes ring,—
He heard, and felt himself a king.
I saw him next alone;—nor camp,
Nor chief, his step attended ;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp
With war-cries proudly blended.
272 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
He stood alone, whom Fortune high
So lately seemed to deify ;
jHe, who with Heaven contended,
Fled like a fugitive and slave !
Behind,—the foe;—before,—the wave.-
He stood,—fleet, army, treasure,—gone,—
Alone and in despair !
But wave and wind swept ruthless on,
For they were monarchs there ;
And Xerxes, in a single bark,
Where late his thousand ships were dark,
Must all their fury dare:—
What a revenge—a trophy, this—
For thee, immortal Salamis!
A FRONTIER FARM-HOUSE.—Irving.
In the course of the morning we came upon Indian tracks,
crossing each other in various directions ; a proof that we must
be in the neighborhood of human habitations. At length, on
passing through a skirt of wood, we beheld two or three log
houses, sheltered under lofty trees on the border of a prairie,
the habitations of Creek Indians, who had small farms adjacent.
Had they been sumptuous villas, abounding with the luxuries
of civilization, they could not have been hailed with greater
delight.
Some of the rangers rode up to them in quest of food; the
greater part, however, pushed forward in search of the habita¬
tion of a white settler, which we were told was at no great
distance. The troop soon disappeared among the trees, and
I followed slowly in their track; for my once fleet and generous
steed faltered under me, and was just able to drag one foot after
the other; yet I was too weary and exhausted to spare him.
In this way we crept on, until, on turning a thick clump of
trees, a frontier farm-house suddenly presented itself to view.
It was a low tenement of logs, overshadowed by great forest
trees, but it seemed as if a very region of plenty prevailed
around it. Here was a stable and barn, and granaries teem¬
ing with abundance, while legions of grunting swine, gobbling
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 273
turkeys, cackling hens, and strutting roosters, swarmed about
the farm-yard.
My poor jaded and half-famished horse raised his head and
pricked up his ears, at the well-known sights and sounds. He
gave a chuckling, inward sound, something like a dry laugh ;
whisked his tail, and made great leeway toward a corn-crib
filled with golden ears of maize; and it was with some diffi¬
culty that I could control his course, and steer him up to the
door of the cabin. A single glance within was sufficient to
raise every gastronomic faculty. There sat the captain of the '
rangers and his officers, round a three-legged table, crowned
by a broad and smoking dish of boiled beef and turnips. I
sprang off my horse in an instant, cast him loose to make his
way to the corn-crib, and entered this palace of plenty. A fat
good-humored negress received me at the door. She was
mistress of the house, the spouse of the white man, who was
absent. I hailed her as some swart fairy of the wild, that had
suddenly conjured up a banquet in a desert; and a banquet
was it in good sooth. In a twinkling she lugged from the fire
a huge iron pot, that might have rivalled one of the famous
flesh pots of Egypt, or the witches' caldron in Macbeth.
Placing a brown earthen dish on the floor, she inclined the
corpulent caldron on one side, and out leaped sundry great
morsels of beef, with a regiment of turnips tumbling after
them, and with a rich cascade of broth, overflowing the whole.
This she handed me with an ivory smile that extended from
ear to ear; apologizing for our humble fare, and the humble
style in which it was served up. Humble fare ! humble style!
Boiled beef and turnips, and an earthen dish to eat them from !
To think of apologizing for such a treat to a half-starved man
from the prairies; and then such magnificent slices of bread
and butter ! Head of Apicius, what a banquet!
" The rage of hunger" being appeased, I began to think of
my horse. He, however, like an old campaigner, had taken
good care of himself. I found him paying assiduous attention
to the crib of Indian corn, and dexterously drawing forth and
munching the ears that protruded between the bars. It was
with great regret that I interrupted his repast, which he aban¬
doned with a°heavy sigh, or rather a rumbling groan. I was
anxious, however, to rejoin my travelling companions, who had
passed by the farm-house without stopping, and proceeded to
the banks of the Arkansas, being in the hopes of arriving be¬
fore night at the Osage Agency. Leaving the captain and his
274 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
troop, therefore, amidst the abundance of the farm, where they
had determined to quarter themselves for the night, I bade
adieu to our sable hostess, and again pushed forward.
THE HOURS.—Cranch.
The hours are viewless angels,
That still go gliding by,
And bear each minute's record up
To Him who sits on high.
And we, who walk among them,
As one by one departs,
See not that they are hovering
Forever round our hearts.
Like summer bees, that hover
Around the idle flowers,
They gather every act and thought,—
Those viewless angel-hours.
The poison or the nectar
The heart's deep flower-cups yield,
A sample still they gather swift,
And leave us in the field.
And some flit by on pinions
Of joyous gold and blue,
And some flag on with drooping wings
Of sorrow's darker hue.
But still they steal the record,
And bear it far away ;
Their mission-flight by day or night
No magic power can stay.
And as we spend each minute
That God to us hath.given,
The deeds are known before His throne,
The tale is told in heaven.
These bee-like hours we see not,
Nor hear their noiseless wings ;
We only feel, too oft, when flown,
That they have left their stings.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
275
So, teach me, Heavenly Father,
To meet each flying hour,
That as they go they may not show
My heart a poison-flower!
So, when death brings its shadows,
The hours that linger last
Shall bear my hopes on angel-wings,
Unfetter'd by the past.
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS.—Putnam.
We thank you, friends, who have come hither on this oc¬
casion, to encourage and cheer us with your presence. We
thank you, who have gone so far and learned so much on your
journey of life, that you so kindly look back and smile upon
us just setting out on our pilgrimage. We thank you who
have climbed so high up the HiJl of Science, that you con¬
descend to pause a moment in your course, and bestow a
cheering, animating glance on us, who, almost invisible in the
distance, are toiling over the roughness of the first ascent.
May you go on your way in peace, your path, like the sun,
waxing brighter and brighter till the perfect day; and may
the light of your example long linger in blessings on those of
us who shall survive to take your places in the broad and busy
world!
We thank you, respected instructors, for your paternal care,
your faithful counsels, and affectionate instructions. You
opened before us those ways of wisdom which are full of
pleasantness and peace. You have warned us of danger-,
when dangers beset our path; you have removed obstacles,
when obstacles impeded our progress; you have corrected
us when in error, and cheered us when discouraged. You
have told us of the bright rewards of knowledge and virtue,
and of the fearful recompense of ignorance and vice. In the
name of my companions, I thank you—warmly, sincerely
thank you for it all. Our lips cannot express the gratitude
that glows within our hearts ; but we will endeavor, with the
blessing of heaven, to testify it in our future lives, by dedica¬
ting all that we are, and all that we may attain, to the promo¬
tion of virtue and the good of mankind.
276 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
And now, beloved companions, I turn to you. Long and
happy has been our connection as members of this school;—
but with this day it must close forever.. No longer shall we sit
in these seats to listen to the voice that woos us to be wise ; no
more shall we sport together on the noisy green, or wander in
the silent grove. Other scenes, other society, other pursuits
await us. We must part;—but parting shall only draw
closer the ties that bind us. The setting sun and the evening
star, which have so often witnessed our social intimacies and
joys, shall still remind us of the scenes that are past. While
we live on the earth, may we cherish a grateful remembrance
of each other; and. oh! in Heaven, may our friendship be
purified and perpetuated ! And now to old and young, to
patrons and friends, to instructors and each other, we tender
our reluctant and affectionate farewell.
NATIONAL CHARITY.*—Clayton.
The day has arrived when Europe stretches out her hands
to America for aid, in an hour of distress which has scarcely a
parallel in the annals of modern history. On the other hand,
how stands the case with us 1 Since the foundations of this
republic were laid, there has never been a year in which the
fruits of the earth were poured forth in greater abundance
from the bosom of our soil, than during that which has just
passed away. God has blessed us, not only with enough for
our own consumption, but, as I verily believe, with the abun¬
dant means to supply the immediate wants of every other living
creature whom He has made in his own image.
It is a nation which lifts up its voice crying for food, and a
nation should respond to the appeal. If there be nature in
this, we must feel for those sufferers; and I venture to say
there is not an American bearing a heart worthy of the name,
who would not glory in the fact, that this, the country of his
birth or of his adoption, had exhibited to the rest of the
world the spectacle of one Christian nation extending its
mighty arm and bounteous hand for the relief of the suffering
and sorrows of another. Tell me not of mere private and
* Extract from a speech advocating a bill to fit out a national ship and forward sup*
P"e®J°,r t^ie relief of the poor of Ireland and Scotland, delivered in the Senate* Febru-
,arv2fif,h. I8J7 ' *
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 277
individual charity, when a whole nation is calling for assist¬
ance. In such a case, let a nation answer the imploration.
There are no other means by which all can alike contribute
for the relief of a nation's sufferings and privations.
Pass this bill, and there is not a generous American within
the limits of our mighty republic who will not rejoice in the
deed you have done; and when the national ship shall
bear the fruits of your generosity across the waters,—thus tes¬
tifying the regard of one nation for another, and the sympa¬
thies of men in the new world for the distresses of men in
the old.—depend upon it, there is not an Irishman, there is
not a European, there is not a living being among the civilized
nations of the world, who will not hail her arrival at her port
of destination, and rejoice in such a manifestation of national
charity. Pass this bill, and show to the world that the genius
and essential character of- our institutions lead us to the indul¬
gence, as a nation, of the best feelings of the human heart,
and the noblest impulses which govern and direct the ener¬
gies of man. Then if, in the providence of God, it should
ever happen that our own fair country should be stricken
down with pestilence or famine, and we be driven to implore
the assistance of other nations, our prayer to the Author of
the universe will not be met by the withering rebuke de¬
nounced against those who have refused to feed the hungry
or aid in the relief of the distressed.
HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP.—Shakspeare.
I do remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lorct^ neat, trimly dressed ;
Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reaped,
Showed like a stubble land at harvest home.
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger aud his thumb he held
A pouncet box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again ;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff—And still he smiled, and talked ;
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by,
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
278 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me : amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your Majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting with my wounds, being gall'd
To be so pestered with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answered, negligently, I know not what:
He should, or should not; for he made me- mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (God save the mark !)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was spermaceti, for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villainous saltpetre should be digged
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly : and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
TEMPERANCE.—Dodsley.
The nearest approach thou canst make to happiness on this
side the grave, is to enjoy from heaven, health, wisdom, and
peace of mind.
These blessings, if thou possessest, and wouldst preserve to
old age, avoid the allurements of voluptuousness, and fly from
her temptations.
When she spreadeth her delicacies on the board, when her
wine sparkleth in the cup, when she smileth upon thee, and
persuadeth thee to be joyful, and happy ; then is the hour of
danger, then let reason stand firmly on her guard.
For, if thou hearkenest unto the words of her adversary,
thou art deceived and betrayed.
The joy which she promiseth, changeth to madness; and
her enjoyments lead on to diseases and death.
Look round her board, cast thine eyes upon her guests, and
observe those who have been allured by her smiles, who have
listened to her temptations.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 279
Are they not meagre? are they not sickly? are they not
spiritless ?
Their short hours of jollity and riot are followed by tedious
days of pain and dejection; she hath so debauched and palled
their appetites, that they have now no relish for her nicest
dainties: her votaries are become her victims; the just and
natural consequence which Grod hath ordained, in the con¬
stitution of things, for the punishment of those who abuse his
gifts.
But who is she, that with graceful steps, and with a lively
air, trips over yonder plain ?
The rose blusheth- on her cheeks; the sweetness of the
morning breatheth from her lips; joy, tempered with inno¬
cence and modesty, sparkleth in her eyes ; and from the cheer¬
fulness of her heart, she singeth as she walks.
Her name is Health ; she is the daughter of Exercise and
Temperance; their sons inhabit the mountains; they are
brave, active, and lively; and partake of all the beauties and
virtues of their sister.
Vigor stringeth their nerves; strength dwelleth in their
bones; and labor- is their delight all the day long.
The employments of their father excite their appetites, and
the repasts of their mother refresh them.
.To combat the passions, is their delight; to conquer evil
habits, their glory.
Their pleasures are moderate, and, therefore, they endure ;
their repose is short, but sound and undisturbed.
Their blood is pure ; their minds are serene ; and the phy¬
sician knoweth not the way to their habitations.
SCENES AND ACTORS OF THE REVOLUTION.—Charlton.
They're fading—they're fading, the memories of that hour,
When gallant spirits proudly stood and dared the foeman's
power.
The bloody stream—the battle plain, where Freedom was en¬
shrined ;
They're fading—they're fading forever from our mind.
They're passing—they're passing, those bold and aged men,
Who scorned the proud invader's threat, and hurled it back
again ;
280 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
Who braved the perils of that day, the terrors of that night;
They're passing—they're passing forever from our sight.
And must they—and shall they thus droop and die away,
Nor leave a single vestige here of all that bloody fray!
The glory that their battles won, the blessings that they gave,
Oh 6ver, forever be buried in the grave !
Oh fling, then, far around us, affection's holy chain,
And let the ties that bound us encircle us again.
And through the wide-spread valley, o'er mountain and o'er
moor,
The story of their glory shall live for evermore.
RESISTANCE THE ONLY ALTERNATIVE.*—Henry.
The gentlemen who are opposed to our resisting with arms
the aggressions of Great Britian, tell us that we are weak;
unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when
shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next
year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a
British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall \t^e
gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we ac¬
quire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on
our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until
our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? We are not
weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the
God of nature hath placed in our power# Three millions of
people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a coun¬
try as this which we possess, are invincible by any force
which our enemy can send against us. Besides, we shall not
fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides
over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends
to fight our battles for us. The battle is not to the strong
alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides
we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it
is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat
but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged I
* Extract from a Speech on a resolution for organizing the militia, delivered in the
Convention of Delegates of Virginia, March, 1775.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 281
Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The
war is inevitable—and let it come ! I repeat it—let it come !
It is in vain to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry,
peace, peace—but there is no peace. The war is actually
begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north, will bring-
to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are
already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ?• What is it
that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is life so
dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of
chains and slavery? Forbid it, Heaven! I know not what
course others may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give
me death! -
A GRECIAN FABLE.—Foote.
Once on a time, a son and sire, we're told,—
The stripling tender and the father old,—
Puchased a donkey at a country fair,
To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware;
But as the sluggish animal was weak,
They feared, if both should mount, his back would break
Up got the boy, thejather plods on foot,
And through the gazing crowd he leads the brute;—
Forth from the crowd the graybeards hobble out,
And hail the cavalcade with feeble shout:
" This the respect to feeble age you show ?
And this the duty you to parents owe ?
He beats the hoof, and you are set astride ;
Sirrah ! get down, and let your father ride !"
As Grecian lads were seldom void of grace,
The decent, duteous youth resigned his place.
Then a fresh murmur through the rabble ran ;
Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack the man :
"Sure ne'er was brute so void of nature!
Have you no pity for the pretty creature ?
To your own baby can you be unkind ?
Here, Luke,—Bill,—Betty,—put the child behind !"
Old dapple next the clowns' compassion claimed,
" 'Tis passing strange, those boobies be n't ashamed,—
Two at a time upon a poor dumb beast!
They might as well have carried him, at least."
£32 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boo*
The pair, still pliant to the partial voice,
Dismount, and bear the brute.—Then what a noise !■
Huzzas—loud laughs, low gibe, and bitter joke,
From the yet silent sire these words provoke:
" Proceed, nay boy, nor heed their farther call,
Vain his attempt who strives to please them all!"
THE DELUGE.—Headlet.
At length, the patriarch with his family entered—the dooa
was shut on the face of the world, and he sat down on th#
strength of a single promise to await the issue. That night
the sun went down over the green hills, beautiful as ever, ana
the stars came out in the blue sky, and nature breathed long
and peacefully. In the morning the sun rose in undimmed
splendor and mounted the heavens. Deep within the vast
building Noah could hear the muffled sound of life without.
The lowing of herds came on his ear, and the song of the hus¬
bandman going to his toil, and the rapid roll of carriage wheels
as they hurried past, and perhaps the ribald shout and laugh
of those who expended their wit on him and his ark together.
To say nothing of the improbability of a universal deluge, the
idea was preposterous, that such a helmless, helpless affair
could outride a wrecked world. Thus day after day passed
on, until a week had gone by, but still the faith of that old man
never shook. At length the sky became overcast, and the
gentle rain descended—to Noah the beginning of the flood,
to the world a welcome shower. The farmer, as he housed
his cattle, rejoiced in the refreshing moisture, while the city
never checked its gaiety, or the man of wealth his plans. But
as the rain continued day after day, and fell faster and fiercer
on the drenched earth, and the swollen streams went surging
by, men cursed the storm that seemed determined never to
break up. The lowlands were deluged; the streams broke
over their banks, bearing houses and cattle away on their
maddened bosoms. Wealth was destroyed, and lives lost, till
men talked of ruined fortunes, famine and general desola¬
tion ; but still it rained on. Week after week it came pour¬
ing from the clouds, till it was like one falling sheet of water,
and the inhabitants could no longer stir from their doors.
The rich valleys that lay along the rivers were flooded, and
Teed.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 283
the peasants sought the eminences around for safety. Yet
still the water rose around them, till all through the valleys
nothing but little black islands of human beings were seen on
the surface. Oh, then what fierce struggles there were for
life among them. The mother lifted her infant above her
head, while she strove to maintain her uncertain footing in
the sweeping waters; the strong crowded off the weak as
each sought the highest point; while the living mass slowly
crumbled away till the last disappeared, and the swift water
swept smooth and noiselessly above them all. Men were
heard talking of the number of lives lost and the amount of
wealth destroyed, declaring that such a flood had not hap¬
pened in the remembrance of the oldest man. No one yet
dreamed of the high grounds being covered, least of all the
mountains. To drown the world it must rain till the ocean
itself was filled above its level for miles, and so men feared it
not, and sought for amusement within doors till the storm
should abate.* Oh, what scenes of vice and shame and bru¬
tality and revelry did that storm witness in the thronged city,
and what unhallowed songs mingled in the pauses of the blast
that swept by.
But at length another sound was heard that sent paleness
to every cheek, and chained every tongue in mute terror. It
was a far distant roar, faint but fearful, yet sounding more
distinct and ominous every moment, till it filled all the air.
The earth trembled and groaned under it as if an earthquake
was on its march, and ever and anon came a crash as if the
"ribs of nature" were breaking. Nearer and louder and more
terrible it grew, till men forgetting alike their pleasure -and
their anger, rushed out in the storm, whispering, " The flood 1
the flood !"—and lo, a new sea, the like of which no man had
ever seen before, came rolling over the crouching earth.
Stretching from horizon to horizon, as far as the eye could
reach,—losing itself like a limitless wall in the clouds above,
it came pouring its green and massive waters onward, while
the continual and rapid crash of falling forests and crushed
cities and uptorn mountains, that fell one after another under
its awful footsteps, and the successive shrieks that pierced the
heavens, rising even above the deafening roar of the on-rush-
mg ocean, as city after city, and kingdom after kingdom dis¬
appeared, made a scene of terror and horror inconceivable,
indescribable. " The fountains of the great deep were bro¬
ken up."
284 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
But the last cry of human agony was at length hushed—
ocean met ocean in its flow, and the waves swept on without
a shore! Oh, what a wreck was there ! the wreck of two
thousand years, with their cities, cultivated fields, and mighty
population. Not shivered masts and broken timbers, .the re¬
mains of some gallant vessel, were seen on that turbulent sur¬
face, but the fragments of a crushed and broken world. It
was a noble wreck—splendid cities and towers, gorgeous pala¬
ces, gay apparel, the accumulated wealth and luxury of twen¬
ty centuries strewing the bosom of the deluge, like autumn
leaves the surface of some forest stream.
THE REMOVAL.—Anonymous.
A nervous old gentleman, tired of trade,
By which, though—it seems—he a fortune had made,
Took a house 'twixt two sheds at the skirts of the town,
Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down.
This thought struck his mind, when he viewed the estate;
But alas ! when he entered he found it too late;
For in each dwelt a smith:—a more hard-working two
Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe.
At six in the morning, their anvils at work,
Awoke our good squire, -who raged like a Turk;
" These fellows," he cried, " such a clattering keep,
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep."
From morning till night they kept thumping away,—
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day ;
His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song,
Were banished and spoiled by their hammer's ding dong
He offered each vulcan to purchase his shop;
But no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop:
At length, (both his spirits and health to improve,)
He cried, " I'll give each fifty guineas to move."
" Agreed !" said the pair, " that will make us amends."
" Then come to my house, and let us part friends;
. You shall dine ; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion,
That each may live long in his new habitation."
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 285
He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale,—
He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ;
So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest
Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest.
" And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move—
I hope to some spot where your trade will improve!"
"Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz,
"Tom Forge moves to 'my shop, and I, move to his!"
SPEECH OF ROB ROY MAC GREGOR.—Scott.
Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw,—stig¬
matized as a traitor,—a price set on my head as if I had been
a wolf,—my family treated as the dam and cubs of a hill-fox,
whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult,—the very
name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial
ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the
devil with ?
And they shall find, that the name they have dared to pro¬
scribe—that the name of Mac Gfregor is a spell to raise the
wild devil withal. They shall hear of my vengeance, that
would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The mis¬
erable Highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all,
dishonored and hunted down, because the avarice of others
grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on
them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the grovelling
worm, and trod upon him, may cry and howl when they see
the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon. But why
do I speak all this? We are a rude and an ignorant, and it
may be a violent and passionate, but we are not a cruel people.
The land might be at peace and in law for us, did they allow
us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law. Can we view their
bloody edicts against us—their hanfnna-, heading, hounding,
and hunting down an ancient ana nonoraole name, as deserv¬
ing no better treatment than that wnicn enemies give to ene¬
mies? Here I stand, who have neen in twenty frays, and
never hurt man but when I was in not nlood ; and yet they
would betray me and hang me nice a masterless dog, at the
gate of any great man that has an iii win at me. The- heather
that I have trod upon when living, must bloom over me when
286 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
I am dead. My heart would sink, and my arm would shrink
and wither like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my
native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console
me for the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, of my native
land.
FORTITUDE OF THE INDIAN CHARACTER.—Adair.
A party of the Seneca Indians came to war against the
Katawbas, bitter enemies to each other. In the woods the
former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter,
hunting in their usual light dress; on his perceiving them he
sprung off for a hollow rock, four or five miles distant, as they
intercepted him from running homeward. He was so ex¬
tremely swift and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them
in the running fight, before they were able to surround and
take him. They carried him to their country in sad triumph;
but though he had filled them with uncommon grief and shame
for the loss of so many of their kindred, yet the love of mar¬
tial virtue induced them to treat him, during their long jour¬
ney, with a great deal more civility than if he had acted the
part of a coward.
The women and children, when they met him at their seve¬
ral towns, beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner
as the occasion required, according to their law of justice;
and at last he was formally condemned to die by the fiery
torture. It might reasonably be imagined, that what he had
for some time gone through, by being fed with a scanty hand,
a tedious march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed
to the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended
in a pair of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on
his entering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those
sharp torments to which he was destined, would have so im¬
paired his health, and affected his imagination, as to have sent
him to his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings.
Probably this would have been the case with the major
part of white people under similar circumstances ; but I never
knew this with any of the Indians : and this cool-headed,
brave warrior, did not deviate from their rough lessons of mar¬
tial virtue, but acted his part so well as to surprise and sorely
vex his numerous enemies:—for when they were taking him,
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 287
unpinioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture, which
lay near to a river, he suddenly dashed down those who stood
in his way, sprung off, and plunged into the water, swimming
underneath like an otter, only rising to take breath, till he
reached the opposite shore.
He now ascended the steep bank, but, though he had good
reason to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the
water, and others running, like blood-hounds, in pursuit of
him, and the bullets flying around him from the time he took
to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them ab¬
ruptly. He chose to take leave in a formal manner, in return
for the extraordinary favors they had done, and intended to do
him. So, stopping a moment, to bid them defiance, in the
genuine style of Indian gallantry, he put up the shrill war-
whoop, as his last salute, till some more convenient opportun¬
ity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast broke
loose from its torturing enemies.
He continued his speed so as to run, by about midnight of
the same day, as far as his eager pursuers were two days in
reaching. There he rested, till he happily discovered five of
those Indians who had pursued him :—he lay hid a little way
off their camp, till they were sound asleep. Every circum¬
stance of his situation occurred to him, and inspired him with
heroism. He was naked, torn, and hufigry, and his enraged
enemies had come up with him; but there was now every¬
thing to relieve his wants, and a fair opportunity to save his
life, and get great honor and sweet revenge by cutting them
off Resolution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise,
would effect the main object of all his wishes and hopes. He
accordingly crept up, took one of their tomahawks, and killed
them all on the spot—clothed himself, and took a choice gun,
and as much ammunition and provisions as he could well
carry in a running march. He set off afresh with a light
heart, and did not sleep for several successive nights, except
when he reclined as usual, a little before day, with his back to
a tree.
As it were by instinct, whan he found he was free from the
pursuing enemy, he made directly to the very place where he
had been taken prisoner and doomed to the fiery torture, after
having killed seven of his enemies. The bodies of these he
dug up, burnt them to ashes, and went home in safety with
singular triumph. Other pursuing enemies came, on the eve¬
ning of the second day, to the camp of their dead people, when
288 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
the sight gave them a greater shock than they had ever known
before. In their chilled war council they concluded, that as
he had done such surprising things in his defence before ne
was captivated, and even after that, in his naked condition, ne
must surely be an enemy wizard; and that, as he was now
well armed, he would destroy them all should they continue
the pursuit:—they therefore very prudently returned home.
WATER! BRIGHT WATER!—Johnson.
O! water for me !—bright water for me,
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again !
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea.
All freshness, like infant purity.
O ! water, bright water! for me, for me,—
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee.
Fill to the brim ! fill, fill to the brim !
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim !
For my hand is steady, my eye is. true,
For I, like the flowers, drink naught but dew.
O ! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigor and health.
So, water, pure water, for me, for me,
And wine for the tremulous debauchee !
Fill again to the brim—again to the brim!
For water strengtheneth life and limb:
To the days of the aged it addeth length,
To the might of the strong it addeth strengtn;
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight—
'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light
So water, I will drink nought but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy !
When o'er the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the clew from the nodding flowers,
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 289
0 ! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,
As he freshens his wing on the cold gray cloud.
But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying and weaving anew
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, 0 sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright,
And my dreams are of heaven the life-long night.
Thou art silver and gold !—thou art ribbon and star!
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah ! hurrah!
AGAINST EXTENSION OF TERRITORY. *—Webster.
Mr. President, for a good many years I have struggled to
oppose everything that I thought tended to strengthen the arm
of Executive power. I think it is growing more and more
formidable every day; and I think that yielding to it in this
as in other instances, will give it strength, which it may be
hereafter very difficult to resist. I think it is nothing else
than fear of Executive power that commits us to the support
of this war for the acquisition of territory,—fear—fear—and
nothing else.
In the little part which I have acted in public life, it has
been my purpose to preserve the people of the United States
—what the constitution was designed to make—one people—
one in interest—one in character—one in political feeling.
When we depart from that we break it all up. What sympa¬
thy can there be between these New Mexicans, these Califor-
nians, and the inhabitants of the valley of the Mississippi or
the middle states, or of the Eastern states, in the choice of
President? Do they know the same men? Have they
any general concentrated sentiment? Not at all. An arbi-
trary government may have territorial governments in dis¬
tant possessions, because an arbitrary government may rule
its distant territories by different laws and different systems.
* Extract from a Speech on the Loan Bill, delivered in the Senate, March 23, 1848.
25
290 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Russia may govern the Ukraine and the Caucasus and Kam
tschatka by different codes or ukases. We can do no such
thing. They must be of us—part of us—or else estranged.
I think I see then in progress what is to disfigure and deform
the constitution. While- these territories remain territories,
they will be troublesome and annoying. They will draw
after them a vast expense. It will probably require as many
troops, on an average, as we have been in the habit of main¬
taining for the last twenty years, in defending these territories
from the Indian tribes. We must maintain an army at that
distance, and when they are states, they are still more likely
to give us more trouble than benefit. I think I see a course
adopted that is likely to turn the constitution under which we
live, into a deformed monster—into a curse rather than a
blessing—into a great frame of unequal government, not
founded on popular representation, but founded in the grossest
inequalities; and I think—if it go on; for there is danger that
it'will go on—that this government will be broken up. I
resist it to-day, and always. Whoever falters or whoever falls,
I resist—although I see that all the portents are discouraging.
Would to God that I could auspicate good influences! Would
to God that those who think with me on this subject had
stronger support. Would that we could stand where we would
desire to stand! But with few, or alone-, my position is fixed.
If there were time, I would gladly awaken the country. I
believe the country will be awakened—it may be too late—
but supported or unsupported, by the blessing of God, I shall
do my duty. I see well enough all the sinister indications,
but I am sustained by a deep and conscientious sense of duty,
and while supported by that feeling of duty, and while such
great interests are at stake, I shall defy all augury, and ask no
omen but my country's cause !
OSCEOLA, OR POWELL.—Sprague.
Though the chiefs and sub-chiefs gave an ardent support to
the Florida War, after the first blood was shed, yet As-se-se-
he-ho-lar, or Black Drink, known as Osceola, or Powell, was
the governing spirit. His rank and birth were both humble
and obsoure; but he dared to resist the demands of the govern-
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
291
ment, and had the temerity to strike the first blow. He be¬
longed to the Bed Stick tribe of Indians, a branch of the
Creeks, and was born on the Chattahoochee river, Georgia, in
the year 1804. His father's name was William Powell, an
Englishman, who for forty years had been a trader in the na¬
tion, and whose wife was an Indian woman.
At the breaking out of hostilities he was thirty-two years
of age. In stature, he was about five feet eight inches, with
a manly, frank, and open countenance. From boyhood he
was noted for his independence and self-possession, and al¬
ways treated the whites with great dignity, almost amounting
to insolence. " Am I a negro,"—said, he, at one time, when
refused the privilege of purchasing powder,—" a slave ! My
skin is dark, but not black. I am an Indian—a Seminole!
The white man shall not make me black. I will make the
white man red with blood, and then blacken him in the sun
and rain, where the wolf shall smell of his bones, and the
buzzard live upon his flesh." In all dances, ball-plays, and
games, he was distinguished. In council the old chiefs looked
with surprise at his bold opposition to the treaty of Payne's
Landing. What he said and did was the result of a momen¬
tary feeling, without previous consultations or understandings,
which caused the experienced counsellors of the nation to treat
him with great respect.
He threw aside the ridiculous mummery of sages and pro¬
phets, their forms and superstitions, and openly declared his
views and opinions, regardless of consequences, and the di¬
plomacy and cunning of Jumper and the negro Abraham.
Feeling conscientiously right himself, he infused the same
spirit into others, who with renewed resolution adhered to
their opposition to the treaty. From his youth he had lived
with the Seminoles, aud he felt that their fortunes were his
own. His wife, whose name was Che-cho-ter, (the Morning
Dew,) was a Creek; by her he had four children. To them
he was kind and affectionate. In advising the warriors, when
starting upon a war-party, he always enjoined them to spare
the women and children. " It is not upon them," said he,
" that we make war and draw the scalping-knife ; it is upon
men ; let us act like men."
His fate was indeed melancholy. His spirit was broken
by defeat and imprisonment That high independence of
feeling, which had never before known restraint, had be¬
come enfeebled, and sunk as the chances of escape passed
292 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
unimproved, tfpon his removal from castle St. Marco, at St
Augustine, to fort Moultrie, Charleston harbor, all hope was
gone, and the conviction that he was forever banished from
his land, weighed more upon his spirits, until nature became
exhausted. He refused sustenance, and declined seeing visit¬
ors. All efforts to cheer and reconcile him to his fate, by rep¬
resenting Arkansas as a desirable home, entirely failed. He
expired after a short illness, broken-hearted. He was thirty-
three years of age. A brave and generous enemy, and re¬
spected as he was by the nation for his open, manly nature,
he was too proud to be under the dominion of the white man.
The manner of capturing this chief has been thought unjust
by those unacquainted with the peculiar state of affairs in the
territory. He had been an active participator in the treach¬
ery, which for two years, and particularly in the capitulation.
had caused so much disappointment and dissatisfaction. He
was the war-spirit of the nation. He improved every oppor¬
tunity to mislead the commander of the army, and disregard¬
ed the most solemn promises to abstain from hostile acts and
prepare for emigration. His- professions of friendship and
assurances of peace were only to give time to plant and gather
crops, and to harass and break down the troops by exposing
them to the climate and fatiguing marches. The sacred obli¬
gations of a white flag were not tendered him ; he came in
bearing one, and was received as he had been promised, with
kindness. General Hernandez, who commanded the camp,
was ordered by General Jessup to take him prisoner, if he had
not complied with the assurances he had made to surrender
his band. Not one of these had been regarded, and conscious
of his delinquency, he ingeniously evaded all questions upon
the subject, and talked of friendship, clothing, and provisions.
General Hernandez accordingly detained him, with seventy
others, who came at the same time, and imprisoned them in
the castle at St. Augustine.
DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.—Byron.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
THIRD.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 293
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset was seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host, on the morrow, lay withered and strown.
For the angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride :
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail,
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
INFLUENCE OF THE LATE FRENCH REVOLUTION UPON
EUROPE*—Hannegan.
At the first tap of the drum in France, the echo comes from
Germany. From the walls of Munich, we are told, now
waves the banner of constitutional freedom. And Italy—
old Italy has been aroused—Italy, too, will be free ! Already
on the coast of that classic land, in the city of Messina, the
people have carried the citadel of the power of a tyrant who
had been wantonly dipping his fingers in their blood. Pius
the Ninth—the great reformer of modern Italy—has espoused
the cause of freedom. Thirty thousand Austrian bayonets
have been ordered into Italy to strangle the infant in its cradle.
* Extract from a speech delivered at a public meeting in Philadelphia, March 28,
1848 to congratulate tho people of France on the success of their recent revolution
and the establishment of a republican form of government.
25*
294 SOUTHERN READER" AND SPEAKER. [Book
I tell you, that that infant is Hercules, and the thirty thousand
mercenaries of the tyrant will perish in its grasp. Yes,
once more in the land consecrated by the tombs of Lucius
Junius Brutus, of Cornelia, of the Gracchi, of Cicero—once
more shall freedom stalk abroad ! But it ends not there. Go
further. It is electric. The sacred flame is bursting forth all
over Europe. The mutterings of the thunder are heard in
Glasgow—in Edinburgh—in London itself. We have not yet
heard from Ireland ; but soon glad tidings from Ireland will
burst upon our delighted ear. England will not much longer
be able to deny the boon of liberty to the oppressed green isle
of the ocean ; and Ireland will soon unite her voice with
emancipated France! I trust in God, that before the sun shall
again have reached this point in his yearly revolution, he will,
as he brightens with his radiance the rich verdure of her soil,
look down upon a still more glorious spectacle—her own green
flag floating free on every hill and rampart!
I wish no misery to my race; I desire no unhappiness to any
portion of mankind. I trust that if Europe—as I believe she is
—be on the verge of a general revolution, she will imitate the
example of France, and that no head may be brought to the
blocli, be it that of potentate or peasant. But at whatever cost—.
at whatever hazard—at whatever sacrifice—I say, down with
the tyrants! Let the feet of freemen be seen everywhere
upon the shattered fragments of despotic thrones; whilst in all
lands is heard the triumphant exclamation which is embla¬
zoned on the arms of old Virginia,—Sic semper tyrannis I
"FRANCE IS FREE."—Reed.
A great voice wakes a foreign land,
And a mighty murmur sweeps the sea,
While nations, dumb with wonder, stand,
To note what it may be ;
The word rolls on like a hurricane's breath,
" Down with the tyrant—come life or death,
France must be free !"
" Upharsin" is writ on the Orleans wall,
And it needs no prophet to read the word—
Thied.] southern" reader and speaker. 295
-•
The king- has flown from his palace hall,
And there the mob is heard!
They shout in the heat of their madden'd glee ;—
(What shout can compare with a nation's cry,
When it leaps from bondage to liberty?)
The voice sweeps on, like a hurricane's breath,
And the wondering world hears what it saith,
" France, France is free!"
The rough-shod foot of the people tramps
Through the silken rooms of royalty,
And over the floor the mirrors and lamps
Lie, like the shattered monarchy !
They have grasped the throne in their irony,
And have borne it off in mockery;
But, as if the gJbost of a king might be
Still wielding a shadowy sceptre there,
They dash to earth and trample it down,
Shiver'd to dust, with the Orleans crown,
And shout with a voice that rends the air,
" France, France is free !"
Oh, joy to the world ! the hour is come,
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake !
Over the walls of majesty,
u Upharsin" is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurl'd,
And the world roll on, like a hurricane's breath,
Till the farthest nation hears what it saith,—
" Arise, arise, be free !"
hamlet's advice to the players.—shaksfeare.
Soeak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you ;
trinoino-ly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our
players0 do, I had as lief the Town Crier spoke my lines.
296 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hands, but use all
gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say,
whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a
temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me
to the soul to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a
passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing
but dumb shows, and noise. I would have such a fellow
whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod. Pray
you, avoid it.
Be not too tame, neither; but let your own discretion be
'your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the ac¬
tion ; with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the
modesty of nature; for anything so overdone is from the pur¬
pose of playing,—whose end, both at the first, and now, was,
and is, to hold—as it were—the mirror up to nature; to show
virtue her own features, scorn her own image, and the very
age and body of the Jime his form and pressure. Now this,
overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful
laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of
which one must outweigh a whole theatre of others. 0, there
be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and
that highly,—not to speak it profanely,—who neither having
the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan,
nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought
some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made
them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
And let those that play the clowns, speak no more than is
set down for them; for there be of them that will themselves
laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh
too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of
the play be then to be^considered. That's villainous, and shows
a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it
THIBD.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 297'
DIALOGUES,
FOB EXERCISES IN READING AND SPEAKING.
THE CHILDREN'S CHOICE.—MRS. Gilman. .
PARENT JOHN WILLIAM LOUISA CAROLINE.
John.
I mean to be a soldier, with uniform quite new,
I wish they'd let me have a drum, and be a captain too;
I would go amid the battle, with my broadsword in my hand,
And hear the cannon rattle, and the music all so grand.
Parent.
My son! my son ! what if that sword should strike a noble heart,
And bid some loving father from his little ones depart ?
What comfort would your waving plumes and brilliant dress
bestow,
When you thought upon his widow's tears, and her orphans'
cry of woe?
^ William.
.1 mean to be a President, and rule each rising state,
And hold my levees once a week, for all the^gay and great;
I'll be a king, except a crown, for that they won't allow,
And I'll find out what the Tariff is, that puzzles me so now.
Parent.
My son ! my son ! the cares of state are thorns upon the breast,
That ever pierce the good man's heart, and rob him of his rest;
The great and gay to him appear as trifling as the dust.
For he knows how little they are worth, how faithless is their
trust.
Louisa.
I mean to be a cottage girl, and sit beside a rill,
And morn and eve my pitcher there with purest water fill 5
And I'll train a lovely woodbine around my cottage door,
And welcome to my winter hearth the wandering and the poor.
Parent.
Louisa dear, a humble mind 'tis beautiful to see,
And vou shall never hear a word to check that mind from me;
298 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
But ah! remember, pride may dwell beneath the woodbine's
shade,
And discontent, a sullen guest, the cottage hearth invade.
Caroline.
I will be gay and courtly, and dance away the hours,
Music and sport and joy shall dwell beneath my fairy bowers;
No heart shall ache with sadness within my laughing hall,
But the notes of love and gladness re-echo to my call.
Parent.
Oh, children ! sad it makes my soul to hear your playful strain;
I cannot bear to chill your youth with images of pain.
Yet humbly take what God bestows, and, like his own fair
flowers,
Look up in sunshine with a smile, and gently bend in showers.
THE LOTTERY.—Teller.
CHARLES HENRY FATHER.
Charles. What is your opinion of a lottery, Henry ?
Henry. I have no opinion of my own, brother; but I have
often heard father say it was a kind of gambling, and leads, as
gambling always does, to a great deal of mischief, and gene¬
rally to a great deal of misery.
Charles. Yes, I suppose it does. But the lottery I mean is
not one of the gambling kind ; you don't draw any money.
Henry. What, all blanks, Charley 1
Charles. All blanks 1 no indeed. The lottery is at Bar¬
ker's Toy shop; and. if you draw a prize, 3rou can choose any¬
thing in the shop to the amount of your prize.
Henry. And if I draw a blank, what then 1
Charles. Oh, there are but few blanks in this lottery, Henry.
Barker says your chance of getting a blank is very small in¬
deed.
Henry. Well, Charley, I think there are at least ten chances
for a blank to one for a prize, or what would he gain by his
lottery? Depend upon it, no one keeps a lottery except to
gain something by it.
Charles. But, Henry, the tickets are ten cents each, and
there are a great many prizes at five cents.
Thied.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 299
Henry. Then if I draw a five cent prize with a ticket that
costs ten cents,-1 should lose as much as if I drew a. blank
with a ticket that costs five cents.-
Charles. But, Henry, some of the prizes are as high as one
dollar.—Now I should like to try my luck in Barker's lottery.
[Enter Father, unperceived, and seats himself at the table.)
Wouldn't it be capital to get a dollar for only ten cents? Even
a half-dollar prize wouldn't be bad; and then I could choose
a knife, a bow and arrows, or a toy-gun. What do you think,
Henry ? Which would you choose if you were me ?
Henry. You had better get the prize first, Charley, before
you make up your mind.
Charles. Yes, yes, that's true enough. I must remember
the old story of the country maid and her milk pail. (laughing.)
Henry. Or the dog and the shaddw, Charley.
Father. (Coming forward.) So you wish to try your luck
at gambling, Charles ?
Charles. Gambling! What can you mean, papa?- You do
not call, putting into a lottery, gambling !
Father. Indeed I do.
Charles. Why, papa, I should not win any money in the
lottery we were talking about,
Father. No, I presume you would lose money.
Charles. I don't mean that; it is a lottery for toys.
Father. It makes no difference, Charles, what the gains
are to be,—the fact is the same. You risk a small sum to-
gain a larger, and your so doing is to be decided by chance,—
by the turn of a wheel. Your gains, if you make any, are not
to be produced by industry.
Henry. Why, then, papa, trading is gambling, for no mer¬
chant can tell whether he will gain anything by the goods he
buys to sell again ; there is always a chance—I mean, a risk
of losing.
Father. Certainly there is, my son; but that risk is greater
or less according as the money is employed. For instance,
a man who buys articles to sell again, and uses his judgment
and experience in buying at the lowest prices, and who puts a
value upon his purchases which will pay all his expenses and
give him a fair profit besides, is a fair and prudent trader,.
But he who purchases only on the calculation of chanpes, is
a gambler.
Charles. But, father, the first one may not be able to.sell
his goods, and so he will lose his money; and the other may;
300 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
have good luck—I mean, may have the chance in his favor,
and so gain by his purchases.
Father. Very true; but this makes no difference in the prin¬
ciple ; the one is trading, and the other is gambling, or, as it
is called, "speculating." You will find, generally, that the
prudent trader is most successful, for if his gains are some¬
times smaller than those of the speculator, his chances of loss
are much smaller also. Let me warn you now, my dear
boys, to avoid gambling of every kind, by whatever name it
may be called, and if you are not more wealthy by so doing,
you will most assuredly be more happy. The gains of honest
industry, in any laudable pursuit, have an intrinsic value
which those who " make haste to be rich," know nothing of
TWO VOICES FROM THE GRAVE.—Karamsin.
FIRST VOICE SECOND VOICE.
First Voice.
How frightful the grave ! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind,—the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together!
Second Voice.
How peaceful the grave 1 its quiet how deep!
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flowerets perfume it with ether.
First Voice.
There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.
Second Voice.
How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb !
Ho tempests are there!—but the nightingales come,
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.
First Voice.
'The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave ;
''Tis the vulture's abode;—'tis the wolf's dreary cave,
Where they tear up the dead with their fangs.
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER^AND SPEAKER. 301
Second Voice.
There the cony, at evening, disports with his love,
Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.
First Voice.
There darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath,
And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death ;
The trees are all barren and bare.
Second Voice.
0 ! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,
And. sweet with the violet's wafted perfume,
With lilies and jessamines fair.
First Voice. *
The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears,
Would fain hurry by; and with trembling and fears,
He is launched on the wreck-covered river.
Second Voice,
Here the traveller, worn with life's pilgrimage dreary,
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,
And sweetly reposes forever.
A WONDERFUL INSTRUMENT.—Miss Tayloe.
FATHER GEORGE CHARLES.
Father. Now, my boys, be seated, and I will give you a
brief description of a curious and valuable instrument I brought
home with me to-day,—and then, perhaps, I will allow you to
inspect it.
George. Well, father, we are all attention.
Father. This small instrument displays the most perfect in¬
genuity of construction, and exquisite nicety and beauty of
workmanship ; from its extreme delicacy, it is so liable to in¬
jury that a sort of light curtain, adorned with a beautiful
fringe, is always provided, and so placed as to fall, in a mo¬
ment, on the approach of the slightest danger. Its external
appearance is always more or less beautiful: yet in this re¬
spect there is a great diversity in the different sorts:—but the
internal contrivance is the same in all of them, and is so ex¬
tremely curious, and its powers so truly astonishing, that no
302 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
one who considers it, can suppress his surprise and admiration.
By a slight and momentary movement, which is easily effected
by the person to whom it belongs, you can ascertain with con¬
siderable accuracy the size, color, shape, weight, and value,
of any article whatever. A person possessed of one is thus
saved from the necessity of asking a thousand questions, and
trying a variety of troublesome experiments, which would
otherwise be necessary* and such a slow and laborious pro¬
cess would, after all, not succeed half so well as a single ap¬
plication of this admirable instrument.
George. If they are such very useful things, I wonder that
everybody, who can at all afford it, does not have one.
Father. They are not so uncommon as you may suppose; I
myself happen to know several individuals who are possessed
of one or two of thenc
Charles. How large is it, father? could I hold it in my
hand?
Father. You might; but I should be very sorry to trust
mine with you!
George. You will be obliged to take very great care of it
then?
Father. Indeed I must r I intend every night to inclose it
within the small screen I mentioned; and it must, besides,
occasionally be washed in a certain colorless fluid kept for
the purpose; but this is such a delicate operation, that per¬
sons, I find, are generally reluctant to perform it. But, not¬
withstanding the tenderness of this instrument, you will be
surprised to hear that it may be darted to a great distance,
without the least injury, and without any danger of losing it.
Charles. Indeed 1 and how high can you dart it?
Father. I should be afraid of telling you to what a distance
it will reach, lest you should think that I am jesting with you.
George. Higher than this house? I suppose.
Father. Much higher.
Charles. Then how do you get it again 1
Father. It is easily cast down by a gentle movemeftt, that
does it no injury.
George. But who can do this?
Father. The person whose business it is to take care of it.
Charles. Well, I cannot understand you at all; but do tell
us, father, what it is chiefly used for.
Father. Its uses are so various that I know not which to
specify. It has been found very serviceable in deciphering
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 303
old manuscripts ; and, indeed, it has its use in modern prints.
It will assist us greatly in acquiring all kinds of knowledge ;
and without it, some of the most sublime parts of creation
would have been matters of mere conjecture. It must be
confessed, however, that very much depends on a proper ap¬
plication of it; for it is possessed by many persons who appear
to have no adequate sense of its value, and who employ it
only for the most low and common purposes, without even
thinking, apparently, of the noble uses for which it is de¬
signed, or of the exquisite gratification which it is capable
of affording. It is, indeed, in order to excite in your minds
some, higher sense of its value than: you might otherwise
have entertained, that I am giving you this previous descrip¬
tion.
George. Well, then, tell us something more about it.
Father. It is of a very penetrating quality ; and can often
discover secrets which could be detected by no other means.
It must be owned, however, that it is equally prone to reveal
them.
Charles. What! can it speak, then ?
Father. It is sometimes said to do so, especially when it
happens to meet with one of its own species.
George, Of what color is it ?
Father. They vary considerably in this respect.
George. Of what color is yours ?
Father. I believe, of a darkish color; but, to confess the
truth, I never saw it in my life.
Both. Never saw it in your life?
Father. No, nor do I wish to see it; but I have seen a rep¬
resentation of it, which is so exact that my curiosity is quite
satisfied.
George. But why don't you look at the thing itself?
Father I should be in great danger of losing it, if I did.
Charles. Then you could buy another.
Father. Nay, I believe that I could not prevail on anybody
to part with such a thing.
George. Then how did you get this one ?
Father. I am so fortunate as to be possessed of more than
one: but how I got them I really cannot recollect.
Charles. Not recollect! why, you said that you brought
them home with you to-day I
Father. So I did; I should be sorry if I had left them be¬
hind me.
304 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. IBook
Charles. Tell, father, do tell us the name of this curious
instrument.
Father. It is called—an eye.
THE LAND OF THE BLEST.—Mrs. Abdt.
father child.
Child.
Bear father, I ask for my mother in vain;
Has she sought some far country her health to regain ?
Has she left our cold climate of frost and of snow,
For some warm, sunny land, where the soft breezes blow ?
Father.
Yes, yes, gentle boy, thy loved mother has gone
To a climate where sorrow and pain are unknown;
Her spirit is strengthened, her frame is at rest;
There is health, there is peace, in the Land of the Blest.
Child.
Is that land, my dear father, more lovely than ours?
Are the rivers more clear, and more blooming the flowers ?
Does summer shine over it all the year long ?
Is it cheered by the glad sounds of music and song ?
Father.
Yes, the flowers are despoiled not by winter or night;
The well-springs of life are exhaustless and bright;
And by exquisite voices sweet hymns are addressed
To the Lord who reigns over the Land of the Blest
Child.
Yet that land to my mother will lonely appear ;
She shrunk from the glance of a stranger while here ;
From her foreign companions I know she will flee,
And sigh, dearest father, for you and for me.
Father.
My darling, thy mother rejoices to gaze
On the long-severed friends of her earliest days;
Her parents have there found a mansion of rest,
And they welcome their child to the Land of the Blest.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
305
Child.
How I long to partake of such meetings of bliss;
That land must be surely more happy than this;
On you, my kind father, the journey depends;
Let us go to my mother, her kindred and friends.
Father.
Not on me, love ; I trust I may reach that bright clime,
But in patience I stay till the Lord's chosen time,
And must strive, while awaiting his gracious behest,
To guide thy young steps to the Land of the Blest.
Thou must toil through a world full of dangers, my boy;
Thy peace it may blight, and thy virtues destroy;
Nor wilt thou, alas hbe withheld from its snares
By a mother's kind counsels, a mother's fond prayers.
Yet fear not—the God whose direction we crave,
Is mighty to strengthen, to shield, and to save;
And his hand may yet lead thee, a glorified guest,
To the home of thy mother, the Land of the Blest.
SENTIMENT AND SIMPLICITY.—Anonymous.
Sentiment.
Child, simple child, dost thou wander now
To gather fresh flowers for thy sunny brow!
Or twinest thou a garland fine and fair
To fix in thy sleeping sister's hair,
That when she awakes she may smile to see
The nodding roses all plucked by thee ?
Simplicity.
No, I gathers no flowers here,
But I comes to bring ma feyther's beeT.
Sentiment.
Thy father's bier ! Has he left thee, child,
To the world's cold blasts, and its tempests wild 7
Has he left thee beside a deserted hearth,
With no one to guard thee, on all the earth 7
Has he sunk in his pride 'neafh the hand of fate,
And left thee, thou lone one, desolate?
306 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAE3SR, [Book
Simplicity.
No! indeed, you're mistaken now,
He's been all the mornin' arter the plough.
Sentiment.
Hear'st thou the breezes from yonder hill,
As they speak with lone voices, subdued and still,
Telling, as onwards in perfume they sweep,
Of the hidden flowers in the valley which sleep j
Hearest thou the voices at even-tide
As thou sinkest to sleep by the river side?
Simplicity.
No, I never hears them breezes speak,
But I hears 'em blowing most nights in the week.
THE HERO AND THE ROBBER.—Aiken.
alexander the great robber guards.
(The Robber is led in, guarded and in chains, and placed before Alexander.)
Alexander. What, art thou the Thracian robber, of whose
exploits I have heard so much ?
Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier.
Alex. A soldier!—a thief! a plunderer! an assassin! the
pest of the country; X could honor thy courage, but I must
detest and punish thy crimes.
Robber. What have I done, of which you can complain ?
Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority [ violated
the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons
and properties of thy fellow-subjects ?
Robber. Alexander, I am your captive—I must hear what
you please to say, and'endure what you please to inflict But
my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproach¬
es, I will reply like a free man.
Alex. Speak freely; far be it from me to take the advan¬
tage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to
converse.
Robber. I must then answer your question by another. How
have you passed your life %
Alex. Like a hero ! Ask Fame, and she will tell you
Among the brave, I have been the bravest: among sovereigns,
the noblest: among conquerors, the mightiest.
third.] southern" reader ant) speaker
307
Robber. And does not Fame speak of'me, too? Was there
ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever
—but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have not
been easily subdued.
Alex. Still, what are you but a robber—a base, dishonest
robber ?
Robber. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too. gone,
about the earth, like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of"
peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing, without law",
without justice,—merely to gratify an insatiable lust for do¬
minion ? All that I have done to a single district with a hun¬
dred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred
thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined
kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have
desolated the most flourishing cities and kingdoms of the earth.
What is, then, the difference, but that as you were born a king,
and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier
robber than I?
Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a
king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater.
I have cherished the arts, commerce, and philosophy.
Robber. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I have
taken from the rich. I have established order and discipline
among the most ferocious of mankind, and have stretched out
my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, indeed, little
of the philosophy you talk of, but I believe neither you npr I
will ever atone to the world for one half the mischief we have
done it.
Alex. Leave me. (To the guard!) Take off his chains and
use him well. (Aside.) Are we then so much alike! Alex¬
ander like a robber! Let me reflect.
the battles of the rio grande.—thayer.
FIRST SPEAKER SECOND SPEAKER.
First Speaker.
Hark ! it comes at last, the war-cry,
From the Bio Grande's shore;—
And the answer, backward rolling,
Mingles with the battles' roar.
.308
SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Ho ! our country's flag!—I see it
'Mid the thickening fire and smoke,
Where our little band of brave ones
Face the storm like hearts of oak.
Second Speaker.
But now another voice is rising
Slowly on the burden'd air,—
Mingled groans of wounded, dying,—
Screams of madness and despair J
First Speaker.
See our squadrons sweeping onward,
Like an arrow in its flight,
Over ditch and rampart bounding,
Dash amid the thickest fight
And their comrades, pressing forward,
'Mid the crash of cannon shot,
With the deadly bayonet charging,
Drive the foeman from the spot
See! their routed columns flying,
Shattered by the fearful shock,
Like the waves that have been broken.
Rolling on a shore of rock.
Second Speaker.
Cries of widows and of orphans,—
Fathers', mothers', sisters', wail
O'er the mangled, bloody corses,
Crushed beneath that iron hail.
First Speaker.
Now the shout of triumph rises
From that noble Spartan band,—
Sweeping onward, full and earnest,
Far along the sea and land.
Second Speaker.
Oh ! the battle field—how frightful!
Now the smoke is rolled away,
And its ghastly sights of suffering
Stand revealed in open day!
THIBD.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER 309
First Speaker.
Hark ! Tor now our country answers,
With a shout so loud and clear,
Like the voice of many thunders
Breaking on the startled ear.
Honor to the brave ! her voice is;
Laurel for each warrior's head I
Places on the page of glory
For the living and the dead!
Second Speaker.
Gracious God ! oh! speed the ages
When these death strifes shall be o'er,
And their swords to ploughshares beating
Nations shall learn war no more 1
THE SEVEN" AGES.—Shakspeare.
ORLANDO DUKE JAQUES.
Scene.—Forest of Arden; Duke, Jaques, with other lards, seated at a
table. Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn.
Orlando. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaques. Why, I have eat none yet.
Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.
Jag. Of what kind should this cock come of?
Duke. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress;
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ?
Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred,
A.nd know some nurture : But, forbear, I say:
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,
Till I and my affairs are answer'd.
Jaq. An you will not be answer'd with reason,
t must die.
Duke. What would you have % your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
310 SOUTHER# READER ANT) SPEAKER. [Book
Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you.
I thought that all things had been savage here ;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are,
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time \
If ever you have look'd on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
If ever sat at any good man's feast,
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be;
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke. True is it, that we have seen better -days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
And sat at good men's feasts, and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you do^n in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to jtour wanting may be minister'd.
Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first sufficed,—■
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,—
I will not touch a bit.
Duke. G-o find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.
Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good comfort! (Exit.)
Duke. Thou seest, we are not ail alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
Jaq. All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits arid their entrances \
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 311
Unwillingly to School: And then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then a soldier,
Full of Strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation .
Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
THE TWO HOMES—Mas. Hemans.
wanderer strang er.
Wanderer.
Seest thou my home ? 'Tis where yon woods are waving,
In their dark richness to the sunny air ;
Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving,
Leads down the hill a vein of light—'tis there.
'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming,
Fringed with the violet, colored with the skies !—
My boyhood's haunts, through days of summer, dreaming,
Under young leaves that shook with melodies.
My home—the spirit of its love is breathing
In every wind that plays across my track ;
From its white walls, the very tendrils, wreathing,
Seem, with soft links, to draw the wanderer back.
There am I loved 1 There prayed for! There my mother
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye!
312 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother—
Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly I
There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
All the home voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending—
There laughs my home—Sad stranger, where is thine ?
Stranger.
Ask thou of mine ? In solemn peace 'tis lying,
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;
'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,
And fond hearts wait my step. But where are they?
Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling,
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air j
I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling
My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there.
And what is home ? and where but with the living ?
Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine:
My spirit feels, but in its weary roving,
That with the dead—where'er they be—is mine.
Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother ;
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene :
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I well believe—but dark seas roll between.
LOCHIEL'S WARNING.—Campbell.
wizard lochiel.
, Wizard. Lochiel 1 Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in, battle array !
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight:
They rally, they bleed for their kingdom and crown -
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down !
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ?
'Tis thine, 0 Glenullin ! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
Third.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
313
A steed comes at morning-; no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led !
Oh, weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, '
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.
Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ;
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.
Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn.
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,
From his home, in the dark-rolling-clouds of the north?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad :
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high !
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin all dreadfully driven
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! M
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.
Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan;
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one !
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And, like reapers, descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock !
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock !
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ;
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array—
Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal:
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
314 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Rook
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
"With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold ! where he flies on his desolate path !
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight:
Rise! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cqver his flight 1
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors:
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ?
Ah no 1 for a darker departure is near ;
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ;
His death-bell is tolling. Oh! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots, that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat.
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale—
Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale:
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore,
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindliitg of life in his bosom remains,
Shall, victor, exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe,
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.
THE DEAD MOTHER.—Anonymous.
father child.
Father. Touch not thy mother, boy; thou canst not wake her
Child. Why, father? She still wakens at this hour.
Father. Your mother's dead, my child.
Child. And what is dead ?
If she be dead, why, then, 'tis only sleeping;
For I am sure she sleeps. Come, mother,—rise:—
Her hand is very cold !
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 315
Father. Her heart is cold.
Her limbs are bloodless ; would that mine were so !
Child. If she would waken, she would soon be warm.
Why is she wrapped in this thin sheet ? If I,
This winter morning, were not covered better,
I should be cold like her.
Father. No, not like iier
The fire might warm you, or thick clothes; but her—■
Nothing can warm again !
Child. If I could wake her,
She would smile on me, as she always does,
And kiss me.—Mother, you have slept too long.—
Her face is pale ; and it would frighten me,
But that I know she loves me.
Father. Come, my child.
Child. Once, when I sat upon her lap, I felt
A beating at her side; and then she said
It was her heart that beat, and bade me feel
For my own heart, and they both beat alike,
Only mine was the quickest. And I feel
My own heart yet; but hers I cannot feel.
Father. Child, child, you drive me mad. Come hence, T say.
Child. Nay, father, be not angry; let me stay here
Till my mother wakens.
Father. I have told you,
Your mother cannot wake—not in this world;
But in another she will wake for us.
When we have slept like her, then we shall see her.
Child. Would it were night, then.
Father. No, unhappy child ;
Full many a night may pass, ere thou canst sleep
That last, long sleep. Thy father soon shall sleep it;
Then wilt thou be deserted upon earth:
None will regard thee; thou wilt soon forget
That thou hadst natural ties,—an orphan, lone,
Abandoned to the wiles of wicked men,
And women still more wicked.
Child. Father, father,
Why do you look so terribly upon me ?
You will not hurt me ?
Father. Hurt thee, darling ? no !
Has sorrow's violence so much of anger,
That it should fright my boy 1 Come, dearest, come.
316 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Child. You are not angry, thin ?
Father. Too well I love you.
Child. All you have said I cannot now remember,
Nor what is meant, you terrified me so;
But this, I know, you told me,—I must sleep
Before my mother wakens; so, to-morrow—
Oh! father, that to-morrow were but come!
FROM RIENZL—Miss Mitfobd.
COLA 1)1 RIENZI PAOLO—>-URSINI CITIZENS ATTENDANTS.
Scene—A. street in Rome; Paoli and three Citizens conversing; Rienzi
comes forward from a temple in the background.
Rienzi. Talk, talk, my masters ! Speech
Is your fit weapon. Talk ! talk ! talk !
And tell in gentle whispers, gazing round,
Lest other list'ners than the storied walls
Of these old temples hear ye, how on Monday
A noble gallant, one of the Corsi, stole—
Seized, is the courtlier phrase—and wrung the neck
Of Adriani's falcon, a famed bird,
Unmatch'd in Italy—the poor old man
Weeps as it were his child—or how, on Tuesday,
Black John, of Ursini, spurred his'hot courser
Bight through a band of pious pilgrims, journeying
To our lady of Loretto—marry, two
Are lamed for life—or how, on Wednesday—
Paolo. Stop—
Rie. I can go through the week.
Pao. But, for the pilgrims—
Art sure of that foul sacrilege ?
Rie. As sure
As that thou standest there ; as that the Ursini
Parade the city. (Distant shouts.) Hark ! do ye not hear
The shouting mob approach?—Sure as that ye
Who frown, and lift your eyes, and shake your heads,
And look aghast at such foul sacrilege,
Will join your voice to that base cry, and shout,
Long live the Ursini! I know ye, masters.
Pao. Bienzi, thou wrong'st us.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
317
Rie. If I wrong ye—no I
Ye are Italians; men of womanish soul,
Faint, weak, emasculate: the generous wrath
Of the manly Roman, with his lofty tongue,
Lies buried—not forever. (Nearer shouts.) Hark! here comes
The tyrant of to-day. Go, swell his train,
I'll to my porch again, and feed my spirit
On these mute marbles. (Goes into the temple.)
Second Cit. A brave man.
Third Cit. Full surely, a dangerous. (Paolo and Citizens
retire to the backgrownd. Enter Officers, six Halberdiers,
and TJrsini, Frangipani, and two Lords, in conversation,
followed by armed attendants, and accompanied by a
crowd, who shout, " Live the TJrsini," SfC.)
TJrsini. (To the mob.) Thanks, gentle friends.
Crowd. (following.) Live John of Ursini! (Exeunt TJrsi¬
ni, SfC.—Paolo and the three ■Citizens come forward, and
are stopped by an armed attendant.)
Att. Why what a sort of sullen citizens
Be here, that shout not! Doff thy bonnet, man!
Look at thy fellows ! Doff thy cap.
Pao. Good friend—
Att. What, must I be thy tierman ? (Knocks off Paolo's
hat with his spear—Rienzi rushes out from the Temple,
wrests the spear from the attendant, and strikes him
down with it. Exit the Third Citizen.)
Rie. Down, vile minion !
Hath the slave harmed thee, Paolo 1—Art thou hurt ?
Look where the abject tyrant licks the dust.
The very stones of Rome cast back the load
Of his foul carcass !—yet he stirs! I'm glad
The reptile is not dead.
First Cit. Fly, Cola!
Rie. Fly !
Pao. To the Colonna Palace—they will shield thea
From danger or pursuit. This is no time
For thanks. Fly, Cola!. -
Rie. Let them fly that fear.
Fly! why the evil-doer flies, not he
That putteth down a wrong. Fly ! I would call
Rome, universal Rome," to view this deed,
The type of that to come. Yon creeping slave,
Struck with the strong brute force of power, fell
318 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Before my weaker arm, nerved by tbe spirit
Of righteous indignation. So shall fall
Tyrants and tyranny. Meet me to-night
On the Capitoline Hill. ' Now I can trust ye,
Now that the man is roused within your souls—
The Roman ardor.
Second Cit. One is gone.
Rie. "Well, well,
A milder breeze had severed such light chaff
From the sound corn. Yon slave—he lives—he stirs.
Pao. I'll take him to my house.
Rie. And I, to-morrow,
Will find a fitter hospital. Farewell!
Remember midnight—at the Capitol!
Remember!
THE RIGHTS OE DISCOVERY.—Anonymous.
CHARLES H. WILLIAM PENH.
Charles. Well, friend William, I have sold you a noble
province in North America; but still I suppose you have no
.thoughts of going thither yourself.
Penn. Yes, I have, I assure thee, friend Charles; and I am
just come to-bid thee farewell.
Charles. What! venture yourself among the savages of
North America! Why, man, what security have you that
you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours after setting
foot on their shores ?
Penn. The best security in the world.
Charles. I doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of
any security against those cannibals, but in a regiment of good
soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. And mind I tell
you beforehand, that with all my good will for you and your
family, to whom I am under obligations, I will not send a sin¬
gle soldier with you.
Penn. I want none of thy soldiers, Charles: I depend on
something better than thy soldiers.
Charles. Ah ! and what may that be ?
Penn. Why, depend upon themselves—on the workings of
their own hearts—on their notions of justice—on their moral
sense.
Charles. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt; but
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 319
I fear you will not find, much of it among the Indians of North "
America.
Penn. And why not among them, as well as others ?
Charles. Because, if they had possessed any, they would
not have treated my subjects so barbarously as they have done.
Penn. That is no proof to the contrary, friend Charles.
Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects first
went to North America, they found these poor people the
fondest and kindest creatures in the world. Every day they
would watch for them to come ashore, aud hasten to meet them,
and feast them on the best fish, and venison, and corn—wh'ich
was all they had. In return for the hospitality of the savages,
as we call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized -on
their country ana rich hunting-grounds, for farms for them¬
selves ! Now, is it to be wondered at, that these much injured
people should have been driven to desperation by such injus¬
tice ; and, that burning with revenge, they should have com¬
mitted some excesses ?
Charles. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when
they come to treat you in the same manner.
Penn. I am not afraid of it.
Charles. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get
their hunting-grounds too, I suppose ?
Penn. Yes, but not by driving these poor people away from
them.
Charles. No, indeed ! How then will you get the lands ?
Penn. I mean to buy their lands of them.
Charles. Buy their lands of them! Why, man, you have
already bought them of me. „
Penn. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too; but I
did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou hadst
any right to their lands.
Charles. How, man ! no right to their lands !
Penn. No, friend Charles, no right at all: what right hast
thou to their lands 1
Charles. Why, the right of discovery, to be sure; the right
which the pope-and all Christian kings have agreed to give
one another. . .
Penn. The right of discovery! A strange kind ot right,
indeed ! Now, suppose, friend Charles, that some canoe-loads
of these Indians, crossing the sea, and discovering thy island
of Great Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up
for sale over thy head,—what wouldst thou think of it ?
320 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Charles. Why—why—why—I must confess, I should think
it a great piece of impudence in them.
Penn. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a Chris¬
tian prince too, do that which thou so utterly condemnest in
these people, whom thou callest savages ? Yes, friend Char|es;
and suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy refusal to give
up thy island of Great Britain, were to make war on thee, and
having weapons more destructive than thine, were to destroy
many of thy subjects, and drive the rest away,—wouldst thou
not think it horribly cruel ?
Charles. I must say that I should, friend William: how can
I say otherwise ?
Penn. Well, then, how can I, who call myself a Christian,
do what I should abhor even in heathen? No, I will not do
it. But I will buy the right of the proper owners, even of the
Indians themselves. By doing this, I shall imitate God him¬
self, in his justice and mercy, and thereby insure his blessing
on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in North
America.
BRING FLOWERS.—Mrs. Hemans.
first voice—second voice third voice,
First Voice.
Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured ;
Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.
Second Voice.
Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path—
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath!
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day—
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!
Third Voice.
Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell ;
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
Thibd.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
321
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth,-—bring him flowers, wild flowers!
First Voice.
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to we^ir!
They were born to blush in her shining hair.
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth 1
Sne has bid farewell to her father's hearth!
Her place is now by another's side—
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!
Second Voice.
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead !
For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nursed.
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift—bring yejlowers, pale flowers!
Third Voice.
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are nature's offering, their place is there I
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory—bring flowers, bright flowers!
A SCHOOL ECLOGUE.—Mita. Barbauld.
EDWARD WILLIAM HARRY.
Edward. Hist, William! hist! what means that air so gay ?
Thy looks, thy dress, bespeak some holiday :.
Thy hat is brushed; thy hands, with wondrous pains,
Are cleansed from garden mould and inky stains;
Thy glossy shoes confess the lackey's care;
And recent from the comb shines thy sleek hair.
What god, what saint, this prodigy has wrought?
Declare the cause, and ease my laboring thought!
William. John, faithful John, is with the horses come;
Mamma prevails, and I am sent for home.
Harry. Thrice happy whom such welcome tidings greet!
Thrice happy who reviews his native seat!
322 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
For him the matron spreads her candied hoard,
And early strawberries crown the smn'mg boara,
For him crush'd gooseberries with rich cream combine,
And bending boughs their fragrant fruit resign:
Custards and sillabubs his taste invite;
Sports fill the day, and feasts prolong the nignt.
Think not I envy, I admire thy fate:
Yet, ah! what different tasks thy comrades wait 1
Some in the grammar's thorny maze to toil,
Some with rude strokes the snowy paper soil.
Some o'er barbaric climes in maps to roam,
Far from their mother-tongue, and dear loved home.
Harsh names, of uncouth sound, their memories load,
And oft their shoulders feel the unpleasant goaa.
Edward. Doubt not our turn will come some future time.
Now, William, hear us twain contend in rhyme,
For yet thy horses have not eat their hay,
And unconsum'd as yet \h' allotted hour of play.
William. Then spout alternate, I consent to hear,—
Let no false rhyme offend my critic ear;—
But say, what prizes shall the victor hold %
I guess your pockets are not lined with gold!
Harry. A ship these hands have built, in every part
Carved, rigg'd, and painted, with the nicest art ;
The ridgy sides are black with pitchy store,
From stem to stern 'tis twice ten inches o'er.
The lofty mast, a straight smooth hazel framed,
The tackling silk, the Charming Sally named;
And,—but take heed lest thou divulge the tale,—
The lappet of my shirt supplied the sail;
An azure riband for a pennant flies:—
Now, if thy verse excel, be this the prize.
Edward. For me at home the careful housewives make,
With plums and almonds rich, an ample cake.
Smooth" is the top, a plain of shining ice,
The West its sweetness gives, the East its spice:
From soft Ionian isles, well known to fame,
Ulysses once, the luscious currant came.
The green transparent citron Spain bestows,
And from her golden groves the orange glows.
So vast the heaving mass, it scarce has room
Within the oven's dark capacious womb:
'Twill be consign'd to the next carrier's care.
I cannot yield it all,—be half thy share.
Timid.]
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
323
Well does the gift thy liquorish palate suit*
I know who robb'd the orchard of its fruit.
When all were wrapt in sleep, one early morn,
While yet the dew-drop trembled on the thorn,
I mark'd when o'er the quickset hedge you leapt,
And, sly, beneath the gooseberry bushes crept;
Then shook the trees; a shower of apples fell,
And where the hoard you kept, I know full well ;
The mellow gooseberries did themselves produce,
For through thy pocket oozed the viscous juice.
Harry. I scorn a telltale, or I could declare
How, leave unask'd, you sought the neighboring fair;
Then home by moonlight spurr'cLyour jaded steed,
And scarce return'd before the hour of bed.
Think how thy trembling heart had felt affright,
Had not our master supp'd abroad that night.
Edward. On the smooth white-wash'd ceiling near thy bed,
Mix'd with thine own, is Anna's cipher read ;
From wreaths of dusky smoke the letters flow;—
Whose hand the waving candle held, I know.
Fines and jobations shall thy soul appal,
Whene'er our mistress spies the sullied wall.
Harry. Unconn'd her lesson once, in idle mood,
Trembling before her master, Anna stood.
I mark'd what prompter near her took his place,
And, whispering, saved the virgin from disgrace:
Much is the youth belied, and much the maid,
Or more than words the whisper soft convey'd.
Edward. Think not I blush to own so bright a flame,
E'en boys for her assume the lover's name;—
As far as alleys beyond taws we prize,
Or venison pastry ranks above school pies;
As much as peaches beyond apples please,
Or Parmesan excels a Suffolk cheese;
Or Palgrave donkeys lag behind a steed,—
So far do Anna's charms all other charms exceed.
Harry. Tell, if thou canst, where is that creature bred,
Whose wide-stretch'd mouth is larger than its head.
Guess, and my great Apollo thou shalt be,
And cake and ship shalLboth remain with thee.
Edward. Explain thou first, what potent late was seen,
With strides impetuous, posting o'er the green;
Three heads like Cerberus, the monster bore,
And one was sidelong fix'd, and two before;
324 SOUTHERN' READER AND SPEAKER. [Boos
Eight legs, depending from his ample sides,
Each well-built flank unequally divides ;
Eor five on this, on that side three, are found,
Four swiftly move, and four not touch the ground.
Long time the moving prodigy I view'd,
By gazing men and barking dogs pursued.
William. Cease ! cease your carols, both ! for lo the bell,
With jarring notes, has wrung out Pleasure's knelL
Your startled comrades, ere the game be done,
Quit their unfinish'd sports, and trembling run.
Haste to your forms before the master call!
With thoughtful step he paces o'er the hall,
Does with stern looks each playful loiterer greet,
Counts with his eye, and marks each vacant seat \
Intense the buzzing murmur grows around,
Loud through the dome the usher's strokes resound.
Sneak off, and to your places slyly steal,
Before the prowess of his arm you feel.
FROM RIENZL—Miss Mitford.
RIENZI ANGELO COLONNA.
Scene—A street. Enter Rienzi and Angelo from opposite sides.
Rienzi. Son ! methinks this high solemnity might well
Have claimed thy presence. A great ruler's heir
Should be familiar in the people's eyes;
Live on their tongues ; take root within their hearts ;
Win woman's smiles by honest courtesy,
And force man's tardier praise by bold desert,
So, when the chief shall die, the general Love
May hail his successor. But thou—where wast thou ?
If with thy bride
Angelo. I have not seen her. Tribune—
Thou wav'st away the word with such a scorn
As I poured poison in thine ear. Already
Dost weary of the title ?
Rie. Wherefore should I ?
Ang. Thou art ambitious.
Rie. Granted.
Ang. And wouldst be
A king %
Thibd.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
325
Rie. There thou mistak'st. A king ! fair son !
Power dwelleth not in sound, and fame hath garlands
Brighter than diadems. I might have been
Anointed, sceptred, crowned ; have cast a blaze
Of glory round the old imperial wreath,
The laurel of the Csesars. But I chose
To master kings, not be one ; to direct
The royal puppets as my sovereign will,
And Rome—my Rome, decree. Tribune ! the Gracchi
Were called so. Tribune ! I will make that name
A word of fear to kings.
Ang. Rienzi! Tribune !
Has thou forgotten—on this very spot,
How thou didst shake the slumbering soul of Rome
With the brave sound of Freedom, till she rose,
And from her giant limbs the shackles dropped,
Burst by one mighty throe ? Hadst thou died then,
History had crowned thee with a glorious title—
Deliverer of thy country.
Rie. Well!
Ang. Alas 1 when thou fall'st, as fall thou must, 'twill be
The common tale of low ambition. Tyrants
O'erthrown to form a wider tyranny;
Princes cast down, that thy obscurer house
May rise on nobler ruins.
Rie. Hast thou ended 1
I fain would have mistaken thee—hast done ?
Ang. No—for, despite thy smothered wrath, the voice
Of warning truth shall reach thee. Thou, to-day,
Hast, by thy frantic sacrilege, drawn on thee
The thunders of the church, the mortal feud
Of either emperor. Here, at home, the barons
Hate, and the people shun thee. Seest thou not,
Even in this noon of pride, thy waning power
Fade, flicker, and wax dim ? Thou art as one
Perched on some lofty steeple's dizzy height,
Dazzled by the sun, inebriate by long draughts
Of thinner air: too giddy to look down
Where all his safety lies; too proud to dare
The long descent to the low depth from whence
The desperate climber rose.
Rie. Aye, there's the sting-
That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar
> oq
326 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boob
The reverend worm, nobility 1 Wouldst shame me
With my poor parentage 1 Sir, I'm the son
Of him who kept a sordid hostelry
In the Jews' quarter; my good mother cleansed
Linen for honest hire. Canst thou say worse ?
Ang. Can worse be said ?
Rie. Add, that my boasted Schoolcraft
Was gained from such base toil, gained with such pain
That the nice nurture of the mind was oft
Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless
And supperless, the scoff of our poor street,
For tattered vestments and lean, hungry looks,
To pay the pedagogue. Add what thou wilt
Of injury. Say that, grown into man,
I've known the pittance of the hospital,
And, more degrading still, the patronage
Of the Colonna. Of the tallest trees
The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls,
Scorned and derided 'midst their ribald crew,
A licensed jester, save the cap and bells ;
I have borne this—and I have borne the death,
The unavenged death, of a dear brother.
I seemed I was a base ignoble slave.
What am I ? Peace, I say! what am I now ?
Head of this great republic, chief of Rome;
In all but name, her sovereign; last of all,
Thy father.
Ang. In an evil hour—
Rie. Dar'st thou
Say that ? An evil hour for thee, my Claudia!
Thou shouldst have been an emperor's bride, my fairest
In evil hour thy woman's heart was caught
By the form moulded as an antique god:
"The gallant bearing, the feigned tale of love—
All false, all outward, simulated all.
Ang. But that I loved her, but that I do love her
With a deep tenderness, softer and fonder
Than thy ambition-hardened heart e'er dreamed of,
My sword should answer thee.
Rie. Go to, Lord Angelo ;
Thou lov'st her not. Men taunt not, nor defy
The dear one's kindred. A bright atmosphere
Of sunlight and of beauty breathes around
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 327
The bosom's idol. I have loved—she loves thee;
And therefore thy proud father—even the shrew,
Thy railing mother, in her eyes are sacred.
Lay not thy hand upon thy sword, fair son— ♦
Keep that brave for thy comrades. I'll not fight thee.
Go and give thanks to yonder simple bride,
That her plebeian father mews not up,
Safe in the citadel, her noble husband.
Thou art dangerous, Colonna. But, for her,
Beware! {Going.)
Ang. Come back, Bienzi! Thus I throw
A brave defiance in thy teeth. {Throws down his glove.)
Rie. Once more,
Beware,
Ang. Take up the glove !
Rie. This time for her— {Takes up Hie glove?)
For her dear sake—come, to thy bride ! home ! home!
Ang. Dost fear me, Tribune of the people!
Rie. Fear!
Do I fear thee! Tempt me no more. This once,
Home to thy bride! {Exit.)
Ang. Now, Ursini, I come—
Fit partner of thy vengeance I
THE FOUNTAIN OF OBLIVION.—Mrs. Humans.
pilgrim fairy.
Pilgrim.
One draught, kind Fairy, from that fountain deep,
To lay the phantoms of a haunted breast,
And lone affections, which are gTiefs, to steep
In the cool honey-dews of dreamless rest;
And from the soul the lightning-marks to lave—
One draught of that sweet wave!
Tairy.
Yet, mortal, pause!—Within thy mind is laid ^
Wealth, gather'd long and slowly; thoughts divine
Heap that full treasure-house; and thou hast made
328 SOUTHERN READER ANT) SPEAKER. [Book
The gems of many a spirit's ocean thine
Shall the dark waters of oblivion bear
A pyramid so fair ?
Pilgrim.
Pour from the fount 1 and let the draught efface
All the vain lore by memory's pride amassed,
So it but sweep along the torrent's trace,
And fill the hollow channels of the past;
And from the bosom's inmost folded leaf
Raze the one master grief 1
Fairy.
Yet pause once more!—all, all thy soul hast known,
Loved, felt, rejoiced in, from its grasp must fade !
Is there no voice whose kind awakening tone
A sense of spring-time in thy heart hath made ?
No eye whose glance thy day-dreams wTould recall?—
Think—wouldst thou part with all ?
Pilgrim.
Fill with forgetfulness 1—there are, there are
Voices whose music I have loved too well;
Eyes of deep gentleness—but they are far—
Never ! oh—never, in my home to dwell!
Take their soft looks from off my yearning so\jl—
Fill high the oblivious bowl!
Fairy.
Yet pause again!—with memory wilt thou cast
The undying hope away, of memory born ?
Hope of re-union, heart to heart at last,
No restless doubt between, no rankling thorn?
"Wouldst thou erase all records of delight
That make such visions bright ?
Pilgrim.
Fill with forgetfulness, fill high !—yet stay—■
'Tis from the past we shadow forth the land
Where smiles, long lost, again shall light our way,
And the soul's friends be wreath'd in one bright band:
—Pour the sweet waters back on their own rill,
I must remember still!
For their sake, for the dead—-whose image naught
May dim within the temple of my breast-—
Thkd.] southern reader and speaker. 329
For their love's sake, which now no earthly thought
May shake or trouble with its own unrest,
Though the past haunt me as a spirit,---yet
I ask not to forget.
the lawyer turned midshipman.—anonymous.
WESTBROOK o'SHAUGHNESSY PARKER BROWN STEWARD.
Scene—The cabin of a ship ; midshipmen seated at a table, on which are
placed beef, biscuit, tumblers, pitchers, dec. Enter Parker.
Westbrook. How is the night, overhead, Parker 1
Parker. Misty, with a light breeze ; we'll make the British
Channel, if we keep this course, before mining.
West. Well/ what need we care. Come, Parker, take a
seat here and cut away at the junk; a broad slice, man, such
as we lawyers take of our client's money,—the better half of
the whole.
Park. No, I thank you, I've already stowed away my al¬
lowance. But what do you. mean by ' we lawyers V
Brown. Yes, what do you know of the profession 1
West. Oh, I was once a lawyer myself.
O Shaughnessy. A lawyer ! a landshark ! you a lawyer !
West. Aye, full fledged, and licensed to practise.
Brown. That's a good one ! A lawyer on ship-board ! But
come, tell us the story; what transmogrified the lawyer into
a jolly son of Neptune ?
OShaugh. Aye, aye, what was it ? Shove away the table,
boys, and let's hear the lawyer's yarn. [They all rise.)
West. Well, boys, I'll tell you. But am I the first jolly dog
who ever gave up a bad trade for a good one ? I beg your par¬
don, Parker, I believe you came from a race of lawyers ; if so,
it is no more than happened to myself. You see, my friends
made a landshark of me, but as nature intended me for some¬
thing better, the experiment failed. My first case was enough
for me, and I cut the profession; or rather it cut me. Thp
court asked me to repeat an authority I had quoted, but I was
so taken aback by something that had happened just before-—
and which I will tell you by-and-by—that for the life of me I
couldn't call to mind a single authority. I grew embarrassed,
stammered, looked down, and came to a dead halt. But when
I heard the spectators tittering around me, I grasped my hat
and shot out of the court-house, like a ball from a twenty-four
pounder.
330 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. . [Book
Brown. Ha, ha, ha ! But didn't you make a second attempt ?
West. A second attempt! Not I. The judge said I was a
fool; my client agreed with him; and everybody laughed at
me. So I kicked Coke and Plowden into the fire, cursed the
law to my heart's content, and took to the service in a fort¬
night, thinking it better to live on salt junk and biscuit, than
to work for nothing, and get laughed at for my pains.
OShaugh. And a glorious decision it was, truly! Sure a
fine middy would have been spoilt in making a lawyer of you,
Westbrook. But it was a great mistake, that breaking down
in your speech. You should have served them as my old
chum, Terence Ba^vhangle, tricked the tutor of Trinity.
Park. How was that, O'Shaughnessy ?
OShaugh. Why, you see, Terence was a ready-witted fel¬
low, and full of his droll sayings and doings. Well, one day
the tutor told him to recite a task from Locke's Essay on the
Understanding,—a crusty, dry, metaphysical sort of work,—of
which Terence understood not a word. But he put a good
face on the matter and began, running on like a petrel over
the waves, never halting even to breathe, till the tutor stop¬
ped him and told him there was nothing in the book like what
he was saying. 11 know that, sir, well enough,' said Terence,
without moving a muscle of his face,' but, you see, I don't
agree with Mr. Locke, so I thought I would just give my own
sentiments.'
West. (Laughing.) Your friend Terence ought to have had
one of the justices in my native state instead of a tutor in
Trinity, to mystify. He might then have succeeded better.
OShaugh. Maybe they're like old Sir Peter Parker, of the
county -of Clare, who was never right but by mistake. Many's
the poor fellow he's sentenced to be transported, because he
was brought up before dinner, when the justice was out of
humor.. And once, when the people murmured at his injustice,
he called out,' Constable, stop that noise ; here I've been
obliged to sentence three fellows, without being able to hear
a word of their defence!'
West. Pretty fair; but though I can't say I ever saw an
Irish justice, at least like Sir Peter, yet I think the justices'
courts in my state are almost a match for him.
Brown. How's that?
West. Why, you see, each township has its justice, and
when the county court is held, all the justices attend, to pre¬
side at the trials. The court-house at Shummuctum, however,
Thied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 331
was always too% small, and the bench, especially, wouldn't
hold half of the judges. So the man who got into court first
secured the best seat. On a hot day the old fellows couldn't
hold out without a little refreshment, and when they espied a
friend in the crowd, who would be likely to treat, they dropped
off from the bench, one by one. But as there was always a
dozen or two waiting to get seats, the bench never was empty.
Park. Well, I see no great harm in their relieving watch,
and taking a turn about.
West. Oh, no ; only as they were continually coming in and
going out, they never knew anything about the case, or even
pretended to. Indeed, I have often seen them when there
was not a single justice on the bench, when the verdict was
rendered, who had been there when the trial began.
Brown. Ha, ha! That beats you, O'Shaughnessy, and Sir
Peter Parker too!
Park. Bravo! You made a good move, Westbrook, when
you gave up pleading before such fellows. But you have not
yet told us what embarrassed you when you made your debut.
West. Oh, no, J had forgot; but you shall hear. I was just
admitted to the bar, you know, and. all my friends advised me
to make my maiden speech on one of the cases coming up at the
next Oyer and Terminer. So I looked around for some bur¬
glar, horse-thief, or other sort of land pirate, for a client; but
not a sinner of one could I find willing to trust himself in my
hands. I began to despair, thinking I should never have the
chance to figure so again, for the celebrated Judge Thrasky
himself had come down specially to try a desperate case of mur¬
der, and the whole bar were itching to show off before him.
He was said to be as sharp as a north-easter, and ev*ery word
was an argument, a growl or an opinion. You may judge my
ioy when, on walking up to the court-house, and looking very
grand and imposing in my own opinion—V
OShatfgh. Yes, rigged out in long togs,, all ataunty and
carrying as much sail as a commodore!
West. Of course—and never dreaming of such luck as a
client, till I heard the sheriff tell me there was a poverty-struck
sheep-stealer in the dock, who was in want of a lawyer, and
would be glad to get a brisk hand for a trifle of a fee.
Park. That was a glorious chance, Westbrook.
West. Yes, such a chance wasn't to be lost; and thinking
what a sensation I should create, I asked to see the prisoner.
As the sheriff couldn't bring him out into the bar, I wont into
332 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
the dock. Weil, I heard the rascaj's story through—and a
long one it was—and was about to leave him, when I found
that the sheriff had gone to bring in the judge in procession,
and forgetting all about me, had left me locked in!
OShaugh. Ha, ha! that was a scrape !
West. Aye, a scrape with a vengeance. To wait till the
judge entered, and then sneak out of the dock, the laughing¬
stock of the bar, was not to be thought of. What was to be
done ? The railing round the dock was high, and guarded
by iron spikes; but over these was the only outlet, and spring¬
ing up at once, I began to clamber out of the hole. At that
moment his honor entered the court-room, and the first thing
that caught his eye, was a man leaping the dock. ' Sheriff,
look to your prisoner,' said he. ' May it please your honor,'
said I, attempting to explain, and at the same time essaying to
leap down, in which endeavor the spikes caught in myskirts,
and I hung fast! ' It does not please me, you rascal, to b.e
bearded by a prisoner,' roared the judge, waxing angry. 1 It's
all a mistake,' said I, struggling to get loose, while the per¬
spiration rolled off me, as I heard the tittering of the crowd.
£ So says every thief,' retorted the judge, in a towering passion.
' But I'm an attorney,' I answered,' and counsel in the case.'
' All the worse for you, and if you defend yourself you have a
fool for a client,' said the judge, beside himself with rage.
OShaugh. Faith, Westbrook, you were in a pretty pickle.
Brown. Yes, you were indeed. I've heard of all sorts of
fashions, except that of an attorney pleading his own case
while hung up like a smoked mackerel! That was a hanging
case.
Park. Gro on, Westbrook, and let's have the finale of your
first and certainly very elevated appearance.
West. Why, at this point the mirth of the spectators could
no longer be controlled, but burst forth in peals of laughter,
which effectually silenced all my further explanations. At
length the mistake was made clear to the judge, and I was
suffered to be taken down.
Park. And so your maiden speech was nipped in the bud?
West. Not exactly. I tried to brave it out by delivering my
speech afterwards ; but an unlucky mention of the word mis¬
take set the bar in a roar, and so completely confounded me,
that I talked nonsense at random, until I broke down, as I
told you. Since then I never think of a law point without
a cold sweat all over.
Third.] _ SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 333
(fShaugh. By the staff of St. Patrick ! I should think not
A shower bath would be^Sleasant to it. (Enter Steward.)
Steward. _ Gentlemen, there's a suspicious sail in sight, and
we are bearing down upon her like a race-horse. {Exit.)
Brown. Good! A little prize money just now would be as
convenient as a lawyer's fee. So come, all hands on deck !
Park. Aye, aye, and I hope the prize money won't slip
through our fingers, as Westbrook's fee did through his !
O'Shaugh. Amen to that. So push along, boys 1 Success
to the service, and confusion to all lawyers, say I! {Exmnt.)
FROM CHARLES THE FIRST.—Mitfoud.
KING ELIZABETH GLOUCESTER HERBERT CROMWELL.
Scene—The King's apartment. Enter the King, leading in the Princess
Elizabeth and the PuJce of Gloucester.
King. Here we may weep at leisure. Yon fierce ruffian
Will scarce pursue us here. Elizabeth,
I thought I had done with anger, but the soldier
Who gazed on thee awhile, with looks that seemed
To wither thy young beauty, and with words—
My child! my child! And I had not the power
To shield my own sweet child !
jElizabeth. I saw him not;
I heard him not: I could see none but thee;
Could hear no voice but thine.
King. When I am gone, who shall protect thee?
Gloucester. I shall soon be tall; and then—
King. Poor boy ! Elizabeth, be thou
A mother to him. Rear him up in peace
And humbleness. Show him how sweet content
Can smile on dungeon floors; how the mewed lark
Sings in his narrow cage. Plant patience, dear ones,
Deep in your hearts. {Enter Herbert.)
Herbert, where stays the Queen ?
Sill on that hopeless quest of hope, though friends
Drop from her fast as leaves in autumn ?
Herb. Sire, her grace is absent still. But general Cromwell
Craves audience of your Majesty.
King. Admit him.
Wipe off those tears, Elizabeth. Resume
Thy gentle courage. Thou art a Princess. {Enter Cromwell.)
334 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Sir, thou seest me with my children. Doth, thine errand
Demand their absence?
Crom. No. I sent them to thee
In Christian charity. Thou hast not fallen
Amongst the heathen.
King. Howsoever sent,
It was a royal boon. My heart hath ached
With the vain agony of longing love
To look upon those blooming cheeks, to kiss
Those red and innocent lips, to hear the sound
Of those dear voices.
Crom. Sir, 'twas meet they came,
That thou might'st see them once again, might'st say—
King. Farewell!—I can endure the word—a last
Farewell! I have dwelt so long upon the thought,
The sound seems nothing. Ye have signed the sentence?
Fear not to speak, sir.
Crom. 'Tis a grievous duty—
King. Ye have signed. And the day?
Crom. To-morrow.
King. What! so soon ? And yet I thank ye. Speed is mercy.
Ye must away, poor children.
Crom. Nay, the children
May bide with thee till nightfall.
King. Take them, Herbert! take them.
Children. Oh ! no, no, no !
King. Dear ones, I go
On a great journey. Bless ye once again,
My children ! We must part. Farewell.
Eliz. Oh father, let me go with thee 1
King. Know'st thou whither?
Eliz. Yes; to Heaven. Oh take me with thee ! I must die
When the tree falls, the young buds wither. Take me
Along with thee to Heaven. Let us lie
Doth in one grave !
King. Now bless ye! This is death:
This is bitterness of love.
Crom. Fair child, be comforted.
King. Didst thou not pat her head ?
Crom. She minded me, all in her innocent tears,
Of one in mine own dwelling.
King. Thou hast daughters: Be kind to" her.
Crom. I will.
King. And the poor boy—
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 335
He comes not near the throne. Make not of him
A puppet King.
Crom. I think not of it.
King. Take them, good Herbert J And my wife—
Crom. She shall be safe ;
Shall home to France unharmed.
King. Now fare ye well!—
Cromwell, come back!—No, bring them not again—
No more of parting—bless them! bless them 1 See,
The girl, the poor girl, hath wept away
Her tears, and pants and shivers like a fawn
Dying. Oh, for some gentle face to look on
When she revives, or she will surely die.
Crom. She shall be cared for. (Exeunt Herbert and children.)
King. Are they gone ? quite gone ?
I might have kissed them once again, have charged them
To love each other—No, 'tis best.
Crom. Thou bad'st me
Remain. What is thy will ?
King. Be kind to them !
Be very kind to them!
Crom. Have I not promised?
Was that what thou would'st say?
King. No. But the love,
The o'ermastering love that was the death-pang, Cromwell.
Thou wilt be kind to them ?
Crom. Would'st have me swear?
King. Nay, swear not, lest I doubt. I will believe thee.
And for the human pity thou hast shown,
The touch of natural truth, I pray thee take my thanks.
Crom. I would have saved thee. By this hand,
This sinful hand, I would have saved thee, King,
Hadst thou flung by yon bauble.
King. There is One
Who reads all hearts, One who pursues all crimes,
From silver-tongued and bland hypocrisy
To treasonous murder. The unspoken thought,
And the loud lie, and the accursing act,
Mount to his throne together. Tempt Him not.
I know thee for the worker of this deed,
And knowing, pardon thee':—but tempt not Him !
Crom. Thy blood be on thy head ! I would have saved thee;
Even now the thought stirred in me. Pardon, Lord,
That gazing on tho father's agonies,
336 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Boo*
My heart of flesh waxed faint, and I forgot
Thy glory and Thy cause, the suffering saints,
The tyrant's tyranny, and Thy great word,—
Freedom ! Thy blood be on thy head.
King. So be it.
THE OLD MANSION-HOUSE.—Southey.
STRANGER OLD MAN.
Stranger. Old friend! why, you seem bent on parish duty
Breaking the highway stones,—and 'tis a task
Somewhat too hard, methinks, for age like yours 1
Old Man. Why, yes ! for one with such a weight of years
Upon his back!—I've lived here, man and boy,
In this same parish, well nigh the full age
Of man, being hard upon threescore and ten.
I can remember, sixty years ago,
The beautifying of this mansion here,
When my late Lady's father, the old Squire,
Came to the estate.
Stranger. Why, then you have outlasted
All his improvements, for you see they're making
Great alterations here.
Old Man. Aye—great indeed I
And if my poor old Lady could rise up—■
God rest her soul!—'twould grieve her to behold
What wicked work is here.
Sttanger. They've set about it
In right good earnest. All the front is gone;
Here's to be turf, they tell me, and a road
Round to the door. There were some yew trees, too,
Stood in the court—
Old Man. Aye, Master ! fine old trees!
Lord bless us ! I have heard my father say
His grandfather could just remember back •
When they were planted there. It was my task
To keep them trimm'd, and 'twas a pleasure to me ;
All straight and smooth, and like a great green wall!
My poor old lady many a time would come
And tell me where to clip, for she had play'd
'In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride
To keep them in their beauty. Plague, I say,
On their new-fangled whimseys ! we shall have
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER.
A modern shrubbery here, stack full of firs,
And your pert poplar-trees;—I could as soon
Have plough'd my father's grave as cut them down !
Stranger. But 'twill be lighter and more cheerful now
A fine smooth turf, and with a carriage road
That sweeps conveniently from gate to gate.
I like a shrubbery too, for it looks fresh;
And then there's some variety about it.
In spring the lilac, and the snow-ball flower,
And the laburnum with its golden strings
Waving in the wind; and when the autumn comes,
The bright red berries of the mountain-ash,
With pines enough in winter to look green,
And show that something lives. Sure this is.better
Than a great hedge of yew, making it look
All the year round like winter, and forever
Dropping its poisonous leaves from the under boughs,
Wither'd and bare.
Old Man. Aye ! so the new Squire thinks ,*
And pretty work he makes of it! What 'tis
To have a stranger come to an old house !
Stranger. It seems you know him not?
Old Man. No, Sir, not I.
They tell me he's expected daily now;
But in my Lady's time he never came
But once, for they were very distant kin.
If he had play'd about here when a child
In that fore court, and ate the yew-berries,
And sate in the porch, threading the jessamine flowers,
Which fell so thick, he had not had the heart
To mar all thus!
Stranger. Come ! come ! all is not wrong;
Those old dark windows—
Old Man. They're demolish'd too,—
As if he could not see through casement glass!
The very red-breasts that so regular
Came to my Lady for her morning crumbs,
Won't know the windows now !
Stranger. Nay, they were small,
And then so darken'd round with jessamine,
Harboring the vermin ;—yet I could have wish d
That jessamine had been saved, which canopied,
And bower'd, and lined the porch.
338 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER, [Book
Old Man. It did one good
To pass within ten yards, when 'twas in blossom.
There was a sweet brier, too, that grew beside;
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun ; 'twas an old favorite dog,—
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, and he always had a place
By the fire-side: and when he died at last,
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.
For she was good to all! a woful day
'Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!
Stranger. They lost a friend then?
Old Man. You're a stranger here,
Or you wouldn't ask that question. "Were they sick ?
She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs
She could have taught the doctors. Then at winter,
When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir,
It would have warm'd your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen,—how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So cheerful red,—and as for mistletoe,—•
The finest bush that grew in the country round
Was mark'd for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful aboq£!—God help me, Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.
Stranger. Things may be better yet than you suppose,
And you should hope the best
Old Man. It don't look well,—
These alterations, Sir! I'm an old man,
And love the good old fashions; we don't find
Old bounty in new houses. They've destroy'd
All that my Lady loved; her favorite walk
Grubb'd up,—and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, which meets a-top,
They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think
To live to see all this, and 'tis perhaps
A comfort I shan't live to see it long.
Stranger. But sure all changes are not needs for the worse.
My friend ? '
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 339
Old Man. Mayhap they mayn't be. Sir;—for all that,
I like what I've been used to. I remember
All this from a child up; and now to lose it,
'Tis losing an old friend. There's nothing left
As 'twas;—I go abroad, and only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door,—
That's gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, except the stones
In the churchyard. You are young, Sir, and I hope
Have many years in store,—but pray to God
You mayn't be left the last of all your friends.
Stranger. Well! well! you've one friend more than you're
aware of.
If the Squire's taste don't suit with yours, I warrant
That's all you'll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend ! and see if your old Lady
E'er broach'd a better cask. You did not know me,
But we're acquainted now. 'T would not be easy
To make you like the outside; but within,
That is not changed, my friend.! you'll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.
THE PHYSIOGNOMIST.—Anonymous.
FRANK HENRY GEORGE PETER.
Frank. It appears strange to me, that people can be so im¬
posed upon. There is no difficulty in judging people by their
looks. I profess to know as much of a man, at the first view,
as by a half-dozen years' acquaintance.
Henry. Pray, how is it done 1 I should like to learn the art.
Fr. Did you never read Lavater on Physiognomy 1
Hen. No. What do you mean by such a hard word
Fr. Physiognomy means a knowledge of men's hearts,
thoughts, and characters,, by their looks. For instance, if you
see a man with a forehead jutting over his eyes like a piazza;
with a pair of eyebrows heavy like the cornice of a house;
with full eyes, and a .Roman nose,—depend upon it, he is a
great scholar and an honest man.
Hen. It seems to me I should rather go below his nose, to
discover his scholarship.
340 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Fr. By no means : if you look for beauty, you may descend
to the mouth and chin: otherwise, never go below the region
of the brain. (Enter George.)
George. Well, Frank, I have been to see the man hanged;
and he has gone to the other world with just such a great fore¬
head, and Roman nose, as you have always been praising.
Fr. Remember, George, all signs fail in dry weather.
Geo. Now, be honest, Frank, and own that there is nothing
in all this science of yours. The only way to know men is
by. their actions. If a man commit burglary, think you a Ro¬
man nose ought to save him from punishment ?
Fr. I don't carry my notions so far as that; but it is certain
that all the faces in the world are different; and equally true
that each has some marks about it, by which one can discover
the temper and character of the person. (Enter Peter.)
Pete)-. (To Frank.) Sir, I have heard of your fame from Dan
to Beersheba; that you can know a man by his face, and can
tell his thoughts by his looks. Hearing this, I have visited
you without the ceremony of an introduction.
Fr, Why, indeed, I profess something in that way.
Fet. By that forehead, nose, and those eyes of yours, one
might be sure of an acute, penetrating mind.
Fr. I see that you are not ignorant of Physiognomy.
Pet. I am not; but still I am so far from being an adept in
the art, that unless the features are very remarkable, I cannot
determine with certainty. But yours is the most striking face
I $ver saw. There is a certain firmness in the lines which
lead from the outer verge to the centre of the apple of your
eye, which denotes great forecast, deep thought, bright inven¬
tion, and a genius for great purposes.
Fr. You are a perfect master of the art. And to show that
I know something of it, permit me to observe, that the form of
your face denotes frankness, truth, and honesty. Your heart is
a stranger to guile, your lips to deceit, and your hands to fraud.
Pet. I must confess that you have hit upon my true character,
though different from the one I have sustained in the world.
Fr. (To Hen. and Geo.) Now see two strong examples of
the truth of Physiognomy. (While he is speaking Peter picks
his pocket and exith) Now can you conceive, that, without this
knowledge, I could fathom the character of a total stranger?
Heri. Pray tell us by what marks you discovered that in his
heart and lips were no guile, and in his hands no fraud !
Fr. Ah, leave that to me ; we are not to reveal our secrets.
But I will show you a face and character which exactly suit
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 341
him. {Feels for his pocket-look in all his pockets, and looks wild
and much concerned.)
Geo. {Tauntingly.) Aye, "in his heart is nro guile, in his
lips no deceit, and in his hands no fraud!" " Now we see a
strong example of the power of physiognomy!"
Fr. He is a wretch! a traitor against every good sign ! I'll
pursue him to the ends of the earth. {Offers to go.)
Hen. Stop a moment! His fine, honest face is far enough
before this time. You have not yet discovered the worst in¬
jury he has done you.
Fr. What's that? I had no watch or money for him to steal.
Hen. By his deceitful lips he has robbed you of any just
conception of yourself; he has betrayed you into a foolish be¬
lief that you are possessed of most extraordinary genius and
talents. Whereas, separate from the idle whim about Phys¬
iognomy, you have no more pretence to genius or learning,
than a common school-boy. Learn, henceforth, to estimate
men's hands by their deeds, their lips by their words, and
their hearts by their lives.
FROM FOSCARI.—Miss Mitford.
doge count zeno.
Scene—An apartment in the Ducal Palace. Doge seated. Enter Zeno.
Zeno. Good-morrow to your Highness.
Doge. {Rising.) Dearest Zeno,
This is no common pleasure. Thou, the latest
Of our late revellers, whom the sun scarce sees—
Zeno. Oh! good my Lord,
I meet him often ere I go to bed,—
The bright reproachful tell-tale!
Doge. To see thee,
But lately risen from a sharp sickness too,
Afoot so early! There must be some cause,
Some kind or pleasant cause—What brings thee, Count ?
Zeno. This letter!
Doge. No petition for the post
Vacant by poor Venoni'a death ?
Zeno. Oh! no.
Doge. I should have grieved within one little hour
To say twice No to two dear friends. You met Donate.
Zeno. Yes, so chafed he saw me not.
Your Highness knows his temper.
29*
342 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Doge. And I fear
Tried it too much. He asked of me that office
For a known villain, an unusual compound
Of ruffian and of knave, the follower
Of his kinsman, Count Erizzo.
Zeno. Then the Count
Was waiting1 for Donato. I am grieved
He should be so companioned.
Doge. He flung from me
Ere I could tell him the post was given
To Signor Loredano, a ripe scholar
Pining in penury, at the pressing instance
Of his own son.
Zeno. Cosmo! How like is that
To his unwearied kindness.
Doge. There is not,
Unless I may except my Foscari,
A youth in Venice who can vie in aught
With Cosmo.
Zeno. And they are as different
As the bright sun and gentle moon, the sea
In sparkling motion and the quiet land.
The one a stirring, brave, and honest soldier,
The other a pale student.
Doge. Bless them both,
My noble boys ! They have always loved like brothers,
And soon I hope my pretty sweet Camilla
Will give them that dear title.
Zeno. Have you had
Tidings of Foscari lately?
Doge. Not for long,
Longer than common.
Zeno. Last night at St. Mark's
There was a rumor floating—none could trace
Its source—of a great victory obtained
By Foscari and Sforza.
Doge. Heaven grant it!
Sure we shall hear to-day,—Now, dearest Count,
What is your will? You led the old man on
To talk of his dear children, till in sooth
H^had forgotten the whole world. Now say
What is that scroll ?
Zeno. My Lord—I almost fear—
Host thou believe in soothsayers ?
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 343
Doge. No!—Yes !—Not much. Why dost thou ask!
Zeno. Wilt thou not answer ?
Doge. Count Zeno, thou art one to whom, being wise,
A wise man may confess the cherished folly
That lurks within his breast. But tell it not
To fools, good Zeno.
Zeno. Then thou dost believe ?
Doge. I have some cause. What! didst thou never hear
Of the old prediction that was verified
When I became the Doge 1
Zeno. An old prediction!
Doge. Some seventy years ago— it seems to me
As fresh as yesterday—being then a lad
No higher than my hand, idle as an heir,
And all made up of gay and truant sports,
I flew a kite, unmatched in shape or size,
Over the river—we were at our house
Upon the Brenta then; it soared aloft,
Driven by light vigorous breezes from the sea,—
Soared buoyantly, till the diminished toy
Grew smaller than a falcon when she stoops
To dart upon her prey. I sent for cord,
Servant on servant hurrying, till the kite
Shrank to the size of a beetle: still I called
For cord, and sent to summon father, mother,
My little sisters, my old halting nurse,—
I would have had the whole world to survey
Me and my wondrous kite. It still soared on,
And I stood bending back in ecstasy,
My eyes on that small point, clapping my hands,
And shouting and half envying it the flight
That made it a companion of the stars,
When close beside me a deep voice exclaimed—
Aye, mount! mount! mount!—I started back, and saw
A tall and aged woman, one of the wild
Peculiar people whom wild Hungary sends
Roving through every land. She drew her cloak
About her, turned her black eyes up to Heaven,
And thus pursued:—Aye, like his fortunes, mount,
The future Doge of Venice! And before
For very wonder any one could speak,
She disappeared.
Zeno. Strange ! Hast thou never seen
That woman since?
344 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Doge. I never saw her more.
After a slight brief search, the wonder sank
Into a jest. My mother for a while
Calledrme her pretty Doge, her madcap Doge,
And ran a thousand fondling changes through
On that proud title; and my sisters long
Talked of the tall Hungarian. None believed
But my old nurse.
Z<eno. And thou 1
Doge. Long time in me
The seeds of faith lay dormant; till at last,
As youth's gay wildness sobered, and ambition
Grew stronger in my soul, the prophecy
Knocked at my thoughts, and I by fits believed
That which I wished were true. Now for thy scroll;—
Whence comes it ?
Zeno. Even such an aged crone,
So tall, so habited, stayed me last night
At my own door, and with an earnest voice,
Her shaking hand pressed on my arm, implored
That as I loved the good Doge Foscari,*
I would at his first waking give him this.
Doge. She must be dead! Full seventy years ago—
And then her locks were grizzled !—She'is dead.
And what, at fourscore years, have I to do
With fate or fortune ! My long race is run.
Zeno. Read it at least.
Doge. {Reads.) 4: The ducal bonnet trembles on thy brow,
Doge of Venice, trembles—and will fall, though the
stars themselves show me not when. Grant the first boon
that shall be asked of thee to-morrow, or before the next
sun rises thy very heart shall be rent in twain."
Grant the first boon ! Why, my good Signor Celso,
This is too palpable. Grant the first boon !
Make thee the Procurator ! Fy ! Fy ! Fy!
Erizzo's talent hath forsaken him;
This cheat is shallow. They have heard the tale
I told thee, and this paltry poor device—
Off to the waves and winds!
Zeno. Yet hath the Count
A party in the state; and for Donato,
Kind, hasty, generous and beloved, his power
May vie with thine.
Doge. But never will be used
THIRD.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
345
Against me, Zeno. I should hate myself
Could I suspect Donato. Count, we'll go
Together to the Senate. Thou shalt see
The quick relenting of his sudden wrath,
His graceful self-rebuke, his honest love.
Zeno. I'll gladly be converted.
Doge. Doubt him not.
FROM THE WEATHERCOCK—Allinqham.
OLD FICKLE—TRISTRAM FICKLE.
Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit, can
accrue to you, from such conduct as yours ? One moment you
tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in the
world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers.
Tristram. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir.
Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into
a philosopher; and for the noise of drums, trumpets and
hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible
than was ever heard at the Tower of Babel.
Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy
is folly; so "I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from
Plato and Aristotle, down to the puzzlers of modern date.
Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day,
for barreling you up in a large 4ub, when you resolved to live
like Diogenes 1
Tri. You should not have paid him anything, sir, for the
tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out.
Old F. No jesting, sir; this is no laughing matter. Your
follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the
whole round of arts and sciences in a month, and have been
of fifty different minds in half an hour.
Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius.
Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little
steadiness. You have never yet been constant to anything
but extravagance.
Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more.
Old F. What is that, sir %
Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have
wandered, my heart has always been constantly attached to
the kindest of parents ; and from this moment, I am resolved
346 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
to lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which
will bermost pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends.
Old F. Well said, my boy ! well said! You make me
happy indeed. (Patting him on the shoulder.) Now then,
my dear Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do.
Tri. To study the law—
Old F. The law !
Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession.
Old F. No!
Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed.
Old F. Better and better; I am overjoyed. Why, 'tis the
very thing I wished. Now I am happy. (Tristram makes
gestures, as if speaking.) See how his mind is engaged !
Tri. Gentlemen of the jury—
Old F. Why, Tristram—
Tri. This is a cause—
Old F. Oh, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. I
see something about you now that I can depend upon. (Tris¬
tram continues making gestures.)
Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause—
Old F. Bravo! bravo! excellent boy! I'll go and order
your books directly.
Tri. 'Tis done, sir.
Old F. What! already ?
Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I first
thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law.
Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot ?
Tri. Yes, sir; that is the only way to become a solid lawyer.
Old F. Twelve square feet of learning!—Well—
Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber—
Old F. A barber !—what! is he to teach you to shave close ?
Tri. He is to shave one half of my head, sir.
Old F. You will excuse me, if I cannot perfectly under¬
stand what that has to do with the study of the law.
Tri. Did ypu never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the Athenian
orator ! He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up
in a coal-cellar.
Old F. Ah! he was perfectly right to lock himself up, after
having undergone such an operation as that. He certainly
would have made rather an odd figure abroad.
Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriot¬
ism of his countrymen—lightning in his eye, and thunder in
his voice—he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in
force,—the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks—he
Third.] SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. 347
denounces, and indignation fills the bosoms of his he^rs—
he exposes the impending danger, and every one sees im¬
pending ruin—he threatens the tyrant, they grasp their swords
—he calls for vengeance, their thirsty weapons glitter in the
air, and thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates a
nation, and that soul fs the soul of an orator.
Old F. Oh ! what a figure he'll make in the King's Bench!
But come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then you
will see how happy this determination of yours will further it
You have (Tristram makes extravagant gestures, as if speak¬
ing) often heard me speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister—
Tri. Who is against me in this cause—
Old F, He is a most learned lawyer—
Tri. But as I have justice on my side—
Old F. Tristram! he doesn't hear a word I say!—Why,
Tristram!
Tri. I beg your pardon, sir; I was prosecuting my studies.
Old F. Now attend— '
Tri. As my learned friend observes,—go on, sir, I am all
attention.
Old F. Well—my friend, the counsellor—
Tri. Say, my learned friend, if you please, sir. We gen¬
tlemen of the law always—
Old F. Well, well, my learned friend—
Tri. A black patch!—
Old F. Will you listen, and be.silent?
Tri. I am as mute as a judge.
Old F. My friend has a ward who is very handsome, and
has a handsome fortune. She would make you a charming wife.
Tri. This is an action—
Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you
to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness
and his gravity—
Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant.
Old F. But now you have grown serious and steady, and
have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring
you together: you will obtain his good opinion, and all the
rest follows, of course.
Tri. A verdict in my favor.
Old jP. You marry, and sit down happy for life.
Tri. In the King's Bench.
Old F. Bravo, ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your study—
my dear Tristram, and I'll go and call upon the counsellor.
Tri. I remove by habeas corpus.
348 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK
Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. (Hut•
ryiri%*him off.)
Tri. Gentlemen of the jury, this is a cause—(Old Fickle
pushes him off.)
Old F. The inimitable boy! I am now the happiest father
living. What genius he has! He'll be lord chancellor, one-
day or other, I dare be sworn—I am sure he has talents! Oh,
how I long to see him at the bar.
THE ALDERMAN'S FUNERAL.—Socthey.
STRANGJER TOWNSMAN.
Stranger. Whom are they ushering from the world, with all
This pageantry and long parade of death %
Townsman. A long parade, indeed, sir, and yet here
You see but half; round yonder bend it reaches
A furlong further, carriage behind carriage.
Stran. 'Tis but a mournful sight; and yet the pomp
Tempts me to stand a gazer.
Towns. Yonder schoolboy,
Who plays the truant, says the proclamation
Of peace was nothing to the show; and even
The chairing of the members at election
Would not have been a finer sight than this;
Only that red and green are prettier colors
Than all this mourning. There, sir, you behold
One of the red-gown'd worthies of the city,
The envy and the boast of our exchange;—.
Aye, what was worth, last week, a good half-million,
Screw'd down in yonder hearse!
Stran. Then he was born
Under a lucky planet, who to-day
Puts mourning on for his inheritance.
Towns. When first I heard his death, that very wish
Leap'd to my lips; but now the closing scene
Of the comedy hath waken'd wiser thoughts;
And I bless God, that, when I go to the grave,
There will not be the weight of wealth like his
To sink me down.
Stran. The camel and the needle,—
Is that then in your mind ?
Towns. Even so. The text ^
Is gospfel-wisdom. I would ride the camel,'—
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
Yea, leap him, flying, through the needle's eye,
As easily as such a pamper'd soul
Could pass the narrow gate.
Stran. Your pardon, sir,
But sure this lack of Christian charity
Looks not like Christian truth.
Towns. Your pardon, too, sir,
If, with this text before me, I should feel
In the preaching mood! But for these barren fig-trees,
With all their flourish and their leafiness,
We have been told their destiny and use,
When the axe is laid under the root, and they
Cumber the earth no longer.
Stran. Was his wealth
Stored fraudfully,—the spoil of orphans wrong'd,
And widows who had none to plead their right?
Towns. All honest, open, honorable gains,
Fair, legal interest, bonds and mortgages,
Ships to the East and West.
Stran. Why judge you then
So hardly of the dead?
Towns. Undone;—for sins, not one of which is written
In the Ten Commandments. He, I warrant him,
Believed no other Gods than those of the Creed;
Bow'd to no idols, but his money-bags;
Swore no false oaths, except at the custom-house;
Kept the Sabbath idle ; built a monument
To honor his dead father; did no murder;
Never picked pockets; never bore false witness;
And never, with all-commanding wealth,
Coveted his neighbor's house, nor ox, nor ass!
Stran. You knew him, then, it seems?
Towns. As all men know
The virtues of your hundred-thousanders;
They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.
Stran. Nay, nay, uncharitable sir! for often
Doth bounty, like a streamlet, flow unseen,
Freshening and giving life along its course.
Totvns. We track the streamlet by the brighter green
And livelier growth it gives;—but as for this—
This was a pool that stagnated and stunk;
The rains of heaven engendered nothing in it
But slime and foul corruption.
30
350 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Stran. Yet even these
Are reservoirs whence public charity-
Still keeps her channels full.
Towns. Now, sir, you touch
Upon the point. This man of half a million
Had all these public virtues which you praise:
But the poor man rung- never at his door,
And the old beggar at the public gate,
Who, all the summer long, stands hat in hand,
He knew how vain it was to lift an eye
To that hard face. Yet he was always found
Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers,
Your benefactors in the newspapers.
His alms were money put to interest
In the other world,—donations to keep open
A running charity account with Heaven,—>
Retaining fees against the Last Assizes,
When, for the trusted talents, strict account
Shall be retired from all, and the old Arch-Lawyer
Plead his own cause as plaintiff
Stran. I must needs
Believe you, sir :—these are your witnesses,
These mourners here, who from their carriages
G-ape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind
Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their eyes
Some decent rheum; the very hireling mute
Bears not a face more blank of all emotion
Than the old servant of the family!
How can this man have lived, that thus his death
Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief?
Toions. Who should lament for him, sir, in whose heart
Love had no place, nor natural charity ?
The parlor spaniel, when she heard his step,
Rose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside
With creeping pace ; she never raised her eyes
To woo kind words from him, nor laid her head
Upraised upon his knee, with fondling whine.
How could it be but thus ? Arithmetic
Was the sole science he was ever taught;
The multiplication-table was his Creed,
His Pater-noster, and his Decalogue.
When yet he was a boy, and should Have breathed
The open air and sunshine of the fields,
To give his blood its natural spring and play,
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 351
He in a close and dusky counting-house
Smoke-dried, and sear'd and shrivell'd up his heart.
So from the way in which he was train'd up
His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd,
Poor muck-worm! through his threescore years and ten;
And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him,
If that which served him for a soul were still
Within its husk, 'twould still be dirt to dirt.
Stran. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him
For industry and honorable wealth
A bright example.
Towns. Even half a million
Gets him no other praise. But come this way
Some- twelve months hence, and you will find his virtues
Trimly set forth in lapidary lines,
Faith-with her torch beside, and little Cupids
Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.
FROM THE RIVALS.—Sheridan.
SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE CAPT. ABSOLUTE FAG ERRAND BOY
Scene—Cdpt. Absolute's Lodgings; Capt. A. seated at a table, reading
Enter Fag and Sir Anthony Absolute.
Fag. Sir Anthony Absolute, sir. {Exit.)
Capt. A. {Rising.) Sir Anthony, I am delighted to see you
here and looking so well! your sudden arrival at Bath made
me apprehensive of your health.
Sir A. Yery apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, you
are recruiting here, hey 1
Capt. A. Yes, sir. I am on duty.
Sir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not
expect it, for I was going to write to you on a little matter of
business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and
infirm, and shall not probably trouble you long.
Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong
and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so.
Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my
heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that I am
so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long
time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your com¬
mission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small
pittance for a lad of your spirit.
352 SOUTHERN" READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
Capt. A. Sir, you are very good.
Sir A. Ana it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy
make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore,
to fix you at once in a noble independence.
Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I
presume you would not wish me to quit the army ?
Sir A. Oh ! that shall be as your wife chooses.
Capt. A. My wife, sir ?
Sir A. Aye, aye, settle that between you—settle that between
you.
Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say ?
Sir A. Aye, a wife: why, did I not mention that before?
Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir.
Sir A. Odd so; I mustn't forget her, though. Yes, Jack,
the independence I was talking of, is by marriage; the for¬
tune is saddled with a wife; but I suppose that makes no
difference ?
Capt. A. Sir, sir ! you amaze me !
Sir A. «Why, what's the matter with the fool? Just now
you were all gratitude and duty.
Capt. A. I was, sir; you talked to me of independence and
a fortune, but not a word of a wife.
Sir A Why, what difference does that make ? Odds life,
sir! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live
stock on it, as it stands.
Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady ?
Sir A. What is that to you, sir ? Come, give me your pro¬
mise to love and to marry her directly.
Capt. A. Sure, sir, that is not very reasonable, to summon
my affections for a lady I knorv nothing of.
Sir A. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to ob¬
ject to a lady you know nothing of.
Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir,, if I tell you once for
all, that in this point I cannot obey you.
Sir A. Hark ye, Jack: I have heard you for some time
with patience—X have been cool,—quite cool; but take care;
you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted; no
one more easily led, when I have my own way; but don't put
me in a frenzy.
Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it; in this I cannot obey you.
Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again while
I live.
Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me.
Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word, not a word! not one word!
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 353
So give me your promise by a nod, and I'll tell you what,
Jack—I mean dog—if you don't—
Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass
of ugliness!.
Sir A. Ugliness ! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I
choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall
be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the
bull's in Cox's museum; she shall have a skin like a mummy,
and the beard of a Jew. She shall be all this, sirrah! yet I'll
make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write soft-
nets on her beauty.
Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed!
Sir A. None of your sneering, puppy 1 no grinning, jack¬
anapes !
Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I was never in a worse humor for
mirth, in my life.
Sir A. 'Tis false, sir; I know you are laughing in your
sleeve; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah !
Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. ,
Sir A. None of your passion, sir 1 none of your violence,
if you please ! it won't do with me, I promise you.
Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I was never cooler in my life
Sir A. 'Tis a confounded lie ! I know you are in a passion
in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog;
but it won't do.
Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word—
Sir A. So you will fly out! can't you be cool, like me ?
What good can passion do? Passion is of no service, you
impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate ! There, you sneer
again! don't provoke me ! but you rely upon the mildness of
my temper, you do, you dog; you play upon the meekness of
my disposition ! yet take care; the patience of a saint may be
overcome at last! But mark ! I give you six hours and a half
to consider of this : if you then agree, without any condition,
to do everything on earth that I choose, why—confound you !
I may in time forgive you,—if not, don't enter the same hemi¬
sphere with me j don't dare to breathe the same air, or use the
same light with me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your
ovvp! I'll strip you of your commission; I will lodge a five-
and-three-pence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on
the interest. I'll disown you, I will disinherit you, and hang
me ! if I call you Jack again ! {Exit.)
Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father! I kiss your
hands. {Ent-erFag.) 3Q*
354 SOUTHER# READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
• Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wroth to a degree; he
comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time, muttering,
growling, and thumping the banisters all the way: I, and the
cook's dog, stand bowing at the door—rap! he gives me a
stroke on the head with his cane! bids me carry that to my
master; then kicking poor turnspit into the area, canes us all
for a puppy triumvirate! Upon my credit, sir, were I in your
place, and found my father such very bad company, I should
certainly drop his acquaintance.
* Capt. A. Cease your impertinence, sir—did you come in for
nothing more? Stand out of the way. (Pushes him aside,and exit.)
Fag. So! Sir Anthony trims my master; he is afraid to
reply to his father, and vents his spleen on poor Fag. When
one is vexed by one person, to revenge one's self on another,
.who happens to come in the way, shows the worst temper, the
basest— (Enter errand boy.)
Boy. Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you.
Fag. Well, you little dirty puppy, you needn't bawl so—
the meanest disposition, the—
Boy. Quick, quick! Mr. Fag.
Fag. Quick, quick ! you impudent jackanapes! am I to be
commanded by you too, you little, impertinent, insolent, kitch¬
en-bred imp ? {Kicks him off.)
OUR DAILY PATHS.—Mas. Hemans.
first speaker second speaker third speaker.
First Speaker•.
There's beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes
Can trace it'midst familiar things, and thro' their lowly guise;
We may find it where a hedge-row showers its blossoms o'er
our way,
Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day.
Second Speaker.
We may find it where a spring shines clear, beneath an aged
tree,
With the fox-glove o'er the water's glass borne downwards by
the bee;
Or where a swift and sunny gleam on the birchen stems is
thrown,
As a soft wind playing parts the leaves, in copses green and
lone.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 355
Third Speaker.
rv e may find it in the winter boughs, as they cross the cold
blue sky,
While soft on icy pool and stream, their pencilled shadows lie,
When we look upon their tracery, by the fairy frost-work bound,
Whence the flitting red-breast shakes a shower of crystals to
the ground.
First Speaker.
Yes ! beauty dwells in all our paths—but sorrow too is there ;
How oft some cloud within us dims the bright, still summer air !
When we carry our sick hearts abroad amidst the joyous things
That through the leafy places glance on many-colored wings !
Second Speaker.
With shadows from the past we fill the happy woodland shades,
And a mournful memory of the dead is with us in the glades ;
And our dream-like fancies lend the wind an echo's plaintive
tone
Of voices, and of melodies, and of silver laughter gone.
Third Speaker.
But are we free to do e'en thus—to wander as we will—
Bearing sad visions through the grove, and o'er the breezy hill ?
No! in our daily paths lie cares, that ofttimes bind us fast,
While from their narrow round we see the golden day fleet
past.
First Speaker.
They hold us from the woodlark's haunts, and violet dingles,
back,
And from all the lovely sounds and gleams in the shining river's
track;
They bar us from our heritage of spring-time, hope, and mirth,
And weigh our burdened spirits down with the cumbering dust
of earth.
Second Speaker.
Yet should this be ?—Too much, too soon, despondingly we
yield!
A better lesson we are taught by the lilies of the field!
A sweeter by the birds of heaven—which tell us, in their flight
Of One that through the desert air forever guides them right.
Third Speaker.
Shall not this knowledge calm our hearts, and bid vain con
flicts cease?
Aye when they commune with themselves in holy hours of
peace;
356 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
And feel that by the lights and clouds through which our
pathway lies,
By the beauty and the grief alike, we are training for the skies!
MISANTHROPY AND BENEVOLENCE.—Colman.
BARFORD TORRENT.
Scene—An apartment in an Inn. Torrent seated, and reading a newspaper.
Enter Barford with a small bundle, tied in a handkerchief.
Barford. Rest there, my whole property! (Throws down his
bundle.) The remains of many a wreck, rest there!
Torrent. Eh! What! Wreck! He looks like a gentle¬
man. {Advances.) Pray, sir, how came the wreck of all your
property tied up in such a small handkerchief?
Bar. By what right, sir, do you inquire ?
Tor. By the right that lugged me out of the horse-pond—
the right of running to any man's assistance, who seems to be
stuck in. the mud.
{Bar. {Turning from him.) Pshaw I Sir, you are obtrusive.
Tor. Why, it .was gather rude to be reading the newspaper
in my own room, when you chose to walk in and interrupt me.
Bar. This is the parlor of a village inn, sir, where 'tis the
custom to huddle people together indiscriminately. 'Tis an
emblem of the world! Men mingle in it from necessity, as
we do now, till they part in dislike, as we may do presently.
Tor. We seem to bid fair for it. for I detest misanthropy.
Bar. 'Tis the opium to our affections; an antidote to the
drivelling unwillingness dotards feel to be swept from hypo¬
crites who have professed to regard them.
Tor. Opium—and antidote !—You've dealt with a villainous
apothecary. Hatred to mankind is Lucifer's own laudanum;
and whenever he coaxes a Christian to swallow it, he sends
one of his imps to shake the bottle. All men hypocrites!—
Well! here's a doctrine ! So then, love, friendship, and—
Bar. Love and friendship are, at best, but life's fading roses;
but reject the roses, and you may escape many a thorn.
Tor. How should you like to lose your legs ?
Bar. Why my legs, sir ?
Tor. They art part of the fading blessings of life, like love
and friendship; but you may have the gout Reject your legs,
and you may escape many a twinge in your great toe.
Thied.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. 357
Bar. But I have suffered deprivations enough already, sir.
Tor. X give you joy of them 5 for, according to your own
account, they must make you very comfortable. But you have
deprived yourself of that which your worst enemy's malice
should never have taken from you.
Bar. What is it ?
Tor. Universal benevolence; the chain of reason in which
we all, willingly, bind ourselves. Nature gave us the links,
and civilized humanity has polished them.
Bar. And how often are the links of reason and nature bro¬
ken by sophistry and art!
Tor. I am sorry for it. I know there are rascals; but the
world is good in the lump; and I love all human kind—kings,
lords, and commons, duchesses, tallow-chandlers, and dairy¬
maids, Indian chiefs, ambassadors, washerwomen, and tinkers.
They have all their claims upon my regard, in their different
stations; and, whatever you may think, hang me if I don't be¬
lieve there are honest attorneys!
Bar. You have been fortunate in the world, I perceive !
Tor. I have been fortunate enough in my temper to keep
the milk of human kindness from curdling.
Bar. By having no acids squeezed into it.
Tor. Plenty: who hasn't? But, when you were put out to
nurse, hang me if I don't think you sucked a lemon! You
have a fine field to fatten in, upon others' calamities, here.—
Only look out. Pretty havoc from the fire ! There's a house,
now, that would just suit you. It sticks up by itself, gloomy
and gutted, in the midst of the rubbish.
Bar. That was my residence, sir; my refuge, as I hoped,
during the remainder of my life, from ingratitude and treachery.
Tor. Biff—did—did you live in that house %
Bar. Eio-ht months ago I entered its door to take possession
of an humble lodging; and last night I leaped with difficulty,
amidst the flames, through its window.
Tor. Out at—that Window ?
Bar. Yes • with that wreck of property, on which you have
been pleased so much to question me.
Tor. My dear sir, you are an unfortunate man ; I have be¬
haved like a brute, and I beg your pardon.
Bar. I feel no anger, sir.
Tor Then, you despise me. I know you must, for I have
treated you cruelly; but, as you have taken offence at all the
world don't think me too contemptible to be left out of the
358 SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [Book
number. Pray, be angry with me, then show me you forgive
me, by telling me how to serve you—I happen to be rich.
Bar. And I happen to be poor ; but I will always be inde¬
pendent, and will accept no favors.
Tor. That's right; but I have taken a house in the neigh¬
borhood—dine with me every day. That will only be doing
me a favor, you know.
Bar. Excuse me; but before I leave you, sir, one word,
which I think I owe you.
Tor. I won't take back a shil—I mean, you don't owe me
a syllable.
Bar. Pardon me—and I must pay it. Your impulses, ap¬
parently, proceed from benevolence; but your impetuosity
may render you an offence to the sensitive^ and a dupe to the
designing. Farewell, sir. {Exit.}
Tor. That advice is a little too late to a man at fifty. My
impulses are like old radishes; they have stuck so long in the
soil, that, whenever they are drawn out, they are sure to be hot.
THE CHALLENGE.—Sheridan.
BOB ACRES SIR LUCIUS o'lRIGGER.
Scene—An apartment in an Inn. Acres seated. Enter Sir Lucius
0'Trigger.
Sir Lucius. Mr. Acres, I'm delighted to embrace you.
Bob. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands.
Sir L. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly
to Bath 1
Bob. 'Faith, I have followed Cupid's jack-a-lantern, and
find myself in a quagmire at last! In short, I have been very
ill-used, Sir Lucius. I don't choose to mention names, but
look on me as a very ill-used gentleman !
Sir L. Pray what is the case 1 I ask no names.
Bob. Mark me, Sir Lucius; I fall as deep as need be in
love with a young lady; her friends take my part. I follow
her to Bath, send word of my arrival; and receive answer,
that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. This, Sir Lucius,
I call being ill-used.
Sir L. Very ill, upon my conscience! Pray, can you di¬
vine the cause of it1?
Bob. Why, there's the matter; she has another lover, one
Beverly, who, I am told, is now in Bath. Odds slanders and
lies! he must be at the bottom of it.
Third.] SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER.
359
Sir L. A rival in the case, is there ? and you think he has
supplanted you unfairly?
Bob. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could have
done it fairly.
Sir L. Then sure you know what is to be done!
Bob. Not I, upon my soul!
Sir L. We wear no swords here, but you understand me.
Bob. What! fight him ?
Sir L. Aye, to be sure: what can I mean else ?
Bob. But he has given me no provocation.
Sir L. Now, I think he has given you the greatest provoca¬
tion in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous offence
against another, than to fall in love with the same woman ? Oh,
by my soul, it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship.
Bob. Breach of friendship! Aye, aye; but I have.no ac¬
quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life.
Sir L. That's no argument at all—he has the less right
then to take such liberty.
Bob. 'Gad, that's true—I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius!
I fire apace; odds hilts and blades ! I find a man may have
a deal of valor in him, and not know it! But couldn't I con¬
trive to have a little right on my side ?
Sir L. What signifies right, when your honor is concerned ?
do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the great, ever
inquired where the right lay? No, by my soul, they drew
their broad swords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the
justice of it.
Bob. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart! I
believe courage must be catching! I certainly do feel a kind
of valor arising as it were—a kind of courage, as I may say—
odds flints, pans, and triggers! I'll challenge him directly.
Sir L. Ah; my little friend ! if I had Blunderbuss Hall here
—I could show you a range of ancestry in the O'Trigger line,
that would furnish the New Room. For though the mansion-
house and dirty acres have slipped through my fingers, our
honor and the family pictures are as fresh as ever.
Bob. Oh, Sir Lucius, I have had ancestors too! every man of
them colonel or captain in the militia! Odds balls and barrels !
Say n0 more—I'm braced for it! The thunder of your words
has soured the milk of human kindness in my breast! And
as the man in the play says, " I could do such deeds."
Sir L Come, come, there must be no passion at all in the
case' these things should always be done civilly.
360
SOUTHERN READER AND SPEAKER. [BOOK Thikd.
Bob. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius; I must be in a rage.
Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come,
Jiere's pen and paper. (Sits down to write.) I would the ink
were red ! Indite, I say. indite ! How shall I begin ? 0dd3
bullets and blades! I'll write a good bold hand, however.
Sir L. Pray, compose yourself.
Bob. Come, now, shall I begin with an oath ?
Sir L. Pho 1 pho! do the thing decently. Begin now—Sir—
Bob. That's too civil by half. (Writes.)
Sir L. To prevent the confusion that might arise—
Bob. Well.
Sir L. From our both addressing the same lady—
Bob. Aye—there's the reason—same lady—Well.
Sir L. I shall expect the favor of your company—
Bob.' Fire and flints ! I'm not asking him to dinner!
Sir L. Pray, be easy.
Bob. Well, then,—honor of your company,—
Sir L. To settle our pretensions,—
Bob. Well
Sir L. Let me see; aye, King's-Mead-Fields will do; in ,
King's-Mead-Fields.
Bob. So, that's done. Well, I'll fold it up presently; my
own crest, a hand and dagger, shall be the seal.
Sir L. You see, now, this little explanation will put a stop
at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might, arise
between you.
Bob. Aye, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding.
Sir L. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time. Take my
advice, and you'll decide it this evening, if you can ; then, let
the worst come of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow.
Bob. Yery true.
Sir L. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be by
letter, till the evening. I would do myself the honor to carry
your message; but, to tell you a secret, I believe I shall have
just such another affair on my own hands. There is a gay
captain here, who put a jest on me lately, at the expense of my
country, and I only want to fall in with the gentleman to call
him out.
Bob.^ By my valor! I should like to see you fight first!
Odds life 4 I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to
get a little lesson 1
THE END.